#i'm sorry for the typos but i wrote this very quickly

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Soft Marc

That’s it that’s the request

S O F T M A R C ! Thank you so much for the ask! Ilysm!

(Thank you for an excuse to write some soft Marc! Also, oh no this turned into porn, I’m so sorry.)

Feels Nice

Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: typos (I feel like I wrote this one in a haze, I'm so sorry), swearing, Marc saying 'please', Marc being sleepy, oral sex (f receiving), P in V sex, dry humping (humping the settee)

Word Count: 1757

_______________________________________

You shifted your legs slightly as the movie ended, trying to wiggle enough to grab the remote without disrupting Marc. 

He was dead asleep, breathing softly. His head resting comfortably against your shoulder. It was the first time you’d ever seen him resting so soundly. 

You shuffled again, your movements bolder this time in a vain effort to reach the remote. 

It was the first time in ages that you’d actually watched a film on live TV, and you knew it would be only a matter of seconds before an advert that was five hundred decibels louder than an aeroplane taking off started. 

It was nearly in your reach, nearly close enough for you to grasp and-

“COMING UP NEXT!”

Marc jolted awake, springing into a sitting position. His right arm flew to the side and across your body, it made you think of a driver protecting a passenger when they had to break suddenly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” it was difficult to keep the smile out of your voice. “It’s just the TV.” You rubbed his back, trying to ease the tense muscles. 

Marc swallowed and looked around to you. He nodded once, still half asleep. A large tuff of his hair was sticking upwards from where he had rested.  

Quickly you grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. A vague silence filled the flat, punctuated by the faint buzzing of the fish tank and other electronics. 

You grinned at him, dipping your head to the side as you reached out and patted his hair, trying to smooth it back down. 

Marc hummed and closed his eyes leaning into your touch. “Feels nice.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He looked so serene, angelic in the weak light. 

Slowly, you sank your fingers further into his hair and applied a light, but firm, pressure to his scalp. 

He groaned, pushing further into your touch. The persistent force of his movement forced you further back into the settee. 

You giggled as he urged you further, guiding you to laying down on your back with him between your legs. He tried to keep most of his weight off you, caging you in with his arms, but you could feel him steadily slipping as you continued to massage his head. 

Small moans and shudders escaped his lips until he was completely in your lap, his head resting against your chest and left arm hanging limply off the side. 

“I fell asleep didn’t I?” He mumbled into your top.

You grinned, continuing the massage, “You did.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Steven says I snore.” He spoke into your stomach, unintentionally shifting forwards into your touch. 

“You were sort of,” you pause for a second, thinking, before you do your best to mimic his soft breathing from before.

“That’s snoring.” 

“No, snoring is this:” you do your very best over the top impression. 

Marc laughs. “Okay.”

You continue in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about anything in particular. 

There is even a moment you think that maybe Marc has fallen back to sleep. His breathing is heavier than it was before, but you slowly begin to notice a slight rocking motion. 

It’s almost ignorable at first, subtle enough for you to think that you are imagining it. But as you continue to massage Marc’s scalp the movements become more and more prominent. 

You wait, counting the seconds in your head. 

His breath hitches as he tries to bite back a moan.

“Marc?” You ask, faking an impressive level of innocence, and slow your hand movements.

He lifts his head a few centimetres from you. “Please don’t stop.” His voice is low and needy, his eyes lidded. 

You push his face up a little more so that you can get a better look at him as you scrap your fingers along his skin. The sensation sparks like lightning down to his stomach.

He can’t help it as his hips rock against the settee, the inner seam of his sweatpants rubbing against his hard cock. 

He groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he bites hard on his bottom lip and closes his eyes. 

The sight of him is glorious as he is wrapped up in the sensations of his own pleasure. You can’t help but run your fingers over his scalp again, firmer this time and his answering moan is instantaneous. 

WIthout really thinking you shift slightly, bringing your legs up to wrap around him and lightly dig your heels into his plump ass. You apply a little pressure in time with his thrusts, encouraging him to rut harder.

“Baby,” he chokes back a little half sob as heat flares along his skin, pleasure coiling tightly in his lower abdomen. 

Oh this is all going too fast. If he doesn’t get a grip on himself soon he’s going to come in his (Steven’s) sweat pants.

