#he's been in all my dreams for the past two weeks and its making me so sad

[cryptidscries]

you ever miss someone so much that they start appearing in your dreams every night? ahaha.....me neither

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

[gothlcsan]

꒰ BEFORE SLEEPING ꒱ 재현

Jaehyun has always been one of your closest of best friends, never thinking anything would happen between the two of you. Until one night, one dream changes that completely.

genre smut, non!idol jaehyun, fem!reader

tws wet dream, best friends, deep throating, cum eating, pet names, no mention of protection or aftercare, not proofread

author’s note welcome to day two of kinktober! i will be back next week with two new fics ~ ! using @dreamlandcreations kinktober list <3

word count 1496

Placing your coat onto its hanger, you take off your heels, shifting so that your phone is safely tucked between your ear and shoulder.

“Mhm, I just made it inside. Thank you again for dinner and your new book, I’m thinking of starting it soon.”

That gains a laugh from the other end.

“Have you read any of my books?” Jaehyun questioned.

There’s a small pause.

“Well, no, but I still buy them thank you!” You retort back.

He thanks you for that, the two of you falling into casual conversation until he makes it home, bidding each other goodnight before hanging up. Quietness fills out your apartment, debating what to do with your nail between your teeth. Having decided on showering quickly before getting into bed, you let your hair air dry, pour a glass of wine, and grab Jaehyun’s new book as you climb into bed.

Brushing the cover with your hand you feel the lettering, liking the title considering it was ironically before bed for you.

Before Sleeping.

Opening the book to the first page you get engrossed in the novel. Much to your surprise it’s filthy, the glasses of wine heightening the blush blossoming over your face and legs. You didn’t know Jaehyun wrote like this, your lip tucked between your teeth as you made it halfway through before deciding it was time for sleep. Your heart raced in your chest, eyes heavy due to the sudden sleepiness paired with the alcohol, nodding off rather quickly.

“Are you awake?”

“Hm?”

You’re asked again, humming, feeling your body being rolled over so you’re flat on your back. Eyes fluttering open as you see Jaehyun over you. He’s still wearing what he wore last night at dinner, sleepily asking what he was doing here. Jaehyun brushes the hair out of your face, the pad of his thumb brushing across the entirety of your bottom lip.

“I missed you, sorry if I came at a bad time.”

Shaking your head you tell him it’s okay, the room going quiet until you offer him to lay down, cuddling into him instinctively. He doesn’t speak as he cups your face, your breath hitching as he brings you into a kiss, your lips in perfect harmony. Jaehyun felt warm, this isn’t real you thought, ignoring the voice in your dream, letting Jaehyun engulf. His cologne was inviting, gasping as his large hands started exploring your body.

“Jaehyun..” you softly moaned, clenching around nothing as he sat up, removing his shirt. Your heart leapt, forgetting how fit your best friend was under layers. Lifting your hand up you place it against his abs, his hand wrapped around your wrist as he brings it down to feel his growing bulge. Gulping at the size, you blush as he talks dirty, the words familiar but not able to pinpoint why.

“Look how you affect me, this is all your doing.”

The sound of his belt being undone makes the wetness between your thighs grow, gasping slightly as his trousers are pulled down, not expecting him to have nothing on underneath them. He’s large, your eyes unable to move past that, Jaehyun chuckling asking if you liked what you saw. Shamelessly nodding in response. Jaehyun says something you’re not able to make out, your eyes widening as he manhandles you so you’re sat up, your face dangerously close to his dick. Staring up at him he gives you a smile, bushing your bangs back as he tells you to open your mouth for him. You obey, opening your mouth, Jaehyun placing two fingers against your wetly warm tongue. The pressure is thrilling, wrapping your lips around the digits, humming as he pushes them toward than back between your lips in a rhythm. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, your own fingers falling to rub your clit, gasping for air when he removes his fingers.

“What an impatient brat, you need more already?”

You nod.

With little to no time for you to process, he’s pushing his dick into your mouth, the sudden intrusion making you gag slightly. He seems to be into it by the way he’s collecting a handful of your hair, saying you looked so pretty with him in your mouth, bringing his hips back to snap back forward into your mouth. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as Jaehyun picked up his pace, pushing deeper into your throat, stretching perfectly for him. Hearing his raspy voice curse and compliment how good your throat felt around him, makes you feverishly delve your fingers into your drenched cunt. It’s sloppy, one hand wrapped around his thigh as the other worked yourself, eyes scrunched closed as you swallowed around him, Jaehyun’s grip on your hair tightening in response.

“Fuck, I’m,” Jaehyun chuckled, his voice breaking being a sign he was already close, his breathing heavy.

He places both of his hands on either side of your head, fucking himself deep in your throat. Pushing your nose deep against his pubes, his groans loud as he finally tips over the edge, cumming deep down your throat. You swallow what you can, Jaehyun pulling out, panting as you try to catch your breath, having already cummed around your own fingers a moment prior. Feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen makes you smile up at him with hooded eyes, Jaehyun calling you a good girl as he plants kisses across your face. He leans down just a bit so that he’s able to whisper in your ear, your body small compared to him.

“Time to wake up, doll.”

Sitting up with a gasp, you rub the sleep from your eyes, turning your head to look at the time. Reality sets in quickly as your fingers trailed down between your legs, feeling how wet you were, pulling your hand back in embarrassment. Looking down to see the book next to you, your stomach ignites in flames, realizing you had dreamt you and Jaehyun as the couple in the book. The dream replays in your head, your hand instinctively moving back down to your cunt, biting down on your bottom lip thinking about him.

Jaehyun…

Being this worked up it’s not long before you’re cumming around your fingers, whimpering as you fish for your phone off the bedside table. You’re not thinking clearly, dialing Jaehyun, groaning as he answers. His voice is thick with sleep, asking what you needed so late in the night, breathlessly moaning in his ear as you touch your sensitive clit.

“Jaehyun, can you please,” you’re cut off by a trembling sigh, swallowing hard as you continue.

“Please, I need you, can you please come over?”

There’s a pause, hearing him move around on the other end of the phone. Asking if he was still there, Jaehyun’s voice returned, making your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“I’m on my way now, be a good girl and don’t touch until I get there, alright?”

His voice is thick, smooth, assertive, nodding before giving him an audible response. He hangs up, covering your mouth as you remove your fingers from your cunt to wait on Jaehyun.

It’s a minimum of fifteen minutes when you hear the sound of your door being unlocked, the shuffle of shoes being removed, Jaehyun knocking on the bedroom door before coming inside.

“Fuck,” he says with a smirk, removing his coat as he walked closer to you. Covering your exposed body with your hands unsuccessfully as he sat on the bed next to you. His hand hits something, watching as Jaehyun pulls something from the mess of your sheets, a smug smirk growing on his face.

“Ah,” he lifts his book up for you to see. “This is what’s got you like this, hm?”

You blush profusely reaching to grab the book from him but he’s quicker, Jaehyun placing it on the floor as he moves so he’s looming over you. His body is much larger than yours, caging you between him and the mattress, a shocker gasp coming from you. Placing his hand on your chest he drags it down your curves until it’s just hovering where you wanted him most, clenching pathetically around nothing.

“Jaehyun.. please,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, your fingers intertwining in the ends of his hair. Lifting his eyebrow feigning innocence he purposely pressed his fingers against your clit, making you jump, pulling him into a feverish kiss. Feeling insanely incredible as your lips work together, his large hands exploring you in ways that you didn’t know were possible, pulling back to catch your breath looking into his deep brown eyes.

“You look so pretty,” Jaehyun says, earning a deep blush from you as you pull back into another kiss.

“Please shut up and fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he laughs against your lips, repositioning you so that your legs are wrapped around him.

Thankful for this being reality and not in a heated dream.

[zaephix]

XOXO, kiss me, dont say no! / / genshin and star rail men . . .

the various ways they kiss you throughout your relationship <3

warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive in general but rlly suggestive on the last one lolz

w/c: .774k

author's note: this is lazy ash sorry but ive been so unmotivated recently its crazy also super random but dont let my blog theme deceive u my fav colors r pink and orange im js too lazy to change it LMAO

he opts for more chaste kisses, kisses that are shared between the two of you in passing. forehead kisses that happen between the two of you as he brings you your coffee for the day, kisses on the cheek as he has one hand on your waist to get past you, kisses on the corner of your lips to get that one crumb off of them. they leave you excited and almost pining for the next one. he is a busy man, sure, but he'd never not make time for affection between the two of you.

diluc, ayato, alhaitham, neuvilette, thoma, kaeya, baizhu, chongyun, sunday, dr. ratio, luocha, gepard, blade, aventurine . . .

he gives you a kiss every chance he gets. on your cheek, forehead, nose, neck, and even your chin at times. he's so quick about it, always finding the most obscure places to place his lips. you can't help but reciprocate it, turning it into a game on how many you can give eachother without it being in the same place. it was only when you gave him a quick peck on the lips did he finally click in his head that he could've kissed you there all along. "oh."

venti, itto, childe, heizou, lyney, gaming, razor, kaveh, cyno, sampo, luka, jing yuan, yanqing . . .

he is a gentleman first and foremost. he checks with you by the slightest glance between the two of you before leaning down to press his lips against yours. kisses to the back of your hand, the crown of your head, the veins on your wrist... the list goes on and on. it was to the point where the simplest graze of his fingers on your skin as he fixes your clothes felt intimate. and to be honest it makes you almost fall in love with him again, your perfect gentleman.

zhongli, diluc, neuvilette, thoma, wriothesley, kazuha, ayato, welt, gepard, gallagher, luocha, argenti, dan heng . . .

he is rather the opposite, he is a tease before everything. it seems like you can never have your way with him. his lips would just barely brush with yours, his eyes looking at you with a too-proud smirk. he'd either be insanely quick or painfully slow, no in between. he knew what he was doing, and god was it driving you mad. it was just when you started giving him his own medicine did he understand how you felt, and by the end of the week he was putty in your arms, begging for more.

kaeya, childe, cyno, kaveh, venti, xingqiu, lyney, wriothesley, jiaoqiu, sampo, boothill, aventurine, dan feng, gallagher. . .

his favorite kisses are lazy kisses. kisses that require no minimum amount of effort but still leave you satisfied. he says he just prefers to take his time with you, but all that really means is that he just wants to put his lips on you wherever he can. slow drags of his mouth tickle your skin, his face buried in your neck. he especially loves it when you caress his lips with your fingers before leaning in to kiss him, the soft matress beneath you dipping as you whisper into his ears before sleep takes you both, "g'night."

alhaitham, kazuha, kaeya, scaramouche, aether, jing yuan, dr ratio, blade, welt, boothill, aventurine . . .

kisses with him somehow always feel nervous. like he's inching towards you before (awkwardly) looking away to anywhere but your face. you made him feel like a boy with his first crush, ears slightly red at the possibility of a kiss. many of these times you had to initiate them yourself, easing him into it. now that he had someone to call his own, it felt almost surreal. and unbenknownest to you, he regularly kisses you on your forehead as you're sleeping, your dreams suddenly feeling sweeter than before.

aether, scaramouche, albedo, lyney, bennett, kaveh, freminet, gorou, tighnari, xiao, dan heng, arlan, gepard, moze . . .

his kisses feel straight out of a romance drama, always tender and sickeningly sweet. and you can't help but wonder if he takes notes on your favorites. but no, this was just how he was. the way he'd hold intense eye contact before leaning in to close the gap, the way he cradled the side of your head, even the way he'd softly whisper "is this okay?" each and every time. he leaves your face and neck warm and flushed, and when you try and hide it, he gently tilts your head up with his fingers. "don't hide your face, pretty"

ayato, baizhu, diluc, zhongli, kazuha, neuvillette, venti, kaeya, thoma, argenti, boothill, jing yuan, gepard . . .

he prefers to have his kisses as few as possible, yet with the most passion as he can muster. kisses between the two of you are rare unless its initiated by you, like small gestures like forehead and cheek kisses. but there are times where even he cant deny himself of your lips, pulling you into his lap randomly out of the blue. when he does decide to take pity on the both of you, he takes your breath and soul away. they're hot, heavy, full of pent up emotion, bad or good. and by the end you two are breathing into eachother's mouth, both your eyes telling eachother to not stop.

alhaitham, albedo, scaramouche, diluc, capitano, xiao, sunday, blade, dr ratio, dan heng, dan feng, moze . . .

[doumadono]

Silent Waves, Silent Wounds - Touya Todoroki x Reader

A/N: today's episode broke my heart and made me cry uncontrollably. With a nice prompt set for this week's challenge in a community I'm part of, I decided to combine the two. I just hope my Touya will survive. Gif was made by @gamergirl-niffler

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Touya's first breaths of freedom were laced with the sterile scent of antiseptics and the distant echoes of calamity.

Beneath the flickering streetlights of Musutafu, shadows twirled across the damp pavement, casting the world in veils of half-truths and murmured secrets.

It was upon a night cloaked in despair that Touya Todoroki, shrouded in the remnants of his shattered past, escaped the suffocating confines of what should have been a sanctuary. The hospital, ostensibly a bastion of healing and hope, had morphed into nothing but a prison, all under the malevolent gaze of All For One.

In a moment fueled by raw desperation and a primal urge for freedom, Touya, with hands trembling and heart pounding against the cage of his ribcage, ignited the very foundations that had ensnared him. Flames, hungry and unrestrained, licked upwards, clawing at the structure with a ferocity. Fire roared through the hallways, a fierce, unforgiving inferno that consumed everything in its path — medical charts, synthetic bed linens, the false promises of recovery.

As the inferno raged behind him, Touya stumbled into the cold embrace of the night.

The city loomed large and indifferent, its countless lights flickering like distant stars, unreachable and cold. Each step was a battle, his body a map of wounds both fresh and long endured, scars that told tales he could barely remember, tales of a mere boy who once dreamed of heroism but found himself ensnared in a nightmare of his father's making.

He moved through the shadows, a spectral figure haunted by the echoes of his past and the uncertain horrors of his future. Tonight, the world was both his enemy and his ally, hiding him from those who would seek to drag him back to that hellish place, yet offering no comfort from the relentless grip of his solitude and sorrow. His face, marred with scars that told stories of a tragic past and unresolved pain, was not one that people usually turned to for comfort.

As he navigated through the dimly lit streets, his eyes were cautious and wary of the stares that followed him like specters.

It was then he saw you - a girl sitting alone on the curb, your sobs cutting through the muffled sounds of the city like a siren’s call. You were young, perhaps no older than he, with tears streaking your cheeks and your shoulders trembling under the weight of your unseen burdens.

Despite his fears and the fresh pain of his own memories, something within him stirred - a remnant of the hero he once aspired to be. Hesitant, he approached you, his voice barely above a whisper after he cleared his throat, trying to sound normal, even though he knew it was no longer possible. “Hey, are you okay?”

You jerked your head up, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and surprise as they landed on his disfigured features.

For a heartbeat, Touya thought you would scream, run away, or recoil in horror.

But then, something remarkable happened - your expression softened, and your initial fright melted into a sad, understanding smile. “Not really,” you confessed, wiping your tears away with the back of your shaking hand. “My dad… he drinks too much. And my mom, she doesn’t really care. She threw me out tonight. Said she’d had enough of me being useless.”

The words struck a chord in Touya. Abandonment, pain, a longing for something better - themes that resonated deeply within his own life. Sitting heavily beside you on the cold curb, he offered you a timid smile, one that seemed almost out of place on his scarred visage. "I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and a chilling detachment born from years of conditioning under his father’s harsh regime. “I… I know what it’s like to feel like you have no one.”

You studied him, your reddened eyes lingering on his scars with a curiosity born from your own pain rather than judgement. “What happened to you?” you asked gently, perhaps too gently for the horror that his story contained.

Touya looked away, his eyes tracing the patterns of light and shadow on the ground. “I don’t remember everything,” he confessed. “But I know I was trying to prove something to my dad. It didn’t end well, as you can see.”

You sat in silence, the world around you bustling with life, yet oblivious to the shared moment of grief between two strangers.

People passed by, their glances sharp and sometimes filled with a disdain that neither of you were unfamiliar with.

Sensing Touya’s discomfort, you made a decision. “Let’s go somewhere else,” you suggested, a spark of resolve lighting up your tear-stained face. “Somewhere away from prying eyes. I know a nice place, if you'd like to join me.”

Touya nodded casually, “I think I’d like that. I have nowhere to be anyway.”

Without another word, you stood, holding out you hand to help him up. Your touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness he had come to expect from the world.

Together, you walked through the deserted streets, your steps in sync, until the city sounds faded into the background, replaced by the soothing rhythm of waves crashing against the shore.

Beneath the expansive canopy of the night sky, the beach lay deserted, bathed in the ethereal, silvery glow of the moon. The ocean before them transformed into a shimmering tapestry, each wave weaving threads of light across the dark canvas of water. It was here, with the cool sand cradling your steps and the vast, relentless sea stretching into infinity, that you discovered a fleeting sanctuary — a momentary escape from the ravages of your tormented existences.

As you settled onto the sand, the ocean's eternal murmurs surrounding you, Touya found himself unexpectedly comforted by the raw, natural beauty of the scene. Yet, he was taken aback when you revealed that it was not just chance that brought you to this tranquil haven in the dead of night.

“I come here often, especially after fights at home,” you confessed softly, your eyes reflecting the moonlight like fragments of a broken mirror. “The sound of the waves… it calms the storm inside me. Maybe it can do the same for you.”

Touya hesitated before his voice broke the silence. "I'm like these waves," he murmured, his voice tinged with a haunting sadness. "Crashing again and again, with no control, no end. I don't even remember why I started… what I was trying to prove." His gaze was lost to the horizon, where the dark sea met the darker sky, his face a mask of sorrow sculpted by the silvery light.

