#a habit i very much approve off

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Another glasses picture ☺️

[8housevenus]

lilith through the houses

hii, it has been a while since i have made a post on here; hope everyone is doing well. i wanted to dive into a post about lilith, i see a lot of people who are curious about lilith and how it manifests in their charts. lilith represents many things; rebellion, dark feminine, jealousy, envy, and sense of freedom/power.

lilith in 1st - blessing & a curse. you have a sultry-esque to you, can appear a bit intimidating and off-putting from some sort of intensity; unintentionally. you have habits to always appeal to other people, you have a need to feel approved by others and rejection has always been a hard concept for you. you might have been bullied from women who were jealous of you when you were younger, or often left out on purpose because you seemed "untrusting," people often would read you wrong because they were too afraid to approach you. luckily for you though, you can pick up on these things right away. you have gifts for discernment and are good at blending into your environments nowadays. you are much harder to crack while you age, and that is because you have worked on your confidence & beauty through time- nobody can get under your skin as much as you do.

lilith in 2nd - loves to feel different. you love doing things that go against the standards. while everyone else was stressing over financial issues, housing, and overall structure, you had other plans. you preferred to feel free-spirited with your spending, and always found a way to attract money whether you worked for it or not. others despised you, thought you had it easy, or thought you let yourself go. you have a tendency to let others go, not in a bad way, but in a way that if there's anything stopping you from obtaining something, you will cut ties. you hold onto things that can be used to prove others wrong, probably still clings to photos, messages, etc. hates giving up easily. points out hypocricy on others a lot. you typically hate any form of control over you, not a fan of commands or orders, dislikes an overly organized environment. you like feeling accompanied in your habits. you always play your cards well.

lilith in 3rd - says it how it is always. you notice people usually love you or hate you there's no in between. sometimes attracts people who are two-faced, or always downplaying their achievements. you will really see the ugly side from people because of the way you can easily trigger them. felt held back from a young age to express certain thoughts, always likes to interject, say the things that others do not want to. has a serious tone, usually sounding mature and easily believable. you love pushing the boundaries with society and taking the lead. you are one of one, and you might notice some people have humored you a lot because they don't take you serious enough. people usually never let your past go, or they want to have a say in your reputation. to you though, any attention is good attention.

lilith in 4th - family matters. usually mother or prominent female figure forcing you to follow a path you don't want to. lots of household turmoil's, probably the ones to break a generational trauma, feeling suffocated by family and close ones. you have a hard time with making long-lasting friends and relationships out of fear of being abused emotionally somehow. easy for you to feel drained by others, feels and moves better alone. might have family members who are jealous of you or leave you behind because they cannot stand to see you succeed. maybe you felt that you hadn't been caught up as much as other kids growing up, late learner & way too self-dependent. you are strong in the sense that you take care of yourself better than others have. your pain has taught you how to provide a safe space for other people.

lilith in 5th - felt like you had a lot of energy vampires around you, anytime you wanted to feel fun-spirited you always had some people trying to void that. you are actually very easygoing, attract attention very easily, and people really admire your fierceness. however you fall short depending on the people you surround yourself with. you need uplifting beings around you, those who match your energy very well. you can always decipher who fits for you and who doesn't. you have a tendency to push away your intuition and gut feelings, you like giving chances and the ability for people to restart with you, however you realize it is a waste of time. lot of people will cling to you to try and analyze you, study you. relationships or friendships have used you to try to get the upperhand. people steal your ideas. tired of feeling bad for being yourself. you hope to remain light hearted and unravel new interests that give you a chance to understand yourself a bit more.

lilith in 6th - usually gets bullied because they are healthier than others. i know that sounds kiddish, but im serious. you know how to work twice as hard to get to where you want to be, whether that is career wise or health wise. you experience a lot of significant changes with your appearance, and you will have people trying to tear you down and invalidate your efforts. can deal with people speaking badly about your body, wishing to have your body, or lusting over your body. can have jealous co workers, outside peers, or in general you will notice that as soon as you want to change, many people do not like this. people have this preset notion of you and hate to acknowledge that you are in a better position than you used to be. you like doing things on your own schedule, you are known to being very picky, but as long as it is convenient for you, you do not mind. you're not a heavy complainer, instead you observe a lot and make do with whatever you got.

lilith in 7th - dealt with narcissists a lot of your life, has a fainted image of love and relationships. you guys love to reject other people lol, rightfully so though, most of the time you guys will have people trying to spin back to you. you are unforgettable to the ones you have had close bonds with, specifically with the other gender. can lead to men/women hating you so they can try to get over you. you love being able to try new things in relationships, switching it up is super important to you, and you love a 50/50, good give and take. if someone is too simple with you or doesn't seem as risk take-y as you, you kind of repel that. you crave to be unconditionally loved by someone that loves you in the right conditions. loves speaking out on things you find abnormal. you don't have many standards, which is why you have a lot of experience with the dating realm; however you only feel safe to settle once you see the imperfections in your partner. you hate anything superficial. you feel you can only trust those who are as damaged as you are.

lilith in 8th - feelings of powerlessness, inability to change, or endless karmaic cycles. you have been through harsh times with your inner self, and it has depleted a lot of your confidence. you are naturally more "darker or deeper" than others, you like reading between the lines and that is your superpower. you pick up on the things that most people slip. you have a strong aura of sensual energy whenever you do come together with a partner. seductive and manipulative at times, if you feel that you do not get what you want, you have a way to really make shit break out. lot of internal chaos with trying to figure yourself out. you have a strong admiration for the occult, and it is very known off of you. people often feel jealous that you know more than them, or that you are with-holding information, or that your energy is the most magnetic thing about you. you want to be able to explore everything that nobody wants to. it brings you peace to look from within more than on the out.

lilith in 9th - felt that higher purpose was always a challenge to try to figure out, religiously could have dealt with a traumatizing incident, or felt disconnected. turned against morals at one point and never looked back really. hates feeling narrow-minded, opened to new possibilities, hates certainty because things are so variable. people jealous that you can etach easily, and that you can expand onto bigger and better things. could been troubled in school for minor or major things, free will is a thing you love to test a lot. could have a lot of enemies from different backgrounds and countries, feel easily attacked for thinking differently than others. you notice how your mentality is far more different than others; you tend to be more receptive and optimistic, while other people could be more sensitive and reserved to their own thoughts. you dislike people with the inability to be free thinking as you are. you have a hard time connecting with others because of this, you feel only you can truly understand yourself. you can get frustrated easily and silenced due to it.

lilith in 10th - could feel scrutinized by authority figures in their lives, you might have a father who is controlling or somebody who is a male figure that will try to steer you from your goals. you have tried to make a lot of jobs work, however none feel too important to you. sometimes you feel that work industry can even be useless, simply because it doesn't bring you the satisfaction you want. you can even feel afraid to tap into your power in front of others, maybe seen as too shy or timid to go after what you really want. you sought more attention to what others would think rather than what you think of yourself. attracts jealousy through their jobs and careers anyway, some people find you "too this, too that" to the things you want to accomplish. you put up many facades and fake smiles to people because you feel that a lot of what you do is on display or talked about anyway. people honestly really love to throw some confusion your way, or doubt. you might really like a career that is extremely perplexing or doesn't require much at all.

lilith in 11th - felt weird from everyone else. you learned a lot of harsh lessons when you were younger, matured fast and enjoyed life much later. socially, well liked and easily applauded by others, which means that you also do have folks who have been envious of your abilities to drive the masses. you are unique and set trends. people follow you around or follow you online just to keep up with your aesthetic, it is like you are a hidden gem that prefers to be hidden. you've probably dealt with people trying to get close to you to steal from you or get with your other friends or even partners. you are naturally independent and sometimes too isolating. the feeling of needing nobody can stem from the fact that not many people surrounded themselves with you when you were younger. you socially blend in very well and use it to your advantage, as a lot of people will behave like "kiss-asses" to you. might have also dealt with fallouts with friends that have blamed you regardless of if you were guilty or not. they switch-up just as easy as they befriend you. it is undoubtedly hard to connect with some others.

lilith in 12th - spiritually been at war with yourself for a while, felt like there wasn't a place for you to confide without being shunned. hard time making sense of feelings that actually are justified to feel. others expected you to be strong and to bottle up a lot of your feelings, there was a lack of fulfillment also in teenage years due to the isolation you have went through. felt like you weren't good enough to go through with your ideas, fantasies, and goals. some part of you feels resentment towards yourself, as you learned that you were so hard on yourself when all you needed was to just experience life for what it was. always searching for something deeper. prone to nightmares or visions that have made you cautious, traumatizing experiences that nobody knows about or that has happened that was hidden from you or forgotten. sometimes you feel you don't even know what you are fighting for. you have a unique ability to contact your spiritual guides, manifesting comes easy for you once you work on this burden. you can bring out such strong changes in yourself and are capable of ending your "hellish" loops. people can feel envious of you for your trauma, and i know that sounds off, but you have been through a lot and others will try to act like they understand or can relate when they in fact do not. beware of people who pretend to be in the same boat as you. some will secretly just not like you, plain and simple.

thank you for reading this all through, if i was accurate or off, let me know i would love to see some of your input. there's so much more i can say about each and if you want me to elaborate i will! i know i have put more for some of these and less for others, regardless, i am open to your inputs, thank u <3

[alchemistc]

"I am not packing your kitchen, Buck," Maddie says with a hard set to her jaw and a hand planted on her hip, and Evan sends her a warning look over his shoulder, elbow deep in packing tape and half-folded boxes. Tommy is clearly missing something.

"You found the ring cutter in there with the ladles too, huh?" Snipes Eddie from somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, and before Tommy can get a firm grasp on that Eddie's tipping his head back through the open doorway. "C'mon guys, seriously, you didn't pack this shit up before you forced us all to help you pack?" There's an unopened tube of lube in his hand.

"I'm getting things off of walls and that is all, Evan Buckley," comes Maddie's quick rejoinder, and Buck levels them both with a look.

"That could be for normal stuff! Sometimes rings need cutting! Sometimes you need to - lubricate other things!"

It is, of course, the moment Bobby wanders through the unlocked door.

Tommy's still familiar with the cadence of Hen and Howie, ribbing and mocking a form of endearment for them both, so he's not exactly shocked when Bobby just rolls with it and starts listing off the last fifteen calls they've needed it for. None of those things particularly improve the red rising up Evan's cheekbones, but Tommy catches the grin Bobby's hiding while he sets boxes of pizza up at the kitchen table, cleared of the latest seasonal decor Evan had dragged him through three different department stores to find, not that he could be bothered to care when the very existence of them was all it took to shift Maddie's opinion of him from tolerantly friendly to encouragingly approving.

("This loft was a minimalists wet dream before you were in the picture," she'd told him one evening, after she'd manipulated him into admitting he was terrified this didn't mean the same thing to Evan as it did to him. "He started nesting a month after my wedding, Tommy.")

And now they're here. Watching Evan pretend to be miffed by the teasing while he fights a roll of packing tape.

He's going to miss the upstairs shower, wide enough for two grown men to fit more than comfortably; and the balcony on cooler nights when he could tempt Evan out for a slow dance set to the late-evening traffic; the kitchen island at the perfect height to lift Evan onto and tilt his head up for an angled kiss.

He won't miss the open plan that makes it impossible to do much of anything with a snoring Eddie right below them, the tuba player two doors down who only seems to practice the moment Tommy's head meets the pillow at the end of any random days-long shift, the way the elevator always smells like tuna on Thursday afternoons.

There are things he won't have to miss, of course. Evan, on nights when they just can't make their schedules align well enough to justify the drive time. The extra fluffy towel set Evan had refused to reveal the origin of ("You'll buy your own and leave me, I know you're only with me for my towels."). The pictures plastered to the fridge that Tommy's spent the last few weeks plotting out space for on his own before deciding he'd need a new fridge just to fit them all. The plant he'd bought Evan to appease the grump, the first time he'd dragged him to the farmers market at the ass crack of dawn, lovingly named Herbert. The fancy adjustable bedside lamps Evan had bought the last time he'd caught Tommy squinting down his reading glasses at the book in his hands. Evan.

Christ, he wouldn't have to miss Evan anymore. They'd synched up their schedules more or less as well as they could, but Tommy's spent months now trying to ignore how quickly a sleepless night could turn restful with Evan in his bed - how fitful a night without him there had a habit of being.

Most of the loft is already packed. Evan's wardrobe has been dwindling for weeks now, a box at a time carted from the back of the Jeep up Tommy's drive, through the mud room, down the hall and straight to the closet that had never seen such a shock of color or variety of fabric. They'd sprung for a bigger mattress, once they'd gotten over the sticker shock and remembered how much they'd be saving by paying half a mortgage each with no rent to speak of, and other than the kitchen table most of Evan's other furniture was being donated.

All that really remained were the kitchen supplies Evan hadn't been willing to move until he handed over his keys, a few toiletries, a single drawer of clothes just in case he needed them. Pictures on the walls and stacks of books on the bookshelves - half a decade of life lived in this apartment and most of it was already half unboxed and slowly integrating into the fifteen years Tommy had put into his own solitary life.

Evan finishes taping boxes and makes a beeline for his itemized list, and Tommy has to pretend it's giving him as much grief as Evan's sister and best friend to see the clipboard in action. He's not entirely sure how well he sells it, when even Bobby's shooting him aggrieved looks only to grimace at whatever he finds in Tommy's expression.

And just like that, an hour passes and the pizza disappears; the boxes are loaded into the back of his truck; the kitchen table in Eddie's; and Maddie tugs her brother in for a hug, drags Tommy in for good measure too, kisses them both on the cheek as she leaves; Bobby tucks a wooden box filled with handwritten recipes on note cards into Evan's hand and Tommy pretends not to notice either of their teary eyes; Eddie hefts a six pack out of the otherwise empty fridge and promises to meet them at the house in forty-five.

There's still one picture stuck to the fridge - a candid from the first barbeque Athena and Bobby had hosted after their move, Tommy and Evan backlit by a setting sun, tucked up against each other leaned against a porch railing, and Tommy knuckles at it while Evan does a slow introspective spin to take in the wide expanse of windows and brick. He's still staring when Evan finishes and drifts towards him, hands tucking in at Tommy's waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Is this one staying?"

Evan shakes his head, nose digging into the side of Tommy's neck. "Just wanted to keep it out so it could be the first one we put up."

He remembers the night. Karen had gotten him drunk and added him to the wives group chat. May Grant had stolen half his slice of cake right off his plate and dared him to protest. Jee had spent the entire night calling him Uncle Tommy and thrown a massive fit when she realized he wasn't going home with her to read a bedtime story. Christopher and Denny had spent half an hour trying to teach him how to play Fortnite and then been mystified when he trounced them in Mario Kart. He knows exactly why it's significant to him. "Why this one?" he asks, curving into the cradle of Evan's arms.

Evan's so much better with words than Tommy is, and Tommy's just grateful Evan takes his actions for the things he means with them. "That's the night I knew what our something was gonna be," Evan murmurs, and Tommy tips his chin back and angles his head to catch Evan's lips against his own.

[ellecdc]

First off

You survived your exams 🫡

2ndly, this is my official request for the 'potter!reader x Barty where she steals Jamies clothes' idea we were discussing ✌️

(I highlighted it in the Barty doc incase you forgot)

first of all; thank you, thank you! *bows dramatically*

secondly; here's a celebratory Barty fic

Barty Crouch Jr x Potter!reader and James is not pleased

There were a few things in life that being James Potter’s twin sister made particularly difficult.

One such thing was your ability to have friends (or, in your case, a boyfriend) not pre-approved by him.

You heard a horrified squawking sound as you made the last step down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room and looked up to see James staring at you with wide eyes while Sirius smirked, Remus rolled his eyes, and Peter groaned dramatically. 

“Where do you think you’re going!?” James demanded as he all but stepped over Peter to make his way over to you.

“Prongs, please, this is the fourth time you abandoned this chess game.” Peter whined as Sirius snickered.

“Leave the poor girl alone, James. You’re not her mother.” Remus chided, causing you to raise your eyebrows at your brother as if saying “yeah!”

“Where are you going?” James amended with an eye roll of his own.

“Slytherin.” You answered simply, crossing your arms over your chest as you challenged your brother head on.

“And what are you wearing?” He continued displeasing; plucking at the long-sleeved t-shirt you currently adorned between his two fingers as if it was something particularly disgusting he’d found on the side of the road. 

You scoffed derisively as you swatted his hands away. “What? Are joggers and a long sleeved shirt not modest enough, James?”

He narrowed his eyes at you as he petulantly swatted you back for having swatted him. “These are boys' clothes, Y/N; you’re wearing a boy’s clothes. Oh my Godric; you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you!” He accused theatrically. 

He spun on the spot to face his friends and dragged you beside him roughly by the arm as he pointed at you. “She’s wearing his clothes! Junior is defiling my sister.”

And though that wasn’t technically untrue, it wasn’t the fucking point, or any of his business.

“James!” You shouted over his panicked trade, ignoring Peter’s protests at him being “far too invested in his own sister’s sexual habits.”

“James Fleamont Potter!” You bellowed, grabbing your brother by a fistful of his hair and pulling his face towards you. “This is your shirt. I took it from your trunk.” 

James froze in his place; hunched over like a ventriloquist dummy that you were controlling by means of his hair as he took a second look at your outfit. 

A brief look of embarrassment flashed across his features as his eyes flit back up to yours.

“Huh.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Funny that.”

You sneered at him and shoved him away from you. “As lovely as this was, Jamie, I’ll be leaving.”

“Wait! No!” James started, reaching for you before he was being physically redirected back towards the couch by Remus.

“Come on, James; leave your sister alone, yeah?” He said jovially as he thumped James on the back twice. 

“Go on, Princess, while he’s distracted. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Sirius called, shooting you a salacious wink.

You barked a laugh and shook your head. “That doesn’t leave much off limits, Black.”

James squawked again as Sirius laughed boisterously and you left the Gryffindor common room behind you. 

Blessedly, the noise level (and general vibe) in the Slytherin common room was far more relaxed as you stepped through the door.

 Barty whipped his head towards the sound sporting a very severe expression on his face until his eyes landed on you, causing his expression to turn into a beaming smile as he flipped the chess board he’d been in the middle of playing with Evan over; telling his friend to “get fucking lost, my girl is here.” 

You chuckled at Evan’s petulant grumblings as Barty swept you up off your feet into a bear hug and breathed you in. 

“What took you so long, angelcakes?” He said through a sigh as he placed you back onto your feet, though kept your face secure within his hands as he smiled down at you.

“I had to fight off my brother on my way.” 

Barty rolled his eyes dramatically and lowered his voice. “If you need me to kill him, just say the word, Princess; he’ll never bother you again.”

You chuckled and teasingly smacked his arm. “Brothers are meant to be a bother; that’s what they’re put on this earth for.”

Regulus offered you a ‘hear, hear’ as Barty escorted you towards his dorm room. 

You were no sooner curled up against Barty on his bed when he was pulling you away from him and scrutinising your form.

“What are you wearing?” He asked bemusedly.

You groaned dramatically and threw yourself back onto the bed. “What is it with everyone and their obsession with my outfit!?”

“It’s not the outfit, it’s the shirt.” Barty explained, sitting up to get a better look at you.

“It’s just a shirt - not even a very nice one at that.” You muttered, looking down at the random shirt you’d pilfered from your brother’s trunk; why were boys clothes so much more comfortable!?

“How dare you!” Barty bristled in offence. “I spent a lot of my father’s dirty money on that shirt!”

You looked at your boyfriend with furrowed brows. “Barty, this isn’t your shirt?”

“I know - I bought it for Reg for his birthday last year.”

This was Regulus’ shirt?

But…

“Barty…” You started slowly, realisation dawning on you as you met your boyfriends bemused eyes. “I stole this shirt from Jamie’s room.”

Barty’s brows furrowed further as he looked back down at your James’ Regulus’ shirt. “Why…why would Potter have Reg’s shirt?”

You let the silence sit for a few moments before each of you were scrambling from Barty’s bed and racing to the common room.

“Are you sleeping with my brother!?” You shouted at the same time Barty screeched, “you’re fucking a Potter too!?”

Regulus had looked up from his book though staunchly refused to look at you; and whilst his face remained impassive, a furious blush overtook his face.

“I’M TELLING SIRIUS!” You shouted as you turned and bolted towards the door; Regulus hot on your heels shouting “don’t you fucking dare!”, and Barty cackling madly as he followed the two of you up to Gryffindor tower.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Spoiled Brat

Remus Lupin x Fem!Gaunt!Reader

August Taylor Swift

Masterlist

Summary: When your escapism over the summer turns a bit more real, as you fall in love with a half blood your father would never approve of}

Wc- 3642

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, sexual themes and scenes, cussing, }

A/N- This was an idea I have been toying with for a while, this may become a mini-series if you'd like

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

Part two

If it was one thing your parents stuck into your head when you were younger, it was that you, {Y/N} Gaunt, were better than any other witch in your presence. 

‘The Lost Gaunt’ is what they referred to you as. You, and of course, your parents fed into this idea. People were sure they had died out, either from your family's admittedly embarrassing financial status, or from a few choice family members disgracing your blood line with Muggle blood.

It wasn't a secret, your family's blood soaked history and ideals on muggles of any variety. Your father spoke especially lowly of half bloods, saying they were some of the most loathsome and desperate of them all, with parents who tainted their good family names by giving it to scum. 

Very opinionated, that man.

You were much the same when you were younger. Snappy and spoiled, demanded everything and no one ever fought you on it. Even with your family's position with lack of wealth, when your parents came out of hiding as Voldemort started his horrid flock, your father didn't hesitate to join. There was no lack of support from expected places. Every pureblood with half sense wanted to be in the good graces of the heir of Slytherin, even if she didn't attend the school. Little you was treated like an absolute princess. Even receiving a letter from Durmstrang personally, your father opting for the obvious choice, burning your Hogwarts letter before you even read it. 

It made you an absolute terror when you got to the foreign school. Suddenly, you weren't as special as you were in London. Your name still carried a lot of marit, but so did several other students. You learned to keep your mouth shut, to keep your cards to your chest, and eventually, you unlearned everything your parents taught you. You met half bloods there, stronger than you had ever known witches and wizards to be, making close friends with several other open minded purebloods and friendly half bloods. 

Of course, you still had a family name to uphold. You studied and worked your hardest, eventually making it high enough on a social latter that Gaunt no longer mattered, but {Y/N} did. 

You started your rebellious streak in year 4, when your father asked you if you wanted to return home for the summer. It was the first time he gave you the choice, you refused. Instead, you traveled to Muggle London without his knowing. You went with a few friends, half bloods, they wanted to show you where they grew up. Your father would have your head for this. You thought in amusement as you danced through the market and gawked at all the muggle contraptions. You were sure to them you looked absolutely delirious, but you couldn't care less in the moment.

You wandered down the streets with a few girls who had broken off from the group. When you noticed a record store, your friends waved you off, refusing to join when they knew you'd be in there for hours. A boy who fancied you gifted you a small record player, and since then, you had been collecting muggle records at any opportunity. Thank Merlin your father didn't keep track of your spending.

You walked in with your head held high, you already gave off the impression of someone too good to be there, a force of habit. You walked down the aisle and searched the albums, dismissing people who tried to educate you on what was best, mostly men trying to impress you, you figured. Nothing more charming than being spoken down to. Eventually, you made it to some of the older ones, clearly used and used and used again. A soft yellow album caught your eye from the top shelf. Etta Jones? You thought for a moment. You had never seen it before, but the woman on the cover looked beautiful. 

You got on your toes and began to balance on a shelf, struggling to reach the damned record. You have a huff, ready to give in, before you hear a chuckle behind you. Whipping your head around you nearly spun around completely. Then, you saw him. A boy, he looked to be your age, tanned skin with soft pink scars littering his form, with one large one across his face. He had shaggy sandy blonde hair, almost brown, and the cockiest smirk on his face.

You huffed at him and put your hands on your hips, tilting your head at him. “Not very polite, you know. Watching a lady struggle without even an offer of help.” 

His smirk slowly turned to a dazzling smile. “You want my help? You've been blowing past people who've offered you help this whole time.” He remarked and you scoffed.

“Don't be coy. They weren't exactly being truly helpful. Also, no one here is as,” You gestured to him with both hands. “Vertically gifted as you.” 

He laughed at this and you got another flash of his pearly whites. “That so?”

“I only speak the truth.”

“That I see.”

“So will you?”

“Will I what?”

You scoffed with a scandalized look, gesturing to the album. “Help a damsel in distress?” 

He gave a playful hum and put his hands in his jean pockets, leaning forward a bit in his brown jumper that laid over a mustard yellow button up. “I'm not really the princely type, princess.” He teased and you slowly smirked. “I'm more in line with the monster.” 

“Well, kind monster, would you do your princess the kindness of grabbing her this single?” You hummed and he laughed. “My princess?”

“If you behave.” 

He looked you up and down before he walked over and grabbed the record, looking it over and holding it just out of reach as you tried to snatch it away. “What if I don't?”

You huffed and gave up on trying to swipe it, crossing your arms and biting your cheek. “That's not a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

“I'm not a very gentlemanly person.” He gave you a look that had the alarm bells in your head sounding, but you bit your lip and nodded. “Fine then. What would you like in return, hm?”

“Your name.”

“My name?” You huffed and smiled once more. He nodded with a serious look, but a smile tugged at his lips.

“{Y/N}.” You introduced and held your hand out. “You don't need my last name. You'll never have to call me it.” You remarked and his eyebrows raised in delight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You mused as he handed you the record. 

“And your name?”

“Remus. Guess I'll skip the last name too. But please, call me Moony.” He remarked and you nodded. 

“Until next time, Moony.”

“Next time, {Y/N}.”

The summer was absolute bliss. You spent it doing all the things your father hated about muggles. Running in fields and jumping in stray bodies of water, going to parties and drinking until you were sick. You kissed muggle boys, went to underground concerts, and even took enchanted pictures for yourself to keep.

Though, you didn't see that record store boy for the rest of the summer. Not from lack of trying, however, going to the store twice a week to try and snag a glimpse of him. Eventually you gave up and went back to your friends.

The next summer, you did see him again. This time, it was a month in, you were out late at a party, and were waiting for the bus to take you to the flat you had bought under a fake muggle name. Well, you say you bought, in reality you had been taking portions of money from your father and pureblood families that wanted your favor, from the start of the school year, saving up enough to be the spoiled girl you were. 

You were standing under a street lamp, leaning against it as you pulled out a packet of cigarettes. You put it to your lips, just as you did, a voice called over to you. “Need a light?”

You turned to face the boy who seemed to sneak up on you in alarm, before you slowly lit up at the sight of him. He seemed puzzled by your expression before recognition covered his features. “Record store princess.”

“Record store monster.” You cheeked and he walked over, leaning down to cover the end of your smoke from the wind, lighting it with a simple flick. You didn't even think about how you didn't hear the usual metallic click of a lighter, instead, a snap. That was how you lit them anyway. 

“Where have you been, pretty boy?” You asked after a long drag, and he watched you breathe the smoke out of your lungs, eyes lingering on your lips. This made you curl them to give him a better view. “Around.”

“Something caught your eye?”

“Someone.” He muttered and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing at the bus station. “I'm heading home, to my flat. Care to make sure your princess gets home safe?” 

He chuckled at the bold offer, rubbing the back of his neck and wetting his lips. There was a pause as he thought about it. “... lead the way.”

