#and the little shake of his head and the hands covering his face

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of designationless!reader)

Soap found the box by accident. You never meant for it to follow you, never meant for it to be seen by anyone but yourself. It was a relic from a past you thought you’d buried, stuffed away in a dark corner of the storage room, forgotten like so many other things, brought by mistake when you changed between units again and again.

But Soap found it.

The box was old, its cardboard edges soft and sagging, your name scrawled on the side in faded, uneven marker. He wasn’t trying to pry- it was just there when he searched for a field manual in the storage room, and something about it drew him in. He brought it back to the common area where the others were gathered, setting it down on the table with a curious tilt of his head.

“Lassie never mentioned this, aye?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone else, and opened it; too curious, but also aware that if you truly did not want anyone to look through this, you would not have placed it in the storage room.

The scent of aged paper and something faintly bitter wafted out, and the pack stilled. Not because it smelled bad- it didn’t- but because something about the box immediately felt wrong; like a wound forced open.

Price was the first to step forward, instincts prickling at the edges of his senses. Ghost and Gaz followed, hovering close as Soap pulled out the first item.

At first, it was harmless. A broken doll with tangled hair, a few faded toys with their colors leeched by time, certificates bearing hollow phrases like “good effort.” Price’s eyes softened, his brow furrowing as he turned a small, threadbare ribbon over in his hand. None of it spoke of joy or pride. Instead, the items lay heavy in the box, the remnants of a childhood where love had been scarce. It wasn’t a treasure trove of cherished memories.

But then, Soap pulled out the sketchbook.

It was fragile, the cover warped and frayed, its edges curling inward as if trying to protect what lay inside. Price’s hand shot out, steadying Soap’s wrist, and he took it into his own hands. “Careful,” he warned. “Looks quite old.”

The room held its breath as Price opened it.

The first drawing made something deep in his chest rumble- a low, warning growl of distress that made the others tense.

You, as a child, stood apart from a group of faceless figures. They huddled together, faceless and warm in orange and yellow crayons, while you stood small and distant, alone in the cold blue. The faint, childish scrawl beneath it read:

“I think this is what love looks like.”

Price’s hand tightened on the book, the paper crinkling slightly under his grip. Ghost’s shoulders stiffened, and Soap let out a soft, chuffing exhale, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab something, someone, and shake them. Like he wanted to grab you, and draw you into his arms.

The next drawing was no easier.

A child stood under black clouds, the page marked with teardrops, their hands pressed to a glowing window where a family sat warm and dry inside, nestled together. You’d drawn yourself outside, drenched and shivering, a frown on your face.

“When? If I’m good, will they let me in?”

Gaz made a sound low in his throat, a soft, mournful keening that was almost drowned out by Ghost’s steady, quiet growl, while Soap hisses, his pacing steps breaking the stillness.

And then, there were the drawings of your family- your siblings, your parents- but their faces were always blank, their hands never reaching for yours. Sometimes, you drew yourself trying to smile, trying to be part of the picture, but it was always wrong. You were always smaller, always separated.

Page after page followed, each one another gut-wrenching blow. Each one a testament to your loneliness.

A little girl sat at the edge of a family dinner table, her chair slightly too far away, the space between her and the others gaping like an abyss. In another, she stood in the background of a family photo, smaller and faded, as though she didn’t belong.

“I think I’m broken.”

“They don’t want me.”

“I wish I wasn’t me.”

“Mama and papa say I will ruin the nest.”

The drawings became messier, the lines shakier, as if your younger self had pressed harder into the paper with each word, each scene, trying to make the feelings go away by burying them in the lines of graphite and crayons.

The pack’s scents filled the room, heavy and overwhelming- John’s cedarwood sharp with anger, Ghost’s smoky musk thick and oppressive, Soap’s bright citrus tinged with distress, and Gaz’s soft vanilla almost bitter with grief.

But then, at the back of the sketchbook, they found something worse than the drawings.

At the back of the book, a final drawing waited- a page filled with one stick figure: just you. Moldy green, sickly yellow and bruise-blue.

At the bottom, scrawled so faintly it was almost invisible, the words read:

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

Gaz turned away, his hand pressed against his mouth as his shoulders shook. Soap’s fists clenched, his growl low and guttural, unable to contain his restlessness. Ghost’s fingers curled into tight fists, his knuckles pale as his eyes burned with something fierce and protective.

And Price… Price’s throat bobbed as he stared at the page, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.

How could they?

At the bottom of the box, folded and tucked away like a secret, was a letter.

It was written in a child’s handwriting, shaky and full of misspellings, far younger than the last few drawings.

“Dear family, I’m sorry I’m not good. I’ll try harder. I’ll fix myself. Please love me. Please don’t leave me out. I’ll be good I promise. Love you even if you don’t love me back.”

It was dated years ago. The creases in the paper showed it had been folded and unfolded countless times, carried like a wish you couldn’t bear to let go of.

They didn’t need to ask. They knew the letter was never sent. And the silence that followed was suffocating.

When you came back that evening, you were left utterly confused by the strange atmosphere. The pack stood there, their only company a tense, heavy silence you had no idea where it came from.

Price stepped forward first, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was both firm and trembling, and you huffed in surprise… but you didn’t pull away. His voice rumbled low and deep, a steady, grounding purr that vibrated against your chest. He didn’t say anything; he picked you up and just like that, began carrying you to the nest that you were becoming more and more familiar with everyday per their insistence.

Soap was next, once you were in the nest, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours, wrapping himself around you like sunshine. “Relax, bonnie lass.”

“So why-“

Gaz hugged you from behind, his soft, soothing purr blending with Price’s as he buried his face in your hair, his words drowing out your question. “You belong here. With us. Always.”

And Ghost… Ghost didn’t speak. He simply knelt in front of you, his large hands resting on your hips as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. His growl was low, protective, vibrating through you like a shield against the world. And with Price joining as well, you were effectively surrounded in the nest.

That night, they pulled you into their arms and didn’t let you go. They surrounded you with their warmth, their scents, their steady, comforting presence. They rubbed their faces against your neck, your wrists, your shoulders, marking you thoroughly, their purrs and low chuffs filling the space until you couldn’t think of anything else.

Though you still wondered what brought this on. Weird pack instincts you probably wouldn’t understand, perhaps.

[luvyeni]

showing jaemin your new skirt

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 재민 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. oral ( f ). unprotected sex word count. 0.6k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ something about this photo gets me everytime I see it .

“nana look up.”

you turned from the mirror to face your man. “yes baby?” he looked up from his phone from the bed. “look at this skirt i bought today.” you gave him a little twirl , he smiled seeing you genuinely freaking out about the skirt. “how cute.” you shrieked of happiness. he moved to the edge of the bed, now sitting up.

“come here baby.” he beckoned you over with his fingers. “let me see it up close.” you skipped over to him. “see , look at the little details.” he grabbed your waist , pulling you closer. “it was so affordable, im so happy i got the last one too.” you held his shoulders. “it is cute love.” his eyes traveling down your legs. “you look so pretty.”

his fingers tracing your waist. “is it a little too short?” you asked. “it’s perfect princess, you know i love these tiny skirts on you.” he kissed your bare stomach. “i do.” your finger threaded the hair on the back of his neck. “you know why?” his voice changing as he slowly got down to his knees, you finally got where he was going. “nana.” you whimpered. “easier access to your pretty little pussy.”

his head now covered by your skirt; your cunt right in front of him; just like he likes it. “jaemin.” he kissed your clothed cunt. “so pretty princess.” he grabbed your thighs pulling them apart, kissing the insides of them. “nana pl-please.” you moaned as he pulled your panties to the side. “shh baby let me do this.” he pulled you down , so you were sitting down on his face. “oh fuck jaemin!”

he licked your folds , his nose brushing against your sensitive clit. “more , nana i need more.” you began to rock your hips against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair yanking at it as you rode his face. “oh fuck jaemin, feels so good.” you squeezed your boobs, your stomach tightening up as you felt yourself about to cum. “nana im gonna cum.” moaning out , legs wobbly as you came. “fuck!”

you pulled his head away from your sensitive mound; his head emerging from your skirt with a lazy smile , lips glossed from your cunt. “just love your sweet pussy baby , need to feel you around me.” he pulled you down onto his clothed cock; not even caring that the bed was right there. “you feel that , im so fucking hard right now.” he lifted his hips with you still in his lap to free his cock. “need you to sit on my fat cock princess.”

you grabbed the base of his cock, sinking down on his length. “that’s it baby , sit on my cock.” you moaned out as he filled you up. “so big nana.” you began to bounce in his lap. “fuck princess you’re so wet right now.” you gripped the bed in front of you. “so fucking tight.” he groaned , lifting your shirt letting your tits free. “so pretty.” he grabbed both your mounds, bringing one of them to his mouth , sucking on your nipples; pinching the other one.

he switched back and forth between your boobs as you rode his cock; his length dragging along your walls. “gonna cum for me princess , gonna cum all over my cock like a good girl?” you nodded , moving much faster. “fuck princess im gonna cum , gonna cum inside your pretty pussy.” he groaned. “fuck nana im gonna cum !” you shouted. “you can cum love , cum all over my cock.”

stilling your hips; your tired legs shaking as you came, clenching around him. “fuck im cumming princess , gonna cum , shit !” he threw his head back against the soft bed as he came, his hips bucking involuntarily as he emptied his load inside you. “ fuck.” he sighed holding you close. “fuck i love you so much.”

“this skirt is just too cute , gonna have to get you another one when it’s back in stock just so i can fuck you in it again.”

©️LUVYENI

[probablyreadinsmut]

The Cooldown.

One shot.

Pairing: Boyfriend! Joel Miller x Mid/Plus size Afab!Reader

Pictures used are just for reference purposes, you are the lucky gal in this fic

Summary: Your boyfriend can't resist offering you a little post workout fun. Completely inspired by those pictures of Pedro from yesterday.

This one goes out to all my thigh riding girlie's (gn) <3

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Established relationship, AU no outbreak, Mentions of being body conscious in the past, vague descriptions of being fuller figured nothing specific though, sweaty post gym thigh riding, Praise, dirty talk. Undefined legal age gap. Spanking.

Not beta'd and probably not proofread very well, putting the disorder in adhd, as ever. ✌️

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

“C’mere baby” Joel’s patting his thick thigh with a lecherous grin on his face as he’s watching you peel off your gym wear, the damp nylon is sticking to every inch of you.

You respond with a soft snort “What do you mean come here? Joel, I feel gross. That work out nearly killed me today.” It had been his idea to start going to the gym together, another ‘couples bonding’ experience he’d said. He was big into that kind of thing, but honestly you were pretty sure it was so he could watch your tits and ass jiggle, he thought he was slick.

“Do I look like I care darlin’? Get that beautiful ass over here and ride my thigh, c’mon...” It’s a command and an invitation all in one, your boyfriend of two years knew what he wanted, he’s never sugar-coated it and that horny, feral part of your brain loved that about him.

So, you shuck off your sports bra over your head, tossing it into the hamper. You can feel the sweat that had collected beneath the material was now running down your sternum, trickling to your belly button. You’d already be in the shower if you were alone, but these days doing anything alone is a huge feat in itself where Joel is concerned. On the days he’s not working, or when Sarah is at school, he’s with you, making the most of your time together. Usually naked.

You watch as his once brown eyes go almost completely black with desire, pupils blown wide, the bulge in his sinfully short shorts is impossible to ignore. You’d tease him a little more if you weren’t so fucking turned on. Maybe a joint session at the gym had been for both his benefit and yours. He’d been eyeing you in your figure hugging leggings and tight little sports bra while you’d been ogling his thighs and ass the whole time.

You should have known that once you made it back to your place, you’d both be spending the rest of the day engaging in a more horizontal form of exercise.

So you tug off your leggings, shimmying out of them as you take your panties off with them, his eyes never leave you for a moment, his gaze is both predatory and appreciative. You’re his. Every day he thanks his lucky stars for that.

You put on a little show for him as you strut towards the bed where he sits, his thighs parted wide, leaning back on his palms. Your hips shake hypnotically with every step. Before Joel, you hadn’t loved your body that much, but now with the way he worships every dip and curve, whether it be with his eyes, lips, tongue or fingers, now you love your fuller frame. Gone are the days where you’d be covering up in t-shirts that swamped you at the gym, you were beautiful and you didn’t feel the need to hide any more.

You lower yourself onto his thick thigh, more defined these days, he’d said a while ago that he wanted to stay in shape now he was getting ‘older’, if not for his sake then for the sake of his babygirl and you were more than happy to support him, they way he supported you in everything you wanted to achieve.

“That’s it” He coos, leaning back just pinning you with a stare that has you melting already “Fuck darlin’ look at you, pretty as a picture. Y’look good just like this...”

You preen under his praise, a little giggle leaving you as you plant your hands on his broad shoulders and start to glide along his thigh, the ridges and hairs tickle your clit just right. “Maybe we just skip the gym next time... Stay home and fuck all day instead?” That earns you a sharp spank, making you gasp, soothed by his thick fingers pawing at the fleshy part of your cheek. It’s a sweet sting that’s left there, one you know has probably left a red mark, one that has your cunt clenching around nothing nonetheless, dribbling onto his naked thigh.

“I could spend all day in this pretty little pussy, y’know that” His hands come up to your hips, kneading the soft flesh under his fingertips “But there’s just something about you... All hot and sweaty out in public that makes my motor run baby... maybe next time y’let me fuck you in the locker room huh? Stay nice an’ quiet for me while I bend you over one of those benches? That sound good sugar?” he’s guiding you now, pressing you down harder against his thigh, urging you to roll those gorgeous hips of yours.

With a breathy moan you nod and he spanks you again, the slap echoing throughout the bedroom.

“Use your words sweetness, need t’hear you say it.”

You feel your release quickly creeping up on you, his thigh is getting slicker by the second. You grind yourself deeper agaisnt his thigh with his guidance giving your swollen little clit all the attention she so desperately needs. “Yes! Fuck baby- P-please next time... N-next time fuck me just like that...”

He can feel you tensing up on top of him, he can hear the little hitches in your breath all the subtle cues that tell him you’re about to make a mess on his thigh.

“That’s it darlin’ just like that, keep goin’.. Fuck... After this we’re gonna go take a shower together and I’m gonna bury my cock so deep inside you, that you won’t know where you end and I begin... Gonna make this tight little pussy sing for me” His jaw is set and tense as he grits his teeth, urging you to move faster, you look between the two of you seeing his cock straining painfully against the stretchy fabric of his shorts, begging to come out and play.

You throw your head back, nails digging into his taut flesh as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave of pleasure. The deep, filthy groan that leaves him as he watches you fall apart is one that will be engrained in your memory for years to come.

His thigh is soaked, he can feel it running down his knee and he fucking loves it. Your cries of ecstasy are just dying down when he releases his grip on your hips and helps you up onto your feet, holding you upright since you’re knees are buckling like a deer taking their first steps.

He’s guiding you towards the ensuite when he ducks his head down to drawl in your ear “C’mon baby, let’s get you all cleaned up so I can make you dirty again”.  

Tags: @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @syd-djarin @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @guiltyasdave

[leonw4nter]

I Love My Wife!!!

Husband!DI!Leon x F!Reader

A downside to being one of the DSO’s top performing and most trusted agents since 1999 is to be entrusted with handling the new generation of fresh-faced recruits, training them in all aspects necessary to become the next best assets the government has in their fight against BOWs. With each new generation he trains, their slang only gets weirder as they get younger; just the other day, they called him ‘mama’ and said that ‘a girl behind you’. He looks back and sees no one, much to his pupils’ amusement and his ever-increasing confusion.

“What the hell does that mean now?” He asks Hunnigan over lunch before he takes a bite from the egg sandwich you prepared for him. “I never told them about the baby announcement and she didn’t visit yesterday.”

“Oh you know, it’s the kids’ slang. They don’t even make sense anymore,” she says with a restrained smile. “They don’t really mean anything, you just need to see the videos that provide the context but each time the context doesn’t even make sense.”

“Kids these days,” he mumbles as he shakes his head. His blond-turned-brown locks sway with the slight movement.

“Oh relax, you were their age once.” The communications expert agent teases.

“Yes, but our slang was never this nonsensical,” he retorts. “If you guessed smart enough you could figure out what the words actually meant back in ‘98.”

“Good point,” she agrees before digging into her salad. “They’re bringing back everything from the late 90s though: low-rise pants, flared jeans, mini shoulder bags, and so much more that I thought we left behind in the past.”

Lunch continued on smoothly with small conversations in between bites of sandwich and sips of soda. The phone on Leon’s chest pocket buzzed to life, an illuminated rectangle revealed behind thin cloth. Wiping his hands, he fishes it out and checks the caller ID.

“Gotta take this one,” he says as he gets up from the table. “She’s calling.”

He walks outside of the store and into a not-so-busy sidewalk, not letting his phone ring for a little longer.

“Hey sweetpea,” he says. “How’s your day goin’?”

He vividly visualizes your smile right before you speak. “Oh y’know, it’s great. Yours?”

“It’s been great too,” he can’t resist but let a smile tug the corner of his lips upward. “Why’d you call? Need anything?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘P’ sound. “Just wanted to hear your voice today. Stupid reason, I know.”

“No, it’s not stupid sweetheart. I wanted to hear your voice too,” he softly responds. “Day’s going to be busy for me: bigwigs are making me teach theoreticals to the rookies today, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. They’re always boring.”

“I’ve never sat through one of your lessons but it already sounds boring,” you comment with a dramatic sigh.

“Are you saying that my teaching is boring?” He asks, voice laced with feigned offense.

“Well…” you trail off, breaking into a small giggle.

“You just broke my heart, ouch.”

“Kidding!” You swiftly respond even though you know his feelings were never hurt in the first place. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“That’s why I’m your husband.”

“Okay, that’s enough cheesiness for today mister. That’s all, you can get back to your lunch now.”

“That was just one joke,” he points out. “Okay, I’ll get back inside and demolish the rest of the sandwich you made me. Take care of yourself and the baby for me while I’m at work, okay honey?”

“Yes, I will, don’t worry.”

“Okay, that’s great. You end the call, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

The call ends so he brings his phone away from his ear, lovingly taking a moment to admire your beaming self saved as his contact photo– you, bundled in dense scarves and insulating layers, smiling brightly at him in the middle of a street covered in crunchy white now. He walks back in the shop, taking his seat to finish up the rest of his snack and energize for the long day that is yet to unfurl.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Nightfall has finally seized the day, the absence of the sun in the sky prompting Leon to swiftly pack his belongings and drive home to his darling wife. Just as he finally zips his laptop sleeve, his coworker Patrick leans on his cubicle and starts talking.

“Got any plans?” A loaded question.

“Yeah,” he says as he locks his drawer. “Stayin’ home with the missus and watching TV.”

“Me and the others are going out for drinks tonight. It’s been a week and I think we all deserve to unwind, no?”

“Mhm,” Leon hums absent-mindedly as he makes sure that there’s nothing plugged on his desk.

“C’mon, man. A drink or two with us won’t hurt, we’ll be at a bar a few minutes away from here. Drinks are on Miller and Ronson,” Patrick adds. Leon hasn’t touched a glass of alcohol in months, his previous alcohol issue and current sobriety progress kept secret amongst his most trusted circle. Patrick, and the rest of the agency, is oblivious to his relationship with alcohol.

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll definitely pass,” the seasoned agent coolly says as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Bars aren’t really my scene.”

The curly-haired agent’s shoulders slumped but he took Leon’s answer, gaze trailing after him as he neared the door.

“If you’ll be in here a little longer, don’t forget to shut the lights on your way out.”

Patrick’s back straightens up and nods, following after Leon since he doesn’t have any business to do in the room now that Leon’s made his mind on heading straight to home.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The ringing of the doorbell shifts your attention from laying out skincare materials on the kitchen island, face masks and other sheets cool from being kept in the fridge. You excitedly skip over to the front door, walking normally on the remaining half of the lap because ever since that test showed positive, you’ve been a lot more susceptible for motion sickness.

“Welcome home sweetie pie,” you greet your husband in a silvery singsong voice as you engulf him in a hug of unmeasurable comfort. He leans into your touch, melting in the middle of your arms as he returns a hug of his own.

“Missed you s’much,” his voice muffled from his face burrowed in the crook of your neck. His arms encircling your frame tightens slightly, wordlessly communicating his yearning for your affectionate touches.

“Tired?” You ask as you pull away from the hug and invite him in, keeping him company by the doorstep as he takes off his coat and shoes.

“Mhm,” he affirms. “Didn’t do anything physical today but y’know, it’s still a pretty draining workday today.”

“A coworker invited me for drinks in town after work hours ended but I declined,” he adds before he could forget. “That could never match up to a night staying in with you.”

“It’s nice that they thought of inviting you. That's progress from everyone aside from Hunnigan being intimidated and too scared to approach you,” you point out. “Anyway, I got a surprise for you!”

One glance at your glowing smile and infectious elation soothes your husband’s spirit, giving him an added boost of energy. “Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s a surprise for a reason, dummy. Freshen up first and I’ll show you. Close your eyes when you pass by the kitchen!”

“Gotta hold my hand first, I might bump into something and seriously concuss myself.”

“Leon we’ve lived in this house for 4 years, you know the layout like the back of your hand.” Despite that, you still take his hand and lead him.

He’s finally freshened up, now wearing a worn-out sleep shirt paired with Batman pajama bottoms. His head rests on your lap, your fingers idly playing with his silky soft tresses as you watch one of those corny reality TV shows about finding love on boats– or tropical cruise getaways, you corrected him moments ago; he makes more than enough money to spoil you to a tropical cruise so he makes a mental note to start some research while you’re asleep. His hair is kept away from his face by a fuzzy Mike Wazowski headband, matching with your own fuzzy Sully headband as chilled face masks rest on your faces. There’s sliced cucumbers resting on his eyes and a jelly lip mask on his already-perfect lips, challenging his resolve to stay awake and listen to you rant about Basic White Man with A Beard and A Tan #3’s stupid decision. Playing with his hair is tempting him to fall asleep but carefully scratching his scalp while you’re at it? It’s like you’re commanding him to drift off to Dreamland ASAP.

