#i have had to stop writing because i was on the verge of tears before

[larluce]

Merlin arrives with a baby in Camelot AU

(co-writing with @roxineedstosleep)

BASED ON THIS PROMPT >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

Chapter 3: Valiant (Part 2)

Next Day. In Gaius’ Tower.

Dawn has yet to arrive, and Merlin is awakened by the sound of movement in Gaius’ chambers and the baby’s soft cries. He tries with all his might to get up, but his body still aches from everything he had to do the day before. On his second attempt—just before face-planting onto the floor—Gaius opens the bedroom door, holding the baby in his arms.

Merlin: (Barely managing to sit up on the edge of the bed, with dark circles bigger than should fit on his face) Ugh, my ribs… 😖🫩

Gaius: (Approaches Merlin, carrying the squirming baby, who wiggles like a worm upon hearing Merlin’s voice) At the very least, your conscience should hurt more. 😠

Merlin: Oh, baby! (Takes her quickly, suddenly looking a bit more awake) 🤗 Look how cute you are without those colics… (processes) Why my conscience? 😧

Gaius: Are you a fool, boy?! I’m surprised you’re even here, ALIVE, in the first place! 😡

Baby: Bu-hu? (wriggling uncomfortably, as if sensing the tension) 🥺

Merlin: I don’t get it… Is it because the baby stayed with George? He has a magical voice! He even got her to sleep despite her colic! (rocks the baby, who’s on the verge of tears) Oh, baby, don’t cry. Uncle Gaius is just-

Gaius: (raising his voice) Forget George! Do you really think I can protect you forever? After what you just did, I’m surprised they didn’t drag you out of here by your feet! 😡

Baby: Buuuu (about to cry) 🥺😖

Merlin: Gaius, you’re scaring me-US now. I really don’t understand what you’re getting at. What did I do yesterday? (sways the baby as gently as possible)

Gaius: (stunned) What did you do yesterday? You don’t remember? 🤨

Merlin: No, I don’t recall anything worth accusing me of right now. I only remember… following the prince around? I know that much because-

Gaius: Merlin, by the Triple Goddess, you publicly insulted the prince last night!

Merlin: (frowning, confused) Impossible. Last night, I came straight here after the royal idiot finally let me go. That insult you’re talking about happened days ago. And if I remember right, I spent a night in the dungeons and nearly a full day in the stocks for it.

Gaius: Oh, for- (realizes something) It’s happening again. Merlin, I need you to be honest with me, or I can’t help you out of this. Do you have any… strange memories of insulting the prince?

Merlin: (rocking the baby, who seems to have calmed down now that Gaius stopped yelling and is playing with Merlin’s neckerchief) Well… I did dream I insulted him. (smirks) And it was very satisfying, now that I think about it.

Gaius: It wasn’t a dream, Merlin. (sits beside him, grave) Last night, after you’d fallen asleep, Gwen came running here in a panic, begging me to hide you. She—along with several nobles and servants—saw you publicly insult Prince Arthur during last night’s celebrations.

Merlin: (pale, frozen in fear, clinging tighter to the baby) No...😨 No, no, that can't be!

Gaius: Gwen seemed worried that at any moment the prince would snap out of his shock and demand your punishment right then and there. I stayed awake all night waiting for the guards to come barging in looking for you.

Merlin: (shaking his head firmly, in complete denial) But it's impossible. I didn't-

Gaius: It must be your lack of sleep, boy. Lady Morgana had a similar episode about a year ago. The poor girl was so exhausted after going days without rest that she practically slapped a lady-in-waiting in front of everyone.

Merlin: Morgana did that? 😨

Gaius: Indeed she did. That's why Gwen has been looking after her so carefully ever since. But as I was saying, she collapsed from exhaustion shortly after. When she regained consciousness, she remembered nothing of what happened during those sleepless days.

Merlin: Can that really happen?

Gaius: From what you're telling me, I've just confirmed my theory. But you're not some sleep-deprived noble girl under the king's protection, Merlin. You're my apprentice, the prince's servant... the very prince you insulted rather scathingly, if Gwen's account is accurate.

Merlin: (swallows hard) He's going to kill me.

Gaius: Merlin, if he wanted you dead, Arthur would've alrea-

Merlin: (suddenly standing up with the baby in arms, frantically searching for his travel bag) No, you don't understand, Gaius! That man literally used his servant as target, throwing daggers at him, just because he didn't move fast enough during training! George told me all his servants quit within days because he's cruel. He even said Arthur's been trained to kill since childhood! If something happens to me, the baby-

Baby: (feeling Merlin's distress) Ba?🥺

Gaius: (trying to stop Merlin's chaotic packing as objects begin floating) Merlin, stop-

Merlin: (stops abruptly) He didn't kill me last time because YOU pulled strings to get me out of the dungeon before he could! (hands the baby to Gaius, and resumes frantically gathering his belongings) And I only stopped him from bullying that poor servant assigned to him that day... No, I have to leave-we have to leave. (gestures to the baby) I'm not sticking around to find out what he considers "appropriate punishment" for what I did.

Baby: (wiggles trying to reach Merlin again, extending her little hands) Buuu! 🥺

Merlin continues packing, but now several objects begin floating more noticeably, clumsily assembling themselves. It's not just the baby's magic. His own is also doing it unconsciously in response to his rising panic.

Gaius: Merlin! Calm down! If the castle guards haven't come for you all night, it's probably because the prince didn't deem execution necessary. It's been hours, and Arthur-

Their argument is cut short by a soft knock at the main door. Merlin snatches the baby from Gaius's arms and retreats deeper into his room, positioning himself in the hallway's blind spot. All the floating objects suddenly crash to the ground.

Gaius: (opens the door) The sun hasn't even risen. Is there a medical emergency? Is it about Lady Morgana?

Guard: Apologies for the hour, Gaius, but Prince Arthur wishes to see his servant in the stables before the tournament events begin... He says it's urgent.

Baby: (babbles, patting Merlin to get his attention)

Merlin: (covers the baby's mouth)

Gaius: My apprentice went to gather the herbs I requested, but he should be back soon. I'll send him to the prince immediately upon his return.

Guard: (who knows perfectly well Merlin is there, since no one saw him leave, but says nothing) As soon as possible, please, Gaius. (leaves)

Merlin: (emerges from hiding) That's it, we're leaving. We never should have stayed here in the first place. (straps on the baby carrier) Did you manage to locate the Druid camp?

Gaius: (shakes his head) My contact hasn't responded yet, and I won't let you wander blindly. (stops Merlin as he's about to place the baby in the carrier) I promised your mother I'd protect you both. Do you really think I wouldn't be helping you pack if there were even the slightest chance the prince would kill you?

Merlin: (hesitant, looks between Gaius and the door) …

Gaius: Trust me. I know Arthur. If he truly meant to kill you or deliver severe punishment, he wouldn't be summoning you to the stables. You'd already be in the dungeons. Most likely, he just wants to give you a warning. In which case, all you need to do is apologize with "Yes, sire. It won't happen again, sire.”

Merlin: (repeats) Yes, sire. It won't happen again, sire.

Gaius: Exactly like that. (takes the baby) Now take that off (points to the baby carrier) and go. You don't want to keep him waiting - you've angered him enough already.

Time skip. In The royal stables.

The royal stables are bathed in dusty golden light, the air thick with the scent of hay and leather. The moment Merlin arrives, the prince unexpectedly yanks him by the arm. Being Merlin, he stumbles over his own feet and crashes into a wooden feed trough. Arthur waits for him to pick himself up with chilling calm.

Merlin: (after standing up and brushing himself off) Uhm... You summoned me, sire? 😅

Arthur: (says nothing, just stares with a stony expression)

Merlin: (swallows hard, thinking) How did it go? Ah yes. "Yes, sire. It won't happen again, sire." Just gotta say that when he gives me the warning. "Yes, sire. It won't happen again, sire."

Stable boy: (leading a horse by its reins) Your horse, sire. (hands Arthur a riding crop)

Arthur: (takes the reins in one hand and the crop in the other with icy calm) Thank you.

Merlin: (thinking) Oh, so he does know that word. 🙄

Stable boy: (bows and exits)

Arthur: Hold him.

Merlin: (takes the horse's reins)

Arthur: (silently feeds the horse some treats)

Merlin: (thinking, confused) Did he decide to let it go?

Arthur: (stroking the horse) Do you know what it takes to break a horse, Merlin?

Merlin: (even more confused by the odd question but answers) No. I mean, I don't work with horses. In Ealdor we only had donkeys, and those were just for pulling plows or carts. Though my mother did raise pigs and chickens.

Arthur: (playing with the whip in his hand) It takes patience, firmness, and above all... (turns sharply to Merlin) discipline. 😑

Merlin: (thinking) Why is he looking at me like that?

Arthur: An untamed stallion is useless. But an obedient, well-trained one... is invaluable.

Merlin: (thinking) He really seems to love horses... (aloud, petting the horse) Well yes, horses are expensive. Or so I've heard. Not that I could ever afford one, sire.

Arthur: (gestures for Merlin to help him mount)

Merlin: (hurries to assist)

Arthur: (now mounted) Exactly. A prince doesn't settle for mediocre beasts... (emphasis dripping with contempt) nor useless servants. (His face reveals barely contained fury)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: Are we still talking about the horse, my lord?

Arthur: (forcing a smile) Of course. I was explaining how to properly break a stallion. (pats the horse)

Merlin: (finally catching Arthur's implication) Oh... I see... And what if the horse doesn't want to be broken, sire?

Arthur: (laughs mockingly) Merlin—(cuts off abruptly, suddenly dead serious, his gaze turning almost threatening, voice low) All horses learn to bow their heads.

A silence falls—electric and dangerous. The air between them grows thick, charged with an unspoken magnetism, and for a moment, their power struggle teeters on an ambiguous edge.

Merlin thinks he understands what Arthur is implying, and he doesn’t like it one bit. A scolding? Even punishment? He’d accept that. He knows he deserves that and worse for how he acted yesterday. But that doesn’t mean he’ll just allow himself to be humiliated.

Merlin: (locks eyes with Arthur defiantly, brow furrowed) Maybe some horses weren't born to be ridden, sire. Just like some men weren't born to serve.

Arthur: (cracks the whip through the air near Merlin)

Merlin: (jumps in alarm) What the hell is wrong with you?!

Arthur: (stern) All horses were born to be ridden. Just as all men were born to serve.

Merlin: Right, says the prince. 🙄

Arthur: Royalty serves their people. Nobles serve their king. Peasants serve their lord. No man is exempt from service. Not the lowliest peasant, nor the wealthiest noble. Everyone has a role to fulfill. And it falls to each man to strive to perform it to the best of his ability.

Merlin: I thought we were talking about horses, sire.

Arthur: (raises the whip, grazing the leather tip along Merlin's jawline) Every horse can be broken... you just need to find the right rider.

Merlin: (shivers but maintains defiant eye contact, mocking) And you think you're that rider, sire?

Arthur: (doesn't answer, runs the whip slowly down Merlin's neck)

Merlin: (thinking) What's gotten into this madman?

Arthur: (voice deep and commanding) I only accept the best. And you (withdraws the whip from Merlin's erratic pulse) will be the best. I'll make sure of it. (gathers the reins and rides out of the stables)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: Wait a damn minute! 😠 (runs out of the stables after Arthur)

In the horse field.

Arthur: (riding at moderate speed, sighs while trying to calm his still simmering anger, thinking) I should have had him whipped for such insolence. Or thrown him in the dungeons. But I've never ordered anyone whipped. That's unnecessarily cruel, no matter how much he deserves it. And the dungeons would be like giving him a vacation. No. He'll keep serving as my manservant... and he'll learn to respect me.

Merlin: (catches up and suddenly steps in front of the horse)

Arthur: (pulls the horse to an abrupt stop, thinking) What in hell is he doing?

Merlin: What the fuck was that?! 😠

Arthur: (scolding) Language. And I've no idea what you're referring to.

Merlin: (wildly gesturing, visibly offended) That! What just happened back there! You compared me to a damn horse. That's not fair!

Arthur: (irritated but still restrained) Breaking a horse is never fair, Merlin. It's necessary.

Merlin: (marches alongside the horse to face Arthur directly) I'm not a fucking horse! 😠 (raises his arm to point accusingly) I don't compare you to a toad even though you look like one and act like one!

Arthur: (enraged by the insult, impulsively lashes Merlin's raised arm with the whip)

Merlin: (yells more from shock than pain) Ow! (stares at his arm in disbelief) You whipped me... (enraged) You whipped me like a damn animal! 😡 You're a bloody tyrant!

Arthur: (jaw clenched) Something I forgot to mention, Merlin. When breaking a stubborn beast... (lands another sharp whip crack on Merlin's shoulder) The best solution is lashing.

Merlin: Ow! Hey! 😡

Arthur: I suggest you remember that from now on. (spurs his horse and rides off, leaving a seething Merlin behind)

Time skip. In Gaius' Tower

Gaius gently settles the finally-sleeping baby into her cradle when the door slams open, revealing Merlin radiating pure fury.

Merlin: I'M NOT A HORSE! 😤

Gaius: (bewildered) Yes... I'm aware.

Merlin: Then why did he treat me like one?!

Gaius: Arthur?

Merlin: (nods vigorously)

Gaius: What exactly did he do? Ride on your back and make you trot around the castle?

Merlin: (too embarrassed to admit he was whipped) He just... treated me like an animal.

Gaius: (relieved) Well, you kept your head. It's not so bad. Be grateful he didn't order you whipped for your insolence.

Merlin: (flares up again, slams hand on table) He DID! 😡

Baby: (wakes up crying) 🥺😭

Merlin: (rushes to her) Oh no, baby, I'm sorry. (scoops her up, rocking her gently) Shhh, don't cry. Forgive me, sweetheart, it's just that toad-faced prince is such a tyrant.

Gaius: (concerned) He actually whipped you?

Merlin: (gestures with his chin to his arm where two whip marks have torn through his sleeve) There.

Gaius: (examining Merlin while muttering under his breath) Mostly caught the fabric more than skin... (aloud) That's it?

Merlin: (offended) “That's it”? He struck me like a damn animal! Even the donkeys in my village get better treatment! (raises injured arm while still holding the baby with the other) Look! He drew blood!

Gaius: There's no blood, just some redness 😒. (realizes) Merlin, you did apologize for yesterday's behavior, didn't you?

Merlin: ...

Gaius: "Yes, sire. It won't happen again, sire." You said it, right?

Merlin: ...I forgot.

Gaius: Merlin! 😠

Merlin: Are you even listening to me?! He whipped me and you're taking his side! I'm your apprentice, Gaius! You're supposed to be on my side, but instead you're defending him. Not even my mother's ever hit me like that! He whipped me viciously! And before that he gave me this whole speech comparing me to a horse!

Baby: (having stopped crying, now chewing on Merlin's neckerchief) Nom nom nom 😛

Gaius: (long-suffering sigh) Merlin, must you constantly find trouble? Thank the gods you only got one lash-

Merlin: It was two. 😑

Gaius: Given everything you've done, you should be grateful you're not in the dungeons and only paid with two lashes. You must have truly angered him. Arthur's never ordered a servant whipped before.

Merlin: He didn't order it, he did it himself.

Gaius: (utterly shocked) Arthur?

Merlin: Yes! Why is that so hard to believe? 😠 He'd already made his power trip perfectly clear!

Gaius: (still incredulous) Merlin... Arthur personally whipped you? He took the whip in his own hands?

Merlin: I'm telling you yes! He hit me with his riding crop. Like a damn horse, I repeat! Why won't you believe me?

Gaius: (stunned) It's not that I don't believe you... it's just hard to process. This is highly unusual.

Merlin: (extremely sarcastic) Oh, of course! Because nobility beating servants is so unusual. Unheard of! Pure fairy tales. Typical Camelot behavior. Never happened in Ealdor.

Gaius: No, that's not what I meant. It's just strange that the prince would whip you himself when he could have easily ordered someone else to do it.

Merlin: Oh naturally! Why would the prince dirty his hands whipping his own servant? 🙄

Gaius: Exactly.

Merlin: (absolutely livid) Gaius! Are you actually taking his side?

Gaius: No, Merlin, understand this. For nobles, especially royalty, personally administering punishment to a servant is considered beneath their station. Decent nobles find it humiliating, and even for abusive nobles it's still seen as vulgar behavior.

Merlin: It's not the first time he's punished me. In fact, when I first arrived, he was punishing another servant.

Gaius: But never physical punishment.

Merlin: Of course it was! He used me as a training dummy. My back still hurts from that.

Gaius: That's different. Merlin, I don't expect you to understand. You grew up outside court and don't know noble protocols. So let me explain this: If Arthur were some tyrannical prince with a terrible reputation, I wouldn't be shocked he whipped a servant directly. But Arthur cares deeply about his standing. You might believe nobles can do whatever they want, even abuse servants, and yes, some do. But trust me, Merlin, nobles, especially royalty, live bound by more rules than anyone.

Merlin: Yeah, you've made it crystal clear whose side you're on. 😒 (resigned sigh as he places the baby in her crib, giving her teddy bear to play with) Can you check my back please? It hurts.

Gaius: He whipped your back too? 😨

Merlin: No, I told you yesterday he used me as a training dummy. My ribs hurt. 😖

Gaius: (removes Merlin's shirt and sees the bruises) Good heavens, he really did use you as a practice dummy! (frowns) And you've been complaining all this time about that little scratch on your arm, not your back that's been hurting since yesterday?

Merlin: It's not like I've had time to complain!

Gaius: (pulling out herbal creams and poultices from a nearby drawer) And no wonder your ribs are sore. (applies medicine to the bruised areas with firm pats).

Merlin: (squirming uncomfortably) Ow, ow, ow! Easy, Gaius! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! 😫

Gaius: It would hurt less if you stopped wriggling like that, Merlin 😠. I need to apply this ointment properly, and you thrashing about like a headless lizard isn't helping one bit.

Merlin: (continues squirming) Huuuurts! 😫

Gaius: For someone who's being punished for his actions and keeps getting into trouble, you certainly still have plenty of energy. (applies herbal patches and bandages to the bruises)

Merlin: It's not energy, it's rage! 😡 I'm not a horse! Who does that toad think he-Ow!-who does he think he is, comparing me to one? And what the hell was that cheap metaphor supposed to mean anyway? (mocking Arthur's voice) "All horses are born to be broken, Merlin. You just need the right rider, Merlin. I'll make you my perfect steed and ride you, Merlin."

Gaius: ...What? 😦

Gwen: (just entered, drops her basket in shock) Oh gods!

Merlin & Gaius: (spin around, startled by the sudden interruption)

Gwen: I'm sorry! I just came to get more of Lady Morgana's sleeping draught. And I wanted to check on you—I heard from the kitchen staff that the guards came for you before dawn. (approaches worriedly) But what happened to you?

Merlin: (somewhat embarrassed) Uh... I fell? 😅

Gwen: You fell? Merlin, you look like a ragdoll! 😱 Tell me the truth, did the guards do this to you?

Merlin: No, I mean... This isn't (pauses, thinking) Wait, why am I covering for him? Let everyone know how abusive he is! Didn't Gaius say he cares about his reputation? (declares) It was Arthur.

Gwen: (eyes widening at the excessive number of patches on Merlin's back) The prince did this? Because of last night?

Merlin: (nods, pointing to the arm patches) Yes, Gaius is treating me. (exaggerated whine, clutching his arm) Oww, it hurts so much.

Gwen: I can't believe it! The prince has never done this before. Did they beat you? Did Arthur really order one of his knights to thrash you?

Merlin: (still referring only to his arm) No, Arthur did it himself.

Gwen: (gasps in horror) 😨

Merlin: With a riding crop.

Gwen: By the gods! Even after yesterday, he shouldn't have whipped you like this. It must hurt terribly.

Merlin: (to Gaius) See, Gaius? This is what being on my side sounds like-Ow! (to Gwen) But yes, the prince made his point very clear. It won't happen again.

Gwen: (on the verge of tears)

Merlin: (panicking) No, Gwen! I was exaggerating. It was just a couple scratches and it doesn't even hurt that much. I'm fine, Gwen, really (lifts his arm and removes one patch) See?

Gwen: (fighting back tears to stay strong while discreetly eyeing all the medical patches) If you say so. It looks like you've had quite the ordeal.

Merlin: That wasn't even the worst part. You know the prince compared me to a horse?-Ow, Gaius! 😖 (flinches as Gaius treats a bruise near his shoulder whip mark)

Gaius: Don't look at me like that - you only just stopped squirming so I can finally finish patching you up.

Baby: (stands up while holding the crib, worried) Ba buuu. Ba buuuu 🥺 (reaches little hands toward Merlin)

Gwen: Awww 🥰 This must be the mysterious little patient. (approaches crib) What's your name, sweetheart?

Merlin: (answers without thinking) She doesn't have one.

Gwen: (confused) What?

Gaius: (quickly lies) Her mother hasn't had time to choose a name yet.

Gwen: Oh... I see. (thinking) Why wouldn't he name his own daughter? (aloud) Can I hold her? 😃

Merlin: (hesitant because of the baby's magic) I don't know if—

Gwen: (already scooping up baby) Aww what an absolutely precious little thing! 🤗

Baby: (giggles adorably) 😄

Merlin: (softens at the sight but panics when the baby's teddy bear starts floating behind Gwen) Gwen-

Gaius: (snatches the floating bear and takes the baby) Gwen, if you'd be so kind, could you fetch us some thread? (nods toward Merlin's torn shirt) I'm afraid we'll need to mend his sleeve.