"It's hard, isn't it?" you said softly, pulling your knees closer to your chest, feeling the chill of the night seeping through your clothes. "Feeling like you're caught in a storm with no shelter in sight. I sit here, night after night, wondering if the screaming will ever stop, if there will ever be a night without tears, without all this emptiness."

"Does it help? Coming here, hearing the waves?" Touya asked.

"It doesn't stop the pain," you admitted, "but sometimes, it makes it bearable. The sea doesn't judge, doesn't demand. It just is. And for a little while, I can just be too, without worrying about the next wave that might knock me down."

"I wish I could remember what peace feels like," he confessed, his words blending with the whisper of the wind.

You reached out, your hand brushing against his, a small gesture of comfort in the overwhelming vastness of your shared solitude.

"Maybe we can't go back to who we were," you suggested, your voice a tentative whisper against the symphony of the sea. "But perhaps we can find new reasons to look forward to the sunrise."

Touya's hand trembled slightly under yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he gripped your hand, his hold tentative but needing the connection. "I'd like that," he said, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips, as fragile and fleeting as a wave’s crest as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "To look forward to something, to hope for something better."

[moonyspupp]

You just don’t listen do you?

Severus snape X f!Reader smut

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My first fanfic on here!

CW: teacher student relationship (reader is of age!) breeding, minor name calling, SMUT

⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ .

While your many years at hogwarts went by very quickly, it feels like only yesterday you first stepped foot onto the grounds. Even though you had to stay an extra year due to poor marks, you loved hogwarts the same nevertheless. With all the laughter and excitement you shared with your classmates and friends these years, your mind was always occupied with the thoughts of your potions teacher;

Severus Snape

You weren’t sure what about him caught your eye, all you knew was that you wanted him, badly. None of your friends knew about your secret desire or you could even say , the hots for your teacher, how could you ever confess to that? But as your final year at the school comes near, there’s a dreadful realization that once you’re graduate, that’s it for your little dream when it came to him. As you daydream about graduation day and the fact you’ll leave everything in this school behind very soon, sooner than you realize. You’re suddenly brought out of your trance as Professor Snape smacks the back of your chair with his book.

⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ .

"Daydreaming again, Miss (L/N)?" he asks, his voice heavy with irritation.

My eyes snap open, the force of the smack bringing me back to reality. I look up to see Professor Snape looming over my desk, his lips curled into a sneer. I shake awake at his words; now fully processing it. “Oh shit..” I mutter . The class now quiet now as no one dared to say a word; the only sounds that could be heard were the bubbling cauldrons

“I-im sorry sir, im just a bit tired today” I say stuttering from embarrassment

“Well obviously you’ve been tired for the past three weeks , obvious by looking at your marks” Snape says harshly giving my seat another quick smack. I nearly jump in my seat , not daring to meet his gaze, I slightly tremble not knowing what to say next; what he would say next . “See me after class miss (L/N), at this rate I’ll be surprised to see you graduate this school” he says nearly snarling “I would hate to have you again as a student.” The class is still dead silent, as if everyone’s waiting for something to happen. “Yes sir” I say muttering trying my best not to make it so obvious I was beyond embarrassed at the confrontation about my marks. Snape eyes me up and down before returning back to the front of the class, his dark robes trailing near his feet as he walked briskly. For the rest of the class period, i try my best to focus on the lecture, but i can't shake the feeling of the embarrassment I faced earlier. Every time you glance at Snape, i can feel his gaze on me, like a hawk watching its prey. I thought to myself, “I knew I wanted his attention but this is NOT what I meant..” I tap my foot against the cobblestone floor nervously, keeping my eyes down either at my shoes or my empty notes.

As the class comes to an end, the students pack up their things and start to leave. My friends give me a look of nervousness, I knew I had to stay back but the fact it was going to be just me and him alone in the classroom was so terrifying but somehow it wasn’t in a scary way. Snape's voice rings out, stopping me in your tracks as i attempted to leave the classroom before he could see.

"Not you, Miss (L/N). Don’t forget you’ll be staying behind today."

I let out an annoyed groan before I turn around and face him, the realization that the only two people in this now empty classroom were you and him.

Your potion teacher, the one teacher you had the hots for

I feel my face slightly flush at the thought. The room was quietly; the only sound my nervous breaths in the still air. Snape stands at his desk, idly straightening some papers, his dark eyes never leaving you. I feel his eyes almost burning into me, even though i didn’t look up once after we were alone, i could just feel it. I take a seat in one of the chairs in the front row.

"You've been struggling in my class for quite some time," he says, his voice low and stern. "Why do you think that is?"

“I’m just a bit scared that I’ll graduate soon sir.” I let out a nervous laugh, I tap my foot on the floor once again but this time even faster. Snape's eyes narrow slightly and he stops straightening the papers, his full attention now on me.

"Is that so?" he says, his voice neutral. "You think that's a valid excuse for your poor performance in my class?" Snape stands up and walks around the desk, his footsteps echoing in the silent classroom. He stands directly over me, his body just a few inches away from mine. I'm not one to tolerate excuses, Miss (L/N). I expect excellence from all my students, and you haven't been living up to those expectations.” He snarls

I shake at his words, he’s never scolded me in such a way like this other than today, sure he’s called me out in class for sleeping or missing notes, but never this way, never this close. I couldn’t shake the feeling of fear and somehow, desire as well. For a few seconds longer I let my thoughts dwell until I bring myself to answer, “I apologize sir it’s just-“

He cuts me off slamming both his hands on the desk, the sound nearly echoing in the room. “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses” he groans, his facial expression changing to one that’s obviously more irritated. “I’ve heard it all before, you think I’ve never had a student who couldn’t care less about my class Miss (L/N)? You wouldn’t be the first he hisses” He says his eyes fixing on me.

“But sir that’s not it I swear to Merlin, I’ve just been distrac-“ I say frantically trying to prove to Snape wrong. Snape's hand reaches out quick and grips my chin, gripping it tightly and forcing me to look into his eyes. His eyes burn into mine as his face was mere inches away.

"You've been distracted?” he asks sarcastically , his voice a low growl. "It's a wonder how you manage to pass your other classes;if you even are at this point, with so much going on in that pretty little head of yours. Tell me, exactly what is causing this... distraction?” I tremble at let out a whimper as I feel his grip tightening on his face, He forces my chin up even higher to try to get an answer out of me. I see Snape’s lips curl into a slight smirk, my breathing became more unsteady by the second , as I feel my desire and arousal growing.

“Nothing sir” I say looking scared

Snape backs me up to his desk. “You must think I’m stupid little girl, do you really think I was born yesterday?

I see the way you look at me in class, this entire year, don’t try to deny it now miss (L/N), look at the way you’re quivering under my touch.” He says his voice trailing off and grip still steady on my neck. My breathing hitches at his words “fuck he’s right” I thought to myself. I feel my brows furrowing and my face becoming hotter by the second. I stir slightly at his grip needing more, more of his touch, I accidentally let out a soft moan. Snape nearly flinches at the sudden sound.

Your moan sent a shiver down Snape’s spine. He can feel your body responding to his presence, the combination of fear and desire making both of your heads spin. He eventually releases my chin and moves even closer to me, his body now pressed against mine. His hand shaking around my waist with a grip that was almost painful and apparent with desire.

"I know what you want little girl," he whispers in my ear, his voice low and seductive. "And I have just the way to get you to admit it." My arms wrap around his neck to bring him closer. Merlin you just had to feel more of him..

He nips at my earlobe, his teeth biting at my skin. The feeling goes straight to your core, and I can't help the small gasp that escapes my lips. I feel my legs shaking around his waist. I breathe heavy in his ear, my face turning even more red at the realization that he hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m acting this way.

Snape lets out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Hush" he says, his hand moving to grip your hip. "No sounds until I tell you, if you want to misbehave in my class then you’ll have to work for your pleasure. Bad girls don’t get rewarded."

“Yes sir” I say shaking

He shifts himself so I can wrap around him better, I can feel his hard length lining up with my core. I grip his robes tightly as I feel it throb under his pants, the desires I’ve had are slowly becoming a reality, I have a hard time accepting that and my brain feels as it’s nearly melting at this point. I hear him groan as the readjusted position seems to have an effect on him too. I lightly squeeze my legs together and push myself further down onto his hardness just to be a bit of a tease to him.

I feel his grip on my hips tighten , his nails digging into the flesh of my thigh. His hand comes back up to grip my chin once more, “you minx” he hisses before crashing his lips onto mine. The kiss was possessive and rough, I moan as I feel him hold me tighter against him. His tongue slips into my mouth, it feels demanding, dominating even, I give into the feeling and let myself be devoured in that moment. It nearly feels like forever until I pull away from the kiss slightly to meet his gaze, breathing heavily with a moan in between each breath.

With my swollen parted lips and my eyes slightly heavy with lust “Professor” I say huffing with desire “Ravage me.” His eyes widen at your words, a hungry grin spreading across his face. "You don't know what you're asking for, Miss (L/N). Are you sure you can handle it?"

“Please!” I say nearly whining, my heads thrown back and my legs are shaking now more than ever. I feel the desire pooling in my core making it impossible to speak properly, all my words come out in almost a babble, but deep in my head I know I’ve entered dangerous territory, but you can't help yourself. You want this, you want him.

Snape smirks, his grip on you tightening. "Very well," he says, his voice a dangerous growl. "I'll give you exactly what you're asking for."

I can barely prepared what happens next until I feel him spin me around and pins me against his desk. His body pressed against mine even harder than before, his hands roaming over my body, his lips finding my neck once again.

"You asked for this," his voice a low growl. "And I'll give it to you, all of it.”

I moan loudly at the sudden feeling , my backside now exposed to him, I feel my legs slightly kick and twitch in anticipation.

Snape runs two fingers up and down my soaked panties then pulls them to the side, my body shakes slightly at the pleasure, I subconsciously let my moans out. I feel a tight grip on my hair then my head being pulled back, I hear him whisper; voice dripping like sweet dark desire. “I thought I made myself clear when I said to hush?”

“m so sorry sir! ” I say with slight tears welling up in my eyes. He brings his face closer to my bare neck and I feel his lips biting on my exposed skin. I cover my mouth with one of my hands to muffle any potential moans that could come next. I shut my eyes and let my body accept the feeling.

“Such a greedy thing” he whispers in my ear as his grip on me tightens. I can only whimper in response“So bold of you to tell me to ravage you. You don't even know what you're asking for." His whisper turning a primal growl. I moan into my hand once more nodding feverishly, my body responding to his every touch and every word. His hand moves back down to my ruined panties, his grip tight and possessive on me. "But I'm going to give it to you, darling," he hisses. "And you're going to take whatever I give you, aren't you?"

“Yes professor!” I cry out, my hips moving against his hands greedily. I feel my heart racing, my head is spinning, and I can barely think straight. I hear him laugh, his hand continue down its path down your body. He tugs at the hem of your skirt, his breath hot on your ear.

"I thought so,” he whispers. “You’re trembling so much dear, you want this more than you'd like to admit, don't you?"

“Yes sir” I say burying my face into my arms shyly. My body still violently shaking with pleasure and embarrassment. I hear the sound of his belt unbuckling followed by the sound of fabric hitting the floor, he slips off my ruined panties as well. I nearly wince at the feeling of Snape rubbing the swollen head of his cock up and down my leaking slit. I moan loudly at the feeling and feel a sharp slap come down onto my behind. I arch my back at the sudden pain and shriek.

“You just never listen do you Miss(L/N)?”

“Please professor I can’t take it anymore” I say tears running down my face now. “Im begging you please” I could no longer create coherent thoughts and all the words that came out of my mouth became nothing but babbling.

Snape chuckles “Then let it all out then dear.”

I feel him push past my fold, sheathing his entire length into my tight insides. I let out almost a scream at the feeling of pleasure. “Professor!” I say crying out , I throw my head down even lower, not being able to keep it up any longer. He leans over my back and moans, “fuck, you’re so tight. It’s like your body was made for me to claim” He groans. He was now balls deep in me, I shake at the feeling of being stretched out so much and by the man I wanted so badly. He kissed and bites my shoulders and back wildly as he pounded me hard and primal into his desk. I felt my back arch as he gripped my hips tight and thrusted even harder. “You’re so perfect..” I heard him mutter under his breath as he moaned. “more please sir I can take it” I say babbling , gripping onto the edge of the desk for dear life. Snape happily obliges, I feel my insides nearly split open as he continues his rough pounding. Hearing his guttural moans sends me over the edge.

His grip comes up to my throat , the gasp that came out my mouth sounded strangled yet full of pleasure. I feel another sharp slap come down my ass. “Fuck!” I scream out

My potions teacher was ravaging my pussy, using my body.

My eyes begin to roll back into my skull as I let him do as he pleased with my body. I felt my desires begging to turn primal, “Professor breed m’ please” I said barely holding onto my composure. A dribble of drool began to seep its way out of the corner of my mouth as I huffed. Snape come undone by my pleas and need to be bred.

I hear his breathing hitch into gasps, I feel him trembling as he continued to pound behind me as I heard him speak “ you’re sure love? You want to take that chance? You’re willing to let me breed you? Without any protection?”

Though I couldn’t see behind me I still felt a smile creep onto Snapes face. “Yes please breed me professor let m’ have your children! I cried out” , whining at the need to be filled to the brim with his cum, to carry and become round with his children. All the thoughts and pleasure overstimulated me to the point where the only thing I could do was moan,whimper, and drool.

Snape fucks me even harder , the desk below me starts to creak and thump against the floor. I moan loudly at his brutal rough thrusts. “Gonna fill you up so full with my cum darling” “gonna be so fucking pretty with your belly full with my children, you’d want that wouldn’t you slut?” He asks , “yes please don’t stop” I babble not being able to lift my head up to speak properly. “

he groans at my fucked state, “gonna cum “ he mutters. I feel his grip on my hips becoming tighter, his nails digging into my behind, his thrusts became more and more sloppy by the second, “m’ too sir “ I say muttering; my brain nearly fried at that point. The volume of our moans combined eventually spilt us both over the edge. I feel Snape feel my warm cunt up full with his hot potent seed. Afterwards I felt him lean over my back for quite a while , obviously tired from that entire ordeal, maybe even a hint of hesitation when it came to pulling out played a part in that.

Eventually he did, drops of his seed dripped onto the floor under us, the withdrawal made me whimper at the loss of what made me feel full. Snape and I take another moment to collect our composure. He sets me upright on his desk and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

“Gorgeous girl..” he mutters , I smile at his words , “I’ve always wanted to do that” I say shyly

“I know” Snape says buckling his pants again.

I give him a pout at the fact he didn’t play along, “can I stay with you for tonight sir?” He rolled his eyes and nodded. I slip my underwear back on and readjust my skirt and top, I grab onto his arm, “don’t pretend like you don’t like me sir, I know you’ll miss me once I graduate” I say still giving him a pout.

He gives me an irritated look but I could sense a slight bit of affection through it

“I’ll still be seeing you after you’re graduated.”

I give him a sweet smile now holding onto his hand as he led me through the corridors to his quarters..

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[inklore]

code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good. 

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses. 

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another. 

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach. 

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days. 

A girl can dream. 

And she has. Embarrassingly. 

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God. 

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity. 

Gratefulness. 

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you? 

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings. 

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel. 

He was always there. 

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time. 

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before. 

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks. 

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over. 

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped." 

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone." 

"Hey! I could punch someone." 

"Could and would are two different things." 

"You sayin I couldn’t?" 

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t." 

"Not tough enough?" 

"Your heart's too big." 

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured." 

"I’m shaking in my boots." 

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn.  On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?" 

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch." 

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?" 

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel." 

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?" 

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out. 

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red. 

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully. 

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts. 

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll. 

"Don’t alert the press." 

"Oh, they’ve already been informed." 

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky. 

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting. 

After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink. 

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight." 

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him. 

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin. 

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money." 

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be. 

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say. 

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had. 

Joel Miller was a good man. 

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand. 

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know. 

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma. 

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind. 

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good." 

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.��

"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke. 

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks. 

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now. 

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?" 

"A what—pity kiss?" 

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?" 

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?" 

"Exactly." 

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. 

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate. 

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement. 

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks. 

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his. 

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders. 

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one. 

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him. 

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you. 

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl. 

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers. 

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now. 

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can. 

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth. 

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs. 

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence. 

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked. 

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?" 

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously."  There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken. 

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up. 

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis. 

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes. 

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging. 

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth. 

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center. 

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection. 

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you." 

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are." 

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises. 

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag. 

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back. 

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight. 

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel. 

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock. 

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after. 

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though." 

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully. 

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

[vintagebuckybarnes]

Unexpected Connections

Pairing → Neighbor! Bucky Barnes x Neighbor! Fem! Reader

Total Wordcount → 1.9K

Summary → Living next to the one and only Bucky Barnes and the cutest cat you've ever seen has its upsides, and when he asks you to come along to one of the parties Tony throws, you're about to find out just how good the perks can be.

Tags & Warnings → Mostly canon compliant, neighbor au, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Civilian Reader, Bucky's past is referenced a few times, occasional use of Y/N, fluff, first meetings.

Author's Note → Hi, and welcome to my first story for Bucky! I'm pretty excited to have been working on a story for him, as he's been my favorite since I joined the fandom of the MCU a few years back. I hope you will enjoy this story, and I'm looking forward to creating more and reading everything you all have made, as well.

Bucky Barnes - a former assassin who was brainwashed and used as a weapon, Avenger, and the best cat dad and neighbor you could have ever wished for - is someone you never thought you'd get close to. Not only do you live completely different lives, but you're also socializing in entirely different circles. Despite this, the universe had its plan ready when he moved into the apartment next to yours a little over six months ago.