He moves quickly, trying to not completely lose himself and give into the sweet sensations, and sits up a little.

You go to take your hands away from his head, and move your legs. Already starting to form an apology on your tongue, believing that you stepped over a boundary. 

“No, no, no,” he mutters quickly, grabbing hold of your hands and pressing them firmly against his hair. “Continue, continue please.” His voice cracks with ache and want, his eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide. His skin is so warm, burning as if he had drunk just a little too much. 

You nod quickly, in awe of how wrecked he looks.

Marc shifted his hands down to your waistband. “Wanna make you feel good please?” 

How can you relist when he asks you so nicely? 

You nod again, barely finishing the movement before he is ripping your trousers and underwear off you and throwing them somewhere to the side. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t send them flying into the TV and knocking it over. 

Throughout you try your best to continue the massage, rubbing your thumbs and fingers along his skin in a now ingrained pattern you know he likes. 

Marc lifts both of your thighs over his shoulders and settles down, causing you to have to curl up a little to keep your hands in his hair. 

He puts his right hand just underneath your lower back, positioning it ever so slightly so that your hips cant upwards, and wraps his left around your leg so that he can rub your clit. 

You let out a small shaky sigh as he touches you, so light and barely there. 

“Fuck.” His hisses, his hot breath hitting your outer thighs as he leans into you. “Ugh, you’re so wet.” 

He runs his nose up and down through your folds, groaning as your slick coats his skin. 

“Marc-” You cut yourself off with a string of expletives as he lightly grazes your clit with his teeth before plunging his tongue into your cunt. 

You pull tightly on his hair, the action involuntary and Marc lets out a beautiful high pinched wine as he grinds himself harder against the settee. 

His cock is throbbing, burning for attention as he laps at you, rocking you back and forward with his right hand as he encourages you to fuck his face in time with the rock of his hips. 

You’re achingly close already, pleasure sparking up and flooding your veins under his skilled actions. He continues to roll your clit between his left thumb and forefinger, pinching ever so slightly at seemingly random intervals.

You let out a gasped yelp, struggling to think, so overwhelmed with sensations and the need to continue to rub your hands through his hair. 

“Marc, fuck, shit,” you can feel it building quickly, a crescendo threatening to pull you down with it. 

Marc groans into you in response, fucking his tongue harder against you as he picks up the pace of his hips. 

Your legs begin to shake, your stomach muscles clenching. Just a little more and-

He pulls away quickly, kneeling with your wetness shining all over the bottom of his face. He grabs his cock, barely pulling his sweatpants down. 

“Can-I?” His words are so rushed that they come out all together. 

“Yes, yes, pleas-”

You cry out as he surges forward and pushes into you in one swift movement. His left hand guiding the base of his cock and then pushing your leg to the side, spreading you wide so that it’s half dangling off the settee. 

You grab at his biceps, screwing up your eyes as he fills you so perfectly. 

He lets out a long moan, his eyebrows pinched together as he feels you squeeze down on him. 

“Hands, hands,” he mutters, so mumbled and slurred that it takes your brain a second to catch up. “Please, baby, please.” He moans again as you rock against him, his own hips still. 

You sink your fingers back into his hair, whimpering as you buck again. 

“Stay still for me, just for a second, just for a second…”

You wine, but do what he asks. Your orgasm is so close, you taste it. Feel the edges of it running along your skin. 

“Marc, please.”

He opens his eyes and nods. But he still doesn’t move his hips. Instead he reaches down and circles your clit with his fingers, rubbing soft small circles that match the speed and pressure of your own hands in his hair. 

You gasp and change direction and so does he. You scrap your nails against his skin and he lightly pinches. 

He can’t help but rock ever so slightly, barely moving out of you, needing to feel every single flutter against the length of his cock. 

“Need to feel you squeeze me, need you to- shit,” he gasps as you come, your orgasm hitting you like a surge of electricity. 

You moan out his name. Your back aching and grabbing hold of fistfuls of his hair, dragging him on top of you. 

He sobs as you pulse around him, milking him for everything he could give as he comes, following you down into that mind shattering ecstasy as you pull on his hair. 

Sweat begins to cool on your skin as you come back to yourself, breathing heavily. It’s only then that you realise both of you are still mostly dressed, and that you still have a death grip on Marc’s hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You release him quickly. But he just murmurs sleepily into your neck. 