Gwen: Oh, of course! I can do it if you'd like. Lady Morgana will be resting in her chambers all day anyway. Mending a shirt won't take long. (takes the shirt and places it in her basket) Well, I should go—Lady Morgana will be wondering about her sleeping draught.

Merlin: Thanks Gwen! You're the best! 😊

Gaius: Lady Morgana's medicine is by the hearth, and take the- (cut off by the door gently slamming) And she's gone.

Merlin: (mournfully) That was my only clean shirt 😔. The baby stained the others and they're still drying.

Gaius: I think I have a clean shirt that might fit you, but let me finish with your back first. (places the baby back in the crib and resumes treating Merlin's back)

Merlin: I thought you were done! Ow! Just leave it like this. I still have to attend to the toad-faced prince for the tournament anyway.

Gaius: Actually, you've got a few more hours.

Merlin: Ow! Are you mad? The sun's already up. If I'm late this time, he really will kill me.

Gaius: (casually) Yes, well... Sir Ewan died in yesterday's tournament.

Merlin: (shrieks) What?! 😱

Gaius: And Sir Owain.

Merlin: People actually die in these things?! 😨

Gaius: In a competition with sharp weapons and brute force? Yes, Merlin - though you might find it impossible to believe, fatalities do occasionally occur. Even with modified weapons that aren't as lethal as battlefield gear. (finishes patching Merlin up) Nothing unusual... except these knights died under highly suspicious circumstances. So I must file a report, and they'll likely pause the tournament for investigation. Eat in peace - I'll send you with a message to the prince in about an hour. You could even nap if you like.

Merlin: (smiles) Thanks, Gaius.

Baby: (reaching little hands toward Merlin again) Ba ba 🥺. Ba buuuuu

Merlin: (his tired expression softens) Oh, I can sacrifice an hour of sleep. (goes to the crib) Come here. (picks her up) Did you miss me? 🤗

Baby: (makes happy sounds and snuggles against Merlin) 😊

Merlin: Yeah, me too, sweetheart. (hugs her tighter) Me too.

Time skip. The laundry room.

Gwen holds Merlin's torn shirt, freshly washed and ready for mending. Around her bustles a chaos of servants from various departments - some assisting the laundresses, others preparing for their regular duties.

Gwen: (deep sigh while selecting thread) I'll need to reinforce this stitching. (examining the shirt closer) Poor Merlin, this tear is quite nasty. Maybe a patch would work? But he's a boy. If this were one of my aprons I could... Oh no! (a spool of thread escapes, rolling across the floor)

Laundress Ro: (with poor eyesight, gropes for the spool at her feet and squints at it) A spool? What's a spool doing here?

Gwen: (rushing over) That's mine! Thank you for catching it. I need it for mending.

Laundress Ro: (recognizing the voice) Gwen! You ought to be careful with those threads - they'll get lost in this crowd (waves generally at the swarm of servants surrounding them). Shouldn't you be mending Lady Morgana's dresses in her chambers? You'll lose more than spools if you stay down here.

Gwen: (getting emotional as she remembers the thread's purpose) Oh! My lady is resting, and this just came off the drying line (shows Merlin's torn shirt)

Laundress Ro: If it just came off the line... (squints at the damaged shirt, only clearly seeing fabric with a gaping hole) Well now, this bit's seen better days. Were you planning some embroidery-

Gwen: (suddenly bursts into tears)

Laundress Ro: (startled, grabs her soapy stick for support) Gwen? Did I say something wrong? You needn't do fancywork if you don't. I'm sure whatever you-

Gwen: (sobs harder)

Chimney Sweep Ale: (skips in singing cheerfully) 🎶"Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee! A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be! 😊 Chim chiminey..."🎶 (halts mid-song at the scene) What's happening? (to Laundress Ro) What'd you say to her? 😠

Laundress Ro: (recognizes her immediately since she's the only one always covered in soot) Ale! I've no idea! I just asked if she'd embroider the torn fabric. Shouldn't you be cleaning Lady Morgana's chimney?... Hey! You'll stain my drying linens hanging there! 😠

Chimney Sweep Ale: Supposed to do Lady Morgana's chimney, but she's holed up in her tower. Bit hard to work when she's about and the fire's lit. Got sent to help down here instead. (accidentally leans her sooty hand on a fabric) Oops, sorry! 😰

Laundress Ro: (snatches fabric away) "Help" that hinders isn't help at all. 😒

Chimney Sweep Ale: (to Gwen) Why are you crying like that shirt's made of onions?

Gwen: (sniffling) It's not about the shirt.

Chimney Sweep Ale: (even more confused and concerned) If it's not the shirt, why are you crying?

Maid Yess: (out of nowhere beside a half-empty breakfast tray) Yeah, why are you crying? 👀

Sweep, Laundress & Gwen: (scream in unison)

Chimney Sweep Ale: (clutching her chest) Yess! You gotta stop doing that!

Maid Yess: Drama queen 🙄 (to Gwen) Now tell us why you're crying. Smells like good tea ☕️. I mean, we're so concerned 🥺.

Gwen: (sniffles) It's-It's about Merlin! (continues weeping)

Chimney Sweep Ale: Merlin? He's one of the new ones, right?

Maid Yess: Prince's new manservant and Gaius' apprentice, yep yep.

Laundress Ro: (remembering) Oh yeah! The one who made that scene yesterday. Heard all about it last night.

Maid Yess: I was there. It was beautiful 🤧.

Laundress Ro: (flicks her ear)

Chimney Sweep Ale: (to Gwen) Is that his shirt you're mending? Why are you sewing his clothes?

Gwen: (bursts into louder sobs)

Maid Yess: Oh stop crying and just tell us! 😠

Laundress Ro: (flicks her ear again) Don't be heartless!

Chimney Sweep Ale: (pushes her) Stop hitting her 😠. You'll make her drop her teapot. (to Gwen, concerned) Don't tell me he got sacked.

Maid Yess: Sacked? Ha! That'd be the best outcome. But if the kitchen maids' theories are right, I doubt it.

Gwen: (wiping tears) No, he's still the prince's servant.

Maid Yess: See? Something worse happened to this one.

Chimney Sweep Ale: No... Was he demoted like me? 😨 (pause) Well, I wouldn't mind a chimney partner. 😊

Laundress Ro: The only reason you ONLY got demoted was because the prince never met you personally. And burning his breakfast hardly compares to publicly insulting him.

Maid Yess: Yeah, how naive. 🙄

Gwen: No, he wasn't demoted. (on the verge of fresh tears)

Laundress Ro: Gwen, breathe. You're acting like the prince gave the boy a proper beating-

Gwen: (shrieking) HE DID! 😭

Entire Room: (already eavesdropping, now turning blatantly with collective gasps) 😱😱😱😱😱😱

Laundress Ro & Chimney Sweep Ale: WHAT?! 😨😨

Maid Yess: Called it 😏 (pours herself tea)

Laundress Ro: (feeling around with her soapy stick to bring Gwen a stool) Tell us everything.

Chimney Sweep Ale: (sits her down) Yes, don't leave out a single detail.

Maid Yess: And exaggerate. (sips tea loudly)

BASED ON THIS PROMPT >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

...

We actually had this part written for a while, but we wanted to finish all the events of "Valiant" befoe publishing. However, we realized this part was getting twice as long as the previous part, so we decided it was best to cover the chapter in three parts rather than two. Or even four, who knows? There's a lot going on poor Valiant was almost forgotten XD. He will regain importance by next part though.

Also it was insteresting to explore a Merlin who isn't influenced by prophecy or destiny and has, for once, his own priorities. And it seems this Arthur is not so fond of this Merlin... or is he? 👀😏🙊

Anyways, do you like the new side characters? I always thought we should've gotten more castle workers characters in the show. This is how they look (made with a mix of AI, FaceApp and Picsart):

I think is easy to guess who is who XD.

What do you think will happen next? Let me know in the comments.

Tagging @chaosofbelievers , @blackgigglypuff , @stressed-but-chill , @nocheaseforyougoodsir , @thedragonlies , @evedaser , @lolazoel , @sammythetoaster , @caraspud , @bertoliosis35-blog , @lordemryspendragon , @herstarlight , @justaz , @myalchemicalgnomace , @exmintha , @dumbdemjin , @a-line-drawn , @itsjustmeandmyanxiety , @beebsnas , @rem-the-moth , @tmarauder101 , @whitemaskcd , @robynnemrys , @genyxie , @trubel43 , @andrealux21 , @shitsandgiggles2001 , @zarakem , @justafangirlwithphases , @akelafang , @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch , @cococatloversstuff

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Hi Dragon! I hope today is treating you well. :D For the Writer's Ask Game: (If you've already asked these, author's choice on skipping or picking a different question to answer.) 14. How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

39. Share a snippet from a WIP(pet). (Sorry my brain needed that to rhyme and also I'm greedy for your writing.)

Hi Gemma! It's a beautiful Friday (and I am a horrible goose)!

14. I'm a very sensitive person, so when I'm reading or writing an emotional scene, I'm feeling it. I don't read angst without fluff because I will be wilted all damn day about it. Writing smut scenes does make me a little hot under the collar.

When I'm writing, I tend to start with what a character is thinking, because our thoughts lead to emotions. Why is a character excited, heartbroken, or blindingly horny? Then I'm thinking of what's going on in their bodies, how they physically feel. I build from there!

As for personal experience... some things yes, some things no. I haven't done a lot of the things I write about (Thank fuck, I would not do well in a Slasher situation), so there's very few one-to-one comparisons. But I do draw on my personal experiences to help me convey the characters' emotions.

This is actually a very tough question, and I'll be thinking about it for days!

39. A Snippet from a Wip(pet)!

Have some of the Exhibitionism prompt that can't seem to make up it's mind. Nothing too spicy!

John Price x Reader in her 40s

Your neighbor saw you masturbating through your window. You want to combust. You want to break your lease and move to Alaska. God, he’d told you, years ago now, that he could see into your bedroom from his office. You couldn’t swap rooms with your son, so you’d bought a reflective film for the window. Clever, you’d thought. And then John had come home from deployment, taken one look at your work from the courtyard, and said, “Looks good. And I’m not complaining at all, ma'am, but you should know those mirror films don't work at night.” You’d made a point to close your curtains after that, but John was so rarely home for more than a day or two that you’d been lax. You hated feeling shut in, would forgo curtains altogether if you lived out in the country alone. After the divorce, you’d picked this flat for the natural light. Why would you close your curtains? Well, they’re certainly closed now.

You know what? Have some of the original ramble (i talked about my process here) , so you can see some of the differences in my drafts. (This part is spicy.)

Okay, so: reader character is in her mid 40s, I've decided. Divorced mom of one kid who's gone off to college. She's super embarrassed when Price tells her he could see through her window.

---

And it's a nice day out, for once, and her neighbor is never home. So she leaves the curtains open when, after a shower, she luxuriates in bed with a rose toy and a good sized dildo and reminds herself that no one can do her like she can.

And Price, standing in his office, much harder than he planned on being, cannot help but wish that she'd left the window open so he could hear the way she moans. He should leave the room, should give her some privacy, but goddamn.

And remember, she's luxuriating. She's not worried about much of anything. She's got no where to be. So she gets herself off in a moderate amount of time. Gives herself a bit of a water break. And then she's right back to it after pulling up a spicy audio on her phone. It's one of her favorites, one she can really sink into.

Price, across the way, barely restrains himself from pulling his cock out in the middle of his office like he's ten years younger when he sees her arch into an orgasm. Almost comes in his pants when he sees her pull the dildo from herself. But the show is over, so he starts to shuffle out of room - slowly, so she won't notice the movement from the corner of her eye.

And then she picks up the rose toy again.

He still shuffles a little out of sight, but only far enough to pull up a chair.

Ask Game

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: also known as the story of how you became jack abbot's sugar baby.

word count: 7.8k

tags: younger reader/sugar baby dynamic, reader is in an unspecified masters program, reader is poor (sorry girl), descriptions of burn wound, jack tends to reader's wound because why wouldn't he!, robby guest appearance, smut (hard and fast and creampie.. sorry), these two are so cute and i love this reader

note: based on this blurb. enjoy! crazy what motivation can do. go listen to don’t worry baby by the beach boys 💛

you should have known you were in trouble when dr. jack abbot of the closest emergency room handed you a full-size tube of the expensive burn gel you needed and said in a firm yet gentle voice: don’t worry about it, kid.

little did he know that you did worry about it, that you worry about everything and then some. like the ridiculous injury that led you here in the first place—ridiculous and embarrassing, a double whammy. you were writing a paper at two in the morning despite the fact that the words on the screen had stopped making sense hours ago, determined to get at least another three pages done before calling it quits. 

what you really needed was a coffee, but instead, stupidly, you settled for making hot chocolate. you thought it would be comforting, like a warm hug, which is probably what you really need and since you live alone, it’s not like you’re going to get that anywhere else. 

so—hot chocolate, with milk rather than water, and mini marshmallows. you make it on the stove because it’s just better that way, and despite how you feel about yourself deserving things, you think you can waste the few extra minutes to make it the right way.

except you probably should have made the cup of coffee. after two am, your brain really, really stops working. your palm ends up against the burner of your stove and you cry out from pain before realizing what you’ve just done. 

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck-” you curse, taking your hand to the sink immediately and running it under cold water. it stings and the pain isn’t going away, and then you realize a few other things.

one—that you have nothing besides bandaids and neosporin in this apartment. two—that you have no idea how to take care of a burn. and three—you really, really should have just gone to sleep. 

on the verge of tears that are about to spill over, you keep your hand wrapped against a towel, slip into real shoes, and call an uber to the nearest emergency room. you’d walk but you’re in pajama shorts and a hoodie and it’s three in the morning and you don’t think you can handle anything else going wrong right now.

your paper is abandoned at your desk. the cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in it looks at you almost jeeringly. and you think you’ll never trust your stove again.

you wait for a little bit but luckily, it’s not as packed as you were worried it’d be. you still have to finish that paper when you get back home, and if the sun is up by then there’ll be no sleeping for you. the nurse looks at you kindly when she notices your wet eyes and wobbly chin as you explain you accidentally burnt yourself and you didn’t know what to do.

“hold tight, honey. the doctor will be right in.” you thank her and then curse to yourself—you’re reaching levels of stupidity unknown to man. you hope she’ll tell the doctor it was just a burn and whoever it is will leave it at that. you don’t think you have energy to explain this to anyone and your face burns with embarrassment at the very idea.

then the curtain gets pulled back and he walks in and whatever thought you were thinking flies out the window.

“hi, i’m dr. abbot,” he says, his head tilted down—showing you a mane of messy salt and pepper curls—and looking at the tablet in his hands. he looks up at you to confirm your name and then your birthday, though in all honesty, he could have said something completely wrong and you would have nodded and agreed.

your doctor is handsome. he’s hot. like grey’s anatomy level hot. like, some other medical show that your brain recognizes but can’t currently remember the name of hot. 

“so you burned yourself? can i take a look?” as stupid as it is—you don’t think you’ve ever been stunned into silence by a man before. his words are gentle and sincere and it sounds like he really cares about whatever's wrong with you—so many things you can't begin to name them all right now. fuck, he asked you something. you nod and then he looks up at you again. “i kind of need to hear you say it.”

fuck. me. what the hell kind of doctor says things like that to deliriously delusional women at three in the morning?

“yes. yes, thank you.” you move the towel and lift your palm towards him and he takes a gloved hand to support you. you can feel his fingers against the back of your hand, holding you in place, and normally that contact would be enough to have you reeling into never-never land where all the doctors are hot and single and you’re presenting with a more much cool, mature injury. 

but then you notice his arms, and you have to bite your cheek so hard to not accidentally say anything you will without a doubt regret. hot doctor is jacked, with huge arms and a scrub top that covers most of his biceps. his forearms are thick and veiny and your eyes focus on them for way, way too long. you can make out so many freckles on his skin that it presents like a galaxy. you momentarily forget how badly your hand hurts. he sucks in a breath and looks at you again, making intense eye contact that you can’t bear. you look away immediately.

“ouch. so how’d this happen?” he asks, and you groan before you can stop yourself—of course he’s a good doctor who doesn’t cut corners and has to make sure you’re not suicidal or a masochist or something. “you okay, kid?” 

what the fuck. one man cannot be doing it for you in so many ways—this dr. abbot should have never existed because you don’t know how you’re going to stop thinking about him. when you meet his eyes again and can actually look into them—hazel and very pretty, because of course they are—they’re filled with concern.

you can’t imagine how crazy you must look to him right now. plaid pajamas shorts, a grey hoodie for some sports team you know nothing about, messy hair. you curse yourself for not doing your makeup earlier. 

“yes, i’m sorry. i-i was just hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“yeah?” he says, with a teasing lilt to his voice. seriously, fuck this guy. “why’s that?”

“i…i was making hot chocolate. y’know, the good kind. stovetop with milk and the tiny-” jack looks at you with a smile, holding back a laugh and you lose your train of thought and trail off. “marshmallows. the tiny ones. and i was half-asleep already working on this paper, so, yeah. that’s, um, the story.” 

jack asks you some other questions quietly—about what you’re in school for and how you like it—probably to distract you while he cleans your wounds. his touch alone is enough of a distraction and the way the muscles in his arms move while he does is enough to make you black out, but you still answer politely and try to not embarrass yourself further. 

when your wound is all wrapped up, you cover your mouth to stifle a yawn and blink tiredly at dr. abbot.

“thank you,” you repeat for what must be the hundredth time—though you are very thankful. different people wearing scrubs interrupted him to ask a question probably three or four times and he never once stepped away from your bedside or left to go help someone else, even though you told him you could wait. 

“you’re very welcome,” he stands up and you get your hand back and it feels much colder without his touch. stupid, you think to yourself, don’t think that! you are stupid! “now, don’t get this wet and change the wrap daily. when you’re changing, if it looks red or swollen or there’s any pus, you come straight back. and you’ll need burn gel. the nurse is going to give you some packets but it’s a bigger wound so you’ll have to buy a bottle at the pharmacy. that sound okay?” 

you want to shake your head and tell him no, it kind of doesn’t. for starters you don’t want to leave his comfortable presence—maybe you’re just really lonely. if you had more money you’d get a cat so you’re not so alone all the time, but it’s one thing to subject yourself to poverty, bringing in a cute little kitten to your life is just stupid. oh god—there you go again. he said something and you can’t even remember what it is. you blink dumbly at dr. abbot. 

right—burn gel. the real answer is no, insanely handsome doctor jack, i unfortunately cannot buy a bottle of burn gel at the moment, not until my next paycheck. but admitting all of that to him right now, after the already humiliating hot chocolate story, seems the emotional equivalent of your own personal 9/11. instead you lie and nod.

“sounds good.”

he smiles at you and you smile back, though you feel incredibly silly.

“don’t try to make hot chocolate half asleep again, kid. just go to bed next time,” jack says and you feel your face flush and burn at his words—you feel like a child getting scolded by dad. “and get some sleep, okay?” 

“yeah. thank you, dr. abbot,” you say quietly. he smiles one last time, closes the curtain and leaves you in there alone again.

and though you thought it very nearly impossible, you do fuck up one more time before leaving pittsburg trauma medical center. you ask the nurse, who brings you two tiny samples of the burn gel, if there’s any way you could have more, explaining in not so many words that you’re a student and hoping that she gets the gist of what you’re trying to say.

“oh. well, let me go ask dr. abbot, and if he says yes, i can-”

“no! no, never mind. this is perfect, i’ll figure it out, um-” you scramble to your feet to get the burn gel packets and your paperwork.

“just one second, okay, i’ll be right back.” the nurse—young and very pretty and probably new, which is why she wants to make sure she’s not making a mistake, rushes out.

and you, not sure if this is exactly against-medical-advice, take your belongings and head outside to go back home.

(the nurse does go to jack—asking if she can give you some more packets of burn gel because you can’t afford it. he agrees immediately, thinking that he would have given you more if you had told him, wondering why you hadn’t. he goes back to your bed to give them to you himself, but you’re not there.)

+

and two days later, staring at your hand post-shower, still needing to write two thousand words before bed, you wonder if it looks a little… red. 

you hadn’t gotten it wet, but you’re using the burn gel sparingly, and maybe because you’re not using enough, it had gotten infected.

fuck. you should have just coughed up the money to pay for the big bottle—you’re so dumb sometimes. you try to justify that it’s not red, it’s just the lighting, but when you take a picture with flash, you don’t think it’s in your head. 

an hour later, it starts to hurt again like the first day. double fuck.

grumbling something about cyclical poverty, you pull on your hoodie over your outfit of the day, which was at least some-what cute. both things thrifted—a denim skirt and a plain pink henley—but it’s cold, so on the jacket goes. it’s a struggle to get it on without hurting your hand but you figure it out. it’s only just hit nine o’clock but it’s dark—so there goes another charge for the uber.

you go inside and go up to the lady with whom you check in, telling her you were here a few days ago for a burn, and that somehow must mean you get priority access, because the nurse—a different one—brings you back right away. 

you wait for someone to tell you dr. abbot’s not here but there’s another just-as-good doctor, preferably one with normal arms and a normal smile that doesn’t make the lines around his eyes crinkle and light up his whole face and doesn’t make you fall headfirst into numerous, unrealistic fantasies, mostly centered around what a hug in those absolutely abnormal arms would feel like and—

you realize you’ve lost the plot as soon as dr. abbot pulls back the curtain.

