#i wonder if he'd actually like drinking tea...?

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Chapter 5: Hold Me Close In Winter's Weather

Winters in Connecticut are harsh. Even more so when your favorite pair of leather gloves gets a tear in one of the sides and you're forced to stop wearing them. Which was fine enough during the autumn months, and even over Christmas — with all the camping trips Raine and Eda took them on to the top of the Knee, Hunter is plenty used to the cold by now. 

But now they're back for spring semester and winter is in full swing, bringing with it the first big snowstorm of the season, threatening to drop the temperature below freezing and bury their little college town in a blanket of ice and snow overnight. So, Hunter is left with two options: either come up with the money to buy a replacement pair of his father's old gloves, or try to figure out how to repair them.

He's sitting on the living room couch with a cheap little sewing kit he'd picked up earlier when he'd gone out for snow day supplies, tongue stuck between his teeth in between colorful curses as he tries and fails to darn his gloves, when Willow walks through the front door carrying two to-go cups with their favorite Robin's Roast orders — medicine ball tea and a slice of lemon loaf for her, cold brew coffee and a chocolate chip cookie for him — tilts her head to the side and says, "Not that you're not doing a marvelous job, but would you like me to do that for you?"

Hunter perks up, ready to give her a look for her cheekiness, when he sees the snowflake-bedecked coffee cup and snack bag in her outstretched hand, and a wide smile curls across his face instead.

"Oh, you absolute angel," he tells her, drinking greedily from the coffee cup, letting the warmth of it breathe some life back into his freezing fingertips. Willow chokes on a sip of honey-kissed mint and peach, snorting with laughter as she watches him pry the lid off of his cup a moment later, dunk his chocolate chip cookie into his coffee, and shove the whole thing into his mouth.

"You are the very picture of grace," she teases, but the smile on her face couldn't be more adoring. 

"Here, let me see those," she adds, holding out her hands for the mess of sewing supplies scattered across Hunter's lap.

"Listen, that's the right way to eat a cookie, everyone else is just doing it wrong," Hunter argues around a muffled mouthful of chocolate chips, cheeks puffed to chipmunk maximum. He swallows, and Willow's hands twitch with the urge to reach up and swipe that little dot of chocolate out of the corner of his mouth (or ask for a taste.)

"And actually, I was thinking…could you teach me?" he asks, tongue darting out to lick away the last of the chocolate, and—

Okay seriously, stop thinking about kissing him, he's—

Staring at you.

Uh oh.

You didn't say that out loud, did you?

No, no. It's fine. He just asked you a question.

And now he's waiting for your answer.

Shit.

Okay. This is salvageable. Just remember what he said.

Rewind and remember.

He was eating his cookie (very very gracefully, with the manners of a regency-era prince, of course) and he got chocolate all over his lips, when—

Hmm. His lips.

They're so cute. And pink. And soft-looking.

I'll bet they taste like chocolate and coffee, so soft—

Oh my god, you useless sack of neurons.

It takes Willow a full twenty seconds to reboot her bluescreened brain, shaking her head to rattle all the thoughts out of it and zero her focus back on her roommate.

"I'm sorry. I was, uh…thinking about a test I've got tomorrow," she bullshits, remembering only after she's said it that oh right, there's a massive snowstorm coming and all of their classes have already been cancelled. "Could you repeat that?"

"Sure," he chuckles, smiling at her like he finds her utterly endearing, and Willow's face heats about ten more degrees. 

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind giving me a sewing lesson? You've been such an amazing teacher, showing me how to cook and bake these past few months, and you're pretty much an expert crafter, so if I'm going to learn from anyone, I want it to be you," he says, leaning his head back to nuzzle against the plush handmade quilt draped across the back of the couch, decorated with a menagerie of bees, birds, and butterflies that feel like they've just taken flight in Willow's stomach. 

"So, what do you say, Captain?" he asks, fixing her with a smile that makes her feel like he's just tipped the contents of her tea cup straight into her chest. "Will you teach me?"

"Oh, um…yeah! Abs— absolutely," she replies, all a fluster, whole face lit up in a beaming smile as she leaps to her feet and rushes off to her bedroom to grab her (far, far superior) sewing supplies.

It'd been hard enough trying to concentrate whenever they worked together in the kitchen, watching the rising steam from bubbling pots and simmering pans turn her hair into a sea of wild, curly cowlicks and fog up the lenses of her glasses, the way she'd tuck a lock of hair that fell loose from one of her braids behind her ear and end up with a streak of flour across her cheek, or god forbid, any time he got too distracted and messed up chopping vegetables, and she'd have to come and stand behind him and place her hands on top of his to guide him through proper chopping techniques, worried he'd lose a finger otherwise.

It's a wonder he'd learned anything at all, really (he attributes it to the fact that she's just that good a teacher.) But this…this is a whole other level of difficulty. They've run through all the basics — how to thread the needle, different types of thread and needle thickness needed for different types of fabric, running stitch, back stitch, whip stitch — and now she's teaching him a technique called an invisible stitch that involves making a series of ladder-like threads back and forth up both sides of the fabric that…somehow leaves you with a hidden seam at the end? Sounds like sorcery to Hunter, but maybe that's just because he's too distracted to pay proper attention. 

Listen, it's not his fault, okay? It's just…she looks so cute when she's concentrating — brows furrowed, nose scrunched, gold-rimmed glasses sliding down to the edge of her button nose, tip of her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth as she works the needle through the thick leather layers. But then she's handing him the partially patched gloves with needle and thread dangling from the side so he can try it out for himself and…shit. Hunter panics, struggling to push the needle through the thickest part of the leather, and ends up stabbing himself in the finger when he tries to pull it through from the sharp end.

"Oh no, you poor thing!" Willow exclaims, jumping up from the couch and rushing back in with a little first aid kit she keeps in their medicine cabinet for just such occasions. A few minutes later, Hunter's cut is all clean and there's a bright yellow bandage plastered with cheerful cartoon bumblebees all over the tip of his pointer finger.

"You wanna keep going?" she asks tentatively, wary of the way Hunter's gaze is fixed to the tiny splotch of red seeping through the gauze on the pad of his finger, distorting the sunny little bumblebee's smiling face, the way his hands tremble ever so slightly as he flexes them, faded pink scars dappled across his knuckles turning white with each clench.

Hunter shakes his head and glances up at her, giving her a fervent nod. It's fine. No big deal. A little pinprick is nothing compared to—

Never mind.

Point is, he's had worse.

"Here, let's try this," she says softly, holding out her hands, half-mended glove with a string of bright red thread dangling from one of them, attached needle carefully held aloft in her other, farther back and deliberately pointed away from him. "How about I guide you through the motions, just like we did in the kitchen?"

Hunter swallows, managing little more than another nod as he reaches across the space between them and slowly slips his hands into hers, and just like every time she'd teach him how to wield a paring knife, Willow's heart leaps into her throat.

His hands are so much softer than she'd imagined, so much bigger than her own, giddy pulse matching hers beat for beat as they press their palms together, nimble fingers meeting the pad of his thumb with ease as they curl across the back of her hand. Willow gets lost in the feeling of it, quite forgetting what she was supposed to be teaching him, fingertips tracing little winding rivers of faded pink scars with feather-light touches.

Willow doesn't know all the details about what Hunter's life was like before the Clawthornes took him in (he doesn't really like to talk about it, and she doesn't want to pry) only that there was a fire, that he lived with his father's brother for a little while after his parents — Caleb and Evelyn, she remembers him telling her once — passed away, and that his uncle was a miserable excuse for a man who turned into a downright monster every time he drank. 

But these scars littered across his knuckles and the palms of his hands…she's pretty sure they're from broken glass…just like the sharp sliver of a scar that curls from the underside of his jawline to the cheekbone just below his right eye. Most of the time, all Willow wants to do whenever she sees them is press her lips to each and every one, cover them in kisses until she's healed him whole. But right now, all she feels is anger, white hot and tempestuous, and all she can think is how Philip Wittebane should be thankful he's already dead.

Hunter's developed something of a sixth sense when it comes to other people's anger, learned to listen for the subtle shift from true composure to softly simmering rage in the lilt of their voice, the wolf-like curl of their upper lip, nostrils flaring like a woken dragon, stony gaze that could freeze over hell as their eyes narrow into slits.

And right now, Hunter can practically feel the anger rolling off of Willow in waves, eyes a bright, livid green as her fingertips smooth over a particularly deep, jagged scar that winds across the lifeline of his palm — a sharp contrast to the way she holds them so gently in her own, the way her lower lip trembles, tears threatening to pool in the corners of her eyes. He's never experienced anger quite like this before.

A burst of affection explodes inside Hunter's chest as he realizes, rather belatedly, that it's on his behalf, that she feels protective of him, angry at the person who hurt him. He reaches out for her instinctively, needing her to be even closer, takes the hand wrapped around his half-mended glove (his father's glove, one of his few prized possessions that survived the fire, that she offered to help him fix) and lifts it to his cheek, knuckles brushing against his lips on their slow ascent, marveling at how soft and small it is compared to his, how right it feels wrapped up in his own.

The world stills, and Hunter exhales on a soft, languid sigh, heady concoction of sunlit serenity and dizzying adrenaline thrumming in his veins as he gazes at her, allowing himself this brazen, stolen moment to look without shame, without worrying whether he'll give himself away, bashful blushing be damned.

There's a soft intake of breath, and then Willow is glancing up at him, dulcet smile spreading across her lips like he's the sunrise on her favorite day, bright green eyes filled with something Hunter lets himself hope is the start of what he's been feeling for her all these years. She's brilliant and beautiful and clever and kind, hard-earned strength wrapped in softened edges, a living reminder that there's still good in the world, and Hunter knows he doesn't deserve her…but maybe, just for this moment, he can let himself have this anyway.

• • •

She's done so much for him lately, Hunter just wants to do something nice for her in return. Even if it's something as simple as brewing her a cup of her favorite tea. He knows she'll be home any minute, and that her usual Robin's Roast order is a medicine ball, but money is a little tight right now, and they haven't really been able to afford any extras, so while he was out at the store earlier, he'd picked up some lemons, honey, and mint and peach tea in an attempt to surprise her with his own homemade version.

He's reasonably certain he got all the right flavors, ingredients and measuring cups lined up across the countertop like little toy soldiers in pristine formation. But he's also utterly exhausted from all the extra work he's been covering, pulling graveyard shifts at the library nearly every night for the past two weeks, so when he goes to grab the glasses poured fresh from the kettle, he forgets they're piping hot (not to mention the fact that you're not supposed to put boiling water in glass) and drops them on instinct, glass shattering like a gunshot as dozens of jagged little shards explode around his bare feet and scatter across the kitchen floor.

Hunter freezes, a kind of fear he hasn't felt in over a decade enveloping him like a sudden drop through a crack in a frozen lake, settling like slivers of ice between his ribs. He blinks, and all at once, he's back in his uncle's kitchen, cowering in the corner as an empty bottle of whiskey cracks on the countertop above his head, a shower of glass spilling into his hair like freezing rain.

His stomach twists, nausea clinging citrus-sharp in the back of his throat, sending sickening spider-legged prickles crawling up the back of his neck. Muscle memory drops him to his hands and knees, where he begins frantically trying to pick up the pieces, terrified of a blow that'll never come — another liquor bottle, perhaps; or if he's very unlucky, a grown man's fist. 

His heart is a wild animal beating against the bars of its cage, desperate to claw its way out before the big bad beast comes to snap its jaws and bear its teeth, thundering so hard it shakes his whole frame, fingers trembling around each serrated fragment. 

Tears burn in the corners of his eyes, traitorous and unrelenting, blurring his vision as they fall, making it that much easier to miss the little slivers that slide like needles under his skin, spilling his blood just to spite him and make the mess he's got to clean up even worse. 

He has to fix this, has to clean it all up as quickly and efficiently as possible, can't make noise, can't show weakness, or else—

He squeezes his eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears, and all at once, a memory, vivid and visceral, bursts across his mind's eye, his uncle's voice, with its cloying, sinister lilt, clear as if he were standing right behind him.

Is this the thanks I get for taking you in? he'd hiss, upper lip curled in a disgusted scowl. Look at the mess you've made. The least you can do is clean it up.

The way he'd sneer as Hunter crawled across the grimy kitchen floor on his hands and knees, struggling to pick up all the broken pieces with his bare hands, crying out as the dagger-sharp shards left stinging cuts in their wake.

These outbursts are painful, he'd add ruefully, an almost-apology, and then— and so is watching you fail.

The room spins, sunny yellows and forest-dwelling greens at odds with the murky grays and tarnished golds from his memory, and Hunter forgets how to breathe. He's sinking, falling, down, down, down to depths of that frozen lake, certain he's going to drown this time, when out of nowhere, warmth like a fireside in the shape of two strong, gentle hands settles on either side of his shoulders, pulling him back to the surface.

Hunter gasps, exhaling on a shuddering breath, gaze softening on a pair of pale green eyes that make him think of matcha tea and lucky clovers, brows above their golden frames furrowed in concern. For a moment, Hunter's mind goes blissfully blank, and all he can think is how badly he wants to reach up and smooth those worried little creases away. 

He reaches up to do just that, catching sight of the blood pooling in the lifelines of his palms — bright as a cardinal's wings, deep as the embers at the heart of a wildfire — and sucks in a sharp, dizzying breath.

"Hey, I've got you. You're safe," comes a soft, soothing voice — his favorite sound in the whole world. Soft hands come up to gently cup his face, keeping his eyes trained on her, holding his head above water.

"Breathe with me," she tells him, one hand carefully cradling his jaw, thumb stroking a soothing half-moon trail over the scar across his cheekbone, the other held out in front of him, slowly putting down each finger as she counts. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

With each steadying breath, the world slows back down to its gentle revolution, cheerful yellows and woodland greens of his home — their home — coming back into focus, until all he can feel are five soft fingertips and one plush palm pressed against the side of his face, the hands of a person who's only ever used them to grow gardens from seedlings and craft beautiful things from thread and wool.

Hunter exhales on a long, shuddering breath, survival instinct paired with the weight of his exhaustion tugging him forward until he's collapsing into her, shoulders shaking with violent sobs as he buries his face into her chest, seeking out the steady beat of her heart to keep him grounded.

Later, when his mind stills long enough to make room for other emotions like shame and guilt, he'll regret leaving bloodied handprints all over her favorite sweater, desperately clinging, clutching handfuls of soft, cozy, knitted fabric as he struggles to pull her close, but for right now, he's running on survival mode, and all he knows is the need to hold home and safety as close as possible, bury himself in her warmth and wait for the storm to pass.

Hours — or maybe just minutes later, he's not entirely sure — Willow helps him to his feet and walks him to the bathroom, knelt down in front of him while he sits on the edge of the toilet seat, taking care to touch him as softly as she can while she washes all the blood off his hands and scans his skin for rogue slivers, telling him to look away so he doesn't have to witness the worst of it. 

Hunter opts to stare at her instead, busying himself with his favorite task of counting all the freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose like a dusting of brown sugar cinnamon, coming up with names for constellations in his very own private star chart.

Hands wrapped up in a thick layer of gauze, Willow walks him back into the living room and settles him in on the couch, handmade quilt heavy enough to anchor him like a weighted blanket draped across his shoulders. 

She makes quick work of cleaning up all the glass, returning moments later with a cup of tea for him in her favorite mug — the one with the photo of him, her, Luz, and Gus that time her dads took them all to Winterberry Gardens for her sixteenth birthday, the caption Frond Memories written underneath it in flowering vines — made from a medley of dried fruit and edible flowers she'd grown herself (because of course she grows her own tea leaves, and of course it tastes like magic in a cup.)

Hunter accepts it with a wordless thank you, soaking up its warmth through a thick layer of leather slipped on to protect his freshly-bandaged hands, thumb tracing over the little red cardinal Willow had offered to embroider to cover up the seam the night she'd helped him mend them. She settles into the space beside him, quietly sipping her own mug of tea as she waits in patient silence for him to finish drinking his, and then, without uttering a single word, opens her arms in invitation.