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[raina-at]

John Watson has a problem with vows, with promises, with words like "always" and "forever".

Put simply, life has taught him the hard way that, well, shit happens. Your best intentions can come back to bite you in the arse in unexpected and life-derailing ways.

A few examples: His parents' "always" ended in a bitter divorce when he was ten. He thought he would always be in the Army, but a stray bullet ended that, too. He got married, and his wife turned out to be a psycho. That "always" ended very, very quickly when he realised that she shot his best friend through the chest.

All that having been said, there's a few things John Watson is rock-solidly certain about.

One is his daughter. He will love this little girl and protect her with his life for as long as he'll live, which is reasonably the only always he can promise.

The second is his job. He will be a doctor for as long as they let him be one. The work saw him through some rough times, and it's more than a job. It's part of who he is, part of the very core of him.

The last and best thing he's certain about is that he will love Sherlock Holmes until the very second he dies, and if there's an afterlife, he'll continue there. It's just empirical evidence, at this point, because Sherlock put him through the best and worst moments of his life, and he still loves him so much it hurts to breathe through it sometimes. He can't and won't promise that they'll never fight, that he'll never be angry, that they'll never have days or weeks or months where they won't be able to stand the sight of each other (see above, shit happens). But he handed his heart over to Sherlock the moment he first received the keys to 221B, and he has no intention of taking it back.

So that's it, he supposes. He's Dr John Watson, Rosie's father and Sherlock Holmes' husband. And that will always be true.

For the prompt Always by @notjustamumj. I basically wrote this on my phone at a conference today, so I'm sorry for any typos in advance.

@calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @7-percent and anyone else who likes to play.

Sorry if this is shit, I'm so tired...

[alwaysbethewest]

Kingsman 2 fic: Stay Close to Me

Happy @pedrostories Secret Santa day, y'all 💃 I was thrilled when I received my assignment and saw that I'd be writing for my sweet friend @iamskyereads 😁 Skye, I hope you have a merry Christmas and I hope this little story helps make it bright. (Okay a quick note: generally speaking I don't believe in apologizing for your writing, but I do feel like a small apology is merited here. Halfway through writing this fic I started to panic because I felt like I wasn't really meeting the brief of your prompt 😬 I started wondering if I should start over from scratch but I was already too far into it. I accidentally wrote you... a case fic???? With a smidgen of romance sprinkled in. I'm sorry! Despite my stress over that realization I did have a lot of fun writing this and I hope you will enjoy it anyway!)

Title: Stay Close to Me Pairing: Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels)/f!Reader Rating: Teen Word Count: 5.3k Content/warnings: Fake/undercover marriage! Statesman casefic! A little romance, kissing, coarse language, very mild peril and hurt/comfort, and a splash of alcohol. Reader is a junior agent and has some muscle but otherwise no physical/age descriptions. As with any good Kingsman fic, my first step was to disregard half of canon, so this is either pre-movie or an AU. Unbetaed but thanks as ever to @fleetwoodmactshirt and @mourningbirds1 for their hand-holding ❤️ Please let me know if you spot any typos/mistakes.

The Statesman offices are housed in a sleek highrise in Midtown, a 40-minute commute from your tiny apartment. To anyone who asks, you work in the marketing department, and you’ve learned enough by now to drone on about synergistic strategies for diversifying market shares to bore anyone listening, but to those in the know, behind passcode-guarded doors, you’re Agent Violette, junior analyst for the private intelligence agency hidden behind the national whiskey brand.

For a secret spy job, your work is actually fairly routine. Most of your time is spent doing research and compiling intel for agents working out in the field. Occasionally your boss sends you into the field yourself—little baby excursions to get your feet wet—and you won’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed the thrill. But your desk job is comfortable, and satisfying, and you’ve got no complaints.

It’s Wednesday, and the only sign something out of the ordinary may be taking place is the note you find on your desk when you clock in. It takes only a little of your codebreaking expertise to interpret:

9:15 AM—mtg w/ Agt. C rm 806

Room 806 is a teleconference room furnished with a small table and a handful of chairs. One seat is occupied when you get there.