It's been a few days since your new neighbor moved in, and even though the two of you have run into each other a few times, you never got more than a 'hello' out of him. Today, you're going to his apartment with some of your famous chocolate chip cookies. After checking yourself in your hallway mirror one last time, you grab your keys and the cookie container, ready to introduce yourself.

When you're at his door, you knock a few times, and before you can even think about what could happen, the front door opens, and you're met by a sight you only have ever seen in your wildest dreams. A tall, broad man opened the door while holding a stark white cat in his arms - one of them being a prosthetic, based on its black and gold color. His hair is neatly trimmed, and his beard has undergone the same treatment. What you notice most of all, though, is how his blue eyes are roaming over your face in a questioning way, making you feel a bit nervous.

"Hi, uhm, I am here to welcome you to the building! I'm your next-door neighbor, Y/N Y/L/N, and I brought some cookies for you to enjoy as a gift. Though if I had known you had a cat, I would have made a little treat for them, too," you say, internally chastising yourself for saying something so weird.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N; I'm Bucky and this—" he raises the cat with his arm "—is Alpine, though she already gets plenty of treats from me, so don't worry about that," he says with a small smile. While he wasn't having a particularly good day today, his mood shifted slightly when he saw you.

A soft meow follows his comment as she looks up at her owner as if trying to disagree with him, making you smile at the scene unfolding in front of you. Then, you reach out the Tupperware container with the cookies, and he accepts with a small smile and a soft 'thank you' before you head back. The click of his front door behind you lets you know he went back inside.

Since that meeting, Bucky quickly warmed up to you and your enthusiasm about the things you love. It only took a few weeks for him to open up about his work as an Avenger - which had you gasping loudly - and that he might be gone for weeks on end. That night, you offered to take care of Alpine in his absence, and when she approved of you as well, Bucky was happy to become friends with you.

"Doll?" Bucky asks as he's grabbing a drink from his fridge for you. He just returned from a mission when he found you napping on his couch with Alpine in your arms. You woke up not long ago, but he returned and didn't wake you.

"What do you think of going to one of Tony's parties with me this upcoming Sunday? If you're free, of course," he says with a small smile. He's aware your schedule can be unpredictable at times, with your job at the local bookstore and your volunteer work at the animal shelter, and always wants to make sure you have time to go anywhere together.

"That would be amazing, Bucky! Meeting the Avengers, having fun while getting free drinks, and spending time with you?! There's nothing better if you ask me," you say with a broad smile, which is infectious as Bucky agrees. It would be amazing if you could come with him.

"Okay, I will ask Ms. Jones to watch Alpine for the night then. I was initially going to ask you, but I figured a night with the Avengers would be a lot more fun than to be stuck here with this little goofball," he jokes as he sits down next to you, though she doesn't even open an eye to look at him as he does.

"I don't know, spending nights with Alpine is always fun, too," you tell your neighbor with a giant smile as you pet the white feline's back, her purring intensifying with every passing minute. Your smile is infectious, as Bucky can feel the corners of his mouth curling up, too.

It's the night of Tony's party, and you're ready to go as you hear a knock on your front door, letting you know Bucky is here to pick you up. After his invite, you went out to get a simple black dress that shows off your curves just the way you like, and your hair and make-up are kept simple, as you've never been one to go over the top with things like that.

As you open the door, Bucky can't help but let his gaze wander over your body, making the butterflies in your stomach go wild as he does. While you and Bucky don't have any interest in each other romantically - with him having a crush on his fellow Avenger, Steve, being proof of that - he can appreciate the beauty of women, and this moment isn't any different.

"You look stunning, Doll," Bucky says, and you can't help but smile as you take a moment to take in his outfit, too. He chose a black suit and a golden bowtie, matching his arm.

"You're not bad-looking yourself, either," you say before grabbing your keys and leaving your apartment. The Uber he ordered is already waiting for you two, and he opens the door for you like a true gentleman. When you're seated, he quickly walks around and gets in himself, ready to be brought to the party.

"What's on your mind?" Bucky asks as he looks over at you. Your nerves are clearly visible as you look out the window, and you're clutching your bag for dear life.

"Well, I- uhm... I'm a bit scared they won't like me," you confess as you cast your eyes down to where your hands are in your lap, holding onto the bag to ground yourself. Before saying anything, Bucky grabs one of your hands, making you look up at him.

"Y/N, I can promise you that there is not a single world in which they would not like you. If I'm being honest, you're an absolute ray of sunshine in your day-to-day life, and I cannot wait to share your happiness and kindness with them. I understand the nerves, but you got me to love you, so I'm positive the others are going to love you as well," he says, his blue eyes looking into yours with a soft gaze.

As he tells you this, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle down immensely. The rest of the drive goes by so quickly that you don't even realize you're there until you see a bunch of flashing lights from the paparazzi at the party, and Bucky is already on his way out of the car to open your car door.

"Ready?" he asks as he extends his Vibranium hand, and you put your hand in his, ready to get out and into the party. He quickly leads you past the paparazzi, and once you're inside, Bucky immediately spots his best friend and crush - the one and only Captain America, aka Steve Rogers.

"Hi," Bucky says shyly as Steve embraces him, and you can't help but smile at this sweet side of Bucky. While they share some small talk, you look around, trying to see if you can recognize any of the other Avengers, but so far, you have only found Steve.

"You must be Y/N; Bucky speaks very highly of you," Steve says with a bright smile and kind eyes, and you nod as you can feel your cheeks heating up once again. His hand feels very large compared to yours and warmer than you're used to, but Bucky has explained that the super soldier serum raises their body temperature, which is why he's never cold.

"It's very nice to meet you, Steve. I have heard a lot about you from Bucky, both from the 30s and 40s, as well as what you two get up to now," you tell him, and this time it's Steve's turn to blush. Before he can answer, you're suddenly approached by a woman in a long red dress and fiery red hair: Black Widow.

"I was wondering when we would meet you—the sweet, caring neighbor he can't stop talking about," Natasha says with a smirk as she shakes your hand. Something about her immediately piques your interest.

"Bucky can't seem to shut up about you, so I'm happy to see that you actually exist," she says with a wink to Bucky, who rolls his eyes before ordering some drinks.

"I'm happy to hear that Bucky has already informed you about me; it makes me feel good that I'm worth talking about," you tell her honestly, and she smiles at your words. Sometimes, you wish to shut up with your blunt honesty for a moment, but it doesn't matter with Natasha. She enjoys people who say what they think.

"Have you met the others yet? Maybe Bucky could help you find the rest and introduce you," she offers, and your neighbor and friend nods with a smile before offering his arm, through which you hook yours. Before you know it, you've met Clint, Bruce, and Thor, who couldn't stop complimenting you, so the only person that's left is Tony Stark himself.

"Is this real? Am I going to meet Iron Man himself?" you ask Bucky with excitement dripping from your entire being, and he hums in approval. You spot the man you're looking for quickly, as he's always a significant presence in every room he's in. As you approach him, your heartbeat rises steadily until it feels like it's beating out of your chest.

"Well, who do we have here? If I'm not mistaken, you're the only Y/N Y/L/N," Tony says in his smooth voice, and the butterflies in your stomach go wild. He always has this effect on women, and you're most certainly not immune to it when he gently grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

"H-hi! Yes, that's me," you tell him with a broad smile, which he reciprocates in his typical manner that melts hearts and ruins panties everywhere he goes.

"It's an honor to meet you, and I hope Bucky will treat you right tonight. Now, go and have fun, you two," he says before being pulled away, leaving you with wobbly knees from the excitement coursing through your entire body.

"I can't believe it, Bucky, I've met the Avengers! Me, a simple human, meeting the Avengers of all people! I can't believe it," you tell him excitedly, your pace of speaking rapidly increasing as you get increasingly excited about what has just happened.

"You're not just a simple human, Doll; you're the best neighbor and friend anyone could wish for, and I'm happy you're here tonight," he says before guiding you to the bar, ready for the rest of your evening to start. The entire time, you're made to feel welcomed by everyone, and you couldn't imagine a better first meeting than the one you've had today - apart from the one you had with Bucky, that is.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes masterlist

GIF: Source → All the other graphics are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

If you'd like to be tagged in future stories, add yourself to my tag list here.

[dixons-sunshine]

Through The Good Times And The Bad | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: Of everything Daryl wanted to do with you, fighting certainly wasn't on that list. However, in every relationship, there was bound to be disagreements, but Daryl didn't know if you'd forgive him for what he had said. It took one night for him to realise that you weren't going anywhere.

Genre: Angst to fluff.

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Like one swear word, self deprecating thoughts.

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: Here's this short fic to make up in advance for the few days that it's gonna take me to write the fic that won the poll. Not gonna reveal too much about it, but it's called "I Never Lived For The Applause". I'll let your minds run wild with that.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, as well as Scud Frohmeyer requests.

—

Stupid. That's what Daryl Dixon thought of himself. What he'd been thinking of himself for a whole week at that point. Stupid for lashing out at you. Stupid for what he called you. Stupid for not approaching you for an entire week. Stupid for not falling to his knees and apologising, begging for your forgiveness.

Sleep eluded him completely that night. How could he let that happen? How could he ruin the one good thing in his life? You'd been there for him since you moved to the trailer park when you were both merely twelve years old. You were his best friend, now his girlfriend, and he'd seemingly messed it all up in a matter of minutes.

Looking back, Daryl knew that he had been in the wrong. You were simply trying to help him, to reassure him that he didn't need his brother's approval, and he'd lashed out at you. He'd said some nasty things that someone as sweet and caring as you didn't deserve, all because you told him that he didn't have to help Merle with some stupid drug deal. He had seemingly damaged your relationship, in the end only to tell Merle no anyway.

Daryl scoffed to himself and turned over, wincing at the friction it caused on his freshly wounded side. His father had been relentless the past few days, bestowing beatings on him whenever he laid his eyes on his youngest son. Daryl had grown accustomed to sneaking out to your trailer when things got too bad to handle on his own, but now he didn't know if he was allowed to. He didn't know if you'd tell him to go to hell, and he wouldn't have blamed you if you did. You had every reason to hate him.

Frustrated by the inability to fall asleep, Daryl sat up in his bed. His body screamed in protest at his movements, the beating from only a few hours prior taking its painful root in his body. Trying to ignore the pain, he reached into his nightstand to grab a few painkillers you'd bought for him to help him when you couldn't. However, as his hands fell upon the bottle, his eyes caught sight of a Polaroid picture. It was a picture you had taken of the two of you a month prior. The picture was ridiculous; you had somehow convinced him to wear a facemask with you and had him pose with you for a photo. Despite the fact that he was against the idea initially, it definitely was one of his favourite memories with you. He loved you, and he didn't ever want to lose you.

Before the thought could fully register in his mind, Daryl was climbing out of his window and sneaking away from his trailer towards yours. He didn't know if you were still awake or if you'd even want to see him, but he needed to see you. He needed to apologise to you, even if you hated him. At least he would have gotten it off his chest.

In a matter of moments, he was standing outside your window. He hesitated for a moment, flashes of your argument a week prior flooding his mind. However, he shook the thoughts from his head and knocked on your window. Almost immediately, your lamp flickered on and your footsteps could be heard approaching the window.

Your window opened and without hesitation or demanding an explanation, you extended a hand to Daryl to help him climb in to your room. Once inside, he turned to you, ready to apologise, but you cut him off by bringing him into a comforting hug. You nuzzled your face into his chest, letting out a deep sigh. Daryl was caught off guard for a moment, but he wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head before resting his chin there.

A minute of silence passed between the two of you. You simply stood there in each other's arms, basking in the comfort the hug brought the both of you. However, Daryl soon broke the silence, guilt and regret gnawing at his insides.

“M'sorry fer wha' I said. Fer lashin' out at ya,” he mumbled into your hair, closing his eyes when he felt you press a kiss against his clothed chest. “Please know tha' I didn't mean tha'. Not a single thing. Yer perfect to me.”

“It's okay,” you reassured him, pulling back slightly to gaze into the beautiful blues of his eyes. “You were just mad at your brother. I don't blame you at all.”

Daryl shook his head. “Ya should. I never shoulda said tha' in the first place. I wouldn't blame ya if ya hated me.”

“Daryl Dixon, you listen to me right now,” you started sternly, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “One little fight isn't going to scare me off. When I agreed to be your girlfriend, I didn't just sign up for the good times. I'll be here through the bad times as well. Nothing will ever change that. You're gonna have to do more than cuss me out for me to run for the hills.”

Daryl stared into your eyes for a moment, a small smile gracing his features. He nodded slowly, subconsciously leaning into your soft touch. “I love ya,” he whispered.

You smiled up at him before giving him a small kiss. When you pulled back, you rubbed his cheek with your thumb. “I love you too, you hard ass. Through thick and thin,” you assured him, before grabbing his hand and leading him over to your bed. “Now sit down while I go grab the first aid kit. By the way, you're staying over tonight. I'm not letting you go now.”

Daryl didn't mind the sound of that at all. In no time at all, you had cleaned his wounds, turned of the light and ushered him into bed. You had brought his head down to rest on your chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. You played with his hair, placing a tender kiss on his forehead, lulling him into sleep.

And for the first time that week, Daryl fell asleep without being plagued by nightmares of losing you.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[7-wonders]

Wishful Drinking

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.

Or, drunk shenanigans galore!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.

Listen.

You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.

Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”

You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business. 

Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.

With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.

The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.

But then shots had been ordered.

And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.

And you bought yourself two drinks.

And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.

This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?

“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.

Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off. 

When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.

“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.

And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.

It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.

“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.

“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.

“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.

 It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.

“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”

“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.

“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”

Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes. 

“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”

He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”

“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.

“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.

“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.

“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!” 

You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.

“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”

“You put yourself in this state?”

“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”

“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”

You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”

Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?

Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.” 

You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.

“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.

He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”

“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.

“That is not a good answer.”

“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.

“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”

“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”

Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.

“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.

“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.

When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you well enough to move?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though. 

You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.

Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.

His face softens. “Of course I did.”

You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”

Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?” 

You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”

He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.

Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.

“You are still under the influence,” he notes.

“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”

“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.

“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”

“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.

Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.

“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.

You don’t think you ever will.

Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask,  “Will you carry me?” 

“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”

“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”

“Always,” he promises.

And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.

Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”

“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.” 

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.

Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”

You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.

“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”

“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”

“And did you?”

“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.

“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”

“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”

He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”

“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”

“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.

“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.

“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”

“No.”

“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”

Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”

“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.

“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”

You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.

“Ugh, you’re no fun!”

“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”

“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

[sleepyhollands]

false god

PAIRING harry styles x reader

SUMMARY harry’s having trouble finding enough time to spend with y/n, even after she drops everything and joins him on tour. when they talk, they only seem to argue. when they don’t, they only seem to fuck.

WARNINGS she’s an angsty one— lots of miscommunication, poorly executed arguments, and general couple fighting content. BUT!! there is lots of really cute fluff at the end :> also, beware of smutty content such as soft!dom harry (my favorite), oral (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), unprotected p in v, a brief hesitation to get naked on y/n’s part, an even more brief mention of bondage play, harry leaves like one love bite, and tooth-rotting holding each other while having sex content. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT 5.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE fun fact this was supposed to be done months ago and then literally everything that could have gotten in my way did just that. but she’s here now!! writing this was a challenge but i feel so good about it now that it’s complete and i can’t wait for you all to read it. please lmk you enjoyed by leaving feedback and/or reblogging!! special thanks to @cherryjuiceblues for beta reading for me <3 ily <3

LOVER SELECTION one-shots here.

copyright © sleepyhollands. all rights reserved. || my masterlist.

“harry, it doesn’t matter if—”

“it does to me!”

“hey, there are two people in this relationship, you know.”

“yeah, an‘ one of ’em feels like right shit on what’s meant to be the greatest tour of his life! doesn’t that mean anythin‘ to you?”

“of course it does, i just—”

“really? ’cause y’could’ve fooled me, love.”

“harry, i swear, if you interrupt me one more time, i’m booking the next flight home.” 

… tour had been going really well for harry! he was playing back to back sold out shows in some of the biggest cities in the world, with adoring fans lining up by the thousands, itching to hear him sing live. he’d already had some really sweet interactions on stage, and no crazy mishaps had occurred (he was especially proud of himself for having ensured everyone’s safety so far). just in the last week alone, he’d been nominated for three different awards for his newest album and performances. anyone could see that he was living a dream— the dream, really. the kind that only comes true once in a blue moon. 

and yet… tour had been going really poorly for harry. now, he doesn’t like to complain about much; he knows just how fortunate he is, and actively tries to see the bigger picture when frustrated. but it was really hard to zoom out of his particular situation when he was so zeroed in on a particular aspect that had been bugging him for weeks— y/n. 

don’t get him wrong! y/n herself wasn’t what was bothering him. it was more so her presence, and his… lack thereof. 

if there’s one thing harry prides himself on more than anything, it’s being an attentive lover— even in the most innocent and platonic of ways. he tries his absolute hardest to be a supportive brother, a considerate son, a (hopefully) decent role model to those who look up to him, and especially a present, loving boyfriend. and for the most part, he’s just as successful in those aspects as he is in his career. in fact, y/n regularly speaks of how harry treats her like she hangs the stars in the sky just for him, how he makes her feel like the most special girl in the world. 

but this tour was taking its toll, and harry was taking it out on y/n. he’s never been great at communicating everything in the most positive of ways— that’s where he turns to songwriting— and he’d let his emotions get the better of him after letting them build up for the past couple of weeks. he wasn’t proud of himself, but he needed an outlet. 

harry didn’t mean to start the fight. but when y/n asked him where he’d been after a last minute management meeting following that night’s show kept him an extra half hour later than he said he’d be, it was like all the frustration just erupted. inadequacy is one of his least favorite feelings (next to loneliness), and being a barely-there or only-sometimes-there boyfriend couldn’t be more of a trigger for that particular emotion. 

now here they were, vexation filling the tour bus around them like a fog they could barely see through, inhaling it with every breath and releasing it back into the atmosphere surrounding them. harry huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he angrily looked out the window of the tour bus to distract himself for a moment, having to mentally step away from the argument at hand, even if just for a few seconds. watching as the dark streets outside shined with the headlights of other vehicles, he found himself wishing he were in one of them. it would be nice to be in a car alone, nothing but his thoughts and some music to keep him company. 

but he had real company. she was standing not six feet away from him, emulating his defensive position with her arms drawn across her own chest, jaw clenching and relaxing every other moment. when he finally turned to look at her again, he exhaled loudly. 