“oh. i didn’t know if it would be you again.”

“it’s me again.” you must look starstruck, you conclude, with the way he looks at you and smiles and takes a seat on the stool in the room. now you’re the one staring—crow’s feet and all. “so what happened?”

“i was looking at it after my shower and, i-i don’t know, it just looks red. and it started to hurt again and i-i have to write so many papers and i don’t wanna lose my whole hand because i didn’t use enough burn gel-”

“hey,” he says, firmly yet still tinged with gentleness. like someone talking to a skittish animal—which, you think, you pretty much are at this point. the fact that he's the one taming you makes you dizzy. “you’re gonna be fine. you’re here now, so i can take of it.” 

you refuse to let yourself read between the lines—the way he only mentions himself. the way you think he should have said so i can take care of you. 

“o-okay. thank you, dr. abbot.” 

you peel away the shitty, rushed bandage wrap and let him observe your palm closely. he’s so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. 

after what feels like ages, he tells you it’s not infected. you sigh before you can stop yourself, shoulders sagging in relief. jack looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize—like he’s a little confused and amused at the same time.

“but it’s good that you came in anyways.” you face burns when he pulls out a tube of the burn you were supposed to be using generously from the pocket of his scrubs. 

“oh, um, listen, i can explain-”

“don’t worry about it, kid.” you accept the bottle and stare at him and he does the usual thing—tells you to come in if it gets worse, use the gel and if you need another tube, just come back here and find him, making you flush hard and get teary-eyed when he finally leaves.

maybe it’s just nice to be taken care of, for once. but you shouldn’t get dependent on it. you indulge in the reality until the uber is there to take you home, and then you conclude that you’ll likely never see dr. jack abbot, the kind hearted, good physician who took care of your wound twice now, ever again. 

until you do.

sometimes your work writes itself when you’re in a new environment, and you blame the lack of progress on your boring, tiny apartment. there’s a coffee shop not too far from campus that another girl in your masters program had told you about. good coffee, even better pastries, and there’s always cute guys, she had said with a laugh. 

you had been so focused on figuring out what the cheapest thing to buy was that you forgot the ending half of your friend’s sentence. from the hospital nearby.

there’s always cute guys from the hospital nearby.

you get settled with a small iced coffee and start typing away, working with an intent to make sure this paper gets done because it’s been put off long enough, when the door opens and you almost feel him before you see him.

it’s eight in the morning. why would he even be here? it’s not him—you conclude, staring at the back of a man in a dark blue shirt that fits him a little too snugly and green cargo pants. you don’t see the telltale black stethoscope or an id badge that tells you anything, just the profile of his back and a head of messy, gray curls.

fuck. it's him, isn't it? of course it's him. jack orders and then steps away to wait for it, hot coffee black in the biggest size they have. and when he turns around, he sees you looking at him like a deer in headlights. then you turn your head down immediately, as if you’re trying to hide and make yourself as small as you can.

he chuckles to himself because you’re pretty cute when you do things like that. 

you keep your head down long enough, pretending to be so engrossed in your paper, that you get a little too locked-in, not realizing the footsteps approaching belong to him.

“is this seat empty?” jack asks, and you almost jolt with the realization that he’s so close to you. 

you look up tentatively, bracing yourself for the encounter, reminding yourself not to act a complete fool like you have the last two times. 

“yes. hi, dr. abbot. small world, huh,” you say, though it’s not a question, more of a cruel joke.

“yeah, kid. you still working on that paper?”

“yes. it’s, um, a real beast,” you say, before realizing how dumb you must sound to him. “oh my god, not that, it’s like a real job, or anything, or as hard as yours. it’s just taking a lot longer than usual, and-” “don’t say that. that’s plenty hard. i couldn’t do it, that’s for sure,” he says, in that gentle voice that still sounds like he’s teasing you but you know he’s not because he’s so sincere. your head feels like it's spinning from a single sentence. 

“really?” you ask, feeling like a stupid, scared child all over again.

“yes.”

the validation washes over you and you try to soak in every drop—it’s been a while that someone older than you hasn’t made you feel silly for what you’re pursuing. or rather, for the fact that it is hard sometimes, that it’s not just typing away at a computer all day. the research and the readings and the discussions and everything that you pour into your work, the stuff that no one in your life save for your favorite professors seem to understand.

jack is intoxicating, and you’re beginning to realize how much of a problem that is.

he smiles at you and you smile at him, reaching for your coffee just so you have something else to focus on because his attention is almost blinding, when you stop your hand half-way. it’s empty.

you bring your hand back to your lap awkwardly and look up at him, hoping he didn’t notice. he did.

“so, are you coming straight from the hospital?” you try to pivot the conversation away from yourself because the truth is that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“yeah, i just finished the night shift. and i’ve got a couple days off so i figured i’d get a coffee before tackling my list of things i’ve been putting off.”

“that’s always a smart idea,” you say.

“yeah. you’re doing the same thing, huh?”

“i guess i just needed to get out of the house. and drink something that’s made without bodily harm involved.”

he laughs, so you laugh, and then you stare at his pretty, sparkly eyes and wonder why everything feels so easy around him. the concern that you’re not good enough or not working hard enough melts away and you feel so much lighter. your struggles are forgotten, if just for a moment, and you realize that this, unfortunately, is something very bad. because he’s not going to be around you much longer.

the barista calls out his name and he says he’ll be right back, getting up quickly. you think he would have said that he’ll see you around and in true doctor fashion, remind you to take care of your wound, but he didn’t. 

you conclude that he must be saving it for after his coffee, that he’ll pass by on the way out. you’re a little distracted with your thoughts to notice that he’s gone for a little too long.

he comes back with his coffee—large and in a hot cup, the polar opposite of yours—and a pastry in a bag. 

but then he hands it to you. 

“oh—what?” you ask, confused. 

“it’s for you. you haven’t eaten, right?” “well, no, but i-” he sets the bag down next to your empty coffee cup. “you didn’t have to do that, i, um, i-”

“that’s okay. i was a student once too, y’know.” 

“yeah. wow, um, thank you. that’s so nice of you.” you’re so stunned you can’t even begin to piece together jack’s reaction. it’s a five dollar pastry, and he thinks briefly he’d buy you ten of them if you really wanted, with how grateful you seem. 

“they’re making you another coffee, so pay attention for your name.”

“dr. abbot, i-” your eyes are wide like coins, heart thudding in your chest, confused and dizzy and unable to process how nice this man is.

“it’s nothing, kid. don’t worry about it.” 

you laugh at how crazy this whole things seem to you—or maybe you’re just not very used to nice things.

“you should stop because i’m gonna get used to this,” you say half-joking with a smile and another laugh, taking a bite of the delicious pastry so he’ll be appeased.

“maybe you should.” you blink at him. “i gotta go, kid, but here’s my number.” he takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles the number on the back of the paper bag the pastry came in. “call me if you need anything, hm? for your hand or anything else."

you stare at him blankly, and he laughs, and heads out with his coffee, turning to look at you one last time when he’s at the door.

the barista calls out your name and there’s a large iced coffee waiting for you on the counter.

yeah, you’re in trouble.

+

you save jack’s contact but you don’t text him, worried that he’ll think you only want to see him for his money or the seemingly endless generosity that’s always pouring from him.

you do need need help—there's a half assembled desk from facebook marketplace that you didn't have the tools to finish yourself, despite how hard you tried. but you can't possibly ask him for help with that—he's a stranger. he's your doctor. so you don't do anything with his number.

it’s just as well because the universe has other plans for you two.

you work a part-time job to pay for your tiny apartment. it’s inconsistent, you get scheduled when they’re really busy, and now that it’s getting warmer out, there's more shifts. 

so saturday morning, bright and early, you get ready, first wrapping your hand as discreetly as you can. it’s doing much better now, half of which you attest to the burn gel and half to jack’s healing powers. then your hair and make-up, and then whatever seems suitable for the hot weather today. 

there’s no uniform, at least, and you decide on a black athletic skirt and a pink shirt with the material that helps you not get too sweaty, even though you’re in the shade of the drink cart for most of your shift. 

it’ll be a full day so you pack lunch and fill up your water bottle before making your way to the golf course. you’re assigned a specific section and you pray to god it’s filled with stupid, rich businessman who tip way too much if you flutter your eyelashes at them.

it’s a little skeevy at times, but money is money, and no one’s ever tried anything more than a failed pick-up line or the more sober friends dragging away the drunk guy who lingers, even though they all wear wedding bands. 

you make the first round, and though it’s early and you’re more of a disarming, clumsy sort of charming, when you smile brightly and say it’s five o’clock somewhere, it’s enough to the men golfing to laugh and buy hard seltzers.

a little bit later, the beers start selling, and by noon, you have to go restock your cart. it’s been a good shift—you think if it keeps up like this, your tips will be enough to put towards rent and if there’s extra, you can go find a dress if you ever work up the nerve to text jack and ask him on a date.

but post lunch, to your surprise, it slows down a little. it’s hot out and you have to admit to yourself you were never going to be brave enough to text jack. at least if your rent gets almost paid, you’ll feel better than you did last night.

you drive around on the cart, stopping in front of a tall man who you think is golfing alone. in your experience, if they’re alone, they’re looking to get drunk.

“hi,” you sing, hoping he’s a good tipper. he looks nice when he smiles at you but you never know. “would you like anything to drink?” 

“two beers, please. thank you, sweetheart.”

the nickname, like always, make you a little flustered. it’s always the older guys who lavish them on you, and when they’re wrinkly and too old it’s not that big of a deal, but when they’re in this one specific age range—your heart churns remembering that jack is probably a part of that group, just like this guy—it’s enough to make you spiral. many things are, you conclude, unsure how you’ve made it this far in life.

“two?” you confirm, since you don’t see anyone else around.

“yes, just waiting on a buddy of mine.” 

“oh, okay. coming right up,” you respond, leaning over to pick up two beers. when you turn back to tell them the price, again, you feel him before you hear it. 

“our livers are gonna be shot, man.” you hear it in the distance. 

“well, after the week i’ve had, i deserve it-” the man next to you shouts out to his friend, who you, unfortunately, recognize. you hear footsteps getting closer and closer.

“yeah, yeah. don’t come calling when you want a piece of my liver. i got it,” jack says, approaching you. you turn around to face him. “oh. hi, kid. talk about a coincidence, huh?” 

you want to say something but you’re not sure how to get it out without stammering. 

jack’s eyes rake over your body—short skirt, tight shirt, cute golf shoes that you had spent way too much money on. you just wanted to play the role and fit in and it had all seemed worth it at the time.

and then he notices how you’re holding onto the beers with both hands, condensation dripping onto your mostly-dry bandage. and he turns into dr. abbot right before your eyes. “hey, hey, let me take those. you’re supposed to be keeping this thing dry,” he says, handing one over to robby. 

“you two know each other?” his friend says, his eyes going from you to jack and back to you.

“yeah. listen, i’ll be right over.” 

“sure,” robby says. “thank you again for the beer,” he tells you and you weakly smile before he walks away.

“i-i did keep it dry. it’s doing better. but i didn’t want to turn down work so-”

“yeah, but, i don’t want you compromising the healing. how long have you been out here? have you been drinking water?”

“yes, i have,” you say earnestly, his concern for you making you light-headed, though you resist the urge to fall directly into his arms, no matter how much it possesses you. 

“as your doctor, i don’t think i can recommend this.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, unsure of what else you can tell him. “you know how it is. gotta pay for coffee somehow, right?”

“you didn’t text me. or call. i was hoping for a call but i figured you’d send a text, but then you didn’t.”

“i’m sorry-” “stop apologizing. i-i’m kidding. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i just meant-” “i wanted to,” you pipe up, interrupting him. “i still want to. i just-i just got nervous, i guess. you’re like a real doctor and i’m, i’m barely a real student.” “why do you do that?” “do what?” “make it seem like it’s lesser. you are a student, you told me all about it. it’s impressive.”

“no it’s not. you don’t have to lie-” “i’m not lying.” 

you pause, processing everything happening in front of you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t text you.”

“that’s okay, kid. i’ll take your word for it this time.” “i didn’t think you’d actually want to see me, i guess.”

“yeah? why’s that?” he gets in a little closer, until he’s in the shade of your cart with you. he stares intensely and you feel yourself getting warm, unable to answer, unable to even remember what he had said. 

“i-i-”

“you, you?” you hear it in the distance—his friend calling out his name. jack takes a step away from you and looks over. “i gotta go. thanks for the beer, kid.” he pushes cash into your hand and you feel like you’ve been shocked with a live wire where your hands touch. “if you don’t text me, i can’t get your number, you know.” 

and then he walks away. and in your hand is a hundred-dollar bill for two beers.

+

it turns out, that texting jack was, indeed, a mistake. you text him a simple sentence—hi, followed with your name so he knows who it is. maybe he has other former patients he’s giving his number out to—you don’t know. (you hope not, as the thought just made you nauseous.)

he calls you a few minutes later and completely unprepared, you have to answer, and talk to him on the phone as you pace around your tiny living room until your downstairs neighbor hits the ceiling with a broom to get you to stop.

jack is a planner, you realize, because after the phone call where he asked about your day and you learned about his, you have a date for friday night. 

against every better instinct, you go buy a new, used dress for the date from your favorite consignment store, using the money from jack’s tip. you get dressed up hours in advance, unable to focus on your work, but rather chewing your cheek and reapplying your lip gloss until it’s time to go downstairs. 

jack meets you outside your apartment, though he tells you he was going to come up. he has flowers for you but you elect to carry them, not sure if you’re prepared for him to see the tiny place you call home.

this has never happened before. your first date with a man, rather than a boy, and he brought you flowers and he’s driving you to the restaurant and he gets out first and tells you to wait and then goes around and opens the door for you.

it’s ridiculous. it’s like a movie.

the first date goes well, you think.

well—it’s the best first date you’ve ever had. jack tells you all about his life but he always stops to ask about yours, though yours isn’t nearly as interesting. instead you preen him on about his time in the service, and he tells you about the prosthetic you saw when he was at the golf course, and why he wanted to become a doctor and how he likes it there now. 

(when you bring that up, he puts his hand over your injured one, still wrapped with a much smaller bandage than before, and asks how your hand is for probably the third time that night, like he has to keep checking to make sure you’re okay. it’s dizzying. everything about him is dizzying.)

he lets you pick dessert and walks you up to your door and kisses you goodnight, and you have to refrain from inviting him inside right then and there.

you stare at the flowers daily—not sure when one date had become two, and then three, and then four.

he brings you a box of chocolates—the good kind—on the second date and you makeout for twenty minutes in his car after. new flowers on the third one, when you end up seeing inside his gorgeous apartment for the first time and also end up on his lap for the better part of an hour.

and then the fourth one, which was supposed to be a late lunch after his shift at the hospital, you very nearly have to cancel. jack is outside your door and you still have a complex about your apartment, but you let him inside while you scramble around.

“woah, woah,” he says, steadying you by your shoulders and turning you towards him. “what’s going on?”

“um, work called and this girl is sick and they want me to come in but i-i have to see the bus times or call an uber and i don’t even know where my golf shoes are and-”

“just tell them no, then sweetheart,” he says, and you blink at him.

“but i should really go. if it’s busy it’s like enough to pay half my rent, and-” jack sighs, moving his hands from your shoulders to your waist.

“i don’t think you should have to worry about things like this.” 

the way he says it, it sounds very final, very firm and absolute.

“i wish it was that easy,” you say, but when you turn to meet jack’s eyes again, he’s already looking at you intensely.

“it is. let me care of it.” 

and it’s jarring. letting him pay for every date—though you paid for the ice cream after date two, something you pride yourself on—is one thing. letting him pay for coffee because he sends you money when you mention you’re going to the coffee shop to work is… something. but letting him pay for your life—your rent and your bills—is something else entirely. it’s dependence, it’s serious, it’s what you’d expect if you were engaged or his sugar baby or something—

“stop overthinking it. you know how much i like you, right?” you nod dumbly. “then let me take care of it. let me take care of you.” 

unfortunately—it’s way, way too easy to give in. you’ve never been the spoiled sort, ever, but with jack, you get to be. you tell work you can’t come in and you don’t feel incredibly guilty about it for the first time. you get to go on your lunch date and then kiss jack goodbye and tell him to have a good day at work, instead. jack sends you a direct deposit for your rent, and you think he’s made a mistake at first—it’s almost double what you need. you call him to tell him about his mistake but he says the same thing he always does.

i know. the extra is for you. don’t worry about it, kid. 

it’s incredible what those five words can do to your body and soul. it gets worse—the next time you see him, when you’re hearing home after a day of classes and he’s heading to the hospital, he takes out a little box and hands it to you, telling you to open it at home. and then he kisses you until your knees are weak and drops you off at your apartment. 

on the elevator, you open it—a pretty necklace with a glittery diamond that probably costs three times your monthly rent. 

you’ve never thought you’d get used to be spoiled like this so quickly—but you do. it’s not like you need so many luxurious things, but the little luxuries add up so quickly to the point where you’re overwhelmed. a new pair of shoes for every day because your old ones were hurting your soles. a large coffee and a pastry when you go to the coffeeshop to work. when your laptop stops working, you don’t freak out and cry like you’re programmed to do, you just tell jack and he helps you pick out a new one a few hours later.

intoxicating is the only word you can use to describe jack abbot and his affect on you.

and after another date—matching earrings for your necklace this time, ones that he helped you put on—you end up in apartment, staring at the bustling city below you from his huge windows. jack comes up behind you, kissing your cheek and then your ear, which makes you laugh, and then your shoulder and your neck, and you melt into his touch. 

you’ve been doing nothing but kissing for the time you’ve known him, and you think you’ve been fed up for long enough. actually, you know you have, but he’s been the one insisting to take it slow, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

you wrap your arms around him and bring him in for another kiss, though this one feels slightly different. hot and wet and hard, the two of you pushed so tightly against each other that your mouth hurts. you open it further to let him push his tongue inside, and you realize as fun as this is, you need more. you need whatever jack abbot will give you.

his hands—still enough to make you think voltage is buzzing through them because every time he touches you, you feel like you’ve been hit with a live wire—grab your waist and roam up and down your back. you moan into his mouth and jack pulls away briefly, letting you catch your breath.

“please, jack?” you ask, and that’s all he can let you get out, smashing his mouth against yours again. 

you squeal when he picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom and letting you land on his bed with a gentle thud.

“i wanted to stay out there,” you say softly, running your hands over his shirt, exploring his chest. your hands go to the buttons, undoing them even through your hands feel a little shaky. 

“yeah? why’s that?” jack answers in that quiet, rough voice that makes you so wet you can’t think straight. he hovers over you, leaning into press another kiss to your neck that makes you moan. “wanted to give everyone a show, huh?” he presses his lips to yours and you giggle against them.

“s’not my fault you have such big windows.” then, emboldened, you keep going. “maybe i just wanted to show everyone that i can take care of you too.” 

jack pulls away, staring at you with those eyes. those eyes, those eyes. it’s enough to drive you crazy, the way his gaze is so intense. you feel chills run through your whole body despite how hot and flushed you feel. you can’t help it—jack abbot makes you feel every emotion in the book at the same time.

“yeah, kid? you want to take care of me?” you nod, your hand finishing unbuttoning his shirt and helping him take it off. 

“please, jack. i really do.” you let your hand wander to his bulge, palming him while biting your lip at the sheer size you’re feeling. he’s so big it’s going to hurt—though right now you can’t think about anything other than getting him inside your mouth so you can finally begin to take care of him how he’s been taking care of you.

“next time, kid, i promise-”

“ja-ack,” you whine. you think you’ve gotten a little too used to getting exactly what you want from him. it’s his own fault—he shouldn’t have spoiled you so much.

“come on, sweetheart. i thought you’d be good for me, huh?” 

“but i wanted to-” you feel jack’s hands wander up your thighs, searching for the fabric of your panties, but he can’t find it. instead he feels the wetness between your legs, the your juices coating the inside of your thighs. he chokes out a laugh, burying his head into your neck like he can’t believe the sight in front of him.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath this?” he asks, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. “oh, kid. you’re in for it now.”

you squeal again, trying to fight his hard grip but jack keeps you firm in place, his lips crushing down on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. he pulls your dress up until it’s bunched around your thighs, and he’s still in his slacks but you want him inside of you so badly that you don’t think you can wait for the clothes to come off. 

“shh,” jack says against your ear, nipping at it right above your pretty new earrings. “i’ll give you what you want. i just gotta stretch you out first.” 

the words are enough to make your eyes roll all the way back—your head hits the pillow with a thud. jack keeps you distracted with a kiss while your wrap your hands around his neck. his finger get closer and closer to where you want them, and when he slips inside one thick finger, you gasp against his lips.