“Man, I love my wife,” Leon quietly murmurs to himself before he’s out cold, snoring deeply. Despite your yapping, you didn’t miss his words and blush to yourself. He must’ve had a truly exhausting day so you lay a blanket over his sleeping frame and turn the TV off.

“Hey, do you know what ‘mama a girl behind you’ means? I’ve been hearing it from my trainees all day.”

NOTES - yipee, first di!leon fic in... 7 months :0 ?!?!?! this fic is pretty much just stream of consciousness, i wrote the fic + formatted the post while listening to ASMR and actively fighting off sleep (it's quarter to 4AM in my area uyurhgrh). i kept repeating 'mama a girl behind YOU 💜' in my head randomly so i was like "hey yk what why not add that into my fic heehee so silly :D" and thus this fic was conceived. also guys i read on twitter that re9 takes place 4 years after re:village and since leon's there... we're going to see his chronological appearance which also means he'll look old... mmm yummy :3 and he's dripped out similarly to re:damnation... mmm yummy :3 also my nail is peeling off so imma have to lay off of nail polish for a bit aw :'( anyways, thank you to everyone supporting me and reading my fics!!!!!!!! I <3333333333 UUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers (hearts and support banner) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter five

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a day trip to ibiza, a nightclub, and max—who can't keep his mouth shut. (5.3k)

a/n: apologies for the lack of new chapters these past few months! writer’s block is such a bitch but i’m happy to say that i am back and working on this series as best i can <3

previous chapter | masterlist

Everything people say about time flying when you’re having fun has never been truer. You’ve developed a close friendship with Lando and his friends, and something even better with the boy himself. 

You’d say you were surprised at how fast you’ve fallen for him, but you’d be lying. Sure, you haven’t known him long at all, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that Lando Norris really was that missing thing in your life. He slots in like he was meant to, just as you hoped he would. 

You’ve all found yourselves spending more time at their place than yours because it’s just nicer. Today is no different. 

Lando’s chin sits hooked over your shoulder comfortably, stubble on his face a little scratchy, but it doesn’t annoy you. Especially not with the way the thumb of his hand on your waist is rubbing circles into the sliver of bare skin between your top and shorts.

He’s warm to the touch, but not unbearably so, more like a comforting warmth draped against you as he nuzzles closer. 

He likes to be close to you, you've learned very quickly—more often than not always having some part of him touching you. Fingers intertwined with yours, an arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your waist. When you're sitting, it's a thigh pressed against yours, a warm palm blanketing your knee. 

Right now, he’s decided on sharing the same sun lounger as you, wedged himself in behind you comfortably.

Normally, you might’ve been put off by the sheer amount of casual physical affection he shows, but you can’t bring yourself to mind it. You want to be close to him all the time too, you’re just taking a little longer to warm up to instigating it. 

“What’re you lot up to tomorrow?” He asks casually, walking his fingers down your arm. 

“Mm, nothing probably. Might just do a beach day and chill out. Maybe take a little walk, I dunno.” You shrug. “You?” 

“Flying to Ibiza for the day. My mate Martin’s doing a DJ thing at a club there, figured we’d go support a friend.” 

You pout up at him, cooing. “You guys are so sweet.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Come off it now.” He rolls his eyes, pinching your hip. You squirm at the ticklish feeling, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He perks up then, and you swear you can almost see the gears turning in his brain. “Would you guys wanna come with us? We could hit up the beach together, hit up Martin’s gig at night, then fly back here afterwards.”

“It’s a boys’ day trip, we wouldn’t want to crash it,” You insist, shaking your head. “We’ll see each other when you get back.” 

“But I’ll miss you.” He frowns, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“I think you’ll be fine.” 

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck, muffling his response. “No, I think I might die.”

It’s kind of sweet, you think, that Lando gets so pouty over not getting to see you for just a day. One might call him clingy, but you find it cute.

You attest it to the two of you still being in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, and it makes you happy, but something else gnaws at your stomach. You’re not even sure what it is. 

Before you can say anything, he angles his head towards the rest of the group, covering your ears gently before shouting, “Oi! We’re all going to Ibiza tomorrow, it’s been settled already. We’ll swing round yours to pick you girls up, then head to the airport.” 

He gets no objections from anyone, which you didn’t think he would, and it makes him beam. 

You try to see it from his perspective. Sun, sand, beautiful views. The two of you get to spend the day together on the gorgeous beaches of Ibiza. If you put aside your worries, everything sounds wonderful.

So why do you have this nagging feeling this isn't going to go as smoothly as Lando says it will? 

-------

It seems like you’ve just blinked and suddenly it’s the next morning and you’re heading into the hangar of a private airstrip.

The sun has barely begun to peek over the horizon, and honestly, you’re still half asleep. Most of your weight is leaned against Lando’s shoulder, who’s got a strong arm slung around your waist even as he chats away with his boys on the way in. 

You haven’t packed much at all, just a bag with a nicer outfit you can change into before going to the club. Lando insisted on carrying it for you, so it sits looped over his other shoulder. 

You aren’t sure what you were expecting when he’d brought up flying to Ibiza just for the day, but for some reason, the private jet your gaze lands on as soon as you enter the hangar has you a bit stunned for words. The unfamiliarity of your surroundings wakes you up even more as you ascend the stairs onto the jet. 

A long sofa stretches across the wall opposite you, sleek white leather to match the cushy armchair you’ve settled into. Elegant polished dark wood tables separate the banks of chairs, and there’s a fully stocked bar at the back. Even the lighting of the cabin screams money, not those awful dim blue lights on commercial airlines. 

This is the kind of thing you’ve only seen in movies, and now here you are about to enjoy a few hours on one with your very new, very rich boyfriend. It feels unreal, and honestly a little daunting.

Then in the back of your mind, you remember that this is probably just how his life is. Private jets and day trips to beautiful places, anything he wants anytime he wants it. 

It’s one of two thoughts echoing through your head through the whole flight, the second one being that you don’t belong here. You don’t ride along in chartered jets, or go on impromptu day trips to beautiful islands. This is all completely uncharted territory for you and it makes your stomach twist, but you’re able to just pass it off as being a nervous flier. 

Lando holds your hand, makes sure you’re comfortable the whole time, and that’s that. There’s no need to worry him about what’s running rampant through your mind. 

Thankfully, you fall asleep not too long into the flight, and you don’t wake up until you’re on the ground in Ibiza. From there, it feels like a whirlwind has taken hold of you. You’re put into a car, driving, driving, driving god knows where. 

Lando won’t tell you a thing, just kisses your cheek and tells you not to worry. And just when you think you’re at your destination, you’re squeezed into a golf cart that eventually drops you off at a seemingly private marina. 

A large yacht sits before you, pristine white and polished to perfection. Lando beams, holding his arms out to the side like a game show host. “Ta-da! Look what we got for the day!” 

You’re at a loss for words. When he’d agreed to a joint beach day, you thought you’d actually be going to…well, a beach. 

“How the fuck did you manage to charter a yacht on such short notice?” Maren asks, clearly disbelieving. 

Lando aims a look at her over his sunglasses, arching a brow. “What, like it’s hard?” 

“Don’t do Elle Woods. You can’t pull it off,” Samira chimes in, to which Max nods his agreement. 

“Everyone’s a critic nowadays,” Lando mutters under his breath, flipping both of them off. “Just get on the boat, dream killers!” 

Your friends seem to be taking it in a much better stride than you are, because they go exploring the moment they climb right on alongside the rest of the boys, chattering excitedly. You, on the other hand, have to take a moment after Lando helps you on. 

“So? What do you think?” He asks earnestly, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

“It’s gorgeous,” You admit, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t know you were planning on getting a yacht.” 

“Yeah, I got it so we could have the day to ourselves. Dock somewhere remote, swim and have fun without anyone else around. I know how important privacy is to you, and I wanted you to be able to relax today.”

It hits you like a heavyweight right then. Lando did this for you. 

Went through all these last minute hoops that probably cost a fortune just so you’d feel comfortable. It has to be the sweetest, albeit most outrageous, thing anyone’s ever done for you. 

You close the distance between you in two steps, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. The force of it makes him stumble back a little bit, but he’s quick to recover, nuzzling deep into the crook of your neck with a smile you can feel pressed against your skin. 

“That was one hell of a thank you,” He breathes. You shrug innocently and he laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Ready to have some fun?” 

Turns out fun means putting an anchor down just off the shore of some small island not too far away. The day is starting to heat up a bit, perfect for you and the girls to stretch out on the cushioned benches and soak up the sun whilst the boys mess around in the water off the back of the boat. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, but you’re about ready to drift off when you feel something on your face. A drop of water hits you square in the forehead, another hits your cheek, and it makes you peek one eye open. 

Lando stands right above you, beaming down at you as he drips water everywhere.

“Hi. Water’s nice,” He says, shaking his hair out not unlike a dog would shake out its fur. Droplets spray all over you with the action, making you squeeze your eyes shut momentarily. 

You wipe the water off your face with an amused chuckle. “Yeah, I think I can tell. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You should come in.” 

“Maybe later. My sunscreen might not be dry yet.” 

“I think it’s plenty dry.” 

You arch a brow at his insistence, suspicious of the mischievous smile curving his lips, the glint in his eyes. He’s got something in that mind of his, and you’re starting to grasp what it might be. You sit up, inching away from him as he creeps closer. “Stop it. Lando, no. Don’t even think about it!”

He flops on top of you gently, enough to make you roll your eyes but not enough to smother you. “Lovely place to have a lay, innit?” He says innocently, squinting down at you. 

“It was,” You groan dramatically, wrinkling your nose at the puddle of water beginning to pool around you. “Now I’m being crushed.” 

“Are you calling me fat?” 

“No, no, the words you're looking for are big and strong and handsome. Did I mention the word strong?” 

“Twice, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.” 

“Careful, or I might start to think you have a praise kink,” You joke. Though judging by the immediate blush that blooms across his cheeks and ears, you might’ve just discovered something about your boyfriend. “Oh! You—I didn’t mean it like—”

His lips press against yours before you can finish your sentence as if to deter you from finishing your sentence, and you forget what you were saying in the first place. You’ve found that this is usually the case any time Lando kisses you, any and all previous thoughts disappearing without a trace only to be taken up by one singular thing—him. 

“Get a room, you two!” Samira grumbles, bringing you back to reality. “Happy for you and all, but I’m trying to sleep over here.” 

Right. 

You’d forgotten you were laying right next to her. Evidently Lando has too, because he whines something unintelligible, face hot against your bare skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck in embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, giving Lando a pat on the back to make him get off you. He does so, but not without a pout. The quick kiss you press to his shoulder when you pull yourself into an upright position is enough to settle him. 

He tilts his head invitingly, eyes bright now. “Come swim?” 

“Is the water nice?” 

“It’d be nicer if you were in it.” 

“I’m serious, Lando! Is it cold?”

“Guess you’ll just have to jump in and see.” He shrugs, winks at you playfully before ambling away.

You can’t help but admire Lando as he walks away from you, broad shoulders on full display, muscles shifting as he stretches his arms high over his head. Moles dot the expanse of his back, and it makes you want to trace your fingers along his tanned skin like you’re playing connect the dots. 

You’re expecting him to head for the back of the boat, but he goes towards the ladder heading up to the roof of the boat. 

“Now what exactly do you think you’re doing?” You call after him, raising your hand to block the sun shining in your eyes. 

“Jumping off the roof!” 

“Are you serious?” 

“It’s totally safe! I’ve done it before,” Lando reasons, waiting until he reaches the top of the ladder to offer you a smile. Somehow that doesn’t make you feel any better about him taking a flying leap from that high. “Wanna give it a go?” 

The words fuck and no teeter at the very tip of your tongue, but he’s grinning so big, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t at least a little bit intrigued.

Jumping off the roof of a yacht into crystal clear waters isn’t something you’ve ever thought you’d do, but then again, you’ve been doing a lot of things you never thought you’d do on this trip. 

“If I die, I’m haunting your ass forever,” You warn. Once you’re up the ladder on your own, you accept his outstretched hand onto the roof as he leads you carefully to the edge, fingers firmly tangled with yours. 

“There’s no one I’d rather be haunted by.” 

He leaps, taking you with him before you can even think of a response, and for a few moments, you feel weightless, falling through the air with nothing but Lando’s hand to ground you. It feels less terrifying and more freeing than you’d thought. 

You squeeze your eyes shut just before you hit the water, keeping them closed as you sink deeper and deeper. Lando’s hand leaves yours, but you don’t panic. You let yourself float, reveling in the quiet of being underwater until you start to feel it in your chest, and only then do you push towards the surface in a flume of bubbles.

The breath of air you inhale once you get above water is refreshing, and you tip your chin towards the sky, taking in the warm sunlight with a sigh. You wipe away the water cascading down your face before paddling back towards the boat, where Lando is sitting with his legs hanging off the back of it, waving at you. 

“What’d you think?” He asks earnestly once he’s pulled you out of the water to sit next to him. 

“That was…exhilarating.” 

“See, I told you it was fun! Stick with me, baby, I’ll show you the world.” 

Somehow, you don’t doubt that. If you’re an example of playing it safe, Lando is the definition of full sending it, impulse and chaos behind a handsome face. 

-------

The day flies by, and before you know it, it’s time to head back to shore. Thankfully, the yacht is well equipped with a shower in the bathroom, so you’re able to freshen up nicely when the time comes.

Lando lets out a low whistle when you emerge back out onto the deck, eyes dragging down your whole body, drinking in the sight of you with his lower lip tugged between his teeth. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, makes your cheeks flame hot. 

“Damn, you’re hot, girl!” He grins, winking at you. 

“Stop it,” You huff, adjusting the strap of your heel. 

“What? It’s true! Can’t I pay my hot girlfriend a compliment?” He argues, looking absolutely giddy. “C’mon, give me a spin.” You roll your eyes but oblige, and he whistles again. “My god, I’m a lucky guy.” 

“You’re so ridiculous,” You chuckle, letting yourself be tucked under his arm as you make your way to join the rest of your friends.  

“If ridiculous means obsessed with you, then yes, I am ridiculous.” 

The place is only a stone’s throw away from the public beach near the marina and already bouncing when you get there. You’re expecting to fold into the crowd of people, but Lando skirts around it, heading for the very front of the giant area, towards the DJ box. 

Maren’s hand clamps around your arm, squeezing tightly. “That’s Martin fucking Garrix!” She hisses, jutting her chin towards the stage aggressively. “You didn’t tell us Lando’s friend Martin was Martin fucking Garrix!” 

“He didn’t even tell me, how was I supposed to know?!” is all you can utter back in response. 

You’re just as taken by surprise as she is. You’d have never expected Lando’s friend Martin to be Martin Garrix. It’s not a connection you would’ve made at all, but you keep forgetting Lando is actually famous. Of course he has famous friends. 

Martin gestures for one of the other people there to take over the set, swapping out to come say hello as soon as he spots Lando. Both boys sport identical massive smiles. 

“Mate, it is good to see you again,” He says earnestly, bringing Lando into a tight hug. “I’ve been meaning to make it out to a race! You look great out there, though.” 

Lando shrugs, enthusiasm flickering a little at the mention of work, but only for a split second. “Could be doing better, but yeah, cheers!” 

Martin’s eyes flick over to you and he must get the sense that you’re a little nervous, because his smile turns more polite. “See you’ve made some new friends. Nice to meet you all, I’m Martin.” Then he notices how Lando’s moved closer to be next to you and you’re sure he’s already got things figured out. “Enjoy the set! I’m sure Lando will take good care of you.” 

A few drinks in your system helps relax the knot of nerves sitting on your chest a significant amount, enough so to where you’ve actually started to enjoy yourself. 

Lando’s hands slide around your waist from behind to sit at your hips, chest pressed up against your back as his chin drops down to nestle in the crook of your neck. He moves with the beat and you find yourself following, guided by his firm grip.

It’s so easy to get lost in him. You want to let yourself get lost in him, let yourself sink back into him and let your inhibitions free. But you can’t. 

Anyone can see you right now, seeing as you’re not exactly in a private place. You’re tucked off to the side, partially obscured by Martin’s booth and entourage, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone to take a good look and recognize Lando, even with the smoke and flashing lights. 

It’s risky to stay like this, and you want to tell him that, but then his lips press against the skin of your shoulder tenderly and your brain nearly short circuits. Heat blooms where he kisses you, traveling up to your cheeks and down to your toes like you've just been standing too close to a flickering fire. 

It isn’t until his nose nudges in right behind your ear, and his warm breath fans across your heated skin, that you suddenly feel like you can’t breathe. The loud music dulls down into background noise to the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Taking a shuddering inhale, you wriggle free of Lando’s grip, mumbling something to him about needing air as best you can and taking off before he can figure out what’s happening. 

You squeeze through the crowd rather forcefully, just needing to get somewhere without people, somewhere quiet where you can catch your breath and calm yourself down. 

Somehow you find yourself back at the beach, throwing yourself down onto a bench and burying your face into your hands with a frustrated, strangled groan. 

You don’t even know what’s wrong. Everything is good—you’re with your best friends, with Lando, and you’re supposed to be having fun. So why do you feel like you’re not supposed to be here? 

The answer is a mystery even to you. 

Watching the gentle waves lap over the shore proves rather soothing, a repetitive back and forth that helps ease your mind just the slightest bit. Only a few people mill around at this time of night, and they pay you no notice. You’re free to drown in your own thoughts without any of them being any the wiser. 

Footsteps approach some time later. How long, you’re not exactly sure—wallowing in your own self pity feels timeless. The tips of a familiar pair of trainers step into your field of vision, and you make yourself let your gaze follow up to see the extremely concerned face of their owner. 

Lando doesn’t say anything when you meet his eyes, just holds out his hand for you to take. When all you do is blink at him, then he speaks. “C’mon, let’s take a walk.” He tilts his head over his shoulder, towards the beach behind him. 

“I can’t walk on sand in these heels,” You sniff, scowling a little bit. It’s a shit excuse, you know that, but you don’t feel like being very cooperative right now. 

“I’ll hold them,” He replies, toeing off his own shoes first. You give in almost too easily, slipping off yours to give to him and accepting his other hand up. His fingers immediately intertwine with yours, tugging you closer to him as you step into the sand.

You walk along the shore for a while before either of you feel like saying anything, and it’s him who speaks first. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks gently. Rather than saying anything, you press your lips together. “C’mon, will you talk to me? Please?” His voice is so soft, so full of genuine concern for you it makes you start to feel bad. “I think it’ll make you feel better, instead of holding everything in.” 

“All of this—the jet, the yacht, everything—it’s a lot to take in,” You admit quietly, staring hard at the sand in front of you. “And I know you did it for me, so I’d feel comfortable, and I love how thoughtful you are when it comes to these things. But I…this is all completely new for me. Like, I can’t help but feel like such an outsider.”

Lando’s expression crumples. “Oh. I didn’t mean to—that wasn’t my intention. To make you feel like you don’t belong.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.”

“This sounds like the start of a romcom breakup scene,” He says, then he freezes, brows furrowing. “Wait, is this—” 

“No! No, I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just…saying things.” 

“Okay.” He nods, looking thoughtful. “How can I fix this, how can I help with what you’re feeling?” 

You smile at him, grateful that he’s asking even though there isn’t anything for him to do about how you’re feeling. Putting it out there is already starting to help, actually. You were scared about your thoughts and feelings being cast aside, but Lando hasn’t done that. He’s nothing but kind and caring about it. About you. 

“I’m fine, Lando. Thank you though, you’re sweet,” You assure him, kissing his cheek. “Mind if we walk a little longer before going back to Martin’s set?” 

“We don’t have to go back,” He suggests. “We can stay here, go somewhere else, anything you want.” 

“I want to go back. It’ll be fun,” You say, nodding firmly. The action is meant to reassure yourself more so than Lando, but he’s the one who looks wary. 

His head cocks to the side, brows furrowing in gentle caution. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

-------

The jet is quiet on the way back to Greece after Martin’s gig lets out, with good reason. It’s late at night, bordering on very early morning, and everyone’s asleep except you and Max, who’s on the phone with his girlfriend.

Judging by the way Lando immediately found his way into your space as soon as you all settled in for the flight and promptly conked out not five minutes later, he's exhausted. 

You glance down at the boy currently snoozing away curled up with his head in your lap, one of your hands clutched between both of his. His chest rises and falls rhythmically in his sleep, long lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheekbones. 

Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever been as content with someone as you are now with Lando. Even though things between you are still new, you feel like you really can be yourself without judgement around him too. And that talk you’d had at the beach has definitely lifted the weight off your shoulders a good amount.

Still, there’s something else you have to get off your chest. You turn your gaze on the only other person you can talk to right now, the one person you do want to talk to. 

Max ends his call shortly after with a quiet love you, see you soon, catching your eye with a sheepish smile as he sets the phone down on the table. “Pietra says hi. She’s looking forward to meeting you guys when she flies in.” 

“We’re excited to meet her too, she sounds amazing.” 

“Yeah, she is,” Max sighs. Then he squints at you, like he knows something is amiss. “Is everything alright? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” 

You nod carefully, absentmindedly winding one of Lando’s springy curls around your finger. He exhales a little harder in his sleep when you let it bounce back into place but doesn’t wake up, just snuggles deeper into you. “It’s kind of a weird thing to bring up, but I feel like I have to ask.” 

“Anything, go ahead. We’re friends, aren’t we?” It’s actually reassuring to know that Max’s opinion on you hasn’t changed since you’d gotten together with his best friend. You’re still friends just the same. That thought helps you muster up the courage to say what’s been weighing on you. 

“Are you okay with us? Lando and I, I mean.” 