Hunter lets out a sigh of relief, nearly kicking over his empty mug as he rushes to join her, head settling in the cozy crook of her shoulder, melting into a world of warmth and comfort that could rival a yuletide fireside. Within minutes he's fast asleep, hands draped gingerly across her waist, curled into the soft fabric of the camisole she'd worn underneath her sweater, Willow struggling to stifle her giggles as slow steady puffs of warm breath tickle her neck.

But she wouldn't trade places with anyone for anything in the world, content to sit there bundled up in their cozy quilted blanket fort, gently carding her fingers through a sea of wild, fluffy blond hair as she hums a tuneless lullaby, gazing down at this boy she loves more than she could ever put into words, knowing she would raise hell to protect him, promising herself that if anyone or anything ever tried to hurt him again, she would make sure they felt the sting of defeat.

Oh, and if Uncle Pip were still alive, she would absolutely punch him right through the face. And yes, she means through the face.

• • •

Willow gets hit hard during flu season, and Hunter is determined to take care of her, insisting she stay in bed and allow him to dote on her. After three days of arguing that she's fine (complete with a contradictory congested d at the end) and getting sent home early from work for sneezing half the petals off a window display of sunflowers, Willow finally lets him, spending the evening soaking in a nice hot bubble bath courtesy of her lovely roommate, and tucking herself into bed before the sun even goes down.

She's all settled in, dressed in a pair of her coziest pajamas, when she hears a familiar three-beat knock at her bedroom door, delicate and polite as a church mouse.

"Come in!" she croaks, wincing at how raspy and squeaky she sounds.

There's a soft clink of ceramic from the other side as the doorknob turns, and in walks Hunter looking the very picture of domestic fluff — steaming mug of homemade medicine ball tea in one hand, hearty bowl of soup in the other, worn hardcover book slipping from where it's tucked underneath his arm.

He's dressed in a pair of watermelon print pajama pants she's pretty sure he's had for as long as she's known him, a wrinkled dark purple t-shirt with the words Bad Girl Coven written across the front in bold lettering (a relic from back when Eda got big into silkscreening) stretched to maximum across his torso. (Willow's willing to bet dollars to donuts that he's got one for Raine's band, Bards Against The Throne, stashed away in one of his drawers, too.)

His hair is delightfully disheveled, a sea of wild, fluffy cowlicks that makes it looks like he's just woken up from a nap, even though she knows he's been rushing around all afternoon, picking up cough drops and tissues and her favorite jasmine scented bath bombs, chopping carrots and celery and seasoning broth for the perfect replication of Papa Park's famous cold-busting chicken noodle soup.

And maybe the fever is making her a little extra bold, because the words you look so cute escape past all her usual filters and fall right out of her mouth the moment he sets the bowl on her bedside table, soup sloshing down the sides as Hunter freezes like a glitch in software, blinking a few times as he waits for his brain to process what she's just said, resisting the urge to glance around the room to make sure she wasn't somehow addressing someone else.

"Th— um. Thank you," he mumbles softly, back turned to her as he reaches for her desk chair, stumbling on a wrinkle in the carpet as he rolls it over to her side of the bed and falls rather than settles into it, full use of his limbs escaping him at the moment.

When he turns back around, the tips of his ears are a bright, burning red, the rest of his blushing face hidden behind the pages of one of her favorite books, first in a series they've been borrowing back and forth from one another since their first year of high school.

"My dad used to read to me whenever I got sick," he tells her in a quiet voice, and warmth like the cozy swirling steam spiraling above her bowl of homemade soup spreads throughout her chest, pocketing that little detail and storing it amongst her ever-growing collection of Hunter Facts like a memory magpie. 

"Raine and Eda started doing it too, after I asked them. So, it's kind of a tradition by now," he adds, starting to look a little sheepish. "But if you'd rather—"

"No, I'd love that," she exclaims, sitting up a little straighter and tucking her chin into the palms of her hand, leaning in close to let him know he has her full attention. "Please read to me, Hunter."

"O-okay," he falters, the top of the book slipping down just enough to reveal the small, self-assured little smile curling across his face as he settles into her desk chair, flips to the first page, and begins.

Our story starts with a lying witch and a warden, the day one seemingly ordinary human changed the history of the Boiling Isles forever, when she followed a thieving owl through a portal into a mystical realm filled with wild magic… 

He spends the next hour reading aloud to her in the hopes that it'll help lull her to sleep, but by the time he gets to chapter two, Willow is more awake than ever, perched at the edge of her bed, gazing at him in raptures. And really, that's his own fault, because he should have known better than to choose the one series that always manages to break their sleep schedules, phone screens lighting up like fireflies with rapid-fire missives after every midnight release, spending half the night texting each other than actually reading.

WILLOW WHAT CHAPTER ARE YOU ON? WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT—

HUNTER OH MY GOD DID YOU GET TO THE PART WHERE—

Showing up to class the next morning with bags under their eyes so heavy they'd have to check them at the airport, dead to the world yet bouncing off the walls, bane of their teacher's existence as they jump up and down and shake each other's shoulders, screaming about the cliffhanger ending.

Only, Hunter isn't exactly practiced in the art of reading aloud, so he stumbles over the words a lot (at least, that's the excuse he gives every time he glances up to find Willow staring at him like he's the main character recalling his own thrilling adventure, the soft golden hue of her bedside lamp reflected in her pale green eyes like a sun shower through a canopy of trees — and just like that, the entirety of the English language falls right out of Hunter's head.)

He's also suddenly brutally aware of how loud and grating his voice sounds to his own ears, mind digging up memories of all the times he had to read aloud in middle school, how all the kids used to tease him about the way the space between his two front teeth made him whistle certain words, how his uncle's "secretary" Kikimora would often find him playing alone in his room, talking to himself, making up stories, and sneer, I thought I recognized that annoying voice.

"Sorry, not the best narrator," Hunter huffs out around a self-effacing laugh, stumbling over a tongue-twister of an alliteration for the third time in a row. "Probably doesn't help that my voice is kind of…annoying," he adds with a grimace.

"What? No, it's not! I love your voice," Willow argues, voice softening to a dreamlike sigh as she says those last four words, and warmth like cocoa on Christmas morning spreads throughout Hunter's chest.

"I'd listen to a whole audiobook of you reading our favorite series," she insists with that heart-skipping smile of hers, and the heat zeroes in on the hollows of Hunter's cheeks, radiating like a first-degree sunburn.

"Hey, what kind of magic do you think I'd have if we lived on The Boiling Isles like in the story?" she asks in that half-awake, semi-delirious wired state of sickness, changing topics before he can fully process the compliment she's just given him.

"Plant magic," Hunter answers automatically (because he's given this a fair bit of thought) fond smile lighting up his eyes as he glances around at the little collection of potted plants lining the ledge of her window, filling up all the free spaces across her desk, dresser, and bookshelf. "You're so good at taking care of them."

Willow hums contentedly, leveling him with a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes until they're little half-moons.

"I think you'd be a wild witch," she decides after a moment of deliberation. "Good at all kinds of magic."

Hunter can't help but preen just a little bit at that, beaming happily back at her.

"I mean, you've already got healing and potions down," she says, gesturing to the bowl of homemade soup sitting at the edge of her bedside table, so engrossed in Hunter reading to her that she'd completely forgotten to take a bite.

"Well, wait until you actually taste it. My cooking is an abomination compared to yours, after all," he jokes, and Willow laughs so hard she sends herself into a coughing fit. 

Hunter lurches forward on instinct, tossing the book to the foot of the bed and rushing to her side.

"Oh sweetheart, are you okay?" he says without thinking, reaching out to place a gentle hand against the side of her face.

After a generous sip of tea offered by her doting roommate, Willow manages to calm her coughing back down, waving a hand to let him know she's alright. It takes a few moments for her to fully process what he'd just said, to register the newfound source of warmth radiating from the palm of his hand as it hovers just below the curve of her cheek, waiting just in case she needs to be held again, and then—

"Did you just call me sweetheart?" she asks, voice dropping to a hushed whisper, lit up at the edges with something Hunter doesn't dare let himself believe is hope.

"Oh, I'm— I'm sorry, it just kind of slipped out, I didn't—" Hunter splutters, heat prickling up the back of his neck.

"I liked it," Willow giggles, beaming at him with that signature dimpled smile that never fails to make his heart feel like it's going to leap right out of his chest.

"Oh," he says softly, hope bubbling like a boiling tea kettle inside his chest as he shifts his weight a little closer, towering over her as he perches on the edge of her bed. "Okay, then."

Gentle fingertips trace the curve of her cheek with feather-light touches, catching a lock of hair that's come loose from one of her braids and tucking it back behind her ear. Willow lets out a sound like a slow-motion sigh of relief, eyes fluttering closed as she tilts her head ever so slightly, leaning into his touch. When she opens them again, it's to find he's moved even closer, lips barely a breath from hers, gazing at her like she's a sky full of stars after he's spent his whole life living in the city.

"Sweetheart," he whispers, voice like rose petals and candlelight, sending Willow's pulse soaring through the clouds. 

He makes a half-halted movement, lips pulling into a pout like he was just about to lean forward and kiss her, but talked himself out of it at the very last second. Willow lets out the breath she'd been holding, exhaling on a heavy, wistful sigh, mourning the loss of his touch the second he pulls away.

For a moment, Willow worries he's going to leave, that whatever fantasy-fueled almost that very nearly happened between them just now was weird enough to sending him running, but to her relief, Hunter merely settles back into her desk chair, picking up from where he left off with a voice that struggles to stay within his usual octave, face hidden once more behind the pages of their favorite book, so that all she can see is a pair of ears bright enough to rival all the tomatoes in her garden, poking out from a sea of wild, fluffy blond hair.

Willow settles back against her pillows, unfulfilled adrenaline giving way to exhaustion as her heart rate slows back down, letting the sound of her best friend's voice lull her to sleep. No less than ten minutes later, she's sprawled out like a starfish, softly dozing with her cheek pressed against Clover's fuzzy backside.

Hunter glances up at the sound of her grizzly bear snoring, chuckling to himself as he closes the book halfway through chapter three and tucks it under his arm, carefully removing her glasses where they swing precariously from the bridge of her nose and setting them on her bedside table beside her half-sipped cup of tea and (now chilled) bowl of soup.

And if he leans down to press a kiss against the top of her forehead just before he switches off the light and slips out the door, well…she doesn't have to know that that's the reason he ends up sick in bed with the very same flu the following week.

• • •

Winter gives way to spring, and with it comes the freedom to finally open up all the windows, letting in fresh air and natural sunlight again. It's also the time of year when all of Willow's flowering plants start to blossom again, and Hunter is nothing short of enchanted by all the bright colors and heady fragrances of the sweet-smelling lilacs, lilies, hyacinths, honeysuckles, and jasmine, every time he enters their living room.

But with the spring rush of everyone suddenly deciding they want to grow their own gardens or give bouquets of flowers as gifts, Willow has been working longer and later shifts at The Golden Garden, so Hunter has taken it upon himself to care for her plants in her stead, clicky pen stuck between his teeth as he juggles jotting down notes in between poring over passages from Willow's gardening books, even going so far as to come up with a color-coded schedule that lets him know when it's time to water them, or gently rotate their pot to ensure each side gets to spend equal time in the sun.

One such sunny afternoon, Willow comes home exhausted and covered in dirt from the Easter lily Sunday rush, surprised to find Hunter sitting with his chin tucked into the palms of his hands, talking to each one of her plants the same way she's been known to do, complimenting them on how healthy they look and how strong they're growing, asking if they'd like another spritz of the mister or some more plant food.

She watches him for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, smile growing wider the longer she listens, wishing she had her polaroid with her to capture this perfect scene straight out of one of her daydreams. He's in the middle of a lively one-sided conversation, asking one of her succulents how difficult he thinks it would be to bake a cake in its likeness for Willow's birthday, lips poised around the phrase lemon layer cake with vanilla buttercream frosting, that's Willow's favorite, when he turns around and sees her standing there, freezing like a deer in headlights, furious blush creeping into the hollows of his cheeks.

"Whatcha doing?" she asks in a playful tone, cheeks aching from how hard she's smiling.

"Oh, I was just—" he falters, spray bottle in one hand, plant food in the other, a dish towel decorated with cardinals and bumblebees slung over his shoulder, smudge of dirt striped across one of his cheeks. And oh, if she hadn't already been head over heels stupid in love with him for the past five and a half years, this would have been the moment she fell.

"I've been doing some research on plant maintenance," he recovers, spurred by the sight of her beaming smile and the chance to launch into info-dumping mode. "I know you've been working longer hours lately, so I wanted to step up and help you take care of them. And, while I was researching, I came across this study that suggests talking to your plants helps them grow healthier and stronger, because they respond better to positive—"

"Positive reinforcement," Willow finishes, smile dimpling her cheeks to maximum, because this boy might just be the only person she's ever met who finds the same study just as fascinating as she does. "In the same way that pets and people do."

"Yeah!" he exclaims, eyes lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. "I've watched you do it for months now and I never understood why — I just thought it was sweet." His face deepens from a soft rosy pink to a darker hibiscus at this little revelation. "But there's a science to it, and it's really interesting. So, I've been making sure to talk to them, tell them how pretty they look, how nice they smell, compliment them on any new leaves or buds they've sprouted. Like Jasper here — if you look closely, you'll see that another cluster of jasmine flowers have started to blossom near the base of its—"

"Jasper?" Willow asks with an amused lilt.

"Oh, I uh— may or may not have given each of your plants their own names," Hunter explains, slightly flustered, hand coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck and accidentally dousing himself with a spritz of the spray bottle. "Hope that's okay."

Willow didn't think it was possible for her to smile any brighter than she already was, but Hunter's just got that magic touch.

"Of course it is," she tells him, striding into the living room to stand right beside him, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she gazes up at him expectantly. "Please introduce me."

Hunter beams at her excitedly, turning his attention back to her — no, their — little family of plants, and launching into a lengthy explanation of why he named each one the way he did, oblivious to the way she's looking at him just now, gaze so smitten it's a wonder there aren't literal hearts in her eyes, wondering how it's possible to fall even deeper in love with this boy than she already was, how he never fails to make the fall feel like flying.

Elements of this chapter were inspired by art by beaniewinnie96

✨ Read Next Chapter | Chapter Masterlist ✨

Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Hunter and Willow have been secretly pining for one another since freshman year of high school, and now they're going to be college roommates. They're just moving in together, it's no big deal. Surely this won't change anything between them.

Hunter isn't sure at which point exactly he fell in love with her — when her fingers brushed through his hair as she checked him for a concussion, or when she brought him a soup bowl-sized mug of hot cocoa, winked at him, and said, "I put some extra marshmallows in there for you, helps with the healing, trust me" — but from that night on, Hunter knew that he loved her. And he hadn't stopped loving her, all the way to this exact moment five years later, where he now sat opposite her on his threadbare couch, faced with the prospect of living with her for the next seven months.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr: Chapter 1 » Chapter 2 » Chapter 3 » Chapter 4 » Chapter 5

[sadthixx]

drinking Earl Grey tea with Sephiroth 🖤

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

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

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

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

Age Rating - 18+

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

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

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

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

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

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

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

"You wouldn't even believe."

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

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

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll hold you to that."

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

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

"And then?"

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

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

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

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

"Of course I do."

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

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

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

"What the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

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

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Doin' so good for me."

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

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know you didn't mean it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on, trouble."

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

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

[bunny-jpeg]

hi! could I please order blueberry bars and a tres leches, with iced tea and pina colada for the drinks! that'll be for carlos sainz

thank you!

bakery menu

welcome to the bakery? may i take your order? there are many things available at the bakery so please submit an order! as for this anon thank you for such a love series of prompts, i hope you love it!

blueberry bars (“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”) + tres leches ("i wonder if your brother know i cum in you.") + ice tea (accidentally launching relationship) + pina colada (pregnancy)

cw: smut/pwp, norris!reader, unprotected sex, accidentally launching relationship, pregnancy, pregnant sex, missionary

carlos liked to live fast. he was the smooth operator. but, sometimes it was nice to go slow. especially with you, especially now. this was the first time he had seen you since you told him were in pregnant an hour before he was set to race.