“yeah?” he teases, “feel good? i know, sweetheart, just take it.”

 the stretch of just one is incredible, but then he adds a second, pushing them in and out with his palm flush against your clit, the pressure building in your stomach already.

it’s a combination of everything, you think. the soft sheets that smell like him, the way you’re both too eager to even take your clothes off. how the jewelry you’re wearing is from him, just because. 

and finally, his weight on top of you, even when you’re begging him to let you take care of him for once, he can’t rest, he can’t stop it, like it’s so engrained in him. like his only mission in life is to take care of you.

jack adds a third finger and you don’t think you’ve ever been so stretched out in your life. panting against him, you lean in for another kiss, sloppy and wet.

you pull back so you can stare at jack’s expression while he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, so wet that he’s almost slipping out. he’s flushed, pretty silver hair damp against his forehead, and you reach over without thinking to brush some of it away.

“c’mon kid, cum for me. i know you want to. let me take care of you, hm? don’t think, don’t think, just cum-” 

and you do. it’s explosive, though you’ve always thought this sort of orgasm was impossible for you to achieve. you guess nothing’s impossible when jack abbot is the one doing it. you hear him before you fully feel it—fuck, yes, good girl—and your entire body tenses and tightens as that coil low in your belly snaps and washes over you. if you had ever thought his touch was electric, then today it was lightening. he rides you through it, not stopping until you’re practically pushing his hand away, and even then, he only stops to laugh against your sweaty skin. 

like he knew it’d be too much for you. like he’s only just begun breaking you in.

every muscle is aching and sore by the end of it. your body collapses into his mattress and you flutter your eyes shut, still leaning for another kiss, even when your brain is so tired it can’t think straight.

“good job, sweetheart,” he says, and you hum against him. “you think you’re ready for it?” 

when he says it like that, you can’t help but nod. 

jack lines himself up with your leaking cunt, and you can’t imagine what a mess you’ve made on his nice sheets. but when he pushes inside you, your eyes roll back again and you lose all train of thought.

damn him—you can’t even keep a sentence coherent anymore. it’s not fair. 

you feel so full. your toes curl and your muscles scream at you, but with jack’s grip tight on your hips, the fabric of his pants rubbing against you because he had just taken himself out, not taken them off entirely, it’s hard to complain. 

he sets a rhythm that makes you cry out against him, so loud that you’re worried his neighbors will hear. but jack doesn’t seem to care, encouraging you, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars over and over again. 

the sheer size of him is enough to make you cum again, you think, deliriously and delusionally. 

your eyes are shut tight, but when you open them and meet jack’s eyes, you smile at him like you can’t believe this is real. 

“j-jack,” you moan, unsure of your own volume. you hear the bedframe thud against the wall repeatedly, feel jack hold your legs up to get deeper in you, if that’s even possible. he looks down at where you two are connected, like he’s unable to pull his gaze away from there. “jack, it feel s-so good,” you hiccup, wet eyes meeting his. 

“yeah, kid?” he asks, the words coming out in a shuddery breath. “fuck, oh fuck.” hearing him say that makes your toes curl, and when he picks up his pace and starts battering against that one spot in you, your feel it again—the electric current washing over you and running through each nerve, making your limbs into jello and your heart race so fast you think it’ll thud out of your chest.

you dig your nails into jack’s back, leaving little crescent shaped marks in your wake. and when you bring him for another kiss, you whisper it against his lips, watery eyes blinking up at him through wet eyelashes, just because you felt like you had to say it.

“thank you for taking care of me, jack.” you feel it before you hear him—his hips stuttering, streams of hot cum filling you up endlessly until you’ve made a mess all around him. he groans loudly—a noise that you wish you could hear on repeat from how good he sounds, how good you made him feel.

none of this is grounding—it’s so extremely un-grounding that you feel like you’re floating on clouds. 

though you wish he wouldn’t, jack pulls out of you. his sheets must be ruined by now. 

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and you can’t believe this is your life. 

“yes. are you okay?” you ask quietly, throat sore.

“yes,” he says, with a laugh, he helps you pull the skirt of your dress down and curl up next to him. his chest is warm and you think you could fall asleep pressed up against him like this. 

you trace patterns on his forearm where it rests next to you and stare at all the freckles. 

“we should have stayed out there. the sun’s setting soon.”

“yeah?” “yeah. i like your apartment.” you sigh and mew next to him, curling in closer, close to sleep. 

“yeah, kid? how would you feel about moving in?”

♡ thanks for reading!

[cumironi]

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

[teenidlegirl]

⏦⠀˚⠀♡⠀⠀someone steals miguel's valentine⠀⠀┈⠀﹙⠀blurb⠀﹚

a very late valentines idea but had to share it…

it’s that time of year where everything is pink and red with hearts everywhere. another year of celebrating valentine’s day. the entire spider society is decorated in pink and red. everyone is clad in those colors in various styles. cards, flowers, boxes, candy being passed around. everyone is in the holiday spirit.

well, everyone expect miguel.

before, he hated valentine’s day. it’s the day of love and he had no one. everyone he cared about was gone. what was the point of celebrating if you didn’t have someone to celebrate it with?

every year on that day, miguel would spend it in his office sulking like any other day. either going through reports of anomalies or rewatching videos of his precious gabriella, his true valentine.

peter and the spider teens would offer him gifts, which miguel wasn’t fond of. the spider teens would give him various candy and cards. a special card from hobie that had a drawn middle finger inside, which of course pissed him off and tossed it away. the only gift he accepted was a drawing of himself from mayday. he was on the verge of tears but couldn’t corrupt his ego so miguel stored it away in a drawer.

he hates valentine’s day.

until this year, miguel is celebrating for the first time and it was all because of you.

when he first met you, miguel was undeniably mesmerized by you. a pretty, smart, determined yet sassy woman. at first, he was against the idea of having another assistant since he already had lyla but it was her idea to have an extra one. plus, the medical staff needed some extra help so you weren’t only his assistant but also a nurse in some way. not to mention you aren’t a spider person and come from his own universe, just an ordinary person.

as time went on, miguel developed a crush on you. of course the idiot denies it and refuses to acknowledge it. but the way his heart beat increased and cheeks warmed up whenever you’re there said otherwise. miguel hasn’t felt this way about a woman in years and it honestly scares him. no matter how hard he tries denying his feelings for you, he couldn’t.

now here he is, trying to come up with a valentine’s day gift for you. marching around his office, a frown on his face and bunch of grumbles from his lips. why is so hard to get you a gift? maybe because he doesn’t know what to get you or what you’d like. or maybe because he hasn’t done this in years. it’s like all brand new to him and he doesn’t want to mess up.

“why not make her a card and write a poem inside it? it’ll be cute!” lyla magically pops up by his side.

“a poem, seriously, lyla? i can’t write a poem and it’s ridiculous. think of something else.”

the ai rolled her eyes. “oh please, miguel. women love poems. well, most of them but she definitely does.”

miguel stops marching around when she refers to you. do you like poems? would you like a poem from him? the man can’t even write one for fuck’s sake.

“no, suggest something else.”

“i’ll help you! that’s literally my job.” she cross her arms, shooting an obvious look.

miguel ponders for a moment before sighing. “fine.” he just can’t believe he’s doing this, writing a damn poem but it’s for you so supposedly it’s worth it.

you are worth it.

after lots of arguing, miguel finally crafted a poem, with lyla’s help of course since she mainly composed it herself and miguel only made a few tweaks to not sound that cheesy. the part he did make himself was the card. a simple red heart with your name in the middle. miguel isn’t an artist but it doesn’t look that bad, he put in his effort just for you. he decides to leave the card on your desk while you’re on your break. miguel stays there for a moment, thinking that this was a stupid idea and was about to take back the card but it was too late to back out when he heard the familiar sound of your heels clicking approaching. miguel rushes off in time before you could notice him. his heart beats frantically with anticipation, pounding in his chest.

returning to your desk, your eyes light up in surprise when you notice a card with a heart on it. your head tilts in curiosity as you pick it up. back in his office, miguel pulls up the monitor of your mini office and feels his heart race as you inspect the card. a million thoughts ran through his mind.

do you like it? do you hate it?

opening the card, you read the poem written inside. it was so heartwarming, making you smile shyly. miguel catches that and his heart skips another beat. as you finish reading the poem, you eyes land on the tiny signature at the end. a tiny ‘— M’ in black ink.

who is ‘M’?

your brows furrowed in confused as you think of people you know that have a ‘M’ lettered name. one particular name pops up to your mind and your smile widens immediately. miguel noticed your realization and his heart has never beaten so damn fast.

do you know it’s him?

those crimson eyes follow your tiny silhouette as you exit your mini office and head to the cafeteria. those thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion as miguel continue following you through the monitors. you enter the cafeteria and approach one of the spidermen, making him more confused.

what are you doing?

with the card pressed against your chest, you gently tap the spiderman’s shoulder and he turns around. miguel’s eyes widen in shock. marco, spiderman from earth-9025. share some similarities with miguel in terms of appearance, expect marco isn’t abnormally tall or insanely buff.

“hey, um… i wanted to say thanks for the card, it’s very sweet of you.” you smile.

marco’s brows furrowed in confusion. “card? i didn’t…” his eyes land on the card in your hand then decides to change his mind. “oh! um, no problem! i’m glad you liked it. h-happy valentine’s day.” truth be told, marco has a crush on you as well.

oh miguel just lost his shit. how the fuck dare that little shit take credit for the card that he made for you? the poem that he, and lyla who helped, wrote for you?

his fists clenched at his sides, blood boils with anger and jealousy as miguel seethes at the sight in front of him. that fucker took credit for his gift to you and is acting all lovely dovely with you.

someone stole his valentine.

oh that little shit is gonna pay for it.

beside the angry and jealousy boiling in his vein, sadness lingers in his heart as he watched you smile at marco. smiling at the wrong man. miguel should be the one be blessed with that smile. but instead another man has that honor and it pisses him off.

miguel couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. he watched you engage in a flirty conversation with marco in the cafeteria which went on for a while. the little shit had shitty jokes and flirting tactics but apparently it made you smile and laugh. miguel hated every second of it yet he couldn’t look away. he couldn’t look away from you, seeing you so happy with another man.

he feels so… defeated.

yet again, miguel did only sign the card with his first initial. there are thousands of other people who have names that start with an ‘M’ so he isn’t the only one. how can he be more stupid than he already is? finally, he turns off the monitor after lyla repeatedly told him to shut it off a while ago. he can’t bare it anymore.

someone else took credit for his work and now has claimed your heart before he could.

his first valentine’s day, in a long time, ruined.

perhaps it was stupid to give it a chance.

as he was preparing to leave for a mission to distract himself from his broken heart, miguel sees you approaching with that gorgeous smile on your face and two coffee cups in your hands.

“you look like a zombie.”

oh you never fail to amaze him with your sarcasm, one of his favorite traits about you. “funny.” he said flatly, taking the coffee from you, muttering a ‘thanks’ in return.

“so, any gifts you gotten?” you take a sip of your coffee as you lean against the ledge of his desk.

well, maybe that mission could wait. it wasn’t canon event threatening so. besides, miguel would spend time with you than be anywhere else.

“the usual, a drawing from mayday and unnecessary gifts from the kids.” he grumbles.

you chuckle. “lemme guess, hobie got you another special gift? another middle finger?”

“no, a shit emoji drawing with my mask on it.”

you almost choke on your coffee. “oh my god- that’s fucking hilarious, i’m sorry.”

miguel rolls his eyes, unable to ignore his heart fluttering at the sweet sound of your laughter. “what… what about you?”

now, he’s a bit anxious. partly because he wonders of your thoughts about his gift. but miguel is mainly still pissed off at marco for stealing his valentine.

“a shit ton of flowers, definitely not use to that but i loved it. some cards and candy. oh! i got a card with a really cute poem i thought it was from marco.”

he frowns at the mention of marco’s name. while you babble about the poem, miguel just wanted to grab you by the shoulders and tell you that he is the one who wrote it, he is the one who made the card, not that little dipshit marco. that idiot probably doesn’t even know how to treat a woman.

“but i gotta be honest…”

one of his eyebrows quirk up, intrigued.

“he’s a terrible fucking liar.”

okay, now miguel is confused. one minute you’re babbling about marco, now you’re calling him a liar.

“i know he didn’t write it. the way he was talking earlier didn’t match the vibe of the poem. he behaves like an average frat boy.”

there’s a tiny spark of hope. if miguel was a dog, his tail would definitely start wagging.

“if he didn’t write it, then who?” he can’t help but play along, secretly hoping you’d figure it out.

although, he was a bit confused by your sudden change of opinion about marco since you were having a lovely dovely time with him in the cafeteria earlier. but perhaps you were being nice to him.

“hmmm… i have someone in mind.” a teasing smile on your lips that make miguel’s knees weak. “i was thinking of who else has a name starting with the letter ‘M’ and have his way with words.”

that tail would be wagging faster. a wave of hope begins coursing through him. god he hopes you know it’s him. please, please, please say it’s him.

you reach behind you, pull the card from your back pocket, and raise it up. “did you ask lyla to write it?”

miguel blinks, shocked yet pleased. shocked that you assume lyla wrote the poem, which was the truth. pleased that you knew he was the true creator.

“i… uh… she did help me.” he admits sheepishly.

“i basically wrote it.” lyla magically appears in between you and miguel.

“lyla.” miguel groans, shooting a light glare.

“but mr. grumpy bug here did make the card.” the ai winks at you then disappears.

he appreciates his ai assistant having his back but calling him out like that, especially in front of the woman he likes, is embarrassing.

you can’t help but laugh. “well, she has a way of words but your heart is in the right place.”

speaking of his heart, it skips another beat.

“it was her idea… the poem! but i… i thought of getting you a… gift.”

oh god, he sounds like an shy idiot.

a smile creeps up to your face. he’s really cute when he’s shy, especially as the brooding grumpy man he is. “very charming of you.”

miguel doesn’t miss the sarcasm in your tone, making him roll his eyes but with a shy smile.

“but seriously though, it was nice of you to do that for me since you hate valentine’s day.”

“well… maybe i don’t have a reason to hate it anymore.” miguel briefly glances at you.

you can’t deny the way your heart flutters at that. truth be told, you always had something for miguel. every time you’re with him, you feel different. he is undeniably an attractive man. you tried burying your feelings since he was a closed off person. but now with this little fiasco, perhaps you can dig them up.

while at first you guessed wrong at who gifted you the card, you’re glad it was miguel and not marco. at a first glimpse, marco seemed like a nice guy which is why you assumed first it was him but after that encounter in the cafeteria made you realize he’s still a boy. majority of the things he said made you cringe. you only stayed and engaged in the conversation to not hurt his feelings, hence the smiling and laughing. but that’s when you realize it was someone else. you realized it was miguel, he was the right one. honestly, you didn’t think he’s the type to do something like that but you wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.

“maybe you don’t.” you smile softly at him.

perhaps next valentine’s day, miguel would have someone to celebrate with and will definitely make sure no one else will steal his valentine.

sure as hell not that dipshit marco.

©⠀TEENIDLEGIRL⠀♡⠀don’t plagiarize or repost my work

[chrissv4mp]

♱ STUDY SESH

billie shouldn't feel this way. not about you, and especially not about your fingers that were currently gripping the pencil in your hand as you wrote down notes for an upcoming math test. it was a casual motion, and it wasn't supposed to be arousing at all.

but, in billie's twisted mind, the gentle grip you had made her stomach flip in every different direction.

and you were quick to catch on. it was obvious with the way her eyes stayed glued onto your lengthy fingers whenever you turned to tell her you were ready to move on, and the second that you told her to stop so you could write, her eyes would already be locked onto your hands.

so now, here you were: your knees digging into the hardwood floor, one hand holding billie's thigh open while the other held her waist as you leaned closer and closer to her warm, sopping cunt.

it was torture the way you teased her, your fingers dancing along the skin of her inner thigh only to pull away and pout at her mockingly. she was on the verge of tears.

"jus' one? i'll—please, i'll..." billie's voice trails off, cutting off into a whine when you drag your fingers along her inner thigh.

her eyes never leave you, glasses crooked on the bridge of her nose as she sniffles. she tries to blink back the tears brimming in her eyes, but it's no use because as soon as she gains the smallest amount of control of herself, your fingers are running through her puffy folds, slick with her sticky arousal.

"oh my god," billie whines, voice barely a whisper as her pussy clenches around nothing, back arching away from the couch cushions, "ohmygodohmygod."

you don't pay her any mind, simply smiling and dragging your fingers through her sensitive folds once again. you give her a few more strokes before you hear her frustrated whine.

"ma—mama, i—i can't," she cries softly, face red and tears beginning to run down her cheeks, "n'more teasin'. please."

her hands stay at her sides, pushing at the pillows just to pull them back so hard that her knuckles bleed white. she didn't wanna mess up your pretty hair, even if you were starting to get her all worked up and frustrated.

when you finally look up into her eyes with hooded ones, her lips part even wider, and before she can stop it, she feels the knot in her stomach snap.

you gasp softly, eyes widening in the slightest as you watch billie's cum leak from her pretty cunt and onto your fingers, dripping down her folds and soaking the couch cushions. you couldn't even imagine the conversation she'd need to have with her parents later.

"i—oh my god, what—i..." you don't reply, staying silent despite the sticky feeling between your own thighs growing wetter and wetter the more you look at your tutor—and nerdy best friend.

she looks like a beautiful mess. her hair was a mess from all the squirming, her glasses even more crooked than before, and her face stained with tear streaks. you couldn't even be mad at her.

"i didn't even get to touch you properly, bil." you coo, frowning up at her as you retract your hand from between her trembling legs, "you're just that sensitive, huh?"

billie doesn't know what to say, her lips opening and closing like she has something to say but she doesn't know how to say it. she feels her heart skip a beat whenever you bring your fingers up to your mouth and slowly push them past your plump, pink lips.

the action is so dirty, something she'd never seen before, but she wanted to see it a million times more. the way you thrust your fingers in and out of your mouth, it makes her heart race and her pussy wet. even more than before.

"still wanna feel you 'round my fingers." you murmur against your digits, pulling them out from between your lips with a 'pop'. the confused look on the poor girls' face is enough to make you laugh.

"isn't that what you wanted in the first place, hon?"

billie's heart feels like it stops whenever your palm lands against her cunt in a sharp, harsh slap. it's enough to make fresh tears swell in her eyes, but it's also enough to make the knot in her stomach tighten again.

"don't start cryin' again," you coo, but really, her mewls and weak whimpers are music to your ears.

"'m'sorry." billie cries, shaking her head, "jus'—please, don't—no more." she begs, but the desperation still swirling in her eyes tells you otherwise.

so, you finally push one of your digits into billie's tight hole, and by the quiet squeak that you hear from the nerdy girl, you know she's already feeling full.

guess you needed to stretch her out.

LETTERS. this is all i can give you guys right now 😓 i've been super unmotivated this past month, and it might be due to some things in my personal life or simply just because i really don't feel like writing recently. but i promise i'll be back on my grind & will start to dig into my drafts sometime. seasonal depression is really hitting hard, so i'm sorry i haven't been very active :( i love you all soso much!!! 🤍

TAGS. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy @bilslovebot @natbelovasblog @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @fawninlove @meliciousmel13

[parkers-gal]

I love your writing! May I request more mob!bucky, please?

this is kinda trash but it's a cute drabble, i hope u like it! :)

the work hug J.B.

summary: mob!bucky saves you from someone bothering you

warnings: brief harassment and mentions of unwanted sexual attention, bucky being protective, f!reader

wc: 1.3k

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

you’d taken the job because of the sign on bonus. you’d heard through the grapevine of mutual friends of a job offering high pay and immediate compensation. when the money hit your account, you didn’t bother asking questions. 

maybe that was a mistake because now, you’re getting pressed up against the wall by a man nearly twice your age. he’s trapped you, and normally there are bodyguards all over the place but you can’t seem to find where they’ve all gone off to.

“please… leave me alone.” your voice comes out smaller than you wanted it to, but after repeatedly telling the man to stop harassing you, he only grew more determined to get what he was after. 

“c’mon, pretty girl. just give me a taste.” 

trying to squeeze past him, you drag yourself along the wall, but he comes with you. you’ve shifted to the right about 6 feet, a round piece of metal lodging itself into the small of your back before the wall gives out and you go tumbling backwards.

you had hit the doorknob of a door that was too easy to open. falling to the floor with a thud, you wince, leaning up on your hands only to be met with a room full of eyes all on you. your jaw drops, embarrassment flooding through you.

“what the fuck?”

you whip your head towards the end of the conference table where the voice came from. seated is a man with an arm of metal, glinting underneath a dress shirt rolled to his elbows. your boss. you scramble to get up, flustered and completely ashamed. the man with the metal arm makes his way towards you.

“what is going on?”

his voice is demanding and you try not to flinch.

“i’m- i’m sorry, sir. i swear i didn’t mean to barge in here, he was pushing me up against the door and i didn’t know where i was going an- and- and-” you’re on the verge of tears.

“get the fuck out.”

one slips down your cheek. then another. you’re trying not to sob.

as you’re about to comply, a hand reaches for your wrist. 

“rumlow. leave.”

opening your eyes in shock, you watch as the man leaves his spot from the doorway. with a nod from bucky, a guard follows him out.

“are you okay?” his voice is softer now and his eyes finally settle on you. 

he notes the tear streaks and wordlessly slips out of the room, leaving behind the men at his table.

“but sir, your meeting-”

he shushes you, pushing open the door to another room down the hallway. a mahogany desk sits comfortably in the middle of the room, bookshelves lining the walls. a set of matching armchairs are resting by the unlit fireplace.