That summer was somehow even better than the previous. He spent the night with you, that night, then every single other night. He came and never dreamed of leaving, only gone a handful of days for a few hours at a time for his summer job.

There was this amazing peace, waking up, laying in your stomach, hugging your pillows in your plush massive mess of blankets and pillows, with him. Most of the boys you brought back would be gone in the morning, you preferred it that way, but when you woke up to his arm around your bare back and his nose in the nape of your bruised and bite ridden neck, you couldn't dream of another outcome.

He joked, the second he saw the large canopy bed, about you letting monsters into your private quarters. He seemed to not think so highly of himself, but with every part of your skin he discovered, with every touch and sound he drew from you, he seemed to grow more confident in your situationship. It was dangerous, you knew it, this muggle boy had you wrapped around his finger. Judging by the way he looked at you when you would fall into the clouds of euphoria, he met the same fate.

You had never felt so content, going out and partying, coming home before he did, and spending your nights and afternoons together. With the odd exceptions of a few days out of the months, he was glued to you. Your friends teased you, but for once, you couldn't find it in yourself to be embarrassed. When school came, you had never felt so crushed. You spent the day before lingering in each other's presence without a word. The silence was enough. 

When he brought you to bed, and your skin was pressed to his, his nose to your temple as he whispered sweet words of encouragement and pure infatuation, you were wreathing and gasping in short spouts, you muttered something that drew his rough movements to a stop. You hadn't even realized it, and he noticed how your eyes squished together and you whined with a huff. Fluttering open your eyes, staring up at his knee weakening hazels. He stared at you in silence and you slowly moved to sit up. It clicked to him, you hadn't even realized what you said. You'd never know that those three little words utterly destroyed him. Knowing that tomorrow he would be away from you again. He knew it would be hell.

He huffed and slowly pulled back. He began slowly, taking you in as if he was trying to commit you to memory. Every curve and blemish, every bit of scarred flesh he devoured with an open mouth kiss. You were lost once more to your own ecstasy. 

He wanted to say it back so horribly. 