“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” was a promise made in a moment of passion, but it actually came true.

you and carlos sainz jr were having a baby. but no one knew you were dating, especially not your brother, lando norris. the same brother who terrorized any boy you tried to date in high school. now he was going to be an eventual in-law of carlos.

but as he visited you in your hotel room for the weekend, neither of you were thinking about it. carlos wanted you and you wanted carlos.

you weren't that pregnant yet. the belly was quite small and could be covered with a baggy sweater to cover up. but you knew eventually you'd have to come clean about it. especially your relationship with carlos.

but you were far too worried about your brother. you knew he was protective of you, especially around the paddock. no one was going to touch his sister. and yet, you ended up in bed with carlos.

and now you were back in bed with him once more. he had come to visit his beloved and wished to have some intimate time with you before the next race. and especially now he was becoming a father, he had to be right to you. a strong kind of man that you could be proud of.

you two were in your hotel room together, cuddled in bed together. your leg draped over his hips with his hand on your slightly curved middle. he wanted to feel his child inside of you as the pair of you kissed together with such love and tenderness.

"i've missed you." he said softly, his lips onto your neck. his hand still on your stomach, "and i missed you." he looked down at your middle, "mama's been keeping you a secret." he chuckled before he looked at you with those big brown eyes.

you hide your face a little bit, "oh, c'mon." you still couldn't believe that carlos really stepped up. he wanted to be a good father for the child you two were going to have, "you're such a sweet talker! that's how i got into this mess in the first place!"

he laughed and kissed you on the lips. he rubbed his bare legs up against yours. his kisses deepened, you moaned against his lips and felt a shiver down his spine. he couldn't help himself around you. no, no, you were just too perfect to not fuck. he'd be an idiot if he let something like you pass him by.

he admired your beauty as he put you onto your back. he planted hands on either side of you and eyed you with such wanted. you looked beautiful, did you know what? honestly you looked more beautiful now that you were pregnant with his child. you were carrying his child. that was amazing! while it wasn't the timeline he hoped for, he could promise to love the both of you.

he placed one hand on your middle for a moment before he went in for another hot kiss. your body laid out under him. the kiss was sweet, you could taste his dinner on his lips as he kissed you deeply.

he carefully slipped his cock into you, which made your back arch a little bit from the hot need. you tried to cover your face, but his words cut through, "show me your face my love, i wish to see you."

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pull you close to him. he was careful about placing all of his weight onto you. he didn't want to crush his beautiful girlfriend and your baby.

you kept your legs bent on the bed and he was slotted between them. the pace he kept was steady, not hard enough to bruise you. just enough that he cough watch your large breasts bounce in his field of vision.

"you are only going to get more beautiful." he admitted, "soon round with my baby. you, me and our baby together as a little family. the best a norris-sainz team anyone could have."

you giggled a little, "right, right. our little baby." you pulled him in for a tight kiss as you held onto him tightly. missionary was considered a boring position, but you didn't mind it. to admire your handsome boyfriend above you. feeling the pleasure in your body as he rocked against you.

you licked you lips as he moved against you. it felt so good being in his arms. to be so close to him as he moved against you. heaven felt real and it was fucking carlos sainz jr.

he rested a hand on your stomach once more, "you gave me such a special gift." he continued to move up against you. he could feel the heat in his soul.

"please tell me we're not naming them carlos sainz the third." you giggled with heat in your face, "i don't want him to get bullied."

"what names do you suggest, my love?" he asked as he continued to move against you.

you giggled then joked, "lando." then shrugged before carlos took your hands and pinned you to the bed. his kisses were on you once more and you moaned against his touch.

"no. anything but that." he chuckled as he moved against you once more. he could feel the heat in his gut start to really bloom the more he moved against you.

you were just simply so beautiful that to feel so intimate with you felt like something of a dream. and to have a child with you was only more dreamlike. you'd be his wife.

his pace started to stagger and his breathing became heavier. oh, you felt like a dream. you held onto his hands tightly as he moved against you. his lips found yours once more as you kissed deeply. your heartbeat was in your ears as he thrusted against you.

oh, you were perfect.

you soon came around his cock with a loud moan and your arms around his shoulders once more. he rutted against you, he moved your hips against his. you tensed up around him as he battered your poor pussy until you were seeing stars and when you relaxed. carlos only kept his eyes on you as he moved against you.

he could imagine you with a much larger belly. caring for his child just as he'd care for the both of you. you were a family, even if your brother a possessive sibling. carlos would be your husband and his kisses against your skin only promised that in silence.

"please, carlos." you said out of breath.

"i know, my love." he said softly. he gave his hips a few more moves against you before he held onto your hands tightly and finished inside of you with a heavy groan.

you whimpered against him and arched your back a little bit at the feeling of him. he then peppered your face with kisses and quiet 'i love you's as he slowed to a stop and got one last look at you under him.

"my beautiful woman." he said before he kissed you on the lips once more. the most gentle kiss of the entire night. you giggled a little bit as you felt the after lingers of pleasure.

when he pulled out, you both cuddled on the bed. you chatted quietly about the child in your womb. carlos' large hand on your middle like it was going to grow overnight.

"i got a sonogram, it isn't much. but i was wondering if you wanted to see it. it's really cool." you beamed at the other man and he simply smiled at you. you felt very hot after your intimate time together.

"please. i want to see it." he said. the idea of seeing even a blurry half image of his child excited him. proof that you were carrying them.

"i'll send you the photo! it's all on my phone!" you said as you watched carlos rub your marginally swollen middle. your little secret with him. you took your phone off the nightstand and wasn't paying much attention to

what you noticed was what you sent two photos. first it was the sonogram photo. the only you meant to send to carlos. but the second one was a side profile of you in your mirror with your baggy shirt pulled up and showing off the slightest bump. but while that didn't make your heart stop. it was who you sent it to.

your brother, lando.

then the notifications started. and you looked to carlos who looked even more shocked. especially when he read one of the messages from your brother, "i'm going to kill carlos sainz." <3

[arpicityandneed]

As someone who really adores balls (they're so darn cute, just chilling there all unassuming) I just know Bucky's are fucking huge 🤤 catch me trying to explain tea bagging to that old man so I can get an excuse to leave a lipstick stain on his sack

a/n: to be fucking fair Bucky just has breeder ball energy, so I completely understand the feeling.

18+ f!reader. teabagging. Avenger!Bucky. Civilian!reader.

"So, there's a few positions that could be used here. But the punchline is I get your balls in my mouth." You explained with a sultry smile, taking your shot of whiskey down without so much as a wince.

Bucky choked on his drink.

When you'd come up to him, your curves wrapped in skin tight jeans a ratty tshirt that stretched over your tits and a leather jacket, he'd been more than game to flirt. Try his hand to see if he could still be charming at 106. He expected you to fawn over him, ask him questions about his metal arm, or even ask about what it was like to be an Avenger.

What he did not expect was for you to come onto him like that, confident and nasty and hungry. It made his dick hard as steel and he floundered. Would he ever understand women of the future and their kinks?

"And you would... enjoy this?" He wheezed as he pounded his chest, wondering if he'd suddenly gained the ability to get drunk or if you really just said what he thought you said.

"Very much actually." You scooted closer, your tits brushing his arm enough that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra. "Foreplay is foreplay. Knowing that the same balls that were covered in my lipstick are gonna unload in me later? Yeah." Your voice was breathless, needy, like you were imagining it already in the middle of the bar.

Bucky slammed his beer down on the table with more force than was necessary and stood, fishing a handful of bills out of his wallet and shoving it at the bartender before grabbing your hand.

"Lets go." He grunted barely able to keep his head straight enough to get you onto his motorcycle before he was speeding through the streets to his apartment. Your soft body plastered against his back didn't help the way his body ached to be inside you.

But no, first you'd have to have your snack.

When you got to the apartment he threw you over his shoulder, taking the stairs three at a time at super soldier speed. The door had barely closed behind him before he was reaching for you. Ripping your flimsy shirt like tissue paper he groaned when your breasts bounced free, cupping them in his palms greedily.

"Fuck me. You're so soft," he murmured huskily as his grey eyes flicked up to meet yours. "Remind me to take my time with these beauties later okay?"

"Yeah, promise. Now will you take your clothes off?" You smirked as you tugged at his shirt. "I can't rip 'em off of you without a knife."

A full body shiver ran down Bucky's spine at that mental image and he nodded, shucking his jeans and boxers off with efficient grace before stripping off his shirt.

"Where- how-?" He started to ask before you dragged him to the bed. You laid down first with your head hanging over the edge. From that angle all he had to do was step forward and his balls would be inches from your mouth.

"Simple right?"

"Right." Bucky's voice was a hoarse croak, and he took that one step that put him at your mercy.

"Hello beautiful." You cooed at his leaking cock, tonguing the slit for a moment and moaning at the taste. "Next time." You murmured to yourself before focusing on his balls.

They were heavy, full, and sensitive if the way Bucky shivered just from feeling your lips brushing against them was anything to go by.

"You do this with all your guys?" Bucky found the idea pissed him off, and you chuckled- low and throaty.

"Just the special ones." You murmured before opening your mouth wide and sucking a wet kiss against his sack.

"Fuck," Bucky groaned and you felt your cunt throb at the timbre of his voice.

You said nothing, after all talking with your mouth full would've been rude.

You sucked, licked, and worshipped his balls until his legs started to tremble. All the while you gushed, daydreaming about leaking his cum until your panties were soaked.

Foreplay was only complete with the main course after all.

p.s. this is just smut writing, if all you want is foreplay that's okay too xoxo Mina

[kuurechr]

notes : sequel to this

Satoru felt like a terrible caregiver. He had two kids he had to look after, but all he could think about was his wonderful girlfriend; the one who was apparently getting marriage offers. Despite being in a happy relationship.

He didn't fault you for it. He knew you didn't want to discuss them with your family. Or at least he hoped that. But he didn't know how to bring it up to you.

Satoru was lost in his thoughts, stirring his four sugars in his tea with a small spoon, staring down at his drink absentmindedly.

"What's wrong with him?" Megumi asked as he sat down at the dining table, grabbing his spoon to eat the cereal Tsumiki had poured him (Well, he assumed it was Tsumiki. It was actually Satoru. He couldn't cook so he thought he should at least do the bare minimum.)

"I think it's about his girlfriend. You know the one that's the sister of that annoying guy."

Megumi nodded, understanding. He looked over at Satoru, who was still stirring his tea. He wanted to slap the man over the head and take him out of this hyperfixation. But Satoru had helped Megumi, and more importantly, Tsumiki. Megumi owed him something.

"You don't have to pick us up today," Megumi told Satoru as he was dropping them off to school. Tsumiki raised a brow at Megumi but kept her mouth shut. Megumi didn't say anything unless it was a smart thing, usually. "We have to stay after school a bit later. Cleaning duty."

"They have that at this age? How terrible," Satoru huffed, before nodding. "Alright, Tsumiki has that phone on her. Just give me a call if you two want me to come pick you up." He ruffled their hair before leaving.

Tsumiki grumbled under her breath about Satoru's hair ruffling habit as she fixed her hair. Quickly after, she looked over at Megumi. "What was that for? What're you planning?"

Megumi sighed. "He's clearly upset about his girlfriend. And I think we owe him something because he's giving us a place to stay. And food, water and clothes. And a ride to school. We should do something for him."

Tsumiki nodded, catching onto his plan. "He likes sweets, right? I saw this store nearby when we were walking with him. He gave you that allowance too, right? It should be enough? How much do sweets cost?"

Apparently, not that much. The owners of the store gaped at the amount of money Megumi and Tsumiki gave them for the sweets. The two were about to leave, looking at their expressions, believing that they didn't have enough to shop at a sweets store like this fancy Tokyo one but they quickly got assistance.

They knocked on the door to Satoru's home- their home, Megumi realized. Satoru opened it in a flash, clearly glad that the two got home quickly. He looked down at the bags in their hands.

"Oh?" He commented, letting them in. "Did you guys get something you liked? Did you have enough money?"

"More than enough!" Tsumiki exclaimed, grinning.

"We really don't need all that," Megumi commented, and at Tsumiki's pointed look he decided to add: "But thank you for it."

"Of course, it's not that much." Tsumiki and Megumi looked at each other, choosing not to comment on it together.

"Well," Tsumiki continued. "This isn't for us. It's for you."

Satoru seemed genuinely taken aback. "Hm? Really?" He grinned. "Is this a thank you present? You know I don't need that right?"

"We know," Megumi answered quickly. "Which is why it's not a thank you present."

Tsumiki handed Satoru the bags, and as he looked through it he complimented the sweets they'd chosen out. "So if not, what is it for?"

"For you to come to your senses and talk to your girlfriend about what's bothering you," Megumi said bluntly.

Satoru paused, looking down at this kid, so much shorter than him and over a decade younger, telling him to stop fucking around with the most serious expression he'd ever seen.

He chuckled. "Yeah, alright. Next time you kids could just tell me, you know? Instead of doing all this."

"We also wanted to thank you," Tsumiki added. "We thought we owed you something because you're giving us a place to stay. And food, water and clothes. And a ride to school." Megumi rolled his eyes, knowing his sister was quoting him to tease him. 

Satoru grinned, squatting to get at eye level with the kids. "You guys just got basic human rights. I should be the one thanking you two for being such great kids." He ruffled their hair again, standing up straight, with a new resolve. "I'm going to talk to my amazing girlfriend."

Tsumiki giggled, too entertained by Satoru to fix her hair again.

Megumi smiled a little too. He made sure to drop it once Satoru looked down at him again.

"You sound like you really like the kids!" You grinned, taking a fry. "When do I get to visit them?"

Satoru looked down at his hands. "Before we talk about that... I wanted to talk about something else."

"Yeah?" You said, excited to hear what he was about to say. You were expecting a question about raising the kids with him. You really took your relationship with him seriously. You were fairly certain he did too, and you were the first person he came to about the whole situation. You knew he trusted you so you'd expected this question for a while now.

"When I was with the kids, Naoya came up to us."

Oh. It was about something else. Something much worse.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Satoru," you said quickly, reaching out to hold his hand.

He pulled it away.

"Toru?"

Satoru felt so, so, so bad, his heart squeezed at how small your voice sounded. He had to get this over with quickly.

"He told me about your marriage proposals."

"Oh, those?" You sighed in relief. Satoru instinctively relaxed as well. You didn't seem like you were hiding anything. "Those are nothing Satoru. My family just mentions that they're looking. I don't plan on letting them push me into even meeting them, I swear." You turned your hand, opening your palm. Satoru brought his hand back up and held your hand, smiling as you interlock your fingers with his. "I love you, Satoru. I'd never choose some life with a random guy. No matter what he could give me. It could never beat this feeling that I have with you."

Satoru raised a brow. "A feeling ?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Do you know what I'm talking about? It's like this feeling of knowing you're it. You're the one for me. There's no one else I'd rather spend my life and death with."

Between the heavens and the earth, I alone am the honoured one.

He believed it even more now, as his heartbeat sped up, as his plans began to sweat while you held his hand.

"I get it. I get that feeling too," Satoru said, pushing back his glasses. His bright blue eyes, the one that terrified people because of how easy it was to get lost in them; you loved getting lost in them. "And that's why... I want you to raise the kids with me."

Your smile widened. There it is.

"They deserve two good parents right? I want to give them as normal a life as possible, and you know, they've had multiple parents leave them. Megumi lost his mom, and then Tsumiki's mom and their dadleft both of them alone. I just think they need multiple people that they feel comfortable going to when they need help. And I want them to be the closest to you. Because you're always here for me. And I know you'll do the same for them."

Satoru was worried to look at your expression as he rambled, so when he finally looked at you, the pit in his stomach magically disappeared.

"You're in, right?" Satoru grinned.

You squeezed his hand. "I'm all in." 

You can read more of this on AO3 ! Nothing Special

[selineram3421]

*a lot of readers loving this fic* Daaaang.

Hissy Kitty

Part 5

Part 4

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ deer man still trying to stay in denial, blood/gore, Italics= thoughts, partial nudity mention, Bold= time shifts, gif is reader's shadow form. ⚠

Alastor felt like he was at the end of a shotgun barrel.

He froze, his hands shaking slightly and his undead heart thumping rapidly.

Quite a daring thing to say...

Husk stared at him in slight shock and something else. Something that the deer demon couldn't decipher. The two stood still, not moving an inch, just watching who would make the first move. Almost like an old west duel.