“sit.” 

you comply, feeling the warmth from his body leave your back. he goes off to the side of the room, coming back with a glass of water.

you take a feeble sip, keeping your head down.

“are you okay?”

“i’m sorry.” “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” he kneels in front of you, fingers lifting your chin to look at him. “are you okay?”

you nod. “yeah. i just… i was looking for you or one of the bodyguard-men-guys. they’re always around and when couldn’t i find one i got really scared and started to panic and…” you ramble and bucky tsks, his hand dropping to your knee to rub soothing circles. 

“i’ll make sure to always have security for you.”

you look at him, his eyes holding something else in them. 

“you don’t have to.”

“i oughta kill him for laying a hand on you.”

your jaw drops. “you- what?”

“he knows better than to fuck around at my business.”

you don’t respond, dwelling on his words.

“you can take the rest of the day off.” he stands, twirling a silver ring around a finger on his right hand. “i’ll have steve take you home.”

“but, i-” 

bucky’s hand waves around, cutting you off, a light hum leaving his throat.

“but, sir-”

“what is it?” he turns back to you.

“i don’t… i don’t want to leave.” you admit, holding yourself with your arms and trying to make yourself smaller.

he frowns, bending down again to be eye level with you. “but i need to take care of rumlow, sweets. he needs to learn not to fuck around with me.”

this time, you frown too, staring at your knee in defeat. 

your voice is small again, already ashamed at the words that are about to leave your mouth. “i don’t want to be alone.”

he tsks again and you can tell he’s mentally debating what to do next. 

“can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“okay.” you try to smile but it’s not very convincing. “i’m sorry.”

“nothing to be sorry for.” he stands, softly rubbing your shoulder before making his way to the door. standing in the threshold, he beckons someone over but your chair faces away from the door so you don’t see who he interacts with. after some shuffling, a blonde-haired man hands you a blanket. you recognize him – steve – but you’ve yet to be introduced. 

he sits in the other arm chair opposite you, offering a delicate smile and grabbing a remote to light the fireplace.

“he won’t be long.”

you nod, unsure what else to say. you wrap yourself in the blanket and stare off into the flames, dancing away in the soot-covered hollow. you hadn’t realized how cold you were. 

the door behind you opens and you recognize bucky by the sound of his shoes. 

“thank you steve, you can go.” he dismisses him, grabbing a fluffy rag and taking the seat steve just had.

bucky’s knuckles are already bruising, and he’s wiping off the remnants of some blood.

“did you… hurt him?”

a spark of remorse flickers across his face but then he clicks his jaw and sits up a little straighter. 

“i had to.”

“because he bothered me?”

“yes.” he doesn’t snap, but he’s so confident in his response that it makes you wary to ask anything else.

“but you barely know me.”

at this, he shrugs. 

“i hired you, didn’t i?” he chuckles. 

“yeah but… still. i didn’t even meet you until today.”

he fiddles with his ring again. “alright then, sweets.” he carelessly puts the rag down on the table beside him. “why don’t i get to know you, then?” he muses at you, awaiting your response.

“oh.” 

a deep chuckle leaves his throat.

“since you don’t want to be alone.”

you sit there in shock, still silent. he picks up a book, opening to the page with the bookmark placed neatly inside.

without glancing up, he speaks again, teasingly. “or is that not what you want?” his eyes soften when he sees you nervously bite your lip.

“can i have a hug?”

his shoulders slump like you’ve melted him. he thinks you’re so adorably innocent. 

“i don’t know if i’m any good at those.”

you tilt your head at him, a smile forming. “you’re still human, even after becoming a mob boss.”

he smirks, “a mob boss, huh?”

your eyes widen, regret coursing through you. “i didn’t mean-!”

you stop speaking when he stands up, opening his arms and beckoning you to embrace him. slowly, you abandon the blanket and snake your arms around his waist, successfully nuzzling into the crook of his neck and exhaling. 

“i haven’t done this in a long time.”

“what? hug?” 

his chest rumbles in a gentle laugh. “yeah.” 

letting out a big breath, you squeeze his middle like you’re trying to pull him closer. “well i think you’re doing great.” 

bucky squeezes you back and as you inhale the scent of him, you realize he smells like something you want to call home. afraid of what you started, the fit of butterflies in your stomach erupts and after tonight, you know you’ve started something you can’t ignore. but maybe… bucky feels it too. 

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bucky masterlist

[spookytragedyshark]

Another fanfic idea I'm not sure I can fully write myself. (ends up writing way too much.) Feel free to rewrite this or anything, take it, and run. I want to read someone else's take on this.

Soap finally convinces Ghost to come home for the holidays. Ghost is on edge. Ya know basic normal ghoap.

Only soap told his family he couldn't make it missions and all that. It's fine, they will be excited to see him with the change of plans.

Then, as soon as they enter the house, it goes dead silent. Ghost thinks it's his fault until soap pushes out a shaky "(y/n)" on the verge of tears, looking at a woman holding a small child no older than four.

Ghost spirals quick. He knows that name. It's soap's first love, the one that got away. The one that literally disappeared. And that child looks like Soap, a Mohawk, and all. Surely Soap didn't know. Then he's going to pick her, he thinks. Surely not him, not broken as he is. Pain, sorrow, longing, it's all processing rapid like a pinball machine.

Then it's cut off, confusion breaks through because the little one just tugged on your shirt and pointed not at soap but at him, "Who?" You smile at the little one as everyone else seems more on edge, you, without missing a beat "That's your Godfather, darling".

"SKULLY!" The child screams excitedly. "Yes, ghost. From the pictures." The child looks at Ghost like he hung the moon, then at Soap and claps his hands. "My darling little soldier, could you play with Mimi for a few" the child falters before pointing at them "later?"

"If they're not busy with work." It's not missed on Simon, you are giving them a way out. You hand the child off to Soap's mom, and all at once, Soap's brain kicks in, and he's hugging you, sobbing. Simon remembers that Soap thought you might have died after you disappeared because he couldn't find you at all. No social media, nothing. (He's still not able to process the Godfather thing or what that implies)

"let's go to the kitchen yeah? " You're looking at him. He's confused again but nods following as you lead soap to the kitchen getting him in a chair. Before turning around and rummaging through a cabinet. Soap's watching just watching.

"I was planning on talking to you privately but your mom said you weren't coming for the holidays and I couldn't stand the thought of him missing another holiday with relatives. You know how I feel about relatives" you're still going through the cabinet but guilt is laced through your voice. Soap KNOWS exactly what you're referring to. He remember all the times you said you wished for your kid to have a big extended family. How you cried scared yours would pass before you had a kid.

"It was too difficult to contact you, so I contacted your mom. Bless her, she helped me run the test against her, so I did not have to worry or bother you if I was wrong. " You hand Soap a folder. It's the DNA test. "Of course, she helped with the paperwork, so it's set up. If anything happens to me, you'll get him. If you can't, it's between my mom and Ghost." You nod to Ghost, and he thinks his heart stopped for a second because what the hell. "Depending on the situation," and you're talking like this is common sense.

"When you've regained the ability to talk, could you please tell me when we slept together, though?" Soap, as flabbergasted as he is, blurts out, "That's not why you disappeared?" He looks overwhelmed and confused almost guilty. You take a step forward and gently push back his Mohawk, having him look you in the eyes. "No, I left because I had to. My sister had an incident. Based on your reaction, I'd say it was when I broke up with Jonathan and got messed up?" Soap looks ready to cry guilt clear now. Ghost has no clue who Jonathan is or what transpired, but the pieces are there. This, whatever this is, Soap clearly never wanted to even think about it again.

"You were beyond wasted that night, too. I don't blame you. We're adults, we knew better." You're still looking in soap's eyes. "I'd have come as soon as I knew. But I thought he was Jonathan's, and Jonathan never wanted kids. So it took until he started to resemble you."

Ghost thinks undoubtedly Soap will pick you because he's looking at you like an angel. Ghost wonder's maybe you are, because who would be this kind and calm? Then you derail his thoughts again because what the hell...

"When you two become officially public, I'll have him start calling you bonus dad, seems more fitting and all." You're addressing Ghost, and you are looking at Ghost. You're looking like this is normal but Ghost is terrified and he can't place why. His brain slows. You know. You know him and soap... Is his existence ruining this for soap? How does he fix it?

You move away, doing a little pace through the kitchen. "I'm not staying anywhere near by, actually, I'm moving again, so we'll have to figure something out about visiting." Soaps eyes are wide, and he's still practically muted in shock. "I steamboated again, huh?" Soap mutely nods. Ghost is confused by the fraze.

"oh, one more thing, ghost the kid is interested in anything creepy so be prepared, he's probably going to fan girl about your mask. And try to climb you." Ghost nearly chokes on his own saliva.

Finally soap speaks "same taste as his mom then?"

"He saw one picture of you and demanded a Mohawk." You laugh, and Soap chuckles; full of emotion, none of you can quiet Desesifer. Then you are moving back into the living room. They think you are trying to give them space, but both follow Soap, too scared you will disappear the moment you are out of sight. Ghost is determined to spend as much time with Johnny with Soap as he can before...

The moment they reenter the family room, the kid beelines for the two men and does in fact try to climb Simon to get a better look at his mask. You effortlessly pick the kid up, asking Simon if he will hold him. He obliges, and the kid rambles about scary stories and how cool Ghost and Soaps uniforms are and how the pictures Mimi gave him of them are on his bedroom wall. The men just melt. Ghost swears to himself he will protect this kid. He is too innocent too perfect. He may not be Soaps lover much longer, but he will be here.

Meanwhile, Soap brain has taken a pause to adore how Ghost, his Simon, is so perfect with his mini me. Sure, his chest aches for you, but this is his L.T. The kid practically jumps from Ghost to Soap. For a few moments, Ghost adores the interaction. How perfectly Soap takes to the boy. Then he tears his eyes away. No, this is not his place. He mutters something about a smoke and steps outside. Soap is enamored with his kid, doesn't notice at first, but you do.

Silently, you follow, giving him time to mostly finish his cigarette before approaching him. It is just you two on the porch.

"Hey I am sorry about everything. I know it was shocking, and I have a tendency to kinda take over or uh not rant but steamboat is what we call it. It is a result of my overactive mind." You are rubbing your neck, looking nervous, and Ghost cannot for the life of him understand why you are apologizing to him. "I really want everyone to get along. Soap and His mom have a high opinion of you so-"

"He will be with you." It is out of his mouth before he realizes he even opened it. You are looking up at him and blinking in shock. Ghost thinks he has messed up bad because you are slowly starting to look angry. "He loves you." It's firm as if stating a fact. "You are not pulling back from him because of me." And Ghost hears his own insecurity in your voice, but he can't help it. He pushes more, "he has loved you longer."

Your entire body language changes as if having an epiphany. Then a muffled, barely audible "really?" Again, he can not help it, he looks away, a strained "yes" . Then he feels your hands on his shoulders. "Then he will have both of us. No reason for you to go away. " his eyes snapping back to you because again what the hell.

"He clearly loves you. His family loves you. Our kid loves you. I am not letting you walk away because of some fear or insecurities that I am certain I or Soap also feel. Besides that, this is my fault. I was so blinded by my own insecurities that I did not think anyone could truly love me." In that moment, Ghost thinks, hearing his own thoughts echoed back at him, that he might also be falling for this angel in front of him.

Soap chooses that exact moment to burst out the front door, franticly looking for you two. You think he is worried about Ghost and him potentially leaving. Ghost thinks Soap is just looking for you to make sure you do not disappear again, only he does not relax fully at seeing you. Soap scans your serious expression and your hand on Ghost's shoulder and rushes over, "Oh Si" and hugs Ghost like his life depends on it.

"Johnny, when exactly did we start having the same taste in men?" Ghost brain decides that's the moment to stop functioning.

A few days later, after being back to work, the boys learn why exactly you are moving again when Price introduces you to the team as the new civilian specialized gear mechanic.

[witchesverse]

ur droolin' for a squeaky

pairing: vampire!wanda x human!femreader

summary: you've been distracting wanda's mind for weeks. she needs to deal with you before you ruin everything for her.

content: noncon, blood drinking, pain, clit rubbing, running from wanda, face slapping, on the verge of tears, begging, stalking.

a/n: shoutout to my awesome gf helping me write this (writers block sucks)

masterlist

When Natasha suggested Wanda acquire a human pet, she laughed in her face. It was the most bizarre thought. A powerful, high-ranking vampire does not need an idiotic, useless blood bag.

That was until you. Everything about you reeled her in, making her obsessed. She would zone out in important meetings or events because her mind was filled with violent and pornographic images of you.

"Wanda." Another high-ranking vampire, Carol Danvers, snapped at her. "What is going on? You have been distracted for the past few weeks."

Natasha sneered. "She's obsessed with a little human."

Wanda scoffed; a lie smoothly following. "Humans are below me. I would not become obsessed with such a weak creature."

"I don't care what your problem is, but you need to work it out," Carol sternly said. "I will not have you ruining this for us. Do you understand?"

Wanda nodded. She wasn't going to let a pathetic human ruin this.

-

Your heart was pounding and your legs ached with each step. You were exhausted but couldn't stop running; she would catch you. The trees had gotten thicker causing the sunlight to barely shine through, making it difficult to see.

So, naturally, you had to fall over a rock.

"Shit." You scrawled to your knees, ignoring the throbbing pain of your newly exposed skin and blood trickling down your knee.

There was no point in running anymore. She was already here within the time it had taken you to stand. You squinted, trying to find her in the shadows of the tree.

You couldn't find her.

Some people would think that was a good thing, but you knew it wasn't. You felt her hungry eyes raking over your body. Over the past few days, it had become a game for her. She would have you on a paranoid edge, pushing your fear to the limit, then pounce.

"I know you're watching me." You wanted to sound brave, but you didn't.

Silence.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?" You screamed, hoping that your rage would pull her out of the shadows.

Silence.

"Please," Your voice wavered with emotion. "Stop doing this."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as she emerged from the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and her bright red eyes complimented her pasty white skin.

She glanced at your bleeding knee and licked at her fangs. She smiled as you stumbled backwards, trying to create space between each other.

She was quick to fill that space. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her and placing her other hand on your hip to keep you close.

"Are you scared, little one?"

"Does being a monster damage your brain cells?" You snapped, irritated by her stupid question.

Her hand collided with your cheek; her strong and painful slap made your skin go hot and sting. You tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip tight on your hip.

"Are you scared, little one?" She sternly asked again.

"Yes," You answered honestly.

You were fucking terrified. For many days and nights, she followed and hurt you. You tried going to the police, begging for their help, but who in their right mind would believe that a blood-sucking monster was following you? Her saliva would slowly heal a wound so you didn't even have the bite marks to prove it.

She grinned. She pushed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply and moaning at the scent of your blood. Her fangs lightly brushed against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" You sniffled, trying to contain your tears.

"You." She replied. "You're mine and I want you."

You shook your head. "You don't own me."

She laughed. "Oh, I think I do."

A sharp pain that was like an uncontrollable fire spread across your neck and chest as she dug her fangs into you. You squirmed in her hold, trying to break away from her but her inhumane grip kept you close.

"No, no."

The pain was unbearable until her venom was pumped into your system. You sighed in relief, slumping in her hold. Vampire venom can be used for many things, sex being one of them. The venom makes a human incredibly sensitive and horny, basically turning your brain to mush.

She pinned you against a tree. One hand held onto your waist whilst the other slipped into your panties and rubbed small circles on your clit.

Your blood filled her mouth and dripped down the sides, staining her shirt. She groaned, her grip tightening on your hips and fingers moving faster.

"Please." You whimpered.

Her laughter was muffled. "You don't even know what you're begging for."

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. The venom made everything feel more intense and powerful, even the slightest touch made you squirm.

"Stop." You weakly pushed against her.

She snarled and dug her fangs further into you. She would only stop when she was finished, not when you were.

"Please...” you beg, giving up on physically fighting back. “I can’t-”

The wicked pairing of blood loss from Wanda’s fangs in your neck with your blinding climax washing over you rendered you limp, and you felt your weight drop as your knees buckled beneath you.

Your thighs clamped around Wanda’s fingers, still steadily rubbing circles on your swollen clit, and your stomach began spasming. The little strength you had left was put towards an involuntary whine, your voice full of air as you arched away from her touch. A wince falls from her bloodied lips into the curve of your ear at your blunt fingernails digging red crescents into her pallor skin.

Just as quickly as it came, though, the pleasure melted from your body, and you were reminded of your achy limbs, exhausted from weaving your body through the woods. The edges of your vision began to fade to black, and your mouth went dry.

"Sleep well, little one."

[rowarn]

cw: dubcon if u squint, mean!simon, cum play?, teasing and punishment <3

sorry i haven't been posting proper works lately, i just haven't had any motivation in sitting down long term to write ): i hope u can understand <3 but here's something i cooked up a bit!!!

You, who just had to get on his nerves. You just had to mouth off at him every chance you got. His patience was a thin thread and you were snipping at it around every turn.

He’d been gone for so long, he was exhausted and worn to the bone. He just wanted some peace and quiet, some time to himself to wind down. 

But you were so damn needy for him, pawing at him the second you could get your greedy little hands on him. He was so tired that he simply couldn’t even fathom the idea of getting hard. 

But in the face of your whimpering, the feeling of your soft tits pressed against him as you gripped his cock through his sweats, he could feel himself chubbing up despite it all.

You knew how tired he was. You knew he just wanted to rest and decompress. Yet there you were, tugging his cock from his sweats, stroking him languidly like he was your own personal little toy. 

And for some reason that just set him off. 

Before you knew it, you were pinned face down on the couch, your panties stretched around your thighs. 

“Please, Simon,” you pant, voice pitchy and broken from how utterly needy you were. 

He thought you were so cute, begging him like you hadn’t gotten on his one good nerve the second he walked through the door.

Just to tease you, to be mean because you deserved it for being such a damned brat, he pressed the tip of his leaking cock against your pretty little hole. He felt you clench, eager to suck all of him in. You wanted to be filled so badly, precious cunt drooling slick down to the couch in sticky strings at the mere idea of getting stuffed nice and full by your boyfriend’s perfect cock. 

He tapped the head against your clit, the little bud stiff and neglected. The stimulation made you tremble, a sweet moan escaping your lips from how good the fleeting pleasure felt. 

With you distracted by the teasing, Simon quickly began to jerk himself off, using the sweet, wet heat of your cunt to edge him to a quick release. It had been weeks since he’d gotten off, so it was easy for him to find that euphoria with your pretty little ass perked up just for him, ready and willing to be used - something you weren't even going to get.

That thought alone had him cumming with a soft gasp, making sure to aim it right at the crotch of your panties, spilling his load in the pretty, purple cotton stretched around your thighs. 

“S-Simon?” you asked, already sounding on the verge to tears as you listened to cum without you. 

“There you go, love,” he grunts, lazily tugging your messy panties up. 

You whined when his cum smeared all over your cunt, mixing with your creamy juices. The cotton soaked up the liquids and plastered itself to your folds, giving him the perfect view. 

Meanly, he patted your cunt before tucking his cock away and climbing off of the couch with a grunt. You flopped onto your side, tearily watching as he made a show of stretching and yawning.

“Really needed that, sweetheart,” he grinned, “I want you to keep my cum nice and warm in your panties while I go have a nap. Think I’ve earned one. And maybe when I’m back, you’ll stop bein’ such a damned brat and I’ll give you what you want, yeah?”

[you-know-honey]

Green Vibes

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Viktor is on the verge of collapse because of work, so you will “prescribe” him an unconventional method.

Warning: Mention and use of drugs (Weed). Sexual tension (I don't know if it counts, judge for yourself)

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share if you liked it.

Translation of the request: The reader shows Viktor the joints

You bent down to pick up the twelfth crumpled ball of paper that rolled across the floor to throw it in the trash can.

As an assistant it was your duty to help with the less interesting tasks of being a visionary inventor. And that meant keeping things tidy and clean.

Which used to be the biggest burden, Jayce was a master at leaving important things lying around, his desk was always full of papers, notebooks, screw and bolts.

It was like being his babysitter, once he left at nightfall, you stayed to tidy up.

You wanted to go home and… try a new ‘relaxant’ you had bought, but it seemed like that would have to wait. Or maybe not…

Viktor always stayed too late at the lab, so while you cleaned up and complained about the mess of Jayce, he was always there, silent or chatting a little with you when he decided to take a break, something very rare for him.

But now he was really focused, mumbling things that aren't so nice to hear while writing in his notebook, then he got upset and hit the table a little before tearing off the sheet and throwing it to the floor. He's been like this for the last few hours, it seems like he could burn everything down if his formulas don't start making sense soon. It's weird to see him like this, normally he's someone who could have infinite patience, you suppose he has it with everyone except himself.

You approached his desk discreetly, as if you were tidying up a bit. You carry with you your usual relaxed energy, maybe you could spread some of your spirit to him.

"Viktor!" your shout surprised him, making his back tingle like a cat's "You look like you're about to pop a vein, are you okay?" they say with a soft smile.

Viktor guides his gaze from your hands on his desk to your face, you look at him with a calm smile, as if you hadn't just almost stopped his heart, it's always like that, there's no other way you could smile at him and if you think back he's the only person you really smile at.

He answers with a snort, rubbing his temples.