Agent Whiskey raises an eyebrow at you from under his cowboy hat. The accessory is so out of place in the urban streets of New York City that when you’d first met him you’d wondered if it was an affectation—a marketing ploy to signal the authenticity of the Kentucky bourbon your company sells on the side. But while you haven’t worked closely with him, you’d quickly learned it seems he’s just… like that.

He slides a folder towards you and you accept it as you take a seat and don your glasses.

“Any idea what this is about?” he asks.

You shake your head. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the comms switch on and Agent Champagne appears across the table before you, via the technological wonder that is your projection spectacles. More high-tech and more secure than Zoom, they’re one of the many things that sets Statesman apart from lesser spy agencies.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Whiskey straighten up slightly in his chair.

“Jack!” Agent Champagne greets him. “How was Munich?”

“All good, sir,” he drawls. “You’ll have the full report this afternoon.”

“Very good,” the older man rumbles. He turns his attention to you. “And Agent, uh—” His eyes shift down to the notes on his desk. “Agent Violette. Good to have you on board.”

You’ve worked at Statesman for three years, but you’re still too low on the org chart to have landed on the director’s radar before this. He says your code name like vie-oh-let instead of the French pronunciation you prefer, but there’s an affability to him that makes it go over easier.

“Thank you, sir.”

“So, California,” he says, diving into the brief. Whiskey opens his file folder and you follow suit. The top page features a short itinerary and a character profile that you quickly learn is a new undercover alias. Violet Davenport. You like the name. She sounds high society. Glancing over to Whiskey’s file, you spot his alias and your brows raise involuntarily.

Johnny Davenport.

Hm.

“Vineyard owner out there is concerned about a potential theft. He’s received some threats and needs a couple of bodies on the ground to sniff out the trouble,” Agent Champagne states.

“Theft of what, exactly?” Agent Whiskey asks.

“Wine. Money. The usual. He’s got his personal wine collection stored on the premises. You know the business—some of those bottles are worth a pretty penny. Mr. Peterson—that’s the client—says he has a list of suspects for you to look at.” Champ waves a hand, looking vaguely unimpressed. “Obviously you’ll have to use your own judgment on whether any of his theories check out.”

“Sir, I don’t understand why I’m being sent on such a simple assignment,” Whiskey says. “No disrespect,” he adds belatedly, glancing at you. You give him your politest go-along-to-get-along smile.

Champ looks like he’s torn between amusement or annoyance at Agent Whiskey’s attitude.

“Same reason for anything, Jack. Politics. This client has close connections in the state government over there. If we can solve this simple problem for him, it may just lead to more prestigious cases. Ones you’ll feel are worthy of your valuable time.”

Jack should look chastened, but he doesn’t. He does stop arguing, though.

“I need a senior agent on the case. And Violet’s supervisor assures me she’s got the research and fieldwork skills to step up on this one. Your cover is a married couple on an anniversary trip, so I’m basically sending you on a paid vacation, here. There’s more information in the files you’ve got.”

Whiskey flips through the pages half-heartedly and gives a curt nod.

“Well!” Agent Champagne slaps his hands on the table decisively. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mazel tov!” With that he ends the transmission.

And that’s how you find yourself at the airport Friday morning with a diamond ring on your left hand and a disgruntled cowboy by your side.

The flight lands in San Francisco without incident, and Jack shifts into doting husband mode as you head to pick up the rental car the agency has reserved. He reaches for your suitcase to load it into the trunk.

“Let me get that for you, sweetheart.”

You give him a saccharine-sweet smile. “I’ve got it, hon.”

You lift the heavy bag with ease and watch his mouth purse for a second before he smiles back.

“I guess my baby’s stronger than she looks.”

The bored-looking attendant sees you off and Jack has you punch in the GPS destination while he eases into the busy freeway traffic. He’s a confident, slightly impatient driver, but you see him relax once you’re over the bridge and sailing smoothly north on Interstate 80.

“So what’s our game plan?” he asks as highway signs for Napa begin to appear, and you reach for your notebook and flip it open.

There’s only one bed.

You probably should have done the math on this as soon as Agent Champagne declared you a married couple, but in the whirlwind of arranging to leave town and the anxiety of stepping into your biggest field operation to date, it hadn’t occurred to you to worry about the precise nature of your accommodations.