Finally, after a long silence, one of them spoke up.

"Leave them alone."

In all honesty, the cat demon had no idea what to do about this...situation, but he knew the Radio Demon. His boss was nothing but a cruel, insane, egotistical man who wanted power and control.

"I don't give a shit about what you do to me, but I know if you hurt me, they'll hate you.", Husk said before turning to leave the radio tower. "Whatever thing you've got? It's best to get rid of it now."

And with that, the feline left.

Now Alastor was alone, just like he wanted but he couldn't get rid of the thought of what the ex Overlord had said.

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair before making his way over to his chair.

I'll avoid them like the plague... He decided.

He stayed away for two weeks.

Leaving a room whenever they stepped foot inside, staying in his room, office, or radio tower when he didn't know where they were in the hotel.

And then something snapped.

The thought was screeching in his mind, clawing at his chest, a never ending cycle of want.

He had to-

No.

Needed to tell them.

Maybe confessing would help stop that feeling.

With the last of his sanity, Alastor stepped out of his radio tower and went to search for them with the help of his shadows.

.

You were confused at first by the absence of the red dressed demon but thought nothing of it since your brother seemed happier.

Charlie had given you the new job of welcoming new guests at the front desk but well...its been very boring.

No one checks in.

Like at all. The demons that do come in ask for directions and then there's Cherri Bomb, Angel's friend who stops by for a second or two. So, you spent most of your days talking to your brother at the bar, leaving a "ring the bell for assistance" sign at the check-in counter.

You held a glass of very diluted iced catnip tea, your brother made sure to make it that way so you don't run around the hotel like last time.

"Ugh.", you hid your face in embarrassment.

I can't believe Husk planned that. That jerk! You sighed. I did enjoy the nap after though..

Then your thoughts continued until it wound up to the last conversation you had with your brother about the red dressed demon.

After telling him what happened, Husk stood up real quick and said he'd be right back. Then he came back with snacks and his poker face.

What your brother doesn't know is that you can actually read his poker face. It's very, very faint, but his ears give him away. Depending on the way that it flicks, you can tell how bad a situation is.

And his ear flicked back twice.

Which means he doesn't like the current cards in his hand.

What did he get? You wonder and sip your drink.

Some more time passes and the next time you see Alastor in the same room as you is when the King comes to visit the hotel.

Keekee is in your arms and hops out once Lucifer stops hugging Charlie.

Things take a turn after some random flapper shows up and then there are shark sinners.

"MY WINDOWS!", Nifty screeches in horror.

It goes to shit really quickly, everything is too loud, everyone is running around and trying to stay out of the shooting range of the flaming boulders, and you were overstimulated with all of the things happening at once.

"GET BEHIND THE COUNTER KIT!", Husk grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the bar.

You make a face once seeing the flapper, the reason loan sharks are attacking the hotel, is hiding behind the counter.

"Oh fuck this.", you sigh and walk away.

No wonder your brother said not to come here.

Its too loud..

The banging on the door didn't stop until the Radio Demon stepped out and the screams took over.

Too loud.

"I will devour each and every one of you!"

You covered your ears in pain, wishing you brought your headset.

"ITS TOO FUCKING LOUD!", you yell out.

.

Alastor reminisces when these feelings solidified.

It was when Lucifer and Mimzy showed up at the hotel. He had his fun messing around with the King, making the short blonde feel jealous.

Then Mimzy barged in, which is not a surprise, and started chatting up with the others.

What annoyed him was when Husk mentioned the deal that he, the Radio Demon, had made. Reminding him that he too needed to stay within range so his collar didn't choke his neck.

Then after taking care of Husk, he made his way downstairs to take care of Mimzy's mess.

And that's when it happened.

As he was ripping apart some of the loan sharks, he heard screaming from inside the hotel. Turning to deal with the ones that managed to slip past him, he finds a shadow creature with multiple eyes dragging the left over sharks into the darkness.

"NO! No, no, no, no, no! AH-!", a shark screamed before the shadow tore open his stomach and ripped out his intestines.

"Kit! You gotta calm down!", Husk yelled out.

"That's your little sibling!?", Angel screeched. "What the fuck happened!?"

"It was too damn loud, that's what happened!"

The two continued to bicker as they tried to move the shadow out of the hotel.

A piece of rubble fell and Mimzy side stepped away from it. "Oops. Sorry about the mess. I'm sure the little bug can handle it."

"Mimzy.", Alastor went back to his normal size and made his way towards the hotel. "I believe it's time for you to leave. Now."

"What-? Come on, you don't mean that~", the flapper laughs. "This dump doesn't mean anything to ya! And you love taking care of me!"

"I can't have you making a mess here.", he replied. "You can stay if you want to be redeemed.", he turned to look back at the short woman. "But we both know that's not your style."

"Fine! I don't need you! Have fun at this ritzy dump and-!"

Alastor ignored the rest and walked into the hotel lobby. Husk was the only one taking care of the shadow beast, while Angel was watching whatever was going on between the two royals with the others.

"It's ok now, calm down.", the cat demon said to the shadow in the corner.

"What or who is this?", the deer demon asks and points to the shadow creature.

"Pretty sure you ain't deaf, you heard Angel yell it out.", Husk said and started..purring?

"My! I didn't know you could make such an adorable sound!", he grinned.

"Shut up!", the cat hissed quietly. "They need to calm down, loud noises only make it worse!"

"Well, why didn't you say that sooner?"

With a snap of his fingers, he teleported the three of them into his room in the greenery area.

"The only sounds in here are nature, will this do?", Alastor asked.

"Yes, this is fine.", Husk nodded before getting focused, and pulled the shadow closer. "Kit? Listen. You're ok now.", he said and started purring again.

Their shadow figure was still too large, so the radio demon decided to add in some of his white noise static, earning a look from Husker.

"It helps.", was all he said.

Slowly but surely, the shadow got smaller and smaller before going back into a familiar figure. The darkness on their form began to fade away, starting from the tips of their feet/paws.

Before the shadow fully receded, Husk held out his hand.

"Give me a blanket or somethin'."

"Whatever for?", he asked with a raised brow.

"You wanna see them naked?"

Alastor quickly took off his coat and handed it over.

In a quick motion, the cat demon covered his sibling in the red fabric and wrapped an arm around their shoulders, holding them securely as they passed out.

A few moments passed before the demon in red decided to ask his question.

"What exactly happened?"

Husk was quiet for a bit and then sighed.

"I'll let them tell you."

Now, Alastor stood in front of your hotel room.

He felt like it was as if it was his first broadcast all over again. His nerves were all over the place and his hands felt tingly.

Clearing his throat, he prepared himself and knocked on their door.

"Dear? Are you there? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

A few heartbeats later, the door opens.

"Come in."

*flops over* I'm done for now. Stay tuned.

~Seline, the person.

Part 6

Taglist@

*In comments because there are SO many*

ML I for Alastor🎙️ | HK ChL😾

[allfearstofallto]

Day of the Wedding

Yandere! Genshin Men x Fem! Reader

Ft: Diluc, Childe, Scaramouche

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Yandere Themes, Forced(?) Alcohol Consumption

AN: I checked today and I have 900 followers??? That's actually insane!!! This is what I've got to offer I guess!!

Diluc

Who wouldn't cry tears of joy when marrying the most desired bachelor of Mondstadt? That's what people thought when they saw you dressed from head to toe in pure white, the only thing throwing your princess attire off being your smeared makeup. Your eyes, so red and puffy, had mascara running down your cheeks. Black tears staining your face.

Despite the way you looked, you still forced a smile. It was a small wedding, containing only those close to the both of you, but your family couldn't help, but wonder why you chose to stay close under your newly wed husband, almost seeming afraid to talk to them.

When the vows were spoken, you could barely get the words out. Your voice shaking through sobs as your tears fell upon the page of written notes, eventually making the ink leak and becoming ineligible. You still spoke your I Do’s, followed by him lifting your veil and kissing you right upon your lips. His hand snaked around your waist and the other held your head in place. But you, you stood there stiffly, like kissing him had made you turn into stone.

Diluc pulled away with a smile, his mouth stained with a slight tint of your lipstick. He walked you back down the aisle, with the crowd throwing rice and cheering. On the happiest day of your life where you were supposed to be looking forward ahead of you, you just kept looking back, hoping that your family could see the distress in your eyes, though they never did.

Childe

So many of Childe's siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles came to the wedding, but not a single one of your family members joined you.

“She's not close to her family,” he'd say, holding on to your waist with a threatening hand. That was a lie. You loved your family. You saw them often, at least, you did before the day you abruptly decided to move to Snezhnaya without a word to them. You hadn't seen them since and they didn't know where to send letters, you were essentially a ghost of their past. Your memory haunted them daily as they missed you dearly and you missed them too.

The wedding lasted days and days. A surprise to even you, but apparently that's tradition. Games and singing. There was dancing happening for what felt like hours. And drinking. So so so much drinking. With a feast that spanned almost an entire table, there was an abundance of alcohol to match.

You could hardly keep up with the festivities. In an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people being wed to a man you thought you knew. Childe wouldn't let you show your discomfort on your face, meeting your lips with a glass of whatever he was drinking, you'd gulp down even more and fall into that drunken dizziness. When the wedding ended, you don't exactly remember. It all became a blur near the end. But you remember waking up to Childe laying you down in bed, placing a kiss on your forehead and whispering words of praise to you that would've been comforting, had it not been for who he was.

Scaramouche

He always adored the way you looked in kimono. Today was no different. The pure white silk draped over your body was by far the nicest one he'd gifted you. Dolled up in traditional make-up, you felt so stiff with your now decadent appearance.

You'd feel less scared if he wasn't still wearing that same glare. That same look of anger and disappointment. Even though it was just the two of you in the room, you him and the officiant who would wed the two of you, he still glared at the man like one mistake would kill him. And it probably would.

Your hand shook as you picked up what looked to be the tea pot, something he made you practice time and time again to prepare just for today. Getting it wrong today would mean facing his wrath later, yet you still shook while pouring it into the small bowl. You watched with a pounding heart as you managed to spill some, dripping onto the floor and sinking between the wood.

Meeting his gaze and preparing for a scolding, you instead saw him lightly chuckle. Seldom did he smile and even more rare than that, did he actually laugh. The sight was even scarier than his usual glares, somehow his joy made him seem even more menacing.

“I expected this much from you,” he whispered into the silence. His nimble fingers gripped the rim of the bowl and he brought it to your lips, making you take a sip of the warm alcohol. It was bitter and disgusting, just as you'd remembered. When you swallowed your sip, he took one right after you, finishing off what was left in the dish, then sitting it to the side again.

Your names were signed onto a piece of parchment, a wedding document written in traditional Inazuma script. You couldn't read a word of it, but there was no worse contract than the one that said you'd be his lawfully wedded wife.

Scaramouche held your hand as the two of you walked out of the shrine, his fingers cold and his grip tight. It was such a beautiful day out. That was all you could think about as you were walked back to his carriage which would take you to his home. Your last day as a truly free woman, you were glad it was beautiful.

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 2

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Descriptions of the Rumbling (WC: 6.4k).

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

It’s past curfew when you catch a glimpse of Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary. He's been coming up here this past week, though this is the first time you approach him.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Levi asks. He’s playing with a small pocket knife, twirling it in his hand.

You consider his question. No doubt Erwin would want to know about his new gamble sneaking away from the barracks every evening. Then again, knowing Erwin, he might already know and chooses to just let it slide anyway.

You lean your weight over the edge of the window sill, gazing at the way moonlight crowns Levi's hair. “Are you going to hurt anyone with that knife?”

Levi's eyes twinkle in the night. “What, just because I’m from the Underground means I’m gonna stab someone?”

“Actually,” you say carefully, “I was more worried about you hurting yourself.”

His eyes lose their fire; he focuses back on his knife. “I won’t.”

.

.

.

Freedom—it is the ability to stare at endless blue skies; it is horse riding until dusk; it is choices and opinions and being able to voice them.

These days, Levi takes it for granted, his freedom. He’s an ungrateful asshole like that.

If the people from his childhood were here, they'd surely spit in his face. Try to beat him to a pulp. Here he is, lacking gratitude, when some poor lowlife was born and died in that shit hole that was the Underground.

Levi hears that the Underground doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve told him that the Rumbling caused earthquakes to fracture the ground, that much of the subterranean city has been buried under. There were some casualties, of course, but the worst could be avoided since Historia ordered to evacuate years prior.

Levi wonders if the people now discovering life above ground still have violence in their blood the way he once did when he first saw the sun.

“Levi, where is your secret tea stash?”

Your question muffles over the sound of the kettle groaning awake. It tears him right out of his thoughts and away from the headline he'd been reading: More than 75% of refugees in Marley now rehoused, much work still remains in the mental aftermath of the war.

“Why would I have a secret tea stash?” he asks. 

A hand covers your yawn. “Well... you always had a secret tea stash, didn't you?”

“To hide from cadets and their grubby fingers. I’m all alone here.”

“Mm... you could still want to hide a thing or two from me.”

“Then I wouldn’t tell ya where it was, would I?” Levi leans one elbow over the kitchen table, chin lazily resting on the center of his palm. His index finally pokes out to give directions. “S’on the left side, second cupboard.”

Your gaze follows his directive, only to look at him with a slightly more straight posture. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” You stick your tongue out, like a damn child. “Words. They help.”

Levi refrains from rolling his eyes. He watches you reach for the tea. 

Levi has been up for several hours now, breakfast long since consumed. You, on the other hand, just got up, the whisks of sleep still present in your cadence, in the corners of your eyes. An anomaly to be sure—Levi remembers you being an early riser, but he supposes that habits, just like people, change.

You turn to face him, looking uncertainly at the tin in your hand. “Are you sure I'm allowed to drink this?” 

“Yeah." 

"But isn't this special? Isn't this tea from Paradis?"

It is tea from Paradis, courtesy of Armin. It's one of Levi's last boxes, in fact. He knows he'll eventually run out of it, and while he supposes he could ask for more of it, he thinks his taste buds will just need to adapt to something else. That's just the way life goes.

"You know," he mutters, "if you’re gonna be like this about every little thing around the house, it's gonna get tiring real fast.”

You turn away from you, focusing on the tea preparations. “I’m just being polite."

“Why? You never bothered before."

"Ouch. Harsh, much?”

"S'not," Levi mumbles, running a hand through his hair. It’s freshly washed, still a bit damp. "I mean, no need to act all fake and shit."

"Okay... but this isn't like life in the Survey Corps. This is your house."

His house. Levi doesn't know if he should be more possessive about these things, the way he's seen some townspeople be with their possessions, but Levi's just never been one to care about these things. He never has.

Levi flips his newspaper to the next page. "So long as you keep the place clean, I don’t care about the rest."

“You don’t care?”

You've turned back in his direction, and his eyes meet yours. There's a spark in your gaze.

Oh you’re taunting him.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Drill this into your head, Adler: anything that’s mine is yours, so just treat this place as such.”

That seems to shut you right up. You blink with a dumbfounded expression, apparently startled by his (accidental) turn of phrasing. It’s soon replaced by words uttered beneath your breath, words Levi doesn’t quite grasp because his own ears are whistling. He returns his attention back to the newspaper, attempting to shrug off the weight of the innuendo.

Anything that’s mine is yours. What a stupid thing to say. That almost sounded like a confession or some shit. One day in, and Levi's already screwing up with his words.

For the next minute, Levi tries his damn best to focus on his newspaper.

“Getting her beauty rest, huh?” You place cups of tea on the table, one pushed towards him, along with a plate for the infusers. You're eying Scout, who's sound asleep on the chair next to him. “She seems glued to your side.” 

“Kittens sleep a lot,” Levi supplies lamely.

“In any case, it’s cute to see the two of you together.”

Levi turns the handle of his cup to his left side. “Please.”

“Can you imagine what everyone would say? The fearless Captain Levi, succumbing to a cat—”

"Quit talking and just drink your tea, would you?”

You smirk. “Aye, aye, captain."

For the next minutes, silence does fall, and his peripheral catches your chest rising and falling peacefully. You take to staring outside the window, looking at the view of the sea glimmering in the distance. He follows your line of sight, noting that there’s a buildup of crusted salt around the windows. Levi should clean that before summer ends.