“Of course not. If I was this dam- prototype would work” he refrained from saying a rude thing, you knew him, for him, saying a rude thing meant he was losing his composure and that was something he never did “I'm starting to think that magic is more logical than science.”

He sighed, showing that he was quite exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes supported that conclusion. His thin hands combed his hair as if that would refresh his ideas before falling on his desk again.

That squeezed your heart a little and made a curious idea cross your mind, reflected in a malicious smile.

You let your hands wander across the desk, between the open papers and notebooks, to Viktor’s hands that were clenched into fists. “What you need is not more work. You need to relax…”

Viktor's body was the victim of a shiver when he felt your fingers approach his hand, his heart skipped a beat when he felt how your fingers tried to loosen their grip on his fist and finally succeeded. He tried to stay still, as if the slightest movement would push you away like a little bird, his gaze followed each of your movements in his hand, caressing his palm and playing with his fingers.

Was he surprised by your attitude? Yes. It was something he had never expected from you. You used to play little jokes on him, like shouting his name or throwing a pencil on the floor to get him out of his almost absolute concentration but... touching him? That was new. Sure, you were the secretary of both of them but you always had to run after Jayce because he was like a clueless child, even Viktor knew that. With him you weren't like that at all, you always gave him his space and kept your distance all the time. That had always made him feel uncomfortable, like he didn't belong to whatever was forming when you and Jayce were together, like he was a sour shadow life to the sidelines of happiness.

“Can I help you with that?” you asked in a whisper.

“I guess so…” He seemed nervous and that increased even more when he felt your hand go up his arm to his shoulder, where with both hands you did small massages on his shoulders and neck. You used to give Jayce massages when he was frustrated and a part of Viktor had always felt a little jealous of that, although he didn't want to admit it, it seemed unfair to him, Jayce had Mel and he really didn't get tired of talking about how wonderful she was and yet he also had you, always fluttering around him, always laughing with you, always accepting your merely friendly touch, always...always making you smile...he wants that.

He couldn't help but gasp when the pressure on his body began to disappear, his body was also enjoying it, after all it was the first time he could feel your touch beyond accidental brushes. He was grateful that you were behind him, he was sure that if you could see his face he couldn't hide how much he was enjoying it.

You looked over your shoulders at your bag hanging on one of the racks next to the door, next to Viktor's jacket. It was time to take advantage of that small purchase. You slid your hands to his neck, massaging even under his hair, making your way and disarranging his shirt in the process until you touched his warm and soft skin. Viktor's hand quickly went in search of his cane, when a shiver ran through him from head to toe with force, the emptiness in his lungs reminded him that he should breathe. But even with that wave of emotions, what he felt the most was the absence of your hands on him.

He quickly turned in his chair to look for you, his eyes traveling around the lab until he saw you near the entrance.

“No…” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his cane and let his shoulder rest on it, hurrying to get to you, but when he had you in front of him the words got stuck in his throat. “Are you leaving already?” he asked, it was the only thing his nervous mind had been able to formulate.

You turned back to face him, hiding something in the palm of your hand, a playful smile spread across your face as you shook your head. “No, I just came… to get something.”

“Oh…” he felt like an idiot, there was no lie that could justify him basically going after you like a lapdog. So he just stayed silent looking for something that would draw his attention more than the shame he felt and he found it, in your hands. “What are you trying to hide?” He asked at your poor attempt to hide what you were carrying in your hands. That helps him regain his composure and look you in the eyes again with confidence.

“It’s a secret” your tone is playful as you dodge him, close enough to smell his coffee and caramel aroma. Your movements are full of grace, even when you bring an extra chair to his desk and push his research away with a slight carelessness.

He can’t help but compare you to a dancing nymph, the air that sneaks through the open window and the bright moonlight support that idea in his head, he doesn’t even mind that some of his papers fly in the wind to his feet, he feels it as if they mark a path to you. Viktor doesn’t hesitate for a moment to return to his desk, shaking his head as a shy smile crosses his face, he can’t help it, it’s what you provoke in him.

He lets himself fall on the seat in front of you, your body shivers with the friction of the metal device on his leg against your knee, he seems to notice it and self-consciously takes a little distance, but you used your foot to work his chair into place before basically having him on the other side of the desk.

“Are you ready to try something really relaxing?” You ask excitedly.

Your gaze is unmistakably on him, finally, his mind screams excitedly and he hides it very well with a nervous movement of his good leg.

“What is that?” He asks finally, he's not good at enduring mysticism.

You open your hands with the same excitement as a circus tent opens to show an endless number of wonders. There's a yellow metal box with rainbow stickers and happy faces painted with marker. Inside there was a green mass and another brown compacted, a lighter, small filters and small papers.

You laughed a little at his attitude. “It's a relaxation method. You're going to like it. Well... maybe not, but you have to try it.”

Viktor massages his chin while he analyzes everything, he has that skeptical look full of curiosity again, you can see the nuts and bolts in his mind turning.

“It's weed.” you confess, his eyes widen and search your gaze quickly, his eyes reflecting surprise. “Oh come on Viktor, what is science if not experimenting with new things? It counts as research.” The tone in your voice is playful, as if you're amused by the situation.

“What effects does it have?” If there was one thing Viktor never dabbled in, it was drugs. Even with his illness, he never thought about trying them. Not because he didn't know about them, they just didn't spark his interest. "I didn't know you were on drugs..." he murmurs, feeling a little foolish, he didn't consider you to be close friends so it's not like you had to tell him about it. A thorn of jealousy stung him when a voice in the back of his mind mentioned that maybe Jayce did know that and many other things about you.

"I don't, it was... a recent purchase, I just know that they relax you and make you feel really good for a few hours." You sigh and rest your head on your outstretched arm on the desk. "Do you want to try it? I mean, we can try it together if you want..." you say as your hand plays with a pencil near you. You don't want to look him in the eyes, you fear meeting a stern look and a big reproach.

"Sure, why not." was his answer, simple and perhaps a little nervous.

“This is going to be fun.”

Viktor watches you carefully as you roll the joint, studying your every action. He watches your hands take the thin, almost translucent paper that shines a little under the moonlight, watching it spread between your fingers as you make sure the sticky side is facing up and out. He look at your hands, soft and the shiny rings on them, and only one thought escapes you.

“I’d like to feel them…”

“What?” you reply to such an unexpected comment.

“Nothing,” he quickly says. “I was rambling,” he tries to justify himself, and you seem to believe him for a second.

“Okay…” Your movements were nervous, caused by the intensity of his gaze, making you more and more nervous about being the center of his absolute attention this time. You delicately crumble the buds. The sticky texture of the resin tried to stick to your fingers, releasing an earthy aroma, you take a bit of tobacco and crumble it up and let it rest on the grass. You take a small little filter and place it on one end. With agile fingers you lift the paper and begin to shape it, making sure everything is well distributed, you roll the paper and Viktor’s soul seems to leave his body when he sees you licking the edge before sealing it with a clean movement. His thoughts are reflected on his face as a faint blush spreads across his cheeks and his Adam’s apple rises shakily.

You offer him the finished joint with a satisfied smile, you hoped you had done all the steps right. Viktor takes it delicately, as if he had just witnessed a sacred ritual.

“What exactly is in it?” he asks, hoping the answer will take his attention away from his own thoughts a little.

“Weed, tobacco, patience…and the desire to share” You joke as you take out the lighter and put everything in the box, before hiding it in one of the drawers of his desk.

Viktor plays with the joint in his hand for a while, examining it. “Should I put it in my mouth?” he asks as you nod softly.

“I’ll light it” you move your chair closer to him, just a few centimeters from each other, you take the lighter from the table and bring it close to his face, with the glow of the flame you can clearly see his blush and how straight he is in his seat “Relax, I’m not going to set you on fire.” you murmured with a soft laugh. He didn’t answer, he just brought his face closer to you, not to the flame of the lighter, your body paralyzed at such a reaction, it was you who brought the flame closer to him and gently lit the joint.

Viktor's first drag was a tragedy in itself, he coughed as if his soul was leaving them while his eyes were watery as if he was dying, he had inhaled it all at once and swallowed it, so it was like watching a chimney moan. You quickly went to his aid by taking the joint from him, taking him to the window to get some air and gently hitting his back to get the remaining humor out of his lungs. Even so, you couldn't help but laugh awkwardly, you tried to hide it so he wouldn't think you were laughing at him but then it was a thousand times more noticeable.

“This can't be healthy…” he mentioned, hitting his back against the wall next to the window.

“Not if you do it like that” you mentioned covering your laughter with your hand.

“Do you find it funny to see me dying in the smoke?”He asked, he didn't seem upset, he just had his arms crossed with a sarcastic attitude, letting his back fall against the wall in the arch of the window.

“No…” you muttered before stopping hiding your laughter and letting it out freely. He just smiled and looked out the window, he felt a little silly about everything that had happened but at least he made you laugh and that was something.

Viktor’s skin crawled as your hand suddenly cupped his cheek. “You have a tear,” you said, wiping the small droplet that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. His arms fell heavily to the sides of his body. Before he could react properly, he let himself enjoy the touch, your touch, the feeling of you coming into contact with his skin. Although it only lasted a few seconds, he could still feel your touch when you pulled away.

“I’ll do it first so you can see, okay?” you said. You took the joint between your fingers elegantly and put it between your lips. You inhaled and held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. The smoke fell from your mouth and the wind carried it to Viktor, enveloping it in a cloud of smoke before dissipating into the air.

You approached him with slow steps, taking one of his hands and leaving the joint between his fingers. “It’s your turn,” you said, raising his hand to his mouth, “remember, don’t swallow the smoke,” you said in a joking tone.

“Ha ha, funny.” He rolled his eyes and brought the joint to his lips this time. He took a deep drag and held it for a while, holding onto his cane to use his free hand for something.

You were on the lookout for everything, in case he choked on the smoke again.

“Exhale,” you rested your hand on his chest, the small jump his chest made when he felt your fingers against his clothes was clear to you. Smoke came out from between his thin lips like a waterfall, you left your hand against his chest until you felt him breathe again. “My turn,” you said, taking the joint and taking another drag.

After a few puffs, Viktor is more relaxed and begins to notice things he wouldn't normally comment on. He looks at you with the curiosity of a small child.

“You know, you're surprisingly good at… this” he says as he holds the joint ready for another puff. “I thought only Jayce could convince me to do something stupid, but you seem more effective.”

You laughs, it's a rather polite comment coming from him. “Are you surprised? I have my methods.” You reply mischievously.

“Your methods…” he stares at you for a moment and mutters almost to himself. “They should be exclusive.”

As the joint gets smaller, the effect becomes much more noticeable. Viktor's eyes blink slowly and open like a deer's, his pupils almost completely obscuring the warm iris in his gaze. It doesn't take long for him to let out his first ramblings. By this point, they're both sitting on the floor, each in their own corner of the window with their legs outstretched.

“I like your eyes,” he blurts out of nowhere, clinging to his cane as if he were going to fall off if he doesn't. “It's fascinating. Like…like…like you're catching light in a jar.” He says with the sweetest smile you've ever seen. You're a bit stunned by his words, used to the reserved and serious Viktor, this is all a new air, you play along.

“Wow, was that a compliment? I should write it down for posterity,” you say, laughing. You've received compliments before, from people much more sober than Viktor is now, but it's different, that compliment hits differently, behind all the cool and carefree facade that comment manages to pierce your heart and leaves you sighing for that new side of Viktor. As if you discovered how hungry you were to receive something from him.

Viktor replied, with a smile that exuded confidence “You don’t need to write it down. I can tell you whenever you forget.”

You sighed “You’ll regret that so much when you’re sober…” you said. You didn’t want to take his words seriously, after all, believing someone on drugs was like believing someone drunk and that almost never went well. But it was advice that your own mind threw away right now.

While they were talking, Viktor, under the effects of the joint, began to think things that he normally wouldn’t say. “Why are you always so comfortable with Jayce?” he asks, letting his head fall against the wall, leaving his neck and collarbones bathed in light on display.

Confused, you arch an eyebrow “What? Jayce and I are friends, and he’s my boss, it would be terrible if I didn’t get along with him. Why are you asking?”

Viktor turns his gaze to you, you can feel a huge chill as you become his target, his hand playing with the cane at his side.

“You always laugh with him. You always flutter around him.” He says with a certain bitter tone that you can’t quite decipher. “It’s like he’s the only one who can make you laugh, the only one who deserves to enjoy you. I wish to have that.”

His answer surprises and intrigues you at the same time, you lean a little towards him wearing a mocking smile. The window isn’t very big, so it’s not like you’re far away anyway. “Are you jealous, Viktor?” The way you taste his name like honey runs through every nerve in his spine.

He’s clearly blushing, but he doesn’t back down, after all he has nothing to lose, if something goes wrong he’ll blame the drugs for everything.

“Maybe I am. What’s wrong with wanting your attention for me alone? Can't I want you?”

His words momentarily silence you, surprised by his sincerity. Something he takes advantage of to get closer to you, something you never thought he would do, he leans on his cane and before you know it your legs are trapped between his, and his free hand rests on your shoulder, caressing his way to your neck with his fingers. He looks so… surprisingly desperate, his breathing is irregular and his grip on his cane is weak. Having him so close makes the heat emanating from his body combine with yours, your heart is racing to have him so close and you have to use all your will not to do something stupid.

“It’s frustrating, you know? Seeing how you have such a good time with him and then you’re just silent with me… Don’t I deserve your laughter? Don’t I deserve your company?” You don't know how it hurts to want you, to want your smile, to want your gaze only on me, to want your touch desperately and see how you give it to someone else..." A gasp escapes his face and his body collapses, falling on your hip making you gasp in shock, everything is a mess "Want me, just want me."

"Viktor... You're... you're drugged... You're not seeing clearly." Your heart officially stops, his weight is against you, you can't and don't want to move. Each of his words ignites something inside you that could devour everything in its path.

He laughs, maybe because of nerves, maybe because of the effect of the grass or the tingling that your hands leave behind on his body, but he just laughs "I see enough to not want to share you with anyone else."

His gaze, normally focused and distant, now burned with something that seemed uncontrollable. There was tension in the air, a pent-up hunger that exploded the moment your arms wrapped around his neck.

He didn't wait any longer. With a quick, determined movement, he pulled you close, his cane clattering against the floor as he forgot about everything but you. His lips met yours with an almost brutal force, colliding with the intensity of lightning in the middle of a storm.

The first kiss was a chaos of urgency. Your mouths sought each other out like there was no tomorrow, lips parted, deep gasps escaping between each encounter. Viktor pushed you against the wall, his heavy, ragged breathing echoing in your ears. His hands, normally careful, were now hungry, desperate. One moved up your waist, running down your back under the fabric of your clothes, while the other leaned against the wall, locking you against his body.

You let yourself go completely, your fingers burying themselves in Viktor’s brown, tousled hair. His lips moved in a chaotic rhythm, alternating between wet kisses, bites on your lower lip, and that feverish exploration of your tongues that lit up your entire body. The soft sound of your mouths colliding and your panting filled the air, accompanied by your hands that now ran over his chest, his abdomen, without stopping.

When Viktor broke the kiss, it wasn’t to break away, but to drag his lips down your jaw, down to your neck. There, he left a series of wet, almost wild kisses, lightly sucking on the skin with a wet sound that drew a moan from your throat.

“You are...” he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy, broken, “incredible. I don’t want to stop.”

His words felt like caresses, so charged with emotion that your body trembled under his touch. Viktor's hands now slid down your waist, slowly moving up, exploring it with a reverence laden with desire. Each touch was a reminder of how much pent-up passion this man so accustomed to solitude harbored for you.

"Viktor..." you gasped against his neck, but he took your mouth again, cutting you off with another fierce kiss.

The sound of rustling clothes, of uneven breathing, and Viktor's soft grunts as he lost himself in you filled the room. His body was completely pressed against yours, and every movement of his seemed to be aimed at etching his presence into you, as if he feared it could all fade away at any moment.

When they finally broke apart, their lips were swollen, and their chests rose and fell rapidly. Viktor's eyes, normally filled with logic and calculation, were now deep pools of desire and devotion, reflecting every emotion he couldn't put into words.

“This isn’t enough,” he confessed, his voice shaking slightly as he looked at you as if you were the only important thing in the world. “It will never be enough with you.”

Your breathing was still ragged, the air between you filled with an almost palpable heat. Viktor kept his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closed, while his hand remained firmly on your waist, as if letting go was unthinkable.

“This is dangerous...” Viktor murmured, although the tremble in his voice made it clear that the idea of stopping was an almost impossible challenge. His fingers continued to absentmindedly trace the curve of your back, as if his body refused to break contact.

“More dangerous than what you do with Hextech?” you replied in a whisper, sketching a slight smile, trying to lighten the tension of the moment.

Viktor’s response was caught in his throat when you both suddenly heard the echo of footsteps in the hallway. You both tensed instantly, your bodies rigid as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over both of you. Realizing for the first time that dawn had already arrived and the sun was rising lazily on the horizon, the weed turned the hours into moments.

“Viktor, are you there?” Jayce’s deep, confident voice echoed just outside the door.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open, his pupils still dilated from the intensity of the moment. He cursed under his breath as he grabbed his cane from the floor, gesturing quickly towards the work table. You understood what he meant.

With your heart about to explode, you helped him stand up and hurried to adjust your clothes and move away from him, although your legs were shaking slightly from the heat still burning in your body. You pretended as best you could that nothing had happened, he walked over to his desk and you grabbed some papers from the floor.

The door opened barely a second later, not giving you time to fully regain your composure. Jayce walked in with his usual relaxed attitude, but his gaze narrowed instantly as he noticed the strange atmosphere that filled the room.

“Am I interrupting something…didn’t you go home Y/N?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, looking first at Viktor and then at you, lingering a second longer than necessary on your slightly swollen lips.

Viktor, always quick to react, stood up with his cane and pointed at a pile of papers scattered on his table.

“Nothing at all,” he said in his usual tone, though the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed his feigned calm. “We were just going over some calculations and cleaning up your mess.”

Jayce narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. He took in Viktor’s messy locks, the flushed cheeks on your face, and that palpable tension floating between the two of you.

“Going over calculations?” he repeated slowly, letting the phrase hang in the air with a mocking tone as he crossed his arms. “Because it seems that something else happened here.”

You forced a nervous smile as you began to organize the papers on the table, pretending the comment was outlandish. “Oh, come on Jayce, what could possibly happen here?” Your heart was still beating like a drum in your ears. Viktor, for his part, adjusted his posture and gave Jayce a sharp look, full of exasperation.

“If you have something important to say, do it quickly. We’re busy.” Viktor’s voice was sharp, as if he were trying to firmly divert attention.

Jayce tilted a smile, clearly amused by his friend’s reaction, but raised his hands in surrender.

“Relax, it’s nothing urgent. I just wanted to ask you something, but I can go get coffee while you finish. I don’t want to… interrupt your calculations.”

The emphasis on the last word followed him to the door, where he gave one last suspicious look before disappearing down the hall.

When the door finally closed, the silence in the room was deafening. You let out a nervous laugh, bringing your hand to your mouth, while Viktor let out a long sigh and let himself lean back against the table, holding himself up with one hand.

“This can’t happen again,” he murmured, though his eyes, still fixed on you, burned with an unmistakable desire that contradicted every word. “I don’t know how you make my brain feel so… scattered and focused at the same time.”

You smile and he replies mischievously as you drop your forehead on his shoulder, your breath brushing his neck. “It’s my secret talent.”

Viktor watches you for a moment and adds softly, “Then, save it for me.”

“Viktor, I think you’re too high to give romantic speeches.” You laugh softly and give him a small pinch on the arm.

“Maybe… but I’m not so high that I don’t know I want more than what’s happened tonight.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug. His chest heaves with a small laugh. “Shall we have breakfast at my house?”

The answer is more than clear.

-------------

💕Thank you for the 100 followers even though we already passed 4 more, thank you for everything💕

[cheesus-doodles]

Ringing in the New Year with Toman

Masterlist

‎

Had this cute idea about writing some small New Year Eve scenarios but this massive writer’s block got me good ;w; it’s a bit late but i’m glad to have gotten this done! more to come in a bit

“Stuff it! I already called dibs!”

Kazutora, however, wasn’t having it, his leg shooting out to connect with the back of Mikey’s side as the duo-colored hair delinquent attempted to dislodge the other. “No! I got here first!”

You simply sighed, returning apologetic looks to the disapproving and wary glances your little group was receiving from the surrounding crowd, your kimono sleeve hitching as you reached to rub the back of your neck. The stars that usually blanketed the night sky were unfortunately covered behind a rolling group of clouds, though that was the last thing on your mind at the moment, you spotting from the corner of your eye Baji starting to fidget, his amber gaze eyeing the squabbling pair of delinquents still latched onto either of your arms.

You couldn’t even say for sure what they were bickering about, but knowing your three boys, it was probably something mundane.

The red lanterns that lined both sides of the path leading up to the shrine swayed in the gentle breeze, the strong sense of incense wafting down from the censor at the top of the stairs stinging your nose. It was New Year’s Eve, and you had been standing in the frigid air for a good part of the past hour, and it was clear that the constant waiting was getting to your Toman boys, even if it was their idea to do this. Kazutora and Mikey have escalated to butting heads right now, hands tangled in and yanking at each others’ hair, with an amused Draken and Mitsuya egging them on from the sidelines. Pah was more worried about when the food stalls would open.