You aren’t seeking his approval or anything, you just want him to be okay with the two of you. Or maybe you are, you’re not really sure. Max is Lando’s best friend, his brother. Other than Lando’s family, who you can't even think about meeting one day without your stomach churning, he's the person who's known Lando best since they were kids. 

All these people, they’re everything to him, and it's important for you to know where they stand. 

Max smiles warmly, says your name in that same soft, gentle way Lando always does when you get unsure. “You’re exactly the kind of person Lando needs in his life. Someone away from everything he’s got going on, someone who genuinely cares for him the way you do. You’re perfect for each other, and I hope you know that.”

You swallow the lump rising in your throat, smiling at Max through eyes glossy with welled up tears. His blessing brings you comfort, even if you weren't looking for it. “Thank you.” 

“No, I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” 

Your brows furrow, head tilting curiously to the side as to what he means. “Me? What did I do?” 

“I know Lando’s filled you in about what’s been going on, so you know that he’s had a bit of a rough time lately.” Max says softly, clearing his throat to rid himself of the emotional thickness in his tone. You can tell how much Max really loves and cares for Lando. “He’s not been himself for a while, so this summer break, this trip, it was something that might help him leave it all behind. Just relax and find himself again, ‘cause it wasn’t good for him, bottling it all up like he was.” 

Your heart aches for Lando. You can’t help but want to protect him. It was true when you’d been just friends and only grown truer since. 

“I wasn’t sure if it was doing him any good, but then we met you, and I swear to god I haven’t seen him smile this much in ages. He’s been so happy, so in love, it’s been—shit, I don’t even know what else I can say other than thank you. You’ve made my best mate himself again, and…I think I owe you everything for that.” 

You know there are other parts of his sentence that you should be paying attention to—being the reason Lando feels like himself again, making him happy—but only one thing echoes at the very forefront of your brain. “He’s in love with me?” 

Max’s eyes widen almost comically at the realization of what he’s just done. The juxtaposition of the heartfelt conversation you’ve had up until this point with the sudden exaggerated panic in his eyes would’ve cracked you up had you not been stunned by what he’d just let loose. “I really need to learn how to keep my fucking mouth shut.” 

“Lando told you he was in love with me?” You press. You’d kick him under the table, but then you’d risk waking up the subject of your conversation. Max just blinks at you, probably trying to figure out a way out of this. “Max.” 

“Fuck, fine! Yeah, he told me.” You raise an expectant brow for him to elaborate. “Jesus, did you want a timestamp? He said, I think I’m falling in love with her.” 

“He thinks?” 

“Well, I don’t know! I’m not a mind reader, am I?” He huffs. Upon seeing your brows furrow, he sighs. “But if I could read his mind, I’d say yes. I’ve known Lando…shit, I dunno, ten years now? And I’ve never seen him like this with anyone else before. You’re special to him.” 

“He’s special to me too,” You say softly, stroking a thumb over Lando’s knuckles gently. It should feel strange how much you feel for this boy and how strong those feelings are, but for some reason, it doesn’t. It feels exactly right. 

“I feel obligated to give you the usual ‘hurt my best friend and I’ll hurt you’ bit, but I know you won’t. You’ve been a great friend these last couple weeks, and I trust you with him. I trust that you’ll love him as much as he loves you. You do, don’t you?” 

You sigh, chuckling softly. “Figured out that one easily too, haven’t you?” 

“Please, I’ve known since the day you lot came round ours for the barbeque. And both of you are shit at hiding things, by the way. You’d be terrible spies.” 

“Thanks, Max. Seriously.” 

“For calling you a crappy liar? You’re welcome, I guess?” He’s only joking, but you know he knows what you mean. Max is a really good guy, a really good friend, both to you and to Lando. “And if he ever hurts you, loop me in. I’ll give him a proper beating for hurting my friend.” 

“Oh, I will. Avoid the face though, I kinda like it.” 

Max snorts, shaking his head playfully. “Yeah, he’s got a nice mug, that one. Real moneymaker.”

The moneymaker is drooling a little bit with his cheek smushed up against your leg, but you pay it no mind. He still looks good. 

He’s actually starting to look like your whole world, all wrapped up into one perfectly flawed human being. 

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[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the brave)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how the canon timeline and plot may be altered to suit this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18 + (for blood, gore, death, violence and suggestive themes)

- Previous part: sins

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The days bleed into one another as the small group travels deeper into the wilderness, avoiding the main roads to evade prying eyes. The terrain grows rougher, with thick forests and uneven paths that force them to move slower. Jaime feels every ache in his body, but he keeps his complaints to himself. For once, his sharp tongue is tempered—not by fear, but by something far more unsettling: you.

You walk ahead of him, leading the way with Winter at your side. The direwolf pads silently, his coat blending into the pale underbrush. Every so often, Winter glances back at Jaime, his icy blue eyes filled with suspicion, as if he’s waiting for the slightest excuse to tear him apart. Jaime smirks faintly at the thought but knows better than to provoke the beast.

You’ve grown quieter as the days pass, your icy demeanor softening slightly into something more tolerable. You still don’t speak to him unless necessary, but the edge of your anger has dulled. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s because of exhaustion or sheer indifference, but he finds himself craving any scrap of interaction with you, no matter how small.

Brienne, ever the vigilant guardian, remains stoic and watchful, her eyes constantly scanning the woods. She speaks little, her focus unwavering as she ensures their path is safe.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, when you finally call for a stop.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” you say simply, gesturing to a small clearing nestled between thick trees.

Brienne nods and begins unpacking their limited supplies. Winter circles the clearing once before settling near you, his menacing gaze never leaving Jaime.

As the fire crackles to life, the three of you sit in a loose triangle around it, the silence thick and oppressive. Jaime leans back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, his smirk faint as he watches you tend to Winter.

“You’re remarkably silent tonight, my lady,” he says after a moment, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity.

You glance at him briefly, your expression unreadable. “Maybe you should follow my example,” you reply coolly.

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Ah, but silence doesn’t suit me. You should know that by now.”

Brienne sighs heavily, clearly tired of his antics, but doesn’t intervene.

“Tell me,” Jaime continues, his gaze lingering on you, “does it ever get easier? The grief?”

Your hand stills on Winter’s fur, and for a moment, the firelight reflects something raw in your eyes. “Why do you care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, though still guarded.

“I don’t,” Jaime admits, his smirk faltering slightly. “But I’ve seen enough grief to know it doesn’t fade. It just… changes shape.”

You don’t respond immediately, your fingers brushing absently through Winter’s fur as the firelight dances across your face. Finally, you speak, your voice low but steady. “It’s not something you’d understand, Lannister.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime replies, leaning forward slightly. “But I do know something about loss. About guilt.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes cold and piercing. “Don’t talk to me about guilt. Not after what you’ve done.”

Jaime exhales, leaning back against the tree. “Fair enough,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches again, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant rustle of leaves. It’s Brienne who finally breaks it, her tone calm but firm. “We should rest. We’ll need to cover more ground tomorrow.”

You nod, rising to your feet and moving to check your gear. Winter follows, his presence a constant shadow at your side. Jaime watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can’t quite name.

As Brienne begins to settle in for the night, Jaime speaks again, his voice softer now. “You know, I always respected your father.”

Brienne looks up abruptly, but it’s you who turns first, your gaze hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice like steel.

Jaime doesn’t stop. “Ned Stark,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your eyes. “He was… honorable, to a fault. A rarity in men like us. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Your fists clench at your sides, but you don’t respond, your jaw tight.

“Do you think he’d approve of this?” Jaime asks, gesturing faintly to the group. “Of you traveling with the likes of me?”

Your voice is cold when you finally reply. “My father’s approval doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead. Because of men like you.”

Jaime swallows hard, your words cutting deeper than he expected. “You’re right,” he says after a long pause, his tone quieter now. “And if I could change it, I—”

“You can’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “So stop pretending like you care.”

The camp falls silent again, the animosity thick enough to choke. Jaime doesn’t speak after that, his gaze fixed on the fire as his own guilt festers inside him.

As the night deepens and the fire burns low, Jaime lays back against the tree, his eyes on the stars above. Your words echo in his mind, a constant reminder of the weight he carries.

And though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows you’re right. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Jaime sits near the smoldering remains of their morning fire, his hands still bound but his posture relaxed, watching Brienne as she meticulously checks her gear. You had left earlier with Winter to hunt, leaving the two of them behind.

Jaime finds the silence unbearable.

“Do you ever take that armor off, Brienne?” he drawls, tilting his head as he studies her. “Or is it part of you now? Perhaps it’s hiding something you’d rather keep a mystery.”

Brienne stiffens but doesn’t look at him. “You’ll find no amusement here, Lannister. Keep your mouth shut.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jaime presses, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so stern all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting? Or is that how you woo the men of Tarth? With that charming scowl?”

Brienne finally looks at him, her blue eyes cold as ice. “You’ve made it clear you have no honor, Kingslayer. I see no need to engage with you further.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, but you already have. That’s the thing about you, Brienne—you care. Even when you shouldn’t. It’s admirable, really. Foolish, but admirable.”

Before Brienne can respond, a sound cuts through the stillness—a faint rustle in the underbrush. Brienne’s hand immediately moves to her sword, her keen gaze scanning the forest. Jaime stiffens, his smirk slipping as the noise grows louder.

Then they appear.

The Brave Companions emerge from the trees, their mismatched armor and cruel faces unmistakable. Vargo Hoat leads them, his twisted smile revealing his rotting teeth. The sight of him sends a chill down Jaime’s spine, though he hides it well.

“Well, well,” Vargo says, his voice grating as he steps forward. “What have we here? The Kingslayer himself, traveling with a lady knight. A curious pairing, no?”

Brienne rises to her full height, her sword drawn in an instant. “Leave, now. You’ll find no easy prey here.”

Vargo laughs, a sound that sends a ripple of unease through the forest. His men spread out, circling the clearing like wolves. Jaime counts at least a dozen, all armed and dangerous.

“You’re outnumbered,” Vargo says, his grin widening. “Put down your sword, woman, or we’ll take it—and your head—with it.”

Jaime watches the scene unfold, his mind racing. Brienne’s grip tightens on her sword, her stance unwavering, but even he knows the odds are against her.

“Brienne,” Jaime says quietly, his voice devoid of mockery for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

She doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the men before her.

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, but not for himself. His thoughts turn to you, somewhere out in the forest with Winter. For the first time in a long while, Jaime finds himself praying—not to the gods, but to fate itself.

Stay away. Don’t come back. Don’t let them find you.

“Take him,” Vargo orders suddenly, gesturing toward Jaime. Two of his men step forward, their weapons drawn.

Jaime doesn’t resist as they grab him, though his smirk returns faintly. “You’ll regret this, goat,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

“We’ll see,” Vargo replies, his grin never faltering.

Brienne moves to intercept them, her sword flashing in the fading light. She takes down one man with ease, her movements precise and deadly. But the others close in quickly, overwhelming her with sheer numbers.

Jaime struggles against his captors, his chest tightening as Brienne is forced to her knees.

“Stop!” Vargo commands, and his men freeze. He steps closer to Brienne, his twisted grin widening. “You’ll fetch a fine price, woman. Perhaps even more than the Kingslayer.”

Jaime spits at Vargo’s feet, his voice sharp. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

Vargo laughs, clearly unfazed. “You’re in no position to make threats, Lannister.”

As the Brave Companions begin binding Brienne, Jaime’s thoughts return to you. He can only hope you’ve gone far enough into the forest to escape their notice.

Stay away, he thinks again, the words almost a plea. Don’t let them find you.

But the forest is silent, offering no assurances.

Jaime stumbles slightly as they march, his wrists raw and unsteady now that his hands are free from the chains that had bound them. His steps are slow and measured, but his gaze keeps darting to the dense tree line, scanning for any sign of you—or worse, Winter.

He doesn’t want you here. The thought of you stumbling into this chaos, of seeing you captured or worse, is unbearable. The sharp bite of fear twists in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Behind him, Brienne trudges silently, her hands bound tightly, her face bruised but unbroken. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes tell Jaime that she hasn’t given up. Yet the odds are stacked against them, and even her famed strength feels like little more than a flickering candle against the storm that is Vargo Hoat and his band of butchers.

Vargo rides alongside them, his crooked smile ever-present. The sound of his grating voice breaks through the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor.

“Kingslayer,” Vargo calls, his tone mocking. “You look troubled. Perhaps you miss your father’s castle, eh?”

Jaime keeps his expression neutral, though his gaze remains fixed on the trees. “And what of it, goat? Are you taking me to him? I imagine Tywin Lannister would pay handsomely for his son’s safe return.”

Vargo lets out a harsh laugh, the sound as unpleasant as nails on stone. “Safe return? No, no, no. That is not our plan. Your father’s gold may be great, but there are others who will pay more for you—and her.”

Jaime glances over his shoulder at Brienne, who glares at Vargo with pure hatred.

“And who might that be?” Jaime asks, his voice tight.

“Lord Bolton,” Vargo replies, his grin widening. “He is very interested in the Kingslayer and his lady knight. He will reward us greatly for delivering you both to Harrenhal.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. Roose Bolton—a man whose reputation for cruelty and cunning rivaled even his father’s worst enemies. The news twists the knot in his stomach even tighter.

“Ah,” Jaime says, forcing a faint smirk despite the unease coursing through him. “So I’m to be handed over to a man who skins his enemies alive. Charming. I suppose this is my lucky day.”

Vargo chuckles again, clearly enjoying Jaime’s discomfort. “Lucky, yes. You will see what Lord Bolton has in store for you soon enough.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his mind racing as he considers their fate. The chances of escape seem slimmer with every step, and his thoughts inevitably circle back to you. Were you far enough away when the Brave Companions attacked? Did Winter sense the danger and keep you from returning?

“Kingslayer,” Vargo snaps suddenly, his gaze locking onto Jaime. “You keep looking at the trees. What are you so distracted by? Hoping for rescue?”

Jaime forces a laugh, though it rings hollow even to his own ears. “Rescue? Hardly. I’m just admiring the scenery. It’s not often I get to see the wilderness in all its… muddy glory.”

Vargo narrows his eyes, unconvinced. He leans forward in his saddle, studying Jaime with a calculating look. “You’re hiding something,” he says slowly, his grin fading into suspicion.

“I’m hiding nothing,” Jaime replies smoothly, though his hands clench involuntarily at his sides. “But if it keeps you entertained, feel free to keep guessing, goat.”

Vargo sneers, his gaze lingering on Jaime for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the path ahead.

Behind him, Brienne speaks for the first time since their capture, her voice low but firm. “If you have a plan, Lannister, now would be the time to share it.”

Jaime glances back at her, his smirk returning faintly. “A plan? Do you think I’m hiding an army in these woods, waiting to spring us free?”

“You’re always scheming,” Brienne retorts, her blue eyes blazing. “Don’t play coy with me.”

Jaime exhales sharply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “The only plan I have,” he says quietly, his gaze drifting back to the trees, “is hoping she stays far away from this.”

Brienne frowns. “Don’t speak of her aloud.”

Jaime spoke no more. Instead, he focuses on the path ahead, the rhythmic crunch of their steps blending with the rustling of leaves.

As they march deeper into the forest, Jaime’s mind refuses to quiet. He can’t shake the image of you standing with your bow drawn, Winter at your side, ready to face down anyone who threatened you. The thought should bring him comfort, but instead, it fills him with dread.

Because if you came back, if you appeared now, Jaime knows there’s nothing he could do to protect you. And the thought of losing you—of watching you suffer because of him—feels like a fate worse than death.

The camp is eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of a meager fire and the occasional rustle of the trees in the cold night breeze. Vargo’s men lounge around the clearing, their mismatched armor shining faintly in the firelight. Jaime sits to one side, his hands resting on his knees, Brienne not far behind him. His body aches from the forced march, but his mind is clearer than ever, his senses heightened by the dread that hangs in the air.

Something feels wrong.

The first scream shatters the stillness.

It’s a guttural, panicked sound, cutting through the night like a blade. Everyone freezes, heads snapping toward the trees where the noise originated. The firelight dances on the faces of Vargo’s men, their expressions shifting from irritation to alarm.

“What was that?” one of them mutters, his hand already on his sword.

Before anyone can respond, a figure is dragged into the shadows with terrifying speed. The man lets out a blood-curdling scream, his body thrashing wildly as he disappears into the dark.

“Get up!” Vargo shouts, his voice alarmed as he jumps to his feet. “To arms!”

The camp erupts into chaos as the men scramble for their weapons, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Jaime watches, his heart pounding as he catches a fleeting glimpse of pale fur and glowing blue eyes in the shadows.

Winter.

“Seven hells,” Jaime breathes, his chest tightening.

Another scream pierces the night as a second man is attacked, his cries abruptly silenced by the sound of tearing flesh. The Brave Companions draw their weapons, but their fear is palpable, their movements clumsy.

“It’s a wolf!” one of them shouts, his voice trembling.

“No wolf is that big!” another yells back, his eyes wide with terror.

Winter moves like a ghost through the trees, his white and silver coat blending into the shadows as he strikes with lethal precision. Jaime can barely keep track of him, the direwolf’s speed and ferocity unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Vargo snarls, drawing his curved sword as he scans the darkness. “Kill it! Kill the beast!”

Before anyone can act, an arrow whistles through the air, striking one of the men in the throat. He gurgles, collapsing to the ground as blood pools beneath him.

“Archer!” someone shouts, pointing wildly toward the trees.

Another arrow flies, finding its mark in a second man’s chest. He stumbles backward, clutching at the shaft before crumpling to the ground.

Jaime’s breath catches as he realizes what’s happening. It’s not just Winter—it’s you.

A third arrow claims another victim, the chaos escalating as the Brave Companions break formation, rushing blindly into the woods in search of their unseen attacker.

“Stay together, you fools!” Vargo roars, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jaime’s eyes dart to the treeline, his heart racing. He knows you’re out there, somewhere in the shadows, and the thought both thrills and terrifies him.

Another scream echoes through the forest as Winter attacks again, his massive form taking down another man with ruthless efficiency. The clearing is now a mess of blood, bodies, and panicked shouting, the Brave Companions falling apart under the assault.

And then he sees you.

You step into the clearing, your bow in hand, your face illuminated by the flickering firelight. There’s a fierce determination in your eyes, your movements swift and precise as you draw another arrow.

“Y/N!” Jaime calls out before he can stop himself, his voice cutting through the noise.

Your gaze flicks to him for the briefest moment, your expression unreadable. But it’s enough of a distraction for Vargo to strike.

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you back with surprising speed. Your bow clatters to the ground as you struggle against his grip, your face twisting in anger.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice raw with fury.

Winter lets out a deep, guttural growl, his eyes locked on you as he moves to attack.

“No!” you scream, your voice desperate. “Run, Winter! Go!”

The direwolf hesitates, his massive form still and tense as he watches you.

“Run!” you shout again, tears glinting in your eyes as you thrash against Vargo’s hold.

Winter snarls once more, his gaze flicking between you and the Brave Companions before he turns and disappears into the trees, his silver form vanishing like a ghost.

“No,” Jaime mutters under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He steps forward, but two of Vargo’s men grab him, holding him back.

“Enough!” Vargo snaps, his grip on you tightening. “The wolf is gone. And now we have her.”

Your breathing is ragged, your face pale but defiant as you glare up at him. “You won’t get away with this,” you say through gritted teeth.

Vargo laughs, the sound cruel and grating. “Oh, my dear, I already have.”

Jaime’s chest burns with fury and frustration as he watches you struggle, his mind racing for a way to intervene. But with his hands unbound and his guards distracted, he knows his moment will come.

For now, all he can do is watch as Vargo drags you with him.

The clearing is chaos. The fire crackles weakly, casting jagged specters over the carnage of bodies and blood. Vargo Hoat holds you firmly by the arm, his sickly grin widening as his men begin to realize just who he has captured. You continue to struggle against him, your breath ragged, but the defiance in your eyes burns brighter than the flames.

“Well, well,” Vargo sneers, his voice grating like steel on stone. “We’ve caught ourselves a Stark. A fine prize indeed. Imagine the price your brother will pay to get you back.”

Your struggles intensify, and in one sudden, vicious movement, you lunge forward and sink your teeth into the side of Vargo’s neck. The sickening crunch of flesh giving way is followed by a howl of pain as blood pours from the wound.

“You little bitch!” Vargo roars, shoving you back with such force that you stumble. He lifts his hand and strikes you across the face with a brutal slap that echoes through the clearing.

Jaime’s breath catches, his body going numb as you fall to your knees, clutching your cheek. Fury surges through him, hot and unrelenting.

“Get her in line!” Vargo snarls, his eyes wild as he presses a hand to the bleeding wound on his neck. “Or I’ll do it myself!” His next words drip with malice, his voice lowering. “Maybe a night in my tent will teach her some manners.”

Brienne struggles against the two men holding her, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You dare harm her, and I will kill you, goat!”

Vargo laughs, a twisted sound filled with cruelty. “You’re in no position to make threats, wench. But perhaps you’d like to join her. I hear the women of Tarth are… sturdy.”

Jaime’s patience snaps.

“That,” Jaime says suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “would be a very bad idea.”

Vargo turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “And why is that, Kingslayer?”

Jaime steps forward, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his smirk carries a dangerous edge. “Because she’s a Stark, you imbecile. Do you have any idea what Robb Stark will do if he hears you’ve so much as touched her? Let me enlighten you: he’ll behead every single one of your men. And you? He’ll save you for last. Maybe he’ll even let his direwolf eat you piece by piece.”

Vargo’s expression falters for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he sneers. “You think I fear the boy king in the North?”

“You should,” Jaime replies coldly. “The Starks are known for their vengeance. And trust me, you don’t want to find out just how far they’ll go for one of their own.”

The men around Vargo exchange uneasy glances, the weight of Jaime’s words sinking in. Even the most hardened among them seem to hesitate, their weapons lowering slightly.

Vargo hesitates, his eyes darting between Jaime and you. Finally, he lets out a growl of frustration, shoving you roughly to the ground.