“Hey, so,” you interrupt after a while, “I was thinking of going to the market today. Get a few things... Maybe find a job.”

Levi gazes at you. “A job?” 

“Mm, yeah. Something that makes sense for me...”

You want to get back to the medical field, already? You just got here.

“Why the hurry?"

“Well…" you say, "I don’t want to leech off you forever—”

“You're not.”

“Still, it'd be good for me, right?” You shoot a bright smile—something too bright about it. Levi's eyes narrow. “Anyway, you wanna join? You know... I’d love to meet all the nosy people you’ve told me about.”

Levi purses his lips, feeling as though you glossed over that subject much too quickly. A part of him wants to nudge you a bit, though his usual habit to just let you be kicks in. Whatever you're hiding, you have your reasons.

Levi considers your proposal. He knows it'd be better if he didn’t join, seeing how damn foolish he’s already acting. He should try to set clear boundaries with you.

And yet—

“Sure,” comes out of him all the same.

Well, so much for that, anyway.

.

.

.

“You flew.”

You stand there, staring at the sight of the man as he finishes his round of training.

Levi shoots you a look, grappling with the hand grips. “I’m just using the gear correctly.”

You take a step towards him. “No, but you’re amazing. You must know that, right? I’m not a soldier, but… I know talent when I see it.”

He gives you an odd look then, and before you have a chance to say anything else, propels himself in the air and disappears into the shadows of the forest.

.

.

.

At the market, Levi is like your brooding shadow. He’s in his wheelchair today, and you’re pushing him as you ask questions about various topics. 

(“Look, Levi—all these teas! Have you tried any of them?”

“A few.”)

(“I'm gonna buy some flowers to plant in the gardens. Is that alright?”

“Do what you want.”) 

(“Is the sea always so pretty?”

“Sometimes, there's shit that gets carried in.”

"Fish feces you mean?"

"And other crap." 

"You know, your potty mouth hasn't changed one bit."

"Why the hell would it have changed?")

(“'Vi, look! A car."

"Hm.

"I think I’d like to try learning to drive. Get over my fear, you know?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Hey, give me some credit! S’not so different from riding a horse, right?”

“You’ve got a few screws loose up there, you know that?”)

Well, Levi was never great at talking. Not that you seem to mind; you’ve always liked to ask him questions and fill in the blanks when needed. Most of the time, it’s the silence that sits comfortably between the two of you that Levi appreciates so much anyway. It just is, like a soft cloud fills the sky with shapes.

You're now moving next to him, calmly taking in the sight of the buzzing market. It's a little too busy for Levi's liking, but the sight of you distracts him: you’re wearing a sunhat with ribbons, coupled with your cotton overalls. Levi’s never seen you wear a hat like this one before, but he thinks it suits you.

“You should protect your skin from the sun,” you said earlier. “That’s why I wear a hat.”

“I didn’t come to the surface to run away from the sun,” he grumbled back, even if he did notice how warm summers in Marley truly are (and yes, he’d gotten sunburned on several occasions, and also yes, his injured eye stings every time the sun shines too brightly... but, still, Levi wouldn’t budge).

“Good morning, dear boy! What a surprise to see ya here!” someone says, tearing Levi out of the thoughts.

Attached to that booming voice is none other than Levi's boss, Adam Jakowski, a carpenter with a heart of gold. Originally an Eldian from Marley, Mr Jakowski was one of the first residents that settled in Mare. 

Today, however, Mr Jakowski isn't here for any carpentry-related trades. Every week-end, the man likes to come here and share the goods his wife makes.

"What brings ya here?" Mr Jakowski asks.

“I was dragged out, believe it or not,” Levi answers, head bobbing towards you.

Next to him, he hears you snort.

“And who might this pretty young lady be? Are you the missus Ackerman, perchance?” Mr Jakowski asks, his tone carrying a curiosity only people genuinely interested in others are capable of mustering.

Levi feels his cheeks burn at the idea, but you just chuckle, swatting a hand in the air to dispel the notion. “No such thing, sir. But I am new to town and it pleases me all the same to make your acquaintance. Miss Adler, charmed to meet you.”

Levi’s brows knit together. It’s the first time he hears you introduce yourself without your profession tied in.

Miss Adler. Not Dr Adler.

Strange.

“Well met, Miss Adler… Well met, indeed! Ah, it is a pleasure to see new faces in Mare, especially a lovely one such as yours. Will ya be staying here for a while?”

“Mm. Who knows?” You smile. “I can’t quite say yet, to tell the truth.”

Levi’s throat suddenly feels a little thick.

“Anyway, what are you selling here, sir?” you ask, peering over the stall of the merchant, gazing at all the products and zeroing on a particular one: a red paste.

“The one you're eying is a paste from the eastern part of Marley, miss. It’s made with paprika, bell-peppers and some chilis, you see. Great for inflammations and stomach issues,” the old man explains. He makes you smell it, then turns around to sprinkle it onto something. “You can coat it like so,” he raises a piece of bread that he smears with the red paste, “or add it to your cooking.”

He hands you the toast.

You bite into it, chewing for several moments as you raise a hand over your mouth. “Walls! It does have such a particular taste. It’s the aftertaste, right? Spicy.”

Your eyes wander to meet Levi’s, and you raise the bread slightly in his direction as if to inquire if he wants to taste it as well. Levi shakes his head, and you shoot him a smile, gulping the rest of the food down.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. Next to him, he hears the way you engage in easy conversation, talking about the weather, how the region has adjusted to the influx of settlers, how you're looking for a job and how, yes, you’d love to meet his wife and daughter!

The rest flies over his head. Instead, Levi looks up at your sunhat again, admiring the way it hugs the shape of your skull, the way the ribbons flow gently with the breeze.

Levi wonders if he could buy you a hat. Or sew you a new ribbon. Would you accept his gifts?

At last, you seem convinced of the product and order three jars. This is the moment when Levi comes back to his senses, seeing you rummage through your pockets to find coins to pay for your purchase.

No such luck.

Levi beats you to it, slinging out the leather pouch his first squad gifted him many years ago, placing the change in Mr Jakowski's hands.

You blink, mouth parted, but Levi just plops the jars he receives into your bag, wheeling himself back.

He hears you fumble your goodbyes, thanking Mr Jakowski for his warm welcome, and at once, your voice is in his ears.

“Levi, why did you just pay?” 

“Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“I’m not." You stop in front of him, all stern-looking, hands on your hips. "You didn’t have to do that.”

Levi raises a defiant brow. “But I did, and it’s done.”

“Don’t make it sound so simple. You’re already letting me stay in your house for free. I intend to pay my dues, you know. I have money.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“You—”

“Complain again and I won’t let you pay for a damn thing.”

You close your mouth, glaring at him.

Levi swears he hears something along the lines of ‘I’ll just sneak it back into your pockets later’ whispered under your breath, but when he narrows his eyes in your direction, you feign a look of innocence.

After purchasing more things—a toy for Scout, flower beds for the garden—you both settle in a café on the town’s square. You order some pastries, while Levi takes his usual tea, the closest thing that resembles the tea from Paradis. You watch people from everywhere bustle by while Levi sips on his drink.

“Hey, look!” you point out suddenly. “I’ve never seen those birds before.”

You've pointed to a flock of birds of all colors, no larger than a fist. They’re hopping on the ground, scavenging for food. You get up, asking for some seeds from a waiter to feed them.

“Why did they migrate to this part of the world?” you wonder as you lay out food for them.

Levi doesn’t know what to say. He stares at the birds, nibbling the seeds, admiring the way their feathers seem foreign in this strange land.

Maybe, Levi thinks to himself, just like all the rest of this town, the birds were looking for a new home.

.

.

.

“You know, you should try to teach them.”

Levi’s bored expression swerves in your direction. You’re back to leaning on the window sill, while he sits on the rooftop. A routine, these last weeks.

“What?” Levi mutters.

“Your combat skills. I saw you at training again. I’ve never seen anything quite like the way you handle yourself. You should teach the other cadets.”

His eyes narrow. “Why would I do that?”

“You’ve been out there, right? Seen what the titans are like? You could save their lives.”

.

.

.

The square of Mare is quiet at this time of the evening. A half-moon hangs lazily over the black sky, casting its silver glow over Mare.

You’ve both been drinking. Cheap, bubbly, acidic. Prosecco, a drink native to Marley. It was given to you by a shopkeeper when you picked up bread earlier—all it took was seeing you by his side and hearing you were new in town. The woman practically threw the bottle at you. You tried to refuse, many times over, but the woman wouldn't take no for an answer.

Now, here you are, finishing the bottle together in a park. Levi has joined you on the bench, his wheelchair tucked behind.

Silence.

Levi thinks there’s something on your mind. You’ve never been easy to read; you’ve got a tendency to hide and scheme, to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s always your lips that give you away. You bite them when you’re worried, you pout when you’re deep in thoughts.

“Hey.” Levi raises your attention, only to find gentle eagerness on your face. It makes him frown for some reason. “Say something.”

You seem a little taken aback by his directive. “What... what do you want me to say?” 

Levi shrugs. “Just anything.”

“Like… what?”

Levi mulls it over. If it were him, he’d hate to be put on the spot.

“What was your favorite sight?” he inquires a bit awkwardly. “…on your travels.”

“My favorite… sight?”

Levi gives you a look that makes it clear he’s not gonna repeat himself.

“The sea, of course.” You raise your feet on the bench, hugging your knees as you stare off pensively. “It’s funny. With every nation we visited, we saw mountains, deserts and forests… but I kept coming back to the sea.”

Levi remembers the first time he saw the sea. The water, glimmering like thousands of silver gems. The blue sky, coming to meet its shine. The 104th brats, with awestruck wonder. Hange and their brazen curiosity.

And you, the way you’d looked at him…

“I’m glad you’ve picked a place like this one to settle down,” you say. "It kind of feels like a homecoming, you know?"

"Yeah."

“The stars are so bright out here.”

Levi follows your line of sight.

This past year, Levi has rediscovered an admiration for stars. Back inside the Walls, they reminded him of Isabel and Furlan, of his dreams from another life. This past year, they’ve started making him think of you, too.

All because of one of your letters: 'Levi, do you ever think about the fact that, despite the distance that separates us, every night, when we look at the sky, we see the same stars?'

“What else,” he finds himself asking, “what else do you have to say about your travels?”

“Hmm… what do you want to know exactly? I wrote so much in my letters, I’d have thought you’d be tired of hearing about that topic.”

“Yeah, but you only described random shit. What was it like?”

What was it like without me?

That thought hangs on his tongue, begs for relief, but Levi bites it down. It’s not right for him to ask.

And yet, your answer still takes him by surprise, “It was… hard.”

At that, Levi does raise a brow. He finds your gaze already on him.

“The sights were... nice, of course. I got to witness all manners of landscapes. Those were the photographs I sent you in my letters. But then, well, the rest came.”

You swallow loudly.

“Seeing the aftermath of the Rumbling…” Your lower lip quivers as the volume of your tone decreases. “It was horrifying. The emptiness was the worst. It’s not like murdering someone in cold blood, see. There, you have to deal with bodies. But, what Eren did…”

You shudder. Levi thinks you’re trying to even out your breathing, and a part of him wants to reach out to you and squeeze your hand. And yet, he knows there’s nothing he can do to really alleviate those images flashing in your brain. That nothing he does can make it right again, that the pain you feel is the cost both of you need to bear for the rest of your lives.

“After that, I went with Armin because I knew he would need help, because I always believed in diplomacy… because I still believe in it. Even now," you explain. "But many nations hate the Eldians from Paradis. They hate us and maybe they have every right to hate us.”

You stop talking and close your eyes. For a while, the lull in conversation allows Levi to stare at you unabashedly, to commit your features to memory.

“Why did you never say any of this in your letters?” he asks mid-silence.

“I guess it felt easier not to mention it. I don’t know. I wanted you to hear hopeful things in my letters.”

“I’ve seen how shitty the world can be.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why.” Your eyes are on him again. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know it’s still the same out there.”

It makes Levi’s blood rush, like he was some breakable thing that needed to be protected. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

And yet, you don’t even seem to notice the snap in his tone, your crossed arms tightening around your knees.

“I know, Levi,” you whisper. “But that doesn’t mean that my pain is your burden to bear.”

Seeing your deflated expression, dipped chin resting over your knees as you lose yourself to your thoughts, Levi’s defense mechanism fizzles away.

That’s the thing about you.

No matter how harshly he reacts, you never seem to rise to the same level as him, the way others did in the military, and it might be why Levi always found it easier to stay by your side.

“You dumbass,” he says with a sigh. Despite telling himself to hone it back, Levi can’t help but raise a hand to the back of your skull, ruffling your head gently—the only comfort he knows how to hand out right now. “Of course that’s my burden.”

“Levi, you don’t—”

“Don’t give me that.” He pauses, the words heavy on his tongue. “Even I no longer have the rank to prove it… what does it matter? Nothing’s changed.”

“... Nothing’s changed?”

Levi hesitates. So much hangs on this question. Of course, things have changed.

And yet…

Levi retreats his hand, patting his stiff leg. “Some things did.”

“Oh... does it still hurt a lot?”

“Some days more than others. The doctor has helped.”

“I’m glad. Are you still seeing him every other week?”

He nods.

“That’s good... I’m glad.”

Levi's eyes narrow. “You said that already.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He sighs, shaking his head. “Anyway, you gonna tell me why you stopped calling yourself a doctor?”

Different degrees of surprise flash across your face. Your eyes are wide as saucers, while your mouth stays slightly open.

Levi waits... and waits.

“Hey, you’re not trying to catch flies, are you?” he says, lifting a finger to poke at your chin.

His physical reminder seems to bring you back to the present.

At once, a pout forms on your lips. “How did you know I no longer want to be a doctor?”

Levi shrugs with one arm, pressing his back against the bench. “I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice so quickly." You let out a wry snort, shaking your head. "Should have known; you’re always so perceptive.”

“And you’re beating around the bush.”

“Indeed, I am. It’s just… I’m scared of your judgment.”

At that, Levi has to frown. 

“Don’t give me that look, Levi Ackerman. Your judgment, yes. You’re a very scary man, just not for all the reasons people think you are.”

In the distance, the sound of seagulls drifts from the skies. 

“When I asked you if I could come here…” you say after a moment, “I kept on thinking to myself: What will Levi think of me?” You raise one hand to your face, glancing at the scar that runs from your index to the lower part of your palm—a memento left by the Yeagerists. “What will he think of this hand?”

Levi stays silent.

Your smile turns bitter. “You always said my hands were made for healing. But after everything that happened, everything we did, they’re not anymore. They can’t be.”

“Hey—”

“—and the question kept playing in a loop in my head. Will Levi think I’m a coward? Will he think less of me for giving up on this? Is he gonna be done with me?”

Levi ignores all the ways you seem to include him in your insecurities and focuses on one thing only: “You’re a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them.”

You shake your head. “But I am a coward. I don’t have it in me to heal people, not like that anymore.”

Levi doesn’t know why, but there’s anger fizzling in his veins. “Is that why you’re here?” 

Your eyes fire back on him. “No, I didn’t come here to escape, or as a last resort.” You glance away. “But I do feel… lost.”

That makes Levi backtrack. You? Lost? The doctor who blazed through the Survey Corps’ ranks, making her demands known to the Interior and Erwin like it was no big deal, who pushed for changes to save soldiers' lives?

That doesn’t align with the person he knows.

“I don’t think it’s right anymore, the path I chose.” Your tone is suddenly more frail, more vulnerable. “The first three years after the Rumbling, it felt like the right thing to do, giving my skills in helping others but now… Now I feel like a fraud. To arrive here, I had to end lives.”

“We all did.”

“The attack in Trost, the one in Liberio, and so many others…. I killed people there. I did. And I remember your words, Levi, about it being us or them but I… now, whenever I look at my hands, all I see is the stain of blood. After all of that, I just don’t think I’m fit to call myself a doctor anymore.”

“You shouldn’t regret the past.”

“That's easier said than done.”

“Is that why you’re now calling yourself Miss Adler?”

You nod.