He wanted you to know he loved you too.

~~~

You spent all of your sixth year waiting for summer, but when it came you dreaded it. Your father told you that you were to move back to London and resume your normal life in preparation for finding you a suitor.

He had promised your mother that he would wait until you were at least 20 to start, but her passing this year it seems he changed his mind. So you returned to business as usual, being enrolled in Hogwarts for your last year of schooling, and being undertaken by the Black’s matriarch, Walaburga, to learn how to be a pureblood witch worth marrying.

Every day she would come to the Gaunt manor, quiz and train you on behaviors and etiquette. You hated those meetings, she was needlessly cruel and fake nice, to the point it was painful for you to watch her try and flatter and build your fathers ego. It made you sick. Soon, but not soon enough, the summer was over and at least you would be at Hogwarts and away from that sour faced woman.

~~

Remus had gone to your flat that summer, he stayed there for a week before he realized you weren't coming home. He hated it. He hated how you didn't tell him where you were, where you were going. There was this silent agreement between the both of you, You never told him where you would be and he never asked, Never exchanged much about your current personal lives, just the past. So if someone was to ask him where you were, he wouldn't have a clue.  You promised him you'd see each other next summer, and that was enough. 

At first his bitterness was winning, he wanted to believe you left without a word because you wanted nothing more than what you were that summer. Deep down, however, he knew. He knew by the way you looked at him in the morning, how you would pull him into the middle of the room in your socks and his shirt, like it was a dress on you, twirling around and slow dancing to that record he got you the first time you met. You always got what you wanted, and Remus knew he was what you wanted. When he left, he set a paper folded up between the door and the wall, a simple but desperate note. He needed you.

So when he got back to Hogwarts, he was a wreck. His friends noticed immediately. When he sat on the train, and looked out the window instead of shoving his nose in a book or teasing the others together.

“Moony, you good man?” James spoke up first after the three shared awkward looks. 

“Yeah dude, you look like a kicked puppy. Or James when Lily isn't looking at him.” Sirius tried to joke, looking through his suitcase before he paused and his eyes widened.

Remus was suddenly filled with dread. “Don't-”

“Let me guess, the cool girl you met last summer didn't show up this time? Told you, muggle girls her age are crazy.” Sirius laughed, not looking up, only to get jabbed harshly in his side with James’ elbow. Sirius hissed and held his side, looking at James with a glare before James flicked his eyes to Remus.

Sirius looked over and saw just how broken up Remus seemed to be about it. He sighed and gave him a pained sympathetic look. Watching as Peter took out a chocolate bar and handed it over to Remus. He muttered a thank you and took it. Sirius sighed and shook his head. “Look, I'm sorry dude. I don't mean it.”

“It's fine.” Remus answered quickly. “I was surprised she even gave me the time of day. I guess I always have that summer. I'll be over it in time, I'm sure she isn't missing me as much, as I'm moping over her, maybe that will help me get over it.”

He tried to believe that. He really did. His words were coming out low, he tried to sound wise but he truly sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. She was all he could think about. From the train, to the carriages, to the Great Hall. Lily saw him and gave him a pout, he had written to her over the summer about what had happened. He wanted her perspective about what had happened, where he could have gone wrong, and out of the thirty he sent her she responded in kind to all of them. She walked up to him, straight past James which left the tall boy to theatrics. 

“Sirius did she just-” James gasped and clenched his chest.

“She did, James, she did.” Sirius walked up behind him with a smirk.

“Does she love me anymore?” He turned to Sirius and the shorter boy snickered.

“I don't think so, Jamie. I'll always love you, though.” Sirius indulged his theatrics and caught James (totally not with a struggle, totally smooth, Sirius is very strong) and James gasped. “You will, won't you, pads?”

“Always, my love.” Sirius declared his affections and James fanned his face like a swooning Victorian debutante. Lily rolled her eyes so hard she swore they would fall from her face. 

She turned back to Remus who gave her a painful smile. “I left her a note like you suggested.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing.” Remus sighed and she nodded carefully. 

“I'm sure there is more to it, Remus. Don't let it consume you.” Lily tried to reassure him and he sighed again, making James and Sirius catch up as they sat down. 

“Yeah, there are a million girls in the world!” Sirius tried to cheer him up and both Lily and James winced at that.

“None of them are like her.” Remus sighed and Sirius gave an owl-like look and then gave a breath of shock. “... Damn Remus, that much, huh?”

He groaned and hit his head on the table. “I just want to sleep.”

“We could always ditch the sorting ceremony.” Lily tried to nudge him, he seemed to smile at her a bit at the offer. 

“Yeah, but then you'll miss a seventh year being sorted.” Peter piped up and the four of them snapped over to look at him. 

“What? Seventh?” She asked as she looked up at the kids in front of the hall, before she bit her tongue. “Right.. that Gaunt girl every Slytherin is losing their mind over?” 

Sirius choked on his pumpkin juice before he quickly cleared his throat as James patted his back. “Woah mate!”

“Her! My mom was tutoring her all summer. Regulus told me. That girl, trying to be the perfect bride or some shit? Just another spoiled pureblood.” Sirius huffed and Lily gave a faint nod. “I hate to agree, but apparently she's the worst.”

“Of course, she's the Slytherin heir.” Sirius huffed. “Apparently she went to Dumstrung, and you know how awful they are.”

“Ah.” Lily mumbled and her eyes landed on you past the crowd, nudging Remus. “There she is. Oh Merlin, spoiled and pretty? Dangerous combination.”

Remus sighed and looked over as you sat on the chair. His entire body froze. “Ahh! {Y/N} Gaunt! Slytherin!” 

The hat didn't hesitate. You had a calm blank expression you were tutored on all summer. Looking across the students, almost bored. You stood up and dusted off your robes, before you froze up at the sound of your name being shouted across the hall.

Remus didn't think. He saw you and shot up from his seat. Lily looked at him, startled, looking between the two before her eyes widened at the name. Oh Merlin. 

Sirius was bewildered, James was stunned, and Peter hid his face away from the crowds of students who turned to look at Remus. He got a variety of different looks from everyone, but there was a running theme. Who do you think you are? Talking to Gaunt.

“{Y/N}.” He called again, firmer. You looked like a deer in headlights. Staring at him in a stunned silence before one of the girls you met on the train tugged at your sleeve. You glanced at her and by the time you looked back, Remus was rushing across the hall to you. No no no no no.

“Fuck.” You hissed and snatched your sleeve from her. You watched as he closed in on you. You felt every hair on your neck stand up. “Fuck fuck.” You whispered.

You panicked. And you ran. He was stunned and froze on the spot. You ran straight out of the hall. Remus cursed and turned to his friends, then to the professors. Lily tried to stand and bring him back to sit down, but as if he was a wild animal, the movement gave him a rush of adrenaline. What did he do? What did this absolute stupid and love sick fool do? 

He ran after you. The entire hall was silent, even the professors stunned before his head of house yelled at him to sit down. He ignored them, turning the corner out of the hall and dashing down the hall he saw you run down.

The hall was quiet for a moment or two, before Lily spoke up. “I'll make it up to you, Professors!” She shouted back before she ran after the two. 

“Me too!” James shouted and followed after her. 

“I will not!” Sirius laughed and ran after them, Peter looking at the shouting professor before she made eye contact with him. Peter slowly sat up and she gave him a warning glance, before he quickly scrambled after his friends. 

McGonagall could only sigh as Dumbledore stifled a laugh into his sleeve.

[helluvathings]

Some thoughts on Ozzie's response at the trial

One moment that caught my attention, and I've seen a few reactors comment on it too, is that Ozzie's defense of Blitzø's right to a fair trial is lukewarm compared to Bee's. She gives a character reference, speaking about him almost fondly, while Ozzie offers one understated line.

He speaks lightly, but isn't that the kind of phrase usually accompanied by a side-eye and a pointed, "You do have a good explanation, right?" And I've seen a lot of Ozzie call outs for not just "sharing the truth," since he "knows what's really going on."

But the more I think about it, the more I feel like his slight involvement probably makes things look worse from his perspective. Tbf, the dialogue disparity could be timing constraints and wanting to make use of Kesha. Still, I honestly suspect Ozzie knowing more than Bee would make it likelier he'd be reluctant to outright vouch for Blitzø's character even if he supports a fair trial.

I do plan to touch on a few separate points. But the BIG thing I haven't seen brought up: Ozzie is the only person in that room who may know the extent to which Blitzø's use of the grimoire has actually, undeniably endangered Hell. I feel like this fact has sort of slid from people's minds, but as a reminder:

IMP obliterated part of Ozzie's ring directly outside his club. In a setting where there are likely security cameras, and at the very least, his bouncers were shown to be in the general vicinity. And there were cherubs with high tech battle suits visibly involved. Assuming Ozzie investigated this, his additional knowledge isn't actually in IMP, Stolas's, or Blitzø's favor at all.

Rewinding to touch on what Ozzie actually knows about Stolas and Blitzø's situation:

Ozzie is aware that Stolas has feelings for Blitzø.

He could guess, if he ever thought about it, that Blitzø must’ve been getting to earth a different way beforehand since his business precedes the crystal. However, he's never told this. Depending on how much he cared to look at the particulars, it possibly didn't occur to him at the time (though if he looked into the Lust Ring attack, he likely figured it out).

He also has no confirmation that Blitzø has feelings for Stolas. Fizz has probably speculated, maybe he shared Blitzø had come to Lust for toys—but Ozzie has only seen them together at Ozzie's, when he was more concerned with helping Fizz revenge-ruin their date than drawing any relationship analysis (except in the ways that helped him revenge-ruin their date).

Ozzie may also know about the anti-Blitzø parties, or at least that Blitzø has a poor history with relationships. Fizz knew his "love life [was] a pile of shit," and that giving the stage to Verosika during House of Asmodeus would get results, so at the very least, he seems familiar with Blitzø's bad habits. If Ozzie doesn't know Stolas is different, a very possible explanation might be that Blitzø had been using Stolas’s feelings to get the book. Not "forcing himself," but not really Lust King-approved.

I.e. Ozzie can assume “not forced,” but not “mutual feelings,” or “Blitzø did nothing wrong." Blitzø has also told him one of his skills is "killing things without giving fucks," so again, the background knowledge of Blitzø isn't necessarily a good thing here.

Then after Apology Tour, Blitzø went into a depression slump and probably cut off contact with friends, including Fizz. From Fizz and Ozzie's perspective, the day Blitzø got the crystal, his thing with Stolas outwardly ended, and he likely never shared much about what happened (if he didn't deflect outright). Fizz may have noticed and commented on Blitzø acting strange, but the circumstances are ambiguous.

To summarize: Ozzie can guess Andrealphus is full of shit, and that some sort of setup is happening. But he doesn't know "the truth," in the sense he could speak up and clarify everything.

What else he possibly knows:

IMP had a massive fight with well-armed heavenly beings in the middle of the Lust Ring.

This was shown to have caused substantial damage. Loona destroyed what looked like one of his buildings, on top of other property destruction, right in front of his club. If they had security cameras, Ozzie probably knows this. Like I mentioned before, two of his own bouncers were outside, alongside dozens of witnesses. If he investigated at all, there are ways he could piece together what happened.

A frequent reaction has been, “Ozzie knows everything Blitzø did was above board, he could’ve clarified.” But Ozzie has a lot of facts that actually look awful? Depending on what surveillance caught from that fight, Ozzie very well could've connected IMP to cherubs coming to Hell. To his ring specifically.

Two conclusions to be drawn from this:

If Ozzie has recognized as much, he hasn't said anything. Which is both him already covering for IMP, but it also means he's hiding something Satan would desperately want to know.

Ozzie has a legitimate reason to be upset at Blitzø and Stolas for bringing him into this. First because Stolas wasn't up-front about the formerly illegal details of Blitzø getting to earth (let alone moments like in Truthseekers where there's already been major transgression). Then afterward, when the spillover of their indiscretion caused damage to his ring and possibly got Lust Ring demons killed.

Ozzie is involved enough that all this could cause trouble for him if he's implicated

I've seen people say he'd be immune because of his rank. But while he'd physically be fine, Mammon was already going at him and Bee about their partners. Mammon has also threatened that Ozzie would "regret revealing" his love for Fizz, in pretty clear foreshadowing. Ozzie has a big, well-known weak point.

Also, Blitzø was on trial about unlawfully going to the human world (or doing it "unwittingly" as a pawn of the evil Mastermind Stolas). And this all happens while he has a registered Asmodean Crystal on his wrist. He even tries using it to get to Stolas while they're dragging him away. The more Ozzie speaks up, the more closely Blitzø is examined, and the clearer it is that Ozzie is involved with something illegal.

The legitimacy of Blitzø's behavior on Earth is a bit dodgy as well. Remember how Verosika let Blitzø win that bet because she was wary of getting into trouble for the conspicuous monster? They’re clearly supposed to keep a low profile. If Ozzie linked IMP to the Lust Ring incident and realized they've been stirring up trouble topside, his lack of interference may indicate he's already making allowances he legally shouldn't be.

Do I think the imagery of Ozzie and the other Sins falling in with Satan during the song may go complicated places? Possibly. And Ozzie clearly did want to help after Fizz’s text and seemed to feel he couldn’t. I don't think he's exactly blameless, in the sense he's aligned with a messed up system here. I also have no idea if the writers considered any of this, or if we're ever going to see Ozzie's thoughts or feelings about the attack on Lust. Maybe that was just a cool fight scene to set up the cherub/DHORKS threat, and it won't have further relevance.

But honestly, the fact that illegal use of the grimoire brought trouble to Ozzie's doorstep makes me more willing to shrug off his muted response at the trial. Even if Ozzie isn't aware, Blitzø and Stolas's lawbreaking led to an attack on his ring. If he is aware? It’s already iffy to expect he'd stick his neck out in a hopeless situation where it’d only get scrutiny turned his way. Wanting him to do so despite associating IMP with a heavenly threat and massive property damage? That's a big ask.

Maybe overthinking, especially if it’s revealed he doesn’t have much intel on the Lust Ring attack. But I feel like Ozzie knowing more about Blitzø's situation makes it harder for him to intervene, as opposed to easier. He may even have legitimate reason to feel like IMP has been endangering Hell, but has kept quiet for Fizz's sake.

Mostly, I wonder if it's coincidence that the show made that Lust fight visually, noticeably destructive, then next time we see Ozzie, it's Bee vouching for Blitzø's character, while Ozzie's statement focuses on getting an explanation. Her defense seems to be "he's cool, I don't think he'd do this." Ozzie's is more coded like, "It's fair to see what he has to say." Like maybe he's thinking it would be in character for Blitzø to have done something illegal and ill-advised that puts Hell at risk, so he'll stick with a safer defense. And honestly, I love Blitzø... but I also get why Ozzie might be ambivalent.

[moonselune]

I don’t know if this request works within the “canon” of the dark bg3 stuff but could there be something of them having a sort of “am I the baddie? No of course not!” moment. Like Mother Superior SH realizing her memory wipes have started to erase things she liked about her partner, but then still justifying it anyway.

omg this is all i could think about

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Am I the Villain?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The grand hall is ablaze with light, the flicker of candles dancing off the gleaming armor of the elite and the polished stone walls. Minthara walks with you at her side, her usual commanding presence dominating the room, as she surveys the other attendees. A celebration of her most recent victory, another success in her endless conquest, and yet tonight, something weighs on her.

You’re standing beside her, dressed impeccably in her colors, red and black, a jeweled collar gleaming at your throat—a symbol of her possession. Your eyes, once so defiant, are now soft, almost distant, and Minthara can’t help but notice how different you’ve become. You stay close, your body language careful and measured, as if you’re constantly attuned to her, never straying too far.

But something nags at her tonight, a strange sense of unease that she’s never felt before. She watches you carefully, the way you hold yourself, the way you respond to the others at the gala with polite, but hollow words. The life you once had—the fire, the rebellion—it’s all been snuffed out, and for a moment, Minthara wonders if she’s gone too far.

She remembers the nights of resistance, the fight you used to put up, the venom in your words when you defied her. Back then, it thrilled her—your spirit, your defiance. But over time, she broke you down, bit by bit, until you were hers in every sense of the word. And now, here you are, completely loyal, utterly devoted, always at her side.

But is this what she truly wanted?

Her thoughts are interrupted when she notices how you glance up at her, a look of absolute obedience in your eyes. The way you move closer to her, as if seeking her approval, as if your very presence is tethered to her will. It’s an instinct now, a habit ingrained so deeply in you that it’s second nature. And for a fleeting moment, Minthara feels a pang of guilt. Had she damaged you beyond repair? Had she stripped away too much of who you were?

Her gaze softens as she watches you. There’s no fight left in you, no spark of rebellion, just complete submission. She knows she’s the reason for it—her relentless control, her possessiveness. Maybe she should feel guilty. Maybe this is her fault.

But then, as she watches you greet a lord with a curt nod, your eyes immediately flicking back to hers for approval, something inside her shifts. The guilt begins to fade, replaced by something darker, something more possessive. You belong to her now, completely. Every glance, every word, every breath you take is in service to her. You’ll never leave her.

The thought fills her with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She watches you move through the crowd, always keeping an eye on her, always staying within reach, and she realizes that this—this loyalty, this obedience—is exactly what she wanted all along.

You catch her gaze again, and she smiles. A slow, predatory smile that makes your heart flutter with a mixture of fear and devotion. She beckons you closer with a subtle gesture, and without hesitation, you obey, moving to her side as if you were born to be there.

As you approach, Minthara places a hand on your arm, pulling you just a little closer, her fingers brushing against your skin. She looks down at you, her eyes filled with something possessive, something deeply satisfied.

“You’ve done well tonight,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, meant only for your ears. “You’re always so perfect, always so loyal.”

You look up at her, a small, strained smile on your lips, and she can see the exhaustion in your eyes. But there’s no defiance there, no resistance. Only acceptance.

Minthara tightens her grip on your arm, her gaze softening as she leans down to press a kiss to your temple.

“You’ll never leave me,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact. One she’s ensured.

For a brief moment, the flicker of guilt tries to rise again, but it’s drowned out by the sheer satisfaction of having you completely, utterly hers. She doesn’t feel bad anymore. Why should she? You’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by her side, forever.

With that, she straightens, her grip loosening slightly, though she keeps you close. The night continues, the sounds of the gala fading into the background as Minthara allows herself to bask in the sense of control, of ownership. And as you stand there, ever obedient, ever loyal, she knows she made the right choice.

You’re hers, after all. Always.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Mother Superior Shadowheart watches you from the edge of the room, her dark, piercing eyes following your every move. You’re sitting by the hearth, quietly stitching a piece of fabric, your once defiant spirit all but extinguished. It should comfort her—this docile, pliant version of you. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? The perfect companion, loyal and obedient, devoted to her in every way. She has molded you, stripped away every rebellious thought, wiped every memory that threatened her control over you, until there was nothing left but submission.

And yet, as she watches you now, there’s an uneasy feeling gnawing at her. There’s something missing. A spark, a fire, a certain light in your eyes that used to challenge her. She remembers the way you used to argue with her, your quick wit and sharp tongue, the way you’d make her feel alive even in your defiance. Now, you simply nod and smile, never questioning, never pushing back. It’s what she wanted, but the satisfaction is hollow.

Shadowheart clenches her fist, feeling the familiar weight of guilt creep up on her, though she shoves it back down where it belongs. No, this is what has to be done. Without the memory wipes, you wouldn’t be here at all. You would have left her long ago, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t allow that. She had to take control, had to make you forget, for your own sake and hers. If you remembered how things once were, the things you used to say, the way you used to resist her… you’d run.

“You’re quiet today,” she finally says, her voice soft, careful. She crosses the room, standing behind you and placing her hands on your shoulders. You stiffen slightly under her touch, just for a moment, but then you relax, leaning into her, as if the act is second nature.

“I’m just… thinking,” you reply, your voice almost too soft, too distant. There’s a wistfulness in it, something she doesn’t like. What are you thinking about? What parts of your old self are trying to claw their way back?

Shadowheart bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering a little too long.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” she asks, but her voice holds a warning, a silent threat that you might not even recognize anymore.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I was thinking about… something. I don’t quite remember.”

Shadowheart’s heart clenches. Something you don’t remember. Of course, you don’t. She made sure of that. The memory wipes have been thorough, meticulous, erasing anything that could ever give you a reason to defy her again. But in doing so, she’s started to erase things she liked about you—things she loved. She straightens up, trying to shake off the unease crawling up her spine.

“Good,” she murmurs, though it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself. “There’s no need to dwell on the past.”

But the truth gnaws at her. How much of you has she lost in this process? How many parts of the person she fell in love with are gone forever? She tries to recall the way you used to laugh, the way your eyes used to light up with mischief, the way you used to challenge her in ways that no one else dared. Now, all of that is gone—erased, as if it never existed.

But it had to be done. You would have left her. You would have abandoned her, just like everyone else. She had no choice. If you remembered the fights, the times you tried to escape, the moments of rebellion… you’d hate her. You’d leave her. She couldn’t allow that.

“I’m happy,” you say softly, almost mechanically, as if the words are rehearsed. “I’m glad to be here, with you.”

Shadowheart winces, and she quickly moves to sit beside you, taking your hands in hers. She forces a smile, trying to reassure herself that this is what she wants.

“You are exactly where you’re meant to be,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “With me.”

You look at her, that empty, vacant smile still on your lips, and it makes her stomach turn. There’s no fire, no spark, no defiance. Just hollow obedience. She once loved the way you’d look at her with fury in your eyes, how you’d challenge her authority, forcing her to assert control. Now, you’re just… complacent.

But she justifies it, as she always does. Without the memory wipes, you’d leave her. You’d run far away, and she couldn’t bear that. She tells herself it’s necessary, that you’re better off this way. You’re safe, protected, and she has you. That’s all that matters.

Shadowheart lifts your chin gently, making you meet her gaze.

“I love you,” she says, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if you truly understand those words anymore, or if they’re just another script you’ve been forced to follow.

“I love you too,” you reply automatically, your voice devoid of the passion it once held.

She leans in, kissing you deeply, trying to summon the old fire that used to burn between you, but it feels one-sided now. You kiss her back, but there’s no intensity, no heat, just a practiced motion. She pulls away, her chest tight, and she knows—deep down—that she’s destroyed something beautiful.

But it’s too late now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

Gale watches you move through his realm, his eyes tracing your every step. His once-human heart, now swollen with divine power, beats with an unsettling calm. He sees you—the god of the muse, the very embodiment of inspiration, grace, and passion—now reduced to something far more hollow. There is no spark left in your eyes, no flicker of the joy you once carried. Your movements are slow, mechanical, as if your purpose has long since evaporated, leaving you to wander aimlessly through the gilded labyrinth that Gale has constructed. His perfect world, made for you.

He knows what he’s done, of course. He sees it in your detachment, in the way your gaze drifts as though searching for something beyond the realm he has meticulously crafted. He sees it in the way your hands no longer create, no longer breathe life into the world. But he also knows why he did it. He tells himself it was necessary—that this was the only way to protect you, to preserve you as his forever.

You are his muse, his divine inspiration, but more importantly, you are his. You belong to him in the same way this realm does, in the same way the power of the Weave now bends to his will. Without you, what would this godhood mean? His ambitions would be empty. He cannot allow you to leave, to break free from his grasp, even if it means crushing the very essence that made you who you are.

“Come here,” Gale commands softly, his voice reverberating through the golden halls like a whisper of thunder. You hesitate for a moment, though not out of defiance, but from the weight of knowing what comes next. Your feet carry you to him as if on strings, compelled by more than just obedience. You stand before him, head slightly lowered, your once-proud form now a shadow of the muse that had once inspired entire realms.

Gale’s eyes bore into you, hungry, searching for something—some sign that your love for him has not faded, that you are still his. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, fingers cold and pulsing with the untamed magic he now controls.

“Tell me,” he says, his tone deceptively gentle, but you feel the underlying edge to it. “How much do you love me?”

Your heart stirs in dread, though your expression remains carefully neutral. You know exactly what he is asking. There is a quiet warning in his words, an unspoken promise of what he will do to the mortal realm if your answer displeases him. You have seen the devastation he is capable of, how easily he reshapes existence to suit his desires. His ambition knows no bounds. You, better than anyone, know how little it would take for him to unmake entire worlds just to punish you for a single misstep.

So, you answer him, your voice soft but steady.

“I am devoted to you, Gale,” you say, each word deliberate, each syllable spoken with the careful precision of someone walking a razor’s edge. “I love you. I adore you.”

For a moment, there is silence. His eyes search yours, as though he’s trying to find something deeper behind your words. You wonder if he sees the truth—the emptiness behind your declaration, the lifeless devotion you now perform like an act, all to keep him from destroying everything. But Gale smiles, and for a terrifying moment, you know he believes you.

“Yes,” he whispers, his smile widening as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I know you do. I knew it from the moment I bound us together.”

In his mind, your love justifies everything. It justifies the suffocating control he’s exerted over you, the gilded cage he’s built, and the countless lives that have been lost in his pursuit of power. It justifies the endless, obsessive need to keep you at his side, to shape you into the perfect companion—no matter how much of yourself he has stripped away in the process.

He brushes a lock of hair from your face, his touch reverent, as though he’s still captivated by the thought of what you once were. But you are no longer his muse. You are his prisoner.

“You see,” Gale continues, his voice low and soothing, “this was all for us. For you. I couldn’t risk losing you, not to the whims of fate or time, or to your own will.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, and you can feel the weight of his power thrumming beneath his skin. “No one will ever love you the way I do. No one will ever understand you as I do.”

You nod, even as the void in your chest grows heavier, more suffocating. You are trapped, bound by both his love and his madness. The realm around you feels like a beautiful prison, a perfect world in which you are a mere ornament—a shadow of your former self, kept only because you once inspired the god who now holds you.

And Gale, in his arrogance, in his infinite ambition, believes that this is enough. That this twisted devotion, this corrupted love, is the highest form of worship.

As you stand there, locked in his embrace, you cannot help but wonder how much longer you can pretend. How much longer you can wear this mask of adoration before the last remnants of yourself are lost forever.

But for now, you tell him what he needs to hear. You tell him that you love him. Because to do otherwise would be to unleash the full fury of a god, and the world cannot afford that. Neither can you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

Astarion leans against a crumbling wall, sat on a nearby crate, watching you with a quiet, almost predatory satisfaction as you tear through the night, drenched in bloodlust. He would have preferred more opulent surroundings but you had become ravenous after a meeting at a fellow noble's house. The moonlight filters through the shadows of the alley, illuminating the grotesque scene unfolding before him. Bodies litter the ground, drained of life, their faces frozen in expressions of terror as your fangs sink into another helpless victim. You are unstoppable, a whirlwind of violence and hunger, your eyes wild with the mania of the hunt, your hands stained red with the life you have stolen.

At first, Astarion feels a twisted sense of pride. This is what he wanted, after all. To make you like him—an apex predator, free from the chains of morality and guilt that once held you back. The two of you, together, are gods among mortals, unstoppable in your pursuit of power and blood. He remembers when you would hesitate, how your face would twist in sorrow even as you killed a simple goblin, trying to justify your actions to yourself. You used to care, used to flinch at the thought of taking a life.

But now? Now you are something else entirely. He watches as you throw aside a body, your lips stained with fresh blood, your eyes burning with the same insatiable hunger he once saw in himself. You’ve become the perfect reflection of him, the monster he always knew you could be. And yet, as the frenzy continues, something unexpected stirs within him.

At first, it’s just a fleeting thought—a brief flicker of memory. He recalls the way your face would soften after a fight, how you would stand over the bodies of your enemies, your eyes clouded with guilt. You’d tell him, in quiet whispers, how you never wanted this. How you feared becoming like him. It used to annoy him, how you clung to that sliver of humanity, as though it were some precious treasure. But now, as he watches the carnage, that memory claws its way to the surface, unbidden.

Look at you now.

The sound of your laughter, unhinged and wild, echoes through the blood-soaked street, and Astarion feels something twist inside him. His gaze follows your every movement as you finish off the last of your victims, blood dripping from your lips, your body swaying with the exhaustion of the frenzy. You’ve taken more lives tonight than you can count, and Astarion can see it—the mania burning through you, consuming you. You’re lost in it, no longer in control, just a vessel for the hunger that now defines you.

And it’s then that it hits him: he has done this to you.

A flicker of regret rises in him, sharp and unexpected. It’s not that he regrets the power he’s given you or the freedom to revel in your darkest desires. No, it’s something deeper. He remembers how you used to be—how you used to fight to keep your heart intact, even when it hurt you. He watches the way your hands tremble, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, from the sheer mania that has taken hold of you.

It’s gone now, that humanity you once clung to. He’s broken you. Turned you into a creature of blood and death, a reflection of his own cruelty. And for the briefest of moments, Astarion feels a pang of something close to sorrow.

But then it’s gone—washed away as you collapse at his feet, utterly spent. Your body, drenched in blood, crumples to the ground, and before he can react, your head falls gently into his lap. You look up at him, your chest heaving with exhaustion, eyes glassy from the high of the hunt, and in that moment, whatever flicker of regret he felt vanishes.

Because this—this is where you belong. At his feet. You, the once-innocent soul who balked at the thought of killing, who feared the very darkness that now consumes you. You are his now, entirely, just as he always wanted. Your humanity is gone, and in its place, there is only devotion—to him, to the hunger, to the night.

Astarion smiles, his fingers brushing lightly against your blood-soaked hair as he gazes down at you with a mix of possessiveness and dark satisfaction. You are perfect. His perfect creature, shaped and molded by his hand. Whatever regret he had felt is meaningless now, drowned out by the reality of what you’ve become.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, though there is a sinister undertone to it. “You’ve finally embraced what you are, my love. Doesn’t it feel… freeing?”

You don’t respond, still too exhausted from the bloodshed, but your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s no need for words; he sees it in your gaze—the surrender, the acceptance. You’re his now, irrevocably and utterly. Astarion knows that whatever small piece of you once resisted him is gone, devoured by the darkness he helped unleash.

He tilts your chin up, his thumb gently brushing the corner of your bloodied lips, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. “This is where you belong,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “At my side. By my feet. There’s nowhere else for you now.”

And in the stillness that follows, as the bodies of the slain lie cold and lifeless around you, Astarion knows that he has won. Whatever part of you he might have mourned is insignificant compared to the power he now holds over you. You are bound to him in every sense—by blood, by darkness, by the very madness that he has instilled in you.

He feels no regret anymore. Only pride.

The regret was a fleeting ghost, and now it is gone, replaced by the absolute certainty that you belong to him.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

Halsin stood quietly in the shadows of the grove, watching you as you tended to the small group of animals you had rescued. You moved among them with a gentle care, hands stroking their fur, whispering soft reassurances. A faint smile played on your lips, a reflection of the compassion you still held in your heart, but something was wrong. He could see it. It was in the way your hands trembled, the slight stiffness in your posture, the way your eyes—though focused on the creatures before you—seemed distant, as if they were seeing something far away.

And then, there were the tears.

They slipped from your eyes silently, trailing down your cheeks like rain. You weren’t sobbing, nor were you visibly distressed. It was as if your body had decided to release the sorrow on its own, without your permission. You didn’t wipe them away or acknowledge them, instead choosing to ignore them entirely, continuing your work as though nothing was wrong.

But Halsin knew better. He could feel the ache beneath your surface, could see it in the way your smile faltered when you thought no one was watching. He had imprisoned you here in the grove, telling himself it was for the best—that you belonged to nature, that this was where you were meant to be, where he could keep you safe from the chaos and destruction of the world beyond. But now, as he watched you tend to the animals with a hollow, mechanical grace, he realized just how deeply that decision had affected you.

Your mind had shut down, he realized. It was coping, retreating inward, while your body simply went through the motions. The tears were your soul’s quiet cry, one you couldn’t bring yourself to voice. It was easier to focus on the animals, on the routine of caring for them, than to confront the prison that this grove had become.