Jack sets his bags down and flops onto the bed, letting the soles of his cowboy boots dangle off the end. It’s an exaggerated display of exhaustion, but you’re tired too after a seven-hour flight and another two hours in the car. His lanky body takes up the whole length of the bed and you try not to let your eyes linger as you contemplate the sleeping arrangements.

He picks up on your hesitation.

“This is where I’m supposed to do the gentlemanly thing and let you have the bed all to yourself, huh? Sorry, sister, not gonna happen.” His tone softens. “But I promise I don’t bite. There’s no reason we can’t share.”

The only couch in the room is a small, overstuffed loveseat that you can tell at a glance neither of you would enjoy reclining on for long. So you do the mature thing and agree to sleep with him.

Not like that.

Bill Peterson, the agency’s client, is one of those people who claim to be easygoing while in reality they exude nonstop nervous energy.

“I know exactly who it is,” he tells you in a hushed voice. You and Jack are in his office, under the guise of a private tour of the winery. Peterson has been going over what you already know from the file: that he has a high-value collection of wine held on the estate, as well as a hard drive storing what he’ll only describe as “sensitive” material; that he’s received several vague threats recently; and that with the hustle and bustle of harvest season upon them, he’s concerned his regular security won’t be sufficient to stop the would-be thieves.

“Oh?” you say. “Well, that will be very helpful, Mr. Peterson.”

“Okay,” he amends. “Maybe not exactly, but I can give you a list. Of suspects.”

“We’ve seen the list,” Jack tells him. “But what is it that makes you suspect these folks in particular?”

“They’re mostly other winery owners,” Peterson says. “Everyone on that list was present at a party I attended a few months ago where I—let slip some details about my collection. It was only after that the letters started.”

You and Jack exchange a glance. You’re both wondering if “let slip” isn’t code for “bragged loudly.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t gone to the police?” you ask. His eyes narrow.

“I value discretion,” he says tightly. “Anyway—I’m not sure they’d consider the threats actionable.”

“Can we see them?” Jack asks.

“Of course.” He retrieves a small stack from his desk drawer. You and Whiskey put your heads together to pore over them.

They’re all written by one person, in slanted, blocky handwriting.

YOU WILL PAY.

YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING.

YOUR EMPIRE WILL CRUMBLE.

WE WILL CRUSH YOU.

“Is there another one?” you check. “There are five envelopes but only four notes.”

Peterson hesitates, then shrugs and shakes his head. He’s lying, but you don’t push it.

“There is one other thing,” he says. “I keep seeing this blue truck—but it’s like he doesn’t want to be spotted. I see it slow down like he’s scoping out the place, but then he speeds off as soon as he sees I’ve noticed. I tried to get the license plate but it was covered in mud.” He scoffs. “We haven’t had any rain in months.”

Jack has him describe the vehicle and where he’s seen it, while you take notes.

“Alright, Mr. Peterson. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

“Thank you. Oh—here.” He hands you a pair of vouchers for a free wine tasting. “They come with the tour. One thing you should know about Napa—you’ll only really blend in if you’ve got a glass of wine in your hand.”

Jack’s code name is Whiskey for a reason. He’s a spirits man through and through and he doesn’t give the tasting room a second look, ushering you out to get back to your room to regroup. Admittedly, it’s only 10 AM, but you would have enjoyed a few sips of merlot. You’re craning your neck a little to look at the wine list posted by the door—just out of curiosity—when he startles you by taking your hand in his. You look at him. He’s staring ahead, holding your hand like it’s nothing as you walk side by side. Finally, your brain catches up and your nine credits of college acting classes kick in and you plaster a loving smile onto your face, leaning closer.

In the privacy of your little rented cottage, you pull out your notes again to review.

“Peterson is lying about something,” you start. Jack nods distractedly.

“Yeah—listen, before we get into that, I need to ask you. You jumped when I held your hand back there,” he observes.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment. He’s calling you out on your inexperience, the rookie agent who can’t even play-act for a simple assignment. You can do it, you know. Being undercover in the field is just still new to you. He could help you instead of being critical.

“Sorry—”

“It’s my opinion,” he says, with a slight frown, “that a man who doesn’t treat his wife a certain way is no man at all.”

You’re lost, suddenly. “Sorry?”

“What I’m askin’ is, do I have your permission to touch you like you’re my wife when other people are around?”