The piercing stares from the general public were getting unbearable at this point. You checked your watch again, even as you were yanked right, then left, and then right again, the once tranquil night quickly filling with their bickering that kept growing louder and louder. Another half hour to go before midnight. “Guys, this really isn’t the best time,” you attempted to shush the two, as you turned to send a warning glance to Baji, who was right on the verge of jumping in on the action. “Can we decide this later? At home?” Your words fell on deaf ears as expected, with Kazutora and Mikey having escalated to a full-scale brawl in public, with punches to the face and kicks flying in every which direction.

It was right about then that Draken and Mitsuya changed their minds from instigators to interveners - and you could only be partially sure that it was from your polite request that got through to them and not due to the fact that you barely dodged a leg being swung your way. “Hey!” The Toman Vice President snapped, his arms swiping to catch Mikey in the chest, while the Second Division Captain stamped his foot horizontally and straight into Kauztora’s waist, effectively separating the two from tearing each other apart. “I said to stop it!”

He said to stop it? Well, you were sure it was you who proposed the idea, but whatever worked.

Baji however, in his misguided attempt to ‘help’, looped one arm through yours, the black-haired boy puffing up his chest as he announced loudly: “You shitheads don’t have to fight because I’ll be ringing the suzu bell with her.”

Oh so that’s what they were fighting about.

Instantly, you could see the veins throbbing in the foreheads of every Toman founder present (save Pah), as four pairs of eyes turned to lock onto Baji like clockwork. One second passed. Then two. Everyone in the line including you held their breaths, scared to be the one to ignite the leaking gasoline. Too little too late however, and as the silent bell went off, Toman’s First Division Captain thankfully freed you from his grip as the other delinquents lunged for him, with what remained of the sanctity of shrine grounds forgotten in the tussle that ensued.

The crowd around your group shuffled a little further, eager to give the brawling boys as much space as possible. You didn’t think your face could turn another redder under the judging stares. Instead you turned your back on them, determined to pretend as much as possible that you weren’t a part of their silly fights, huffing slightly as you did so. It was almost the new year for crying out loud, couldn’t they behave just this time?

But then you looked at your group of friends now sprawled across the floor and yanking at each other’s hakamas, and your eyes softened as you failed to bite back the chuckle that slipped your lips watching them quarrel. You really couldn’t ask for better friends than them.

Thankfully for you, you were truly saved by the bell, with the line beginning to shuffle forward as your watch reached midnight. In the distance, the sound of fireworks lighting up the night sky ushered in what you hoped would be another great year in the company of your friends. Though that didn’t mean you would be waiting for the five delinquents to finish their fight. You simply stepped forward with the moving line, slowly but surely leaving the Toman founders behind, still engrossed in their arguments.

Boys, honestly.

[gudfornuthin]

Unexpected Comfort

Season 4!Diego x fem!reader, (past) Five x reader

! SPOILERS AHEAD !

! MINORS DNI !

Summary: after finding out the news about Lila and Five’s relationship, Y/N needs to get away from it all. Who knew she’d find comfort in the one other person broken too?

Word count: 2.65k words

A/N: ayooo. I wanna thank everyone for the support I received from my Five fanfic, it means the world to me that people read and enjoy my writing. I’m definitely thinking about ideas for a part 2, and I also have some requests I need to complete, but for now this lil thing popped into my head and I had to make it. My sweet Diego deserved so much more. There’s fluff, there’s angst, there’s a lil bit of smut (I’m trying to get better at writing that lol) so I hope you all enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Those were the words that came out of Five’s mouth before Y/N stormed out of the house, leaving behind the shocked faces of the Hargreeves siblings.

Five had cheated on her. With Lila. Diego’s wife, the mother of his children. She felt like throwing up. They’d created a life together, seeming to forget all about the life they had here, in the real world. Five tried explaining how a few hours to her had been years for him and Lila, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She couldn’t imagine giving up on a relationship she’d spent so long working on, like it meant nothing at all. At least they weren’t married with kids. She doesn’t want to think about how much this is killing Diego.

Having left the house, ignoring the calls from the family, Y/N continued walking for what seemed like hours. She wasn’t familiar with this side of town, and the dark streets all blended together. Had she already gone this way? Was there a bus stop she could seek shelter under for the time being? The night was getting colder and she was finding it hard to catch her breath, the tears still flowing. She knew she couldn’t continue on for much longer.

After walking a few more blocks, Y/N finally spots a bar/diner, the lights still on inside. Better than nothing, she thinks, as she slowly makes her way towards it, in desperate need of a drink.

The diner is quiet, only a few patrons scattered around, either drunk or on the verge of passing out. The bar tender nods in acknowledgment when Y/N sits on one of the bar stools, asking what she wants.

“I’ll just have a beer.”

The bar tender rolls his eyes. “What kinda beer?”

Y/N shrugs. “The cheapest one you’ve got.”

He wonders off to sort out her order, as she rests her head in the palms of her hands, closing her eyes and trying not to sob like a baby. The pain in her chest still lingers, as she can’t escape the images of Five and Lila, and the life they had made together. The life that should’ve been hers. With everything going on, she’d almost forgotten about the world ending, again. But that was surprisingly the least of her worries at the moment. She just wanted to scream, and punch and kick anything that got in her way. She needed a cigarette. And she doesn’t even smoke.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

A voice sounds off to the side of Y/N, as she slowly opens her eyes. A beer bottle stands in front of her, and she turns to her left, spotting Diego in the seat next to hers. He looks worse for wear. Red eyes, prominent frown lines, and a pouty lip.

“You look like a kicked puppy,” Y/N mumbles, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Diego replies in a gruff voice, grabbing for her beer and taking a swig.

The pair go quiet, listening to the soft tune playing through the overhead speakers, dwelling in their own thoughts. The two of them had never exactly been close. Since Y/N joined the family she’d always gravitated more towards Klaus and Alison. Frankly, she didn’t understand why Diego was here with her. Maybe because they were both dealing with the same situation, with both their partners being the main focal point. Or maybe he was just in desperate need for a drink too, as shown when he downs the rest of the bottle. Y/N alerts the bar tender, putting up two fingers to ask for a second round. Hopefully she can actually have some this time.

“Was I a bad husband?” Diego finally speaks up, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

Y/N glances his way, unsure of how to respond.

She clears her throat. “I dunno if I’m the right person to answer that,” she scratches at the label on the beer bottle. “But from what I saw, you were pretty good at it.”

He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “And you’re also a good dad. I can’t imagine how hard it was, going from one apocalypse to another, to just living a normal life. Pretending none of it ever happened. You didn’t let that get in the way of taking care of your kids. They know you’re a good dad.”

She notices the tears forming in Diego’s eyes and looks away, knowing he wouldn’t want others to see him cry. She sips her drink, the burning sensation hitting the back of her throat.

“For what it’s worth,” Diego starts, “you’re not a bad girlfriend.”

“I never thought I was,” Y/N bites back, her tone harsher than she wanted it to be. “But what are you supposed to think when the love of your life admits to having an affair?” She laughs bitterly. “With his fucking sister in law!”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here,” Diego says, rubbing incessantly at his eyes. “Just tryna make you feel better.”

“Well you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

They bask in silence again, both too stubborn to apologise for snapping at each other. They know neither of them are in the wrong. But the wounds are still fresh, and it doesn’t seem like they’ll heal anytime soon.

Almost an hour passes, along with 9 or 10 bottles of beer between them, when the bartender finally tells them it’s closing time. They both get out of their seats, leaving the bar and standing awkwardly outside in the cold, Y/N shivering having left the house without a coat.

“You cold?” Diego dumbly asks.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Well done, Sherlock.”

Diego looks as if he’s about to say something in retort, but chooses not to. Instead, he silently slips off his jacket, handing it over to her, insisting she takes it before she can refuse. She does so, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’. They continue standing outside the bar, watching the occasional car drive past, lighting them up every so often.

“I can’t go back there,” Y/N says. “Not yet anyways.”

It was a stupid thing to think that this could all be avoided. She’d eventually have to face Five properly, let him explain fully what happened during that time he was away. But she couldn’t. She doesn’t want an explanation, or an excuse. She just wants it erased from her memory. To forget about it all. To forget about Five.

Diego puts his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to figure out that shit show tonight.”

He pauses for a beat, then briefly glances at Y/N. “There’s a motel not too far from here. We can grab a couple of rooms, take the time to get some rest, and figure all this out tomorrow.”

She doesn’t say anything, simply nodding in agreement, and following Diego to their accommodation for the night.

***

The pair arrive at the dingy looking motel, booking two rooms next to each other, and muttering quick goodnights. Y/N can feel the exhaustion taking over, as she sits down on the bed, and yet the thought of falling asleep makes her anxious. She can’t remember the last time she went to bed alone. It was always Five right by her side, comforting her if she had any nightmares. Which had become more and more frequent the past few weeks.

She tries distracting herself by turning on the tv, flicking through empty channels and purposely avoiding the news. She takes a shower, scrubbing off the physical and metaphorical grime. It helps her feel slightly better, but still she’s wide awake. She walks laps around the room, which isn’t much considering the bed takes up most of the space. And yet she still can’t sleep.

Her mind wanders to the man in the room next to hers. Is Diego having the same issues as she is? Or has he completely worn himself out to the point of passing out for the next several hours. Is it too forward if she goes over there and asks to stay with him for the night? He could end up giving her a weird look and slamming the door in her face. Or he could see a woman, sad and distressed, and know she’s just in need of someone to comfort her. The risk is worth the reward.

Y/N leaves her room, stumbling slightly over her own feet, the alcohol starting to take effect. She steadies herself, standing in front of Diego’s door and knocking. It takes a moment, but he finally opens, shirtless and hair a mess.

“What’s up?” He says, his voice gruff.

Standing in front of him now, Y/N can’t help but feel stupid. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her problems right now, not when he’s still trying to figure out his own. The only thing on Diego’s mind is most likely Lila, and getting some much needed rest. This was a bad idea.

“Uh,” she shakes her head. “It’s nothing, no. I shouldn’t have disturbed you, I’m sorry.”

She begins to walk away, trying not to fall over, until Diego’s voice calls her name. She turns, seeing him standing half way out of his room, a sad expression on his face.

“Neither of us really wanna be alone right now,” he says, motioning slightly for her to follow him through the door.

She waits a second, unsure if this was the best idea. Now feeling as if they were both about to cross a barrier that neither of them could walk back through.

Taking the plunge, Y/N silently follows Diego into his room, closing the door behind her. She suddenly felt nervous, unsure as to why. Diego is already back in bed, getting comfortable under the covers, ready for a much needed sleep. Y/N looks at the bed, then towards the small couch, not knowing which one she’s welcome on.

“Diego…”

“It’s fine,” he rolls over, not looking at her. “You can build a pillow wall if it’ll make you feel better.”

Y/N nods, not wanting to admit how glad she was that she could sleep next to Diego tonight. She’d feel this way about anyone at the moment, right? It’s got nothing specifically to do with him. Her mind is racing, as she climbs into bed, hoping to fall into a deep slumber as quick as. She doesn’t build a pillow wall.

***

Barely an hour passes before Y/N is woken up suddenly by a sound. She sits up in bed, eyes bleary and watery, looking around the room with squinting eyes. The bathroom light is on, shining through the cracks, and Diego is no longer beside her.

She hears the sound again, a soft whimper, barely audible. It’s coming from the bathroom, and she can already guess who it is. She slowly scoots out of bed, tiptoeing on unsteady feet towards the door, knocking slightly. No answer. And the noise has stopped.

She knocks again, trying the door handle at the same time. It budges, as she gradually pulls it open. The sight was heartbreaking. Diego sits in a curled up ball in the corner, covering his face, and desperately trying to stop his heavy breathing. He doesn’t acknowledge Y/N’s presence, as she moves over to him, crouching down. She gently grabs his hands, pulling them away to see his red, tear stained face.

“I’ve lost everything,” he whispers, breaking Y/N’s heart more than it already was. “I feel like my life’s over.”

Y/N strokes his hands, trying her best to soothe him in anyway that might work.

“I have no purpose without her,” he continues. “I try saving the world, but I couldn’t save the one thing that matters the most to me. I’m useless.”

“That is not true,” Y/N finally replies, hating these thoughts running through Diego’s mind. “Her actions are not a reflection on you.”

Diego begins to protest, but Y/N quickly shuts him down. “I know how much you care. Sometimes I think you care a little too much. But that just proves how good of a husband and father you were. You did nothing wrong. It’s all on her. And Five.”

She chokes out the last part, almost forgetting about her own problems. They’re both going through this, together.

Y/N doesn’t even realise she’s now crying too, holding her hand up to her mouth to muffle the sound of her sobs. Diego reaches out, pulling her into a bone crushing hug, the pair needing comfort from each other more than anything.

She moves her head back slightly, kissing Diego on the forehead, then the cheek, then hesitating at his lips. Her mind feels fuzzy, as the alcohol in her system still lingers, jumping between the pros and cons of what she’s about to do. Diego makes the decision for her.

The kiss is soft at first, his moustache tickling her upper lip, the sensation of it weird but not unpleasant. She wraps her arms around his neck as he puts his hands on both sides of her face, deepening it into a full blown make out session. Y/N opens her mouth, allowing Diego to slip his tongue in, eliciting a quiet moan from her.

Their current position is uncomfortable, as Diego sits pressed up against the sink with Y/N crouched down in front of him. He pushes her back slightly, so they can both stand, never stopping the kiss. The room feels hot, as they walk out of the bathroom and aim for the bed, Diego sitting down on the edge with Y/N straddling his lap. She quickly removes her top and bra, drawing the man’s attention to her breasts. He moves away from her lips, traveling down until he’s eye level with her chest. He takes one in his mouth, sucking harshly, while his hand massages the other.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N sighs, throwing her head back.

She grabs his hair, pulling a fistful of it, forcing Diego to suck harder. She moves her hips back and forth on his crotch, desperately wanting to get out of the rest of her clothes.

As if reading her mind, Diego pulls back, moving them both higher up the bed, quickly removing his pants as Y/N does the same. Now completely nude, the pair become a sweaty mess of body and limbs, wrapping themselves around each other, and making sounds the other occupants in the motel can definitely hear.

Diego’s thrusts are meticulous, as he hooks one of his arms under her leg, pushing in and out, knowing all the right places to make Y/N scream out in ecstasy. He kisses her lips, her neck, her chest and her breasts, not wanting to leave out any part of her. He makes her feel wanted, admired, needed. Like he can’t breathe without her. It feels good. They carry on into the night, and early morning, for a moment all their problems don’t exist anymore.

***

Y/N wakes up first. Her head is pounding, her mouth is dry, and there’s a dull ache between her legs. She grumbles, the memories of last night rushing back to her in an instant. Some good, some bad, and some unforgettable. A small part of her is consumed with guilt, knowing what she did could be seen as hypocritical.

But as Diego’s strong arm wrapped around her waist pulls her closer to his chest, snuggling into her neck, that feeling washes away. In some selfish way, they both needed this. An eye for an eye, as most would say. It’s not going to end well, and she knows they’ll have to eventually deal with the consequences the same way Five and Lila did, but for now, the rest of the world can wait a while. Y/N turns around, moving impossibly closer to Diego, the man who made her feel wanted at a time where she didn’t think she was.

[r0-boat]

I had a dream about this so I'm going to write some headcans about it

Reader forgetting all their memories headcannons Whb Kings

Cw: angst, hurt very little comfort,no NSFW but get suggestive because of certain people >.>, Demons trying their best, Don't worry You get some comedic relief!

Intro:

Sometimes the kings forget and are reminded how sensitive and fragile humans really are. Weather be from an angel attack or them rough housing a little too much around you. It is not unusual for you to accidentally be in the crossfire. Or whroughhousing, devils sometimes need to hold back in order to protect you from angels.

However, to these Kings who constantly love to show their power like proud peacocks with grenade launchers, They never knew this day was coming when they would look in horror at your lymph body on the ground, your head spilling blood. They're so glad that Lucifer is on their side.

But something is wrong... Lucifer healed you. But once you woke up you had this horrid and confused look on your face. The way their heart simultaneously stopped when you uttered the phrase "Who are you?"

Satan

Satan is not good with fear, to someone who wears his anger freely on his sleeve he's not good with someone who is very very frightened with his frequent angry outbursts that often turn very violent. He was lucky to have met you in a very specific situation to have you get used to as rage and be friends with him, And perhaps something more.

Poor Satan, his violent outbursts are just scaring you more So he tries so desperately to hide it. His entire body shaking because looking at you just fills in with more rage. He tries to assure you that it's not at you. But from the way he's yelling Your human brain interprets it differently Even when you don't want to.

He tries to show you around Gehenna But it seems like the only thing on your mind is The fact that hell exists and you are there.

He feels so useless watching Sitri calm you down and try to explain who are you and why are you here...Sitri can feel the quickening heartbeat of anxiety from his king and tries to make you see him in a different light. Satan is on the verge of tearing apart a building in rage because it hurts to control something that's essentially 100% a part of who he is when before you accepted him with open arms.

He feels like a monster, a feeling that he has never felt being around you and it hurts. He loves you so much and seeing your eyes filled with fear knowing that he caused it hurts him. Even now he's surprised that you come up to him when he's digging his nails into his pillow drowning in his own thoughts. Despite everything you've seen you still somehow feel and need to be close to him. You tell him that He's going too fast and You want to trust them despite... Everything because what your heart tells you doesn't lie, He just has to take it slow and give you some time.

Mammon

From what Lucifer tells him objects also help to recover one's memory. So that's what he does. Mammon has a storage 'closet' where he has little keepsakes all with stories of what he did with you and what time. His chest swells with pride as you look at his golden palace and hallways. "This isn't the first time you've seen these, master." He says with a smile as you hiss at him not to call you that.

He lets you go through the closet one by one every time you pick up or look at an item he tells a story, whether it's the two of you going out shopping or the time he finished constructing his pool that he let you name. There's something oddly calming about re-remembering his precious memories with you. That's why he has this room because every memory of you with him is precious So precious that he must materialize it and keep it. Because if he has anything to learn from a certain devil friend of his is that memories are far too fickle to not keep in physical form.

Mammon is a demon who always looks toward the future. Even now, when he is sharing with you all these memories and trying to help you regain those memories, back He's already looking toward a future solution, perhaps a photo album. It is an idea that he has not used yet, but maybe he could finally have an excuse to use those expensive cameras he has lying around collecting dust.

When he visits he always brings gifts and they are always gifts from places the two of you have either visited in the past or something that is from your memory. Perhaps chocolates from an extremely expensive chocolate store that he has brought you to.

Or maybe he shall bring you to dinner once again at an expensive restaurant he has taken you before. The Kings criticize that he is just using this as an opportunity to spoil you more than instead of actually helping. As much as he finds that insulting because he cares for you so much so that he gave his whole being and life to you but he can't deny that they're not completely wrong.

Leviathan

Leviathan is not okay.... Especially when the first 5 minute interaction you had with him ever since your memories have been wiped was him shaking you and demanding you to get your memories back all the while insulting you on how weak You are before rushing off back to Hades. So your opinion of him is sour. But his subordinate name Foras tells you that surprisingly your first meeting was far worse than this. Leviathan is under the impression that you forgotten him forever and you could never recover your memories. So it's useless to even try.

As much as you don't want to see him his subordinates urge you with begging and pleading and puppy dog eyes to please see him. You only agreed because of how nice they are. Leviathan has locked himself in his room ever since that little outburst in Paradise Lost. When he hears your hesitant voice he pauses before letting you in.

Instead of insulting you are grabbing you partially instead he walks for it to you and talks softly he sounds... Hurt. "Am I truly that forgettable to you?" You don't know why your heart softens to that perhaps it was the fact that deep inside you did feel something for him or maybe it was how kicked he looks right now, His eyes or red from crying? You smiling hold your hand over your heart and tell him the truth "I do feel a fondness for you."

If Lilith or God leave him a second chance to start your meeting all over again He'd taken it. Levi is a lot softer now for some reason that phrase very hauntingly vague yet reassuring. Maybe it's because you're speaking from the heart maybe it's because the fact that something inside you could never forget him.

He gently takes a hold of your wrists and guides your hands to cup his face or intertwine his fingers with yours as he softly asks if You felt something in your heart? Sadly no matter how much he tries In this softer more vulnerable state I don't think you could ever remember him because of most of your memories are quite negative. Just give him this... Just let him be soft and hold you as he asks how your heart feels when he does these things.

Beelzebub

It is what it is! As he introduces himself as Beelzebub to you. You forgot everything? Bro he forgets everything All the time same! It's hard not to get along with Beelzebub even if you have no memory of him He's very adamant that you know him and the two of you are besties.

He brings you to places that he's already brought you before some places he remembers vaguely others not so much. He does have a better time remembering actions or notable places better than words. So he often repeats himself. He's repeated himself so much to you that even now with your memories fuzzy or forgotten what he says to you feels so familiar. His eyes widen when he hears that under your breath because it means he must be doing something good.

The next time he swings by the castle because Bael Heard about your state and is worried sick. Beel sighs and his smile drops A smile that was performative as he speaks to his best friend from the heart.