“we were crazy to think that this could work,” he mumbled, barely audible to y/n, but she was able to make it out. 

even when they fought, the girl seemed to be in sync with him, inhaling deeply, subconsciously countering his previous expulsion of breath. the yin to his yang.

“what are you talking about?”

harry groaned at her words. how didn’t she get this? “y/n, i’m never around! i wake up when you’re still asleep, prepare for the day, go to the venue, help set up the stage, sound check, rehearse a bit, and then ’m off t’go get ready for a show that lasts two hours. almost each night! i come back exhausted and aching to sleep! where d’you see yourself fitting in there?”

when y/n realized it was her turn to speak again, she said, “first off, do you think you could please calm down a little? i can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

his eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“when you’re acting like a child, harry! i mean, for god’s sake, i’m not nine! i can handle hanging out on my own for a few days at a time and just getting to cuddle with you at night until you have a day off. it’s not like i don’t have things to do throughout the day, too.”

while harry tended to say things he didn’t exactly believe in the heat of the moment, y/n meant every word she uttered. she really was content relaxing in the tour bus or a hotel room taking care of work on her laptop, catching up on new episodes of her favorite shows, or even going out to explore whatever new city they were in by herself. harry had breaks between show days once or twice a week, and the thought of having those days to themselves was enough to sate her desire to spend time with him. it annoyed her that he didn’t understand that, as she’d never been the clingy type and was always very self-sufficient. 

“oh, i’m acting like a child, am i? right, i didn’t realize that wanting t’be present in my relationship with my girlfriend was childish, but hey, you learn something new every day, i s’pose.” 

oh, y/n was really starting to seethe now. letting her arms fall to her sides with a frustrated puff, she began again. 

“god, harry, you’re not childish for wanting to spend time together! i’m saying you need to realize that i’m perfectly capable of waiting for your days off to really spend time with you. you’re acting like we can’t function without each other!”

“the whole idea of you comin‘ on tour with me was to have this time together, y/n,” harry fired back. “if we’re barely going to get to see each other anyways, then what’s the bloody point?”

…

harry might have spoken too soon. at least, that’s what he thought as he laid overtop y/n on the tour bus couch, because now the point might very well be getting to just feel her lips on his every now and again. 

it was late; harry had just come back from a show. usually, he’s too tired to do anything but crash onto a cloud-like mattress after all the jumping around he does on that stage, but this time all he wanted was his girl. it’d started innocently enough, with harry pulling y/n into his lap on the worn, red leather of the couch. his hands roamed along her hips and down to her waist beneath her soft hoodie (which wasn’t even technically her’s, but is it really theft if harry just leaves his clothes lying around for her to nab?), exploring the soft expanse of her skin, not straying any lower. her own hands were hidden in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp in what she hoped were soothing motions. 

harry knew he was done for once he initiated the kiss. tentative at first, he pressed light pecks along the corner of her mouth, quick and feathery, like he didn’t really care if he got to kiss her so much as he got to hold her, or simply be with her. but soon, the eagerness set in, like he wasn’t sure when the next time he’d get to have her was, and suddenly he was capturing her mouth with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe as he tasted her. while harry never really believed in a higher power, he could have sworn he found religion in her lips. 

things only escalated from there. it wasn’t long before harry was wrapping his muscular arms around y/n, so tight that he accidentally squeezed too hard, earning a squeak from the girl. he muttered a hushed but sincere “’m sorry, darling,” to compensate. one hand supported her head, the other splayed across her back as he laid her against the cushions so that he could keep loving on her on the way down. he relished her little whimpers that she tried so hard to suppress, grinning against her jawbone, her neck, any skin he came across on his journey south to more pressing territory. 

harry didn’t bother removing y/n’s hoodie, opting instead to push it up past her naval in favor of gaining access to the waistband of her fluffy sleep shorts. he felt her hands tighten their grip ever so slightly on his shoulders as he hooked his fingers under it, relaxing again when he rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along her hipbone, reminding her it was only him. 

it was a thing with y/n. she loved harry, of course she did, and she trusted him more than anyone. and maybe it was the way she was brought up, or perhaps a few poor experiences with sexual partners in the past, but there was always a fleeting moment of anxiety before shedding the clothing barrier before sex. like dipping a toe into a cold lake and hesitating a little, then ultimately deciding that jumping in wouldn’t be so bad. 

harry never pried. the first few times they’d slept together, he noticed her nerves, and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue. y/n had said yes each time, and after a while, he stopped asking. but still, whenever he noticed that brief nervous shift, harry gave her a chance to change her mind. 

this time, he bided his time by sponging tender kisses right above where his fingers were still half hidden under her shorts. he wanted her to feel safe, and taken care of, and he hoped his gentle touches and even breathing could remedy her anxiety. as he waited, harry’s mind drifted…. he was getting lost in the feel of her soft skin, its dips and curves and blemishes. he thought about her waist, how his hands fit so perfectly against its sides; her tummy, and how the muscles there jolted when he tickled them; and her hips… god, if y/n’s body was a church, her hips could be the altar. harry was ready to say a prayer right then, thanking every higher power for blessing him with this gorgeous girl—

“harry?” his love’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts, and harry’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his nose continuing to skim just above her navel. “um… you can keep going. please.” 

the corner of harry’s mouth quirked upward, and y/n could have sworn she caught a glimpse of mischief in the jade of his irises, but it was gone in an instant, as he wasted no time in stripping her of her bottoms.

…

“god, h-harry,” panted y/n, her grip on his curls constricting with every lick to her core, “’s so good, oh—”

“would feel even better if y’stopped trying t’run away from me, wouldn’t it? don’t wanna have to tie you down.”

y/n couldn’t help it! it wasn’t her fault if harry’s tongue was just too good and her body’s natural reaction was to attempt to escape his grip for a little relief. if anything, he should be happy— they’d been at this for so long y/n lost count of the minutes, and after two toe-curling orgasms, one would think harry’s jaw could use a break. 

but that thought flew out the window when y/n remembered who she was metaphorically in bed with. 

“’m sorry…,” she whimpered, gripping the side of the couch cushion as her eyes squeezed shut.

“don‘ have to be sorry, darling,” harry mumbled against her folds, chin glistening with her arousal as he placed a soft kiss to y/n’s clit, making her jolt in his hold. he breathed a short laugh, adjusting his arms so that one held her upper thigh next to his head, while the other pinned her hips to the red leather, restricting her ability to move. “jus’ wanna make you feel as good as possible, is all. will y’let me?”

harry turned his head, nipping at the inside of the girl’s thigh, and she gasped at the brief assault on the softest skin of her body, now adorning the mark of his front teeth that she loved so much. she shuddered a breath as best she could, and harry could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white in their grip on the couch that she was trying her best to be good. feeling a twinge of guilt, he figured maybe he should offer her a second to breathe. y/n opened her eyes when she felt harry’s lips retreat from her aching cunt and the weight of his head rest against the love bite. 

“hey.”

y/n cast her gaze down upon the boy (who looked far too innocent, considering what they were doing) with his cheek laid on her inner thigh, stray hairs tickling her just a tad. playfulness swam in his eyes, but there was an underlying current of concern. 

“doin‘ okay?”

she nodded, gulping. harry noticed. 

“because we can take a break if you want to. just say the word, okay?”

“i will, i-i promise. but… can you please keep going?”

that was all he needed to get right back into it, only with even more fervor than before. when y/n reached her third and final peak of the night, her whole body shook, and harry had the pleasure of getting to watch as he helped her ride out her high. he almost came in his pants, rutting his hips into the sofa, moaning against her core, begging her give it t’me, love, that’s it.

harry pulled back when she started pushing at his head, whining for relief as he gave one final lap at her core. he grinned at her fucked-out figure as he wiped his face on his forearm, then took her hand that had been grasping at the cushion in one of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a gentle kiss. 

“feel all right, baby?”

“mhm,” she hummed between heaving breaths, glancing at what she assumed could only be a quite painful stiffy between his legs as he sat up, “do you?”

harry followed her line of vision, offering her a chuckle and an i’m fine, using his free hand to smooth his thumb along her brow. before he could even register it, her palm slipped from the grip of his other hand and traveled down to rub against the bulge in his pants, earning a sharp hiss from her boyfriend and a deep groan soon after. 

“why don’t you let me repay the favor?”

…

harry was pretty sure y/n was asleep. if she wasn’t, she was definitely on the verge— her breaths were deep and even as she laid in his hold, her head on his chest, ear pressed overtop his steadily beating heart. and who could blame her? the evening’s activities had worn her out, which meant harry had done his job properly. he was more than happy to be wide awake, running his fingertips up and down her arm, inhaling the sweet scent of her fruity body wash while she dreamt if it meant she was rested and content and happy. 

moments like these made harry think they could get away with it. the long hours spent apart, the hectic schedules, the fighting. sure, it was tough, and yes, they both had a temper that rivaled one another’s for the ‘least amount of patience award’ on any given day. but every missing ounce of patience was compensated by double its weight in love. they loved one another enough to make it work. 

they could make this work. 

right?

…

“jesus, harry, how do you think that makes me feel? you’d honestly rather i not be here? are you actually that insecure?”

“c’mon, y/n, you know tha’s not what i meant.”

y/n felt like they were going around in circles, having the same fight over and over again. only this time, the couple found themselves in a beautiful hotel room, with a beautiful view overlooking a beautiful city. and instead of getting to enjoy it, y/n was glaring at harry though the vanity mirror, his back facing her as he tamed his wild curls for tonight’s show… which he had to leave for in just a few short minutes. 

the balled up fist on y/n’s hip flew up to her face, fingers flexing to pinch at the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. 

“i can’t believe this. i dropped everything to be here with you— to support you on the most incredible tour of your career— and instead of being happy i’m here as opposed to the alternative of thousands of miles away in a different time zone for months, you’re sitting here bitching about being too tired?” 

harry sighed deeply, only infuriating y/n more. “you’re missing the point. ’s not that i don’t want you here, or just that ’m too tired. ’s knowing you’re sitting around by yourself, waiting on me while ’m working, when you could be out with friends and family, or sleeping in the comfort of your own bed—”

“that you’re not in!” the girl loudly interjected— how didn’t he get this? “i put all those things aside for us, har. it’s not like i’m leaving my life behind for years. christ’s sake, the tour is over in two months! but somehow, being away from my home and routine is easier than being in the same room as you right now.”

harry contemplated his next words carefully, turning them over in his head a few times and editing any obvious mistakes, leaving the pair of them to marinate in suffocating silence for a good ten or so seconds before he finally spoke. 

“y/n… i can’t be a good boyfriend and a serious artist simultaneously, okay? not while ’m on tour. i can’t keep losing sleep over how well i’m balancing—”

“okay, you know what, harry? you know what? maybe you should just leave me, then. wouldn’t that be easier? you’d be able to sleep better at night, right?”

they both knew she didn’t mean it, though harry couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to hear. but she was pissed, and harry knew better than to try to reason with her when she was like this. 

when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, instead electing to stare brokenly into the mirror, she continued. “you know damn well how hard i work for this relationship. i’ve flown across the oceans that have separated us, driven for hours just to get to see you for, like, one— hell, i’ve skipped some of my most important classes so we could go to shitty dive bars in the middle of the day together! yeah, remember that? i love you, okay? people who love each other are supposed to be grateful for any time they have together at all, no matter if it’s every day or once a year.”

y/n took a breath, finally cooling down after her heated rant. she took a moment to take in the sight of her boyfriend, dressed so vibrantly, feeling anything but. 

“they warned us about times like this,” the defeated tone of y/n’s whisper was enough to finally get harry to say something. 

“what was that, love?”

the girl swallowed the little saliva in her mouth before speaking up a mere decibel. “remember what my parents said? ‘the road gets hard, and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith,’” she imitated her father’s deep voice, and if not for the circumstances, harry might’ve laughed. 

they weren’t lost, were they?

…

if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, y/n is pretty sure she’s been there. in fact, she goes there whenever harry so much as touches her. 

when he kisses her shin as they lay watching a movie together on the couch, pulling her leg up off his lap and craning his neck downward to meet it in the middle. when he runs his fingers down the bridge of her nose, making an exaggerated boop! noise once he reaches the tip, gently pressing against it like a doorbell. and especially when he has her like this. 

harry’s arms felt secure wrapped around y/n’s torso, her hips moving back and forth atop his own. the feeling of his cock twitching and shifting inside her while her nipples rub deliciously along his chest made her dizzy, like she had just gotten off a loopy rollercoaster. harry’s back arched just slightly off the plush mattress of their hotel suite’s bed when y/n gave a little bounce, arms constricting around her and forcing a pleased sigh to fall from her lips. 

the girl hid her face in the crook of his neck, and harry could feel each and every hot breath against his skin. lost in pleasure, he let his large hands migrate from her hips down to her bum, where he gave a small pinch to the flesh, eliciting a yelp and a small jolt from y/n. 

“sorry, baby,” he laughed, “couldn’t help m’self.” harry gently flattened his palm against the now tender skin, rubbing there softly in an attempt to soothe the little ache he left. when he felt satisfied, he shifted to rubbing between her shoulder blades instead, his other arm still wrapped around her lower back as she returned to her previous rhythm above him. 

y/n could tell harry was enjoying himself. his groans alone were evidence enough, not to mention the little utterances of “shit, darling,” and “so good t’me,” he frequently let slip. but perhaps he just needed a bit more to reach his high, because without warning his hands were on her thighs, gripping tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her at a much quicker pace than she had originally set— it had her seeing stars in a matter of mere seconds. 

“oh, god— harry,” y/n gasped out, gripping the edge of the plush pillow by harry’s ear. she could feel him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her head, muscles tightening all throughout her body. 

“almost there, angel… just…,” harry’s thrusts began to slow, becoming more deliberate, and now he was moving her hips to grind against his each time they met, sending y/n over the edge. 

y/n’s moans were long and drawn out as she came, body spasms making her hold on more tightly to harry for stability. she didn’t even hear him finish, too busy reveling in the euphoric feeling of cumming in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love and feeling the safest she had in a long while. 

it was moments like these where y/n couldn’t fathom how she’s ever been upset with harry. he was perfect, lying here under her unsteady body, breathing deeply not only to catch his breath, but to take in the smell of her. she wanted this for eternity. and if this was heaven, then surely hell was when they fought with each other. 

…

y/n thought she was dreaming at first, not used to being roused from her slumber by anything other than her well-timed alarm and the occasional bark of a dog on a nearby street. she expected that after blinking the sleep from her eyes a few times, the vague image of her favorite boy would dissipate, and she’d fall back into the comfort of her warm pillow. but when she squeezed them shut once, then twice, and her boyfriend’s face was still a foot away from her’s, brushing his fingertips up her nose and along her brow, she set aside her exhaustion in exchange for confusion.

now, harry knew better than to wake y/n up. in most circumstances, she’d tell him off, or gently kick at him to get him to leave her alone. he found it rather endearing, and it’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of her in her sleep— always holding her close to keep her safe, shielding her eyes from any light intruding on the space she lay, making sure both their phones were set to ‘do not disturb.’ but he had to make an exception, just this once. 

“darling,” she barely registered his whisper, “wake up f’me, please?”

a whine fell from y/n’s lips, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her body away from him, which harry knew was code for let me sleep, for fuck’s sake! a smile graced his lips at the action, jotting down a mental note to make this up to her later. 

compensating for the newfound distance between them, harry scooted closer to her. he kneeled on the floor next to the bed, close to the pillows she rested upon. he laid one arm against the mattress, perching his chin on the back of his wrist. using his free hand, he continued to brush his fingertips lightly against his love’s cheek, her jaw— all along her face, really. god, her loves her face so much.  

“please, baby?”

harry had just come back from one of his best performances yet— the crowd’s energy was unmatched, the chemistry between him and his band members was palpable, and he’d managed to not get hit with any flying objects all night! but what really did it for him was the fan project he was surprised with at the end of the show. thousands of people in the room wore light-up bracelets that shone pink and blue during one of his favorite songs, ‘love of my life.’ if harry’s heart had been any more full in that moment, it might’ve exploded right there in his chest. 

he had been on cloud nine for a moment. but soon, realization washed over him in a way that squeezed at his lungs, stealing his breath for a second. the love of his life was somewhere miles away, probably sitting in their hotel room watching a comfort film, oblivious to anything he was feeling on that stage. he just wanted to go home to her and gush about what had happened, and how he wished she’d been there, and how it made so much sense that it would happen during ‘love of my life’ because it was the perfect representation of the amount of love he had for his, and how if she’d have been there, he would have looked directly at her and smiled the whole time. 

it made him realize how bloody stupid he was.

in retrospect, the conversation he’d needlessly just woken y/n up for could have waited until morning. but then harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t tell her he was sorry right away. 

a groan sounded through the room, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets as the girl turned back over to glare annoyedly at harry. he let out a soft laugh at her behavior. 