“Fine,” he snarls, spitting blood onto the ground. “But keep her quiet. And if she causes any more trouble, she’ll regret it.”

Jaime moves to your side, kneeling as he places himself between you and Vargo. He doesn’t reach out to you—he knows you wouldn’t welcome it—but his presence is a silent reassurance.

“You’ll regret it if you touch her again,” Jaime says evenly, his voice low but filled with venom.

Vargo sneers but doesn’t reply, turning away to bark orders at his men. The tension in the clearing lessens slightly, though the atmosphere remains charged.

Jaime glances at you, your face pale but your eyes still burning with defiance. Blood trickles from your lip where Vargo’s slap split the skin, but you refuse to show weakness.

“You’re insane,” Jaime mutters, his tone somewhere between admiration and frustration.

“And you’re pathetic,” you snap back, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. “Don’t think this changes anything, Lannister.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Brienne is finally released, her captors stepping back as she moves to stand beside Jaime and you. Her gaze flicks between you, Jaime, and the others, her grip on her sword tight.

“We need a plan,” she says quietly, her voice calm but urgent.

Jaime nods, his mind already racing. He doesn’t know how they’ll escape this mess, but one thing is certain: he’ll ensure you make it out alive, no matter the cost.

Because for the first time in years, Jaime Lannister feels something he thought he’d lost—a flicker of honor. And he’s not about to let it die here.

The camp has grown quiet, the earlier chaos fading into an uneasy stillness. The Brave Companions, though brutal, are not fools; they’ve doubled their watch, their muttered conversations filled with unease as they huddle around the dying fire. The woods seem to press closer, the shadows deep and impenetrable, a eerie reminder of the blood spilled earlier.

Jaime sits near the edge of the clearing, his back against a tree, his body aching but unbroken. His hands, though unbound, rest loosely on his knees, and he watches as Brienne, bruised but defiant, is seated under close guard across from him. Her eyes flick toward him briefly before returning to her captors, her posture one of quiet vigilance.

And then there’s you.

You sit a short distance away, your arms wrapped around your knees as if trying to keep yourself steady. Your face is pale, the faint bruise from Vargo’s slap barely visible in the dim firelight. Winter is nowhere to be seen, and Jaime wonders if the direwolf is still close, lurking just beyond the camp’s edge.

When you glance toward Brienne, your expression tightens, your gaze lingering on the bonds that hold her before finally shifting to Jaime. For a moment, you simply study him, your eyes narrowed in thought. Then you speak, your voice quiet but firm.

“Are you unharmed?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you cared, my lady.”

You scoff, the sound cold and unimpressed. “I don’t. But you need to remain intact. If you’re not returned to the capital, my sisters won’t be returned safely. That’s the only reason I asked.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, of course. My worth as a bargaining chip. Good to know where I stand.”

Your expression hardens, and you look away, your focus shifting to the forest beyond. “Just answer the question, Lannister.”

“I’m fine,” Jaime replies, his tone more serious now. “Though I can’t say the same for your goat friend. You left quite the impression on him.”

You don’t smile, though there’s a flicker of satisfaction in your eyes. “He deserved worse.”

Jaime nods slightly, his gaze steady on you. “That he did.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you. Then Jaime speaks again, his voice quieter now.

“They’re taking us to Harrenhal,” he says, his smirk fading. “By any luck, Tywin will be there. Along with your dear friend Roose Bolton.”

Your head snaps toward him, alarm flashing across your face. “Bolton?”

Jaime tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Yes. Apparently, Vargo thinks Lord Bolton has some interest in us. I suppose he sees an opportunity to curry favor with both sides.”

Your brow furrows, your mind clearly racing. “Bolton is my brother’s bannerman,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion and disbelief. “What business would he have with Tywin Lannister?”

Jaime shrugs, though his eyes don’t leave you. “That’s the question, isn’t it? But if I were you, I’d start asking why one of Robb’s trusted men is even speaking to my father in the first place.”

The realization hits you like a physical blow, your eyes widening as the pieces begin to fall into place. You mutter something under your breath, too quiet for Jaime to hear, before clenching your fists at your sides.

“I have to warn Robb,” you say suddenly, your voice low but urgent.

Jaime watches you carefully, his smirk returning faintly. “And how do you plan to do that, my lady? You’re a prisoner now, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You glare at him, your jaw tight. “I’ll find a way.”

Brienne, who has been listening silently, finally speaks, her voice steady. “If what he says is true, your brother must be told. The Boltons have always been… different. But this would be treason of the highest order.”

“Treason?” Jaime interjects, his tone almost amused. “Such a quaint word. Let’s call it what it is: survival. Roose Bolton knows how this war will end. He’s simply choosing the winning side.”

You rise to your feet abruptly, pacing a short distance away as your thoughts churn. Jaime watches you closely, noting the hesitation in your movements, the fire in your eyes.

“I won’t let him betray my family,” you say finally, your voice firm.

Jaime leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “And what exactly will you do, Stark? You’re in no position to stop him. Neither am I, for that matter.”

You stop pacing, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lannister. You might not care about honor or loyalty, but I do. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

Jaime holds your gaze, his smirk fading as he sees the resolve burning in your eyes. He feels a flicker of something unfamiliar—respect.

“Well,” he says quietly, leaning back against the tree once more, “then I suppose you’d better start planning, my lady. Because if we reach Harrenhal, it might already be too late.”

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t respond. Instead, you return to your place by the fire, your eyes fixed on the flames as your mind works tirelessly.

Jaime watches you in silence, the weight of your determination settling over him like a storm cloud. And he finds himself wondering if perhaps there’s still a way out of this mess—if not for him, then for you.

[buck-star]

Unspoken desires

You never thought the deep sparkle in your best friend’s eyes could be something you will enjoy just as much as he does. But somehow it does and it causes a deeper relationship between the two of you.

Pairing: BestFriend!Dom!Ransom Drysdale x BestFriend!Sub!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.362 Words

Warnings/Tags: Best Friends to lovers, dom/sub dynamics, teasing talking about spanking, petnames [sweet pie, baby girl], fluff

Authors Note: @holylulusworld here it is. Dividers made by me.

Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Warm sunbeams warm up the cool air, brightening the day and flooding everything in a wonderful yellow-orange color. The perfect, romantic atmosphere - perfectly fitting your mood when you're with your best friend.

You're seated on the comfortable mattress of Ransom's bed, your back resting against the headboard while your legs are stretched out. In one of your hands, you hold the remote to switch through the channels while you use the other to pick at your lip, getting rid of the dry skin.

“Stop that,” the low voice of your best friend suddenly echoes through the room. His usual soft tone now demanding and leaving no room for arguments. He leans with his broad, muscular body in the door frame to his bedroom, his ocean blue eyes darkening slightly and his lips in a thin line. “Not gonna ask you again. Stop that.”

You look at Ransom with big eyes, your fingers glued to your lips. Your mind isn’t as fast as he wants it to be. He just appears with such a dominance in front of you, you need a moment to collect yourself. You swallow thickly, letting your hand fall into your lap. Your tongue instinctively swipes over your lips, wetting them, and you feel another bit of old skin that annoys you. But for some reason you don't dare to bring your hand back up, to do anything else than what he's saying.

Ransom smiles softly, pushing himself off the door frame. His muscles flex when he does so, and you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape your mouth. Your best friend stands straight before he walks - with those damn elegant and slow movements - to the drawer where the television is placed on. “If you have dry lips, drink and use some balm for them.”

He takes out a little thing from the drawer, closing it before he walks around the bed and sits down on the edge, next to you. Ransom opens the little bottle - probably some balm he was talking about - and squirts some of it on his pointer finger. You watch him intensely; something changed in his behavior around you, and you wonder what it is.

Of course, Ran always cares about you, his best friend. And maybe those butterflies you always feel in your stomach when you're around him are the reason that you think his behavior changed. Maybe he didn't change it at all, but you only imagine it and wish for it to be anything more than friends.

“Open up, sweetie pie,” he mumbles, using your usual pet name. Your eyes move from his finger to his face, taking in his soft smile and the softness in his blue eyes, but somehow there was more. Something you're sure you never saw before, a sparkle that shows a deeper desire that he doesn't speak out loud. His voice is suddenly an octave deeper when he speaks up again. “Open up.”

You slowly part your lips, eyes looking directly into his. Ransom smirks at you, bringing his finger, covered in the balm, to your lips, slowly moving it over them. He frowns, one of his eyebrows raising as he keeps the soft stroking over your dry lips.

“How much did you drink already?” He questions, keeping his thumb on your lower lip but stopping the soft motion of rubbing the balm into them. You look down, swallowing before you look at him again. His intense gaze feels like he could watch into your soul with ease, and it causes another whimper to roll up your throat.

“M-Maybe a glass…” you mumble, cheeks heating up when you drop your gaze once more. Ransom shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping his plump lips. He doesn't like the lack of self care - knowing it will affect you at one point. “But- But it's only, uh, early afternoon.”

“I don't like that,'“ he whispers, leaning closer. Ransom swipes his fingers under your chin, lifting it up so you have to face him. His blue orbs holding softness, concern, but also a hint of dominance. The hint deep down, captured in a capture you want to open to get to know more of that side. “I don't like when you have such a lack of self-care, baby girl.”

This time you can’t swallow down the whimper that escapes your lips. Your eyes widen when you hear the needy sound coming from you. Ransom smirks, noticing the way you try to turn away from him to hide yourself in his pillow. He immediately reaches out to wrap his calloused hand around your throat and pull you back to him.

“Where are you going, baby girl?” He asks, grinning when he feels the way you swallow thickly. His hand is only loosely wrapped around your throat, not adding pressure but showing who’s in control. And this damn nickname, it's like he loves it to tease you with it now. Another whimper escapes you, and you feel the heat rising into your face further. “That's what you like, naughty girl.”

“R-Ran,” you gasp, grabbing his arm, Your nails sink into his skin, but he keeps smiling at you with that soft expression. And, damn, he knows what he’s doing to you, the softness turning into a more cocky expression. If you wouldn't be so speechless, you would smack him, but something tells you to not do that right now, not when he's the one in control.

You press your thighs together, feeling the fabric of your panties being soaked from the dominance he's showing toward you. Ransom looks down your body, noticing the movement of your legs, the way you press them together. He raises a brow when his eyes settle back on your face.

“Not only liking it, baby girl, loving it, huh?” He chuckles. Ransom's hand still around your throat, adding a bit of pressure to push you back into the pillows behind you. He leans down with you a bit before he lets go of your throat and sits back up. “Lost your big girl words, baby? You need me to tell you what you think, or else I have to assume that you don't like it.”

You want to roll your eyes, to sit up to punch his shoulder slightly, but somehow you stay where you are. Your mind clouded with need, a need you never thought you would ever feel, but here it is. Ransom keeps looking at you, closing the little bottle of balm and placing it on the nightstand. Your lips form into a soft pout when your eyes roam over his face and down to his muscular shoulders, further down to his hands in his lap. The hand that was just brushing your lips and wrapped around your throat. How is it possible for him to be so calm and smiling while you're feeling like a puddle in his hands.

Ransom's expression suddenly changes when you don't answer him. Concern is written all over his face when he shifts. He grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap. One of his big hands finds its way to your thighs, while the other settles on your lower back, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

“Are you okay? Was it too much? I'm sorry if it was,” Ransom mumbles, watching your expression and body language intensely. He keeps the soft motion of his hand on your back while he waits patiently for you to answer him.

“R-Ran, what was that?” You whisper, leaning your head against his broad chest. He assumed punches, screaming for being so weird, but the first thing you asked was what that was. Wasn't it obvious?

“I-I dominated you; I had the control,” he explains. Searching for a more detailed explanation since you look still a bit in a haze. “You picked your lips; I don't like when you do it. I neither do like it when you drink too little for your own good. I'm sorry, I should have asked and… I fuck—”

You bring one of your hands to his muscular chest, stroking it softly over his shirt. Ransom looks down at your smaller hand, smiling softly.

“I couldn't help myself. You… I-I’m more of the dominant one, and my first ex, she’s a sub; we discovered a lot together, and after…” Ransom stops, running his hand that was placed on your thighs through his soft locks before placing it back on your thighs, filling your stomach with the familiar warmth you always feel around him. “After I wasn't in a relationship most people consider as normal. Of course, there are times when it's less of the dom and sub dynamic, but it’s still mostly a d/s relationship. And with you… honey pie.”

Ransom inhales deeply, pulling you closer like he fears that you could jump off his lap and run away. You wrap one of your arms around his neck, leaning further into him as you press your other palm against his chest, feeling his racing heart. Ransom is barely nervous; he's always so calm and grounded with everything he's doing.

“I love you,” he breathes out. You blink, forcing yourself to push back slightly and look at him. Does the guy in the movie have the same soft voice Ransom has, or did he really just confess his feelings to you? “I love you; I'm so in love with you, honey pie. But I'm afraid… afraid that you don’t like that side of me but also th-that I can't give you what a ‘normal' relationship would offer you. The dominance took over when I saw you picking your lips again. I'm sorry.”

“Are you stupid?” You blurt out, clamping a hand down on your mouth immediately. Ransom chuckles softly, shrugging. He might be a bit stupid, at least stupid in love. “I-I it was intense to give up control like that. But in a good way, I-I… I never thought it would feel that good to let someone take control.”

Your admission surprises Ransom slightly. Of course, he has seen your widened eyes, your parted lips, and your clenched thighs, but your reaction afterwards made him unsure about seeing your reaction right. He moves his hand from your thighs up to your chin, turning your face softly until your eyes are locked with his.

“You should freak out,” he mumbles with a soft laugh. “Not just because I confessed the kind of relationships I like but also because of the love confession.”

The soft giggle coming from you makes his heart beat faster and his grip around your waist tightens slightly. “Mhm, no, nothing to freak out. But… I love you too,” you admit with a soft giggle, hiding your face in his broad chest. “And this whole dominance, it suits you; it makes you even hotter, and so mhmmmm.”

“So what?” Ransom laughs, mimicking the tone you made with a low chuckle, his chest vibrating. “So, you liked it, and you love me… then-” he interrupts himself, his heartbeat increasing, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

You rub your hand up and down his chest, trying to soothe him. You lean closer, grinning when you kiss him softly. Ransom gasps, immediately trying to catch up to kiss you back. Your teeth graze his lips, and he shudders until you tip down slowly and earn a growl from your best friend.

“You earn yourself a spanking if you keep teasing me, baby girl,” he growls, his voice in that low, dominant tone. You shiver in his lap, pulling back only slightly, your breath hitching in excitement; you bite your lip, keeping the soft grin on your lips. “Let go of your lip, or you will count the spanks.”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together - and fuck, this shouldn't be that hot, but it is. He clears his throat, leaning closer until his lips are firmly pressed against your forehead. His voice once again soft and tender when he speaks up. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Sub or girlfriend?” You wonder, tracing your fingers over his chest to his abs. His breath quickens the lower your hand moves, and you giggle when you feel him shifting underneath you. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his chest and leaving his on top of your smaller hand.

“Both. I mean… if you want. I want you, and if you say you don't… don't like the whole d/s relationship stuff, then I will try to give you the best of me without these aspects,” he murmurs, inhaling deeply. His heart is racing; of course, he loves you anyway, but a part of him hopes that you will agree to the whole him, to his desires that make the bond between people stronger than just a normal relationship. “If you want to. D/s relationships are built on trust and love, way more than a ‘normal' one; sometimes, they connect you in more ways. But if you say no, we will make it the deepest love relationship without those things.”

It’s not Ransom trying to convince you to agree to him. It was your best friend who’s deeply in love with you, promising you everything you ask for.

“You already gave me a taste of your dominance, and you think someone can say no to that then?” You giggle, shaking your head. “I would love to be yours, your girlfriend, but also your sub.”

Ransom nods, letting himself fall backwards on his bed, pulling you with him. His strong arms snake around you, and he grips you even tighter, purring low in his chest. “Decide on a movie so you can calm down a bit before we have to go over some basics, rules, limits, you know. And then we will get you something to drink. Damn, finally you're all mine, baby girl.”

With a chuckle, you adjust yourself on top of him and look for something you want to watch with him. Ransom presses his lips softly on your hair. Your heart flutters at the thought of belonging to him but also knowing that he belongs to you - that he loves you, too.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @blackhawkfanatic @hisredheadedgoddess28 @armystay89 [add yoruself]

[lunebulous]

How would Xavier react to seeing you dressed as a bride? - Bonus Chapter

C.w: fluff, non-established relationship, silly, xavier x reader, sfw, corpse bride mentions, not proofread.

Stirring a purple juice that seems to be thicker than it should, Xavier is startled by his own doorbell. He’s not waiting for anyone - didn’t ask for any takeout today - so he knows it’s you. He tries not to smile to himself as he dries his own hands in a dish towel nearby, only then realizing the mess he made in the kitchen. He starts desperately trying to tidy up before you ring again - so this will have to make do. He turns off the oven and rushes to the door. 

“Coming.” He says in a soft and happy voice. And as if you didn’t hear, you start repeatedly ringing it again just to annoy him. 

He opens it. “What’s all this for? Is someone chewing your arm off?” He smiles, just genuinely content in seeing you smiling at him, even if there is a hint of suspiciousness in your eyes. “No, but with the time it took you to answer me, I already could have started decomposing!” You retort, making him softly roll his eyes before taking a look at you. You are so adorable. There is what seems to be a pink photo album in your hands. He furrowed his eyebrows before letting you in. “It’s from the photoshoot my friends and I did, the pictures are ready and Anne just delivered it to me!” You say, taking your shoes off. Xavier giggles to himself when he sees your shark socks, but decides to not tease you about it - for now. “Since you were very kind and brought me food, I wanted to have my first look with you!” You walk towards his sofa, and he follows soon after, gazing at the top of your head. He wishes he could kiss it. “First look, huh. Did you have fun?” He asks, taking the photo album from your hands. It’s a baby pink hard leather cover, his fingers grazing against the texture. There is embroidery in the middle of it: a heart with an arrow through it. First look… Now he could say he had this experience once. “A lot. It was very funny, none of our costumes blended with each other so we were laughing the whole time.” You scoot closer, signaling for him to open it already. 

“What were you again..? Dead bride..?” He places his arm on the back of the couch behind you, giving some space for you to move freely. “Corpse Bride, Xavier! I thought you knew who she was!” You stare at him, slapping his knee playfully. 

“I do!” - He doesn’t. - “I just.. don’t remember the names, that’s all.” He shakes his head, looking down. “And you didn’t look like a corpse.. You looked like a cute-” “I know I didn’t! I wasn’t ready yet. You’ll see! Open it! Hurry!” Xavier sighs softly, his heart beating out of his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed he didn’t get to compliment you. But he opens the album anyway. The first few pictures are you and your friends arriving, holding lots of bags. The photos are mostly made of ‘backstage’ moments, just as you and your friends requested. Throughout the pictures you can see the process of you guys taking out the makeup, some of you suddenly in costumes, Sam opening a package of a bald cap while Lexy laughed in disbelief. You haven't appeared in a lot of pictures yet. “Here Lexy is laughing because Sam chose to be Pitbull. It’s an old singer known as Mr. Worldwide. He’s bald, so she had to be too.” you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Pit. Bull..? Why did she choose.. a bald man? Out of so many..” He takes a look at you, meeting your ‘why-not’ gaze. “You girls...” Xavier is smiling too. He’s happy you’re happy with your weird little friends. “It’s the only time she’d have the opportunity to be photographed professionally as a bald man. That’s enough reason, I think. I get her.” You simply say, as he turns one more page. Finally, his pretty girl. You’re still in your normal clothes, painting one of your friend’s face orange. The picture is - in its own way - beautiful. It captures you both smiling to each other, even if your friend is half-orange in it. You’re not wearing that hairpin yet though. “Where did you get that hairpin..? It was pretty.” He stares at you in the photo. “Oh, Anne, the short-haired lady that photographed us gave it to me. First she just wanted to try making a hairstyle on my hair but she decided I should keep it after all.” You answer, mindlessly getting closer to him and turning another page, against his will. He wished he could look at you longer but he’s happy you’re leaning on him now.

“I understand.” Now he’s facing a picture of you, just the way you were when he saw you in-person there. In a bride dress, hairpin in place holding your bun up, with a smile so bright and beautiful it makes his heart clench. You’re leaning against the window, looking to your side and probably laughing at something one of your friends did. The natural light casts an ethereal glow around you. He can’t help but place a hand on his chest, disguising it as an itch. He quickly glances at you as you’re concentrating on the picture beside it. You are so precious to him and you have no idea. But someday he'll show you, by having you wear a white dress again, accompanied by a beautiful blue sapphire ring on your left hand. And you turn the page again. He frowns imperceptibly, letting you have your own special experience. After some chuckles and curious questions, you guys are almost at the end of the photo album, where lies a group picture. Xavier suddenly snorts at the scene. Getting startled by it, you look down to see what made him get that reaction, and your hands immediately press on your mouth, shoulders starting to shake from how much you’re holding back a loud laugh.

It’s you - Corpse Bride - along with Lord Farquaad, Morticia, Lorax, Gojo and Pitbull. There is no possible way this photoshoot made sense and you started thinking that this was the most irresponsible financial decision you have ever made - but worth the laugh. At the same time, all Xavier can see is you, almost melting on his lap over the album - laughing so hard it’s silent. It doesn’t take long before you sit up correctly again and he takes another look at the picture, now chuckling. You try to say something but there’s tears in your eyes and everytime you look at the picture you find something new to laugh at.

Finally getting to the end, he closes the album and you let out a heavy sigh, two tears streaming down your face. Xavier looks at you, and carefully dries them with his thumbs, using a light touch as to not ruin your makeup - just the way you taught him. 

He himself sighs a bit too, feeling a mixture of love and pure admiration for your laugh and your own kind of weirdness. He cradles your face in his hands, the moment suddenly intimate between both of you. Calming down, you look at his eyes, searching for a feeling’s name you don’t even know. 