A slight pang of regret stirred in Halsin’s heart, unsettling him. He had never meant to break your spirit like this. He had only wanted to protect you, to ensure that you stayed close to the wilds, where you could be one with the natural world. But had he gone too far? Had he mistaken control for love?

Just then, a small fawn stumbled beside you, its legs weak, its body trembling. You knelt beside it, your hands moving with practiced care, trying to find the source of its distress. But something was wrong. Despite your efforts, the fawn’s breathing remained labored, and its small body continued to tremble under your touch. Panic flickered across your face, and for the first time, your composure wavered.

Without hesitation, you stood, your eyes wide with worry, and you sprinted towards Halsin, desperation lacing your voice.

“Halsin, please! I don’t know what’s wrong with the fawn—I can’t help it!” Your breath was quick, your heart pounding, as you looked up at him, eyes wide with a raw, vulnerable need.

Halsin blinked, the regret he had felt a moment ago slipping from his mind as he moved toward the fawn, laying his hands gently upon its quivering body. With a soft incantation, he channeled the magic of the natural world into the creature, healing its ailment with the simple touch of his hand. The fawn let out a soft breath, its body relaxing as the magic took hold, its eyes now clear and calm.

You exhaled in relief, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but now they were different—born from gratitude, not grief. You turned to Halsin, your face breaking into a genuine smile as you stepped closer to him.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you. You saved it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to still around Halsin. The warmth of your lips on his cheek, the way you looked at him with such trust, such deep reliance—it stirred something deep within him. Whatever regret he had felt, whatever doubt had briefly flickered in his heart, was now gone. In this moment, he was reminded of why he had done what he had—why he had brought you here, why he had kept you close.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was giving you a life where you could be safe, where you could rely on him, where you could find solace in the wild, away from the chaos of the world that had threatened to tear you apart. You might not see it now, but in time, you would come to understand. This was where you belonged, with the creatures of the forest, with him.

You needed him, and that need justified everything.

Halsin’s large hand came up to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the tear that still clung to your skin.

“You’re welcome, my heart,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me to help you. Always.”

He pulled you into an embrace, and though he could feel the stiffness in your body, the hesitation that lingered beneath the surface, he ignored it. You were here, in his arms, in the grove, and that was enough.

It had to be enough.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

Wyll strode down the hall with purpose, the weight of his title as Grand Duke pressing heavily upon his shoulders. He had dealt with emissaries, council meetings, and the ever-growing burden of ruling Baldur’s Gate, but his thoughts always drifted back to you. His spouse. His love. The one he had claimed as his, by any means necessary. To him, it had been an act of devotion—a way to protect you from the dangers of the world, to shield you from harm. His love for you was absolute, consuming, and he believed that it justified everything.

As he approached your chambers, the sound of muffled sobbing reached his ears. His brow furrowed, and a sense of unease began to settle in his chest. Something was wrong. Without thinking, he pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. His eyes immediately fell upon you, sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders trembling with the force of your silent sobs. Your hands were clutching a piece of fabric, as though trying to anchor yourself, and tears streamed down your face unchecked.

Wyll’s heart lurched at the sight, and he rushed to your side. "What is it? What’s wrong?" he demanded, his voice filled with concern but laced with an edge of possessiveness. He hated seeing you like this—broken, fragile. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had made sure you would be safe, protected, loved.

You gasped, startled by his sudden presence, and immediately tried to pull yourself together. You wiped at your face in a near-hysterical fashion, your movements frantic and clumsy as you struggled to hide your tears.

"Wyll—no, it’s nothing. I’m fine," you said, your voice strained, a weak smile plastered across your tear-streaked face. “I wasn’t expecting you—”

But Wyll wasn’t having any of it. His eyes darkened with frustration, his hand reaching out to stop you as you tried to stand and walk away from him. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you back toward him.

"Don’t lie to me," he said, his voice low and commanding. He wasn’t going to let you slip away, not like this. Not when you were clearly hurting.

You stumbled slightly as he pulled you to face him, his other hand gently but insistently tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. That’s when he saw it—the fear in your eyes. The way your breath hitched in your chest, the way your body stiffened under his touch. The raw, unspoken terror that you were trying so desperately to hide. His heart clenched at the realization. You were scared of him.

He hadn’t wanted this. He had taken you, yes— locked you away from the dangers of the world outside—but he had done it all for love. For you. To protect you. But now, as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, the truth was impossible to ignore. You were broken, fractured under the weight of his possessive love, and it was his doing.

A pang of regret stirred in his chest, an unfamiliar ache as he loosened his grip on your wrist. He had taken too much from you, pushed you too far, and now he could see the consequences etched across your face.

“Tell me what's wrong,” he murmured, his voice suddenly softer, as if trying to soothe the very wound he had caused.

But you shook your head quickly, panic flashing in your eyes as you tried to brush off his concern. “It’s nothing, Wyll, really. I—it’s just the pressure- yes, the pressure of it all. The responsibility of being your spouse, of being by your side all the time. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here. You make it better.”

Your words were rushed, and Wyll could tell you were lying, though he wasn’t sure if it was to protect yourself or to keep him from feeling guilty. Maybe it was both. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care if you were telling the truth or not, because in the next moment, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. Your embrace was tight, desperate, as though you were clinging to him for stability, for some sense of safety amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Wyll hesitated for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you firmly against his chest. He could feel your body trembling against his, your heart beating rapidly, and despite the regret that had momentarily flickered in his heart, it quickly began to fade. As he held you close, as he felt your warmth against him, all of his doubts and guilt melted away.

You needed him. You belonged to him. And in that embrace, he found the justification he had always clung to. Whatever pain you felt, whatever fear you harbored, it was all necessary. Because without him, where would you be? Lost, vulnerable, exposed to the dangers of the world. He had saved you, claimed you, and ensured that no one else could ever hurt you. He was your protector, your keeper. Your everything.

Wyll tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he whispered into your hair.

"I’ll always be here for you, my love, no matter what.” His voice was soothing, even as his heart swelled with possessiveness. He wasn’t going to let you go—not ever. Whatever regret he had felt was gone now, replaced by the certainty that he had done the right thing. He had to keep you close, had to keep you under his control. Because if he didn’t, if you left him, the world would tear you apart.

You held him tighter, your face buried in his chest, and Wyll closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. You, in his arms, relying on him, needing him.

And as he held you, any lingering remorse faded into nothingness, drowned by the all-consuming love—and control—he had over you. He believed, deep down, that this was for the best. For you. For both of you.

Because in Wyll’s mind, love justified everything. Even the chains he had bound you with.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This was so fun but also so soul crushing to write, poor darlings, they will never catch a break. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[elizakai]

I like thinking about their more canon adjacent dynamic (character wise)

MINI ANALYSIS TIME

Because while I love the soft interpretations, even WITH those let’s be real; that’s not how they’d act off the bat

Horror would be extremely judgmental (fair) and hate Dust for what he did. He’d despise him and probably be very passive aggressive. Making jabs and making his disdain apparent when they have to interact. I think getting a read on Dust is also difficult and would piss Horror off. Horror is unpredictable and has a sadistic streak, if he was mad or manic and had Dust in a corner he’d have no qualms about manhandling the guy. (And Dust probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.)

Meanwhile, Dusttale’s creator was asked once how Dust may feel if he met Horror, to which they said he feels bad for Horror. He likes him, sees him as someone who went through something horribly undeserved. In my mind Dust is somewhat protective of Horror.

I interpret these clashing of dynamics as Horror’s just utter disdain for this guy, and Dust’s resigned acceptance of Horror’s judgment. He’d agree with him if he were to judge himself, but I think a part of him wants Horror’s approval. He doesn’t EVER expect to get it, but Horror is….

While he’s seen hell, he’s almost a less tormented version of Dust himself. Deep down they are the same. Horror has suffered greatly, but even still hasn’t hit the deep end dust has, and I think he’d want to protect that sort of innocence he’s granted. One could think of it as him protecting a piece of himself he himself has already sacrificed. And wanting APPROVAL from him, wishing to be forgiven, craving that small piece of validation or understanding as he tries to reconcile with himself.

Horror’s formed opinion makes sense, he agrees with it, and simply wishes he disagreed, that he could have proof of himself being a FRACTION worthy of forgiveness or understanding.

The judge in both of them has both formed an opinion of the other, and they happen to differ greatly. Horror sees Dust as an abuser and Dust sees Horror as a victim.

I like to imagine that, while reluctantly thrown into the same general vicinity, Horror would grow to be more understanding (again if we are going with a PROGRESSIVE plot line) and come to understand that, yes, he wasn’t WRONG, but there is nuance to the situation. They both have a very grim understanding of what it’s like to be trapped. I think he has the capacity to understand Dust better if he was given time. His hands aren’t clean after all, and he knows what it’s like to be forced into a situation and to feel backed into a drastic decision. He knows what it’s like to lose your autonomy and to feel your mind break itself under pressure.

I think the simple fact that Dust wouldn’t TRY to change his mind or justify himself would be part of why Horror could come to understand him. He’s devestated by his actions, he is by no means a sadist.

Horror coming to understand Dust and sort of reconcile/forgive him I think would be rather BIG for Horror, especially if you factor in other situations he now has to consider. (For example, his Undyne and her drastic attempt at freeing the undergroud…) reconciling his OWN arguably cruel decisions he has made with pure intentions, when he feels there’s no other choice (like his Papyrus and tricking him into doing something so outside of his beliefs, to protect him)

It would also be healing for Dust to get that reconciliation with Horror because again…Horror’s opinion actually may MATTER.

And in the same way that Dust may see Horror as a sort of person to be protected from further harm, Horror would probably pick up on all of the VERY bad habits Dust has that (in my observation at least) are EXTREMELY similar to his own habits/past habits (isolation, obsession, deprivation, paranoia, bringing harm to self etc) and I could see him being sensitive towards those and trying to prevent it worsening (it’s a sore subject💔) Horror is shown to prioritize taking care of those he cares about, even when he’s a bit mad, and he has the capacity to grow an understanding for someone he doesn’t like initially :))

I think they have potential to be VERY good for one another, Horror (while being fucked up) encourages (and maybe forces) better habits and actually has an opinion that matters to Dust, and Dust is inclined to be VERY loyal (Horror needs someone to show him loyalty.) to anyone who cares to give him the time of day, as it’s far beyond what he’d expect, and he’s got the sympathy/protective streak towards Horror as an actual in character detail.

And from there it would be wonderful to explore their dynamic in whatever way you like to interpret it🤫💥

I could go on but I’ll stop here, if you read this all CONGRATS!!!

Share your thoughts I love it

[hwallazia]

SOOTHE ME, SUGAR – 최산

synopsis . in which san pampers his girlfriend when it’s that time of the month for her.

pairing . choi san & fem! reader

genre . fluff, fluff, and fluff (you’ve been warned), comfort, slice of life, established relationship, non idol!au

taglist . @bro-atz | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 1,5k

DISCLAIMER! blood (ofc since we’re talking abt menstruation), nicknames (princess, love, sannie & more), very relatable (ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ)

NIC’S NOTES lowercase is intentional! (wrote it at 1:00am, half asleep (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)) also! i recommend listening to ocean eyes by billie eilish and love songs by kaash paige while reading this. yk, for the vibe ;)

“sannieee”

you moaned from your bed, wrapped in the sheets like a burrito, your knees knocking against your chest in search of some kind of relief. your belly generated pressure throughout your lower area that became more unbearable as the minutes passed, which seemed to be hours. fortunately, san knows how to act in the most docile way in these cases.

as soon as you finished college, you and san decided to live together without having the slightest idea of how challenging, exciting, and companionable that process would be. both of you, although you were in a relationship before living together, had to know, respect, and get used to each other’s home habits, since it would be something you would live with for a long time.

it was somewhat difficult to understand san’s attitudes, which varied depending on his momentary needs, how tired he was, and other factors that affected his behavior in the apartment. but with a lot of patience and love, you managed to understand at least the basics of what you should know about the topic: “choi san and home.” the path you had to take to know the person “choi san” in its entirety was a long one and one that you were willing to walk until the end of your days if necessary.

there was no shortage of discussions; there were many that were needed to be able to understand aspects of both him and you. when faced with an argument, san, first of all, would dedicate himself to listening to what you have to say, he would pay all of his attention to listening to your sentimental and very expressive arguments. once you’re done, he’d continue saying his and finally give a solution to the problem that divides you and wait for your excellent approval.

despite being very understanding and collected in discussions, san hates them with all his being; although he’s a tall man with a strong body, his heart is still soft and as delicate as glass. he hates that a simple disagreement of opinions causes a division with you, the person he loves the most, respects, and for whom he would give his life.

but he knows how to suppress his discontent very well in the face of absurd discussions for which you don’t speak to each other for hours, and even absurder when it’s that time of the month for you. he knows how much your feelings are weakened, how sore you feel throughout that week, in which your need for attention and affection doubles up.

san remembers with affection and laughs that month in which he found you crying in your bed, wrapped in his blankets scented with his essence, because the stuffed animal that you had given him, shiber, had fallen off the bed and, he quotes, “he looked at me very sadly from the ground” and he felt his heart skip a few beats inside his ribcage when a pout formed on your lips at how funny he found the situation. you never seemed so cute to him as you did at that moment.

and the moment san hears your voice whine his name from his room, the mental image was projected in his head without him asking for it or thinking deeply: “you, covered in dark blankets up to your nose with an exaggerated amount of pillows giving you comfort staring at him with pleading eyes as soon as he entered the room.” he couldn’t help but smile fondly.

“coming, love” he says, a few steps away from the room. thanks to his long legs, with four steps he gets there immediately, gently and respectfully hitting his knuckles against the dark oak door. the muffled ‘come innn’ you say with little strength was the permission he needed to turn the handle.

a sweet hum coming from san echoes through the room as he finds you under the exact same conditions that his mind, infected with you, had outlined. he doesn’t wait for you to say another word and he sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with so much love that he could never express verbally.

“how are you feeling?” he simply asks, without being so insistent or trying to bombard you with questions, thus avoiding causing you any annoyance. you have enough of what you were dealing with now.

“awful. the pressure down there has become unbearable, and now i don’t feel my legs.” you stopped for a moment to analyze your reality and the poor physical condition you were in. “i feel dizzy, kind of hungry and numb. but not like emotionally numb, because i wanna cry so badly but i can’t get anything out of my eyes.”

your hands go up to your eyes, under the sheets, covering them in frustration. “fuck, i hate this so much.”

san finally starts talking, soothing you with his honey-dripping voice. “shh, princess. one breath at a time. come on” he brings his palms, which were facing the ceiling, and rests them on your stomach, implicitly indicating that you hold his hands.

breath in and out, in and out. you stay like that for about thirty seconds, maintaining eye contact, his eyes conveying nothing but love and comfort to you. “thaat’s it. perfect.” he praises you, giving you the purest smile known to men, which does nothing but wrinkle your heart a little with tenderness.

“do you still have enough sanitary napkins and tampons?”

you appreciate and appreciated, from the first beginning, in which san became excellently familiar with all the technical vocabulary characteristic of this week that was so painful for both you and san. “no, but-”

he interrupts you and asks again “you want me to go get you some more in the supermarket? maybe some chocolate as well?” it seemed so sweet to you how generous and helpful he was to you when this time of the month came around.

“not really.” you pause briefly, squinting your eyes in search of the perfect plan that would calm, at least for a few hours, your impressive menstrual pain. until the right idea hits your head. “honestly, i just wanna cuddle here, with you.”

another sugary hum is audible. “if that’s what my princess wants, then that’s what she gets.” he sentences as if he was a soldier of a castle in which you are the queen of the “choi san’s heart” kingdom and san is nothing more than your faithful and most beloved servant. he leans towards you to place a fond kiss on your warm forehead, saturated with pain.

you shift in place, moving to the right so that san joins you from the left. ss soon as both of you are already warmly covered by the sheets, smeared with the smell of floral essences, your hand is quick to locate the remote control, pointing it in front of you to turn on the television and immediately go to the netflix app.

while your fingers insistently press the control buttons in search of a movie that meets the common cinematographic interests of both of you, san’s hand is agile in sneaking into your shirt —well, san’s— and cupping your waist in his palm, his fingers tracing scribbles on your skin, calming the pain, the tension and your mind. the magic that san has between his fingers and how they affect you is a divine mystery that would require his own science and study method.

“sannie” you pronounce his name in a faint whisper, disconnecting your eyes from the big screen to focus on the perfect face of your perfect boyfriend, totally forgeting the movie and focusing in his ethereal details.

“yes, darling?” he drones, looking at you adoringly. he truly couldn’t believe how you, an angel fallen from heaven, could be his and only his. and that you decide to stay by his side until the end of your days was the most genuine and beautiful demonstration that any lover has ever given him. definitely, you are different and san would risk it all for you. of course he would.

“thanks for everything. for understanding me and being able to be that mountain on which i can rest when i’m exhausted.” you say, truly meaning every single one of your words. “thank you for being you and for choosing me.”

san’s heart is reciting all the existing love songs to yours. his heart is yours and yours alone, giving itself fully to your love, and yours is the sun that warms his soul, casting golden rays of affection that dance across the canvas of his heart, painting it in hues of devotion.

“no, princess, you have nothing to thank me for.” he stops for a moment. “i’m the one who should thank you; for allowing me to be your boyfriend and please you, for being so patient with me. i know that i’m not an easy person to understand, and the fact that you voluntarily decide to stay here with me only makes me fall in love with you even more; even when i think i can’t love you more than i already do.” san confesses and, in just a matter of seconds, he manages to observe in close-up how in your precious irises tears start to well up in your eyes, causing him to let out a soft giggle, finding it cute. “why are you crying, sweetheart?”

you sniffed. “because you’re just too sweet to me and it makes me emotional. you really are the best boyfriend in the world, choi san.”

“oh baby.” he hugged your anatomy between his strong arms as he laughed softly, giving you a warmth and security unique in the world. “i love you, yn. “so much.”

| masterlist

[cloudyyoimiya]

hi, i love your writing!

could you do yandere ranpo, chuuya, dazai and atsushi with a s/o who’s really sleepy all the time? basically like, anemic like fyodor 💀

no stop this ask is like a callout post. i sleep all of the time during the day and i stay up all night… i should probably fix that LMAO. anon, you and i may or may not be anemic. /j anyways yes i love this request! thank you for requesting!! <3

Their Darling Is Always Sleepy; Osamu Dazai, Ranpo Edogawa, Atsushi Nakajima, and Chuuya Nakahara

Format: Headcanons

Possible warnings: Yandere content, dark themes, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of non-consensual drug usage

Osamu Dazai

When he first met you he took note of your trait of sleeping all of the time. At first it concerned him since he thought that it might have been a health condition, but when he found out that it wasn't, he found it absolutely adorable.

He would bring you pillows so you can nap comfortably on your desk, or sometimes he’d even bring a spare blanket to the agency for you.

Sometimes he’d find you sleeping around the agency’s office, or he’d find you sleeping in a booth at the café downstairs. He’d of course let you sleep because someone as adorable as you deserves your beauty rest, no?

Though, sometimes he’d get slightly frustrated because he wanted to spend more time with you. You would know when you ticked him off by his tone of voice. If he was more whiny then usual, then that was your telltale sign of to stay awake for him.

More often than not you’d wake up to his coat draped on your shoulders, acting as a makeshift blanket. You told him more than once that he didn’t need to do this for you, but he insisted on doing this for you.

Eventually when he fell in love with you, he’d become paranoid about your sleeping habits. He knew that you were very capable of protecting yourself, but what if someone took advantage of you while you were sleeping? And what if he wasn’t there to protect you? He absolutely hated the thought.

After all, evil expects evil.

He didn’t want anything bad happening to you. You may have not known it then, but you were his lifeline. If something happened to you, then he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

After a few weeks of contemplating on what he should do, he eventually kidnapped you.

Terribly enough, he took you while you were napping. He did exactly what he feared what would happen to you. A part of him felt awful, but another part was happy that you were finally safe in his arms.

He knew that you’d never leave him.

You like him far too much for that.

Ranpo Edogawa

To put it in short, he absolutely loved your ability to sleep anywhere. In fact it’s one of the reasons why he fell so head over heels for you. He found it absolutely adorable! How could he not?! He got to see your adorable sleeping face!

In fact, seeing you nap was his motivation for each day. He absolutely loved seeing you so at peace. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

When you two first got into a more normal relationship, he’d often nap with you if he wasn’t on a case. He absolutely loved to snuggle up to you and close his eyes. It was very relaxing to him.

Ranpo would keep a blanket and two pillows in a closet reserved only for the two of you. Fukuzawa of course approved of this for some reason. Maybe it was because Ranpo talked him into it?

Sometimes you’d find that you were more tired than usual. This would always happen after Ranpo offered you a drink as well. Surly he wouldn’t drug you just so he could cuddle you, right? He’s not that insane, right?

If you ever wanted to snack on something right after you woke up, then he’d let you eat some of his food. He is obsessed with you after all. Why wouldn’t he show you his love like this?

When you started to not want to nap with anymore, that’s when his obsessive tendencies started to kick in. How dare you not want to cuddle with the greatest detective anymore? You said it was because that you were starting to get sweaty from the constant affections since it was the summer months, but he didn’t want to hear any of it.

After all, he is quite childish.

When he decided to kidnap you, he gave you a higher dosage of the sleeping drug that he would give you. It wasn’t enough to cause permanent damage, no, but it was enough to have you asleep for a whole day if he was lucky.

Now that you’re with him, he’ll make sure that the two of you nap and or cuddle whenever he gets the chance. He’s very clingy towards you because he loves you oh so much.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Atsushi Nakajima

When he first met you, you were napping at your desk. Originally he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but you somehow managed to change his view on that just by being lazy and sleeping while on the clock.

He absolutely found your ability to sleep anywhere adorable, but also slightly concerning. He was overly cautious of what might happen to you. What if the Port Mafia went to strike while you were sleeping? What if the agency got in danger? What if some one tried to kill you?

He got very anxious because of these things. He knew he wasn’t being rational, but still, those thoughts clouded his brain. He couldn’t get them out of his head, and he hated it.

When you went home for the day to take yet another nap, he would follow you home and watch you through a window. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he had to make sure that you’d be alright.

You’re the light of his life.

When you were sleeping in the office, he’d always make sure to move right near you just in case of an emergency. Though, he’d do this once he was sure that you were asleep. Because of his ability allowing him to hear slightly better than others, he’d only come near you once your breathing became more steady.

Sometimes your coworkers would coo at the two of you. They honestly thought that you were dating because of how clingy the weretiger was.

You’d have to explain to them that you’re just friends, and that wounded Atsushi. He wouldn’t let that show though.

Atsushi wouldn’t resort to kidnapping out of worry for you. No, not at all. What he’d do is make sure to stay near you at all times. He’s guilt trip you into moving in with him because he was just that worried about you.

Once he was able to always keep a watchful eye on you, he’d start to relax. He’d let you sleep without any worrying on his end.

Just don’t leave him, alright?

He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you left.

Chuuya Nakahara

When he first found out about your tendencies to sleep anywhere at any given time, he was a tad bit concerned for your health. He knew that wasn’t normal, so when he asked you about it you made sure to assure him that it’s just something you do. You had to repeatedly tell him that you’re fine.

Once he got more used to your ability to sleep like that, he found it adorable. He liked that you trusted him enough to nap around him without a care in the world. He liked that if anything happened, he would be the one to save you.

Much like Dazai, sometimes he’d drape his coat over your shoulders so you could have a makeshift blanket. Or if it just so happened to be too bright in the room, he’d give you his hat so you could put it over your face to block out the light.

Though, sometimes he’d find your constant napping somewhat annoying. He wanted to spend time with you, especially on his rare days off! He didn’t just want to watch you sleep.

Because of this, on his days off you are forced to stay awake and be with him at all times. If you fell asleep or strayed away from him, then he’d get quite angry with you. He wouldn’t hurt you, no not in the slightest, but he’d lightly threaten you. After a few times you got the message and you’ve been by his side ever since.

More often than not he’d coax you into sleeping over at his place. The reasons he gave you to do so were simple; his house was on the larger side, and you’d be more comfortable.

Those reasons were true, yes, but he also left out the part where he’d watch you nap almost obsessively.

Sometimes he’d carry you to his bed and tuck you in for the night. He loved moments like those because it made him feel like your actual boyfriend.

Chuuya wouldn’t kidnap you because of your tendencies to sleep whenever you get the chance. Well, maybe he would if something bad happened to you, but that would be in the future and it would be a huge ‘what if’ scenario.

Just don’t leave your guard dog, alright?

[logysworld]

Ouch! | Vi x Reader

You're a tattoo artist and Vi wants a tattoo.

Fluff?, suggestive, kissing, flirty, casual! F!reader.

-

Music played on the radio beside your table, balancing on the plethora of papers and pens that you had scattered around your table. A sketch was finally coming together, just a little something that popped into your mind after months of an artist's block that kept your sketchbooks dry. It was a small yet profound design, depicting two hands just shy of touch. One hand robotic and slender, ripples of metal flowing around each curve that were shaded perfectly in depth. The other appeared normal at first, but upon closer inspection revealed a tension, fingers taut and desperate, scared, as if the other hand was impossible to reach. You sketched a galaxy around the hands, streaks of the sky and swirling stars surrounding them, like the universe itself was gently forcing the hands apart.

The familiar twinkle of your door chimes echoed as someone entered the shop and you peered over your shoulder briefly, not long enough to see who came in.

"Hey, you got an appointment?" You called out, twisting the dial of the radio to lower the volume of the music with one hand while the other continued sketching.

"Do I need one? You don't look very busy in here." She said mockingly, the thump of her boots echoing around the empty room. She was right, the shop had been really really slow lately, it was just a habit to ask each time someone came in.

"Yeah you're right, have a seat on that leather chair. Could you give me a minute- sorry- what's your name?" You looked over at her as she settled into the seat, a pale and bruised (also muscular) hand running through her dark pink hair.

"Vi. And you? What's your name gorgeous?" she asked, turning sideways on the chair to manspread.

"Y/n." you replied, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Her ice blue eyes scanned your figure when you stood up, following the sway of your hips as you walked towards her.

"Cute name. You're real cute." She tilted her head at you, a curiosity flashing in her expression.

You laughed. "How can I help you, Vi?"

"I want a tattoo. a small one, right here on my finger." She spoke low, lifting the red sleeve of her jacket and tracing the side of her left pointer finger. You noticed a tattoo on her forearm, which seemed to lead all the way up. You leaned in closer, nodding as you took in her request.

"and," her voice went quieter, almost a whisper.

"and I want it to say 'POW!', with the mark thingy on the end?" You nodded and scribbled in your sketchbook for a minute or two. Her hand dropped while you sketched and her shoulders hung slightly. You looked up at her, feeling somewhat sad at the sudden change in demeanor, leaning in even closer instinctively.

"Okay, I can do that. What's the occasion? Or... would you rather not talk about it?" You had already drawn three versions of the design in your book, facing the page towards her for approval.

"That," she said pointing at the second design, "..and its not much. Just for somethin' important to me. I'd actually rather talk about you, gorgeous." she sat forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees while she watched you turn away from her. You playfully scoffed at the quick switch in attitude, brushing off her previous show of vulnerability as to not make her uncomfortable. You started tracing the design on paper using the tray behind you.

"Is that so? What exactly do you want to talk about?" You span back around in your seat, now scooting closer to her and grabbing her hand. She bit on the inside of her cheek at your touch, letting her hand rest in yours as you pressed the stencil into her finger.

"With that pretty voice? And that face? I could talk about anything with you, babe."

"You use that corny line on every girl?" you cringed, smiling, eyes glued to her hand as you applied the design.

You heard a laugh, and her chest dropped further towards you.

"Mmm.. no? I only see one girl infront of me right now, and she's just. So. Fucking. Gorgeous. What else am I supposed to say?" she came closer with each word, warmth emitting from her mouth as she spoke.

"Are you gonna keep calling me that?" you rasped, not realising you were holding onto your breath. You tried to appear unfazed, but the red flush on the tips of your ears already gave Vi the sense of satisfaction she was craving.

"Yeah I might. Why? You like it?" she tucked a stray hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the skin of your neck just below your jawline. You felt chills. she was so close, whispering as if it was sinful for anyone to hear.

You coughed and shrugged it off, pressing the design hard into her finger, causing her to sit up slightly. Her hand was calloused and rough, scarred, knuckles red and blue from fighting you presumed. A dirty bandage wrapped around her palm and ended at the wrist, frayed at the edges.

"What? Pretty girl doesn't wanna talk now? Did I get you all nervous?" her stenciled hand turned to stroke yours and she looked at you with a pout.

You pulled your hand away. She's a troublemaker for sure.

"Vi, please. I work better when im not under pressure, okay?" you sighed, turning to grab the needle and dipping it into the black ink.

"Alright, so you are nervous. Got it." So cocky, you thought. She winked at you, putting her hand in yours before you could grab it from her.

You couldn't help but laugh. "God."

"Damn, gorgeous. I know I'm all great and that, but you don't have to call me God."

"Please shut up, Vi."

"Whatever you say, pretty."

You brought the needle to her skin and started drawing over the stencil. You licked your lips and she sucked in a breath, despite her having such detailed, and definitely more painful, tattoos already painted across her arms.

Her gaze was like a heat wave, so hot and so harsh you felt like you were about to start sweating. She watched you carefully, not your hands but everything and anything else. She watched how you tilted your head back and forth to see how the tattoo looked from afar, and how your legs squeezed together everytime you did so. You bit and squeezed your lips as you pressed the needle into her. God your lips. She let her gaze lower further down, admiring the perfect tone of your skin. You really were gorgeous. She didn't even realize how long she was staring at you until she felt the sting of antiseptic being wiped across her finger.

"All done!" you beamed, standing up and walking away to clean off your needle.

She inspected the fresh tattoo.

You heard her swallow harshly, and turned to see her sad smile.

Her smile morphed quickly into mischief and she looked up at you. "Someone has fast hands."

"It comes from practice, Vi." you smiled feeling proud, turning back around to put away your equipment into their designated sections.

"Oh yeah?"

She stood up from the chair, taking a few steps forward until the space behind you felt nearly gone.

"I'm sure you practice a lot, huh?" she teased.

She raised her arm, allowing her fingers to dance on your shoulder, falling lower and lower, drawing lines on your bare skin. your breath hitched and you looked at her hand. She dropped it to rest on your hip, gripping at the skin free from your cropped tee.

"You're so pretty. Let me look at you." Her voice tickled your ear, sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Vi." Your heart rate picked up.

"Turn around, gorgeous. Please."

It sounded like a command, desperate, but soft, all at the same time. You turned to face her and she smiled, now placing both hands on your hips and squeezing gently at the start of the bone.

"Look at that pretty face."

She forced you backwards as she stepped closer, letting your lower back hit the table with a pang. Your hands came up through hers and you shyly let them lay on her chest, not daring to look into her eyes. Then, her hands left your hips and came around the backs of your thighs, wrapping and bringing you upwards onto the metal table without struggle, spreading your legs around her as she did so.