“’m sorry, baby. know you jus‘ wanna sleep right now, but ’s it okay if we talk for a mo‘?”

“now?” y/n asked in a gravelly voice.

“now, m‘ love.”

with a soft sigh, she relented, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. harry caught the motion, bringing his hands up to pull hers away from her face. he didn’t like when y/n did that, as she always managed to do it too roughly. instead, he held her smaller hands in his own, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. 

“what is it?” y/n asked through a yawn. harry looked at her for a moment— really looked at her— before responding.

“i’m sorry.”

it took her a moment to register his words. “for waking me up?”

harry laughed that dreamy laugh she loved so much, and it almost made up for the fact that she was up at twelve thirty in the morning. “no, y’little minx. not for that. well, yes, for that, but that’s not what i meant.”

“what are you sorry for, then?” 

harry looked at her with an expression y/n couldn’t place. it look him a few beats to speak. “i… i’m sorry i was such a prick before. i love that you’re here, an‘ that i get t’see you when i’m off. know you put aside a lot for this, an‘ i ruined it with m’own problems. didn’t mean to.”

y/n’s features softened at the boy’s sincerity, and if it weren’t for the warmth his hands encapsulating hers provided, she’d have reached out and held his face, peppering kisses over every dip and curve. 

“i know you didn’t…. i’m sorry, too.”

“for what?”

“i should’ve listened better. you were trying to tell me how you felt and i just disregarded it. that wasn’t very nice of me, either.”

the right corner of harry’s lips tugged upwards, morphing his mouth into that little half-grin y/n adored so much. “think we can get past it, darling?”

the girl scooted forward the tiniest bit, harry’s magnetic pull too hard to resist. though they were the only two in the room, she whispered, “i’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” harry liked how she made something so simple sound like a secret deal between them.

harry’s half-smile quickly quirked up, completing itself, and y/n swooned over his dimples and adorable bunny teeth. a short and quiet breath of a laugh fell past his lips, and for a moment, he just looked at her. but his gaze caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes, and his grin faltered a bit. 

y/n was always good at hiding her true emotions when she wanted to. not when it really mattered, don’t get her wrong— she wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit. but at dinner with her parents or meetings at work, she was able to pretend she wasn’t exhausted or annoyed. it never worked with harry, though. he could read and understand her like his own lyrics, and tonight was no exception. he saw through the mask of humor at her uncertainty, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest. 

he let out a sigh as he beckoned her forward by gently tugging her hands, still in his, toward him. “c’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling his love into his lap. y/n curled into him, knees tucked upward into her chest as his strong arms found purchase around her frame, holding her tenderly but securely. one of harry’s large hands held the back of her head against him, her ear right over his heart, listening to it beat for her. 

“love you like crazy. you’ve no idea.” he peppered light kisses to the top of her head, so softly she might’ve missed one or two. “thank you for comin‘ an‘ s’porting me. means the world, honestly.” 

“i’m happy to be anywhere with you, har,” she replied in a voice honey-thick with sleep. “even if it’s just for a few minutes. always so happy to have you.”

harry closed his eyes, laying back into the pillows, bringing y/n down with him so that she was laying overtop his sturdy body, inhaling his every exhale. 

“you have me,” he said, though he was almost certain she didn’t hear him, likely already pulled into the void of sleep, drawn in by the comfort of harry’s arms, his smell, him. 

“you’ll always have me.”

taglist (final time using the old one, see new link in bio): @fahsey @caswinchester2000 @lmaotshollandd @jackiehollanderr @nervousdadmode @amii-nyc @skitmix @auggie2000 @voguesir @yourgoldengirls @hunnybunimdun @lolooo22 @atoris-fantasy

[lovingperfectionsblog]

I'm Not A Spy?

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: There’s no way THE Max Verstappen got you flowers, absolutely no way. 

Warnings: Swearing, other than that, just silliness and fluff. 

Word Count: 1616

Authors note: This was literally a dream I had and I was encouraged to write it as a fic by my absolute dream of a friend @0-atmilk-latte so thank you sugar <3 I hope it’s okay. I really want to get back into writing my silly little stories so, let's try to do this. 

______

Enemy territory. 

This is where Max stood currently. Dead center in front of the Mercedes motorhome door, where everyone could see him. 

And every single person to walk through those doors sent him glares that would make sure he knew he was on enemy territory. 

He knew it was risky. Redbull merchandise adoring him. Sticking out like a sore thumb. It was a risk he was willing to take. 

“Horner send you?” Toto stepped through the doors after watching Max stand there for the past hour, “Although, I can't imagine who Horner would be giving those to?” eyes flicking between Max’s face and the bouquet of flowers he was currently white knuckling. 

“No sir, these are for your assistant.” Max tried to sound confident but even he could admit Toto was a terrifying man and this entire situation was feeling far too similar to the idea of trying to get your fathers permission to ask you on a date. 

“From?” Toto knew he was making Max squirm, but the only thing that would bring him more joy was if it were Horner himself standing in front of him instead of Max. 

“From me sir.” Max tried to stop his hands from shaking, the rustling of the leaves and flowers becoming oddly unbearable as he tried to stand his ground in front of your boss. 

“Why?” As much fun as Toto was having, he was also curious. He knew Max had been eyeing you up these past few weeks, paying more attention to you, attempting to talk to you every opportunity he could. He had even caught Max attempting to make small talk with Lewis and George, which he was now assuming was a bid at getting closer to you. At the very least attempt to make everyone around you like him in the meantime. 

“Because I was hoping to ask her to dinner sir.” Toto couldn't hide his surprise at Max’s honesty. Expecting at the very least some work around to that answer after some back and forth. 

God Max irritated him. He had no choice but to add this to the increasingly growing list of things he respected Max for and it infuriated Toto to no end. 

It didn’t mean he couldn't stress Max out in the meantime. 

“Well,” he let out a chuckle, “good luck then son.” 

“Boss, what’s the redbull scum doing on our turf?” George shouted towards Toto as he made his way towards the motorhome. 

Toto didn’t even give Max an opportunity to answer before he was shouting back, “Apparently he’s here to ask my assistant out to dinner.”

“Oh, makes sense why he’s been so nice to me and Lewis these last few weeks.” George made his way up to the entrance, joining his boss and rival, “Is this why you wanted to hang out in Monaco the other day?” 

Toto and George could only laugh at the uncontrollable blush that had made its way across Max’s face at being called out. 

And the situation was only made worse by, “Morning Boss, George,” you eyed the odd one out, cocking an eyebrow up in question, “and Max?” 

“Well then, go ahead,” was all that came from your boss in lieu of a greeting from any of them. 

And suddenly Max felt shy. All that previous bravado had clearly been used up with Toto, leaving none for the actual important interaction. 

He had to do something and soon, because you were standing there staring at him, waiting, for, well, something. 

Next second there was a bouquet thrust in your direction, gripped to near smithereens between Max’s hands. Your eyes darted between the flower and the three men in front of you, one completely avoiding eye contact, the other two doing a poor job to hide their smiles as they watched the interaction between you two. 

“What’s this for?” you refused to take the bundle from Max, unsure of what was happening. 

“You.” It was all Max could get out. 

“From?

“Me?” 

“Why?” 

“Jesus.” 

Toto barked out a laugh at the near identical conversation he and Max had just had. 

The flowers rustled in front of you as you assumed Max shook them for you to take. 

He would never admit that it was his nerves. 

You hesitantly took the flowers, eyeline switching between max and the, admittedly beautiful, bunch of flowers you were now holding. 

There was a long silence as you just stared at the flowers, eyebrows furrowing. Neither Max, Toto nor George fully understood what was going on in your mind. The silence extended so long that even Toto began to feel nervous, so he could only imagine what Max was feeling as he just stared you down just as intensely as you were staring at those flowers.  

Just as Toto reached out to nudge Max in an attempt to get him to say something to you, you began violently shaking the flowers. Petals and leaves began flying everywhere. Whole flowers landed on the floor at your feet. At least one had hit Max in the face. Toto stepped back in fear. Max shielded himself from the onslaught. By the time you were done, all that was left in your hand was one measly flower consisting of maybe four petals and a few leaves. The rest lay at your feet after your massacre. 

All three boys stared on in horror as you stood there breathless. Eyes fixed on Max like he was your prey. 

Everyone could hear the gulp from Max’s throat as he took a single step backwards. 

“You think just because I’m some girl and you’re the Max Verstappen in your fast little redbull you can treat me like some pawn in your weird little game?” you spat the words at him. 

Max desperately looked over to Toto and George for some help, but even they looked too scared to intercede on his behalf. 

“This isn’t some game, I just,” 

“You just what? Thought you could spy on my team?” you didn't even let him finish before throwing out a secondary accusation at him. 

“Spy?” George hadn’t meant to have that come out as loud as it did, but suddenly all attention was on him as he hid slightly behind Toto. 

“Obviously George. He probably put a listening device in the flowers to spy on us.” All three looked at you like you were insane, “Why else would he be giving me flowers?” 

“To ask you on a date.” The silence that followed Toto’s comment was deafening. 

“No.” It was all you could get out. 

“No to the date or no to him giving you flowers for that reason?” Totot was desperately trying to be the voice of reason here. 

“To him giving me flowers?” You’d yet to look at Max since the original accusations. 

“Why would Max be spying on us? Redbull is the fastest team on the grid?” George was emphatically nodding along with what Toto was saying, trying to get you to see that this was completely innocent. 

“I’m not a spy?” Max had finally spoken up, far too alarmed at the accusations beforehand to offer much more than this, beyond thankful to Toto for helping him explain. 

“Then what’s with the flowers?” You were sharp and blunt and Max couldn’t help but fall just that little bit more for you as he watched you defend your team. 

“To ask you on a date.” Max hesitantly pointed at Toto, showing that the original reason that was offered was correct. 

“You want to take me on a date?” Max could only nod, “and these flowers were to ask me on a date?” Another nod, smile growing as he watched your cheeks flush, “in front of my boss?” you side eyed your boss, hoping he’d take the hint to get out of there. 

“In my defense, I didn’t expect him to come talk to me, not stick around” Max’s eyes refused to leave you, a little nervous to at this point. 

“I’m not going anywhere, is it a yes or not?” Totot refused to budge, his massive presence looming over both you and Max as George peaked over his shoulder to continue watching the interaction. 

“Yes,” you watched as Max’s smile grew even wider than before, him already grabbing his phone out of his pocket so you could put your number in it for him, “as long as you promise you aren’t a spy!” you emphasized by shoving his phone, now containing your number, into his chest as a warning. 

“Not a spy. I promise,” Max stuck his pinky out, waiting for you to reciprocate, giving you the most legal of all promises, the pinky promise, “so it’s a date.” 

You nodded as you wrapped your pinky around his own, “A date.” 

After a moment Toto coughed, catching your attention and forcing you to let go of Max and straighten out your attire, “We should go, yes, we have, there’s work, yes, job, okay, bye” and with that, you had disappeared through the Mercedes motorhome doors, soon followed by Toto who clapped a hand against Max’s shoulders, muttering a “well done boy” as he followed you in to begin the day, leaving Max to stare after you as George sidled up next to him. 

The two stood in silence, Max staring at you as Toto clearly teased you about the interaction, and George stared at Max, gearing up to do some teasing of his own. 

“Never thought The Max Verstappen would be into women who scared him” 

“Shit, she’s so scary.” Max nodded along with his own statement before making George choke on his coffee with the next one, “I think I’m going to marry her.” 

[hiddenlife-manager]

Heron x Fem Reader

cw… plot with smut, weird position called tango, clit rubbing, comfort sex, quick pace, long, creampie, angst, heron being a bit brash, kissing, love making, fucking from behind, etc...

notepad… Honestly yall recovering from wisdom teeth was awful. I had to get more pills to relieve the pain! ITS BEEN A WEEK AND IM ON MY KNEES CRYING! EITHER WAY THIS IS MORE PLOT THAN SMUT!

It was all off; you two finally could have the life both of you dreamed of. There would be no backlash whenever you were with him due to his reputation. It was supposed to be what you two desired; why then? Why is it that you are on a large kline alone in the middle of the night? The moment you sat up, your drapes slowly slipped off your shoulders. Winter was about to end, yet it was still chilly, especially up in Olympus. There was an open balcony right in front of the kline, so the air easily entered the chamber. The curtains around the kline were swaying with the chilly night breeze; it was obvious you were cold.

“Heron?” Soft—that was all you could really describe your voice as you called his name. You glanced around the dark chambers, but no one. Not a single soul. Heron was gone; he was still very injured from the battle against the giants. Your mind was filled with worried thoughts. Quickly, your legs scooched off the kline and you walked over to the balcony. The breeze hit you hard, and all your body could do was shiver from the temperature. Your eyes danced around the view. Olympus was nothing but breathtaking, despite the clear damage caused by the battle. No sight, though, could stop the worries. “Heron?”

There were no signs of him; he wasn’t on Olympus, and nothing you could see led your eyes to him. You did not stop looking around, glancing back and forth, focusing on the smallest of things your eyes could catch. Nothing, then, in a distance out in the battle field, lightning struck. You gasped, as there was no cloud in the sky before; it was a clear night. Your hands rose up, your fingertips slightly grazing your bottom lip. There, your eyes finally focused on a white horse with wings soaring through the sky and towards your chambers; on top of it was Heron. 

“Heron…” You let out shock; he was the one who caused the lightning strike; it was him all along. You leaned onto the balcony, your hands removing from your lips to hold onto the ledge. You tried to get a better look, but he was still so far from you until he finally reached the ledge and hopped off the horse. He looked down at you; he didn’t look happy to see you. “Heron, where have you been? I was worried.”

“Do not worry about it.” He said that and walked past you; he seemed tense, and you could tell he was on the battle field. His white chiton was ruined by dirt. You reached for his hand and gripped his wrist, your drapes slipping off once more. You shrugged your shoulders, attempting to fix the drapes on your shoulders. 

“Heron, do not lie to me. Talk to me.” Begging—you were begging; it was pathetic. In your head, you would never beg, but for him, you would beg him. You two were about to finally have the life you two dreamed of—the one you two would wish for under the stars back in the polis. 

“It is my business.” He pulled his hand away from you and glared. You froze from under his gaze; it was as if there was a sense of hatred behind them—was it for you or was it for something else?

“It is our business; you chose to love me. To have me for the rest of your life, talk to me.” His eyes suddenly turned from hatred to weakness. He raised his hands from his sides and placed them through his hair. He pulled at it and groaned. He began to pace and back forth, and there you could tell something was eating inside him. 

“The gods…” He paused and turned to you, grabbed at your shoulders, and looked down at you. “The gods use us; Seraphim was right. All they do is use us as pawns for their games; we are the ones who suffer. I killed Seraphim; he could have been saved. Do you understand that we were made from the start to be enemies? We were destined to do this. We are pawns.” He looked like he was distressed; he placed his forehead on yours and just sighed. “What am I for?” He found himself repeating those words over and over. 

“You are Heron. Not just a pawn; you can change it. We can leave. We do not need Olympus, nor the gods.” He raised his head from your forehead, his blue eyes staring down at you. He fixed your hair and nodded. “What happened to you and Seraphim should have never happened. Hera used him; Hera made him kill your mother.”

“We will leave after the funeral games. We will leave; I will not let them use us as pawns anymore.” It was like a change; he finally decided what he had to do. He could not be here any longer, and you could see it; the deaths of all his family members had just changed him. He wasn’t the same boy back in the polis. 

“Heron, we can do this.” There was silence—pure silence—no sounds other than the breeze rushing into the chambers, causing your body to once again shiver. His hands pulled you in closer, and he leaned down. What changed? It was because you were there for him more than anyone in his life. It was you; there was no one else. He finally pressed himself against you. The kiss was not full of lust; it was attentive and filled with his emotions. He desired a moment with you; he finally got it; he couldn’t lose you. You could feel his longing in his lips; he dared not pull away. 

“I cannot lose you.”

“Never, you could never lose me. I refuse to die.” He looked at you, his eyes resembling the beautiful blue of lightning. He pulled you down onto the beautiful wool rug, woven with perfection. The scene on the rug looked as if it were moving. He had you on top of him, and his hands shifted your drapes off of you. He moved you to his side; in front of him, he wanted you here on the floor, not the kline. 

“May I?” You nodded, and there his hands grazed your drapes and lifted them up. He gripped your soft thighs and raised your right leg to go over his own leg. Your back rested on his arm while that hand grabbed your breast. His lips kissed your neck. It was an intimate position; you two were intertwined to be one. His hands massaged at your breast, and your head was pushed back to the floor, giving him the best access to your neck. He used his free hand that was not under you to shift his cock out of his chiton. “We can finally have each other.” It was wrong; it was out of wedlock, but you two did not care. 

His hand that stroked at his cock shifted it to your pussy; he rubbed at your clit getting you wet and ready for him. This was not your first time; you two were young and in love. In the polis you two used the forest to just love each other. It was wrong, and if anyone found out, he would have been beaten or, worse, killed. His lips continued to stay attached to your neck, and the soft sounds of pleasure came from you. 

“I am sorry.” He whispered beside your ear and shoved himself slowly into you, your head raised in pleasure, then laid back down. His thrust was slow, but compared to anything, he was filled with love. He was filled with a desire to not lose you. He had lost so many, and you were not going to end up like the rest. Your life was all he needed to protect. His leg was in between your two legs while his cock went in and slightly went out, but not fully. He was always in you, no matter if he was thrusting in or out. 

You felt your body press against his chest and the rug; you two felt immense pleasure together. He was doing it to relish in your body; all he needed was you. His life had changed overnight, and you were the only constant. Many would have desired to feel each other's bodies on a kline you two only needed the floor. His strong, callused hands massaged at your breast, and his thighs burned each time he thrust up into your sopping wet hole. He treated your body like a temple, not daring to ruin it with his own touch. It was full of care; his lips were still attached to your neck, and when you moved your head to look at him,.