He is not drying up your tears anymore, just.. holding you with adoring eyes. It makes you blush and panic a little, suddenly getting up. “Xavier, I-!” He looks at you with parted lips and wide eyes, before quickly going back to his smirking face. You try to not feel like there’s a lingering desire to hold each other close as you look down at him in silence for some seconds. “Uhm..Oh!” You start patting your pockets. “Anne said you paid her a sandwich before you came to the studio! She told me how she forgot her money and all, and how lucky she felt when you appeared and offered to pay for her!” You take out an envelope out of the inside pocket of your jacket, as Xavier stares at you with the most confusing expression you have ever seen etched on his face. But you keep going. “So she.. wanted to pay you back. Here it is.” You give him the envelope. Xavier takes it hesitantly, immediately noticing that the envelope feels firmer than it should. He has an idea of what it may be in mind, but he’s not so sure of it. You quickly take the photo album from his lap, breathing deeply as your heart starts calming itself down. You take a last glance at him - he’s staring at the envelope. 

“Tell her I said thank you.” Xavier softly analyzes the envelope, not opening it. “I will. Then.. I should get going.” you point to his door behind you. “I left my windows open and I don't want all of my reports flying down the window.” You blurt out, making things up just to leave. Xavier can tell you’re nervous, so he doesn’t insist. He gets up and accompanies you to the door, waving bye. Slowly walking back to his living room, he opens the envelope. He knew it. It's two pictures of you, his beautiful pretend-bride. Both of them are identical - taken moments apart. You are sitting on a low stool, legs close to your body and a bottle of orange juice at your feet. In one of them you are taking a full bite of the sandwich he brought you, and in the other one your eyes are squinting in pure joy as you chew with round cheeks. There’s a soft blush on your face and he can tell how happy you were. Xavier caresses the picture as if you could feel it. As if you could feel how much he wants you by his side. He’s just waiting for the right moment. For the right moment to hold you close, to kiss your soft lips, to claim you as his. To ask you if he can be your boyfriend, just to wait some more before asking if you’d like to be his wife. But right now, something takes him out of it. He sniffs something. He startles like a cat, running to the kitchen. Shitshitshitshitshit! Instead of turning off the oven, he turned it all the way on. He sighs. “Not again…!” Turning off the oven - correctly, this time -, he takes a look at your pictures again. Turning them, he found out Anne had written “Your future bride looks cute enough to make a grown man cry, indeed.” And he blushes immediately. She still has no idea Xavier isn’t even her boyfriend yet, but it’s not like he’ll correct her anytime soon. He looks at the overheated oven, smelling like burnt iron.

First, he must learn how to cook to be a good husband, after all.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little series - and if it's of interest for anyone, Xavier kept these photos under a pile of clothes in his wardrobe - but he took some pictures of it with his cellphone so he could gaze at his bride anytime he felt like it - constantly.

[rosenclaws]

arghjsw what abt prompt 45 and 76 from fluff list, drunk! au with the worst!wolverine?

“Will you stay the night?” “Kiss me like you mean it.”

warnings: drinking, reader throws up twice lol, he calls u princess once

wc: 1.3k

600 follower drabble masterlist

"Holy fuck, what did Wade put in this?" You shout to Logan who was only standing a foot away from you. You don't even realize you're shouting. In your defense you were...pretty drunk. You had to be if you wanted to talk to Logan like this.

Sober you could barely get a few sentences out without feeling like an idiot. He's just so intimating and he's got this wall built around him that feels impossible to break.

"I don't know princess." Logan says with an amused look on his face. You were completely hammered and Logan found it very funny.

"I should go ask him." You lean on him, patting his chest and leaving your hand there for a little too long.

Sober you would be mortified. As you take a step you stumble and Logan is quick to catch you. The look on your face worries him as you grab onto his shirt.

"Hey, everything okay?" Logan asks.

You try to answer him but feel a rumbling in your stomach. Fuck. You push against Logan's chest and bolt to the bathroom. Whatever Wade put in that punch didn't sit well with your stomach. As you empty your guts into the toilet you feel a hand on your back.

"Logannnn." You whine as you sit back on the floor. Thank god you were wasted because this would be utterly mortifying.

"It's okay, I got you sweetheart." Logan chuckles as he takes a towel and wipes your mouth.

"Wanna go home." You say with a pout. "

How much did you drink?" Logan asks while shaking his head, a small smile on his face as he bends down and helps you up.

You wrap your arms around his strong neck and groan as he lifts you off the ground. He's half carrying half dragging you back to your apartment. Listening to all your drunk rambling with a smile.

"You're so handsome, like it's not fair. Fucking 200 year old hot guy." You boop his nose and he just raises an eyebrow at you.

"What?" You ask innocently.

"Nothing." He replies. He thinks you're absolutely adorable.

As you reach your door you try and get the key in the lock but struggle. Logan tries to take them from you but you end up dropping them instead. Both of you reach down for it, hands knocking against each other. The alcohol running through your veins blocks any sense of embarrassment and impulse control you have. You just look into his pretty hazel eyes and you can't help yourself.

You kiss him.

It's quick. Just a peck but you do it. He's stunned as you pull away. Silence between the two as he grabs your keys and unlocks your door. Your stomach starts to churn, not from nausea but from the lack reaction from Logan.

He's gentle as he brings you to your bedroom. Helping you brush your teeth and stepping out of the room while you change. He comes back to you snuggled up in your bed.

"Everything alright?" He asks and you nod.

"Wait!" You call as he starts to leave, your hand reaching for his wrist.

"Will you stay the night?" Logan hesitates.

"I don't think that's a good idea sweetheart," Logan sits on the edge of the bed, brushing your cheek with his hand. "

M sorry for kissing you, I just don't want to be alone." Your emotions were haywire as tears slip down your face. Logan sighs and relents.

As you bury yourself under the covers he gets on the other side, laying on top of them fully clothed. He crosses his arms as you roll over to face him.

"G'night." You mumble as sleep takes you without much fight.

Logan doesn't fall sleep as easy. His mind is too focused on the kiss. You kissed him and if he was being honest he hopes you kiss him again. A part of him worries this was just drunk you talking. That it was a mistake that you'll pretend it never happened come sunrise. He can only hope you feel the same when the alcohol is gone.

-

Waking up to a pounding head is not how you wanted to start your morning. You roll on your back and feel something strong and sturdy blocking your path. Looking over your shoulder you see Logan. Asleep. In your bed. What the fuck. You immediately roll back over. The memories of last night coming to you.

Oh fuck, you kissed Logan. You kissed. The man you've been harboring a crush on for the last few months. Your stomach rumbles and it doesn't take long for you to realize what it was.

Throwing the covers off you scramble to the bathroom. You barely notice waking Logan up in the process as you're a little preoccupied. After you're done...you know. You brush your teeth and leave your bathroom.

To your surprise Logan is gone. Maybe he left to avoid the embarrassment of what happened. Or maybe he just hates you know. As you trudge to your kitchen you find him rummaging through your drawers. Water and Advil sitting on the counter.

"Where the fuck is your bread?" Logan grumbles as he slams a cupboard door shut.

"I don't have any." You groan as you grab the medicine.

"Was gonna make you toast but..." He trails off, not sure what to say. You shrug and sip the water.

There's an awkward silence that settles over the room. Do you talk about it? Or do you pretend it never happened. It was killing you, he wouldn't say anything and you just needed to be done with it.

"Look Logan, I'm really sorry for last night. I shouldn't have kissed you like that and I, I just hope I didn't make things weird." You say, noticing how Logan almost...deflates? Like he's sad by what you had said.

"Don't worry sweetheart. I get it, it was the alcohol. If you want to forget it, consider it done." He gives you a half smile and he seems to close himself up again. Was he disappointed? The way he phrased things, if you wanted to forget.

"Do you want to forget it?" You ask shyly.

If you're reading this wrong it could implode the friendship you had built with Logan. But if you were right, oh god you really hoped you were right. He sighs and walks around the counter. You feel yourself grow nervous as he stands between your legs.

"No. I don't want to." He confesses. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in his words.

"I don't either." You whisper. Logan smiles and takes your chin in his fingers, his eyes growing softer as he admires your face.

"Good. Now that you're sober, you can kiss me like you mean it." He growls, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you, smashing your lips onto his in hot kiss. He groans as you tangle your fingers into his hair. He lets go of your chin to grab your legs and warp them around his waist.

"Fuck, this is better than I imagined." Logan says as you pull apart.

"Logan..." You pray this isn't just some dream, that you're really here in his arms.

"Yeah sweetheart?" He hums as he buries his face in your neck.

"I really like you..."

"Yeah? Couldn't tell when you drunk kissed me last night." He teases. You huff as you let go of Logan who doesn't like that one bit.

"Not funny," He grins as he picks you up with ease, damn that super strength is hot.

"I like you too, a lot." He growls.

He heads to your bedroom, hell bent on showing you just how much he really likes you.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Hard Dom!Johnny Soap McTavish x Reader

Title: Tap out

Synopsis: You tap out, and Johnny takes care of you.

Warnings: Smut, safewords, overstim. It's hard dom.

AN: OMG this was one of the first fics I wrote for COD and about Johnny, so it's kinda special to me haha

The way he's off you like a repelled magnet as soon as you tap his wrist twice.

Johnny is having fun, choking you out with you laying down beside him--he's kneeling, merely shirtless. There's sweat running down that dimpled face and he's smirking, one hand on your collar bone, pushing in deep enough that you can feel it pool arousal in your tummy, your hand squeezing his arm as you ride waves of pleasure from his thumb circling your clit.

Tears are flowing down your cheeks from the overstimulation, anytime you feel like you're about to finish he stops and tuts, stopping his movements to ride it out further.

Then it's starting to get to be too much, from how he's forcing you down onto the bed. Your eyes look back up at his, all meek compared to the confidence he oozes.

Then your two fingers tap his wrist twice and it's the way Johnny practically flies across the room, hands in the air and off of you. You start to pant, trying to catch your breath and then he grows worried.

"Bonnie.." he mutters, walking to your side, tilting your head up, "wha' can I do fer ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel tears form, but this time from feeling so overwhelmed. That's when he rushes out of the room, leaving you alone.

He comes back after a second, rushing in with water and a towel. He puts the bottle of water up to your lips, urging you to drink some. When does Johnny EVER want you upset?

"C'mon, Bonnie.. donnae cry.." he mutters, covering your lower half with the blanket and sitting down beside you. You try to calm down, his thoughts reeling with how wrong he feels.

He mutters something in Scottish under his breath, likely a curse onto himself, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to his chest. Johnny lays your head down into him, "I's okay.. I'm sorrae I wen' so rough.." he coos, petting your hair.

You start to calm down and you shake your head, explaining that it wasn't his fault but he shushes you, kissing your forehead.

"C'mon.. bonnie, I was the one'n control. I had ye held don'. I' was me."

He kisses your head again, "Do ye need yer clothes? Are ye okay?"

When you shake your head and start to get up he pushes you right back down, tutting. He gets up off the bed and bends over, grabbing the shirt he was wearing, then tossing it to you. You give the faintest smile and start to pull yourself through it, and he's in your underwear drawer, finding you a pair of underwear.

He balls it up and tosses the pair to you, turning around to let you put it on.

"Do ye need a bat' firs', acth'ly?" He asks, hands behind his head as he waits for you to finish putting on your underwear.

"No.. 'm good," you respond, and he lets out a little sigh. You stand up, finished changing and he turns around, crossing his arms.

"Do ye need a bat'?" Johnny repeats, unimpressed by your original response.

You sigh and give up, "Fine... I'll take a bath." He walks to you, opening his arms, but hesitating, "Can I pick ye up, bonnie?" You give a tiny nod, closing the distance and wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

He carries you to the washroom, and sets you on the counter to start your bath up.

"You wan' me in it, hen? Or no?" He asks, turning his head to look at you.

You think for a moment before nodding, taking a big deep breath. You take your clothes back off, and he sets them aside for you to put on when you're out.

He wraps his arms around you, lowering you down into the tub before getting undressed and getting into the tub with you.

He works carefully, lathering your hair with shampoo and cooing to you in Scottish Gaelic and English.

For a man with no reserve, who's a firecracker and a harddom, he really knows his aftercare.

[kisses4kuna]

How I think the jjk characters would comfort you after a break up !!

Includes: Satoru, Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi.

(Hurt/comfort, mentions of break ups (obviously) murder and vandalism (jokingly), might be ooc, written with fem! reader in mind but anyone can read!! Please ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes, I accidentally posted this twice...!..!.!!! So fixing it was a little difficult so ignore it if any paragraphs are merged......)

Satoru Gojo:

You've been isolating yourself in your dorm for about three days now.

The guy you've been dating just dumped you and you've been devastated since.

Of course, Satoru, Shoko, Nanami, even Yaga have reached out and tried to comfort you, but you brushed it off with a muttered “I'm fine.”, being sure to shut the door in each of their faces before they could say anything more.

But you weren't fine. Of course you weren't.

You were so in love with your ex. He was your entire world and he just left like you were nothing.

You've spent the last three days crying, sleeping, and rereading old texts.

You probably looked like shit, but you couldn't care less. What was the point in trying to look or act decent now that he was gone?

You're forced to pull yourself out of your thoughts once you get a knock at your door.

You groan, you really, really don't wanna talk to anyone, but you force yourself to get up.

You open the door and before you can even get out a full “What do you want?”, Satoru shoves past you into your room with a shit-ton of snacks.

“Did you really think I was gonna let my favorite person stay isolated and wallow in their sadness forever?” He asks, giving you a teasing grin.

You can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

“What's all that for?” You ask, pointing to the snacks that were now covering the entirety of your bed.

“Movie night!! We're gonna watch a bunch of movies and eat a bunch of snacks and stay up all night until you stop being all mopey!” He exclaims, and you feel an excitement replicating his bubbling up in your stomach.

“If your big ass doesn't eat all the snacks...” You mutter back with a sly grin as you get into your bed, sitting beside him.

He immediately puts his hand over his heart and squeezes his shirt with a look of faux offence.

“What!? And to think I went out of my way to be all nice to you after your dick-head boyfriend dumped you!” He whines, crossing his arms to look more angry.

This only pulls laughter out of you. His face immediately softens, it feels much better to see your pretty smile than your depressed frown.

He pulls you into an unexpected hug, and once you process it, you hug him back.

“I can hollow purple him if you want.” He says, muttering the words softly against your hair in order to keep the moment quiet.

“That's not happening and you know it.” You whisper back. Suddenly, this break up isn't seeming so bad.

Maybe you just need Satoru and your other friends, and you'll be better in now time.

Nobara Kugisaki:

Ever since you found out that your boyfriend was cheating on you, you've been visibly down in the dumps.

Right now, Nobara is the only one who knows since she helped you catch him.

“I just can't believe him. All that time together and he fucking cheats.” You groan before looking up at Nobara, who's currently going through your closet to help you pick what you need to throw out and what you need to keep since you've got way too much clothes.

“Yeah, he's a total moron. Keep or no?” She asks before lifting up one of your shirts.

“You can throw that out. And with my best friend too? No offense to you, of course, but seriously? He could've slept with anyone, and he chose one of the girls I trusted most in the world.” You shake your head and your heart clenches at the thought.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this.” She says, tossing your shirt into the ‘keep’ pile.

“What?” You ask with major confusion. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She thinks it's good that you got cheated on?

“Now I get to be your best friend!” She smiles and laughs, and that causes you to laugh as well.

“Yeah, and I guess if he had cheating in his mind, I don't want him anyways.” You then get up off of your bed and sit next to Nobara, leaning your head on her shoulder.

She puts the pair of pants she was holding down and wraps her arm around you.

You both just sit like that. Neither of you says a word, but you feel a sense of peace washing over you for the first time since the break up.

“So do you wanna beat up his car now?” Nobara says, breaking the silence, and all you can do is smile and laugh.

Yuji Itadori:

“He did WHAT??” Yuji practically screams and you immediately slap your hand over his mouth.

About thirty minutes ago, you found your boyfriend (well, now ex-boyfriend) kissing another girl.

Your first reaction was to run to Yuji's room despite it being midnight and pray to God that he was still awake.

When he answered the door, you could hear Human Earthworm playing in the background, basically telling you that you hadn't woken him up or anything.

Yuji stares at you with wide eyes and says something from under your hand, buts it's muffled.

“Yuji, you have to shut up! It's midnight and I'm not supposed to be in here! We'll both get our asses kicked if we wake anyone up!” You whisper-scream to him and he begins frantically nodding his head.

You remove your hand from his mouth and wipe it on your shirt since he got a little bit of his spit on it.

“Ew...” You whisper softly.

“I can't believe him! You're supposed to be his Jenifer Lawrence, guys aren't supposed to cheat on their Jenifer Lawrence's!!” He whispers back, somewhat aggressively.

You can't help but chuckle at his dumb reference.

“Tell me his address!! I gotta square up with this guy!!” He whispers again and you laugh again.

You don't know it, but he's acting stupid on purpose. He's not super skilled at comforting people, but he's great at making people laugh.

“‘Square up’??? Yuji, what is this? A 2000's drama comedy?” You whisper through hushed giggles, your hand now over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing too hard.

“I'm serious, no one cheats on my best friend without catching these hands!!” He whisper-yells back, which only causes you to laugh harder.

He continues making dumb statements until you both forget the time and are now laughing hard, not even whispering anymore.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door that snaps you two out of your laughter.

Yuji quickly throws a blanket over you to ‘hide’ you in case it's a teacher then gets up to see who's there.

When he opens the door, he's met with an extremely annoyed and tired Megumi.

“Listen, I don't know what the hell you two are doing up at 1:30 in the morning but if you could shut up and go to sleep so that I can sleep, that'd be great.” He groans, glaring at Yuji then you.

“Do you think hiding under a blanket is actually gonna work?” He asks and you get out from under the blanket, your face is slightly flushed from embarrassment.

“That was Yuji's fault.” You say while pointing your finger at Yuji who them gasps.

“What!! I was trying to keep you out of trouble, how dare you push the blame onto me!!” He jokes back, and Megumi groans loudly.

“Just shut up.” He says before storming off back to his room.

Yuji shuts the door then walks back to his bed and sits beside you.

“We should have a sleepover!” He suggests with a big smile.

You tap your chin with your index finger, pretending to think.

“I dunno... You kick a lot in your sleep.” You tease him.

“I do not!” He retorts in offence.

“Fine. But if you kick me even one time then you have to do all my homework for the next month!” You say before laying down in his bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

He smiles and lays beside you.

“Deal.”

Megumi Fushiguro:

You hate this.

You can handle a lot of things, curses, training, homework, fighting...

But break ups?

You would rather take on a hundred special-grade curses all at once.

Megumi knows that about you. Which is why he's decided to let go of his nonchalant ‘I don't care about anything or anyone’ act for just today for you.

He knocks on your door and you answer.

“Oh, hey Megs. What're you doin' here?” You ask, your gaze shifting from his gaze to the blankets and snacks in his hands.

“Don't play dumb. You know I'm here to comfort you.” He rolls his eyes, walking into your room and setting everything down.

“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” You smile.

One of your favorite things to do is tease Megumi.

He knows that about you.

Come to think about it, Megumi probably knows everything about you. He's definitely your best friend. You'd probably choose him over anything and anyone. He knows your favorite songs, snacks, meals, movies, drinks, your biggest fears, your type, your pet peeves, everything.

So of course he came with every single snack you've ever said “Hey, this is really good” or “You know what you really need to try -!!” about.

Of course he came with his laptop to watch your favorite movies.

Of course he came with blankets and pillows to build a fort to watch said movies in.

Because contrary to popular belief, Megumi Fushiguro was the most thoughtful person you've ever known.

That's why he's your best friend.

“Oh, by the way, if you get a very detailed and remorseful apology from your ex, don't respond.” He randomly blurts out while building the fort for you two.

It's basically muscle memory for him after how many times he's done this for you.

“Megumi, please tell me you didn't threaten my ex into an apology...” You wince at the thought.

“I didn't threaten him.” He smirks as he puts the final blanket on the fort before crawling in.

You barely catch the smirk because it's gone within the same second it appears.

“Uh huh.” You reply sarcastically before crawling into the fort with him.

“So what do you wanna watch first?” He asks as he lists off all your favorite movies.

If you told anyone that the cold-as-stone Megumi Fushiguro was here in your dorm, building a fort for you and watching your favorite movies with you and cuddling with you when you both fall asleep, they'd laugh in your face.

But that didn't matter to you, since all you cared about was that you got to see that side of Megumi, and you wouldn't trade moments like this for the world.

---

A/n: this is basically just because I have evermore stuck in my head rn and it made me think ab Satoru helping reader after a break up!? Also, guess which one of them is my favorite 😋😋 I think it's obvious but idk..

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,773 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The Whisperers Warnings: language, violence, references to injuries and blood Summary: Trouble arrives in the middle of the night. A/N: This is part of a series. You can find all parts on my Master List.

Previous part here

Daryl felt as if he’d just closed his eyes when they shot open again. Dog was beside him, growling. It was a low, warning growl, and his attention was fixed toward the back of the dark cabin. Daryl swung his legs onto the floor, planting his boots, and reached for his crossbow. The interior was cloaked in shadows, the fire having dwindled to coals covered over in a blanket of ash, but he was unsure of whether or not he should risk turning on the lantern on the little table in front of him. For now, he simply stood, butt of his bow tight to his shoulder, and strained his hearing. Dog let out another growl and stood, his ears sharp on alert. Daryl thought he could hear some faint rustling outside the back of the cabin, but it could be an animal for all he knew.

Then suddenly your bedroom door was opening and you stepped out, wide-eyed, clutching his knife in your hand. Achilles sat perched on your shoulder, his feather somewhat puffed up, making him look even larger than he already was. “What’s going on? I thought I heard something,” you whispered, realizing both Dog and Daryl were also awake and on guard.