"Hmm. So pretty." she cooed. The cool of the metal felt like ice on your skin and you shivered, leaning into her. She caged her arms around you on the table and leaned forward, brushing her nose against yours.

"Can I kiss you, gorgeous?" She asked, barely audible. You looked into her eyes and she stared back at you, so so sweetly. You let yourself lean in closer, your lips touching but not together just yet. She sighed into your mouth, the tension so strong you could feel it on your tongue. When you licked your lips she pushed herself onto you and kissed you, hands now holding your jaw. The kiss was soft at first, her lips caressing yours so gently it sent a wave flutters to your chest and stomach. But, when you wrapped your hands around her neck and moaned into the kiss, she couldn't hold back a grunt. She licked into your mouth, hands on your ass as she pulled you impossibly close. You stayed just like that for a while, but a growing frustration played out in her kisses, eventually taking over her hands which were squeezing so hard you swore they could leave marks. Your back arched in response, letting Vi push you further onto the table until you had to support yourself with one hand, the other tangled in her hair.

The twinkle of your door chimes interrupted the kiss and you hesitantly pulled back, but Vi was determined, lowering her kisses to suck on your jaw and neck. You peered over her shoulder, fighting the hands which pushed you back down.

"Vi, just- one sec-"

A nice looking man stepped inside, looking at the designs on the walls before landing his eyes on you, or Vi covering you more so.

"Vi-, shit," you swore under your breath, her teeth nipping on your collarbone.

"Hey! I have an appointm- oh, SHIT, hey, it's fine! It's fine it's fine I'll come back later, tomorrow! Im so so sorry! Shit!

The door chimes clinked against eachother as he ran out and you cursed to yourself. Vi finally paused on the marking of your skin when you threw your head back in guilt.

"Hey, don't worry gorgeous. Atleast you have me."

"Shut up Vi." You rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to flick your nail on her ear.

"Ouch!"

Any requests send in the inbox 😛 this is my first ever fic so I hope my fellow arcane family approves ♡ rizz #vi forever

[readychilledwine]

All That Glitters

Summary - Helion has read books on the fae for years, studying their anatomy, their lives, and their habits. When Rhysand sends him a pretty illyrian emissary for trade negotiations, though, Helion jumps on the opportunity to learn about the female wing structure

Warnings - smut, wing play "for science", thigh riding

A/n- I just want to get off on Helion’s thighs 😭😭 this is for my friends who feel the same way

Helion smirked below you. Hands resting on your hips as you straddled one of his legendary thighs. Your back was to his front, hair moved over your shoulder as you shivered at the feeling of his warm breath. 

“Need them out, pretty girl. Can't study them with you keeping them tucked in so tight.”

Of all of the bets to lose to your brothers, this may have been the worst. Helion was shameless, handsome, charming, and you were about to let him examine your wings. You let them flare out, relaxing as much as you could as his large hands immediately went between them. “Beautiful,” he muttered behind you. “Such fine structure.” 

His spare hand was busy taking notes. Eyes flicking to the webbing where small scars could be seen. “Is the sensation the same in the parts that had been damaged?” 

You just nodded. “Sometimes it's a little dull, but most of the time it's the same. Weather plays a factor.”

Helion hummed deeply behind you. “Do they get cold and warm?” You nodded again, feeling a quill brush one lightly and stiffened. “Oh?” He repeated the motion, watching you squirm with a small smirk. “I thought only the males had sensitive wings.”

The quill was replayed by fingers, slowly dancing the hard ridge and making you gasp. You haven't had your wings played with in years, and you could feel heat pooling immediately. “How interesting. I believe this changes the course of study.”

Helion lifted you effortlessly, replacing you so you faced him. “You will tell me when to stop?” 

Your answer was breathless, eyes locked on his, trusting him fully. “Yes High Lord.” 

He hummed in approval, hand immediately brushing the hard ridge again. He watched as you wiggled. “So that just gives some arousal. What about here?” You sucked in a hard breath before moaning and arching your back as his hand touched the soft membrane. “I see.” He wrote notes, continuing to stroke the area while you whined and unknowingly began to grind against him. “Such a silly thing for such an exposed area of your body to be this much of an erogenous zone, don't you think?”

You were too lost in his touch to respond. Head thrown back as you moaned. Helion’s hand that was previously writing had wrapped around your hips, guiding their desperate movements and putting more pressure on them. 

He ran a finger along a vein, shooting heat and pleasure through you at the same time that he drug your clit against his thighs perfectly. “Gonna get off on my thigh, pretty girl?” You hadn't even noticed it, mind so lost in the pleasure constantly flowing through you and licking at each nerve. 

“Helion,” you moaned out as he ground you harder and faster. 

“Yes, y/n?” You whined at his response. Hiding his clear enjoyment of how easy you were falling apart for him. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Too much clothes,” you panted. “Need -” a whine interrupted every thought you had as he touched the tender area where your wings met your back. He untied the fabric, allowing it to fall over your breasts and then open in the front. 

“Interesting. That spot must feel very good,” his fingers barely touched it again, causing your skin to break out in chills as you began to shake around his thighs. “You are exquisite,” he muttered into your skin. Leaning in to kiss your breasts as his hand on your wing continued its work and the one on your waist continued to drag your now naked body along his clothed thigh. 

You were an absolute mess, whispering and moaning his name, electricity tightening that coil until it threatened to burst. Helion rolled your nipple on his tongue, bouncing his thigh lightly to cause more stimulation. 

At the same time, he scratched down where that prominent vein ran, and everything went still. 

You came screaming his name, head tossed back as he chuckled into the soft skin of your neck. He left you fall against him, still wiggling your hips against him as he stopped touching your wings and helped you ride it out with encouragement. 

He smiled as you fully collapsed against him, placing a hand on his neck and gently kissing the other side. 

“So eager,” he encouraged, allowing you in closer as you nipped at his ear. “That's good, little one. I am nowhere near done with you.”

[rancidpancakebatter]

Picnics at Sunset - [L Lawliet]

Pairings: L (Death Note) x Female!Reader

Summary: You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Word Count: 14k words

Content: Swearing, Mentions of death, nudity?, friends to lovers, first kiss, Use of Celcius, touch of angst (it's death Note, come on), Sappy thoughts of love

( Masterlist )

A/N: I have so much to say, but I'll try to keep it brief. I'm sorry this is so long, but so much of this show cuts to long internal dialogues within a conversation, and I tried to capture that. I think I did well, but it is a little long-winded. I don't know if I'll do a lot of writing for this character, but he got stuck in my head recently, and this was the only way I knew to let him go.

You sat at your desk, the computer screen you had been staring at for the past three hours was beginning to hurt your head. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes; then silently cursing as you felt your mascara smear against the pads of your fingers. You needed a break and something other than a slice of cake in your stomach. You looked to your right out of habit, ready to tell your friend that you were taking a break and he should do the same, but his chair was empty.

You looked around the room.

“He stepped outside,” a voice said.

Behind you was Matsuda. You jumped when he spoke, not realising he was there, and he apologised for startling you.

“Yeah, we should get you a bell,” you suggested.

“Yeah, maybe so.” Matsuda laughed. “You know, if you want to bounce ideas off of someone, you can talk to me. I know I can’t come close to Ryusaki’s intelligence, but I’d like to think I have something to offer.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I didn’t really need anything from him, just wanted to see what he was up to.”

“Well, I think he just needed some space to think. You know how he is.” 

“That I do,” You agreed, “And I know If he wants to be alone, he’ll have no problem telling me himself.” 

Matsuda laughed again, “I’m sure you’re right. But I have a feeling he won’t shoo you away. He has a soft spot for you.”

Just the idea of L turning you away had you put out. You crossed your arms, turning away with a huff. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

You heard Matsuda chuckling behind you, wishing you luck. 

You marched up the stairs, down the hall, and got in the elevator, heading for the roof. As you made your way, you couldn’t help but admire the walls around you. The building L designed was quite impressive. You greatly enjoyed the glass elevator, preferring it over any others. Once you passed the tenth floor, the city could be seen. You were usually greeted by blinding sun and clear blue skies, but today, the sky was an enchanting apricot colour, blanketed by thick pink clouds heavy with rain. The sun was peaking from behind the silver buildings as if waiting to see you before finally saying goodbye. You waved to the people below, wishing them well on their oblivious wayfaring. 

Soon you reached the top floor, and you pushed open the door to get to the roof access. The door to the roof was already opened, so you called out.

“Ryusaki! You out there?”

You were greeted by silence and tried again.

“I’m alone!”

Only then did you get a reply, “Did you bring any food?”

You chuckled, stepping out onto the roof. “No, I’m sorry.”

L stood out in the open, basking in the fading light and staring at the sky, unbothered by the cold air blowing. He was slouched over and hands firmly in his pockets. He turned his head to you, and the vibrant sky poured over his pale skin, drenching the soft canvas in the colours of monarchs and sunflowers. The light danced around his prominent eyes, flames in a ring of stone. His lips looked kissed by a dreamsicle. You looked away, finding your way back to reality. 

“Did you want me to go back and get something?” You offered, throwing your thumb back towards the door. 

“No,” He said, turning back to the sun, “Watari should be up soon.”

Before you could question, you heard the door open and close and the clinking sound of plates as they made their way up the stairs. 

“Hello, dear,” The old man greeted with a smile. 

He carried a tray with a full tea set in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, with a blanket draped across his arm. You watched as he laid it out on the ground, pulling plates and silverware from the basket along with a candelabra. Ryuga settled himself as Watari lit the candles, then gestured for you to do the same. The only clear spot to sit was right beside him, and you took it as gracefully as possible. 

“I have brought sandwiches and various tea cakes,” Watari explained, “along with Keemun Mao Feng tea and honey. I hope you enjoy.”

You both thanked him and he left, closing the roof exit behind him. L sat, perching next to you, watching as you admired the display. 

“It’s all my favourites,” You observed. “Why did you ask him to bring this?”

His thumb came to rest on his lip, gauging your reaction. 

“I knew you would be getting hungry soon. I told Watari to bring some acceptable food if you didn’t grab any on your way up.”

You furrowed your brows in innocent confusion, “How did you know I’d come?”

His head turned away and you notice his feet shuffling, a tell for his anxiety. 

“You always do.” He said with a shrug. 

Your heart thumped affectionately as he turned his head, and your gaze fell back onto the band of sterling silver in his eyes. You smiled fondly at the man, and he had to look away. He busied himself with the basket, pulling out nicely wrapped sandwiches in brown butcher paper. He read the options out for you and passed you your selections. He then reached in and pulled out a white box with a blue bow. He began to tug at it, then stopped, offering it to you. 

You giggled, unravelling the satin ribbon. When he pulled off the lid, a tiered display stand stood with ten layers of tiny cakes with an array of colours, creams, and toppings. L looked over the selection with a careful eye, then chose a spongy square with a raspberry on top. He pinched it between his fingers and brought it to his lips. You watched his selection process as you braided the ribbon into a piece of your hair, presenting it to your friend with a smile. He nodded in approval, and then you finally took a bite of your sandwich, moaning as the myriad of flavours filled your senses. 

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you said, pushing it towards Ryusaki, “You’ve gotta try it.”

His chewing stops as he eyes the sandwich in front of him like it were a loaded gun. 

“I’m okay.” He said politely. 

You accepted his dismissal, taking another bite from your sandwich, but still curious about it. 

“Why don’t you eat anything but sugar?” You asked through a mouthful of sourdough. 

“Well,” Ryusaki began, “Desserts tend to be more homogeneous in texture and taste. I find most ‘real’ food reduces my deductive skills by approximately twenty-five percent.”

You looked up at the beauty of the ending day around you and breathed in the air of the city. 

“Do you need your deductive skills right now?” You asked softly, eyes still trained on the sky. 

Moments passed in peaceful silence. You could hear a dog barking and the mummer of the life teeming below you. People going about their everyday lives, despite the horror of this new world. You tried to join them now and then, encouraging Ryusaki to do the same– to have a life outside of, despite of Kira. From your peripherals, you saw him spread his knees apart, sitting in a cross-legged position. You watched as he continued adjusting, trying to find a comfortable position. When he settled, you turned your eyes to his. 

“Would you like some tea?” You asked. 

He nodded his head, and you poured him half a cup from the teapot, filling the rest with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He thanked you when you passed it to him, fingers brushing briefly. You could tell he was a little uncomfortable, probably much more in tune with the “loss of thought” he was experiencing than any other person would be. He held his cup in both hands, elbows resting on his knees as he looked into the wheat-coloured drink. You left L to his thoughts, knowing he would share them if he deemed them important. You instead focused on tucking the rest of your sandwich away, opening another to try. You were happy Watari cared enough to cut them into little triangles. 

“What are your plans after the Kira case?”

You nearly choked on your sandwich, not expecting the question. You wiped at your mouth with a napkin, trying to grab your composure. 

“I haven’t given much thought to it,” you said, “but I know it will be a bittersweet moment when we catch him.”

Ryuga sat up a little, his interest piqued as he took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” you began, “I’ve met a lot of great people by working on this investigation. I don’t imagine our paths will cross much once this is all resolved, even if we do survive. But it makes me happy to think that one day they’ll get to walk into their front doors and hug their families without the fear of them being ripped away as collateral damage.”

“Not to mention,” You continued, “at the risk of sounding selfish, this job has some really nice perks. I’m compensated well, I get free room and board, I haven’t done my own laundry in four months, and I can even get company-provided gourmet picnics on the rooftop. There’s a lot to miss.”

“I must admit, I will miss the camaraderie,” L said softly. “But I fear the fallout from Kira’s arrest more.”

You knew what he meant. If he was right, and Light and Misa were Kira and The Second Kira, then it would destroy the task force. Matsuda’s heart would shatter, as would Mogi’s, though he’d hide it better than the former. Chief Yagami would likely suffer another heart attack, or perhaps snap entirely. And while you yourself didn’t want to believe it, you couldn’t deny what you knew was true. With the proof of shinigami's existence and an otherworldly murder weapon disguised as a harmless notebook downstairs, nothing could be ruled out. You questioned what other powers came with the notebook, and how those powers transferred. 

Bribing Ryuke into answering all your questions was easy enough. It turns out he had never known the taste of a Fuji apple, only enjoying the common red delicious. One was enough to get him hooked. You presented everything you had learned about ownership of the notebook, how it can be passed, and how it affects the user. You and L had come to the same conclusion: sometime in Light’s confinement, he transferred ownership, as did Misa. You knew for sure when Misa visited Light the other day in the lobby. 

At the beginning of the investigation, he refused to toy with her emotions, as it went against his code. And you found it comforting, knowing Kira would have no problem doing that, and Light was immediately opposed. For months, he made no effort to show affection to Misa, rebuffing any advance or innuendo she made, but you watched as he brought her into a hug. You watched as she melted into it, savouring the sparring touch and every word he whispered into her ear. You knew he hadn’t magically fallen in love with the girl, but was using the love she had for him. 

Yes, Light had changed, and the repercussions were terrifying.

Ryusaki was silent. By now, the sun had set, and the moon began climbing up a ladder of stars. The candlelight flickered, making shadows jump and jive across your friend’s face. The shifts were jarring, but the gentle lighting softened his hardened edges. Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, down his plush lips, and his long neck. You wished to stretch out a curious finger to replace your itinerant eyes. 

“Would you like a cake?” Ryusaki asked, changing the subject. You allowed the distraction, deciding you would bring it up again later, but not know. 

You selected one with orange filling and chocolate drizzle. It was delicious, falling apart in your fingers as you ate it. You heard a soft chuckle leave your friend's mouth and you looked up at him confused. He said nothing, instead motioning towards his face. You tilted your head, not understanding what he meant. Before you could ask, L brought a napkin to the corner of your mouth, gently rubbing it across your bottom lip. 

Your heart stopped beating and your lungs stopped breathing. His touch was like the flames of the flickering candles, igniting the skin he polished. His eyes flicked up to yours and you were lost in a pool of obsidian, his pupils vast in the stary night. 

“There,” he said softly, “all gone.”

You searched for your voice, and it came out in a breathy whisper, “Thanks.”

He continued, unbothered by the unprecedented physical contact while you took a sip of your tea, in hopes that would help your unsteady heart. Before you had much time to recover, He spoke again. 

“My favourite colour is blue.”

You blinked dumbly, at the man as he readjusted uncomfortably. 

“My favourite cake is Strawberry Vanilla Sponge Cake,” He continued, “and I sing in the shower.”

You laughed out of shock, and words continued to spill from his mouth like he couldn’t stop them. 

“If I could have a superpower, I would want invisibility. I think four-leaf clovers are ridiculously overblown, but I admire their inherent whimsy. I really like The Beatles, which is very embarrassing as I am British. But even more so because I listen to ‘We Can Work It Out’ when I get frustrated. They bring me a sort of comfort. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think it’s funny when they’re given people names, or named after ridiculous things. If I had one, I’d get a tuxedo cat and name it 3,4,4,5-tetramethylcyclohexa-2,5-dien-1-one.” You open your mouth to ask what that was, but he answered it before you could, “It’s a cyclic dienone, more commonly known as penguinone, and though it has no applicable uses, it’s funny.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his sudden urge to tell you all of these things. In his unblinking eyes, you saw something close to desperation and it confused you, forcing you to look away. You missed the way Ryusaki’s face fell. 

“Are you…upset?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry if I overshared.”

“No, no,” You reassured, trying to alleviate some of the guilt that filled your chest at his apprehension. “I’m just confused”

“I was trying to establish trust,” he explained cooly. 

Your brows furrowed, “Do you think I don’t trust you?”

“No, I-” he paused, releasing a sigh that moved his shoulders. 

“Ignore me,” he said sadly, “Nothing I say lately seems to make much sense.”

Your heart shattered at the uncertainty in his voice. He usually spoke with such conviction. To hear him unsure, insecure in sensibility– his intelligence, really –it made you nauseous. 

“Ryusaki,” you began, but he looked away. 

“Ryusaki,” you tried again, this time resting a hand on his shoulder, “your sense is still very intact. You’re not the crazy one.”

He looked at your hand, where it rested without hesitancy. 

“Look,” you continued, “Someone is trying to kill you. And it could very likely be your best friend. You’re making more sense than anyone else would in your situation.”

Suddenly his eyes shot to yours. There was a small fire burning there, and you worried that you had upset him. You began to remove your hand, but he rested his on yours, keeping it pressed against his shoulder. Your heart leapt at the contact, and you prayed he didn’t notice. Though, if you knew anything about Ryusaki, he did and already tucked it away as useful information. 

“Light Yagami is not my best friend.” He said simply, “You are.” 

You couldn’t fight the smile that sprouted from the sentiment. 

“Really?” You asked in disbelief.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Your smile grew more teasing, “But you didn’t even chain yourself to me.”

L smiled too, “I didn’t have to.”

Time passed in silence. It was a bit awkward, your hand remained on his shoulder as the candles burned. You were getting chilly, the night air nipping at you through your t-shirt. L’s hand kept yours still, you were much too nervous to move it away. Especially when you could see your friend thinking very hard. 

He suddenly turned toward you, removing his hand and jostling yours. His thumb came to his lip, running it across and moving the muscle. 

“There are a lot of social customs that I haven’t gotten to participate in, due to my isolated childhood, and even more so because of my dangerous career,” he said, “for instance, I had never had friends until this investigation, and now I have three. But that also means I haven’t experienced a lot of the common experiences that come with friendship.”

He looked you over, trying to gauge your reaction thus far. You seemed at ease but attentive. His eyes darted to the blue streak in your hair, and felt a warmth blossoming in his chest. He was amazed by how light-hearted you could be, despite the heavy burdens you carried. You shone so brightly, he was almost embarrassed to ask you to share.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with that. I think it’s important to my development, and general understanding of the human condition.”

You were delighted to hear that he was thinking about such “trivial” things. As you became closer to L, you quickly realised that he lived a very lonely life. You could tell he had convinced himself that was what he wanted, but you knew a life of work wasn’t enough, and he deserved more. You always encouraged him to take care of more than his brain; to value his body and his spirit as well. 

“Of course L,” you nearly cheered, “what did you have in mind?”

You waited patiently for his response, trying your best not to shrink under his gaze. You were sure that his eyes were a large reason as to why he made such a great detective. When he focused his eyes on someone, it made them feel see-through; like he could see everything that made up that person. Like he could read your thoughts. 

“Can I-“ he began, then stopped. It was rare to see him trip over his words. “I would like- would it be okay if we hugged?”

Lightning struck across the sky, and you flinched, startled by the sound. You looked up into the dark, trying to find the flash of light you knew was long gone. You spotted the thick, rolling clouds hovering above you, and you hadn’t noticed before. Then the thunder rumbled, and the cry was resonant, penetrating your bones as it rolled through you. Then slowly, rain began falling from the sky. A few drops landed on your face, and you could feel them beginning to stick to your clothes. 

When your shock faded away, you looked back at your friend. He was looking at you intently, hunched over like always. You opened your mouth to respond, but L spoke before you. 

“Let’s step inside,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder like you had before, “you’re shivering.”

You hadn’t realised that you were, but as you looked down at your hands, you couldn’t deny the tremble. He stood and began packing up everything on the blanket, refusing your help when you offered even though the rain had picked up. It was steady now, easily soaking through your clothes and his in turn. Once everything was tucked away, he guided you inside, opening the door for you. 

As you walked down the steps, your mind spun around his words. He had asked to hug you, someone who you thought would be pretty averse to physical touch. You were surprised he let you lay a hand on him at all, and even more surprised when he reciprocated the action. It could’ve just been an experiment, a test to see how it made him feel, but you found yourself reviewing your own results. 

You hadn’t really touched L before. There was no reason to. Even when he fell out of his chair over the whole “Shinigami” thing, you let the others crowd him. Your hands had maybe brushed here and there when passing sweets or documents, but intentional, prolonged contact was never made until today. You couldn’t deny his behaviour had been odd lately, though that was to be expected with the stress he was under. You wondered if he was indulging out of curiosity or a fear of missing out on life. 

You jumped again as another bolt of lightning struck across the sky, followed by the soft beginnings of rain, now slowly collecting on the glass walls around you. You began walking down the hall and jerked your head to beckon Ryusaki, who seemed deep in thought. You watched the rain grow, drops colliding and running down the glass. You stopped to trace the tracks left, your body shuttering against the cold.

“I’m sorry,” your friend spoke quietly, as there was no one but you here, and no reason to raise a voice. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You looked at him with shock, but he refused to look at you. 

“Ryusaki, I haven’t felt uncomfortable around you since we started this investigation. Why would that change now?” When he didn’t respond, you bumped his shoulder with yours, “Seriously though, if you ever do make me uncomfortable, I won’t let you live it down.”

“Good,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You both continued to stare off into the distance in silence. You began breathing out hot puffs of air and drawing in the condensation. Meaningless shapes littered the space as you got lost in your thoughts. 

You felt stuck between knowing and knowing nothing. You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Your thoughts were interrupted once again when you felt a weight on your shoulders, and you looked down to see pale, slender hands embellished with tendons and glistening in the light. Your jaw dropped slightly, seeing him appear so close behind you in your shared reflection. 

“You’re still shivering.” He didn’t look at you, his eyes obscured by his shaggy hair, “A blanket should help.” 

You offered a kind, timid smile in thanks, turning to face him. Your cheeks filled with blood though you couldn’t quite pin down why. Maybe it was just because he was touching you again when he’s never really done that before. Or maybe it was the fact that he was concerned about you. Or maybe it was the intimacy of it all, how close he was and how gentle his touch was. 

His hallowed, all-seeing eyes met yours and you lost your breath. You wanted to look away, feeling pierced by his gaze, but you couldn’t– you wouldn’t. “If this isn’t sufficient, let me know. It’s my fault you’re cold.”

“No, it’s not,” You chuckled as he adjusted the material on your shoulder, “I walked out willingly. Yeah, you baited me into staying with food and tea, but I saw your plan, and I decided to go along with it.”

L smiled shyly, “I never could fool you.”

Your brows furrowed, and your heart sank. 

“Can.” You corrected sternly. “You never can fool me.”

“Ah, Of course.” L said, removing his hands from you and tucking them back into his pockets, “You’re too observant for me to keep a secret. You’re always the first in the room to know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t directly address his slip-up– referring to himself in the past tense as if he had died –so you didn’t either, instead filing that away under “more things to bring up later”. 

“What can I say?” You teased. “Great minds think alike.”

“That they do,” he muttered, though you could tell his mind had taken him far away again. 

You turned back to the window, and he joined you there. The rain had picked up, the heavy clouds drawing nearer. Your body buzzed with the electricity in the air. You could feel the winds of change surging through the city, and it filled you with determination.

“You should change,” Ryusaki whispered, “you’ll catch a cold.”

“Please,” You said, rolling your eyes and landing on his. “We were out there for less than an hour, and it never dropped below four degrees.”

“That’s still rather cold,” He hid his eyes from you, and you missed the sparks he carried there. “Not to mention the addition of rain.”

“If you’re so worried about my immune system,” you quipped, “studies show that hugs can actually help fight illness.”

That got a reaction out of the man, whipping his head to look at you. 

“Is that so?” He asked, amusement teeming in his thin, grey irises. “Is it the exposure to more germs?”

“Possibly,” You admitted, “But it’s mostly the stress relief. Hugs reduce your cortisol and noradrenaline levels, improving blood pressure and general heart health. Also, with both of our body heats working together, it might help warm me up.”

L brought his thumb to his lip again, pondering your words. 

“Maybe you have a point.” He muttered, “Perhaps we should test this theory.”

You agreed but neither of you moved, both too afraid to make the first move. You had hugged people before. You had hugged your family and many friends, so hugging Ryusaki shouldn’t be that nerve-racking, and yet, your body was buzzing just at the concept. 

Suddenly, L Spread his arms, his figure drowning in his baggy sweater. It happened in slow motion, or at least it felt like it did. He dove towards you, wrapping his arms tightly around you, unintentionally pinning yours to your side, and his chin landed on the crown of your head gently. 

You tensed, not expecting him to just go for it. Your face was pressed into his chest, your nose brushing his collarbone because of how his sweater had shifted. You were suddenly self-conscious breathing on him, trying your best to make sure your lungs were expanding and contracting naturally, but you could feel the awkwardness in your muscles. 

“I don’t think this is working,” He said, his jaw moving against your head, “Your heart rate has only elevated. This seems to be…bothersome to you.”

He slowly removed himself but remained close, focusing his trying eyes on you, hands back in his pockets. “Please, tell me how you feel.”

“Well, firstly, you surprised me.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. Laughter bubbled up due to his unwavering gaze that affected you, though you didn’t want to concede to that. “And second, I’m not sure that counted as a hug. You trapped my arms, so I couldn’t reciprocate it properly.”

“I see,” He said, not showing any emotion you could detect (And you had gotten pretty good at reading L at this point). “What can I do better?”

His determination was…adorable. He was adamant about this, about hugging you better. You wouldn’t have thought this was something he ranked so highly in importance, and you felt flattered. 

“Open your arms again,” You instructed, scooting closer. 

He followed your orders, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. You took a quick breath, then brought your arms around his waist, then rested your ear between his pecs. There you heard his heart. You expected a steady thrum, but instead, the muscle beat like a kick drum without cause. But you supposed if you only fed your body sugar and caffeine, your heart would go crazy too.

He was also much comfier than you expected his skin and bones to be. His frame felt right in your arms, and a word flitted through your mind: safe. He was safe here in your arms, and you felt safe here too. 

You remembered then that he was still standing there with his arms fully extended, like an owl stretching their wings. 

“You can wrap your arms around me like before now,” You said into his chest. 

He did as you said, and you felt an instant relief. Your blanket was wrapped around him, and you were surrounded by L. He was soft, like the petals of a Gardinia– like the ones your mother used to grow. He smelled like chocolate and strawberries, though with his diet, you were sure he sweated out sugar. In the refracted light the droplets cast, it looked just like that, like sugar crystals dancing across his skin.

Your nose picked up hints of lavender you recognised as the fabric softener Watari swore by. You wanted to bottle the sents and wear them yourself. You found yourself snuggling in closer, drawn in by the comforts of L.

You sighed in contentment, closing your eyes. His heartbeat stabilized, beating slower but strong. Slowly, he adjusted himself, bringing his arms tighter around you and turning so his ear rested against you and not his hewn jaw. Many moments went by like that, with nothing but the instrumental played by the rain, steady breathing, and hearts beating. As time went on, your heartbeats began to sync, beating together. You felt warmth spread throughout you at the thought. You liked this. You liked being close to Ryusaki. 

“How long do these usually last?” He whispered into the rich silence. 

“It depends on the friends, everyone’s comfort levels.” You replied thoughtfully. “Some people only hug for a few seconds; others hold each other like this. But it’s recommended that you get at least four hugs a day.”

He hummed, considering your answer. “I definitely haven’t been fulfilling that quota.”

“It’s okay,” You said through a laugh, “Me either.”

“Perhaps,” L said, putting on his detective voice, “If you have found this as enjoyable as I, we could do this more often– try to reach that benchmark more. The act of hugging seems to increase my oxytocin levels, which feels different than the dopamine confections give me. If it affects you the same way, I think that could be good for us both.”

Your laughter danced across this skin. “I can’t believe you can feel the difference between happy hormones.”

“Of course I can.” He said, completely unphased by your disbelief. “Dopamine feels more like I’m doing a good job, and Oxytocin is…”

You waited patiently while he found the words. 

“Oxytocin makes me more…sentimental,” He landed on. 

“I guess that makes sense,” You mumbled into his chest. “Weirdo.”

He chuckled at the title that would have hurt coming from anyone else. 

“I would be okay with that,” You said, addressing his proposal, “If we hugged more often.”

“Great,” He said, and you could hear his smile. L could feel how the cold continued to cling to your skin. Although hugs were supposed to help fight illness, he doubted it was a cure. “We should finish up then so you can change.”

He released his hold on you and began to pull away, but without thinking, you held on tighter, your brows furrowing. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I just don’t want to leave this.” L brought a hand to his chin, cradling it and trying his best not to jostle you. “Is it the hug that you want, or is it me?”

Your eyes bugged at his question. Immediately, you let go, creating distance as you jumped back. You reacted as if he had struck you instead of asking a straightforward question to better understand the situation. 

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish plucked from the water.

“Well, I- It’s uh…I mean- heh -what?” You stumbled. Again, L’s shark skin eyes bore into yours, dissecting every stutter and stammer.

“I believe the question was fairly easy to comprehend.” He said plainly, “I asked if it was the hug you wanted or me.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks. 

“I understood the question,” You weakly defended. 

L’s head dropped once again to the side, his hair flopping loosely as he moved but still weighing down over his face. 

“Then answer it.”

You swallowed. He had cornered you, baiting you by insinuating you weren’t as intelligent as he thought and getting you to confess that you in fact were not confused. But in truth, you were. Because it was true that you were extremely touched-starved. You had dedicated the better half of the last year to catching Kira. You hadn’t had time for much else. You weren’t exactly popular before either. 

You were a criminal, a cyber-robinhood. You had stolen from several pharmaceutical companies and redistributed their funds to families in need. You thought it absolutely abhorrent that the companies could make money off of cancer and diabetes, depriving people of medicine they needed, not wanted. You had done it with your best friend, who was killed by Kira.

She had taught you the ropes and how to hide yourself from the authorities. She, however, had crossed the line. She began targeting government officials, leaking their private messages and phone records to the public. You would have thought that would align with Kira’s morals, but you guess not because she died of a heart attack in your arms. You hadn’t made a friend since, not until Ryusaki. 

You didn’t want him to leave you too. You were terrified that he would be ripped away from you, much like your friend before. But it was more than that. You wanted Ryusaki to live. You wanted him to have a full life, one of joy and contentment. One where his intelligence wasn’t weaponised. One where he could let his guard down and not break his back with his posture. You wanted him to drown in hugs, to never be deprived of comfort again. And you wanted to be by his side to see it.

You had become very attached to the man before you. You admired him, respected him. You found yourself trying to be more like him in many ways. And you felt pride every time he mimicked you. 

“I don’t know.”

L was unconvinced, leaning in closer, “Yes, you do. But you won’t say.”