“Together till the end.” You gasped out, feeling him thrust back up your right leg, still over his leg that was between you, which allowed him to thrust into you comfortably. You raised a singular hand, grabbing at his neck, and pressed your lips once more into a deeper kiss. He suddenly felt himself tear up the moment your lips were moving against his. You realized it and began to wipe away his tears while he continued to thrust. He was a silent lover, one who rarely made sounds, but you knew whenever he was close, his cock was twitching inside you. “We will leave; we will no longer be used by them.” He nodded, and his hands on your breast shifted to your shoulder. He pulled you closer to him, thrusting into you a bit faster. “Yes… yes… yes…”

He relished in your moans; they were soft and lacked loudness. There was no lust; there was only comfort. He needed this more than anything. Your drapes were still so loose on your body that your top half was no longer on your body, while they were still on your lower half and moved to the side, allowing him full access to your chest. His cock began to twitch inside you, your moans becoming breathier with each thrust. 

“You are all I need.” Heron whispered into your ear, causing you to release the simple declaration of love. He may not have said he loved you, but in his words, it meant that. Your cunt clenched down onto his cock, and that was the feeling he loved. The feeling that was always able to pull out a grunt from him. “Let's rest here.” He muttered as your cunt continued to milk his cock. Your hand weakly wiped away the tears still present on his cheek. He had gone through so much, and you wanted to be there for him.

[nebbyy]

Hi! Could you please do a part two to the lester/apollo x reader fic you posted?

Apollo x reader - Eternal Bonds

A/N: thank you so much for your request, anon! Sorry if this took a bit more than the time I usually take to write my fics, but as I said the past weeks have been really tiring for me🥹 

Anyway, I hope you like this fic, I personally like it better than the first part, but as always let me know your thoughts on it<3

Aaaand as always, painting is "Springtime" by Pierre Auguste Cot for anyone interested!

Summary: Having regained his immortality and prestige, all that remained for Apollo was to stabilise something in his life was one thing: you. It might sound easy, but he honestly would disagree.

Warning: it is implied that Athena has a great admiration for reader, but they’re not their child. This reconnects with my own personal thoughts on how Athena’s cabin should work, so the goddess’ relationship with reader in this fic should be seen as the same as hers and Odysseus’ (if you want further explanations on what their dynamic was let me know:))) Also I must say, I haven’t read any of the trials of Apollo books in ages so I took it as an occasion to interpret Apollo’s return to Olympus how I see it more fit to this little scenario of mine.

And lastly, not a warning but this fic starts just a bit before the end of the first part, if anyone was wondering:)

Word count: 3813 (longest fic yet omgg)

Apollo stood there, standing on the elevator that would take him home. How strange, he had dreamed of this moment for months, eager to return to his home and be welcomed as a glorious hero, with restored dignity, free of the mortal shell in which he had been confined all this time. He had imagined himself proud, tall and triumphant as he entered the gates of Olympus.

Yet as he stood on his way home, he could not prevent the continuous movement of his foot against the elevator floor. There was no trace in him of the security typical of a hero, in him at that time reigned only the same anxiety and nervousness that had characterized his mortal form. First it was Apollo inside Lester’s body, now Apollo had his body back, but Lester was inside of him. That Lester had become an integral part of him? Or maybe it didn’t add up, maybe it was always there, unable to make its voice heard under the omnipresent spirit of Apollo.

Okay, maybe he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it when he felt like his nerves were about to make him explode!

The point was, he wasn’t just going home, he was going to convince his father, the king of the gods, the exact same person who kicked him out of Olympus, to make the love of his life immortal so that he could stay by his side for eternity. It was not a situation in which one could easily remain connected to reality.

Finally, the elevator slowed down its run, until it stopped completely and opened its doors with a characteristic "ding".

Slowly, one step at a time, Apollo stepped out of the elevator and advanced to the throne room, walking up the path that would take him directly there. His performance had an air of regal composure, but it was nothing more than a method of masking his tense nerves. He walked until he reached the first areas inhabited by the Olympians and some other immortal creature.

"Apollo? I didn’t know you were already back. We thought it would take you millennia to make it up to Zeus!!" He hadn’t heard it in a while, but there was no way he could ever forget the sound of Nike’s voice. The winged goddess came to meet him flying curiously, also attracting the attention of the entities that had not paid attention to the scene so far.

Some approached, recognizing the face of the beloved god, while others ran to announce his return to the major gods. First came Hestia, who with that loving family attitude, embraced him gently. "Oh Apollo, you were so good! I never doubted you could do it." 

"I can’t say that with as much confidence, but I must congratulate you, Apollo, you have exceeded all my expectations." It was the authoritarian voice of Athena who spoke, who wore a smile on her face, a more unique than rare event. Apollo was so surprised by this unusual compliment from her that he hardly paid any attention to her questioning his chances of success.

For a moment he felt his eyes almost come out of his skull when a large hand was planted on his shoulder to pat him. " Well done, little brother, aren’t you as soft as you look, eh?" Massaging his shoulder, Apollo smiled faintly at the mountain that was his half-brother. "Thanks, Ares, it means a lot I guess..."

He was about to receive the coup de grâce, if it were not for Aphrodite, unconscious of her intervention, she had put herself right in the middle, affectionately placing one hand on Apollo’s shoulder while the other not very secretly found place in that of Ares, to the delight of Hephaestus who observed snorting away from the scene, but thumbs up at the sun god to express his joy.

He didn’t know how long this lasted, or exactly how many gods surrounded him at that point, but when Nike was about to hold a banquet in his honor he couldn’t control his reaction: "No wait!" His tone sounded so panicked that he caught everyone unawares. For a moment the gods almost had the sensation of speaking a mortal, so much his voice had squeaked in the air. Realizing that he had drawn even more attention to you, as if it were even possible in that situation, he gently shrugged his shoulders, to mitigate the gaze of the Olympians his nerves more tense than ever.

"Um I-" he made a false cough to try to regain his posture before starting to speak again, illuminating his companions with a dazzling smile, "sorry, mortal’s pollen, am I right? Anyway, much as I would be... ecstatic to attend a banquet, I’m afraid I must first have a discussion with Zeus about some... matters of utmost urgency! If you’ll excuse me, now.”

With little pomp, he made his way through the crowd stunned at his unusual behavior. "Poor thing, the Earth has changed him." Someone shook their head resigned, someone else did not even notice his abrupt exit, simply saying goodbye and congratulating him as he got smaller and smaller in the distance. The attention to him lasted just before each god went for their merry way. After all, when you have a whole eternity to live, there are few things left for you for a long time.

Everyone resumed doing what they were doing before Apollo’s return, all except Athena. It was in her nature to predict the rival’s moves- or rather, the moves of anyone around her. She may not have been born with the ability to see the future, but her intellect allowed her to come to conclusions almost as apt as an oracle. Silent as night, he followed the solar god, whose aura seemed to be clouded by some heavy burden.

The closer he got to the heavy bronze doors of the throne room, the lighter his head felt, as if his brain had gone numb. He was mathematically certain that he had NEVER felt so nervous in his entire existence. Not even his many figures in human form could compare to how he was feeling at the time. But it’s not like he could back out now, not after all the way he’s come, not after promising you not to leave your side. Not now, that had arrived in front of the doors.

He didn’t even have to knock, or announce his own name. No use, Zeus was waiting for him. Apollo took a breath, pumping his chest to emulate some sense of confidence before making his way into the vast hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around and looked at the empty thrones, each with small inlays reminiscent of its owner. He passed by his own throne, and a sense of longing pervaded him to the thought that in no time he would have sat there again. Maybe you could convince Zeus to put a similar throne for you next to his own..

No, stay focused, Apollo, first of all he had to convince Zeus to make them immortal in the first place.

Without even realizing it, he was so taken by his own thoughts, he had reached the end of the room, finding himself a few feet from the king of Olympus. Now he could not afford to show himself weak, fearful. Come on, it had to come easy for him, he was also the god of the theater after all! As if a thread pulled him from above, he felt himself erect tall and proud, his chest out, his muscular back straight; a slight halo of light surrounded him, reconferendogli a little of that shine that has always distinguished him from the rest of the gods. He smiled at his father before bowing down gracefully. "It’s good to see you again, Father."

“Apollo, I see it took you no time to get used to your old life once more. I trust you have learned your lesson.”

“Indeed, father. And I came here to thank you for it all. It was… better than I expected.” Zeus lifted a brow suspiciously, eyeing his son as if trying to make out what’s in his mind just by his appearance. “Mmh I hardly believe that you only came here to thank me for your punishment.” Okay, even if he had second thoughts, it was DEFINITELY too late to back out. Yet despite the seriousness of the situation, Apollo no longer felt the same anxiety that had accompanied him throughout the climb to Olympus. He felt powerful, confident in his words, in his actions, but above all confident in you. He knew that if ever there was a mortal worthy of immortality, it was most certainly you. He looked up at his father, this time his smile had become less dazzling, almost a little nervous.

“Heh, you’re not wrong, father. I came here to make a request.”

“Depends. What is it that you desire?”

“How do you make a demigod immortal?”

Total silence fell in the room. The expression of Zeus was intelligible, and not being able to read the true emotions of Apollo, moreover in such a silent environment did not help to calm his nervousness. Zeus slowly blinked, covering his icy eyes for a moment before opening them again as he breathed in just as slowly. " Few mortals have earned the gift of immortality throughout history. He must deserve that honor with out-of-the-ordinary feats," he paused, as if to reflect, then resumed speaking, in a neutral but glacial and authoritative tone, "this is not impossible, but I count on one bare hand how many times a mortal has been added to the abode of the immortals over the millennia."

"I am aware of this, Father, and that is precisely why I believe that the person I speak of is the most deserving of this honor." Zeus did not answer. Not immediately, at least. He seemed confused and intrigued at the same time, as if he had not expected such a response. " My son, what do you mean by that?" Apollo could not avoid the smile that spread on his face having an opportunity to talk about your countless qualities, which in his eyes were endless. It was one of his favorite activities even when he was mortal, actually.

"You see father, they are a demigod of qualities worthy only of an immortal god. They are strong and wise, although they are still at a young age. They fear nothing but the limits imposed by Olympus, which they have served since the day they set foot inside Camp Half-Blood."He took a little dramatic pause, perhaps expecting to be interrupted by the divine father, but he gave no sign of wanting to intervene in words; he preferred to remain silent, peering at his son while he justified his reasons for satisfying his will.

"And they are beautiful, Father. They shine with a beauty far beyond that of an ordinary mortal. Even on the battlefield, soiled with blood and filth of all kinds, their beauty always resembled that of Aphrodite and Eros and all the gods of all the Pantheons of this world who possess the gift of supreme beauty." To this the father could not suppress a snort of derision, not trusting the words of the son in fact of beauty, "If I remember well such words were spoken by you also for Hyacinth, and before him Daphne, and before her still such a long series of river nymphs and mortal beings that I lost count."

Apollo lowered his head in resignation, sighing gently before looking up to speak again, "I realize this, Father, but I mention their beauty only because it would be a crime against all that is right to omit. However, it remains only one of the many qualities that characterize them, which none of my past lovers can say. But that is not the greatest reason why I consider them worthy of immortality."

"Speak openly then, you know I don’t like to wait." The blond-haired god nodded and took another step towards the king of the gods, his eyes even brighter than before, inflamed by his longing desire to obtain what he most desired in his entire existence. You, at his side. Forever.

"You see, they have done a great service to the goddess of wisdom and the manual arts. They have done the will of Athena and have done such glorious deeds that they have increased her honor. I myself was able to attend only some of their quests, but I assure you that they were so great as to justify the support and blessing of a goddess so hardly affable." To these words, Zeus seemed completely incredulous. In Olympus it was well known that Athena was the beloved daughter of the king of the gods, who always kept her close to him and always made all her will an uncompromising law. It seemed impossible to him that any mortal had been able to win the favor of the goddess, and he strongly doubted the veracity of Apollo’s claim.

The young god opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a voice echoing from behind him, "As much as the idea of supporting Apollo’s petty whims, this time I must agree with him." Athena had followed Apollo to the throne room, suspicious of his strange behavior. He had to be honest, Apollo literally had no idea what to say at that moment; he did not expect to get to that point with his interview and certainly did not expect Athena’s support in his intent. But this was a real blessing, for she herself could bear witness to your worth.

She only gave him a scowling look, like a silent admonition to avoid yelling at him, pick up your mouth from the ground and be a god, genius! But his silver eyes were enough to relay the message, and after a moment Apollo had returned to his usual divine bearing. She blinked slowly before turning her eyes again to Zeus.

"Y/N Y/L is a demigod of undeniable quality, which also left me pleasantly surprised. It is true, they have diligently served Olympus and have especially served me, and I have let them fight in my name precisely because their wit deserved such honor. If only it were possible, I would claim them as my own child, for only twice in my existence have I met two mortal men of equal virtue, and those mortals were the king of Ithaca and your son Hercules, to whom you rightly granted immortality.

You know that I do not speak in vain when I express my opinion, and that is why I consider them worthy to also obtain the gift of immortality, especially when to these incredibly successful quests are added the love of a god and the admiration of another." 

Now Zeus observed the two with two comically wide eyes, mostly due to the unexpected intervention of Athena. Even Apollo could not hide his amazement from that sudden help, but he certainly did not complain at all. Three beats passed, then Zeus cleared his voice and I speak in a more serene tone than before, though still authoritarian, "Very well, if you yourself, Athena, consider this mortal worthy of so many honors I want to believe you. Your lover will be granted immortality, Apollo. This will happen at sundown, when you bring your chariot back here to Olympus. Lead them with you, and they can live forever here with you."

"Yes!!" Apollo threw a fist in the air for joy, a small habit he had taken in his stay on earth, but soon after he realized that perhaps it was not quite the right place to give free rein to his happiness, judging by the unimpressed face of Zeus, "Um, I apologize. I thank you father, for this wonderful gift. I assure you that you will not regret it!" He slowly stepped back as he spoke to him with the biggest smile on his face, extending his arms and bending his knees in a farewell bow. Zeus, for the first time in what seemed like centuries, smiled at Apollo and nodded slightly.

"Enjoy this concession of mine, my son, and may it remain in your mind as your reward for having demonstrated your qualities, even without the intervention of your divinity."

"I’ll never forget it. They’ll never let me!" With some other ceremonious thanksgiving, which they had little given the haste and irrepressible joy of the sun god, Apollo rushed down to Olympus, hastening as much as possible to reach his beloved in the place where they had met. He looked at a clock to see how much time he had left. 7 P.M., he still had some time left. He ran like a madman, until he saw the entrance of the familiar Campo approaching. He ignored everyone around him, his perplexed children, his disappointed fangirls, his friends not too surprised to see him running like a bullet through the field, with the biggest smile they’d ever seen on him. Only Meg had a vague feeling about what exactly happened, but even if she did, she didn’t say anything and just looked at him smiling before going back to her things.

Apollo entered the forest next to the Camp and continued to run. Lucky he was back in his cool form, if he was still Lester would have collapsed out of breath for half an hour. And then finally, he finally arrived at your rendezvous point. She found you there, gently lying on moss, slumbering from the weariness of the activities at the Camp and from the worries you had freed yourself of the previous day, in that exact same place, when you had finally found your beloved. Apollo was quivering, thinking how you would react to the awakening, among the golden blankets of his heavenly palace. What would you have said seeing your body invigorated and illuminated by immortality. What would you have felt seeing that his declarations of eternal love were not fallacious, but promises that he had dedicated himself body and soul to keep.

He gently picked you up, taking care not to wake you. He invoked his golden chariot and rode with you to your new home. He kept you close, as much as he was physically allowed by the confined space. The journey did not last long, being facilitated by the godly transport; once arrived right in front of the golden gates of the Apollonian abode, he took you back in his bridal style, leading you to his- your bed. You were stretched out just as he saw your skin begin to shimmer gently, its color gradually became richer and filled with eternally vital sap. He stood by your side, filling your neck and shoulders with kisses as he crouched behind you, eagerly awaiting your rebirth as a deity.

In the morning you woke up with a strong light that dazzled you. You thought it was Apollo, who since he had returned to his true form had regained all the lustre of his nature. But no, it wasn’t him; it was you, whose skin emanated a faint light that bounced against the various gold inlays that were in the bedroom. Yeah, you didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed, the last thing you remembered was lying in the forest moss while you waited for Apollo. Wait a minute, this isn’t even a room in Camp Half-Blood! 

You did it to snap up to the alert, but then you stopped when you felt the familiar touch of Apollo caressing your shoulder, sliding towards the back of your neck and passing through your hair, which had been twice as long as the day before. Normally you would have yawned, but it didn’t seem physically possible to experience any fatigue in the state you were in. You felt... almighty. You finally turned your attention away from your body and turned it towards Apollo, who was already looking at you with a loveless look.

"Good morning, beautiful." You smiled though still confused by the situation you were in. Tempting your luck, you took a sigh and then you spoke, your melodic, honey-sweet voice even though you just woke up, "'Chicken, where are we?"

"We are in Olympus my dear. I promised you that I would not forget you, that I would love you forever. And I meant every single word I said, which is why I had a little conversation with Zeus earlier, and well... let’s just say with a little help I was able to convince him to give you immortality." He said it with the biggest and most satisfied smile I’d ever seen on him, and meanwhile he hugged you and held you and caressed you all over his body, as if to confirm himself that all this was true.