Oh.

Something about the way he’s worded it makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Oh. Yes. Touch me like…?” You swallow. “Like how, exactly?”

He gives you a steady look.

“Intimately.”

That’s fine. You’re fine with that.

“Right. That’s—” you nod, maybe a little too emphatically. “That’s okay.”

You look down, fingering the pages of your notebook again, trying to refocus on the more analytical side of the job, when another thought occurs to you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you blurt.

“Shit, Violet, that’s part and parcel of it.”

“It’s Violette,” you tell him with a frown.

“Sorry.”

“Do you even know my real name?”

“Of course I do,” he says. You don’t push it but you also don’t know whether to believe him. He’s shown little interest in working with you this entire week.

Jack takes a step towards you.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. “So you don’t jump like a rabbit when I do it in public.”

You take a breath. Suck your bottom lip between your teeth involuntarily.

“Okay,” you tell him.

Your eyes fall shut as he leans in. You feel his fingers steadying your chin, tilting your face to meet his, and then his lips touching your mouth, light, tentative—teasing, your mind prompts, and the thought makes you feel flushed again. When you don’t shy away he presses closer and you’re not sure which of you is to blame when your lips part and his tongue brushes yours.

You were expecting it, so you don’t jump, but you feel a little trembly when he pulls away. He doesn’t step back right away—instead, his lips hover over your skin, mustache coarse against your soft cheek, as he tucks his mouth by your ear and quietly, intimately, says your name.

“So you think Peterson is lying,” he says, picking up the thread from before.

“Um,” you say, forcing your brain to switch back to work mode. Your whole body feels warm. “Yes. Don’t you think he seemed shady?”

Jack shrugs. “Call me jaded, I think most people are shady. But I agree with you. He lied about the missing letter. I fuckin’ hate when clients do that. What do you think about the blue truck he saw?”

“I think that could be something.”

You open your laptop and with a few keystrokes you’ve used a Statesman backdoor into the DMV system, where you enter the make, model, and color of the vehicle Peterson had described. There are no matching hits within Napa County, so you expand the search. It’s an unpopular color, so there are only a few dozen matches in the state. None of the owners’ names are on the list of suspects you’ve been given.

“He said he hasn’t seen it around town, only driving by his property. And we don’t know who owns it. So how do we find the car?” you wonder.

Jack is silent for a minute. You watch as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“I have an idea.”

This case originated at Statesman’s Kentucky headquarters, so Agent Ginger Ale is your tech liaison. It’s clear from their dynamic that she and Agent Whiskey have worked together before. Having her voice in your ear is a source of comfort as you carry out Jack’s great idea—which you’re not 100% sure you’re on board with.

“Don’t you need some kind of license to operate this?” you ask tentatively.

“Technically, on paper, he has one,” Ginger offers. “Well, Johnny Davenport does, anyway. As of twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s a balloon and a basket, how complicated could it be,” Jack grouses. This doesn’t exactly raise your confidence.

“Just don’t crash this one, Jack,” she pleads.

“This one?!”

He shakes his head. “You have one helicopter fail on you and they never let you live it down. Don’t listen to Ginger.”

To his credit, Jack pilots the hot air balloon much more smoothly than you’d expected, and after some time you feel yourself relaxing and enjoying the view. It’s early October and the landscape is a mix of green and brown from the last of the summer heat. Tidy rows of grape vines are bordered by houses and larger wineries, copses of trees, and fields dotted with grazing cows. Tiny workers move methodically among the vines, busy harvesting fruit to be pressed and fermented. Through it all, highways and winding roads run alongside the properties, and this is where you refocus your attention.

Ginger has programmed your binoculars to register any vehicles matching the description of the blue truck you’re seeking. You train the lenses on the backroads and driveways, looking for private hiding places it could be stashed.

The whole endeavor feels like a long shot, and you’re just on the verge of suggesting you give up and head back to base when the binocs let out a high-pitched beep of recognition, zooming in on your target.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “I can’t believe this worked.”

“I told you it would,” Jack says, looking smug. “What is that place?”

Ginger has looked up the coordinates before you have a chance to do it yourself.

“It’s a winery… Double Loop Vineyards. Do you guys know that name?”

You recognize it immediately. The owner is one of the names on Bill Peterson’s list of suspects.