You stared into his eyes, words eluding you. What could you say? You weren’t even sure what you wanted, what your answer would be. He looked at you curiously, awaiting your response. When you had none, he sighed. 

“Fine then,” He said, turning his investigative gaze away from you. “I will escort you to your room. Hopefully, that will satisfy you.”

You had requested a room here at headquarters and were unsurprised when L told you that he had already built one for everyone on the task force. You had all but moved in during the Kira case. You hadn’t meant to, but it was just easier than taking the train alone after a late night of investigating. With no one to stop you, you would stay up until three ante merīdiem, studying and analysing trends. Sometimes you would crash at your desk, but usually, you would drag yourself away when you noticed your eyes becoming heavy. But now, your apartment was more of a formality than anything else. L knew this and made no comments on the matter. He was happy you stayed here instead, and that the rooms weren’t a complete waste of time and effort. 

As you travelled through the silent halls, you brought your blanket tighter around your shoulders, tensing your jaw so your teeth didn’t chatter. Ryusaki seemed unbothered by the cold. He showed no signs of discomfort other than the way his shoulders folded forward more than they usually did. You wondered if he was just suppressing them or if he truly wasn’t cold. But then you saw a small shiver travel down his spine. 

“You never told me,” you said softly, “what you were doing out there?”

His steady pace was unwavering, his bare feet gently padding across the tiled floors of the hall. 

“Thinking,” He replied but offered nothing more. 

“Of course you were thinking, that’s all you know to do. ” You joked, “What were you thinking about?”

He took a few more steps, then stopped. You continued forward until you were standing side by side. He stared ahead, but you turned to face him. You watched as his face remained flat, unchanged. 

“I was thinking about my death,” he said plainly, continuing his previous pace. “I reviewed my mental record of my will, noting necessary amendments. Due to recent events, I felt it something I reconsider.”

Your stomach twisted at his casualness, and you looked away. How could he say that and have no feeling about it? Or rather, rationalize whatever feelings he had about the situation away?

“You-” You began, your words tripping over the lump in your throat, “you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not going to die.”

You said it with finality, though your friend heard the subtle desperation, the fear beneath your bravado. 

He stopped again, and when you turned to him, he turned as well. His eyes seemed almost hollow as he spoke. 

“We all die. And I happen to find myself in a position in which I am taunting the reaper.”

L did a lot of staring, and this one you took as a personal challenge. He knew what you meant, and he was purposefully not addressing it. You weren’t backing down; you weren’t folding for him. The other members of the task force often forgot that he was human; you refused to forget. While he was smarter than anyone you had ever met, he wasn’t a supercomputer. He had hopes and dreams; he had fears. 

“We’re here,” he said, interrupting this game of blink.

You hadn’t realised you had arrived at your room and hesitated at the door. 

“Would you like me to step inside?” He offered. 

You nodded. 

“Very well then.”

He opened the door and you stepped in. He closed the door behind him, then stood a few feet into the room, scratching at his leg with his foot. You made your way to your closet, selecting a new shirt and some sweatpants, then went to your dresser, selecting new undergarments.

L looked to the wall after catching a glimpse of the lacey bra you balanced from your finger. You looked to your friend, ready to ask him to turn around, when you noticed his head already turned and a slight rosy hue crawling up his exposed neck. He was usually so devoid of colour; the splash of pink was a nice touch. You wondered what had flustered him and if it had anything to do with you. The thought made you excited, but you chose not to acknowledge that. 

“I’m changing now,” You said, turning away from him. 

L tried his best to keep his eyes off of you, but soon, your hands were in the air as you peeled off your shirt, and his curiosity won. His eyes traced over the exposed skin, counting the vertebrae up your back. His breath hitched slightly as you reached behind you and unlatched your bra. He caught himself imagining what it would look like if you were turned around and ripped his eyes away again. After all, you were his friend, and it was inappropriate to think such things about a friend. Especially one that trusted him enough to change in front of him. He would rather die than abuse your trust. 

Soon, you were wiggling out of your pants, and his eyes betrayed him, following the movement of your hands. The cotton panties you wore were nothing special, plain and purple and a bit cheeky. It clung to the shape of your ass beautifully. His eyes bugged involuntarily, and he decided he could no longer trust himself to be facing you and turned his body. 

As he faced the wall, he considered your interactions today. You had sought him out and then joined him outside despite knowing the discomfort the cold would bring you. Meaning you valued his amusement more than your comfort. You entertained his tangents and encouraged him to try new things, which meant that his general well-being must be something of importance to you. Why else would you go out of your way to protect it?

Yes, you wanted him to be happy and made that a responsibility of your own. You coached him through a new experience and reassured his insecurities about it. He had hugged you for two minutes and thirty seconds, but you had held him for two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. So you enjoyed the physical comfort, and obviously desired more, as you only stopped when he shocked you. 

That’s right, you pulled away when he asked if you "wanted him." So enjoying his company was fine, but once "wanting" became a part of the equation, you rejected it. Or tried your best to. But you didn’t deny that you still desired his presence, allowing him to escort you to your room, where you took off your clothes in front of him. 

When he looked at the incidents individually, it could all be chalked up to you being a good friend– one who trusted and respected him –but he was a better detective than that. He also knew to look at the big picture. In his mind, he replaced himself with other people, like puppets in a play, and saw how your reactions changed.

He found it hard to believe that you would allow someone else on the team to hold you for two minutes, lure you into the rain, or risk them seeing you in your underwear. Which begged the question, why do you treat him differently? How does your perception of him differ from the others?

Then it became abundantly clear, and he was shocked. The conclusion he came to seemed ludicrous, and yet, it was the only one that made sense-- the only one that stood with the evidence. How could this be? There was only one way to know. 

He called your name and you hummed in response, putting on a new shirt and turning to face him. 

“You evaded my question.” He remarked, still looking at the wall. “However, I think your evasion– and the several events surrounding it –has given me a more clear understanding of the answer you were guarding.”

You felt a general unease, not sure you liked the direction his inquisitive mind was heading. You wrung your hands anxiously in front of you, looking at the back of his head. You should have known L wouldn’t let that go. 

“I told you I didn’t know.”

He turned quickly, catching you off guard. He was once again very close to you, his eyes dancing with curiosity and a bit of pride. It was a look you saw when he presented a theory based on new evidence he had finally made sense of that had previously baffled the team. You knew he was confident in whatever he had deduced and was more amused by your responses, watching carefully with a thumb pressed to his lip just a few inches away from your face. 

“But I don’t think it was the complete truth,” he pressed, “which makes it a lie of omission.”

“I didn’t lie,” You quickly defended. 

“But I saw it: a realisation flitting across your face. You looked at the evidence and came to a conclusion. You have some idea as to why you reacted to my question the way you did, and you have an answer. Does the answer put you in a position of vulnerability perhaps?”

You gaped at him, unsure how to respond. However, he continued to think aloud, answering your question for you with his own ramblings. 

“Yes, that must be it. In answering whether you merely wanted more affection or me, it would force you to admit that you had a need that wasn’t being met. And since we had already discussed our general lack of affection in day-to-day life, revealing that you felt you wanted more hugs would not make you uncomfortable… no, it has to be me that you want. That’s the only reason you would react that way. Which makes me wonder, in what way do you want me?

“My phrasing may have impacted your response, as ‘want’ can mean different things in certain contexts. However, if you thought of me in a strictly platonic sense, you would not have assumed I meant anything more than my company. There is, of course, the possibility that previous interactions in male friendships lead you to believe I meant something else, but I think it is more likely that you interpreted it romantically because you have– on some level –romantic feelings for me. And by answering the question honestly, you would have revealed that.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Am I right?”

Your brain was spinning, repeating every word he had said. He waited patiently as you mulled it over. You tried to disprove his theory, picking each line and defending the opposite, but it became harder and harder the longer you went on. You weren’t sure how you saw the man in front of you. He was your friend, someone you respected and cared for. You valued his opinion and you listened to his advice. But you couldn’t deny that you found him attractive. You had since you first met him. 

After your friend had died, it didn’t take you long to piece together that it was Kira who killed her. You brought your theory to the police, but they didn’t take you seriously. Apparently, there had been many false reports of Kira's murders, and yours was the fifteenth report that day. You continued to argue, but you didn’t even get past the front desk. That night, when you got back home, you decided you would do everything you could to catch the killer. You broke into the police database– which was entirely too easy –then followed up with everyone they suspected. You used your skills to hack into the suspects' computers, scouring through their histories and files, but didn’t find anything incriminating. Except for one man. 

He was too innocent, not even a record of porn on his computer. Most of his search results were quiz questions with brief breaks spent streaming funny videos. He was a studious pupil and the son of a cop. You consulted the police’s notes often and were surprised when they claimed it could be a student. Then soon after, the pattern of killings changed, further proving the theory.

You were convinced it was Light Yagami, but you needed more. So you tried to hack into L’s computer. You knew from the police notes of the meetings that L called in using a computer, meaning he had to have a Wi-Fi connection to talk to them in real time. It took you a while to hack the secure connection, and even longer to get into the computer. You felt defeated– outsmarted –when you realised the only thing on the device was whatever system he used for the calls and whatever connection he used for that was heavily encrypted. 

You thought nothing more of the event until you were picked up off the street a few weeks later. You were grabbed and bound, the assailant immediately gagging and blindfolding you. The drive was long, and you were taken somewhere with winding hallways and cold rooms. You were restrained to a table, straps keeping you upright, and then your gag was removed. 

You yelled in anger, cursing your capture and illustrating all the ways in which you would make them suffer for treating you this way. You only stopped when a robotic voice filled the room. It asked who you were, but you ignored its question, connecting the dots. 

“You’re L,” You said plainly, “The renowned detective. You’ve solved every case you’ve ever taken on. And you apprehended me– confining me and taking away my vision –meaning you must think I’m Kira. You know who I am, that’s why you’ve taken me in.”

He confirmed your suspicions and listed out the crimes you had committed, and your behaviours that made him suspect you. You couldn’t deny his deductions, and instead of trying to prove your innocence, you told him about your own mission to catch Kira. You even apologised for trying to hack him as well, “but you understand, I had to try.”

He kept you tied up for a few, very long days, then let you walk around the room, giving you access to a bed and a few books. Now and then he would check in on you and offered to make amends for the misunderstanding. You only requested that he hear you out. 

You told him about your theories and how you were disregarded by the police. He was the first person to tell you that he believed your friend was murdered and that it had more to do with them talking out against Kira online than the crimes they had committed. And that only angered you more.

Soon, he began to trust you. He showed you his face. He was nothing like you imagined, but everything you expected. He was odd; he looked almost sickly and was very deadpan. But he had a sense of humour, one that was just as odd as him. He was straightforward forward, and you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking, as he often shared his thoughts. He was kind, having an obvious affinity for sweets, but always willing to share with you. He asked about you and your life, and you could tell he was cataloguing everything you had to say. He listened so intently when you spoke. 

You only grew closer, looking forward to your meetings in the following weeks, and were elated when he told you about the new headquarters and how he wanted to introduce you to the rest of the team. He was impressed by your resourcefulness and intellect, but more importantly your passion. You were driven by revenge, but soon that changed. L believed in you, and you wanted to honour that. 

Despite his quarks, you saw his soft underside, and it drew you in more. He was fascinating to you, alluring. 

Was that normal for a friend? To simply see them and feel better, to seek out their company? Yeah, you guess it was, but you didn’t think it was as normal to think your friend is pretty. Friends don’t trace jaw lines or let their eyes linger on outstretched fingers and moving lips. Is that what you were feeling? Was your confusion and nervousness a result of an unrealised crush on your friend?

“Oh, I see,” Ryusaki mumbled, “It wasn’t an intentional lie; you only just now realised.”

You hated that he could read you as well as he could, and suddenly his proximity was suffocating. You stepped back, hiding from his gaze in your hands. It was bad enough that you had feelings for your best and only friend, but to come to that realisation in front of them –when they have the uncanny ability to practically read minds –was mortifying. You were cornered and unsure what to say. You didn’t even have time to consider what you wanted to do about your feelings before they were made known. 

You could try to deny it, but you didn’t think that would work. Not against L. So you decided to look deeper. You had pieced together how your interactions proved you liked him, but how did L fare? You compared his behaviour towards you to the others. He was kinder with you, often wording things gentler to you than he would care to for anyone else. He provided confections to everyone, but he only offered you bites from his plate. He was more candid about his feelings with you, as well as his thoughts. 

While he often toyed with the investigators, constantly testing their deductive reasoning and loyalty, L only asked what you thought to question his own conclusions. He valued your input more than others on the team, and you knew the task force was aware of that. if you were in the room, Ryusaki was always within arms reach. He never strayed far. He asked about your personal life, and he encouraged you to take breaks. He smiled and laughed around you, something you didn’t see in front of the others. You had seen L’s soft side, but only because he had shown it to you. He was vulnerable with you. But was that just friendship?

No, no there was more. Today, he cared for you, feeding you and treating you to a picnic. He apologised for your condition, completely disregarding his own. He did his best to atone for the wrong he felt he had done, going as far as to wrap you in his own warmth. He didn’t need to. He sought out the contact. Contact he didn’t look for elsewhere. Contacted he requested and asked for more of, in a less than graceful way. Tripping over words was out of character for the normally articulate detective. 

He then stayed by your side, escorting you to your room, again, disregarding the fact that he too was cold and rained on. Furthermore, any other friend would have turned away from you while you changed, but he faced you. You remembered the blush on his face before you changed. Either the idea of you undressing or something he saw you were changing into caused that response. You had difficulty believing this came from a general lack of experience with women. 

If Misa changed in front of him (which is an unavoidable event which has already happened with her room being monitored the way it is), you doubted he would have much of a reaction. Yes, you were sure. His flustered state was a result of you. 

You removed your hands from your face and looked at the man of your affection. He wore a curious look, and you smiled. 

“You’re not upset,” he observed, “Usually, people respond badly to my blunt deductions about their emotions. I expected you to yell or deny, but you’ve done neither.”

You chuckled lightly, “I don’t think there’s a way I could have denied that without further confirming your conclusion.”

“Well, your initial response of hiding from me was sufficient.” he said with a bit of smugness, “But I’m curious as to why you no longer feel the need to.”

“I don’t need to hide my feelings if you already know they exist,” you stated calmly, “And I’m sixty-seven percent sure you share my feelings, making them much less frightening.”

Rysuaki’s hidden eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. You watched smugly as he said nothing, revelling in the pride of shocking even the great L.

You explained how you reached that conclusion, knowing that would be his first question. When you finished, he looked up to the ceiling, reevaluating the evidence. You watched as his careful mind picked apart your deduction and this time you allowed yourself to appreciate his unique beauty.

You traced the slope of his nose, following it down to the tendons in his neck and where his collar bones poked out from his baggy sweater. You greedily observed the way his clothes hung from his body, nearly swallowing him whole. 

“It is true, I am rather fond of you. I made that more obvious than I intended, however, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” He admitted, “I can’t say I’ve ever had much of a love life or much experience with romantic feelings. I’m not sure how to proceed.”

You patted the spot next to you on the bed, and he crossed the room to join you. To your surprise, he sat with his feet on the floor, hands on his thighs. 

“I think this a good place to start,” you said warmly. “We don’t have to do anything about it yet.”

He nodded but didn’t look at you. You could see the gears churning in his head, then you noticed his hands. There were impressions left in his thighs from his strong grip. Was it possible he was nervous? You couldn’t hide the delight the sight brought you. You thought it was adorable that you were something that could cause him so much grief. But you hated it too. 

You placed your hand on his and he tensed slightly, but didn’t push it away. 

“Hey,” you said softly, “Take a breath. Really, I don’t want you to stress over this. You have enough on your plate.”

He looked at your hand, his face level, silently assessing, and you allowed him the space to do so. His hand twitched a bit under yours before he turned it over, his palm meeting yours and his slender fingers weaving between your digits. 

“What if-” he paused, as if not sure he should say what he was thinking. He took a breath as you instructed, then continued. “What if I want to do something about it?”

You couldn’t contain the smile that spread across your face, and you didn’t feel a need to. 

“Then I would ask what you wanted to do.”

"It's not about what I want." He looked at you, eyes wide and panicked. “What if doing something is stupid and puts you in danger?”

You had never seen L so worked up before, and you were stunned for a moment. You realised he was letting you in, even more than before. He was letting you see his fear, something you're not sure he’s shown anyone willingly. And in this moment, you were reminded that he was just a young man. That his life had barely begun. Yet he had seen horrors you couldn’t imagine. 

“If Light is Kira,” he continued, through gritted teeth. “then you are already endangered enough. But if our relationship is now romantic, he may use you to get to me. He would have no problem killing you if it brought him closer to his goal, and we both know that.”

“Ryusaki…” you tried, rubbing your thumb against the back of his cold, clammy hand. “He already knows I care for you. The others have been teasing me about my favouritism for months now. If he thought I knew anything, or that you would tell me anything, he would have already done it. If he could, he'd probably force me to write your name in the book somehow, so he didn’t have to do it himself.” 

The fire in his eyes fizzled, and now he looked deflated again as if his anger was the only thing giving him the energy to fight. 

“Then, I can’t tell you anything,” he concluded, “and that doesn’t make for a very strong relationship. One of secrecy where I’m forced to keep you at a distance…no that won’t do.”

He let go of your hand, looking away and rising to his feet. You felt that familiar tug in your heart, the one you felt at your desk when you realised he wasn’t beside you, the same feeling when he tried to end the hug. It felt like he was leaving you, and this time, it made you angry.

“Fuck that!” you said a little harsher than you intended. L turned to look at you in surprise; you had never raised your voice to him before (Aside from that time he arrested you and you didn’t know it was him you were cursing). “I refuse to let Kira make any decisions for me. That bastard doesn’t get to stop me from doing anything I want. And I want this, I’ll fight for it.”

You spoke with a vicious resolve, and L had to admit, it was intriguing. 

“I’m done letting him ruin my life. I’m taking charge. I know there’s a way to prove it, to get him to confess. We can do it. We’ll catch that monster and frame his head on the wall.”

L was studying you; you could see it in his analytical eyes. 

“‘Monster’ you say…” he wonders aloud, “There are many types of monsters; the one we face now... he’s a lying monster: He’s cunning, posing as a human, though having no understanding of the human heart. He works hard, but only to appease his own hubris. He seeks friendship even though he does not truly know how to love. I had once said, If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because, in truth, I am that monster.”

He locks eyes with you, his gaze resolute.

“Tell me, honestly, how can you hate Kira and care for me? We are the same beast.” His body towered over yours, the shadows of the light obscuring his face under his hair. He was almost intimidating. “I do not fight for justice but my own amusement. How many lives have I disregarded all because I didn’t find the case challenging enough? How many people have I endangered solving this one? I allowed who I believed to be Kira intimate knowledge of the case, all because I thought it made the game more fun. I view people as disposable, just as Kira does, and manipulate them just as freely. Kira and I are cut from the very same cloth. Yet, you despise him and respect me.”

Your stare was hard and unforgiving. Rage shook your body, and L was sure that you had changed your mind. You hated him now, just as you should. 

“No,” You said sternly, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t allow you to lie to me.”

You carefully lifted his chin, forcing him to hear you. 

“You are flawed, yes. You certainly have an ego, but that doesn’t make you a monster. If you were presented with the power of the death note, you wouldn’t use it to make yourself a god. You don’t always fight fair, but the criminals you chase don’t either, and it would be silly to try for the high road. That is what makes you such a great detective. You do what needs to be done. But that’s not why I care about you.”

You saw a flicker of surprise on his face before he buried it once again. 

“I care for you. Not L, the world’s greatest detective. I care for the man who treats me kindly and listens to my woes. I care for the man who checks in to make sure I’ve eaten and taken breaks. I care for the man who is so terrified of himself, he hides away from the world. I care for the man who was cursed with a brilliant mind and raised in a world of evil. I don’t care that you’re a genius, I’d love you dumb. I’m not interested in what you can do for me. I just want you.”

You watched as the man closed his eyes, unable to face your reverent judgment. 

“You could step away right now, and I’d never think less of you. You could imprison Light, right or wrong, and I would stand by you. You could tell me that you don’t want this, and I wouldn’t fight you.” You moved your hand from his chin to rest against his cheek. “But if you bow down to Kira– admit defeat when your heart is still beating –I’ll never forgive you.”

His eyes snapped open, and he scanned your face, looking for a lie, but found one. 

“We live in a world where gods of death are real,” you continued, “And that knowledge has made me realise even more that nothing in life is guaranteed. Nothing other than your own resolve. I chose life, and I wish you would choose the same.”

“You speak as if I am trying to kill myself.” he scrutinised. 

“Since the arrest of Higuchi, you’ve stopped investigating," You pressed, "but we both know it’s not because you think we’ve stopped Kira. There’s still a second notebook- a second Kira. And I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in Yagami, almost as if coming in contact with the book has turned him back into Kira. I see the way he looks at you, the way he studies you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” he confirmed.

“Then why? Why have you stopped trying to catch him? If he is actively trying to catch you– to kill you –and you do nothing to stop it, you are killing yourself. You’re allowing him to win. And I can’t– no, I won’t catch him without you.”

“You wouldn’t avenge me?” He asked curiously. 

“I’m here for my own selfish reasons,” you reminded him, “If you die, then everyone I have left will have been taken by Kira. What motivation would I have left to stop him?”

“I see…” he said flatly, “so if Kira is to be caught, we must both live to see it happen.” 

“Yes, but more so, I would blame you for your death. Avenging you wouldn’t be possible, as you and your killer would be one and the same. I would hate you.”

His hand joined yours, guiding it away from his face and holding it at his side.

“I’m not sure I could rest knowing you hated me. Not when you’re the only person I trust and the only person I can say I’ve ever cared for– besides Watari, of course,” He said softly, “But in all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of it. I can’t control you, and I have no desire to, but allowing you to grow any closer to me is dangerous. And I would hate myself if anything happened to you.”

His fingers traced over the creases in your hand as he spoke, memorising the fate lines. 

“But I can’t deny the attachment I have for you.” he continued, “It clouds my judgement, and I spend valuable time constantly correcting it. I’ve been indulging in delusions of running away with you. Taking you far away from the danger, placing you in a secure palace where you want for nothing, allowing you to lose yourself in all the simple pleasures your poetic mind can conjure. I would rather collect a list of books for your library than face Kira at the moment.”

You felt like crying, his words striking your heart. While it was easy to deduce that he favoured you over the others, such a blatant confession wasn’t something you expected. You knew this fantasy was built in his mind as something to make you happy, but you knew that this was something he wanted as well. To live a life of ease, not as a pawn to world governments. To be free to have intelligence and not be weaponised. You realised then, he was tired. He was exhausted from chasing Kira, exhausted from comparing himself to the enemy. 

“Let’s get out of here then.”

He looked at you curiously. 

“You can afford a break, a real one. Your mind is scattered, and you can’t possibly expect to outsmart Kira if you’re worrying about everything else.” You explained, “I’ll talk to Watari about planning a secure getaway for you but for now…”

You softly grabbed his hand and led him towards the door, “We’re going to your room so you can change. Then we’ll discuss what we’re doing for the night.”

He allowed you to lead him down the hall, saying nothing while you travelled. He only spoke again after you stepped into his room. 

“I am not often surprised,” he marveled “But you continue to amaze me. I can’t predict you. You’re courageous and strong-willed, but always kind. You’re extremely brilliant, but you’re humble about it. But most amazingly, you believe in me– not because of what I’ve done, but because of who I am –and I’ve never met someone who could separate the two.”

You flush under his praise, “You say you can’t predict me, but I swear, you see right through me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with panic in his eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You laughed, the sound affecting L more than he expected. He loved it, loved making you laugh. He wanted to do it as much as possible, but that was something to figure out later. 

“You didn’t,” you reassured, “but I do have something you can do to make it up to me,”

L smirked, knowing you were teasing him. 

“I don’t understand. I didn’t offend, but you claim I need to make amends.”

“You don’t have to. It’s completely up to you.”

“What is it you would have me do?”

You didn’t answer with words, instead spreading your arms and then making a grabby motion towards him. Your smile was soft, gently pulling at your lips. 

“Yes,” he said sweetly, “I suppose we could both use a boost of oxytocin.”

He took slow steps towards you, and then all at once, his arms were around your waist. He pulled you into him, lifting you slightly off the ground, bringing your neck to his hung head. You felt goosebumps where his nose nuzzled into your skin and your heart grew wings, soaring. You held L just as tightly, indulging in his desperate touch and burying your nose into his silky hair. 

“I think we should revise our previous agreement about hugs.” He said after a moment, speaking into your throat. 

“What amendments would you like to make?”

“I think four hugs a day is fine, but I don’t think we should limit ourselves to that. We do need to make up for our lack of hugs in the past after all. Furthermore,” he lifted his head slowly, so as not to knock you in the nose. He would feel horrible for that. “I think we could add or substitute hugs for other forms of affection as well.”

You hummed, and he continued. 

“For instance, you have held my hand twice today, and both times, I felt a similar sort of comfort from the action. In fact, I’ve noticed any skin-to-skin contact with you eases me. Your hand on my face proved that. I tested this theory twice. Once, before our confessions, on the blanket. I placed my hand on the one you had placed on my shoulder. Then again, in your room, by simply touching your hand, tracing your palm instead of holding it. Both yielded similar results.”

You smiled at him fondly, your hands reaching up to play with his hair. As your nails skated across his scalp in lazy circles, his eyes fluttered a bit, his lids resting heavier. 

“So you would like to add hand-holding? I’m fine with that.”

Your sweet voice flooded his mind, and your hands liberated his composure. 

“Either you’re completely clueless to the effect you have on me,” he whispered, “Or you revel in it. And I’m not sure which is more terrifying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, which startled L for a moment, but then he realised it was because of an emotional response and not an attack from Kira. 

“I wonder the same about you.”

L was unfamiliar with the look in your eyes. Your pupils were dilated, and your irises sparkled in the light. He’s never been looked at like that before. Your face looked brighter, and your body language (while restricted in your current position in his arms) was relaxed; open. And suddenly, he was entranced by your lips. You were talking, and he studied the muscles as they moved, unable to focus on anything else. He felt the urge to kiss you, and this shocked him. He forced himself to pay attention to your words. 

“...besides you have all the power really. I know what I want, but if you don’t want me there’s nothing I can do about it. I could never kill you, but even if Kira forced my hand, I don’t know your name. And you’re the only one on the team who knows mine. Whether I like it or not, my heart is in your hands.”

“I would never hurt you,” he quickly defended, almost offended. 

“I know,” you said simply, “That’s why I trust your hands.”

Your gaze was unwavering, your stance absolute. The emotions L tried to contain began stirring restlessly. He no longer felt like he had a hold on them. A hurricane of feelings he couldn’t quite name tore through his chest, and he didn’t know what else to do but act. He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. It was awkward and brief, as neither of you puckered your lips, just touched them together. He kept his watchful eyes wide as he did so, gauging your response. 

“Was that a kiss?” You finally asked once your silent shock was replaced by a highly amused smile. 

A small frown overtook L’s face. “I fear if you had to ask…” 

His sentence trailed off as he sat you back down on the ground. Then turned to walk to his closet. His was much larger than yours (which was ironic given he wore the same clothes for days straight), and you assumed he elected to change there when he closed the door. Now that he was out of sight, you allowed your excitement to show, jumping up and down and shaking your hands. 

He had kissed you, almost. It was obvious that he didn't have the experience, but your heart swelled at the thought that he wanted those experiences with you. And he did kiss you, he held you in his arms, for no other reason than to hold you close.

You tried your best to calm down, but your bright smile would fool no one. Instead, you tried to focus your attention elsewhere, calling Watari. He had given you his number (or a number) months ago. He told you it was because he saw that you cared for his son and that his son trusted you. He also confessed that he was rather fond of you too. He wanted to see you make it out of this investigation. 

He answered almost immediately. 

“Hello, Ms Ogawa,” He was always careful to use your alias, even if he knew you were alone. “I notice that you’re calling from within headquarters, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was calling because I convinced Ryusaki to take some time off. I need you to plan a trip for him, no shorter than a week but something that’s easily extendable.”

The old man chuckled on the other end of the line. 

“You convinced him to take a break? I didn’t think anyone was capable; I wonder how you managed.” He seemed amused, implying he knew something through his old man wisdom. 

“I’m not entirely certain I did,” L emerged from the closet, looking nearly identical, just less soggy. You smiled at him as he made his way towards you. “But I’ll be very cross with him if he doesn’t. I think he knows that.”

The man you spoke of raised a single eyebrow as if to say, “Oh really?”

You made a similar face that left no room for argument. 

“I see,” Watari continued, “Shall I book this trip for one or two?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the question. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t have to though as L decided then to grab the phone from your hand, pinching it awkwardly between his fingers. 

“Two,” he replied on your behalf. “We’ll also need a cover so that the others don’t know we’re together.”

“Understood. How soon would you like to leave?”

L returned the phone to you, trusting your decision. 

“We’ll leave tomorrow. We have plans for tonight, and I’d like to rest beforehand.”

“That’s very wise, Ms Ogawa. I’ll send over the itinerary soon.”

“Thank you, Watari.”

You hung up, placing your phone back in your pocket. When you looked up, L’s hand was extended, offering you a sweater. 

“If you intend to go out,” he explained, “You’ll need a sweater.”

You took it gratefully, and he turned his head again, giving you space to change. When you finished pulling the shirt over your head, he looked up and felt like he had swallowed his tongue. He never anticipated that seeing you in his clothes would affect him this way. He was truly smitten by you, and that was something he could no longer deny. 

“Ready?” You asked, disrupting his train of thought. 

He nodded, and you offered him your hand. A small smile spread across his face as he took it. He trusted your hands too, he realised. 

You reached the garage, selecting an inconspicuous sedan for your ventures. L moved to open the door when you stopped him. 

“Wait!” Your heart was in your throat, but you closed your eyes and forced out the words. “My favourite flowers are poppies. I think it’s cool how versatile they are. The moon absolutely amazes me. I understand how its gravitational pull affects our tides, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I also really like The Smiths, which raises conflicting feelings in me because I hate Morrison as a person, but man, if he isn’t great as crying into a microphone.”

You heard a soft chuckle and felt a hand reach out to hold your bicep. You took a deep breath, continuing with Ryusaki’s encouragement. 

“I prefer a good milkshake over any other dessert. I think time travel is probably the coolest superpower, but I think it’s too great a power that I wouldn’t trust myself with it. I like cats, but I’ve always wanted a pet raccoon. I don’t think I could get one, morally, but they just look so cute. If I had one, I would love that little guy so much. I would give him a really pretentious name; find a way to grant him Lordship.”

You opened your eyes slowly to see Ryusaki smiling, his thumb tracing circles on your arm. His eyes darted around your face, twinkling in city lights. His heart pounded harder with every word you uttered. Romance was never something he prioritised in his life, it wasn’t something he ever saw happening. Most people were put off by him, and it wasn’t often that he actually met people in his work. He could have lived the rest of his life hiding behind a computer screen, an imperceivable entity known only to one man. But now, he would give anything to stand in the sun with you while you look at him the way you do now. Affection and amnesty dripping from your gaze. 