You were utterly speechless, incredulous at what this god had just done in the name of love for you, but at the same time you felt a warm feeling pervading you from within, filling you with joy and happiness, as if that of him had infected you like a disease. You held your hands to his face and laughed in disbelief and said, "You’re the biggest crazy idiot I’ve ever met, Lester!" 

He laughed with you, feeling pervaded by this joy that moved him from within, almost pushing him to tears by the power of these feelings. Holding you tighter, she stroked your silky soft hair as she chuckled happily, "I guess you’ll have to get used to the gold and clouds here." " Still better than a bunk bed to share in five."

Laughing together, you held each other so long as you had time, before he had to take off and lead the sun across the sky. Before he got on the golden chariot, he touched your face with his bronze hands and kissed you gently. " I still can’t believe I’m gonna be able to kiss these lips forever, Y/N." You smiled at him before you grabbed him by the shoulder to push him towards you, and kissed him again. " Then hurry up and leave, so you’ll be back soon and I’ll have a chance to convince you that everything is real." Winking at him, he laughed loudly and heartily, a more melodic sound than any lyre or flute.

"Then I shall not be long in returning to your arms, my lord" And so he departed towards the horizon, and you smiled as you watched him disappear into the sky, thinking with satisfaction of the world that will look up to him with longing and admiration, knowing that he will never again stop for anyone but you, once his daily duties are over. 

[withonly-sweetheart]

Starry Eyed Singer

You're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. And although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. After all, how could he? When you're his starry eyed singer.

a/n: first lets ignore the fact there's only dialogue at the last bit im so tired of this literally its been two whole ass weeks I NEVER GO PAST A DEADLINE IM GONNA TWEAK buuuut i really really like this idea i just think that for a theme, this is short and sweet enough for me! i would definitely want to expand on this as a whole, and i couldn't resist adding a dead dove ending <3 (im a creepy mf ik)

find the bad ending here...

alright now its time for credits

@bunnivievve - this is literally her au. like seriously i took everything from her analysis sheet like i would not be here without you. i salute you fine woman you are the reason i wake up and write siren leon. + thank you sm for ur hc i hope it's fitting to what you were thinking!!! THISSSSS LITERALLY THIS IS WHAT INSPIRED ME SMMM <333

@larvamars - help im sorry for mentioning you but i kinda took the art of leon looming over the scientist in that one piece of urs to heart... yeah... thinkin abt that while writing this really helped <3 so tysm just crediting people where credit is due!!

@sirenhub <- ngl i thought of you while writing this the WHOLE time i was tryna be freaky... get it bc ur name is siren... also the dead dove ending is dedicated to you my love... please drown me to the bottom of the ocean.. <333

@vampiricgf <- KITAA WE'RE TWINNING SO HARD ON THIS ONE... ur au is better than mine i fear but its ok this is a connection i couldn't pass up

(psst. if i didnt mention u in this one artist moots TRUST you're definitely in one of the other three.)

tw: descriptions of loss and grief, reader's mother is dead, luis angst, tiny mention of smut but nun too bad, brother i can't write anything without making it sound like shakespeare and not in a good way...

wc: 7.3k

The pearl of the ocean. He’s watched every wretched person who’s confined him here, with their white coverings and spectacles resting on their too sharp noses, their awkward gait and their irregular size. And not one was interesting enough to keep him intrigued for more than a day.

And then you appeared in his life, a presence uninvited, a treasure undeserving of his touch, not that he would be able to get his fingers on you either way. Your eyes were so lively, restless, sparkling like stars through the clear material that separates you.

If only you could hear him. He was sure just a moment of his voice would be enough to ensure your enrapture, enough to ensnare you like they had caught him off the coast. His colony had warned him enough times of all the dangers the shore brought, yet something brought him back.

You are alike in that sense, hunger consuming you from the inside out, fatal if not for the restraints that were easier for him to hold than you. He can feel your eyes on him as he languidly floats through the somewhat roomy tank they house him in, temporary, of course, but for three months he’s been stuck behind this insufferable, invisible surface that sets the barrier between you both.

A creature of the sea and a creature of the land. He entertains quiet thoughts of you at night, when his dreams should be fitful, longing to be free in the ocean, yet the yearning for you is stronger. He assumes it is mutual, why else would you act the way you do? Enamored, entranced, elated enough to send shoals of fish skittering through his stomach.

But he mistakes fascination for infatuation. 

<><><><>

You cast Luis a sideways glance, a strange haze between you, air infecting what used to come so naturally, seeping into your skin, sealing your lips shut as if your banter was planned and you’re finally speechless.

His fingers flick the lighter lid open, then back, setting a rhythm that should be comfortable enough to make up for your unnatural silence, but it only serves to make things worse. You resist the urge to bristle when he finally speaks.

“You really don’t know why you’re here,” he murmurs, and you would’ve missed it, hidden under the whirring gears vibrating in the ground if not for the fact you’ve been expecting it. 

You scoff. “What do you think?”

“I think that you must’ve done something.” He sighs and leans forward, tense in every aspect except for his mouth, brown butter molding to the cherry of his lips that purse, abandoning the man you knew. “Why leave both of us in here? Alone?”

His tone is suggestive, and you might’ve dismissed it as playful under other circumstances, but you know exactly what he’s doing—making a fool out of you. 

“Tell me,” you insist. Luis leans back, the lamp in the hallway shining through the window, bronzing the copper planes of his face. He links his hands together and rests them palm upward on his forehead, closing his eyes. 

After a few moments of silence, he cracks one of them open, narrowed as soon as he realizes you’re still watching, still waiting for an answer he’s far too reluctant to hand over.

“Impatient, are you?”

“You’re the one who fucked everything up! If you had just listened when I said the radar was, what, three feet off, we could’ve caught it just fine! But no, guess who has to play the hero?” you seethe. You feel your heartbeat thrum under where your fingers lie on your wrist, pulsing like a warning. Back off.

“Are you a senior scientist?” He quirks an eyebrow, challenging you to a fight you’ll surely lose, but when have you ever backed down to him? “I didn’t think as much.”

That pet name irks you enough to spark a retort, one you didn’t even think about before it’s past your lips and hanging in the air between you.

“I’ll rip that badge off your shirt before they get here if you don’t tell me why the fuck we’ve both been stuck in here for three hours!” Your voice is level to an extent, level like you’ve never thought to be calm.

His arms fall down to his knees, elbowing the meat of his thighs, eyes drawn back to you. “Are you always this irritable?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, curving them upward. “Or am I just lucky to be sitting next to a beautiful woman with the temper to match?”

You scowl, unable to summon the grin that you wish would appear in your mind. Seeing that you aren’t as amused at him at his little joke, the smile slips right off his face, and that sullen expression usurps his features.

“They found it,” he admits, albeit quietly, as if he’s afraid someone will hear. “Right after we left.”

“They… did?”

“Mhm,” he confirms, voice low and throaty. His lips part and you lean forward slightly, eager to hear his elaboration. “A new project is underway. Experiment 003. And you’ll be-”

The door swings open, and the white light that bathes you isn’t a good sign. 

<><><><>

You don’t understand the solemn look on Luis’ face. Shouldn’t he be happy for you? You actually got the assignment you had requested, for once, and with what was once thought to be a creature only found in stories. And yet he stands leaning in the doorway to the lab room, gazing at the water.

It’s been two weeks, and not once have you actually seen this supposed creature. You’re starting to think this is all some elaborate joke Luis has crafted to keep your enthusiasm fresh, but he knows that your praise and effort aren’t akin to fruit and vegetables.

“No progress?” he offers weakly, not once making eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you try?” you reply bitterly. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve gotten any quality sleep, and the laboratory’s coffee runs alongside your blood in your veins, which bubbles back up in the raw coffee beans that swirl on your tongue as you await his response.

“Ouch.” Luis pretends to wince, seemingly hurt. “You might hurt my feelings, chiquita.”

“Good.”

“You can insult me all you want,” he says, damn that clever tongue of his, “but you’re pretty cute when you're mad. Makes it hard for me to take you seriously, mi amor.”

“Why are you like this?” you grit out, sweeping the papers off your desk to slam your clipboard down, crisp paper untouched. Can’t take notes on something you’ve never seen.

“Like what?” he asks, tilting his head. “Ever charming?”

“I was thinking something like bipolar,” you groust. “You’re never just one person, are you? What else are you hiding from me?”

He puts his hands up in defense as you stalk towards him, but he waits until you’re a step away to respond. “Hiding? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muses.

You tilt your head up just as he tilts his head down, and you lock eyes with him, the searing honey dripping from his eyes to yours, cooling quickly enough to create threads of sweet ice connecting you both.

How it feels to long for something you’ll never have.

Your eyes flit to the band on his ring finger.

<><><><>

The cool glass finds your fingertips, aching from restless typing emails back and forth, persisting that you can handle this one. Your encounter with Luis has left you determined to prove you can do it without him, that you’re perfectly capable of ignoring him in the hallways, in the lunchroom, pretending not to hear him call your name across the lab.

But the blue glow dapples your face as you stare into the mirror on your desk, angled towards the picture of you and Luis, acceptance letters crumpled in your hands with your arms over each other’s shoulders, eyes glazed.

One too many drinks that night led to peppering his face with kisses, sliding those glasses off his face, admiring how pretty he looked all tipsy and breathless underneath you, watching all those cocky retorts disappear under your fingers. 

It’s hard to get over someone you’ll never stop seeing, and you’ve got a better chance of being fired than retiring early. Besides, if you love your job, you’ll suffer through anything to keep it, right? Even if that means forcing smiles at his open face.

With no one to console you, a locked door and curtains dressing the windows, you let the tears flow freely, wishing that the water only a few inches away would somehow absorb the tears, make you seem stronger than you really are. Somber music tinkles away to an end in the background, leaving you in obsolete silence that seems to swallow you whole.

A tap on the glass. Suspended motionless just beyond the barrier, electric blue undertones of his skin mesmerizing, highlighting elegant fins and swirling markings. Deep azure pools that lock onto yours, hair framing his face like a snapshot in time.

"Holy shit, shit, shit!" you blurt out loud before you can help it. Your pulse races to life, drinking in every feature you can, drawing an image that will never be up to scale; whoever can put his flowing, inky locks to delicate fins that frame his lithe, powerful frame into words should be standing in your place, because you sure can’t.

You swivel around, hyping yourself up even more at the fact that you’re the first scientist in the building to see him with your own eyes, fingers curled around your clipboard as you shuffle back.

But you’ve dotted your name and scribbled down the date only to jerk your eyes back to the empty space, as if he was never there. Only one piece of evidence remains, and even that flutters down to the depths you cannot see.

An iridescent scale.

<><><><>

Your voice is croaky from even more lack of sleep, hours of waiting by the glass in vain; the frog in your throat leaps out to greet Luis when he saunters over, leaning on his elbow that rests on the table, eyes darting from side to side to confirm what he already knows from ten minutes of absconded silence - you’re alone in the breakroom.

“Well?” he urges, eyes slicing down to check his watch. “Make it quick, mi amor. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”

My love. How ironic that he still calls you that, it must slip from his mind on days like this. “Isn’t today your rest day-”

“Well?” he repeats, more urgently this time. And under his persistence, you’re less sure of your theory than before.

Your teeth pierce the chapped skin of your bottom lip, cracking it open, savoring the iron tang of blood that flows freely, even though you know it’ll come back to bite you in the ass later. The sting calms you.

“Experiment 003,” you begin, digging your fingernails into your palm for a split second before forcing your wavering hand to push the files towards him. “The mermaid-”

“Merman,” he corrects quickly, before his eyes go slightly wider than before and raises his hands in defense, again, as if his open palms will stop the silent words of hurt that batter his skin from your eyes.

“Merman,” you repeat, continuing, “isn’t really a merman.” 

“What?” Luis’ eyebrows fly up and he claws at the folder, flipping through the papers before staring back up at you in disbelief. “You have no evidence to support this!”

“But I saw him,” you insist, admitting what you had told yourself you weren’t going to reveal to him. How is it that his face still gets your tongue tied in your mouth, coaxing secrets without him even knowing? “And… it displays none of the traits found in the fisherman’s tales.”

“They’re all old men,” he says dismissively, and his nonchalance, once again, only serves to irk you and fuel your need to prove him wrong. “So what if they couldn’t see right?”

“But—”

“No buts,” he says with a tone of finality, and it doesn’t occur to you to speak back this time. The point’s been lost in your first plea, and the honey bees descend from his tongue to spike you everywhere, scorn you for trying to doubt him. “Just get back to work, and don’t bother me anymore, señorita. I have work to do.”

You’ve never been dismissed by him before, so when he sinks into his hands, rubbing circles into your eyes, you don’t move a muscle, wondering if there will be any further instruction.

But he lifts his chin, so slowly that his gaze sears everywhere that it touches until that flame gets put out by the bucket of boiling water bubbling to life in his eyes. That dull demeanor lying over irritation lies bare on his face, soaking through like wet newspaper, ink unintelligible but meaning clear. 

Get out.

<><><><>

It’s hard to find something more consistent than the steady lapping of water, kissing the top of the glass where it connects with your ceiling. You stare into the abyss, willing the creature to appear from its depths, but where the flowing water meets your demands, the being does not.

Your thoughts begin to wander. How exactly had you called it— no, him?

“The subject is male,” you hear Luis’ voice ring in your ear, as if a ghost of a person still standing with you, a shadow of what you hoped could be true. That day, there was no sound in the room except for the steady current of your tears washing your cheeks for the umpteenth time that week.

It’s probably not that. After all, it would take a creature with keen ears and a sharper mind to hear not only through the glass, but to recognize the pain that even the person who causes it cannot identify. But you’re desperate.

So you conjure up the strongest memory you have, one that surpasses all levels of guilt and anger and pain to the highest level of sorrow you’ve ever felt. The night your mother died.

Your eyes stay glued to the simple white cloth adorning her body, cupping her gently like the beings from above have descended to hold her in their heavenly hands, the idea that if you keep your gaze away from her, she’ll long for it once more and return to you.

But as much as you know she loves you, she remains still. And when you drag your reluctant eyes to grace her pale, limp hands, rubbing some warmth into her spindly fingers, fingers that fed you and dressed you. Arms that hugged you when you finished elementary school, kept your grades up with a raise that was never a promise, only an empty threat.

And the eyes that sparkled like yours, now dead. How similar you look to her, even now, hollow cheeks and irises that lose their cheer, wilting flowers like your dress that billows in the wind as you stand with your feet in the sea, grounding yourself against the waves that threaten to pull you away.

Why couldn’t you stay? Why did she abandon you in a cruel, motherless world that you know is common yet feels like a situation that will only ever apply to your pitiful self? Why does nothing last, if only for a fleeting moment in which you light her pyre and watch the flames engulf her until she’s nothing but a pile of ashes.

Before the wind can steal her away with its greedy fingers, you sweep her into a vase.

And that vase will stay in the second wooden shelf, the sturdiest one right above your desk, two inches away from the ledge, pressed against the chipped paint of your wall. You will never let her go. She will always be with you; in one way or another.

You’ll make sure of that.

Guilt isn’t the right word. There is no word to describe the torrents of how disgusted you are at yourself, and if there is, there shouldn’t be. You’ve confined your mother to these lands instead of accepting the peace she deserves.

And suddenly, observing the creature doesn’t seem as important as before. There are more pressing issues at hand, issues that might have something to do with your current lack of luck, as of late.

What you miss as you scamper around the room is the eyes that watch you from the darkness, sharp enough to crackle fire that would burn this whole place to the ground if he wished, but he waits. 

In silence as you hastily grab your bag from the coat rack, abandoning your jacket. He knows you’ll be back from this one action and relaxes his tense body.

As long as you come back.

<><><><>

Aquamarine darkness envelops the far side of the room, if the building you’re in even resembles a room. It must end somewhere, especially since the peacock lights flash back in a rhythmic pattern, always circling back to where you’re planted.

Rooted to the peaty soil that squelches around your rain boots that were required before stepping into… wherever your current location was. Of course, the admin team is never happy with what they have, and apparently one subject to prod and poke wasn’t enough.

So you’re sent in here, to gain more information, the rookie’s always the guinea pig for anything, right? To find the rest of them, if there are any. You’re doubting this idea as a whole theory itself, because what if he’s one of a kind? Special.

But that something gets closer and closer to you. Your eyes have become accustomed to the darkness, adapting to the shapes that spark your vivid imagination, the murky water swirling everywhere the inky mass touches. 

Eight feet and four inches is intimidating enough to scan behind the safety of your reinforced glass walls, bulletproof and all, and you’re not reassured by the idea that although you shouldn’t be scared, you are.

Only once have you seen him through the water, and that was enough to spark your interest. The flame of curiosity burns falsely in your stomach, washed out by the waves of fear. You feel like nothing but a small fish at his intense gaze, a gaze that frightens you, and it must show on your expression.

Within a matter of seconds he backs away, perhaps sensing your discomfort, and you realize that your initial hypothesis must’ve been correct; he can feel others' emotions. You wonder how this works for a creature that cannot communicate, at least not with you.

Something flashes through his eyes, storm clouds and thunder alike, and a low hiss pushes its way through his canine teeth, an attribute you hadn’t noticed until the sound hits your ears.

It is strange, the look on his face, with his hair moist and clinging to his neck as he bobs further away, weaving between the speckles of moss that float from your little island to him, gifts or warnings, you don’t know.

He takes them as warnings, it seems, with his tense, hostile expression that seems to appear from thin air, staring at you tersely, somewhat like a dolphin or a seal at the aquarium before dipping back into the water without a sound, silence filling the area where he was.

And although you’re perfectly aware that your fear has not yet subsided from crashing against your lungs, you admit to yourself that now that he’s gone, you miss the thrill.

Who would’ve thought you’d become so daring, hm?