Daryl only shook his head, still straining to hear anything over Dog’s continued low growl. You could barely make out the shape of him in the dark. Dog’s growling seemed to suddenly be growing louder and then it burst into a crescendo of barks, causing both of you to jump and Achilles to take off from your shoulder with a startled squawk. He soared somewhere into the darkness near the ceiling. Dog lunged toward the front door, snarling and barking, his hackles raised and teeth bared.

Your heart thudded loudly in your ears and time seemed to slow with each breath that dragged in and out of your lungs. But you didn’t have to wait long before the front door, already partially busted in earlier by Daryl, was now completely ripped from its hinges. A figure charged forward, the glint of a long silver knife breaking through the darkness. Dog was on them in an instant and a strangled scream rippled through the air as his teeth sunk into the arm wielding the weapon. Dog dragged them to the ground and Daryl followed up with a bow shot to the head, impressive considering how dark it was.

You hardly had time to process what was happening before two more silhouettes were hurrying in. The moonlight now streaming in through the open door at least allowed the two of you to better see the attackers and the wrinkled and grotesque skins over their faces made it clear who they were. Daryl was rounding on the second figure with his bow as the third charged toward you. He had no time to reload a bolt and dropped it to the floor, drawing out his knife.

You stepped back as the last Shepherd rushed you and you only had time to reflexively duck the broad stroke of their knife, sinking down almost to the floor as your torso erupted with pain. Achilles swooped low over their head and struck them with his feet before disappearing again into the darkness overhead. You must have called out, and that was enough to draw Daryl’s attention away from his own fight. “Y/N!” he called out. “Hang on!” A fist connected with the side of his face, knocking him slightly off balance. Dog lunged at Daryl’s attacker and sunk his teeth into the Whisperer’s leg, causing them to drop their knife. Daryl plunged his blade into the side of their head and the figure went limp.

When he again turned, his stomach dropped. The last Whisperer had you pinned on the floor with your back against the stone hearth, the edge of it digging into your shoulder blades and spine. You were struggling to keep their knife away from your chest, shaking with the strain of it, your teeth gritting together. Daryl turned to grab his bow and fumbled with the bolt he pulled from the body of the first intruder, rushing to set it in the flight groove with hands shaky with adrenaline.

Your strength was waning rapidly and you could see and feel the point of the knife getting closer and closer to your chest. You looked around desperately, your mind whirring as you searched for a plan. Daryl’s knife had clattered away on the floor and you suspected it had gone under the couch, well out of easy reach. You did the only thing you could think of—continuing to block the attack with your dominant hand, you used the other to reach into the fireplace and plunged your fingers into the still smoking pile of ash and hidden coals. The heat seared your skin but you hardly felt it as you reeled back around and ground it into the eyes of the Shepherd leaning over you. They recoiled and dropped their knife, screaming and stumbling backwards blindly. You scrambled forward on your hands and knees, propelled by the instinct and will to survive, and grabbed hold of their knife off the rug. You swiftly jumped up and plunged it into their chest at the exact same moment the characteristic sound of Daryl’s bolt snapped through the air and buried itself into their head. The body dropped heavily.

You collapsed back down onto the floor yourself, your chest heaving. Achilles landed beside you, cawing and picking at your sleeve with his bill, turning his glossy head and bright eyes this way and that. Daryl rushed over to you, clicking on the lantern as he passed the coffee table, his expression grim. “Fuckin’ hell… Are ya okay?”

You hurriedly nodded, still completely unaware of the damage to your hand, though you were instinctively cradling it with the other. He nodded, though looked unconvinced. You watched as Daryl charged back to stand in the doorway, peering out into the night. He whistled to Dog and the Malinois took off outside, Daryl moving behind him with his bow, checking for any others. Not that he could be 100% sure… the surrounding trees cast the understory in deep shadow and only slender fingers of moonlight reached the forest floor. But Dog seemed calm and trotted back to his side, unconcerned, not a single hair prickling on his back, and that gave Daryl some comfort.

He let out a huge sigh and dropped his bow to his side, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before crossing the little porch and stepping back in. He glanced at the shattered door and then back to you, where you were still on the floor trying to catch your breath. He could see that you were shaking, probably with adrenaline but perhaps also from residual and now new pain.

After he dragged the bodies outside, he shoved the door back in place as best he could and then pushed a heavy wood desk in front of it as a makeshift barricade. He made his way over to you and you looked up at him, your eyes still a little wide. Daryl gulped. “Can I help ya up?”

You nodded slowly. You’d already tried to right yourself, but your side and ribs protested too much and your muscles gave out.

Daryl gripped you gently under the elbows and helped you to your feet. He stood you up merely 6 inches from him, his fingers not leaving until he was sure you were steady. “Alrigh’. C’mon and sit down,” he drawled, guiding you over to the couch. His hand ghosted behind your back the whole way.

He helped you sink down onto the couch carefully, though you still winced a little, and then arranged himself beside you. He leaned his bow up against the couch. “Lemme see that hand,” he said, his brow furrowing deeply. Daryl put his own palm out flat on his knee, waiting for you to make the first move. You eyed it, slowly uncurling your uninjured hand from around the other. “If—if tha’s alrigh?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered back up to his face and between his concerned blue eyes and then you laid your hand in his, a peculiar sensation prickling in your stomach.

He drew in a hiss of breath as your fingers uncurled and he pulled the lantern over more closely. Achilles took off from the top of armoire in the corner again and came to land on the back of the couch behind you, looking over what was happening. “Shit,” Daryl murmured, turning your wrist gently in the light so he could better see. There were shiny red patches scattered over your palm and fingers, interspersed with areas that were blistered or gray with scorched skin.

You seemed to be looking on impassively as he examined you, the back of your hand flush against his rough palm. You worried your bottom lip with your top teeth absently. His touch was surprisingly gentle considering the ferocity with which you’d just seen him fight.

“Fuck,” he swore again, softly, his eyes closing for just a moment against the image of your burned hand. “‘M sorry. I shoulda been faster,” he said.

You looked up at him again, with surprise this time. “This isn’t your fault,” you said, shaking your head. “It was them. The Shepherds.”

He sighed and relinquished his gentle hold on your hand. “‘M still sorry,” he said. “I’ll get some cool water from the kitchen. We should bathe this and wrap it in some sterile bandages to keep it from getting infected.” He dug in his pack and drew out a flashlight and set out some supplies from his first aid kit.

“Daryl—there should be a small, brown glass bottle with an eyedropper in the top of the pantry,” you said suddenly. “It’s lavender essential oil. You can add a few drops to the water. It’s good for burns,” you said. He nodded and then stood and you watched his broad shoulders and the wings on the back of his vest disappear into the kitchen.

Achilles hopped closer and wiggled his long bill into your hair, tickling you. You turned and looked at him. He cocked his head at you and let out a low grating sound. “I’m okay,” you whispered to the bird, scratching behind his head gently with two fingers. “I’m okay.”

Daryl returned with a bowl of cold water and a clean cloth. He sank down on the couch again and set the bowl between you, swirling the cloth through the dispersed sheen of lavender oil on the surface. “Alrigh’. Should help,” he drawled. “S’pretty cold.”

You sunk your hand into the water and couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left your lips, your eyes closing as the coolness quenched the burning. You held it below the water surface, watching the shifting shapes and colors of the reflected room wavering in the bowl.

Daryl’s eyes were fixed on your wrist, on an angry red mark cutting across perpendicular just below your sleeve. “Can I take a look at that?” he asked, gesturing to it.

“Oh,” you said. You hadn’t even noticed it before. “Yes.”

He nudged your sleeve up and stared at the burn. “Must be from the fireplace grate,” he said, dipping the cloth into the cold water and lifting it to let it trickle over the wound. He barely pressed the cotton across it, and you felt the satisfying coldness slowly growing warmer and warmer. Daryl dunked the cloth again and repeated the process, over and over.

“Luke and Alden were righ’,” he said suddenly.

Your brow furrowed and you gave him an unreadable look. “Hmm. What do you mean? About what?”

“‘Bout you bein’ a badass,” he said, dipping the cloth back into the cool water again and replacing it on your wrist. “I mean—I kinda suspected it from what they said ‘bout you fighting out there, and then ya punched me in the face… Pretty much cemented it right there. But this? Badass.” You could tell he was attempting to lighten the mood.

Your expression changed, softened, and you shook your head. “No. I’m not. I’m just—trying to stay alive, like everyone else.”

“Not ev’rybody would think to shove their hand in a pile of coals, damn the consequences,” he said.

You didn’t say anything and he let the silence stretch. Finally, he gently lifted your hand from under the water and set it on a towel he’d tucked beneath, dabbing at the skin delicately to dry it. It was peculiar, having someone else tending to you in this way after so much time alone. You didn’t quite know what to do with the restless energy building up in your midsection or with your facial expression. He grabbed a roll of sterile bandaging and ripped it open, starting to wrap it over your palm and up around your wrist.

“They know ‘bout this place? Before, I mean,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. They didn’t. I don’t think so. I haven’t stayed here in a very long time. They must have been watching us today, followed us here. Wouldn’t exactly have been hard. I was slow. And not alone,” you said. “Traveling openly on the ground.”

Daryl felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly followed by the realization that they perhaps still would have found you if you had been alone, and then it would have been you trying to fight off three of them while injured, and what if you’d been hurt worse? He cleared his throat. “How is the rest of you?” he asked.

You gave him a questioning look, not realizing at first what he’d asked as you were lost in your own thoughts about the Shepherds.

“Your stitches, your forearm? Your head? Alrigh’? Nothin’ bleedin’ again?”

“Oh. No. No, I’m alright,” you said, glancing down at your side to make sure you truly weren’t bleeding again through your shirt. You weren’t. “Just—sore. And tired,” you sighed.

He nodded and tucked the end of the gauze underneath itself when he was satisfied that your hand was well wrapped. “Yeah… ya should get some more rest. ‘M gonna sit up a while, stay on watch. Just in case there are any more of them. Dog will hear ‘em if there are, and I’ll be ready this time,” he drawled.

You nodded as he set the bowl of water on the table and dimmed the lantern. He climbed to his feet and hesitantly offered you some help getting up again, which you accepted. The aches in the rest of your body seemed even more pronounced now, and the hum of pain in your hand was sharpening. “Achilles,” you said softly, and the bird fluttered up onto your shoulder again. You glanced at Daryl, standing in front of the couch.

“Thanks. For patching me up,” you said.

He nodded and then started—struck with a thought. “Where’s yer knife at?” he drawled, glancing around.

“You mean your knife?” you said. One of his matching set. “I’m not sure. It slid away somewhere when I fell. I thought under the couch maybe?”

Daryl grabbed his flashlight again and shown it around the floor, finally spotting the handle poking out from under the side table by the back leg of the sofa. He retrieved it and held it out to you. “Ya better keep this close. Just in case,” he said.

You accepted it with a nod. “Night,” you said. “Um—I think I’ll leave the bedroom door open this time, if that’s alright,” you said. “That way I’ll hear Dog if he alerts. Just in case.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Course.”

“Okay. See you in the morning.”

Daryl watched your figure become swallowed up in the darkness of the bedroom and waited until he heard the silky rustling of the blankets. He let out a heavy sigh, his anxiety finally seeming to ebb completely. “Good dog,” he murmured, patting the Malinois as he passed him on the rug in front of the fireplace. The deep crimson swipe marks of blood on the wooden floor looked almost black in the low light and he cast them a sideways glance. He could still see the scattering of fine gray snow sticking to the drying blood from your desperate defense. His stomach churned. Then he turned back to the fireplace, blew the ashes from the coals, and added another log, ready to start his vigil.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning had you wandering out of the bedroom in a bit of a daze, wondering at first if you’d dreamt the Shepherds attack in the night, but the bandage and stinging of your hand told you otherwise. There was clattering in the kitchen and you stopped in the doorway to see Daryl at the little gas stove, a flame flickering under a big cast iron pan.

“Hey,” he said, finally realizing you were there. “Sorry. Was I bein’ too loud? Did I wake ya up?”

You shook your head. “No.” Dog trotted over to you and nudged your hand until you scratched behind his ears. He let out a satisfied noise when you hit the right spot and you couldn’t help smiling.

Daryl saw it. His eyes flickered over your face and back down to Dog. “Dun let him boss ya ‘round. He’ll have ya workin’ overtime on scratches,” he said.

Your smile widened just a little, but your eyes stayed on Dog. “I don’t mind,” you said.

“Where’s Achilles at?” he asked, noticing the raven’s absence.

“Out flying,” you said. “He needed to stretch his wings, and he’ll tell us if he sees any dead or people.”

Daryl nodded and stirred around whatever was steaming in the pan. “Uhh—I made some breakfast. And the kettle is hot,” he said. You wandered closer and grabbed a mug from a hook on the wall and glanced down at the food. “Yeah, uhh…” he drawled hesitantly, “hopefully it tastes better than it looks… ‘cause… it looks—”

“—like shit,” you interrupted him. It was a semi-liquid, semi-solid brown concoction bubbling in the bottom of the pan.

He glanced up and met your eyes and you both smiled a little, amused. Daryl let out a low huff of a laugh and stirred it around with the spatula again. “Yeah,” he said, scratching at the back of his head. “Hey, I never said I was a good cook.”

“But it’ll be edible,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “Last night’s was actually pretty good.” You went to the pantry and pulled out a jar of dried leaves and rose hips. You were staring down at it and then looked over at your bandaged hand. It stung and burned beneath the gauze.

Daryl was watching closely and set down the spatula. He gently took the mason jar from you and opened it up. “How is it?” he drawled. “Yer hand. And the rest of ya?”

“It’s—okay.”

Your hesitation was enough to make him worry. His brow furrowed as he handed you back the jar of tea leaves. “Prob’ly should change the bandage later today and check it over,” he said. “What about the rest, from the fight with Alpha?”

“I’m fine. Really. Just a little sore.” You dropped some leaves into your mug and Daryl grabbed the kettle before you could and poured the hot water into your cup. “Thanks,” you said.

You went and sat down (gingerly) at the little kitchen table and watched him busy himself at the stove for a little while longer. You stared as the wings on the back of his vest moved as he shifted. “Are you some kind of angel?” you asked.

“Huh?” He turned slightly to look at you over his shoulder.

“Your vest,” you said. “The wings.”

He shrugged. “S’just a design.”

“I don’t know. You seem like the hero type to me,” you said, blowing at the curls of steam rising off your tea.

Daryl gulped, completely unsure of how to interpret that. Was that supposed to be an... insult? A compliment? But suddenly you were smiling and then let out a light laugh at the expression on his face.

“Are you?”

He turned fully now, spatula still in his hand, and leaned back against the counter. “S’this some kinda test? Or—trick question?”

You set your mug down, warming your uninjured hand around the ceramic. “It’s just a question.”

He gave you a long look, and his blue eyes were intense but thoughtful. Something happened in that moment. It was just a feeling, but it bubbled up in your chest unexpectedly, and you found yourself almost startled at it. Connection. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Or was it something more than just a simple human connection. It felt different somehow.

At length, he ducked his head. “Nah, I ain’t no hero. I just—try to do what I can for my people.”

“I’m not your people,” you said quickly. “But you sat at my bedside, tried to calm me down, gave me your knife, attached yourself to me like a fucking barnacle... oh, and probably saved my life last night when those Shepherds busted in.” There was a pregnant pause for a moment where the air felt thick and electric. “You patched up my hand. You seem like you worry about me, which I can’t understand because—”

Daryl let out a sigh that you thought sounded annoyed if that was possible. “Ya are my people now.”

There was a beat before you could find your voice. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“I didn’t say ya did. Tha’s just how it works with us. Ya saved me and Dog, and ya saved Luke and Alden, even though it almost killed ya. As far as ‘m concerned, yer one of our people now. Even if ya dun think ya are. Tough shit. Deal with it,” he said with finality. He turned back to the food and you watched him curiously.

Soon, the two of you sat across from each other, almost bumping knees, and ate in silence.

Later that day, Daryl came back from hauling more water from the well to find you standing out in the open, staring out at the trees. He stopped beside you and set down the bucket. “Ev’rythin’ alrigh’?” he asked, following your gaze out toward the canopy.

You nodded. “Yeah. Achilles should be back soon.”

But the expression on your face had him worried. “Ya think more of ‘em are out there?” he asked.

“Oh, they’re out there. But hopefully not here,” you said. You looked over at him and his eyes seemed to land on the still dark bruise on your cheekbone and temple from Alpha’s boot. His face darkened. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine. You should be more worried about what’s happening back home,” you said. “If Alpha comes for her daughter—”

“Well, I ain’t back home. ‘M righ’ here. Tara and them can handle it.” He picked up the bucket again, irritated. The truth was that he was worried about what was happening back home. Henry was there. Jesus had just been killed. And they had a captive Skin freak in a cell. If only he could be in two places at once...

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night, Daryl couldn’t tell at first what woke him up. The cabin interior was nearly all deep black with the exception of a faint orange glow where the fire had dwindled down to coals cloaked in ashes. A soft sound brought his attention to the pile of old, faded newspapers stacked on the side of the hearth. He watched curiously as the corners of a few lifted in a current of air and fluttered before dropping into stillness again.

He sighed and rub a hand over his face, swinging his legs down onto the floor and planting his boots. He hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. He was still worried about more of those freaks showing up... His eyes drifted over to where Dog was curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace. He raised his head at Daryl’s movement.

The newspaper fluttered again with the same soft sound and Daryl moved around the coffee table toward the hearth and grabbed a log. He blew the ashes clear resulting in a slightly brighter glow and stirred them with the end of the wood until it caught. Flames licked upward again, crawling over the dried bark and curling inside toward the heart of the wood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the newspapers flutter again but this time it was accompanied by a cool breeze on his cheek. Considering how close he was to the fireplace and the direction of the draft, it didn’t make much sense. He held out a hand, stretching it toward the stack and cold air kissed his fingertips. It was coming from the direction of your closed door.

It didn’t make much sense that you would have opened a window… the night air was cold and the temperature inside the cabin was much more comfortable since you’d built the fire the evening before. Gulping anxiously, Daryl stood and went to stand at the door to the bedroom. He strained his hearing but could hear nothing but the continued occasional flutter of the papers beside him. He hesitated only one more moment before lifting a hand and knocking lightly. “Y/N?” he called out. “Everythin’ okay?”

Behind him, Dog whined and got to his feet.

It was probably only seconds before he knocked again but the silence felt ominously loud. “Y/N?” he called once more, his voice a little gruff still from sleep. “Are ya alrigh’?” Sharp worry seemed to pierce him. You’d been badly hurt and had exerted yourself far more than you should have since the surgery at Hilltop. Sure, you’d rested for most of that day but after the fight last night— “Look, if ya dun answer I’mma have to come in and check on ya,” he drawled, certain he was being loud enough to wake you even if you’d been deeply asleep. He stood still for a long moment, his heart pounding. Dog circled nervously behind Daryl and whined again. “Shit,” he murmured under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face again. But there was still no answer and his hand seized the doorknob and turned. The latch drew back with a metallic click and he pushed into the room. “Y/N?”

He was met with a draft of cool air that fluttered his wavy hair back as he stepped into the room. It was quickly explained by the window, which was left open a crack at the bottom.

Daryl sighed as he looked at the ruffled blankets on the bed. Empty. No sign of your pack. None of your belongings. No Achilles.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. Dog rushed past him and circled the room, sniffing and then sticking his nose into the gap at the windowsill and pulling in loud, deep breaths. Defeated, Daryl stepped farther in and caught sight of a small, rectangular scrap of paper sitting on the quilt. There was a glossy black feather sitting on top of it. He picked it up and spun it between his fingers before turning to the note. It was simple, just a few words.

“Thanks. And sorry.”

Daryl sighed heavily and chewed on the inside of his cheek before glancing at Dog. He walked to the window and shut it securely, locking it in place. “C’mon, boy. See if we can’t pick up her trail,” he said, ruffling the Malinois’ fur as he darted past him back into the main room. You couldn’t have been gone too long… He was shocked he (or Dog rather) hadn’t heard you sneaking out. He must have been deeply asleep for once. Daryl hastily threw on his pack and grabbed the rest of his gear. He doused the recently rekindled flames with water and closed the flue once the smoke and steam had diminished. He took one final look around the cabin. Everything was in its place. He wanted it to be in case you had to come back someday. Just in case.

He stared down at the note and Achilles’ feather once more before tucking them into his jacket. “C’mon,” he said to Dog again, opening the back door and following him out into the cool night. “Track her, boy,” Daryl commanded.

Dog immediately took off and Daryl raced after him, clicking on the flashlight on his bow. He almost didn’t need it. The moon was bright enough to light his way and he used the flashlight beam only to scrutinize the ground for your tracks. He strained his ears in case you were closer than he expected, but the only sounds were the distant calls of night birds and the drone of a few insects.

At first, Dog snuffled the ground and moved in a purposeful path, clearly following the trail of your scent, but after about 200 yards, the Malinois noticeably slowed. He circled and quartered, his nose to the ground and his determined bounding ended. His nose and paws stilled at the base of a large pine with branches that came within easy reach of the ground. Dog lifted his head and looked up. Daryl did the same. Dog stood on his hind legs and put his paws up on the trunk, whining.

Daryl shooed him back and stepped in close, resting his palm against the rough bark, two of his fingers landing in the sticky sap exuded from a wound to the trunk. The pine was dark overhead. He could hear and see nothing. He glanced down at Dog, who yipped anxiously. “Is she up there, Dog?” he asked in a whisper, patting his head. Dog’s paws pranced back and forth and he sat. But there was no urgency in his movements, and Daryl realized, even before he had climbed high into the tree, clumsily with his pack and bow slung on his back, that you had slipped away. No croak of raven or soft rustle of pine boughs, no snarky comment or annoyed glance greeted him when he reached the point where he could climb no higher. It was as if you had faded into a mist and blown away, swept off with Achilles’ wings…

As he climbed down, Daryl marveled at the fact that you had climbed at all, if that is indeed what you had done. He had seen your careful movements, your fatigue, your ginger stretching. He knew the extent of the wound in your side and that you’d had a serious concussion and bruising throughout your body. And on top of it, the burns to your hand were fresh and angry. And yet… you’d vanished.