“I’d like to try and kiss you again,” he said timidly. “If you’d show me how.”

Your smile split your face, feeling overjoyed by his words. Each move you made, he mirrored, hands on cheeks and bodies touching as he matched your steps forward. You jumped up on your tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Ryusaki’s eyes widened comically, and a hand rose to his lips as if he’d find your kiss there. But soon, his shock dissipated, replaced by a look of hunger. 

This time, he led, dropping a hand to your waist to hold you close and using his other to lift your chin. He moved in so slowly, and your body thrummed with the anticipation of contact. He stopped, his lips barely grazing yours, and you couldn’t hide your desperate tremble when you felt his soft breath against your own. He pressed his puckered lips against yours, and you took no time reciprocating. 

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, guiding him and pulling him closer. You felt like you were flying, your heart beating its feathered wings against your ribcage. You pulled your lips away just to bring them back, and you could feel his confidence growing as he tilted his head and his grip on your waist grew tighter. You began moving your lips against his, testing the waters. The rhythm was awkward at first, but he caught it soon enough. 

His chest was rising and falling quickly against you, and he brought his hands up to hold your face. You lost yourself in his touch, in the way he clung to you. You were being consumed and felt no dire to run from it. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you gasped. 

Your eyelids flutter as your brain caught up to what was happening around you. Ryusaki was no longer kissing you but carefully cataloguing the look on your face in his mind. He was reviewing everything he did and how you reacted to it. He had decided that he loved kissing you, and he wanted you to love it too. He wanted love to be something you associated with him, especially now that he knew his brain was making a similar connection. He knew it was probably too soon to say something like that, but he could wait. He would wait forever if he had to. He had the brightest star in the sky in his palms, and he didn’t intend to let this shooting star fall from his grasp. 

You were seeing sides of L that you never thought you would, ones you never thought to look for. He held you like a precious stone, something sacred. He looked at you like you were a wonder to behold, the eighth wonder of the world. It made it hard to breathe, suffocated by his silent adoration. 

“So, where are we going this evening?” He asked from high above. 

“I don’t know,” you said breathlessly, “but we have all of Tokyo, I’m sure we’ll find something.”

He loved this look on you. The joy in your eyes, the lack of stress in your muscles. Your glee was infectious, and he didn’t mind it. 

“As long as you’re by my side, I think anything would do.”

He testingly laid a kiss on your forehead as he said it, and you felt like you would melt to the floor in a pile of goo. You removed a hand from his neck, resting it on his, and were delighted when he instantly intertwined your fingers. 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, Ryu-”

“Lawliet,” He interjected. You tilt your head, confused, and L does his best not to swoon as you rest your head in his hand on your cheek. “My name is Lawliet.”

You break out into a blinding grin, and Lawiet knows then that smile was the sunlight he was meant to bask in. Those were the rays that would light his darkest nights. The beams that would guide him through the intricate maze of life. 

He had found all he needed. A friend who listens to his grief and grievances. One who cares enough to try and understand his mind and soothe it at the same time. Not for her own convenience, but for his betterment; never pushing the boundary of discomfort but bringing thrill to the change. He found a fresh pair of eyes, for when his get dull and tired, to show him the artistry outside of the ghastly monstrosities he and the world bathed in. A person brave enough to show up, even on the bad days. The whole world could fit in his palms when he held you like this. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lawliet.” you corrected.

L smiled, squeezing your hands three times. You returned the sentiment with a kiss to the hand you held in your own. 

Tag List: @barbecuetiddy, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

I hope you enjoyed the read! Like I said, I don't think I'll do much writing for L, but I really enjoyed this. I hope even if you don't have as much love for this character as I do, you can still get something out of it :))

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Hiii! could you maybe write a Grayson x reader fic with a reader who doesn’t feel she is lovable cos her parents were abusive and taught her that?

hi!! thanks for your request, I realise it’s taken me a while to get around to writing it, so very sorry about that. It was a little dark but I’ll gave it a go. pre-warning I’ve never written anything like this before, so if it’s inaccurate or insensitive, I’m very sorry.

title: never good enough

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a make out session brings back some unwanted memories that you’re forced to face

warnings: really heated make-out session, suggestive themes (but nothing bad bad), lots of past trauma, swearing, panic attack, abusive parents

a/n: if any of the warnings trigger you, please do not read on, I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain!! I’d feel so guilty!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual

I like the way he tastes and the feel of his lips on mine. It’s not something I see myself getting bored of. It feels nice. But what feels nicer is the feeling of someone desiring you, someone wanting you, maybe even needing you. The feeling that someone chose you for a reason, because you matter to them. I like that feeling the best.

With each kiss I imagine that he actually feels something for me. It’s easier to play pretend. If you play pretend for long enough it can start to feel like reality. Growing up, I used to create things in my head all the time. Fictitious fantasies to fill in my empty voids of emotion. I suppose the habit had bled into my adult life.

He moans against my lips. The sound of pleasure indicating I’ve done something right, something he enjoys. My heart swells at this symbol of approval. Why do I thrive off of approval? I shake the feeling away in another deep kiss, burying it under a mound of other things I was ignoring. If I can’t see them they’re not there, if I turn my back, if I close my eyes.

These kisses are meaningless really, my brain knows it, actually it keeps attempting to remind me but I’ve gotten quite good at discarding things people say. They hurt my heart but not my head.

Grayson isn’t one to display how he feels for me publically. He’s mentioned before that he feels he doesn’t need to display how he feels to the world, he’s doesn’t care what the world thinks, he only cares what I think. It’s a beautifully designed excuse to tell me secretly that he doesn’t want to show affection in public because he doesn’t want me. I’m an embarrassment to love. I always have been.

But I don’t care. Our private moments together are bliss because I get to escape the truth and I like that. The truth is bitter like the cud, it’s harsh, it’s cruel, it’s painful. I’ve had too much of that already. So in the moments where I can I indulge so much I blind myself from it, I revel in the occasion. For the while.

His hands are firmly on my hips and I can feel the warmth of them through my clothes. They feel strong and supportive. They might be the only thing holding me together right now or it feels like it anyway. My hands are buried deep within his hair but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about it much. His kisses are quick and sweet, a little gentle. Sometimes he’d draw one or two out into longer, more passionate kisses. I didn’t care, as long as his lips were on mine, my memories would be forgotten. He begins to slide his hand up my body, tracing the curves of my bodice and up all the way until his cupping my face in his hands.

“I love you,” he pants, cheeks rosy and flushed, as we pull apart for breath, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Every time he says those words it ignites yet another fragment of my heart, that burns into ash in my chest. He’s killing me softly and I’m sure he’s enjoying it. He’s just telling me he loves me so I’ll stay with him, give him what he wants until he’s bored enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this, I’ve always known this. But getting to live in these moments, these moments laced in fierce passion and licked with flames of lust always made the harsh reality easier to swallow.

I don’t reply. Instead I kiss harder, more intensely. Maybe if I kiss with even more vigor, even more passion I can completely forget my pain. Maybe my mind will go blank and won’t be able to fill it in this time. I want the piercing sensation of white light to hit me and if it does I will let it burn me. Until my memories are incinerated and I no longer have to live with the weight of fear on my chest

He registers my sudden serge for more and begins to deliver. He matches my yearning for something deeper, something more. We’re caught up in heavy breathing, racing hearts and profuse sweating. Neither one of us cared. My hands find the hem of his shirt and I am tempted to tug down on the fabric but I don’t trust myself. My mind is too hypnotised by the sweet poison of his persuasive lips, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t make decisions like these. We’ve never gone further than kisses and I’m not sure if going further right now would make me feel better or worse. But who cares right?

No. I don’t let myself get that carried away. Not yet anyway. Even though I’ve previously been stripped of my dignity I will not be the one to do it to myself now. I take my hands away and slide them around the back of his neck.

We stop. Suddenly. And for a moment the standstill is uncomfortable. The absence of married lips is eerie almost. My mouth is tingling and I crave his taste already, it hasn’t been two seconds. It’s worse than drugs. I don’t want to stop kissing, every time we stop it opens a window for me to remember. A window I’ve been trying to avoid for far too long now.

He looks into my eyes and for a second I actually believe I’m wanted. Pools of gray, like a clear lake glistening in the moonlight. Pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty lips. But pretty doesn’t get you love. He smiles at me gently, a quiet kindness sparkles in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder how he is so perfect at forging this tenderness, how he claimed these masterful acting skills.

He trails his fingers gently down my face. It feels like he cares, the tentative manor misleading. Then suddenly I’m no longer in the apartment with Grayson. I’m back in my old house. No. I couldn’t be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. I don’t want to be back here. I escaped, I ran, I left, it was all over. I made sure it was over. I, I, I -

I’m back.

Sat on the living room sofa, that horrible itchy dull grey sofa, that appeared in my nightmares frequently. It even smells the same. The sour smell, that makes my stomach flip and my hands begin to shake. These four walls still haunt me. It looks as if they’re closing in, slowly, slowly. Like the room is getting smaller and I’m trapped. Claustrophobia seems to be my only companion.

My hands shake uncontrollably and no matter what I try and do to calm down, nothing works. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was coping well, I thought that it was going away. But this is proving otherwise.

I’m reliving a memory. A memory I’ve always wanted to forget. A memory scorched into my brain that tended to replay over and over like a relentless broken record that could never be smashed. I feel sick. I know what’s coming. No. I know who is coming.

His footsteps are an immediate giveaway and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. I’m curled in a ball down, small, hiding like a helpless animal in a hole. If I curl up maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he won’t see me.

“What are you doing?”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every note in his voice is exactly how I remember it. The question echos around my head but I say nothing in reply. My words won’t form in my state of paralysis.

“Answer me girl!” my father barks. His voice venomous, dangerous.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

He grabs my arm, his fingers so tight around me that I’m sure that they’ll be bruises forming soon. He yanks me up as I attempt to cower backwards.

“Don’t take that tone with me you whore,” he spits in my face, the pungent wreaking of alcohol on his breath as he throws me to the floor.

I hit it with a thud. A dull aching thud. Just like the dull aching monotony of this scene that was just a part of every day life back then. I don’t move from the ground, I’ve learnt not to fight back. That only landed me in hospital last time. I lay there so still I hope he thinks I’m dead so he’ll leave me alone. He does not. He knows better. Unfortunately for me, he knows his daughter.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” growls the voice that makes my blood curdle, “you hear that?”

I thought I’d left him far behind. I thought he was gone. I thought wrong. I am naive and I’m the idiot I have always been. I don’t reply again. There’s nothing to reply with. Of course I heard.

“I said, you HEAR that?” he screams it louder.

I don’t reply. Stupid mistake but he doesn’t give me time to undo it. He’s already standing over me. It had already begun.

***

He beats my body until my brittle bones long to snap. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Those four words repeat over and over in my head. They might be the only thing keeping me conscious. No matter how much it hurts he cannot know he’s won. I refuse to hand him that victory of a silver platter, decorated in my jewels of agony.

And for a split second I wonder where my mother is and I don’t even know why. She would’ve do anything, she never did. She just stood there, emotionales, detached. Mothers are meant to protect and defend their children against anything in the world, it made me wonder why mine did not. It made me wonder if I were born to different people or maybe not born at all if things might be better off.

It’s not the time for thinking, I’m reminded. Another kick. I will not cry. A punch. I will not cry. My lip splits open. I will not cry. A twist of my left arm. I will not cry, I think my nose is broken. I will not cry.

“Stubborn little bitch won’t even shed a tear,” he snarls, bitterness so evident on his tongue I was surprised it hasn’t dissolved yet.

Yes I am stubborn. No I will not cry. Not for him. And then it happens. All over again. Beaten, bruised, battered, broken.

I can’t breathe. I’m in so much agony there’s no way I could even scream. So tears roll softly down my face as I’m curled up on the floor in defeat, desperation and humiliation. My body is nearly motionless, my limbs lay slack at my sides. I can’t help myself and no one is coming to save me. I let myself cry, broke the only promise I had to myself. I’m even betrayed my own brain for him.

I look up at him, tear streaked face. Is he happy now? Is he finally happy with me? Am I finally going to revive some sort of approval? Stupid questions to be wondering when I know exactly how this story ends.

As my eyes meet his, my father trails his fingers gently down my face. It still stings from the slap, the cells on my cheek screaming in agony. There’s the faint tinge of metallic blood in my mouth. My father trails his fingers gently down my face. Grayson trails his fingers gently down my face. My father trails his fingers gently- Grayson trails his fingers- My father trails- Grayson tr- my father Grayson my father Grayson my father Grayson my father.

SNAP.

I shiver and jerk away suddenly standing up. I try to back away as Grayson’s eyes fill with concern.

“What’s wrong,” he asks me, trying to reach out to me. I recoil at his attempt of a touch, like a frightened animal.

“I need to leave,” I barely get out, through my shallow breathing as I turn to find the door.

Where is the door? I couldn’t find the door. Breaths come in quicker and faster. Suffocating. I am suffocating. An invisible man has a plastic bag over my head and he is choking me slowly with it. I’m losing oxygen, I’m losing the things that keeps me alive.

Grayson is on his feet beside me, careful not to touch me, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” I pant, so breathless I wonder if I’m still breathing at all, “it’s all me.”

Dizziness rolls over me and I close my eyes. I feel my body sway slightly, my sense of balance robbed from me. A pair of strong hands catch my waist and pull me upright again. I try and focus my eyes but the room is spinning.

“Woah, hey,” it’s Grayson’s soft voice, “come here.”

That’s when I realise his hands are touching me. I try to pull away but can’t see where I’m going. I can’t see anything as black dots dance across my vision.

“No!” I yell, my ear beginning to ring.

“Hey, stop,” he says gently, ”sit down and take a breath.”

“No I can’t, I can’t, you don’t understand,” I hyperventilate, my chest in so much pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs rhythmically, extending his hand out towards me for me to take if I wanted.

I flinch away. His eyes are deep with realisation, he knows, he understands. I’ve given my secret away.

“Who hurt you?”

His voice is almost ragged, almost angry. His eyes are blazing, the soft grey hardens into cold steel. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The words are unable to be spoken, they feel to forbidden. I don’t think I’d ever admitted my childhood out loud. I need air, fresh air. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

I feel like I’m drowning. Water blurring my vision, my heat pounding in my chest, my lungs screaming at me for the oxygen I cannot give them. My limbs frozen in a state of paralysis, heavy as lead, dragging me down. I can’t kick myself to the surface, I’m helplessly lost. All I can do I stare up and watch the last sight I’ll probably ever see. Sinking, sinking, sinking. I think I can feel my lungs fill up. They burn as if eager flames are licking the internal organ in pleasure. I can hear someone’s voice, it’s muffled, like there’s water in my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if this person will haul my body from the water or they’ll give up on me like everyone else.

“It’s okay,” the voice is soft and sweet, it becomes clearer by the second, “don’t say anything, just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. I take one look into his silvery grey eyes and in this second trust him with my everything. My heart is racing and I can hear my sharp intakes of breath. I manage a small nod as he helps me back down onto the bed, propping pillows up behind my back. I’m sweating, profusely and I feel revolting. The tremor in my hands is slowing slightly as he clasps them in his.

“I need you to breathe,” he tells me, making direct eye contact.

My chest is so constricted it physically hurts. The aching only grows the more I think about it but I can’t seem to stop. Hair is stuck to the back of my neck and the side of my face. I slick it back using my own sweat.

“I… can’t…” I manage to get out in breathless gasps.

“Yes you can,” he murmurs, “look at me, focus on me.”

I do.

“Yes you can,” he repeats, his voice strong, confident full of faith. Faith for me.

I close my eyes and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. I feel his fingers around my wrist, squeezing a little to check my pulse. He is warm against my cool skin. I reach for his hand with my other one and guide it slowly to my chest. I want to feel his hand on my heart. I want him as close as possible. His hand is on me with my hand pressed firmly against it. I open my eyes and stare at him, wondering if he could read my pleading eyes as well as I could read his compassionate ones. Mellow grey stares back at me in understanding. He keeps his hand on my heart.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, “please.”

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs back, “don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. I try to calm myself. It’s not like I’ve ever faced something like this before, I’d just never faced it in someone’s presence. The fear of him seeing me in this state of vulnerability, stripped of my many masks that tell the world I am okay when I’m not, that made it all worse.

But with some time, that could’ve been two minutes of two hours, my breathing slows, becomes more regulated. Things begin to calm down. I’m no longer sweating uncontrollably though my body is still wet. My shaking hands grow stiller by the second as I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger. Finally my heart rate begins to go down. I hear it less in my ears and feel it less in my chest. But it’s still there.

Grayson’s hand has still not left my heart, just like I asked. Gently I place my hand on his, and guide it back to his lap, letting him silently know he’d done his job. I take a hair tie and throw my hair up into an abomination on my head that I’m too tired to care about.

Grayson’s features have twisted into a way that almost makes him look worried. His eyes are larger than usual, his pupils dilated, swallowing up the comforting concrete grey. His eyes brows are pinched inwards slightly, only just and his lips are parted as if he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words. I want to pretend this look is real, I want to pretend he’ll still want me even after seeing me in my state, I want to pretend that this time it’s different. But I can’t afford to pretend anymore.

“Better?” he asks quietly, after a long period of silence.

“Better,” I rasp, my voice so hoarse it’s unfamiliar to me.

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Breathing in and out normally feels like a luxury now. I’m suddenly more grateful than I’ve even been for a steady flow of air to my lungs. Once I’m completely back to normal I make eye contact with Grayson. His face is difficult to read.

“What happened back there?” he asks me quietly, almost looking guilty for the question.

“What do you mean?” I reply, confused. Hadn’t he been there, hadn’t he seen?

“Why did you start to panic,” he clarifies, “what did I do to set it off?”

I want to shoot the conversation down there and then. Absolutely not. I am not ready to tell him anything, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to look at me different because of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Of course it does,” he presses further, “sweetheart I love you and-

Oh those three words. How the act as another knife to my chest every time. I love you is not meant for girls like me, I love you is meant for people who are worthy and special, I love you has never once been said to me with any true meaning behind it.

“Stop,” I snap, the word louder and harsher than I intended. It silently echoes through the empty space and takes a moment to sink in.

“What?” he asks after a few beats, confusion distorting his features.

“Just stop that,” I almost yell, as I go to get up, “stop doing that.”

“What am I doing?” he asks quickly.

“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice wavering when I really didn’t want it to.

“What?”

“Every time you say those stupid words and I can’t afford to believe them,” I exclaim, welling up with this sudden surge of emotion.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he says slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t love me,” I shout. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of living this lie and now I’m at my breaking point and I can’t afford to continue. There are too many lies, in my head, in my heart, in my life. This one I want to be rid of.

“What?”

“I know it so you can stop pretending I matter, that I mean something to you,” I sob.

Great. Now I’m crying again. Again. Pouring out my weaknesses for him to see. I’ve never felt so unbelievably helpless.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you,” he says it as of I’ve said something stupid or in gibberish.

Of course. Why of course? It isn’t obvious and I’m not an idiot. I’m stood here crying and he has the audacity to tell me this. I look him dead in the eye, my vision blurred a little due to the heaviness of my heart.

“No one can love me.” My voice is low and laced with the agony I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

How did he know? How could he see through my mask so easily? Was it cracked, had it slipped or was it just all transparent now?

“I didn’t need to be told, it’s just how I am,” I spit back, hoping my bitterness might deter him.

“No,” Grayson replies, his voice so sharp it cut dangerously through the air like a knife.

“What?”

“No, that’s not how you are,” he says, “because I love you.”

He digs a finger into his chest in attempts to prove his point, it looks hard enough to hurt but he doesn’t wince.

“Stop saying that!” I yell over him, “it makes it more painful, every time you say it, it’s like a stab in the heart and I can’t take it anymore.”

I expect him to get angry, to stand up and hurl insults at me. We’ve never argued before. But instead his face softens. “I’m not lying,” he tells me gently, his voice like caramel, “how could I lie?”

He’s not lying? Or at least that’s what he’s telling me. But the softness of his eyes look like he means it. No. I can’t let myself be so naive, I can’t believe everything I’m told, I’ve learnt that the hard way.

“Everyone who I’ve ever trusted has lied to me, why would that make you any different?” I ask bitterly.

“Because I do love you,” he tells me, “with all of my heart. You don’t understand what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around, you’re the main character of all my thoughts and dreams for that matter. Not a moment goes by without a thought involving you. You are the other half of my heart, you have it, you stole it from me the day we met. And I don’t even care because if I were to meet any thief I would choose you every time and I’m so glad you took it. I mean goddamit, you mean everything to me, everything. I would die for you without thinking twice, without even blinking,” he says, “I just wish you could see yourself how I do. And whoever made you feel this way never deserved a fraction of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your love. They truly didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long while. I’m too awestruck. He loves me. He really actually loves me unconditionally. He always did and I always pushed that notion away.

I’ve never said anything about my past out loud. It makes it less real, I can forget if I bury it. Except I can’t I’ve tried and tried desperately to do so but relentlessly as ever my brain has never let it go.

“My father,” I choked horsely, “my abused me physically from when I was young. I thought it was normal.”

Something twists in Grayson’s stomach, I can see it all over his face. He looks ill, all the colour has drained from his face and his eyes are sorrowful, mournful even.

“But the bruises, they were okay,” I murmur, “even the scars, I could deal with them. It was my mother who cut the deepest, without even laying a finger on me. Her words were…” I attempt to pull myself together, “…her words left scars no one will ever be able to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I can barely hear him. He looks mortified.

“It’s not your fault,” is all I can reply with. There’s nothing else to say.

“No one should have to-“

“But they do,” I choke, my voice getting shaky again, “and you know what, I’m tired.”

I wish I didn’t feel this weak, this powerless. Tears start free flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Salty droplets leave glistening trails on my cheeks like in some sort of abstract painting in an art museum.

“I’m tired of this pain,” I sob, “I just want it to go away, I just want to be normal.”

The pain wracks my body. Grayson takes me into his open arms and holds me to the warmth of his chest. I nuzzle into him, seeking comfort I’d never received from anyone else. I cling to him like a frightened child to their mother, my knuckles white. I’m almost scared to let go, incase that means I have to let go forever. I can hear his steady heartbeat against my ear. I sob louder, my body physically beginning to ache from the crying.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, stroking a soft hand down my hair, “you’re going to get through this and I’m going to help you.”

“How?” I wail. I’m hysterical and I hate it, but it’s taken control of me now.

“We just are, I promise,” he says, so much passion, so much faith behind the words. I want to believe him but I’ve had too many promises broken.

“I thought I was getting better,” I laugh bitterly, the tears flowing thicker and faster and harder, “I thought that I was coping better with all of this and now this is just proof that I’m not.”

I get it all off of my chest, words I’ve longed to speak for so long, the ones that have been locked away and avoided. I can say them. Freely. The caged bird is remembering she has wings, remembering she could once fly.

“Listen to me,” Grayson says, his voice clear, defined, “what you’ve been through isn’t something you just get over overnight, it’s not something you can wash away.”

“Why can’t it be?” I ask, snivelling in an attempt to gulp back my tears that seemed to be endless.

“It doesn’t work that way love,” he says, his voice so soft it could melt butter but instead it melts my heart.

“But…” I trail off into more sobs. I can’t carry on. Words are not enough to describe what I’m feeling, they’re not deep enough, the they aren’t raw enough.

I sob uncontrollably feeling more humiliated by the second. Loud, ugly, horrible sobs. When things are buried you don’t realise that they’ll eventually resurface. My body jolts backwards and forwards each time I let out a cry.

He pulls me close to his chest and whispers sweet nothings to me to comfort me. He doesn’t say anything the whole time. Somehow he knows that’s what I need. He just holds me, lets me know he’s there with the melodic rise and fall of his comfortable chest. He’s so gentle, so soft, he makes me feel fragile and delicate like a sharp of glass. I cry until I’m so dehydrated that there are no tears left and I’m so exhausted that I want to pass out.

And even then he stays holding onto me, supporting my broken body. He holds me, holding all my dilapidated pieces together, keeping me from falling apart. He cradled my head in my arms and tentatively strokes my hair. I feel myself relax a little more, I feel myself shut my eyes. Suddenly I’m aware of a sensation in my chest. At first I think it’s the panic coming back to prey on me some more but the feeling is too calming. It’s spreading across the left side of my chest, tingling a little but in a ticklish manor. It’s almost a warmth.

Is this what love feels like?

I open my eyes and sit up. What am I roping him into? He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be held back by someone like me. He could have anyone, any body in this whole world. I’m the last person he needs in his life.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say trying to pull myself free of his arms but his grip is tight, oddly reassuring. He’s not going to let me go, he’s not planning on leaving, he wants to say. To take care of me.

“Do what?” he asks, brushing some loose baby hairs out of my puffy face.

“The door is wide open, feel free to walk out on this,” I explain with an elaborate hand gesture, “you don’t have to deal with me.”

“The door is firmly bolted shut and no one will be walking out,” he tells me slowly, “you’re not a problem to be dealt with, you’re a person. A wonderful, beautiful, spectacular person, that I have the pleasure of loving.”

Tears well up in my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I’ve never cried so much in my life. The recurring lump in my throat makes another appearance. I don’t mean to get so emotional, but I do. I’m so used to being strong I suppose there’s only so much one person can take before they burst. I feel loved and wanted and needed and cared for, everything I’ve always wished for. Here is a man giving me all of that and more.

“And what if I don’t know how to be loved?” I whisper, fear clamouring up my throat.

“Then I’ll show you,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get it wrong,” I panic, “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes you do,” he soothes, “I know you do because I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hurt people when I love them,” I tell him as he gently caresses my hair, running his fingers through it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he says, “look at me sweetheart, I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

I nod, my heart not feeling so heavy. I lean further into Grayson and let him kiss the top of my head. The small gesture meaning mountains more because I know he loves me. And for the first time in a long time I smile, a real true smile. And it feels nice.

a/n: again, I’ve never written anything like this before so idk if it did it right 😭😭 anyways so sorry for it taking so long, hope you enjoyed

TIG masterlist

[ficmashup]

Gardening

Summary: Ghost is moving into a new apartment and you just so happen to be the building's owner.

A/N: First dip into writing second person (I think that's the right term?) and I'm not sure if I don't like it or if it was just difficult for me. People who've read my Price fic in first person, please weigh in here. I need to know if this sounds weird or if it's just me. I might rewrite the whole thing in first person and see which feels better.

Warnings: Not much here...overworking? Slight fainting. Not edited.

Word Count: 3k+

Masterlist

The first time he sees you, your hands are elbow-deep in dirt and there’s more smeared over your face. It’s late afternoon and he’s heaving a duffel over his shoulder to head into his new apartment. It’s been a long time since he spent long in an apartment at all and by the time he came back to his old one, the building was being foreclosed. He’d never been one to couch surf and he wasn’t about to start now. Certainly not for a month. Jump to seeing you covered in dirt in front of his new apartment building.

He hesitates on the steps, watching you a moment longer while you grumble to yourself. You’re on your knees digging through a flowerbed as if digging for diamonds. “You alright?” He surprises himself by asking and almost keeps walking with the expectation that you won’t even answer, but you turn your face up to him in an instant. Your arm raises to block out the sun and you don’t even flinch as dirt rains down on you.

“Fine, thanks. Just a few roots being stubborn.” You give him a warm, welcoming smile that keeps him still a few moments longer. Long enough for you to scan the duffel on his back and the few boxes set on the ground by his truck. “Moving in?” He hesitates a moment before answering. He’s not in the habit of giving away information freely, but the conclusion is obvious enough. He nods once.

“Then you’re Simon Riley.” You pull your hands from the dirt as if they’re the ones who have taken root and wipe them off on your jeans while getting onto your feet. Trepidation begins creeping into his chest and he grips the strap of his bag over his shoulder a little tighter. “I’m the building’s owner. Nice to meet you in person.” You offer your dirt-smudged hand as you give him your name and he laxes slightly. He takes your hand, seeing approval flash through your eyes. He wonders briefly if offering your dirty hand was a test that he just passed.

“I’ll walk you to your place and make sure you have your keys. Need help carrying anything?” You offer and it’s clear you mean it.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He replies evenly and you nod before leading the way and expecting him to follow.

“I run a tight ship. Hope you read the rules about staying here because if you break any, I’ll throw you out on your ass.” You move around the entrance easily, clearly knowing where everything is without having to look. A little glance over your shoulder is all you give him to make sure he’s listening and you catch the slight upward tilt of his lips.

“Yes, ma’am. Read over things twice.” He answers honestly and you hum with approval before guiding him up the stairs. Something about the way you hold yourself, the easy confidence, the way you say orders and expect them to be followed, reminds him of Price and puts him a little more at ease.

“You’re on the edge of the building, so only one neighbor on the north side and another across the hall. Delaney is quiet and keeps to herself more often than not, but I let her play music on the roof with friends on Saturdays.” Your voice fills the halls and he notes that the place is very well-kept and clean. Even the windows are clear and gleaming. You go on, “Mr. Cruz across the hall can be a bit miserly, but other than mumbling about the newspaper and the state of the world, he’s harmless. His wife, on the other hand, is a shameless gossip. So I hope you’re not too bothered if you come home and see her peeking at you from her door.”

Simon hums a small laugh. “Don’t mind it. I’m not that interesting.”

“Pity. She’s been dying for a salacious neighbor since Beck moved out because her husband caught her with the nanny.” You quip instantly and amusement flits through Simon as you finally come to a stop in front of a dark green door. It’s quick work to unlock it and you push the door open, but don’t step inside. He likes that. It’s as if the second he signed the lease, this became his space and you won’t enter it until invited. “If you’d like to do me a favor and need some furniture, I have some in the basement from past tenants that I’d be glad to be rid of. Tell me if you’d like to look and I’ll take you. You have my number if you need anything else, but I’m usually around anyway.”

He enters the apartment and looks around at the empty space with a small sigh. It’s a good space with plenty of room and a view of the street below, but being in a new place feels like starting over. It’s a discomforting feeling given that nothing in his life has actually changed except for his address. But he turns towards you all the same and gives you another nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

You nod back and spare another moment to look him over. He’s not the first stray soldier that’s wandered into your building, but each one has been different. This one…this one might take quite a bit of coaxing. You give him another smile and see his body shift towards it just like he did the last time, as if your smile is sunlight he’s basking in. “Welcome home.”

*     *     *

The next time he sees you, you’re crouched on the stairs in front of a kid no more than eight-years-old. “It…hurts…” The little boy says between sobs with red smeared over his right knee. Probably from a nasty fall. Simon pauses on the next flight of stairs, looking down at you through the railing.

“Aw, yeah, I know it does. You’re being brave for me though.” Your voice is soft and gentle as you clean the blood away. “Bet that wimp Eric would be wailing this whole time, huh? Remember when he stubbed his toe and screamed for a minute straight?” There’s a little giggle and his heart squeezes at the sound.