Levi purses his lips. He cannot understand your perspective, not truly. His own moral compass has never been set right. To him, killing was always about survival and there was never good or bad. There simply was the act and the aftermath. There was the fact that he needed to keep on pushing, for humanity.

Despite this, Levi wants to understand. He wants to tell you that your hands did heal, that they continue to heal in invisible ways. He wants to tell you that however you want to become want, it’s all fine to him.

“Then start over,” he declares.

“Right.” You snort, fiddling with a loose strand of fabric. “It’s not that easy, starting over, is it?”

“Never said it was.” Levi would know. It’s not like he’s here to preach the moral high ground. “But if you want that, you’re the only one that can make it happen.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… hard. You know, when we were fighting titans, then humans, then nations… I just never considered who I would be after all of it. And when I found myself trying, I found I wasn’t the person I once was, that I couldn’t do what I would have done any more. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“Old me would have kept on going. Old me would have continued to heal people and traveled and helped Armin with peace negotiations. And I tried. Walls, I tried, Levi. But at the end of the day, I just find myself… tired. I’m just so tired.”

Something heavy fills Levi’s chest. He understands, to a degree, what you’re going through. He knew his role was over the moment that the fighting stopped, but for you, the war hasn’t stopped raging—conflicted on where your place should be.

“Sorry," you say, "I know I’m wallowing here, that I’m throwing my own pity party. But, shit, it’s hard, you know?”

“Yeah. But it’s fine, to wallow. No one expects you not to have setbacks.”

“You don’t mean that. Weren’t you always telling soldiers not to linger and look back? Besides, I don’t get to say any of this in front of you. Not with everything you went through.”

“Hey." Levi’s jaw clenches. "It’s not a competition.”

This time, he reaches for your hand and unclasps it, noticing you digging your nails into your skin. He forces you to squeeze his hand instead—only, now, you treat him with such care, not even applying pressure.

Levi takes it as his cue to drive his point home, “I only said what I said because a Scout’s life was a battlefield every day. But we’re not soldiers anymore.”

He sucks in a breath at those words; he realizes it’s the first time he acknowledges it out loud: We're not soldiers anymore. Levi's a hypocrite, saying these things, when he himself hasn’t let go completely. And yet, for your sake, he wants to pretend—he wants to pretend that there’s a way out for the both of you.

“So I’ve told you, the offer still stands," he adds. "You can stay here for as long as you want."

“Careful what you promise, Levi. I’m going to be a real burden to you.”

“Only when you don’t clean.”

Your weak snicker turns into laughter. It might be the most enchanting of sounds Levi’s heard in a long while.

Levi lets go of your hand, despite the fact that he wishes he could hold on, but he tells himself that friends don’t hold each other’s hands for prolonged moments. And that's what the two of you are. Friends.

“You know, when it came down to it… after months of introspection,” you say, voice soft, “all I knew is that I wanted to be near you.”

Oh.

“I stayed away for a year, thinking I could prove to myself, to you, that I wasn’t the needy person I once was," you say. "That I could, I don’t know, manage on my own. But all I got was… how much I missed you.”

Levi thinks his breathing might have stopped entirely.

“Levi, you’re… you’re important to me. You know that, right?” Your eyes find his own, glimmering under the moonlight. “I think… I just don’t want to not have you in my life anymore. Is that a strange thing to say?”

Levi is speechless. He stares at your lips, how plump and lovely they seem, glistening with moisture. He feels sweat on his back and he thinks perhaps he should act.

He forces his mouth to open but instead of words—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

An explosion blasts in his ears.

Levi screws his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact. There’s screams echoing in the back of his skull, bullets ricocheting against concrete. He smells the charred scent of bodies, sweet and off-putting.

But the fighting never comes. When he evens out his breathing, leaning his weight onto the bench, he notices—

You’re on the floor.

Your hands are covering your ears, your lower lip wobbling. You’re muttering things under your breath, things Levi can’t recognize, but there’s tears brimming the corner of your eyes, and Levi realizes then what happened.

You’re hyperventilating.

At once, Levi is by your side, bending down. The action causes his legs to scream in pain, but he promptly ignores it. He sees you and only you.

You, on the other hand, are unable to look at him, whimpering erratically.

“Hey,” Levi’s voice comes low and clear, trying to muster it all for you, “take a deep breath. It's not... it's not guns. Just fireworks some brats are playing with.”

But you seem unable to follow his advice, shaken as you are. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears clumping, streaming thick down the valleys of your cheeks. He sees your fingers pull at the strands of your hair.

Before he can think about it, his arms reach out of you, looping around the small of your back, where he draws you in. He presses you firmly against him. At first, you attempt to fight him back, muttering “no, no, no,” beneath your breath, but when Levi finally manages to smooth over your words with his own, you stop fighting.

Your head slumps down into the crest of his shoulder, like you were just a ragdoll gone limp. Levi tries to ignore the way his worry doubles down, and he does something he's only seen Hange do: comfort you.

“Adler, listen,” he says. “Your ear’s pressed against my heart right now. Do you hear my heartbeat?”

“Y-yeah,” you answer, voice barely a raw whisper. The sound is enough to shatter something in Levi. It’s so small, so fragile.

“Focus on it. Pretend that it’s the only sound to exist.”

You seem to attempt to laugh, but it comes across as another nervous sob, hiccups strangling your words. “S-someone thinks h-ighly of his v-voice.”

Levi just clicks his tongue, tightening his hold on you.

“I just can’t do it, ‘Vi… I just can’t.” Your warm lips, drenched with tears, move against his neck. “I’m fucking stuck and I feel so guilty there’s always noises in my brain…” A sob cracks out of you. “I’m so fucking lost.”

“But you’re not alone.”

Your breath falters.

“You’re not alone,” Levi repeats. His three-fingered hand weaves through the hair at the back of your skull, mingling between your locks. “Even if you feel lost right now.”

“I just—I don’t want to be a bother. I don't want to overstay my w-welcome.”

“You’re not. You can stay as long as you want.” Until you grow tired of me. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You’re still hiccupping for air as you draw away from him. Your eyes gleam, staring at him. You seem to be searching for something, dazed and blurry.

“Y-you don’t mind?” you ask.

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?"

"I... I guess not."

For a while, neither Levi nor you say anything else. He watches as your eyes cast down, eyelashes still full of tears.  Eventually, your digits settle over his forearms, looking back at him with puffy eyes.

He offers you his clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

You take it with a crooked smile, staring down at the white cloth. “Thank you, Levi. I mean it.”

Levi looks away; he doesn't think he's done much.

“Walls.” You hiccup, lifting the handkerchief to your eyes. “I’ve made a scene, haven’t I? It’s the alcohol, I s-swear. I barely d-drink these days.”

“You were always a lightweight.”

“Pff, don’t remind me.”

“Well, judging by the brats walking towards us," he looks over your shoulders, "they’ve come to apologize.”

Sure enough, moments later, as you help Levi up and you both sit back down on the bench, three brats approach the scene with a look of apology plastered on their faces.

One of them, a boy with vibrant ginger hair, takes the lead. “Ma’am… are you alright?”

You sniffle, eyes still red. “Fine—”

“She’s not fine, brat,” Levi interjects. “Don’t light this shit up in public.”

The boy grimaces with the kind of juvenile innocence only kids can muster.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say, giving Levi a look. “But hey, do try to be careful, ‘kay? Don’t light up things like this all on your own. Fireworks are dangerous, not to mention they’re scary when they’re up so close.”

“I... I won't do it no more, ma’am…" the boy says. "I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

The boy nods before finally fleeting up and meeting Levi's glare. The child instantly cowers back.

“Mistakes happen," Levi grumbles with a softer tone. "Don't do it again.”

“Y-yeah, mister. Won’t happen again.”

"Good."

.

.

.

Erwin finds you in the stables one day. “Levi is integrating with my squad.”

You stop cleaning your horse, raising a brow at the man. “Is he now?”

“Mm." There's wistful amusement on Erwin's face. "He's started giving advice to his comrades.”

"Is that right?"

That night, when you greet Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary, you don't say a thing about this exchange, but you'll smile just a bit brighter at him anyway. 

.

.

.

Levi comes back from his evening shower to find something waiting for him in his bedroom. A piece of paper, carefully folded in three, is placed on his cabinet. Next to it is a medium-sized, black pouch.

He first unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find that it’s a letter and that it’s from you.

Levi,
 You’ll excuse me for coming in without asking, but you insinuated I should make myself comfortable, so… Here I am. You know, if you're going to let me pay for things, then it’s decided: I’m going to bribe you with new tea! No, you can’t fight me on that. As you know, I’m a force of nature—unstoppable. Here’s a new blend for you. I know for certain you haven’t tried this one because it’s straight from my travels. I don’t know why I waited a week to give it to you, but I hope you like it.
 Your amazing new roomie,
 - A.

Levi’s lips twitch. He can picture you scribbling those words in your room, a grin on your face, waiting for him to take a shower just so you can place this handout in secret.

He briefly puts the letter back down, moving to open the gift. The black pouch hides a tea tin of simple design, with an etiquette that’s handwritten. White pu-erh tea. He slowly unscrews the sealed top, bringing it close to his nose to inhale its potent fragrant. Tea aromas, rich in citrus, fill his brain with a lovely buzzing effect. It smells nice, unlike anything he’s encountered before.

His eyes stray back to the letter, picking it back up. He loves the way you write his name, the way you loop the letters together. It's elegant.

With his heart just a bit lighter than usual, Levi adds your letter to the chest under his bed, filled with the rest of your correspondence.

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[qatarsprint2023]

Hi can I request a lando x f!reader when she’s really sick and how lando takes care of her, like A. fluffy and comforting fic. I just found ur acc and I’m so excited for ur upcoming writings!!!!

~🎀

Thank you sm! Hope you enjoy this one, 🎀<3

Sick days and Race weekends— LN4

Lando discovers that his girlfriend got sick while he was away for a race and didn't want to worry him. — Lando Norris x f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader has a bad case of the flu, no use of y/n word count: ca. 1.2k

Ever since you were a kid you'd never been the type of person to get actually sick. Sure, a little cough and runny nose maybe, but nothing ever really drastic. Personally, you were pretty sure your immune system was simply a wonderful combination of good genes and growing up in the countryside.

Your parents had always told you that the fresh air and spending a lot of time outdoors with some exposure to animals had probably played some part in your never being sick as well and developed your immune system in a way people who grew up in urban areas would never have.

But when you moved to London for uni a little later in life, a huge city with tons of traffic, pollution and surprisingly little greenery, you found yourself getting sick more often than when you lived on your parent's farm surrounded by green grass, fields that stretched for miles and lots of animals. However this time you got sick. Runny nose, aching joints, pounding headache, hacking cough, fever that came and went as it pleased... The whole flu package, really.

You'd already started feeling a little off before Lando left for Austin on Wednesday and it had gradually gotten a little worse each day, but by Friday it all just hit like a wrecking ball. But you being you, decided not to say anything much about it and tell your boyfriend it was just a common cold you were dealing with back home.

He'd done so well in Qualifying on Friday and he should really be concentrating on his upcoming race and not his girlfriend's inane complaints from halfway across the globe. You didn't like worrying people. It didn't feel right plaguing someone else with your problems when surely you could somehow find a way to work it out yourself anyway.

But now it was Monday morning and you had curled up on the couch under the heaviest blanket you could find with a half empty tissue box and a giant mug of tea on the coffee table beside you a few hours ago already. You were cold and shivering like leaves in the wind on an icey autumn day like today, even with your hot drink and the warm blanket thrown across your body.

You couldn't have been more miserable. You felt like you were dying. You couldn't go to work, or leave the house because you simply felt awful and weak. So, you decided to just lay down on the couch and wait for Lando to get home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, you perked up a little at the sound coming from the door across the room. Lando stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft sigh slipping past his lips, not noticing you.

"Hey... P2!" you croaked weakly and forced a small smile onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend step into your shared flat, suitcase in hand, his coat and shoes still on as well after he just made his way through Heathrow airport and probably (definitely) went through a mini heart attack too when his luggage didn't immediately come out with everything else from the flight, like he always does when you're flying somewhere.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd actually heard you call out to him. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Reasonable response, you had to concur— after all, you were supposed to be at work. Then he turned to face the couch and saw you laying there, basically drowning under the heavy fabric of your blanket.

"Hey, hey... What's wrong? Why aren't you at work?" he asked in a voice that showed obvious signs of worry as he quickly kicked his shoes off and went over to you, feeling your forehead with his cold palm. "Jesus. You're basically on fire, baby... I thought you just had a normal cough?!"

"Didn't wanna worry you," you chuckled with an innocent smile, but before you knew it, your chuckle turned into yet another harsh cough. According to your mum, you sounded like an elephant with tuberculosis, like she told you over the phone yesterday. Harsh but true comparison, you had to admit.

Lando groaned and shook his head in an exaggerated way. "Yeah but, you should worry me when you get a fever like this!" However his expression softened to one of sympathy as he sat down beside you on the edge of the beige couch, gently stroking your forehead in an attempt to make you feel more at ease.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt this bad when we talked yesterday?" he frowned, some of his soft curls falling onto his forehead.

"You just got P2 and you sounded so happy about that on the phone, so I didn't wanna dampen the mood," you respond with a shrug.

"The only thing you've got me feeling right now is worried, baby. Come on, you can hardly talk without having a coughing fit," he sighed, putting his arm around you and planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not yet," you sniffled softly and shook your head, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb. It felt like there was someone playing a damn drum solo against the inside of your skull. "Didn't have the energy to make myself anything more than tea. I feel like death..."

"I know, baby, I know..." Lando sighed softly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "I'll make you some toast, okay? But first let's get you to bed... The couch isn't comfortable enough for when my girl needs to rest. It'll give you a stiff neck, sweetheart."

Lando gently looped his arm around your waist and helped you get up from the couch, a soft groan escaping your throat. He held you upright as you slowly walked over to the bedroom where your boyfriend lied you down in bed and pulled the covers over your shivering body, enveloping you in a warm sea of soft bedsheets.

"Alright..." he said with a sympathetic gaze in his hazel eyes and fluffed up your pillow a little, so you could lay down more comfortably. "I'll make you something and I'll bring you your tea in a minute too. Oh and some of that cough syrup we have as well. I know you don't like it, but I don't like it when you sound like you're gonna cough up your lungs any second. Do you want me to make you some soup later too?"

"You can make soup?" you retorted raspily and covered your mouth as another cough slipped past your chapped lips.

"Well... no... But I can make soup from the can?" Lando suggested with a sheepish grin, which caused you to smile a bit as well. It was so nice to have someone who just wanted to help and make you feel better.

"That'd be nice, thank you..." you replied softly and smiled, though you quickly covered your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you. "No! I'll get you sick too!"

"Well, I sure as hell won't let you sleep alone tonight, so whether I kiss you now or have my arm around you for seven hours tonight doesn't really make a big difference, does it?" he chuckled and gently took your hand away from your face to press a chaste kiss against your pale lips.

"Stay with me afterwards?" you hummed softly, not yet pulling away from the tender sensation of his lips on yours and your hand in his.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," said Lando in response and gently gave your hip a pat. "But first I'll get you something to eat and your tea from the living room, yeah?"

[lsunstreakerl]

I said "SH but I give GP a gun" and @farvres said "but like actually" so uhhhhh. here u guys go have a lil 1k brainworm. I guess this would be like, dark redbull? organized crime redbull? (more than) slightly insane redbull? listen, they're toxic. they still love max. these things can coexist.

so here's a little alternative universe, where things are much darker but it's somehow still redbull as family. this takes place in a split off of "Warning", after Max has had his tonsils removed and is recovering in Bedford with GP and Alice.

Gianpiero is seething in Christian's office, pacing across the floor. Christian isn't sure if he's ever seen his mild mannered friend this angry.

"GP-"

"No, don't start with me."

GP's hand flexes and curls from where he's clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You didn't fucking see it, Christian. He's so- he's tiny, in our guest room. He's tiny, and he doesn't even think he's allowed to have honey in his tea. The fucking- the idea that Alice and I want to take care of him after a surgery, that he doesn't have to handle it on his own- Christian, he doesn't even understand it."

GP stands in front of Christian's desk, one palm pressed flat as he leans down. Christian keeps his posture steady, even if he's never quite seen this look in GP's eyes before.