He wandered back and forth in the area with Dog for some time, hoping to pick up your scent somehow, scanning the ground for a trail to track, but the undergrowth was thick and made moving miserable and completely impossible in some places. He could see why you’d climbed into the trees.

Eventually, defeated, he and Dog turned back.

By the time they reached the little cabin again, the dawn was already growing over the tops of the trees and there was nothing else to do but head back to Hilltop. He was needed there. Time to go.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Tara was standing with Enid and Alden just inside the gate when Daryl came strolling in after Dog. “Daryl!” she yelled with surprise, trotting over. Enid and Alden followed behind. “Are you okay? What happened? We weren’t expecting you back so soon.”

“How is she?” Enid asked urgently, desperate for an update on your condition.

Daryl let out sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. He shrugged. “Well, she was exhausted and sore but—doin’ alrigh’ last night. But, uhh…” he trailed off.

Tara frowned. “But what?”

He was almost embarrassed to admit it. “She, uhh—left. Without tellin’ me. In the middle of the nigh’… Just slipped right out.”

“What?” Tara asked, her eyebrows lifting, concern painted all over her features. “Why?”

Daryl thought back to what you had told him about your last settlement, about the betrayal and the devastation. “She just ain’t used to bein’ ‘round other people. Same reason she didn’t wanna stay here.”

Enid looked thoroughly worried and Alden gently put a hand on the small of her back.

Daryl did what he could to assuage Enid’s worry. “Look, she’s tough as hell. ‘M pretty sure she’s gonna be just fine. Somethin’ else happened though... Some of those Skins must’ve followed us to where we crashed the day we left. Three of ‘em. They broke in that night and attacked us. We fought ‘em off but one of her hands got burned pretty good.”

“Oh my God,” Tara said, her face falling.

Enid looked thoroughly upset. “You should have brought her back here,” she said. “We could have treated her.”

Daryl shook his head. “Enid, you and I both know there was no way she was comin’ back here unless she was forced to. I helped her get it cleaned up and patched up. She used some lavender oil on it. I think—I think she’s gonna be alright. Really. She’s tough as hell.”

Alden let out a laugh and the three others looked over at him. It seemed like an odd time to be laughing. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just—not only did she get a hit in on Daryl Dixon, but she snuck away without you knowing? Or being able to track her? If I hadn’t seen her myself, I’d say she is a damn ghost.”

[meat-141]

Simon Ghost Riley fallout au

Raider Simon x Vault dweller fem reader

TW- Mentions of starvation, Yandere themes, Kidnapping, Murder, Bad writing, NSFW insinuation, S/A mentions. It’s the end of the world y’all, what do you expect?

If i missed anything please let me know :(

I haven’t written in a very very long time, but i miss it tons, i hope y’all like this small work i’ve cooked up :)!

MDNI!!!

Life in the shelters were anything but sweet- while shelter living was incredibly easier than life uptop, it still managed to stab you in places that would force you to bleed out, for your life to crumble- men to marry you off, family members to laugh in your face, tell you who you’ll be- what you’ll do.

Your overseer was a dictator. Most people in your vault starved, working all day, farming, churning the giant water machines, kicking at electricity boxes only to give up everything to the overseer- and a few of his goons. You could feel your bones pressing against your mattress when you slept sometimes- and trust me, somehow you were one of the better off ones. Atleast you could move.

So really, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit of joy when your vault had gotten attacked by raiders. Men in scary outfits, barbarically shooting, lighting fire to crops, destroying everything- each room, each bed, shoveling every last bit of food your vault had into their greedy mouths while slicing your family members heads off.

You felt horribly numb.

You weren’t terrified of your life being destroyed as you knew it, no. You were used to that, life wasn’t easy from the start- what you couldn’t fathom was just what was happening to the women that these raiders got ahold of.

They were monsters.

Sick freaks- and you knew, with your button nose, doe eyes, freckles dotting softly across the bridge of your nose- jesus- you were going to be on the chopping block next.

You think you manifest it, ‘cause once you finish your thought a man with greasy hair flicks his gaze to yours, your soft hands pressing to the tin metal wall behind you, a thick sob forcing itself out your throat- Oh god,-

Its only then that a growling voice echos through the large vault common room- nearly the biggest room in the entire facility. The voice silences the noise, all for one second- the clatter of weapons, the screams, yells, laughs, taunts-. Nothing.

“You!” The voice snaps, your bones straightening with a newfound anxiety at the power, the girth- he hardly even yelled and somehow he silenced these people, somehow he made these monsters zip their lips shut.

His thick finger is pointing towards you, his shoulders squared, yet when you glance at the powerful mans face (noting his height in the process, good lord.)- all you see is a skull? He didn’t look like a ghoul, his skin wasn’t peeling, instead just covered by a cloth, a messy white skull painted where his face would be. Two slits let his rich hazel eyes poke through, glinting in the artificial sunlight that shone across the vault walls.

His finger was pointed towards you- but not at you, no, not yet. Instead pointed towards the greasy haired raider, the one with the tar covering his teeth, chipped fingernails. His laugh sounds like you’re grilling meat in a pan, sizzling that could haunt nightmares. Daydreams even.

“I’ll deal with ‘er!” The thick accented man grunted out, his boot covered feet booming on the floor closer and closer to your small shaking body. You were just a little thing, weren’t you? couldn’t ever last a day up in the real world, sheltered from all, bright eyed, bushy tailed.

Within the last five steps of you Simon knew you’d just be the most perfect pet.

If you could see under his mask you’d see thet he was grinning, his hand that wasn’t holding a thick bloody butcher knife gently cupping at the soft of your cheek. The blood slid from the metal in his other hand, hitting the ground with a loud tap, tap, tap. Simon could barely think.

You were the most angelic little thing he had ever seen.

And what you did next?

Simon can’t help that his cock might’ve twitched in his pants.

Simons thumb brushed gently across your cheek, smearing a bit of maroon liquid across the squishy skin- your hand crawled up, curling around his heavy wrist as best as you can with nimble fingers. Head tilting softly into Simons touch, a loud breath falling from your lungs in comfort.

Oh so, you were just helpless then?

If Simons grin could widen it would- so instead a thick laugh bubbles up his belly, his shoulders shaking, yet he never takes his eyes off the little one with terrified tears leaking down her oh so pretty cheeks. “If I find out you touched ‘er!” His voice raises a few octaves. Your body flinches in his touch, and he smooths his thumb under your eye softly again, as if to calm you. “You’re a dead man walkin’!” He addresses the still silent crowd of raiders behind him. Your family, friends, people you’ve grown with since birth were torn apart, splayed across walls, mangled together to the point where you couldn’t even fathom who was who.

The silence stretches, and then the man in the mask yells once more. “Continue.” He snaps- and the noise riled up as if it never stopped in the first place.

Your nervous gaze met with the skeleton mans- “C’mere dove,” his voice takes on a new sound, a soft edge to it, his bloody hands grazing your hips, hosting you up. He barely even flinches as he slings you over his shoulder, hand splayed across the back of your thighs to hold you there, pressing into the fat of your legs, rubbing hard enough to leave marks. “‘m, gonna’ take my pet home, hm?” he hums out, head lulling to the side as he stomps you toward the door- towards the outside, towards the rads, the fallout- home, apparently.

“Little dove wanna go home? hm?” he whimpers at you in a condescending tone, making fun of the way you whine when his meaty hands dig into your skin, groping at your flesh.

And although this was by no means healthy, although life in the vault sucked- things change. Without this man life uptop might suck a whole lot more. Against all better judgement, you helplessly nod, hands finding a way to loop your fingers securely through Simons belt loops. “Home please.” You mutter out, puffy glossed lips pressing together in thought.

Oh yeah. You were definitely helpless. It’s okay though baby, Simons got you now.

[charleslelurk]

If you give a man a baby

Carlos just stares as the fan hands her baby, her eleventh month old, to Lando and steps back with her phone. The baby is wearing a dinosaur onesie, feet tucked away but soft, hair tufty and sparse. Lando stands contrapose, one hip helping support the baby as Lando has him under the arms and around the belly. His big hands covering almost all of the dinosaur pattern as he holds the baby securely.

“Look here, sweetie!” The fan tells her baby, trying to get a picture he will never remember of the time he met two Formula 1 drivers at the Monaco mall. The baby looks at the camera, opens his mouth and makes a joyful noise at his mother, little hands flapping. Carlos watches Lando smile, at the baby and then the camera. Carlos is still staring at Lando, holding the chubby and gleeful baby, when the flash goes off.

“Jeez, Carlos,” Lando murmurs against his lips when Carlos presses him into the wall by the front door. “What got—got you going?”

Carlos just makes a long noise against Lando’s lips and grips his hips as he tilts his head more to lick into Lando’s mouth. Carlos toes off his shoes, kicking them to the side as he refuses to stop kissing Lando. He realizes what Carlos is doing with his feet and is smiling into the kiss.

“Stop laughing,” Carlos tells him when they break apart. Carlos is already grabbing Lando’s arm to drag him towards the bedroom. When Carlos glances back, Lando is giving him a toothy little smile.

“What was it?” He asks as Carlos pushes through the bedroom door and pulls Lando down onto the bed with him. He comes easily, folding his legs under his hips as he settles over Carlos’s lap. Lando gets the same toothy grin on his face again when he realizes how hard Carlos is in his jeans. He bites his lip and looks at Carlos with a thoughtful expression.

“Was it the sweater I tried on in Acme?” Carlos shakes his head as he gets his fingers under the hem of Lando’s hoodie and peels it off of him, Lando’s curls springing free from the neckline as Carlos tosses it away. Lando’s nipples are pebbling at the cold room and Carlos leans forwards to get his mouth on one. Above him, Lando gasps and buries one hand into Carlos’s hair, holding his face to his chest.

Lando’s voice is tight when he speaks again. “Was it when I pointed out that fucking leather shop?” Carlos makes a negative noise but doesn’t remove his mouth from Lando’s skin. He gently takes the nipple in his teeth and is rewarded by the way Lando’s entire body jumps. “Wasn’t the fucking kink joke?”

Carlos noses his way up to Lando’s neck. When Lando used his hand in Carlos’s hair to pull his face back, Carlos goes easily. They stare at one another a moment, and that’s when Carlos realizes Lando is rocking his hips down into Carlos’s hard cock in gentle, rhythmic little pushes.

Lando knits his brow. “What was it, Carlos?”

He feels like a panting mess, knows he’s looking at Lando with a dark eyes and pink lips and messy hair. He might as well admit it, isn’t keeping it to himself for any real reason.

Carlos swallows hard, throat bobbing. Lando’s eyes snap to it and then back to Carlos’s face.

Carlos moves his hands from Lando’s thighs to his ass, pushing his hips to press harder into Carlos’s.

“The baby,” Carlos says, almost breathlessly. “You holding the baby.”

Lando’s brow knits before smoothing out and cheeky grin pulling his cheeks. “Carlos?”

Carlos makes a noncommittal sound as Lando begins to tease, the evidence of it clear in the tone of his voice.

Lando pushes Carlos down onto the mattress, back flat as his legs still hang off the foot. Lando crawls over Carlos, lines their pelvis’s up and grinds down hard. Lando is clearly hard too, hisses when their bulges press together. “Carlos, do you—ah” Lando cuts himself off as Carlos tightly grips his ass. “Do you want to put a baby in me?”

Carlos groans, and slides a hand up to Lando’s head to bring him down for another bruising kiss. It’s answer enough.

[fashionteahouse]

i wonder - edward cullen x reader

next>>>

You patiently waited as the doctor came in. The nurse already checked your vitals. She tells you it’s been a pretty eventful day.

His face was magical in a way but you felt comfortable. His smile was bright and shiny and you couldn’t help but bring out your own smile.

“I know you’re ready to get this thing off.” he says to you and you nod.

It was true. You were tired of doing everything with one hand. The special saw cut through the cast and you look at the limb that’s been covered for some time. It felt freeing.

You walk out of the room as you thank the doctor.

“Now remember, no playing right away. Wait for a few days to a week.”

“Aw, really?” you say with much disappointment.

“It’s important that you don’t rush it. Your other hand I’m sure is thanking you.”

“It’s no fun playing with one hand.” you say with a playful pout and Dr. Cullen laughs a bit. Placing a hand on your arm, “It won’t be fun to hurt it even more.”

He glances elsewhere and he then gives you a polite smile before sending you on your way. You see him walk in the direction of the boy and a girl, around your same age as they talked quietly.

You then flex your hand, seeing that your wrist was a bit smaller than your other one. You test out of your wrist, pretending to play a few notes as if you’re at a piano. You shake your head as you clutch it.

You wince a bit as you understood what Dr. Cullen meant. You then sigh a bit before pulling out your phone to let your parent know that you’re done and on your way home.

“You play?” you hear a voice. It startled you a bit but it was soothing.

You slowly look up. You see that the boy that Dr. Cullen seemed to know, was staring at you. He was by himself instead of with the girl you seen him with earlier, waiting for an answer. His gaze was intense, which made you look down for a moment as you nod.

“How do you know?” you ask quietly. You didn’t know why you felt shy.

“I saw you test your wrist out as if you were playing keys.” He says. You look up and he brings on a soft but friendly smile.

“Do..You play?” you ask.

You expected the same answer as always.

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows raise a little in shock.

“Why are you…Surprised?” he asks with a low chuckle.

“Sorry..It’s just…I don’t know too many people who do play.”

“Did you just move here?” he asks.

“Yeah..I’ve been asking people..To you know, make friends but…” you end it with a shrug.

He opens his mouth to say something but you hear a small voice close to you.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You turn around to see a brunette, she’s hanging near the corner of the hallway. She staring dead at the boy you were talking to.

You turn back to the boy in front of you. He had a look that showed he was conflicted.

You make a small wave and started to be on your way. You didn’t look back.

“It was nice while it lasted.” you say in your head.

“So what did the doctor say?” your parent asks you.

“They said I have to wait up to a week to get back into using both hands.” you say over dinner.

“Well, that’s not bad. You catch on quick.”

“I know…You know I want to enter the music competition soon.”

That’s when they paused their chewing.

“You’re…Thinking about joining that?” they ask. You nod.

“Oh.” they comment.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s just….It’s your hobby and all but..For it to be your career…It’s very hard to make a profitable career out of that.”

“So..All of these years of classes and lessons are just going to be thrown away? Just like that?”

“I’m not saying that. Maybe it shouldn’t come first. You’ve always have gotten great grades. Y/N, it’s your final year before you go out into the real world. Picking a smart and lucrative career choice will help you be more prepared while being comfortable and stable.”

You sigh as you dig into your dinner. The same old talk.

“You start school tomorrow. Are you excited?” they ask with a smile. You mutter out a yes.

You lie in bed in the new home. After the divorce of your parents, you had to choose which one to stay with to finish out your year. The parent you chose, chose to move away for new beginnings. You didn’t mind. You were a bit happy that you got to start fresh in a way. You were a bit tired of your old school and wasn’t afraid of change.

The heat blasted from the vents of the car as you wrung your fingers a bit. A hand meets your hand.

“Easy, Y/N. Your wrist finally starting to heal up.”

“I know. Sorry.” you say and the school comes into view.

“I will be here when school lets out. Have a good first day.” they say with a big smile.

You get out after giving your parent a quick hug and you slowly walk towards the building.

You looked at your phone, checking the room number of where your home room was.

Chatters of different students meeting up with their friends were surrounding you and your ears.

Your eyes catch a familiar face. The same boy from the hospital, was leaning against his car. He seemed just as surprised to see you as you.

You continue walking however, you didn’t want to be overbearing.

You kept saying yes to people asking you if you were new. You were a bit tired of the question.

At lunch, people from classes that you did make small talk with, did ask you to sit with them.

When school was over, you walked out to the school lot. You saw the same boy from the hospital. This time, he made an effort to make a small wave. A small smile formed on your lips as you waved back.

“Y/N. Over here!” you hear and you internally groan with embarrassment.

“I know what your car looks like.” you say as you close the car door. They only laugh.

The next day, you walk to the school stairs, you slipped on the patch of ice.

A hand catches you and your heart race. You steady your knees and you look up to find the same boy.

“Thanks.” you say and he nods with a tight grin.

You start to walk away.

“You never told me your name.” he says.

“You never told me yours.” you reply back as you look back at him.

Names were then exchanged.

Edward was his name.

You both began to walk side to side.

“How long have you been playing?” he asks with interest.

“Since I gained consciousness.” you say with a small laugh. It was true. You don’t remember the first lessons, you just remember always having to go. His small laugh sounded a bit like bell chimes. It made you prolong your eye contact with him.

“What about you? You seem to be the expert.” you say.

“A very long time.”

“What’s a long time?” you playfully challenge.

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, as he continues to walk.

“What’s wrong…?” you ask slowly in slight confusion.

Shaking his head slightly, you both stop at the classroom you were supposed to go in, “Nothing…I would like to hear you play sometime.”

“Really? Well some time next week I should be good.” you say as you raise your wrists and you walk in the classroom. As you sat down, you realize that he was still standing at the same spot you left him in. It wasn’t until you were fully seated, you see him walk away.

A teacher asks you if you could take some paperwork to the office. You accept since your class work is completed.

You walk in the office and find that Edward is murmuring to the woman at the front desk.

“Here you go.” you say and Edward turns around. The woman thanks you and tells him with apologetic intentions, “It’s January, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Cullen.”

You watch as he has a wave of frustration be painted on his face.

You held the door open for him as you exit out.

“Cullen…So, your dad is Dr. Cullen?” you observe and ask.

“Yes.” he answered. You both walk as if there isn’t a rush to get to anywhere.

“He’s nice.” you comment.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard that.” he says.

“So..The blonde girl is your girlfriend?”

“No. She’s my sister.”

“Oh. Sorry.” you say sheepishly.

“It’s alright.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s heard that.” he says with a grin that makes you return it.

“So…How many siblings do you have?”

“Two brothers and two sisters.”

“Eventful.” you say and enter back into the classroom.

“How was school?” your parent asks you over dinner.

“It was fine.”

“Any new friends?”

“A couple. The people and the teachers there are nice.” you say as you look at your food.

“That’s good.”

“I didn’t know Dr. Cullen’s son went to this high school.”

“You met him?”

“Yeah. He’s nice too.” you say.

“The entire family keeps to themselves I heard.”

You nod at that.

You were in the middle of reading a book.

“No class this period?”

You look up and Edward is peering down at you as you sat in a chair in the school library, being immersed in the plot.

“Study hall.” you say.

He nods.

“What about you?”

“Free period.” he says as he sits in a seat that’s close to yours.

“Oh.” you say and close your book.

You look at him. “You know, I meant to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” he asks as he searched your face.

“You have unique eyes. Is it some type of…Condition or something?”

“….I guess you can say that….Yeah..It’s a condition.”

“Oh. Do you want to dive into that?” you ask.

“I prefer not. Is that alright?”

“Fine by me.”

“How did you mess up your wrist?”

You chuckle a bit before answering.

“Trampoline.”

It was his turn to match your chuckle.

“That’s interesting.”

“Yeah well…That’s what happened over the summer. Man, I was pissed. I was crying, not because of the pain, but because I couldn’t use both hands to play piano.” you say.

“Did you still use one hand?”

“Yeah. It’s boring though.” you say with a slight frown.

“Which wrist?”

You extend it.

“This one.”

You didn’t expect him to close his hand around it. His hands were cold, but it felt nice, like an ice pack. You’ve been using it to exercise it, so the cool sensation helped. In sync, you both lean in.

“Are you used to the cold? And snow?”

“Yeah. You?” you ask.

“Yeah. It’s my favorite time of the year.”

“Same. No annoying bugs.” you answer back.

He grins as he looked down at your wrist.

“Have you ever broken or sprained a bone before?” you ask.

“No.” he says.

“Aren’t you lucky.” you comment.

“I am.” he says and the bell rings.

You walk the halls to lunch, you find that the brunette girl from the hospital also went to the same school.

She looked at you only for a second before looking away.

In history, the teacher announced a project. You all had to pick a time period out of a bin, write in a journal and pretend to be someone who is living in the time period.

“Fun.” you said under your breath, you thought it was interesting.

A small journal was passed out, the teacher allowed you and others to work in groups if you wanted.

You started writing down your year in your journal.

“Are you working with someone?”

You look up to a familiar boy in the class. He was quiet, but sat in the back from the times you’ve been in this class.

You shake your head.

“Do you mind if we work together?”

“I don’t mind.” you say in a small voice.

As he sat down, he scoots his chair a bit away from you, but his presence was friendly enough that you didn’t feel offended, you felt a wave of calmness, you didn’t feel nervous like you thought you would be.

Smiling softly, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak in class.” you say.

He shrugged with his own quiet smile.

“What year did you get?” you ask.

“The 1980’s.” he says with a roll of his eyes, “What about you?”

“1860’s.” you say sharing your distaste for the year you had to do, with a roll of your own eyes. You quickly saw a sparkle in his eye.

“What? You think this time period was interesting?” you ask. He nods a bit.

“So much history happened within that time frame.” he said with certainty.

“At least the 80’s were fun. Big hair, good music, and colorful vibes.” you say as you thought of music videos.

“It was alright.” he says but clears his throat, “I’m a bit old fashioned. I don’t really care to learn much about that time period but it looks like I have to.”

“Yeah.” you say as you look at him.

“So. Have any trouble?” he asks.

“The heck did people do for fun back then?” you say. You wanted to snooze.

“Play games, read, gamble on horse races.” he lists.

“How do you know so much?” you ask as you doodle spirals on the edge of your paper to kill time.

“I guess you can say I’m a history geek.”

You laugh a little, “What’s your name?”

Jasper.