The kid sniffles. “Yeah, I remember. He fell on the ground like he broke it or something.”

“That’s right.” You approve, smiling at him and reaching to the side where a first aid kit sits. “But I saw you play baseball and you didn’t even flinch when that pitcher hit you with the ball.”

“Yeah, that’s true. And that hurt!” The kid leans back a bit, relaxing as you distract him and I idly think about how many medics I’ve seen use the same tactic on wounded soldiers.

You finish cleaning up his knee and press a large band-aid to the ripped skin. “But you were so tough then and you were tough now. All done.” You muss his hair a bit and he giggles, slapping your hand away. “Now, what are we not going to do?”

The kid’s head droops. “Sprint up the stairs.”

“Smart kid. Now, wear that scrape with honor.” You tilt his chin up and he grins, sniffling again before leaning forward and giving you a hug.

“Thanks.” He squeezes tight before getting up and heading down the stairs at a slightly slower pace than running. A wait a moment as you pack up the things from your kit before heading down. Your head lifts and you smile at me, the same as the other day, and it strikes me just like it did then.

I clear my throat and tilt my head to where the kid went. “You seem to know everyone in this place.”

You hum and stand with the first aid kit in hand. “It’s my job to know everything that happens in this building.”

 He quirks a brow at you. “That’s not a position taken by most owners.”

“You should have easily learned by now that I’m not like most owners.” You quip instantly and are rewarded with a little upward twitch of his mouth.

“I was hoping you might have time to show me some of the furniture you mentioned?” He asks, unassuming and polite despite his size and clear musculature. It makes you like him a little more.

You nod and take a breath in the face of another task. “Sure. Let’s go.” You turn on your heel and start moving, Simon trailing behind with surprisingly soft footfalls. You jingle slightly with each step from the keys on your hip and he can’t help but think of a cat with a bell.

The basement is dark until you pull a heavy switch and illuminate a surprisingly large space littered with furniture. “Pick whatever you like and I’ll help you carry it up.”

“You ever stop working?” He asks and you can hear the amusement in his voice. You shrug a shoulder and lean against the wall beside the stairs as he slowly walks through the room.

“There’s always something to be done and no one else is going to do it.”

“You could hire people.”

You immediately roll your eyes. “Then I’d have to fix whatever they screw up. Better to do it myself and get it right the first time.” He exhales softly and you swear that it’s almost a soft laugh.

“You remind me of someone.” He says and pauses next to a little kitchen table with two chairs in pretty good condition.

Your head tilts and you give him a little smile as he glances over. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

This time, you get an actual chuckle. “From me, it’s a compliment.”

“Hm. Then thank you.” You’re not sure you want to know why it would be an insult coming from someone else. He knocks on the table and the wood makes a dull, solid clunk noise. He nods and apparently that means it’s passed inspection. He lifts it up into his arms with a grunt and surprise widens your eyes as he carries it towards the stairs. You clear the way, grabbing the two chairs and staring at him as he bypasses the elevator in favor of more stairs without making a sound. It’s not exactly professional the way your eyes linger on his muscular arms, the shifting of his back under his t-shirt, and especially not how his thighs fit his jeans oh-so-well.

He grunts again as he sets the table down in his apartment and you sidle in to set the chairs on either side. There’s almost nothing else in the apartment. There are a few blankets and books in the bedroom along with a few cushions on the floor of the living room facing a tv. That’s it. He certainly isn’t one to overdecorate. “Anything else?” You offer with a hand on you hip.

He nods once. “Mind another trip?”

You smile and start walking to the door. “I’d be glad to empty out my entire basement if you like. Seems like you need it anyway.” The corner of his mouth lifts.

“I suppose that’s true. I appreciate the help.” He says and his voice is deep, but gentle. You only grow more curious about him and during the few more trips up and down the stairs, you realize that this guy might need a bit more than a little help with living.

*     *     *

It starts slow.

A few neighbors start bringing him some food throughout the week. Leftovers, baked goods, all under the guise of welcoming him to the building. Then there’s a small flyer set outside his door for an estate sale nearby where he finds a few more things to make his apartment less sparse. It’s a tad overbearing, but in an amusing way and he finds he doesn’t mind. Something about being aggressively looked after reminds him of Soap’s family and any thought of the Scot is a welcome one. He has little doubt that the interference is due to your instruction. You run this building better than most people in charge of the military.

His favorite spot in the apartment becomes the little window seat in the living room. It has a good view of the street and without fail, he gets a glimpse of you working in the flowerbeds in the front of the building. On the nicer days, he’ll even crack the window to hear you cussing at your rosebushes. But you’re a little quiet one day, moving slow, still working amongst the thorns in jean shorts and a tank-top dark with sweat. When you stand and wobble in place, he puts down the book he was pretending to read.

You heave a breath and wipe sweat off your brow before grabbing onto the railing leading into the building. Ugh, it’s hot. The sun is beating down like a physical weight and your sunhat is currently somewhere in Delaney’s apartment after her girlfriend borrowed it. Best to just bear the expense and get another one. “You run yourself ragged.” That deep voice disturbs your thoughts and your head lifts to see Simon standing there with a water bottle held out to you.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you gratefully accept the water and settle on the steps. “Too much to do to stop. Thank you for this.” The bottle is blissfully cold as you press it to your neck and take a deep breath of relief.

Simon moves across from you and leans on the railing, looking you over. Something you’ve noticed is how careful he is to give you space. He never comes too close. “I’ve seen you running around the building at least three times today. Once unclogging the garbage chute, the second time greasing the hinges of a door down the hall, and the third—” He gestures to rosebushes you were just digging in.

You finish drinking half the water and raise a brow at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Keeping track of me?”

His lips part, but he’s interrupted before he can say a word. “Sweetie, my air conditioner is on the fritz again.” An older woman peeks out of the front door and Simon recognizes Mrs. Cruz from across the hall. She scrutinizes him through her big glasses before blinking innocently back at you.

You sigh, but nod. “Alright, Mrs. Cruz. I’ll be there right away.” She shuffles back into the building while you heave yourself up onto your feet and your vision immediately goes black. It almost feels like you’re outside your body as you feel it sway backward before a large hand slides onto your lower back and another grips your arm. Your hand tightens on the railing as your eyes snap open, the world swimming in front of you.

“Steady, now.” A pair of concerned eyes are the first thing you see as your vision clears. “Let’s get you inside.” He moves closer and begins to stoop, but you grab his shirt in a fist.

“You are not picking me up.” You grind out, every word a command. Not in front of your building, not by a tenant, not with Mrs. Cruz waiting inside who would assuredly spread every type of rumor she could about the scene. “Just…walk inside with me.” He hesitates a beat before straightening and letting you use his arm and the railing to get back into the building. You shoot a smile towards Mrs. Cruz waiting exactly where you expected her. “I need my tools, but I’ll be along in just a minute.”

Her eyes squint, but she nods a moment later before vanishing into the elevator. “Slowly and steadily, then.” Simon murmurs with his hands gentle and sure as he moves you towards your office in the back. You hold your tongue despite the desire to insist that you do not need help because you very clearly do. Still, you can’t hold back your heavy sigh as you both slowly walk back and he helps you settle into your office chair.

“Thank you.” You murmur, pride a little wounded but ultimately grateful you didn’t have to crawl in here. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Then I’ll head up to help Mrs. Cruz.” Your head shakes as you make yourself drink the rest of your water while taking some steadying breaths.

“Unfortunate we’re not closer to my apartment. I’d give you something one of my neighbors gifted me earlier this week.” Simon comments with amusement lacing his tone. Maybe you weren’t as subtle about filling his pantry as you thought you were.

“I ate today. Just pushed a little too hard in the heat. That’s all.”

“Mm.” He hums, watching you from the doorway with the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “A habit of yours?”

You can’t resist returning his near smile. “Practically my occupation.”

He huffs a small laugh before clearing his throat as if trying to hide it. The fact makes you smile a little wider. “I’ll get you another water, then walk with you up the stairs.”

“Oh, there’s really no need—” But he’s already walked out. You sigh again, relaxing back into the chair and closing your eyes for a few moments. Time passes, a bit too long than it should have taken, but when you open your eyes there’s another water in front of you and no Simon. You feel a bit better and rise from your seat with a groan, grabbing your toolkit and heading up to Mrs. Cruz. But it’s an utter surprise when you get to her apartment to find the usual whir of her air conditioning uninterrupted.

“That handsome man across the hall had it fixed in a few minutes. Didn’t complain or say much other than asking what the problem was.” Mrs. Cruz reports with rare approval in her voice. Mr. Cruz grumbles quietly from his usual seat in his favorite armchair. You sigh and glance out the door towards Simon’s apartment with a hand on your hip and a half-smile. Seems you’re not the only one keen to help. Whether it’s asked for or not.

(Lmk if you want to be tagged in future installments of this!)

[hothothotch]

hi! can you write a hotch angsty / fluff piece based off the episode of s3 ep 20 where they go to NY and have to work with Kate Joyner and Hotch treats reader like how he did to Morgan and pushes reader aside bc even after reader being there for him after his divorce with Hayley and thinking there was something more but then ends in fluff? :)

hey hey! first i want to say that this ask has saved my life. second, i got carried away again. but i hope you like it, anon s2

(god knows how much i want a part two for this one)

requests are open!

tw: angst, fluff, 5.3k words.

You should have seen it coming.

You’ve been a part of BAU’s team since the departure of Ellie, a quick replacement approved by Agent Hotchner — or Hotch, as the team called him — that took place for the first time after The Fisher King’s case, when Ellie was shot; when she decided working at the BAU was too much to handle, Hotch approved your official transference only a few weeks before Strauss’ approved Prentiss’.

In all honesty, you’d been surprised Hotch didn’t kick you out after that, but grateful nonetheless — you absolutely loved that job.

You had been the first to notice when Hotch’s marriage started to crumble, your own habit of staying late nights at the office giving you a first-row view of the nights he’d stay late and go home only on the early hours of the morning, just to come back fresh and new as if nothing had happened. There wasn’t much you could do to help, even if you wanted to; the fact that Hotch trusted you on the job didn’t necessarily mean that he trusted you enough to let you in on his personal issues, and you didn’t feel like you really wanted to. But, as purple bags started to form under his eyes, a clear evidence that he hadn’t been sleeping, you couldn’t help but start showing small, almost meaningless acts of service that you hoped would make him feel better.

Everything was pretty secretive.

You started to get in the office earlier, so you could leave a cup of fresh coffee on his desk (black with no sugar, as you know he liked), and whenever you went out for dinner, you’d come back bearing something that was small enough so he wouldn’t want to pay for what you brought.

You started daring more only a few weeks into your small endeavor. Instead of only leaving your secret gifts, you started to write small notes in Garcia’s colorful sticky notes (because you had none on your desk, so he wouldn’t know it was you) with encouraging comments, mostly about his job — and, when you were feeling specially bold, about his appearance in general.

You thought nothing of it, and had no idea if he even read them, but the fact that you were doing something to at least try and make things better was enough to warm your heart. Much more when his stern façade would suddenly turn into a lighter one as the day went by, even when you were out on cases and he found a cup of steaming coffee waiting for him, a sticky note attached to it with a unique message handwritten by you.

It wasn’t until the divorce that you felt the urge to reveal your identity.

Hotch had been served the divorce papers in front of the whole team, only a few minutes before they went out for drinks — it goes unsaid that he immediately stepped out of the group, deciding to go home. The team still went out for drinks, but the talks weren’t as fun as they were supposed to be, and the topic in hand was only one: Hotch’s sudden divorce.

“Haley left home a few weeks ago” Derek confessed, playing with his full glass of beer. A few women had come to hit on him, but it seemed like that small and closed group had decided that if one of them was miserable, they all would be miserable that night — and Morgan had been the first to agree to that silent contract, refusing every opportunity he had to get laid that night, “She took Jack and her things and… left”.

“How could she do it?” Penelope had asked, her voice wrapped in a wrath no one had ever seen the blonde bubble of happiness be.

“Hotch is very dedicated to his job, Pen” Emily had replied, her voice as condescending as sad, a clear indicative that while she wished things had been different, that maybe there was a second chance, something they could do to help, she still could understand Haley’s side in this bargain, “We understand that because we do the same, but Haley… she wasn’t one of us”.

And it was true. While any of you were ready to make sacrifices, to jump off cliffs in order to do the best for your job, Haley was just a wife that had to stay closed off at home with her kid, praying that, at the end of the day (or the week) her husband would make it back home.

Now Hotch knew how it felt.

“There’s nothing we can do to help” David had said that night, taking his own glass of whiskey and taking a sip of the sour drink, “Just be there for him”.

David was right. And maybe his words that night had been what prompted you to climb the three-steps of the catwalk’s stair one week later, one hand playing nervously with your necklace as you used the other to knock on Aaron’s door right after Spencer had left to go home, only you and your boss still on the sixth floor.

“Come in”.

Aaron’s voice was imposing, as serious as it had always been; it was curious, you noticed very quickly, how you’ve never seen Hotch falter before — even when he was served the papers, or when he officially announced for the team that he was, indeed, divorced. He had been calm and collected, talking about the topics as if he was making a comment about a case, or about the weather, and the only indication of his unsaid pain was the way his fingers played nervously with the now empty space where you’d been used to see his wedding band.

Just as he was doing when you opened the door, your eyes falling immediately on that spot, as if searching for an indicative that they had decided to try again. The hope painful on your heart.

“I finished the reports from the last case” you said after a few minutes, moving slowly to leave the folders on top of his desk, “And I’ve also filled the late paperwork, I’m sorry it took me a while”.

Hotch looked up at you, his brown eyes scanning your face almost curiously, and you frowned nervously at the prospect of having something wrong with your face, “What is it?”.

“Nothing” Aaron replied quickly, dropping his eyes back to his hands, “I’m sorry”.

You smiled softly at Aaron, moving slowly to take the seat across from him, careful enough to assure him that if he didn’t want you to sit with him, then you’d quickly move out and pretend nothing had happened. When he didn’t, you allowed yourself to place both your hands on top of his desk, your palms up in an inviting manner — you knew Hotch wouldn’t hold your hand, even with the clear offer, but you’d keep offering until he felt like accepting.

“We’re a team, Hotch” you whispered, almost inaudibly, hoping, one more time, not to be overstepping or making him uncomfortable in any capacity, “I know we’re not best buddies…” you teased lightly, adding a ‘yet’ on your mind, “But you still can share things with me. I’m here to help, you know? If you want to talk, ever, I’ll be here, okay?”.

Much for your surprise and happiness, Aaron had wanted to talk, eventually.

The first time was after a child-related case, from where he left with the need to see Jack, but unable to do so because Haley had taken him to his grandparents’ house. At first, when he called you up to his office, you’d thought you’d be reprimanded for a mistake you couldn’t even remember you committed, but you had barely stepped inside the office when Aaron started to speak, his eyes focused on the mess of papers on his desk.

“I want to talk” he said, his voice more painful than you thought it would be, “If you’re still up to it”.

You were. Absolutely.

And just as talking to him, falling in love with Aaron Hotchner was the easiest thing you’ve ever done in your life.

You didn’t notice how it happened, or when you finally realized you were head over hills in love with him, but what you did know was the unspeakable feeling of your heart thundering on your chest whenever he shot a smile on your way, or when he accidentally brushed his hand on your arm when walking past you, or during your nightly conversations, when he’d repeat the words you first told him all those months ago, when you offered your help.

“We’re a team”.

But you should’ve seen it coming.

You should’ve seen it coming when Aaron announced whoever was responsible for that case had called him personally, and not respected the natural order of things in which JJ receives the case and reunites with Aaron to know if it deserves their immediate attention.

You should’ve seen it coming when Derek commented about Kate Joyner being as ass, and Aaron immediately got defensive — and to some extent you believed you had noticed, even if you decided to ignore it, since your body had responded to his defensiveness.

But you didn’t. Mostly because up to that moment, everything was okay.

“You’ll keep throwing theories at me until I tell you to stop?” Hotch asked, and even if his voice was serious and perfectly professional, you could see a hint of a smile on the way his brows weren’t as furrowed as usual, a shy dimple appearing on the corner of his lips.

This, you thought as you observed his clear features, moving from side to side on the chair you’ve been sitting on, your sole duty being waiting for Garcia’s call, or a lead of any form, this is what I love the most about him. His almost smile.

The thought alone both intimidated you and made butterflies dance on your stomach. You loved him.

“I will” you agreed with a resolute nod, your face as serious as possible considering how bad you wanted to laugh, “That’s what I do when we don’t have leads, I try every possible outcome and make you smile every once in a while. Because we’re a team”.

Aaron shook his head, his smile a bit more apparent than before, “A team, indeed”.

“I hope we make a good one”.

You cringed visibly at Kate Joyner’s British accent, not failing to notice how Aaron immediately moved to look at her, a smile creeping up on his lips immediately as he met her eyes — and you felt your heart break even more at the realization that it was the same smile he always gave you.

“They liaised at Scotland Yard”, Emily had teased when you arrived, JJ gasping at the mischievous tone on her friend’s voice. You wondered if any of them noticed how your face fell by the minute, your eyes unable to match any of theirs, heart thumping against your chest because you had noticed how Aaron had looked at Kate.

He wanted her.

In a way he clearly had never — and probably would never — want you.

“Hotchner” you looked up immediately at his serious tone, furrowing your brows as you paid close attention at his words. You saw, with the corner of your eyes, when Derek and Rossi moved closer to the three of you, their faces as serious as Hotch’s, “Does it look like he could be one of our guys?”.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, his eyes following Hotch’s every move.

“We’ve got eyes on one of them” Aaron replied quickly, and for a second you hoped they’d be somewhere you could get them, that maybe this hell would be over in the next hour, maybe you were remotely close… “He’s on the subway platform at 59th and Lex”.

Your heart stopped beating at that moment, your breath immediately caught on your throat as you turned to face Kate, “We could be there” you muttered, your voice nothing more than an accusing whisper, “If we’d followed Derek’s plan, we could be there”.

“No, we should be there!” Derek retorted, his voice pulling out the anger you’ve managed to keep away from your words, and if your message hadn’t been clearly delivered to Kate, Derek’s had been — it was her fault.

“He’s got a gun” Garcia announced on the other side of the line, her voice wavering slightly at the new information.

“What do we do?” you asked, eyes moving past Kate to meet Hotch’s, “What are we supposed to do?”.

Aaron didn’t have time to reply before Garcia’s voice came through once more, “He shot her”.

God.

“Where the hell are the police?”, Kate’s voice was nervous when she next spoke, walking past you as if you weren’t there, her eyes not daring to meet yours, even if you knew that she didn’t care about the rage you were displaying. She cared about nothing other than Aaron’s impression on her, “This is Kate Joyner with the FBI. We have a murder suspect, subway platform. 59th and Lex”.

“He’s getting away!” Garcia announced, her voice clearly anguished.

Your mind started to work, all the training you ever had in your life — both for the BAU and other Units — coming back to you on that second, drawing you to move closer to the phone, you’re voice commanding, “Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?”.

“He’s heading west on 59th Street”.

“If he makes it to the park, we’ve lost him” Kate pointed, clearly worried.

The point was, Kate’s worry meant nothing to you anymore. Not when she was responsible for that; not when her pride got over her job and caused you to lose the only lead you could’ve had.

“And whose fault is this, Joyner?” you asked, your voice as venomous as you could make it sound, both your hands holding tightly at the wooden surface of the desk you’ve been sitting at, “Because from where I see it, is yours”.

The silence between your small group was almost palpable, and you could hear how someone took a harsh breath, as if your words had been like a slap to their face. You didn’t turn to see who had had that reaction, though — you knew the team had a very tunneled vision of you, that the fact you rarely snapped at people made them think you weren’t as fierce as Prentiss, even though they knew you were way more able to stand your ground than Spencer, usually without being overly rude at the source of your dismay.

That wasn’t the case, not that day.

You heard Aaron calling your name, and if it were any other day, maybe you’d have drawn your eyes off Kate to look at him, but you knew if you did this now, you’d backtrack — and God knew you didn’t want to.

“We could’ve had this guy!” you spat, pointing at the phone, “We just had to follow along with Morgan’s plan, which was a good plan, but Ms. I’m-better-than-anyone couldn’t handle hearing that someone was better than her!”.

“That’s not what happened—”.

“Oh, isn’t it?” You cut her off immediately, licking your lips for a second as your eyes kept glued on hers. Not blinking, not faltering. For the first time since you joined the FBI, you allowed the anger to consume you, because it was personal for you.

The way she looked at Hotch was personal for you.

The way they kept their bodies close was personal for you.

The way he had immediately stopped reciprocating you and your feelings whenever she was close, was personal for you.

The way she had the man you loved under her spell was personal for you.

“Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated” Kate retorted, her voice way calmer than yours.

“Maybe, but it was worthy a fucking shot!” you screamed, slapping your hands against the table, the sound calling the attention of the other Agents around, “Morgan said to put us at express stops. You wouldn’t need any new cop or to take the cops that are working from the streets, you just needed to assign us for this, and you decided not to, just because Morgan said so!”.

“It’s not your place to have this discussion”.

You were ready to spat back, maybe even to move closer to Kate and tell her that if she failed to do her job, then it was time someone else do it. But the voice that called you out wasn’t Kate’s.

You faltered, your voice suddenly getting caught on your throat as you turned to face Aaron, his eyes void of emotion as he looked at with you a grave expression, only one message written on his face: shut up, or you’ll see the consequences.

“My…” you stuttered, “My place?”.

“You need to back off” Aaron moved on, “We’re here to give the profile, that’s what we’ll do”.

“We have seven bodies, Aaron!” you said, but your voice had lost the strength it had when you were discussing with Kate, your anger turning into something way more painful. Painful for you, “Seven bodies. A woman was just killed on a subway platform because of her incompetence and you’re telling me to back off?”.

You hated how your voice broke on the last phrase, clear evidence that you were on the verge of tears. And you hated that he was a good enough profiler to see it, but he chose to ignore, because he was favoring her over you.

“You said it right, we have seven bodies” Aaron agreed, “Which is exactly why we need to stay focused”.

Derek snorted, drawing your attention back to him, “Pretty rich coming from the man who can’t stay focused on anything but her”.

As if it couldn’t hurt you more.

Aaron didn’t flinch, his eyes meeting Derek’s as he finished the almost inexistant space that separated the two of them, his voice low and passive — the tone he always used when talking with a suspect, “Take a walk. Now. You both”.

All you needed was for his eyes to meet yours for you to know you were done. With this case; with Kate Joyner; with Aaron.

“I’m out” you announced, messily grabbing your things and throwing them on your pockets, trying your best not to unravel then and there, where Kate could see how much she had affected you — how much their actions had affected you, “Out of this precinct. Out of this case”.

You walked past Aaron without sparing a glance at him, making a beeline towards the elevator. And for a second you thought about ignoring the way he called you, aware that you wouldn’t be able to look at him without the tears falling down your face, without you pouring your heart out to the man you ultimately loved, but that couldn’t reciprocate your feelings.

But you stopped, anyway. You stopped because a part of you hoped you’d see the man you’ve grown fond of in the past months; because you expected him to apologize, to say that you were right, or just say something… because if he didn’t, you might as well give up on him.

Ask me to stay, you pleaded, just ask me to stay.

“You can’t walk away from this case”.

You snorted at his cold words, and even with your back turned to him, you knew his face was still cold as stone, the Unit Chief, not your friend, “I can. And I will” you finally found it in yourself to turn and face him, the first tears falling down your face, “I’ll tell Strauss I couldn’t handle it, that it hit too close to home. Don’t worry, I’ll take the plane back to D.C tonight, I don’t want the jet and won’t make the Bureau pay for a bedroom for me. It won’t ruin your budget”.

“Why are you acting like that?” he asked, and you allowed yourself to bask on the way his own voice faltered, the way his closed demeanor changed at the sight of your tears, but it only lasted one second before you looked over his shoulders, finding Kate looking straight at you, clearly curious.

Suddenly there was no way you’d walk out without saying everything you needed to say.

“You really don’t know?” you questioned, “Okay, so I’ll tell you, Aaron” you made a pause, fidgeting with your necklace once again, trying to find the courage you needed to let it all out — everything and nothing at the same time, “I’m so in love with you, Aaron. I’ve been from the moment you started opening up to me. And to see you dismissing my opinion, acting like I’m nothing more than just an AIT who has no idea what she’s doing here, it hurts…” your voice was nothing but a mumbled hiss, the tears now staining your shirt, and you were unable to stop them, even when you violently wiped them away with the palm of your hand, “It hurts because I thought maybe… maybe you were feeling the same. Maybe you were opening up to me because you wanted me to be a part of your life, more than a friend, but a real partner… I thought we were a team, but I see I was wrong”.

You allowed yourself to look desperate, broken, out of place for one more second as you watched the way his demeanor changed as he processed every word you’ve said. You noticed with a heavy heart when it stopped, when he finally took in the meaning behind your words, and then…

Then you saw nothing.

And that only made your heart break even more.

“As I said, I was wrong” you repeated, pressing the elevator button violently, “I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner. I hope the case ends well. I’ll hand you my resignation once you’re back home”.

And without a word more, you left.

…

Prentiss called to let you know the case had ended only two days after you left — not that you wanted to know, but you had told Hotch you’d hand your resignation once he was back, so you were grateful she called. She didn’t ask if you were okay, because you clearly weren’t, and you were grateful for that, too (even if Derek and Penelope did call to know if you were feeling okay).

Aaron didn’t call.

He didn’t reach out.

Didn’t send a message or an email.

He was dead silent.

You had learnt from Derek that Kate Joyner had been killed on an explosion meant to hit her and Hotch, and that Morgan had driven him back to Quantico once Aaron was cleared from the hospital. He didn’t need to tell you, but you knew he had talked to Aaron (or either talked while Aaron listened) about what you said before leaving, about your feelings and how you were ready to resign because of the way he treated you; you also knew from his voice that he wanted you to ask what had been Hotch’s answer to their talk, but you didn’t want to know. Your heart was already too damaged to accept another blow.

It had been around the third day since the end of the case when someone knocked on your door. You had asked the team not to come over, not wanting them to see you on the state you were — hair disheveled, eyes puffy and red from crying —, and much less have to answer to questions you weren’t ready to answer; but you had been receiving a visit from your neighbor, Mr. Clark, who had caught you crying alone once and since then had been visiting you on the same hour everyday to make sure you were doing okay.

He was also helping you look for new jobs, even if he was trying to convince you to do something less dangerous than working for the FBI. It wasn’t working.

“Hello, Mr.—” you cut yourself off immediately when your eyes met the newcomer, your lips slightly parted as you took in his image, “Agent Hotchner?”.

You noticed how he flinched at your words, moving slightly back as if you had shot him straight on the heart, and not just called him by his title. Still, Aaron tried to keep himself perfectly composed (as always), one hand hiding something on his back as he fidgets with his fingers with the other.

If you hadn’t spent the past weeks crying over him, you’d have found it adorable.

“What are you doing here?” you asked sharply, your eyes scanning him one more time before you stopped to find his eyes, almost losing yourself on their brown — almost green, depending on the light — immensity.

“I wanted to talk to you” Aaron replied, rolling his eyes at the notice of how obvious his words were, “I wanted to apologize”.

You tilted your head to the side, your body clearly blocking his way inside your apartment — something you’ve never done before, “Okay. Done. You can go now”.

Your words were harsher than they’ve always been, void and certain, mostly because you knew you still loved him, and that if he asked to go inside, you’d allow. You’d buy anything he said in order to feed the fantasy of you two being more than friends, of the possibility of you being what you wanted you to be.

“Can we talk?” Aaron pleaded, taking a step towards you, “Please”.

“Why? So you can ignore everything I said at the precinct and cry over Kate’s death?” you spat out, and maybe you shouldn’t have talked about someone’s death with the coldness you’ve done, but you were honestly tired of Aaron and his bullshit, “I offered myself to help you, Aaron, because I knew you were suffering over your divorce. And if for some miracle Haley and you decided to go back together and try again, I’d swallow my feelings and let my heart break as I watch you and her trying to rebuild what you had, because I know how much you suffered over losing her. How much you miss being Jack’s father everyday…” you raised one finger, pointing directly at Aaron’s heart — the heart you still loved more than everything, “But I’m not stupid. I won’t let you step on my feeling to cry over another woman after I’ve told you how I feel, after I’ve pathetically confessed my love to you. I’m worthy more than that, Aaron! I deserve more than someone who only needs me when they’re emotionally vulnerable. I deserve to be loved, Aaron!”.

Aaron was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as he observed the first tears rolling down. You thought he wouldn’t say anything, that maybe he’d only move away as you told him to, but he didn’t.

He took a step towards you, using his free hand to clear your tears, “I know” Aaron whispered, licking his lips, “And I should’ve thought about it, about your feelings, before putting mine on top of them. And I apologize, even if I know it’s not enough”.

No, it wasn’t. Because merely apologizing wouldn’t erase the memory of him observing as you poured your heart out and dismissing it on behalf of another woman. It wouldn’t erase the comments, and how he belittled you. It wouldn’t erase the pain you’ve felt on the plane back, or how pathetic Erin Strauss made you feel for abandoning the field over personal problems.

“I didn’t notice you were in love with me because I was trying to brush past the fact that I had fallen in love with you, of how inappropriate it would look like for Strauss, of how it could jeopardize your career…” Aaron cleared his throat, looking at the ground, “And how bad I felt over the fact that you were trying to help me with my marital problems, and I was too busy noticing how beautiful your smile is. I didn’t believe it was right for me to fall in love with you, because I didn’t deserve someone as pure as you”.

You remained silent; your arms crossed in front of your body. You knew there was something else he wanted to say, so you allowed him to.

“I imagine you heard someone talking about how… how much Kate looked like Haley”.

You snorted bitterly, and that seemed to attract his attention back to you, “Everyone. Even I thought that when I saw her”.

Aaron nodded slowly, this time his eyes didn’t move from yours, “When I saw her, all I could see was Haley. And I tried to convince myself that the fact I was shaken by that meant that I was still in love with Haley, and that I didn’t have to worry about my feelings for you, that I wouldn’t mess up our friendship because there weren’t feelings between us… but whenever I looked your way, or talked to you, I’d feel my heartbeat faster. And when I looked at Kate, I felt… empty. As if I was staring at an old ghost” he confessed, and you could see on his demeanor how confessing that pained him — either because he was confessing in a way that he wasn’t in love with Haley anymore, or because he felt bad speaking ill of the dead, you weren’t sure, “So I tried to force myself into find that old spark, the way I felt for Haley, something that would prove to me that I wasn’t in love with you, but I failed. And I failed you in the meantime”.

You took a sharp breath, hating yourself for the way you started to play with your necklace, “Where does it put us, Aaron?” you asked painfully, “Because I won’t go through that again”.

Aaron took his hand off his back, showing you the small Tifanny box he had been hiding, your breath getting immediately caught on your throat as you reached for the object hesitantly, “I’m not proposing to you” he clarified at the look on your face, “I couldn’t, not after just getting divorced… and I also can’t be in a relationship with you, now. I want to, but I need to settle things with Jack before I bring someone knew into my life, and I need to prove to you that I mean it when I say I love you”.

“Aaron…” you whispered, opening up the lid to reveal a golden lock pendant, one that you knew all too well — one you had nonchalantly commented with Aaron you wanted, but thought nothing of it, believing he hadn’t paid any mind at your words. He had, “I can’t… I can’t accept it, I—”.

“I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness, I’m not stupid to think you’d accept a gift in exchange of it” he cut you off, “But I want you to keep it as a promise that I’ll try to make it up to you every day, until you can forgive me. And that I’ll wait for you ‘til my last breath, if needed”.

You looked up at Aaron, nodding slowly.

You knew by the look on his face that you’d be the one leading them from that moment on, that if you wanted to just get the necklace and tell him to go, he’d go without missing a heartbeat. But you didn’t want it. Aaron was willing to try, to win your forgiveness and to respect your feelings in a way he hadn’t before.

“We’re a team” you muttered under your breath, opening up a smile.

So maybe you owed it to yourself to try, too.

Aaron gave you a similar smile, nodding, “We’re a team. The best team”.

And as you took a step to the side, inviting Aaron to enter your apartment, you knew you had already forgiven him.

Thank you for the request ✨