"If someone treated my daughter like that-"

Christian is wondering how much favor he's going to need to pull with Dietrich to cover up whatever Gianpiero is planning.

"I'd fucking kill them."

Christian nods. He's running ideas through his head, absentmindedly clicking his pen.

"Now would be the best time. Max is still recovering, he might not realize something suspicious right away."

GP pauses, looking thoughtfully at Christian.

"Redbull parties a lot- it's not out of the question for everyone to be together."

Christian nods, leaning back in his chair. GP is settling back into his skin, has that calculated look back on his face.

"Jos is known for drinking and driving. I always worry about him- it would be a real shame if something happened."

Gianpiero hums.

"It would, wouldn't it."

Christian tilts his head to the side, trying to gauge just how serious this is. There are rumors around the paddock, that the teams are like cults. Ferrari bears the brunt of them- they've been around too long, too many cultures and superstitions. It's too easy for the public to pick up on their oddities, the kind of strange behavior younger teams can get away with.

Even the drivers think it's a joke. It's not a part of the business they're involved in, usually. Fernando and Michael were... exceptions.

Christian brushes his fingers against cool metal secured underneath his desk.

"Someone would need to take care of Max. It would be devastating for him. He still thinks of that man as his father."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes. He's firm when he speaks, voice hard.

"Max would stay with me."

Christian nods.

"Of course, he'd still need to drive. But he'd be a bit closer to home that way, wouldn't he. Maybe a few trips a year to Austria."

Gianpiero is assessing Christian carefully.

"He'd be better taken care of."

"He would, yes."

There's a moment of silence as they both watch each other- trying to decide if they're really doing this. Usually, when a team operates after hours, there's a competitive reason. To get directly involved in a drivers personal life- it's rare.

Then again, Redbull has always been the exception. Max is one of theirs, golden boy in the making. He's already got little pockmarks of red, attachments to younger drivers, to Ferrari. They'll have to stamp that out.

Though- Christian supposes it would be okay to let him keep a few attachments. They're too soft on him, he's going to end up spoiled and rotten, but the way Gianpiero has his hand curled into a fist-

Christian has never seen anyone get under his skin like this.

"I'll schedule a meeting with Dietrich."

Gianpiero looks down his nose at him.

"Soon."

Christian nods.

"Tomorrow morning."

------

Gianpiero leans next to Alice in the doorway. Max is asleep in one of his old Jordan GP shirts, softly snoring into the pillow. He's all skin and bones, twitchy and nervous, unsettled in their home.

Alice looks over at him.

"You boys better be fixing this."

Gianpiero leans over to kiss her gently.

"I know, my love. You're retired."

She smiles against his lips.

"Not where our children are concerned I'm not."

She nods her head towards where Max is asleep.

"And he's one of our children, isn't he?"

Gianpiero feels a smile tick at the corner of his mouth. Max is in bad shape now, but-

They'll fix it. They'll protect him, teach him how to smooth over his blunt edges. He'll be surrounded by love, here and at Redbull, the way he should be.

He's not so confident they'd be able to secure him the Ferrari boy, because their claws are in too deep, he drips Rosso Corsa already, but Max has taken a shine to Daniel, and they can keep Carlos if they play their cards right.

Gianpiero will make it happen. Securing the perfect setup for Max, making sure he has the optimal environment for growth, that he has everything he needs-

Well. That's quite literally his job.

------

Alice is home with Max, still knocked out on pain meds. They've maybe been giving him a bit too much the past few days, but Gianpiero doesn't want to risk Max realizing something is suspicious. They'll wean him off of it soon as they ease him back into race prep, and the whole thing will just be a blurry haze of days he doesn't really remember, interspersed with a tragedy that isn't all that tragic.

He watches apathetically as the high beams sink below the water. He'd liked this fishing hole, because it was deep, and he's not going to be able to use it for a while now.

Gianpiero stays on the edge of the bank for a bit, making sure nothing floats up. The car is sunk, doors sealed shut. He doesn't feel bad in the slightest. He'd even been humane about it, Christian's gun sitting cool in the holster on his ribs.

Alice wouldn't have been so kind.

He waits for the water to settle before he turns and starts making his way back home. It's a lovely night out, really.

He should teach Max how to identify the constellations at some point. It could be helpful if he's lost- not that Gianpiero ever intends to let that happen.

Some race engineers fail their drivers. They don't mesh, or they aren't devoted enough, aren't willing to do what it takes.

Gianpiero leaves Jos to his watery grave behind him.

He and Max are going to be just fine.

[krispycreamcake]

Sakamaki brothers with a Witchy S/O hcs 𖤐𖤐

Shu Sakamaki

🔮- We all know Shu's apathy knows no bounds

🔮- Shu is the type of guy to almost give a fuck but lose motivation to do so in the next minute

🔮- Now I feel like he wouldn't dabble too much in your craft, but he'd be interested by it

🔮- I feel like his interest stems from what exactly your craft is, so if you do baneful magic (hexes and curses, etc) He'd be a bit excited to see you in action

🔮- He'll call you a vindictive narcissist and even make comments about you being a sadist

🔮- He's the type of person to tinker with your tools while you're not there because he knows you'll berate him like a child if you were with him

🔮- He definitely reads your Grimoire/Spell book and finds it extremely entertaining

🔮- Suggested going to the demon realm for supplies after he realized you were using weak mortal ingredients

🔮- Asked you to summon a demon one time and got upset when you refused

🔮- Also gets upset when you refuse to curse Reiji and says you're "useless" when you don't

🔮- Tried cursing his brothers himself and it backfired on him

🔮- Didn't admit it was him, but you knew and reversed the spell

🔮- He makes witch puns

🔮- He brags about drinking a witch's blood to his brothers

Reiji Sakamaki

🔮- Immediately interested in your craft and asks to review your spell book

🔮- He likes to make little post it notes on how to improve your spells/how to make them more efficient

🔮- Buys you books on herbs and crystals

🔮- Asked you one time to make a spell in tea form so he could test for himself how long it takes for the spell to take effect

🔮- Asked you to put a curse on Shu, you said no

🔮- He put a curse on Shu

🔮- You reversed said curse

🔮- Buys you tools and ingredients

🔮- He said you should get a familiar on the off chance he isn't there to protect you

🔮- You teach him standard spells

🔮- He's actually quite knowledgeable on witchcraft but hasn't gotten into it before he met you

🔮- Bought you a matching seeing glass for your birthday so you guys could look at each other whenever you were apart

🔮- Has his own mini spell book

🔮- Has a calendar of moon phases just for you

🔮- Speaking of, keeps track of what planets are in retrograde and any other astrological events

🔮- He made his very own motivation spell for you

🔮- Bottles and labels all your stuff

🔮- He complains that you're too carefree and untidy but he enjoys organizing your things for you

Ayato Sakamaki

🔮- Honestly his reactions would vary on your craft like Shu

🔮- If you do glamour magick, he complains that the only guy you should be looking that good for is himself

🔮- A bit paranoid that he'll wake up as some kind of woodland creature after getting in a fight with you

🔮- He thinks what you do is interesting but prefers to stay on the sidelines

🔮- Have I mentioned that he asked you to curse his brothers before?

🔮- Yes, he asked. Multiple times.

🔮- Broke your stuff an unnatural amount of times for someone who's supposed to be on the sidelines

🔮- Asked you to cast a spell to make your breasts bigger (if you're afab)

🔮- If you do any rituals that involve you taking a bath, trust he will find himself in the tub with you

🔮- He tried to make a pentacle out of bite marks one time

🔮- Ok so I know he said he tries to stay out your way, but that doesn't mean you don't constantly find your stuff in a mess

🔮- He doesn't care about magick unless it's visually pleasing to him

🔮- Thought you were going to burn the house down one time when you were doing a spell

🔮- Honestly finds it fascinating at how fatigued you are afterwards and uses it to his advantage

🔮- He can't help but wonder if you put a love spell on him

🔮- Subconsciously picks up witch slang or terms and it sometimes slips out whenever he's talking to his brothers

🔮- He hypes you up a lot to be honest, he claims he wants to be dating the "best witch of them all"

🔮- Encourages you to hex anyone you don't like

🔮- Reiji quickly put a stop to this after too many students had to go home from untraceable food poisoning

🔮- Discovered your Grimoire and thought if he just shouted phrases at people, the spell would work

🔮- Made you dress up as a stereotypical witch for Halloween so he could match as a wizard

From author: Had too much fun with Ayato, mb guys😞

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from the one where Tim Drake goes to an alternate reality and decides to get his other self laid via the local Kon's bisexual awakening:

"Hey, remember when you saved my life earlier?" Tim asks. 

"Yeah, kinda," Kon replies in amusement. "Seeing as it was about two point five seconds after you rigged the evil alien robot army to self-destruct and helped save our entire literal reality's life, so I was definitely paying attention." 

"Flatterer," Tim says with a smirk even as he waves him off. The self-destruct function wasn't even that hard to hack, comparatively. That time he'd downloaded Lex Luthor's active IP files from his personal office while the asshole had been on his damn computer–now that'd been tricky. Interdimensional alien invaders barely compare. And the Brainiac incident still gives him stress migraines when he thinks about it for too long. 

Metropolis sucks and Tim frankly has no idea how his own Kon can stand the place.

But like, getting off-topic here. 

"Well, I was gonna say you should let me pay you back for that," he continues. "But since you bring it up I'll also accept a show of gratitude on behalf of your reality, whichever gets you off harder.” 

Kon laughs, because he is apparently adorable enough to have assumed that was a joke. Precious little moron, Tim thinks fondly. 

"You know, you're a lot less uptight than our version of you is," Kon says, grinning down at Tim before flashing Tim's other self a smirk. "No offense, Rob. Dude's clearly just doing more yoga than you or something. Maybe drinking more tea? Taking the occasional bubble bath?" 

"Silly me, if only I'd invested in more bath bombs in my life," Tim's other self says dryly. 

"It's probably my sex life, actually," Tim himself puts in with an easy shrug. Turns out when you stop pretending you don't have a ridiculously high libido and actually just indulge the thing, a lot of life's little annoyances become a lot easier to handle. Go figure. "Plus my boyfriend Bernard is really great, just his entire existence does wonders for my mood in general and he also makes me eat real food on occasion and monitors my caffeine intake much more reliably than I'm capable of doing on my own. The man is a living antidepressant and I don't even mean that in a fucked-up way, he's just that good." 

"Boyfriend?" Kon blinks at him, then puts on another grin. It takes, Tim cannot help but notice, exactly two beats longer than his real grin would've. "Ohhhhh, okay, so the problem is just that you're not getting laid hard enough?" 

"It is not," Tim's other self says dubiously, watching Kon just a little bit warily and obviously worried about his potential reaction to the word "boyfriend". Well, Tim never claimed to be emotionally intelligent about Kon, so no surprise his other self is also a dumbass there. 

"It kinda is, actually," he tells his other self. "I was tracking my cortisol levels the last time I went on a solo away mission and let's just say they were . . . concerning? Like really concerning. Like by the time I got back I was kiiiiind of convinced I was going to need to go on anti-anxiety meds again. But then I jumped my Kon in the Titans Tower med bay instead and that pretty much solved the problem." 

Kon . . . pauses, sort of. Tilts his head. Tim's other self looks a lot warier.

"'Jumped'," Kon repeats carefully. "Like . . . what, you dragged him to the gym to spar or something?" 

"Like I blew his back out so hard that when he came his TTK fritzed out and disassembled my recovery bed," Tim clarifies helpfully. "It really helped with the cortisol levels issue." 

Kon blinks. Tim's other self looks pained, but also desperately envious. Tim would also be desperately envious if their situations were reversed and so does not blame him for said envy in the slightest. 

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?" Kon says after a moment, sounding a little odd in a very telling way. Or at least very telling to Tim, anyway. 

As is the way that he's not looking at Tim's other self at all anymore. 

"Open relationship," Tim says. "Also Bernard thinks you're stupidly hot and really likes hearing about the kind of stuff you let me do to you. I've actually been debating inviting you over for his birthday so he can watch us live for once but I haven't asked you yet." 

"What, so your Kon is the side chick?" Kon jokes, awkwardly putting on another just barely belated grin. 

"More like my kept boy, functionally speaking, but he's having a 'weird about commitment' phase right now so I've just been making a lot of sugar baby jokes to soften him up," Tim replies with a shrug. It's only sort of been working, but it has been working, and he's willing to take his time on it. It's not fair to expect Kon to only be easy, after all. "Long-term goal is to marry Bernard and ideally get Kon to 'live-in boyfriend' status somewhere in there, but that would also require him not being weird about commitment and also figuring out how well he and Bernard get along in the same space, so we'll just have to see how that one goes." 

"Uh," Kon says. "Why?" 

"Because you are incredibly important to me and also look like a very horny Renaissance sculptor made you out of calacatta marble," Tim tells him matter-of-factly, gesturing meaningfully at him. "Frankly it's criminal that you ever put clothes on."

[lowkeyrobin]

hey hey!! can you write something witn ranboo where the fans clip their moments together and make one of those compilations that are like “ranboo and [reader] being [blank] for 6 minutes and 36 seconds” PUHLEASE AND THANK YOU 🤭🤭🤭

ooo ok ok! I can definitely try!! ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; sorry this tooknso long, between writers block and being busy I was struggling with some requests lmao

RANBOO ; youtube compilation

summary ; kinda like the 5+1 thing but it's you and ranboo being fucking stupid for 5 mins straight

warnings ; language, playful name calling

word count ; 1k

masterlist

ranboo and y/n being dumbasses for five minutes "straight"

"This is actually a thing that's going on," Ranboo leans back in his chair, unknowing of you behind him, slowly sliding into frame for the audience of his stream to see. "and it's actually going to be... released. And, yknow, I love releasing things, like, actually on time and when I actually say it'll happen. And it's nicer because... what the hell?"

Ranboo turns around, looking up at you in his doorway.

"Why- why is it you again? Why are you here?" he questions, amused and confused.

You slowly and silently wave like a possessed being before slowly walking backwards and out of frame, into the hallway toward the kitchen area.

"Where are you going? I-I thought you were Bill-" he turns back to the stream, confused. "Why do they keep walking into my house?" he looks back, seeing you completely gone. "Why do they keep just... spawning in my house? Is there something I don't know about?"

He glances at chat before continuing. "I saw the hoodie and jeans and thought, 'Oh, Bill's here!' Wrong!"

"Can you grab the cilantro for me?" you ask, occupied with shredding some cheese at the moment.

Ranboo nods, turning to the fridge in search of the familiar leafy plant. He returns with the plastic bag and sets it on the counter, watching you aggressively shred the block of cheese. He slowly looks over at the camera, wondering why he had agreed to make food with you on stream, why you were even so mad at this block of cheese in the first place. He turns back to you, blinking rhythmically.

You sigh, setting the block down, your arm having gone numb. You look at the plastic package, seeing that he'd actually grabbed parsley.

"Ran."

"Hm?"

"That's parsley"

"Huh?"

You open the bag, showing him the leaves. "Parsley is flat, and the stems dont taste good. Cilantro is more fanned out and fluffy."

"They look exactly the same!"

"No they don't?"

He looks at you with confusion before turning back to the fridge, grabbing the cilantro this time. He opens the bag, holding the leaves up side by side.

"Oh"

"Why the fuck is there pistachio ice cream in your refrigerator?" you loudly question, walking into Ranboo's office where he was actively streaming.

He quickly turns around, confused. "Because it's good? I thought you were grabbing a snack, not snooping through my freezer,"

"Okay, well, I needed ice for my drink, one. Two, your pantry is completely empty," you defend. "And how the hell do you like pistachio ice cream? You're gross"

"I like the flavor!"

"You're weird" you sigh, quickly walking back to the kitchen.

Ranboo blinks, reading through chat quickly. "Do people not like pistachio ice cream? Y'know what... I'm setting up a poll"

You walk back in, goldfish and iced tea in hand. You set the food down on the desk, being careful of his setup before watching as the poll fills up more with votes for "yucky".

15 to 85 ratio is crazy.

"What's wrong with pistachio ice cream?" Ranboo asks, sneakily shoving some goldfish into his mask through the top, still keeping his face off the camera. "It can't be that gross to you," he mumbles, mouth full.