"ya know... I'm usually always the forgetful one so I never knew how What it was like to be forgotten..." Bael felt something for his friend as he puts a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't help but rub a little salt in the wound "It hurts doesn't it?" Beel could only nod.

Even though devils can't lie, Beel feels like keeping up a smile with you is lying. But he can't stop doing it because it makes you feel calmer to know that everything is okay. You don't need to know that pain he's going through, of just realizing someone he deeply cared about just forgot everything about him, and not knowing if this was permanent or not.

Lucifer

He fixed you up. physically you were good as new... So why are your memories still broken?? He doesn't understand human psychology. Another reminder that he doesn't know everything. Another reminder that he is in hell for his pride. He can't have another incident like this again because of his incompetence.

He can't help but be happy with how many visitors you get. As much as he doesn't like how much competition he has, he can't help but be fond of how much love you get. Though he does probably have to limit visitors since he's pretty sure causing stress on a human is not good for them mentally.

He's with you 24/7 asking you little questions here and there You trust him the most because... You think he's your doctor? He was the first person you saw when you woke up and he has this aura of professionalism and mystique. It was really hard to grasp around the fact that you were in hell and everything you ever learned in the Bible was correct (somewhat) it's really hard to hate Lucifer as a concept when the man is standing right there next to you reading a book human psychology that looked about 50 years old and sipping tea like an English nobleman from the Victorian era as well as him being your doctor. If he was there to hurt you he would have done so already.

You call him Dr. Morningstar as you point out that that book might be a little too outdated. His eyes waiting for a second when you mention his 'last name' He brings the teacup up to his lips tied his smile as he corrects you to just call him Lucifer. And averts his attention to the fact that how could a book about psychology be so outdated when it's produced to not so long ago.

Turns out that not even humans know about their own psychology it's hard to say pitiful that is knowing that he knows nothing. He asks you if you would like to go to the human world to do some book shopping. You don't know why you nodded your head. As you knew that your family is dead and you have no family. But by the time you were there till the time you left you couldn't help that nagging feeling that you were forgetting somebody, somebody important. Lucifer asked about the sad and conflicted look on your face. You just shake your head and tell him "it's nothing."

Belphegor

Belphegor dreams of the past all the time, they're not pleasant dreams but they're better than nightmares. So he thinks that a good way to recover your memories is to sleep He knows that sleep at least makes you feel good and is good for the mind and the soul.

He is not very cultured on Western media, since he prefers anime and manga but he knows that those guys in the west always hold those... What are they called? *Snaps his fingers twice* before Beleth chimes in with the answer "slumber parties?"it's also a good way to get to know you more.

Even though he is just as worried about you and if you'll ever retain your memories ever again as much as the other kings but it's a waste of energy to worry about it and freak out. He'd rather just still get to know you if you recover your memories or not.

And to be frank if his genius calculation of rolling a bullshit d20 on you sleeping is correct and he probably doesn't even need to do anything except have fun nights binge watching anime or reading manga with you.

Occasionally he's still ask the question here or there. Honestly the one who is most worried is Beleth. He is relaxed but not as lax as his king. Because he knows that His king does care for you because he was there when Belphegor try to fight passing out because he knew if he woke up he wouldn't know if you were alive or dead.

Asmodeus

He washed for this event!🎉 It's because he'd rather have everyone caring for you then sucking his dick. He won't be so merciful next time (half joking)

Oh you It seemed like you forgot your memory? Well he knows a little bit more about human psychology then the doctor in front of him. And he does blatantly incompetently say that humans tend to remember unforgettable and 'traumatic experiences' More vividly then regular memories. Give him one night and you'll remember everything. (Half joking) No one found that funny.

He's so adamant that sex solves this issue!! All the other kings are basically either ignoring him or telling him the idea sucks ass. He does like it how your eyes always gaze over at him in such curiosity. You're so cute!!! With your mind wipe clean You're practically a virgin. With those wide little eyes filled with such life and innocence. Just looking at you makes him hard.

He didn't even try to stifle the laugh and smile on his face as he proudly shows you his proof that you know him with the plethora of pictures of his cock inside you or sleeping, or miscellaneous photos from either his subordinates when they hang out with you or the other kings as well as photos you have sent of yourself, that he saved in a special folder called 'fap material❤️' it's the only folder on his phone and He dodges the question every time you ask him about the folder name.

In the end he has the last laugh. literally he's on the floor wheezing, coughing and laughing. When the Kings found out that the memory start to flood back after you had sex with another devil.

[freyito]

"ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ" ⨟ ��ɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡ/ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ

i know i was like just hornyposting and all buuuut i've had such a rough couple of days and everythings really building up. figure i'd sit down and write out my favorite "prompt". hurt/comfort... without the hurt, i guess. too hurt to write the hurt :P. essentially what the boys would do when your feeling down and ask to stay with em, of course. is this what im calling the boys now? yes. its MY fic and MY comfort, i get to choose the silly little name for my boyfriends.

cw: gn reader, angsty undertone, comfort, just fluff, bonus characters!, not proofread

⎯ Liu Kang

You do not even need to speak. Liu Kang can see it. You are hurt, near breaking. You trail behind him all day, head down. You actively seek his touch, small things, reaching for his hand, brushing your fingers against his bicep. You are afraid to say it, and yet, he knows.

That night, before he leaves your room to attend to his duties as Earthrealm's protector, you finally speak up. Those three simple words, so quiet, so soft. He does not hesitate to turn around. He is logical, he likes to think, but you pull him in. Within moments, he is in bed with you, his arms wrapped around you firmly. He presses his forehead against your cheek, and whispers,

"I will not leave you, my dear, I am here. Forevermore."

⎯ Bi-Han

Bi-Han knows you almost better than the back of his hand. However, he prefers to let you wallow in peace. He is afraid of pushing past your boundaries, and as such, he is far more distant. Yet, he worries. He worries with his whole heart. However, he cannot let it show. So he is as cold as ever, in front of the Lin Kuei. Strong, vigilant, unyielding.

Tonight, he does not let you go. He misses you so, and you have no need to tell him what you need. It is tender. He pulls you on top of him, holding you close by the waist. And yet, you still speak. And he listens. His gaze softens, tremendously. He looks as if he may be on the verge of tears. His voice steady, as he speaks, yet his face betrays his tone,

"There is no possibility of leaving you, no, not even in death."

⎯ Kuai Liang

Kuai does not know what ails you- but he must. He must know. You have done well to shy away from him, but he is hot on your trail. He knows that hollow look, devoid of emotion, too afraid to show any. Because if you show one, you show all. He does not smother you, no, but he does question you.

The questions stop at night. It is quiet. He is afraid of pushing you further. So Kuai Liang leaves you alone in the bed, with one last kiss on your forehead. Yet, he stands in the doorway. He waits. You speak. And he listens. All you say is one word. He retreats back in bed with you, pushing you closer to his neck. He runs his hands through your hair, calming you down. To still your beating heart. And he speaks with conviction,

"I am here, as long as you need, forever, if you so wish, my love."

⎯ Johnny Cage

Perhaps, Johnny is too much for you recently. And that's okay! He knows his limits. Yet, he finds himself seeking you out. He misses your warmth, your smile, you. He knows that he can be loud, that he can be a lot. And he's always given you space. Yet that look you hold, it is miserable. And he knows exactly what you feel. He follows you around, as if a lost dog, the entire day. He wants you to have space, but he wants you to say those words.

And you do, that night. Finally, those words escape your lips. Just what Johnny wanted to hear. He's got you wrapped up in the blankets, pulling you up into his chest. His hand rests on the back of your head, gently rubbing his thumb into your hair. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and whispers, gently, almost out of character,

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not leaving, not tonight, not tomorrow, not anytime."

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

You cannot hide that sinking pain within your heart, Kenshi can hear the melancholy dripping within your words. He can hear it in your breath, your actions. How your footsteps drag, how slow you walk. He can see it, too, do not be fooled. You stay close, unnecessarily close, you look up at him with such heavy eyes, you stay quiet. He knows. He is waiting for you to act on it, to act on the voice he hears at the very edge of his mind. He is a telepath, you must remember.

And so, when you speak your mind finally, he is all too eager to make sure you know he won't leave. He pulls you up onto his chest, his heartbeat even, soft, and regular. The moment is tender, and he lets your words hang in the air. Silence covers you two like a blanket, comforting. And finally, as he runs his hand down your sides, squeezing your waist gently, he speaks,

"Do not be afraid to tell me what you want, my heart. I will stay close, I will stay."

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao does not need words to stay by you. Night and day. He is glued to your side, trying to cheer you up with his charm. He does not give you enough room to sulk. He's dragging you along with him, even if it's something as simple as watching him train. To keep you at ease, to put a smile on your face. He is making sure everything he does has that effect.

Yet, you still ask him to stay when night comes. He does not deny it, and he pushes himself closer. As if you were not in his arms already. But he makes sure you know he heard you, he squeezes you, and lets out a soft sigh. There is nothing that will take him away from you, and you must know,

"I won't. Nope, not even tomorrow. I'm here as long as you want me here."

⎯ Raiden

You cannot keep Raiden away from you. The minute your expression is somber, he is following close behind you. He does not ask, or interrogate you. But he follows. He is on the lookout for any sort of thing that could have stolen his light from him. What has gotten to you, what dares rip the spark of his life from you? He does not know how to ask you, he is afraid that perhaps it is him.

But it is not. Your hand pulls him back to you by his wrist as you speak. And he obliges. He does not know what has made you feel this way, but he does know, that maybe even this one night will be enough to bring your smile back. He will stay here, as long as you need, as long as he needs. And he makes it known,

"Oh, my light, nothing can keep me away from you."

⎯ Zeffeero

Zeffeero is on you the minute your face so much as drops. Perhaps he is a stubborn lover, too prideful to admit that he cares deeply for you. But he cannot handle loosing your presence, his sunshine. He wants your attention, but does not say so outright. He will do that little thing with the water manipulation and the shapes to amuse you... without you asking. And when that does not bring the smile back to your face, he does not know what else to do.

His heart near stops when you tell him to stay that night. He feels so stupid to have skipped over that part. But he accepts. He tries to show restraint, however he is by you within a matter of seconds. He places a kiss on your jaw, before hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around you, keeping you close. Just as he wanted to the entire day, and he finally speaks,

"Do not scare me so, my dear. I want to keep you safe, and I'll stay until you no longer want me by your side."

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Your distance is noticeable. However, Tomas does not act upon it. He believes that you need the space you have put between you and him and everyone else. So he does not question it. However, there is a void where you once were. His world fills with the same emptiness and sorrow you felt at your absence. He cannot help but seek you out in the final hours of the dawn. He is afraid, once more. He does not want to pressure you, so he turns his back to you.

You surprise him with your words, he near spins on his heels, a wide and beautiful grin gracing his face. He makes no effort to hide this. His happiness, his light has asked him to stay, and he would be a fool to deny them such a request. He practically throws himself back onto the bed, and wraps his big arms around you. He presses his forehead against yours, and holds your gaze. He speaks, quietly, softly, and you can even hear his smile in his voice,

"I am here for you, Drahoušek. I always will be. Do not be afraid to come to me."

⎯ Baraka

Oh, how Baraka feared this day would come. You have turned your back to him, the air around you rife with despair. He is not afraid that you suddenly dislike him. He is afraid of loosing your positivity. One of the very few things he has held onto because of his affliction. You make him forget all that is bad within this world, within him. And now, there is an absence. He does not know what to do.

But that night, you guide him. Through his own sulking, your words pull him away. Yes. He will gladly stay. If that is what you want. If that is what it takes. He keeps his distance, still. He will always be afraid of his infection spreading. But he sleeps in the same room. And just before you drift off into sleep, you hear him,

"I cannot lose you. Please, tell me when, and I will be there."

⎯ Geras

Geras has reason to believe the reason you have pulled away from him is because of his absence. Because of him. Human emotions are a strange thing, they are intricate, even more so than the dozens of timelines he has watched over. Oh so suddenly, you are turned away from him, too caught up within your own thoughts to voice what has been troubling you. Perhaps it is the fact that he does not have nearly enough time for you. That is the answer he settles on.

Before he can leave you that night, your pleas make him stop. They make him understand, even for a second. He was so sure you were asleep. And yet, you are awake, asking him to stay. He is unsure what to do. But, he must give his love what they want. What they deserve. So, he leans in, and places a gentle kiss on your cheek. His words follow soon after,

"I will always be here, my duty is important, but so are you. Know this, I am always watching over you."

⎯ Syzoth

You've ran off. And Syztoh does not know what to do with himself. He paces, he fidgets, he waits. He must see you again. But you were so hurt beforehand, and he does not know why. You have withdrawn into yourself, without a word. And Syzoth does not know how to comfort you. He knows you are feeling down, horrible even. Yet, he feels as if he has ran you off. His insecurities well up within his mind as he waits. And waits.

And the time comes where you ask him, you reach for him. Your voice quivers. Oh my, how could he have let this happen. He pulls you in, almost bringing you down to the ground. He wraps himself around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His nerves calm, in that moment. Muffled, he speaks, his words true and clear, if not a little shaky,

"I waited, my love, and I will stay. I will always be here. Every moment, every moment you need me."

⎯ Havik

Havik is apprehensive. He does not quite understand what to do in this situation. With you, his lover, in front of him, a mess, voice hoarse, your emotions addle your mind. He looks at you dumbfounded. He reaches for you, but his hand does not meet your shoulder. Now, you feel as if you are miles away from him. Space. That is what he understands, now.

But, the space he has given you is broken that night. You find him in bed, intertwining his fingers with yours. His scarred flesh does not scare you, as much would believe. His eyes are warm, peaceful for once. The words are on the tip of your tongue, yet you do not need to speak. Havik answers, regardless,

"Finally. Do not run from me like that again, I do not mean to leave you alone."

⎯ Shao Kahn

To return home, where you are not waiting for Shao in the kitchen, it is a nightmare. The worst is the first thing that runs through his mind. You are lost, perhaps. Taken. But he finds you, safe and well. Back to him, on the edge of the bed. He does not speak, but he lets his presence be known. He lays down on the bed, facing you, and simply watches.

Until it is time for you to speak, you look at him with such sad eyes. He is there. You do not have to ask, for you know the answer. But you ask, anyways. Shao simply reaches a hand out to you, and pulls you back in bed gently. Tonight, he can. Maybe not tomorrow morning, but tonight, he can. And he will,

"I will always stay by your side. I am here to keep you safe, do not forget it."

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung pampers you, right out of the gate. He hates to see you like this, so sullen, so quiet. It is his goal to pull you out of this feeling. Even if it hurts his wallet. And yet, it seems his plan falls short. He is disheartened, to say the least. Perhaps he might sulk, as well. But he doesn't, or he tries not to, anyways. He simply follows you around, now. Trying to lift your spirits.

And that only comes when night falls, nestled underneath the covers. Shang Tsung is still close. Extremely close. Yet, you can't help but ask, regardless. And he listens. He chuckles softly, and pulls you in for a quick peck on the lips. For a moment, he stares into your eyes, rolling your words over in his mind. His tone is sly, but his words are, for once, kind,

"There you are, my darling. Of course I'll stay. Who would I be if I didn't? I'll stay forever, if I must."

⎯ Reiko

Reiko wants to be soft with you, and yet, he can't find a way through to you in this moment. He does not understand why you've withdrawn from him. Why you are so somber. He decides that it is space you need, not him. So, he gives you exactly what he believes. Yet, he still keeps an eye on you. He wants to make sure you are safe, regardless. Even as you sulk.

You find him once more at the end of the day, laying in bed. The idea of him, of Reiko, relaxing, seems so odd. Yet, he is lounging. He is waiting. So you speak, and all he can do is look at you. He gestures towards the bed, and you do so. Laying down, he holds you close. Properly. His arms wrapped around the small of your back, your forehead against his chin. And he speaks, finally,

"If I am to say no, then I would rather be decapitated by General Shao himself. Do not ever hesitate to ask, you know I will."

⎯ Erron Black

Outlawin' and Gunslingin' is a hard trade. What's even harder is making sure you are happy. And now, you are pulling yourself away from Erron. This mood you're in... he's going to get you to snap out of it, dammit. And he tries. He tries real damn hard. He flaunts off his skills, just how quick and precise he can fan the hammer, maybe take down some poor bird from the sky. Yet, you still look at him, devoid of emotion.

Erron has all but given up until you find him in the bed that night. Somehow, you look more of a mess then before. And he just can't forgive himself for it. Yet, you still ask. He's dumbfounded, really. He doesn't know what to say. But, his body knows what to do. Absentmindedly, he pulls you into the bed by your hand. He keeps you close, yet still leaves distance between your bodies. His hand finds your cheek and caresses it with his thumb. Finally, he's found his words, and so he speaks, for you,

"Ya ain't gotta worry about me leavin', pumpkin. I'll stay riiiiiiight here, long as ya need."

⎯ Takeda Takahashi

You're quiet. You're so damn quiet and it's almost irritating for Takeda. He can't get to you, he can't break through this heavy, melancholy air around you. He's following you around, regardless. He's going to find out why you're acting like this, and if it's because of someone, he won't mind sweating a little. But it isn't. It isn't cause of anyone, it isn't cause of him. It's cause of you. And now, he truly doesn't know what to do. So he backs off.

Until you find him once more, seeking his attention. His touch. His comfort. Takeda doesn't deny this, as you slink into bed, behind him. You tap him on the shoulder gently, and he turns his head back to you. Before he can speak, you ask. The lightbulb goes off in Takeda's head, and suddenly, he feels horrible. You didn't need him following you around like a bodyguard all day, nor did you need the bombardment of questions. You simply needed him. So, he responds,

"Don't scare me like that, dammit. Of course I'll stay, but just... yeah, yeah. I'll stay."

© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[makwebba]

better than a podium l LN4

summary: lando could've won his first race in silverstone but he ended up not finishing. pairing: lando x gf!reader warnings: mentions of lando crashing and swearing. note: my first formula 1 fan fiction! not my first time writing fan fictions but it has been a couple of years since i wrote something and lately my love for writing is slowly coming back. the pictures are from pinterest and idk who the owners are so if you guys know the owner or if you are the owner, please lemme know :( also no hate on checo but it just kinda make sense cause he's in a red bull idk. dont come for me. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy it!

- lando was leading the race in silverstone, his home race. you could've not been more prouder for your boyfriend, you were certain he was gonna win the race but not until checo hit the rear tyre of lando's car which cause him to spun out and hit the barrier. your heart sank, everything went numb and it felt like the world just stopped. it was a bad crash, you waited for his voice to come through the mclaren headset that's snugged onto your ear. "lando, are you okay, mate?" randy asked through the radio. you can hear him grunt and groan in agony, breaking your heart even further. you hated seeing him like this every time you come and watch him race. what felt like ages, the medical car finally showed up to retrieve him back to the garage. lando didn't even bother making any eye contact with anybody once he got to the garage, not even you. he just went straight back to his driver's room, hearing the door slam behind you. you sighed as you rubbed your face with your hands in frustration. you walked over to where he locked himself in, you didn't even have to see him to feel the tension that was building in the air as you knocked on the door. "lan...?" your voice muffled against the wooden barrier between you and lando. lando's eyes closed shut when he heard your voice behind the door, he always loved how soft spoken you were to him. he hasn't responded back to you as he stayed where he was sat before deciding opening the door for you. there he is. what he once was; a ray of sunlight beaming through the morning sun to becoming the loud rumbling sound of thunder at night. you furrowed your brows as you quickly but gently swift his hand up against yours while you closed the door behind you. "hey..." you whispered as you brought your hand up to his face, searching for his eyes. lando was not the type to cry but boy, he was just on the verge of losing it. you brought him into a tight embrace, your face nuzzled on the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around your back. he held you tight as you started to hear him sniffle which ached your heart painfully. you had to fight your tears back because he hated seeing you be so empathetic for him whenever he had a bad race. "i was close... so fucking close..." he mumbled, his voice getting choked up. "i know, my love. i know." you slowly pulled away from him as he quickly wiped the tears building up in his eyes with the palm of his hand before it could stream down his face. you rubbed his arms for comfort as you stood before him, you finally managed to see his eyes. oh so beautiful but it was filled with so much anger and pain. "you did so well out there. and i know your fans wanted you to win as much as you do. we all did. but sometimes things just doesn't go our way..." you said, running your fingers through the side of his head, intertwining with his curls. "could never win a race, huh?" he muttered, moving your hand away from him. "i don't know why i got into this sport in the first place. not even good at it." it broke your heart to hear him talk so low about himself. you tilted your head slightly to the side as your brows furrowed when he moved your hand away from him, stopping you from running your fingers through his hair. you didn't let him get away from it when you placed both of your hands on his face, staring directly into his eyes. "you don't have to be a race winner to be a great driver. you are enough." lando looked back into your eyes which eased him a little. he took a deep breath in when his hand found a place down on your lower back, a soft smile appeared on his face which made you smile back at him.

it was that contagious. "in everyone's eyes you're a winner. to me you're a champion." a wave of warmth cruised all over lando's body when you said those words to him. it definitely hit a nerve in his system but in a good way. it didn't take long until lando pulled you in closer to him and placed his lips against yours, gentle and passionate. "i wouldn't know what i would've done if you weren't here..." he said. landonorris and ynusername

liked by mclaren, user1, user2 and 1,233,754 others landonorris shoulda woulda coulda, right? but i’ve got something better than a podium.

the end x