You and Jack exchange a look.

“Guess we’re goin’ wine tasting at Double Loop,” he says, and he turns to start your descent.

The tasting room at Double Loop Vineyards is a large, tastefully decorated space that looks like it was converted from an old barn. It’s all dark wood and ceiling beams, and a bar runs along the back and right side walls. When you and Jack step inside, you’re greeted by a tall young woman with a pixie haircut and striking cheekbones. She’s wearing a name tag that reads Eva.

You settle in front of her at the bar and she pulls out a pair of glasses and pours a splash of white into each to get you started. You take a sip and peruse the small menu on the bartop.

“She’ll have the red flight,” Jack says, “And I’ll just have a glass. Can you recommend me something… full-bodied?”

As he says it he palms your hip suggestively, pulling you to him a little closer. You laugh, mortified but amused despite yourself, and he shoots you a wink.

Eva takes it in stride. “I can offer you a cabernet sauvignon that’s got legs for days.”

“That’ll do me just fine, thank you.”

You’re the only visitors in the tasting room for the moment so you have her undivided attention. She’s skilled at making small talk to keep you charmed and at ease; eventually she asks something more personal.

“So I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend soon,” she tells you. “And I’m trying to figure out how to do it. I’m like crowdsourcing ideas. You two are such a cute couple—can I ask how you got engaged?”

You and Jack exchange a glance and you give him a sweet smile. “You tell it, honey.”

“Well,” he says, keeping his eyes on you for a long moment before he finally looks away to face Eva, “I knew I wanted to marry her, and I had this whole plan in mind. I wanted something special for my Violet so I was going to take her on a trip—my buddy has this little cabin on the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen—and make her favorite dinner, and sit down with a glass of something nice. And then I was going to present her with this beautiful piece of hand-carved wood that spelled out, Will. You. Marry. Me.”

He pauses to take a sip of his cab while Eva says, “Aww,” and looks at you like, what a sweet partner you have.

“Now the thing is,” he continues, warming up to the story, “as Violet can tell you herself, I have never carved a single thing in my life. And somehow, like a dumbass, I was convinced I could make this plaque and do it perfectly. But it looked just awful. And it was taking me so long trying to get it right I could tell she was starting to wonder if I was stringing her along.”

You shake your head in protest and he laughs. “You were! You’d look at me like, why has this fool not married me yet.”

Eva laughs, too. “So what happened?”

Jack lets out an aggrieved sigh. “What happened was, I caught the flu. Just the most dog-sick, pathetic man, all sweaty with fever and miserable to boot. And Violet never hesitated, she bundled me up and cooked me soup and tolerated my whining and she’d read me to sleep when my eyes couldn’t even focus on the TV. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I thought, I need to hold on to this woman forever, and I asked her right then and there.”

His voice cracks a little on the last sentence and you’re shocked to realize your own eyes are damp with tears. You’re not sure which part, or how much, but something in that story sounded true and it’s left you with a strange sense of heartache. You lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss across his knuckles, watching his face soften.

“Okay,” Eva says. “So I guess I’ll add ‘get the flu’ to my list of ideas.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Jack tells her, “but I don’t not recommend it.”

As you finish your flight and Eva rings up a couple of bottles you’ve chosen to purchase—you’re not sure if these classify as company expenses, but you enjoyed them enough you’ll pay out of pocket if you must—she asks where else in the wine country you’ve been to so far.

“We spent some time at the winery right next to the place we’re staying—actually, we got to meet the owner there, what was his name, baby?”

You keep your tone casual, but you watch her face as you reply. “Bill Peterson, I think it was?”

Eva’s expression falters, just for a moment, before she recovers and plasters on a polite smile. “They’ve got a great pinot noir over there.”

“Not as good as these,” you tell her, just to see her smile turn genuine.

A tour group walks in just then so you take your leave and step outside into the late afternoon sunshine. When Jack takes your hand this time you let him, and you don’t mind it.

The blue truck is parked out back. You walk along the side of the building, just a pair of happy tourists slightly buzzed on red wine out to take in the view, until you get close enough to make note of the license plate. Back in your own car, you run a search on it and identify the owner: a young man named Lucas Trent. The address on the registration is in Paso Robles, a town 250 miles south of here, but you do some digging and find he’s a vineyard worker at Double Loop.