"It is that gross, freak," you reply, throwing a goldfish at him.

"Whatever," he rolls his eyes. "I don't think I've even opened that tub yet and it's been in my freezer for like, a year,"

"Okay,"

"Okay"

"Did you see that one TikTok of that drunk girl sliding down some steps?"

"No..."

"Okay,"

Ranboo chuckles, looking up at the camera like he was a part of the cast of The Office.

"Okay, then"

"I'm a certified hater, I'm so serious," you grumble, leaning back in your chair as you attempt to shoot at someone in Fortnite. "Fuck!"

Ranboo equips a different weapon, quietly listening to you.

"Oh my God, these fatties. Die already! Stop teaming, this is duos, not quads. Anyways, I hate all these people. They suck." you end up getting sniped, causing you to jump back in your chair and fall to the ground, almost taking a monitor with you.

Over the loud ruckess, Ranboo's eyes widen in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Ow!"

You quickly take your headphones off and set them on the desk before you pulled something down with the extended cord, and stand in front of your setup silently. You just kind of stand there and think before pulling your chair up.

Ranboo, upon seeing a pride skin, smiles. "Me gay too,"

Upon him speaking, you end up tripping over your feet, and land on the floor again.

"I give up, I'm done,"

"I'm actually gonna cry, what the fuck is that?"

"...A jellyfish"

You blink, looking between Ranboo and the canvas in front of you. Oh, the chaos of switching canvases every five minutes on stream. That jellyfish looked more like a blobfish with tentacles.

"Why is it green, and why is it beached?"

"Because,"

"Okay pal."

You dab your brush into the darker sand color you made, trying to make some details. Meanwhile, Ranboo was painting a neon pink car since you previously painted a road from a front view. His car was looking rather wonky, but that was the point.

In the end, there was an army of beached jellyfish on your canvas, and you and Ranboo were in a hot pink racecar on his. Expected that, to be honest.

You'd moved on to round two, where you were painting each other.

"You're gonna be really pale, sorry," you quietly speak, locked in.

"Have you seen me? I'm pretty pale already," Ranboo jokes

"True, you're whiter than sunscreen,"

"Okay, too far, buddy"

Karaoke is never normal with Ranboo, because why are you singing along to Miley Cyrus' See You Again?

"I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I'm thinkin' 'bout, felt like I couldn't breathe,"

"You asked what's wrong with me, my best friend Lesley said 'Oh, she's just being Miley'"

"The next time we hang out, I will redeem myself, my heart, it can't rest til then"

"Oh-whoa-whoa I, I can't wait to see you again!"

You and Ranboo drag on a very flat "high" note for a long moment before the song ends, high fiving at the end.

"We sound so good," Ranboo laughs

"Y'know what sounds good?"

"What?"

"The Frozen soundtrack" you smile

"Pull it up, pull it up,"

[mistress-riddle]

𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃. tommy shelby.

✐ 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

❧ cw. typical violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of a child almost getting blown up, the usual 🤷🏻‍♀️

❧ r. I was wondering if I could request one where she happens to be back at the house/betting shop at the time when the Lees destroy it and the fact that the Lees still did that with there being a woman, let alone the woman who is his significant other, in the shop really infuriates Tommy when he comes back to see that she’d been affected by it. I’ll leave it up to you for how you want to end it. ☺️ — @runnning-outof-time

"ooh, where are you heading?" you ask polly who places a hat on top of her head and she sends you a smile as you greet her. she means to answer but tommy joins your side and interrupts her by asking "where's john?"

"john's at the garrison," she informs and tommy's brows furrow "says he wants a meeting about a family matter." you hear him sigh and so you put your hand on his shoulder and he gives you a look of exasperation.

"easy tommy, he just wants a meeting, not to overthrow the government."

"and well, we know he'd do that himself." polly remarks and you snicker in response, she purses her lips in return "besides, he'll say his piece and he'll be back to take his place with scudboat." her nephew merely rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.

"scudboat, john will be here in ten minutes." polly declares and walks away, fixing her gloves on her way out to the garrison.

"five." tommy corrects before following her, but he stops halfway and turns to you "you coming?"

"i'll stay, still haven't had breakfast." you tell him and point over to scudboat "he might also need some help counting."

tommy stares for a few seconds before nodding "i'll be back soon, love."

.

he walks out and you take a seat at scudboat's table continuing his counting as he locks up. having two people deal with the work quickened the pace and soon the two of you were done. you leaned back in your seat.

"would you like something from the kitchen, scudboat?" you follow your question with some offers "tea or some biscuits?"

he nods "tea would be nice, miss." you shoot him a smile as you get up however you're stopped from actually walking to the kitchen as the instant you stand, the doors bust open. almost like instinct, you see scudboat pull out what you presume is a gun from the side of your eye and you freeze in your spot with both arms raised in surrender.

"put that down!" you hear one of the men order and around 2-3 men with weapons circle scudboat and restrain him whilst you face the end of a barrel.

"this is for cheltham." a man with a gypsy accent and bandages covering his right ear announces as he moves his aim from you to scudboat and you hold back a groan. of course tommy angered the lee family during his visit to the races, of fucking course "we're just taking back what's ours." he drives the end of the gun to scudboat's face, effectively dropping him to the floor.

he then turns to you once more "where are the loots, huh?" he asks gruffly and you withhold a grimace.

"i don't what you're talking about." you respond, annoyed at the entire situation you were left in.

"come on, you're tommy's girl, are you not? he must've told you where they are." a scoff escapes your lips and you roll your eyes, arms crossing before your chest.

"what makes you think that?" you cock your head to the side, eyes widening in an innocent expression "i only work here to serve the men drinks and clean up."

the man lets out a hoarse laugh and clutches your face in his hold "don't mess with me, i know who you are." your face drops and you hold his gaze.

"then you must know that tommy will have your head if he so much as sees a scar on me?" you threaten softly and his grip loosens "or are you as stupid as you look, i mean you must be because who in their right mind would steal from the peaky blinders?--" you're stopped by a slap across your face.

"fuck you," he spits in your direction, probably realising that you won't give up information and are only wasting time, stalling for the shelby's return. you don't react, however, eyes staring daggers as he orders his men "search everywhere!" he tells them and they leave scudboat to fall on the floor to disperse around the betting shop, flipping the place all over in search of what the peaky blinders retrieved. you slip away during their distraction and kneel beside the injured man.

"i'm sorry" you whisper, reaching for a cloth on a nearby table to dab at the deep wound on his temple. it didn't take long for the men to leave, laughing as you hear something clunk against a table and within a few minutes, finn walks through the kitchen, his stroll halted at the sight of you and scudboat crouched on the floor.

"finn!" you call the boy and he runs to you, worry in his eyes "go and call your brothers, tell them to hurry here." you pat his cheek softly once he's close enough and with a nod, he races of to the garrison. you pull a fallen chair and stand it up right, helping scudboat on the chair.

"love," you hear tommy's voice before you see him "are you alright?" he asks and you leave scudboat as tommy gathers you in his arms, a kiss pressed against the crown of your head, and you inhale his familiar scent of cigarettes, whiskey and a mix of cologne.

"what the bloody hell happened here?" arthur asks from somewhere behind you and scudboat answers him as john surveys the betting shop, feet stomping in anger.

"tommy, i'm fine" you reassure him, patting his chest as you pull away. the slap was nothing as far as you were concerned "however, they took what they could find, sorry we couldn't do anything about it, they were all armed."

tommy shakes his head at you "fuck that, what matters is you're alright." he places a kiss on your forehead once more before detaching from you to scan the place. you turn to see arthur tending to scudboat (serving him alcohol, you note with a chuckle) and instead choose to stand beside polly who reaches a hand out to hold your own.

"your cheek's red." you see the dissatisfied expression she's wearing and tap her hand.

"polly, i'm fine, don't worry." whatever she intends to say dies down her throat as tommy approaches the centre of the room, wire cutters held in his hand.

"they left these." he shows the people in the room the tool and you and polly share a confused look.

"wire cutters?" the older woman questions.

"what for?" you ask and hesitate when you see the alarm quickly taking over the shelby brothers faces.

"nobody move." arthur instructs but you furrow your eyebrows at him.

"i think our friends are playing the game." your confusion turns to tommy instead and you feel the frustration rising at the lack of explanation.

"what game?" polly asks, putting away the cash box she picked up earlier with her free hand and john stops her from continuing "aunt pol, don't touch anything." he pleads.

"erasmus lee was in france."

"an explanation would be grand since not all of us were in said france." you snap, anxiety at its peak.

"when we gave up ground to the germans," tommy begins, looking straight into your eyes "we'd leave behind booby traps set up with wires. then we'd leave wire cutters, it's part of the joke." you let out a laugh of disbelief.

"somewhere in here there's a hand grenade attached to a wire." john declares and you shake your head.

"holy jesus."

"but we've all moved and touched multiple things in the room, surely it would've gone off by now," you surmise, nibbling on your lip and you catch sight of tommy's pensive face "and there aren't any obvious wires here, they couldn't have stayed long enough to set it either." you clarify.

"you're right," tommy nods "the bullet's in my name. he set up a trap intended for me specifically." you hold his gaze and see the pieces click in his brain and soon he walks out of the house.

everyone pauses and they look at you "the car!" you exclaim and follow after him, leaving the shelby's and scudboat behind.

you lift your dress up and catch up to tommy, bumping slightly into him, just to find his arm extended, talking to someone in his car. the person he's softly talking to causes your heart to drop to your stomach.

"finn," he calls out "stay exactly where you are." you raise a hand to cover your mouth and try to steady your fast beating heart.

"i was pretending i was you." finn giggles and you feel something stab into your heart, tommy leaves you behind as he slowly inches towards his baby brother.

"which door did you open to come in, finn?" tommy asks him and you can hear the panic in his voice.

"i didn't, i climbed in."

"i want you to climb out exactly the same way you climbed in, okay?" tommy approaches even closer, getting to the right side of the car.

"listen to your brother, finn." you call out from the entrance of the garage but finn merely giggles and opens the door anyways.

"NO!"

"FINN!"

you run towards the boy, arms open to cover his small body and tommy quickly retracts the bomb from the car and throws it outside into the streets, yelling a "clear!" as he discards it. you feel him shortly join your embrace afterwards as it goes off.

once he deems it safe to assess the damage, you both walk together with finn holding onto both your hands and tommys. a collective sigh of relief escapes you two before tommy drops down to face finn, holding the boy's face in his hands "this is why you should never pretend to be me."

you watch tommy hug finn who still tightly clung to your hand and tommy looks into your eyes once again, relief washing over them and you send him a tired smile.

"come on finn, how about we go get you some sweets huh?" you ask the boy and he nods eagerly. tommy ruffles his hair and gives him another short hug before letting him leave with you.

once you get home, finn full of sweets and no longer ruffled, you prepare a bathe before you settle in bed. you allow your restless body to finally relax and soak in the warmth of the tub. around half an hour later you wrap your hair in a cloth to absorb the water that still clung to your tresses and apply your moisturiser. your fingers pause when you hear your door open suddenly and in an instant you grab the closest thing beside you and hold it in the direction of the intruder.

"very effective weapon, dear." you look at the item in your hand and let out a scoff/laugh.

"wouldn't need to think about having a weapon if it weren't for your lifestyle." you argue and tommy scoffs in return, busy removing his shoes and outwear.

"[name], you're a woman who lives alone in small heath of all places." the look he sends you makes you snort "even if you had nothing to do with me, you wouldn't be that safe."

"that's wonderful to hear actually, will go to bed feeling safe and sound." you deadpan and he sits himself on your bed, watching as you get back to working the moisturiser into your skin.

"of course, always happy to let my woman know she's safe and protected." you toss one of your powder brushes at him and he easily catches it with a laugh.

"come here already," he beckons you and with a roll of your eyes, you join him under the covers.

"i need you to know that i won't ever let anything harm you," he says once you settle in his arms, eyes gazing into yours "truly."

"i know." you peck his lips before resting your head on his collarbone, he picks up your "weapon" and flicks through the pages to continue from the last time he stopped.

"erasmus has been dealt with and i hope you're ready for a wedding," just as you began to feel the embers of sleep take a hold of you, you peek your eyes open.

"oh no thomas, what'd you do?"

"don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

you roll your eyes at him once more and huff out a breath of irritation "fine, but if polly ever complains to me about this i'm kicking you out of my house and you'll have no access to my books."

"you like me too much to get rid of me, love."

"i'll be the judge of that." you close your eyes once more and drift off to sleep, but not before you feel a kiss against the top of your head.

[koolades-world]

hiii i was wondering if you could write abt an asian mc ? with the brothers or the dateables i don't mind! i just think it would be funny to see yk asian mc who's a high achiever (so even at RAD when they know nothing abt magic they'll try to score high), always take off their shoes before entering a place (entering a place with shoes is forbidden !!), always cook rice or stuff from their country when on cooking duties ("wdym we already ate that when it was my turn last time?"), will make you special herbal tea if you're sick (first time i suggested to make tea for my ill white friend they laughed :( ), tells you to eat more and in the same fashion, whose love language is giving you food, etc... bonus point if mc swears in their mother tongue. And if the MC was living in their native country before going to the devildom, their ability to just nap anywhere as if it's normal.

As someone who grew up in an asian household it's just regular to me but i can picture the face Lucifer would make if the first time mc enter Dia's castle they take off their shoes casually or like MC stuffing Beel's mouth with food as if he just didn't swallow the biggest mouthful of udon ever saying "come on Beel you need food, you need strength to play Fangol"

For the nap thing i was thinking about my relatives who take nap on their wooden bad or just the floor during summer (cause its fresh yk). My grandma always said a hard bed is good for the back lol

Anyway no pressure!! Have a nice day and take care !

hi!! yes of course :)

i'm a different flavor of asian but some of the culture overlaps so this was fun to write! haha the amount of times my grandma has urged me to eat more is hard to count. oh and the amount of tea i drank when we went to visit. i'll never forget watching her make the tea because it was a whole experience

i'm half indian and someone actually requested an indian mc so that will be out tomorrow because doing these requests back to back easiest for me!

enjoy <3

Asian Mc

Lucifer

you're ALWAYS on him for the amount of coffee he drinks

you also always make sure he takes a break to eat dinner because he needs to eat in order to continue his work

despite how bothered he might seem sometimes, he really does value what you do for him

plus, you not only keep yourself in line, sometimes you do his brothers for him too. thanks on his behalf!

Mammon

once you grow closer, he's asking you to teach him swear words so he can cuss out lucifer

if you don’t, well, he’ll just pick them up when you swear and hope he can figure out what it means haha

if you want, feed him random words, or even compliments so when lucifer hears them, he'll just be confused haha

despite the fact that he's the demon, maybe you can help him in class

Levi

when he first meets you, he'd not sure what to expect

however he quickly learns you're the best at everything you do

this includes video games and everything of that manner

he's got competition now, but he has no clue how you got so good considering it was probably your first time at all of the games you've tried

Satan

he's impressed by your work ethic and desire to achieve

you got dropped in a totally new environment and instead of struggling to adjust like he predicted, you bounced back almost immediately and were at the top of your class like it was nothing!

he tried to ask you once why you seemed so determine to get the best grade and never asked again after the look you gave him

something the two of you can bond over, though, is tea! he can often be seen with a cup of tea so that's an easy conversation starter between the two of you if not homework instead

Asmo

while initially he thought you two might not get along, you actually do quite well

he's huge on no shoes in the house and especially in his room

after all, he wants to avoid bringing as many outside germs into his room as possible

can and will ask you to teach him how you make your special herbal teas because he hates being sick and genuinely just wants to know

Beel

he falls in love with your rice cooker

rice that easy and that quick? sign him up! if he didn't already love rice you've put him on it

he doesn't think he could ever part with you and your wonderful cooking

even if you do cook the same thing every time it's your turn, he will inhale it because not only is it delicious, but you're an amazing cook

Belphie

even he's impressed by your ability to fall asleep anywhere

at least he's always with his pillow and maybe a blanket but he's seen you just curled up on the porch waiting for someone to get home

but that sighting was rare, because he felt like he always saw you doing something

however he really appreciated all the little things you did for him, such as making his bed