As the bell rang to leave, “Pray for me. Hopefully I won’t fall asleep while writing.” you say jokingly.

A small laugh escaped his throat, “You will be fine…You can always ask me questions..”

“Cool. See you…Around?”

He nods once as a small and petite girl skips to his side. She brightly shined her sparkling smile at you.

“Hi.” she greets.

You wave.

“You’re new right?”

You nod.

“When did you move here?”

“A little last week.” you answer. She grins as she nods in acknowledgment. Her energy was high. You felt it was a bit contagious as you couldn’t help feel the excitement rubbing off on you.

“Do you like it here?” she asks as you walk. She hugged Jasper’s arm as you all walk the hallway.

“It’s been good to me so far.” you say.

You all three talk as you made your way to your last class of the day. Learning the girl’s name you tell her, “Nice to meet you again Alice. See you, Jasper.”

Coming out to the school lot, you see that the rest of Edward’s family is looking at you by their cars.

You then knew who Edward’s siblings were. All expect one. He was muscular and he held the blonde girl close to him.

You felt a bit nervous.

It was the weekend. You were thankful that you got to sleep in.

Pulling out your keyboard, you fiddle with it with your one hand.

You were bored. You missed trying to learn complex notes but you knew that if you forced the fast recovery, you wouldn’t be better.

You scrolled through the website of the music competition. You knew exactly what song you wanted to play. You had to submit a recording.

You didn’t care about the prize money, but just to show off your talents was something that you wanted to do.

The weeks rolled by, you could finally play again. You parent comes home and that’s all they hear, the tinkering of the keyboard and the piano that was in the home.

“When’s your lesson?” they ask as you help them unload groceries.

“Next week. I’ve been practicing.” you say with a grin.

“That’s nice. Fill out for colleges yet?”

That’s when you got quiet.

“Y/N.” they say in a warning tone.

“I’m working on it. I just don’t know what I want to do yet.” you say.

“You were always good with tech. Maybe, do something with math. It’s your highest grade.”

“Ugh, no. I only make sure it’s my highest because it’s important.” you say. They only sigh with a slight shake of their head as they state, “Your time is ticking.”

In lab, you sighed as you mixed substances with your lab partner.

“You’re joining this class?” you heard your teacher ask.

You look up and you almost took your goggles off. Edward looks at you as you looked at him.

“Y/N, you have to weigh it.” your lab partner beside you, tells you, the pen is in their hand and ready to write down the information on the worksheet.

“Right. Sorry.” you say and weigh the concoction in the glass measuring cup.

You watch him join a group, making him the third person.

When class was over, “You’re in this class?” you ask, trying your best to hold your excitement. He was a year below you. You didn’t know why you were excited. You brushed it off as it being happy to see a familiar face.

“Yeah.” he says casually.

“Willingly?” you ask and he nods.

“Jeez, no offense but, do you enjoy suffering?” you ask. You hated that class. Especially lab days. You were glad that the next day was a study hall instead of a double period.

He laughs, “It’s not that bad. I enjoy science.”

You both enter the hall and you place your hands together, “Be my guardian angel?”

“Next report period when it’s time to pick partners, just pick me. You’ll get an easy A.” he says with a slight shrug.

Jasper suggested that you both take turns reading each other’s journals. The due date was the next day.

He did a good job. It made you want to live in the 80’s. For Jasper, it was as if he went through a time machine.

You slide each other your journals back.

“Man, what a ride. I would’ve thought you lived it.” you say. You didn’t miss the flash of happiness. He then makes his face neutral.

“I can say the same.” he says, almost looking proud at your journal.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that time frame?” he continued to ask as if he caught your hand in the cookie jar. You shrug with a smile.

“I’m not. But, you gotta do what you gotta do right?” you reply as gesture the classroom.

He nods at that.

Before you could push the door open to leave the school building, you heard, “Do you have a ride?”

You turn to see Alice.

“Oh, hey. Um…I do.” you say.

She seemed a bit disappointed.

“Well, tomorrow we have a two hour delay. We should come to school together.” she suggests as she picks her mood back up.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “How do you-”

The announcement came on, “A two hour delay is issued for Forks High School, tomorrow morning. Students don’t forget to….”

“Lucky guess. You should be gambler or something.” you say. She laughs a perfect laugh and links her arm with yours follows you outside.

“So, what do you say? I’ll get you breakfast.” she bribed.

“Oh wow, food? How could I say no?” you ask with a smile.

You still woke up at your usual time, you watched the snowflakes fall fast out of your window. You used the extra time to work the keyboard in your room with your headphones in. Your parent knows you have a way to school, they tell you to let them know if you need a ride back home.

You carefully walk down the steps. Edward leans against the car. You had to be careful with your steps as you observed the snowflakes that fell perfectly on him. You look away to not seem rude or weird. He closes the car door after you get in. Jasper and Alice is in the backseat.

“He was just standing out there like it isn’t freezing.” you say to them and they laugh as they looked at each other.

“I told you, it’s my favorite time of the year.” he says with a grin as he worked the steering wheel.

“You’re crazy, Edward.” you comments as you put your hands to the vents that blew out hot air.

“I know.” you heard him say.

People stared as you got out of the car. You didn’t know why. Your stomach was full from the breakfast that was in fact paid for by Alice. You had to fight with her to not be so sharing but she prevailed, saying she was keeping her promise.

“Uh.. Why are people staring?” you whispered to Edward as he walked close to you. Jasper had his arm around Alice.

“They just want to know how and why you’re around us.” he says with a lax expression.

Walking through the metal detectors and picking your bag back up.

“How do you know?” you ask.

“We stay to ourselves. Never felt the need to make new friends.” he explains as Jasper and Alice waved goodbye to you both.

After waving, you turn your head as you walk, “So, I’m the chosen one?” you say with a joking tone.

“That’s..One way to put it.” he says.

“So, answer their question. Why me?” you ask as you stop at your locker, placing your wet coat inside.

He leans next to the locker that’s beside you, “You don’t want friends?”

“Whatever.” you say with a light laugh, “If I don’t recall, you talked to me first.”

“I did?” he asks but you knew that he knew.

You shoot him a look.

“I still want to hear you play. It’s been more than a week.” he says.

With a slight smile as you look ahead of you as you walk, “You’ve been keeping count?”

“Call me excited. I want to see what you got.”

“Cool, I’ll send you a video when I get the chance.” you say and try to go into the classroom but a hand gently grasp your sweater covered arm. You look to him.

“In person.”

“Oh….Okay.” you say and you hesitantly walk in your classroom.

Your mind was on the thought of playing piano in front of Edward. You wondered how. Would he come over to your house? Would you go over his house? You immediately shook the thought out of your head. He already told you that him and his siblings really don’t bring people around them. But, you couldn’t help but wonder in your brain, “I wonder what made me the exception?”

“Y/N?”

You snap out of your thoughts. You clear your throat as the teacher and classroom was silent, waiting for your answer.

You look down on your worksheet and speak out an answer.

“Very good.” the teacher says and moves on.

Your class took notes in science, it didn’t help that you could see Edward from across the room. You didn’t know how it was possible for one to be so non sociable.

You sat sideways on the comfy library chair. It was in the back, the history section.

“Wait…You said you had two sisters. Who’s the brunette?” you ask in a bored tone, fidgeting idly with the book on one of the shelves.

“Bella Swan. She’s not related to us.”

“Oh. Your friend.”

Chuckling as he looked at his hands, “She’s not my friend.”

You look about. He watches you.

You sit up straighter, feeling slightly nervous under his gaze, “Something’s fishy.”

“What do you mean?” he asks in a stoic tone.

“Are you….” you sigh. He’s patient. You look down before looking up, “Are you and your siblings like….Blood related?”

He opens his mouth but you speak, “Sorry. That was rude. Damn.” you say.

“We are not.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you want to ask something else?”

“Is it obvious?” you ask and he nods.

“Well….” you say and look at him in the eye before looking at his fabric covered chest, “Are you all…Adopted?”

“Yes.”

You look at him.

“So….” you sigh and shake your head and he asks, “What?”

You sigh a bit before giving him a nervous smile, “I see how Alice and Jasper act towards….Each other…I’m not judging but…”

“Yes. They’re dating.”

“Oh.” you say as you swallow and grab a book off of instinct.

“Are you weirded out?” he asks. He didn’t seem uncomfortable. He simply asked.

You open and close it as you look down. “Yeah.”

“Many are.”

“Like I said, who am I to be someone’s judge?” you propose.

He doesn’t say anything after that.

At lunch, you chewed slowly. You looked up a couple of times at Jasper’s table. The blonde girl and the brawny boy who was their brother. They all three glanced your way and you felt small in a way. But, you look back to what the person next to you at the table was saying.

You wondered if the other brother played a sport, but he didn’t hang out with the guys who were on actual teams.

The history teacher turns on a movie and makes everyone write down answers for the worksheet.

You were thankful for the distraction.

Pulling your coat out, you hear your name.

You turn around, to find Edward standing there.

You look.

“Do you have any plans after school?”

You rack your brain, but it’s been such a relaxed day, that homework was done.

“Um…” you say and you immediately think of your keyboard that you left on your bed.

“Honestly I’m just trying to get home and relax.”

He blinked at your answer.

Alice then bounces in your view.

“Hey, you.” she says with a smile.

“Oh. Hey. Thanks so much for this morning. That really meant a lot.” you say.

She touched your arm with a grin.

“Come on, ride back with us.” she persuades.

“Oh…”

“We have a piano at our house.” she says.

“You did that on purpose.” you say with a small laugh as you close your locker and start to walk.

“What?” she asks.

“I wanted to go home and relax and here you are bribing me once again.” you say.

At your side, “Carlisle says that your wrists are way better.” Alice chirped.

“Who’s that?” you ask dripping in confusion.

“Sorry..Our father.”

You never thought to call your parent by their first name like that. But you still didn’t judge.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m just using my keyboard for right now.” you say as you walk out the school doors.

“Well.. Our piano is huge. You should see it. Maybe play for us.” she says as you walk down the school stairs.

“Hmm…” you say with dramatic sarcasm.

“Please?” she dragged on.

“You guys act like I’m a special composer or something.” you say as you look at both Alice and Edward.

“We’re parked over here.” Alice grabs your hand.

On a doctor’s salary, there was just no way. You subtly peered around the home.

The parents. They looked so vibrant. So youthful. Dr. Cullen almost shined as he stood next to his smiling wife.

“Hi, Dr. Cullen.” you say.

Esme was the mother’s name.

“I like your name.” you compliment. She seemed touched and complimented yours back.

“Carlisle is okay. I already know who you are Y/N.” he says in a friendly tone.

Shrugging your coat off, it’s taken out of your hands as Edward placed a hand on your shoulder.

You saw it. You silently let your jaw drop. You walk out from under Edward’s hand.

It sat tall and strong. It was grand. It was shiny as if it was newly purchased. You thought you were dreaming. You could almost hear it whispering your name.

“Oh my gosh.” you whisper.

“What is it?” You hear Esme ask.

“This piano….Do you mind if I-“

“Of course. Yes. Please do.” she says, almost excited as you.

You sit at the bench.

Edward was immediately near you and if you weren’t so distracted, you would’ve wondered how he had gotten there so fast.

With a smile that made your cheeks sore, your fingers pressed down on the keys with precision. Your foot tapped the pedal as music filled the living room. You stop your tiny concert short as you felt that you were overstaying your company.

“Why did you stop?” you collectively heard.

“Sorry..I didn’t know..” you say and you rise from the bench, feeling a bit sheepish from the attention.

The blonde that had her arms crossed looked at the area you were in, with slight interest. She reminded you of an ice queen.

“So. Whats the new rank?” the boy who was brawny spoke up. His voice was deep and displayed a smirk.

The blonde taps the back of her hand onto his chest with a clenched jaw. He looked at her with slight apologetics.

Edward chuckled next to you.

Emmett.

You knew off of the top, he knew how to liven up a room.

“Rank of what?” you ask.

“Nothing. Ignore him.” the blonde says snappily.

Rosalie.

Emmett and Rosalie reminded you of Jasper and Alice in a way. You didn’t want to ask questions, but you couldn’t stop the questions from coming inside of your brain.

“You’re talented.” Esme says to you without drawing attention.

You show sincere appreciation.

You held and read his music sheets as you sat on his couch. His room was spacious. He invited you up as he could tell you weren’t going to touch the piano anymore.

Edward let you take the lead in the conversation. Allowing you to talk about yourself and what you want to do passionately.

“A competition?” he asks with interest. You only nod as you sat his sheets down.

“So. When am I going to see you play?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment before peering at the floor for a moment.

“Soon.”

“I’m keeping you to your word.” you say.

“Please do.”

[another-lost-mc]

NAUGHTY OR MICE

FEATURING: Barbatos with Diavolo, Solomon and the Little Ds

SUMMARY: Barbatos feels pressure during the holiday season and takes it out on everyone else. With help from a certain meddling sorcerer, the Little Ds find a creative way to get some payback.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Holiday humor and shenanigans. Barbatos-centric POV while Solomon and the Little Ds take advantage of Barbatos' fear of rats. Diavolo just wants everyone to embrace the holidays (with mixed results). The opening poem is taken in part from A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clark Moore. 1.9k words

A/N: This is a gift fic for Anima as part of the @obeymeholidayexchange! I'm finally getting around to posting it outside the Discord server. 👀

‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse –  It turns out that seven little demons have changed their shape, Magically disguised as the rodents you hate. Turn that frown upside down And indulge in some holiday cheer; Or else, you may find your steps haunted By a swarm of furry menaces you fear. It’s the season to be festive and merry So my dear Barbatos, consider this warning: Seven feisty rats will haunt your steps Until they wake at dawn on Christmas morning.

Barbatos stares at the paper in his hands, his expression flickering from confusion to annoyance to abject horror. Solomon’s familiar penmanship, scrawled across a piece of torn parchment, was left on the kitchen counter exactly where the butler would find it. Unsurprisingly, it was left in the same room Barbatos found him in earlier that day, standing at the stove and shaking an unfamiliar bottle of spice into what was supposed to be tonight’s stew dinner. Solomon was still clutching the wooden spoon, dripping liquid that had turned a nauseating shade of orange, and protesting Barbatos’ rough treatment as he was led by the arm through the castle towards the front door. He trusted that Solomon could find his own way out and cause mischief somewhere else, and he left the sorcerer alone in the entrance hall with a sticky-and-stained apron and a childish pout on his face.

The Christmas poem-turned-riddle is utterly ridiculous, and yet Barbatos is glad no one can see his shoulders tremble or the way his eyes dart around the room nervously as if he expects a small army of rats to launch at him in a flurry of whiskers and tails and needle-sharp teeth.

It wouldn’t be the first time Solomon has used magic to cause mischief, and apparently he felt emboldened to enlist the help of the Little Ds behind Barbatos’ back. He knows the lesser demons better than almost anyone else. They’re helpful and infuriating and charming and chaotic, each of them brimming with energy - the perfect embodiments of the sins they represent. 

Normally their tricks and disobedience are mild annoyances, but as Barbatos pushes open the kitchen doors and peers into the hallway, scanning the floors for any signs of those familiar-shaped pests he loathes so much, he wonders if there’s some truth to the accusations laid out in Solomon’s poem.

Every holiday is cause to celebrate in the Devildom, but this year, Barbatos feels more pressure than usual to ensure that everything is perfect. The demon lords, the other realms and the exchange students representing them - he feels their eyes on his lord keenly, searching for any sign of imperfection, of weakness. He would do anything to ensure its success so that the Devildom, and his lord Diavolo, are given the praise and respect deserved.

There’s a series of small scritches against wood nearby, the nearly-silent pitter patter of tiny feet on the carpet runners that cover the hallway floor, followed by high-pitched chittering with the familiar cadence of the Little Ds’ mischievous giggles. Barbatos can feel eyes on him as he lifts his head high and stares ahead despite the urge to search high and low for those little pests. The castle is ancient and despite its updates and repairs over time, it’s full of nooks and crannies and hidden passageways - the Little D’s know most of them nearly as well as he does.

Would they spy on him, wedged between gaps in old, wooden baseboards that line the old stone walls?

Would they climb up and peer at him the shoulders of decorative suits of armor or the twisted figures carved from marble that line the halls?

It’s a small miracle he manages to get anything done at all. His messages to Solomon have gone ignored, his attempts at calling him ringing endlessly. He manages to salvage his lord’s dinner (after disposing of the awful stew Solomon tampered with). It seems that the Little Ds offered him a small mercy by avoiding the kitchen - the sight of a rat in the heart of the castle would surely send Barbatos into an early grave - but everywhere else he goes, he sees dark shapes in the corner of his vision.

His young master must surely know what Solomon has done by now, but as Diavolo eats his dinner in silence, sympathy and smugness at war in his gaze, he only offers Barbatos a good night and the hope that everyone will be in better spirits tomorrow.

By the time Barbatos reaches his bed chambers, he’s twitchy with anxiety. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and inside his supple leather gloves. For once, he’s sure he looks exactly how he feels: frustrated, unbalanced and disheveled.

Judging by the high-pitched squeaks that followed him here, this is exactly the sort of entertainment the Little Ds hoped to gain from this ridiculous farce.

He strips as quickly as he can and throws his dirty clothes carelessly into the hamper. He snuffs out the wall sconces that light his room as the levels of twisting staircases throw harsh, angular shadows across the walls and floor. Part of him wonders if it’s better to leave his room brightly lit, reducing the places they can hide. Another part of him wonders if darkness would be worse, where he won’t know for certain if each shifting shadows is simply a trick of the light or a foul demon-in-disguise rodent scurrying about in the dark. The room feels suffocating and his private sanctuary is disturbed by the unfamiliar presence of seven little troublemakers that seem to think this is sufficient punishment for his earlier behaviour.

But maybe, he reluctantly thinks, they have a point.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have scolded his young master earlier when he disappeared from his office without a word. Barbatos frowned at the stack of neglected paperwork and set off immediately to find his wayward lord. He eventually found Diavolo in one of the parlors, Number 3 and Number 7 dozing in his lap while he read them holiday story books from the human world. Lord Diavolo’s accusations that he was a “heartless Evengeezer Snooze” fell on deaf ears, and Barbatos ignored his young master’s complaints (and the whiny cries of the Little Ds that toppled unceremoniously from his lap) as he grudgingly returned to his office where his duties awaited him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have thrown Solomon from the kitchen even if he was a culinary disaster in the marking, and perhaps he shouldn’t have thrown Number 6 from the kitchen after that. (Barbatos couldn’t fathom how hungry the little demon was, who was slurping Solomon’s stew concoction straight from the pot as if he would waste away without it.)

Perhaps he shouldn’t have accused Number 2 of attempting to steal the tree ornaments painted with flaky gold leaf and encrusted with sparkling gems. He asked Number 5 to keep an eye on things, but as Number 2 attempted to float away with an armful of priceless heirlooms, the other lesser demon was too distracted by his own reflection in a large glass bauble dangling off one of the branches. Number 2 fled the room with a shrill little scream as Number 5 followed, drifting away from the tree while sniffling sadly and whining it wasn’t his fault.

After separating Number 1 and Number 4 earlier that morning for arguing so fiercely that it nearly started a brawl in the dining room during breakfast, Barbatos could admit he was already at his wit’s end. The overwhelming stress of everything made him more irritable than usual and had clearly taken its toll.

Perhaps, in the spirit of this joyful holiday season, he owes them all a rare apology. His young master and even Solomon, but especially the Little Ds whose help and company he appreciates. He’ll do whatever it takes to reassure them that this sort of punishment won’t be needed ever again; one evening of rat-shaped ghosts haunting him is more than enough for him to learn his lesson.

Things will be better tomorrow, he promises himself desperately. Tonight, a hushed, “I’m sorry,” is all Barbatos can offer anyone that might be listening. He falls asleep not long after, comforted by the silence of his room rather than the squeaks and scratches he has grown to dread, and in the quiet peace marked by the Little Ds’ absence, it almost feels like forgiveness.

It’s early the next morning when Diavolo walks into the dining room where he prefers to take his private meals. Barbatos is nearly finished laying out a small but hearty breakfast. They aren’t expecting guests at the castle until the festive brunch planned for later in the morning, but Barbatos wants to make the most of the peace and quiet while it lasts - after the night he had, he’s grateful for it.

“I see the Little D’s are back to normal,” Diavolo says cheerfully as he takes his seat at the table. Even though Barbatos can easily serve him breakfast without assistance, the lesser demons are helping set the table or observing the butler work while others admire the glittering tree in the corner of the room. 

“I think we’ve all learned a lesson from this,” Barbatos admits with a nod. “Personally, I thought last night was–”

“Fun?” Number 4 pipes up helpfully. Number 6, who’s staring at the tray of food with a hungry gleam, offers a toothy grin in agreement.

“That’s not quite the word I’d use,” Barbatos says slowly, “but it was certainly an experience I won’t soon forget.” He pours Diavolo a fragrant cup of coffee and watches the prince take a sip with a quiet hum. “Although I may speak to Solomon and the sorts of spells he casts on them in the future. It appears that Number 5 hasn’t turned back to normal yet.”

Slowly setting his porcelain cup back on its delicate saucer, Diavolo frowns as he follows Barbatos’ gaze. Underneath the elaborately decorated tree sits a dark grey rat, its face obscured by a large frosted glass bauble, staring at them both with its beady black eyes.

“That’s not Number 5,” Diavolo says slowly as his brows pinch in confusion, glancing uneasily between Barbatos and the grey rodent peering at them curiously from the lower branches of the tree. “It can’t be. I passed him in the hallway on my way here. He was arguing with one of the statues again.”

The warm, joyful ambience of the room shifts into something cold and uncertain as the prince’s words hang heavy in the air with a touch of foreboding apprehension. Barbatos’ body freezes and he suddenly can’t bring himself to look anywhere near that tree.

“But my lord, if it’s not Number 5 under the tree, then who–?”

Squeak!

Read More: Obey Me Masterlist