<><><><>

But wait, it gets worse. You had assumed this was a one time thing, a test run with a temporary guinea pig that happened to be the rookie of the lab, and although you weren’t too happy with the arrangement, you were perfectly content with the idea of admiring him from a distance, especially after such a close encounter.

Yet no one gives you a heads up or a warning before you’re shoved into the same room again, fear licking at your spine as those flashing lights proceed further through the water. And after a while, the initial horror bypasses your system and you grow used to the thick silence hanging in the air, mingling with the musty scent of swamp water.

You don’t know what they’ve fed him this week. Maybe they forgot to clean his tank. Whoever’s in charge of his wellbeing obviously fucked up the one time you take a break to visit friends touring the city, because when you return, rested and fresh, ready to succeed, something’s wrong

You’ve never noticed it before, but there are scales scattered on his neck, a light blue color, tile shaped as if a button longing to be pressed. Those are the northern lights transferred from the sky to the sea, plastered onto him, hanging loosely so his gills can pulse. Open, shut, as you inhale sharply and exhale swiftly.

They light up in assortments of azure, carribean shades of the murky water, yet so much more vibrant. And as if the thrill wasn’t enough to make its fingers around your neck and restrict your breath, holding your silence as if the air would scare him away, he starts to sing.

Vertigo overwhelms your senses the moment his euphonic voice escapes from those lips, marinated on his tongue, deep and resonant. A dizzying feeling that causes you to stumble to your knees, red dots sparkling all along your vision.

And through the haze, you swear you can see him smirk, the corner of his lip twisting upward, as if this was the intended effect, like you’re supposed to feel as if you’re about to throw up and dance and cry and jump for joy, all at once.

Guess what else you were right about?

He’s no merman.

You forget the word, the term to describe the hooks cast into the sea to lure unsuspecting victims, hooks that are merely sweet, velvety tones that are all hollow truths, a desire to be craved and a hunger that can never be satiated.

A warning to be reckoned, to be heard, to be feared.

A siren.

<><><><>

“What the actual fuck?” You restrain your voice to keep yourself from screeching, which you know you would do if you were alone, which you never truly are with the walls that hear everything, along with throwing yourself at him and wrestling him to the floor. 

“You said it yourself, he’s a siren! And you could’ve just died!” Luis’ hands are twisted his hair, madly clutching at their roots, and his concern for you is so profoundly surprising it sparks a laugh from you.

“I was fine, thanks,” you snap back, drumming your fingers on the table as you stare directly at his face, a face that seems crazy to love now. So many times you wonder what could’ve been, and now you’re wasting time sitting here with this fool.

“You. Could’ve. Died.” Luis accentuates each word with the ending sound as a growl, as if his voice will instill some sense of security in you, but you find yourself getting burning as he continues, “How could you even think about doing something so stupid?”

“Me?” Your voice has found a perch high in your vocal range, and it won’t come down. “Whose idea was this in the first place?” You scan his face for any hint of remorse, but there is none, and nothing in his expression offers an answer.

“Mi amor-”

“Stop fucking calling me that! You don’t get to say that like- like we still have something! Do you even know what love is?” Luis’ eyes go stony, a boulder pushed up the wrong side of the hill, and you’re not strong enough to keep it up. 

And it all comes crashing down.

“Love?” A dry chuckle erupts from his mouth, expression conforming to both disbelief and pity, both uncalled for and unwanted. “Excuse me? Of course I know what love is, but it’s a little hard to love someone that’s constantly putting themselves in danger!”

His accent is sinking further and further into his words with his newfound irritation, irritation aimed at you for no apparent reason. Maybe something’s going on at home, but does that give him the authority to take it out on you? Hell no.

You stand, far too loudly, and everyone watches you get ready to make your exit without another word, because what are you meant to say to something like that? Are you so unrecognizable, within less than half a year? How easy is it to leave your old self behind?

The one that clung to him. Is that his problem?

You brush past his chair on the way out, and out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you watch him twist the band on his finger, flicking his fingers back and forth, an absent habit he’s had since your sorority years.

But before you can pass him completely, he glances behind him and rolls his chair back, maneuvering it to avoid your feet. You’re about to tell him to fuck off when he draws his eyes back up, lingering on your lips, and you know what he’s thinking.

“Wait,” he says quietly, voice soft and barely audible, but he’s stopped rolling his chair back to tilt his head up towards you.

“What?” you snap, at first unknowingly but strangely reveling in the way he flinches at your harshness, flitting back to the day he had dismissed your concerns so flagrantly. You justify your actions by determining that he deserves it. His eyes darken again as a frown puckers his lips and the space between his eyebrows. 

“Don’t… just… don’t leave, please…” he stutters, his usual confidence nowhere to be found, struggling with the words before speaking again. “Can we… talk?”

“No, because there’s nothing to talk about. Besides, I have work to do.”

He lets out a small sigh at your response, to the reference of that event, irritation fluctuating in his tone. “Work? You’ve been working for four months, and you’ve found absolutely nothing.” And so the truth slips out, whether branching from his will or against it. This is how he really feels, huh?

"You don't get to tell me that." you mutter. "I'm the one documenting him, not you. You sit in your little room behind the glass, perfectly safe, and not once have you thought about swapping our roles. You don't love me, and I honestly have no idea why you even bother to lie to me about it."

Luis grits his teeth, his irritation and anger clear in his eyes, those eyes that were once pools of admiration sinking into the depths of everything you thought was between you. "What are you talking about? That's not true, I... of course I love you!" Then he rises from his chair, taking a step towards you, as if you’d allowed that.

You step back, pressing against the door. Your fingers creep behind your back to the handle and his eyes flicker to them, to the hand that’s grasping it so tightly it goes whiter than his face as he retreats to the table, pale with horror.

“I wouldn’t… ever hurt you,” he murmurs.

“Then why did you marry her?” you ask, voice soft. It’s a question you’ve been tossing in your mind, a simple game of catch that started grabbing rules from all sorts of games, pickleball and why he chose her, badminton and how you could’ve done better, volleyball in the victory in which his wife revels, and in which you wallow, losing yet another thing you loved.

“Because you said it was temporary!” he grumbles, sliding his teeth over his bottom lip, refusing to make the very same eye contact he was practically begging for an hour ago, in this very meeting room where you would stare at your department head as she provided strict instructions, catching Luis’ fleeting glances at your side profile.

“Isn’t that all we ever were?” you whisper. “Temporary?”

The air shatters between you. Finally, the unspoken truth that you both have carried for so long in your hearts is out, and it feels like a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. You can see it in his expression, however horrified, there’s some form of acceptance. He’s known this for as long as you have.

“What… happened to you? To us?” he asks quietly, looking at you like you’re a stranger, fractured parts of you discarded behind you like a broken mirror, one and the same but reflecting another person.

The door clicks open, squeaking as it swings to show you away, to the exit, finally leaving behind what you thought you could never let go of. But you pause before you leave, entertaining his question. When you have your answer, you don’t hesitate to deliver it.

“Sometimes you lose people. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

<><><><>

As the rerun comes through, cracked on the cheap speaker, fading quickly, you waltz around your room, feeling serene enough in the moment, losing yourself to the melody. How many hours have you wasted soaring through the skies in your office, only to plummet back down like a shot bird when you acknowledge the stack of papers spawning on your desk?

But when the hard day’s stresses melt away to the sway of your hips and your however offkey voice, no one is there to judge you. Luis isn’t chastising you about anything, and it’s good enough for you.

When the chorus swells, you open your mouth and belt out the lyrics, hoping the grainy walls can contain your voice, but the volume seems obnoxious, even for you. That’s when you notice the shadow on the floor towering over you, and you spin around.

Your eyes are glued to his mouth, to the words that are achingly pure and smooth, somehow heard through the glass. Illuminated by the tank lights, ethereal tones blending perfectly with the recording, enhancing it in a way you’d never heard. 

Raw emotion, the longing in his voice, however foreign to you, the curve of his accent, words you’ve never heard. All so new to you, chills racing down your spine, tickling at your back.

And when the song crests, his unearthly high notes soar with a beauty strong enough to bring tears, tears that you have to hold back in case someone were to walk in. When he seals his mouth with a smile—a private, intimate thing that feels like it belongs to you, you’re sufficiently spellbound, the world ceasing to exist.

His eyes flash in the water, flitting behind you, to the rattling of your door, and only after you’ve twisted over your shoulder to verify there’s no one there does he choose to make his exit. You see the corner of his tail flick, you hope in temporary goodbye, before you close your eyes and replay his voice in your head.

Over, and over, and over again, until all you can think about is him. How wonderful would it be if he was real, hm? You see him as an illusion now, you suppose, because how do you ever know something is truly real before you can feel it under your fingertips?

And when the voice is gone, fading from your mind into the echoes of your room, vibrations clamoring to bury the sweet sound that you long for now that it’s not with you anymore, you realize there is something you’ve been doing wrong.

Something that you must fix right away. Someone you’ve kept for far too long, yet another person you’ve lost and tried to bring back.

Your mother.

<><><><>

The ocean is trying to draw you in again, rhythmic waves pooling at your feet, urging you to come sleep in its embrace, take an everlasting nap to the lullaby of the water. But you’re not so easily fooled. You remember all you’ve lost, all you’ve regained, and how you’ve been forced to let everything go.

Not for your gain, but for theirs. You suppose scientific curiosity was not what you were chasing this entire time. Your resignation letters were turned in promptly, along with an anonymous report to the people you knew you could trust to shut down what is undoubtedly an illegal operation.

Will Luis be caught in the crossfire? You’re sure of it, and although you’ll never stop caring for the man you first loved, only shreds of compassion remind, and even those shreds are not enough to bail him out. 

You are far more concerned for the experiment, hope that he survives. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your time at the laboratory, it’s that no matter what branch of government, no one is merciful to anything different.

So you call upon all the gods watching, if there are any, and pray to them for forgiveness. Plead to them for mercy, and spin the lid off the vase that you’ve seen so many times, staring at it absentmindedly while studying, unable to understand a concept without your mother to explain it.

But like with all things and people, you’ve learned to live without her. And you’ve kept her spirit with you for far too long, haunting you in dreams, dreams she shouts your name in, screaming for peace. 

You break those shackles with a gentle toss, keeping the vase cradled in your arms as the ashes pour out into the water. Taking a step back to avoid any sticking with you, you dig your feet back into the dry sand, watching the dark particles disappear into the clear water.

She is free. Your mother is finally free.

A high pitched call returns your initial sob, and you swipe at your face, bleary eyed and trying to get a good look at what it could’ve been. The assumption it could be a dolphin has you reaching behind you for your bag, shuffling through its contents, pictures of you and your mother. You will not abandon those, for memories are precious, you know this well.

But when you bring your eyes back to the sea, you see a humanoid figure in the distance, raising their hand in greeting to you. Tawny hair that reflects the descending sun, a simple white shirt, gloriously unbuttoned, and khaki beige shorts.

You do not recognize him, and so out of fear, you retreat further and further into your backyard, all thoughts of admiring the sunset gone, as the man approaches. You reach for your stuff as you stumble backwards, never taking your eyes off of him and this plays in your favor.

Everything about him is so different, so foreign to you, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy, and you feel like a tourist all over again, in a city where you don’t belong. You don’t deserve this, to be standing here.

You lost him, right? But you could never mistake those eyes.

And now he’s human. There are no scales, no gills, no affront to his identity, one and the same as you, and yet he feels so different. You recognize his eyes, they haven’t changed from their cerulean blue, orbs crafted from the sea itself, forged by Poseidon’s hand, a statue in the hands of the gods, but so much is missing.

The raven feathers of his hair that would’ve looked stunning in the night, now out of place and far too vibrant against the mellow shades slowly darkening, becoming more somber. 

Twinkling lights strung in the space where the muscle stretches as he twists behind him, as if checking the sea, now gone dim and dissolved into the pale, unsullied skin of his neck.

You suppose you should be happy his voice hasn’t changed. With just one word, he lulls you back to him, and you can’t remember thinking of the differences between the experiment you had so vigorously studied and the man standing in front of you, not to be studied, but to be loved.

“Hi.” He reaches up, ruffles the back of his head, as if that will rattle out all the words spinning around in his mind, mirroring your own turmoiled thoughts. 

“Hi.” You mimic his actions, running sharp nails against the side of your scalp, failing to push stray strands away from your face. Through your hair, you peer at him, the sun long gone behind him, and parts of him are hidden again, like you’re hiding pieces of him from your conscious mind, fearing losing him again.

Most mystifying of all was how right it feels to have him standing right in front of you, finally equal, aside from the few inches that he has on you. Those depths of ocean blue lingering in his eyes grounds you, realizing how many times you’ve looked into those same eyes, wondering exactly what he’s thinking of.

Now you can know. And you’re not about to pass up the opportunity and let fear engulf you like you’ve let it usurp your mind so many times before.

"It's still you in there, isn't it?" you ask softly.

He smiles, and your heart skips at the familiar gesture, a smile you’ve unsurprisingly missed. "It is. I wanted to see you again."

"But how? How’d you… do this? And why come back?" You step closer, drinking in each subtle nuance of his new appearance. It’s appropriate for him, nothing too flashy, blending into the background. Aside from that halo of blond hair pressed to his forehead, slick with salt water.

“You freed me,” he says quietly, eyes searching your body, as if he’s trying to ingrain an image of you into his head. You did the same, not too long ago. But there was a need for it then, and no need for it now.

Reaching out tentatively, you trace the contour of his neck, half expecting to feel residual traces of his missing bioluminescence. Only warm skin meets your fingers, and a low sigh from his lips, and now that he’s here, under your touch, you know that he’s real. Not just for your sanity, but in reality, as well.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say, just to clarify, because you assume the last thing you need is to owe a mythical sea creature. “We’ll call it even since you didn’t eat me.” He barks a soft laugh, a seal-like sound, before lacing your fingers with his onto his cheek, pressing your hand further into his skin.

 "I changed so I could be with you without barriers. So we could truly understand one another." He gazes meaningfully into your eyes. "If you'll have me."

“I don’t even know your name,” you say, breathless, because haven’t you expected all of your loved ones to come back to you just like this, before inevitably accepting it’ll never happen? And now it is.

“My name?” That goddamn smirk, whether he is able to communicate or not, whether he’s human or not, tells you all you need to.

“Hm?”

“Leon.”

“Leon,” you test out, rolling the name on your tongue, causing him to scrunch up his nose.

“What? You do not like it?”

“No, no,” you say, with a chuckle. “It suits you.”

His expression relaxes, frown vanishing as he pulls you closer, leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder as he takes your other hand. A familiar tune thrums through your ear, reaching your brain at supersonic speeds, cruising into your blood. The first song he ever sang for you, and now both the memory and his voice seem so far away compared to this moment.

A single moment. Suspended in time, lovers finally reunited, pair after pair failing like incorrect puzzle pieces until now, you’ve found the one. 

And this time, you’re never letting go.

<><><><>

The stars arrange themselves in Leon’s eyes, constellations spelling out a story as you gaze down at him wholeheartedly, loving him with all your spirit and throwing caution to the wind. 

His gaze flickers from time to time, like if he truly blinks, you’ll be gone with the night breeze, a stray leaf on the sand, misplaced. 

“Did you like being a siren?” Leon’s eyes squeeze shut, head shifting on where it lies in your lap, hand creeping onto your knee.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he says timidly. “But you showed me more. I didn’t want to hurt people anymore after seeing you.”

“Me?” Your laugh is soft, melodious to his ears, and it soothes a little bit of the ache that has been forming since the day you arrived at the laboratory. “How’d you even find me?”

“Your mother,” he replies, voice soft. “I sensed her, and with her came you. And somehow, my father obliged in my wishes to… abandon my colony.”

“Abandon?” You quirk an eyebrow in concern.

“I can never return,” he says, but his tone is light and airy, unconvincingly so. “But I found that I would give the sea, my family, for you, even if it’s all I’ve ever known. There is nothing left for me there.”

“But you shouldn’t have,” you whisper back. “Give up all that, for me? You could’ve just visited once in a while… I wouldn’t have minded.”

“And yet I would find myself longing for your touch, even on the days that all seemed well, the ocean’s beauty is but a teardrop in comparison to yours.” Ever the charmer.

“You don’t… regret it?” Leon shakes his head.

“How could I? What part of my life would I regret if I gave something up to spending even a fraction of it with you? All those days, from the sun rising to the moon rising, and you were right there, even if you weren’t under my fingers.”

“You were beautiful,” you admit. “But…”

“And I suppose all along,” he continues, “I was truly just bait for my colony. It is better that I have left them, better to leave them safe where they are happy. Where I am now happy, with you, with your beautiful face and pretty voice.”

“Pretty voice?” You flush, hoping you can mask it as an abnormal overheating technique. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Really?”

“You always look so lovely when you sing,” he muses. “Sing a song for me, please?”

You don’t know what brings you to actually do it. Is it the warmth of his hair splayed out on your thighs, or his eager expression as his eyes drag upward, flitting to your lips. You hum a tune and instantly feel at ease, perhaps you should’ve pursued a life of music.

Music. It doesn’t sound as absurd as it did throughout high school and college, when you scorned the same people who have now grown famous for their voices. You saw them as lazy, when you should’ve seen them as talented.

You hold out a note, gazing towards the sea, wondering if your mother is watching you right at this moment. You wonder if she would be content with everything you’ve done in your life, if she’s forgiven you enough to let you have this peace. The peace you once denied her.

Leon’s approval comes in a hum of his own, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hand reaches upward, trailing your cheek before he tilts his head up and you lean forward and kiss him, and the seconds rush by far too quickly before he pulls away, lips already quite red, and the corner of his mouth ticks upward, exposing the pearl white of his grin.

“Just as perfect as the last time,” he murmurs, “my starry eyed singer.”