“So what’s the connection to Peterson?” Jack wonders.

“Look at this.” You point at the screen and he squints. “He’s only been at Double Loop for six months. Before that—”

“He worked for Peterson,” Jack finishes. “So he’s mad about getting fired and wants to get back at his old boss.”

“Maybe,” you say, frowning. “We don’t really know yet. But it’s a theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” he insists.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, mulling it over.

“Tell me this, rookie,” he says. “You ever been on a stakeout?”

On your first ever stakeout that evening, you quickly learn a few things:

Stakeouts are cold. Stakeouts are boring. And rental cars are not designed to accommodate them.

You shift uncomfortably for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

“How do we even know he’ll show up tonight?” you ask. In the quiet of the night you keep your voice hushed.

“Call it intuition,” Jack says. You can tell he hates sitting still this long, too, but he’s clearly built up a tolerance for it over the years, because he’s not wriggling around nearly as much as you.

“Can I ask you something?”

He grunts an assent.

“That story about how you proposed—how did you come up with that?”

He pauses.

“I just—made it up,” he says.

“I thought it seemed…” you start. He gives you a sidelong glance. “Never mind. You’re a good improviser.”

After a minute, he says, “I was engaged once. A long time ago.”

“Oh.” You bite your cheek, holding back your questions.

“She died,” he adds. Your heart drops.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course,” you say, helplessly.

Never in your life have you been more grateful to see a criminal approaching than when you see the familiar shape of Lucas Trent’s blue truck appear down the road.

“Ha,” Jack says, looking a little less glum. “What’d I tell you. Intuition never fails me.”

You take deep, silent breaths, trying to control your fast-beating heart as you creep behind Jack to follow Lucas inside the building. He’s got a key to Peterson’s winery; he must have stolen it before he left the job, you think. He heads down the hall, past Peterson’s office, and disappears behind a door.

Jack motions for you to wait a moment, listening intently outside the door. You hear nothing but the quiet thump of Lucas’s footsteps, growing fainter until there’s only silence, and finally Jack eases open the door. You’re faced with a short flight of stairs heading down into a cellar. The two of you tiptoe down the stairs.

You nearly bump into Jack at the bottom when he stops dead in his tracks, still hidden in the shadows. Peering around him, you see that Lucas isn’t alone in the room. Bill Peterson is here, too, standing next to a small wooden desk.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bill demands. Lucas stares at him sullenly. “You came here to steal from me, didn’t you? You didn’t think I’d be down here.”

“I just want what’s mine,” the young man growls. “You’re the thief, not me.”

Lucas steps further into the room, toward the back wall. The space is filled with racks of carefully preserved wine bottles—Peterson’s precious collection, you register—and a pile of empty wooden barrels, stacked two high.

“Those bottles are insured,” Peterson calls after him. “You’ll get caught if you try to sell them.”

Lucas says nothing, just continues walking until he reaches the wall. At the back of the cellar, he pushes aside a tapestry to reveal a combination safe embedded in the wall. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk, and punches in the code.

“How the fuck do you know that number?” Peterson roars, finally scared. He rushes past the racks of wine, suddenly worthless compared to whatever is on the flash drive Lucas has just retrieved from the safe. When they start to tussle over it, Jack finally steps in.

“Hey!” he yells, striding into the light. The men look over, startled, and then Peterson looks relieved. He lets go of Lucas, seemingly confident that his hired security will take care of the situation, and retreats to stand next to Jack.

“Get that back from him,” he tells him. Jack gives him a long, unimpressed look, and then turns his focus on Lucas, who’s starting to look slightly panicky now that he’s outnumbered.

“Listen, son. This will all go a lot easier if you just put that back where you found it and walk out of here with me.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucas protests. “He’s stealing from everyone. This is the proof.”

Peterson shifts on his feet, looking guilty. “Bullshit,” he says. “You resent me for being the boss, but I’ve worked for every penny I’ve got.”

Lucas lets out a humorless, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, you work real hard. You must break a sweat making copies of your accounts so you can lie about the numbers. I bet you have blisters on your hands from shortchanging your workers.”

Jack makes a mistake here—he takes his eyes off the suspect to look at Mr. Peterson in a new light, trying to gauge which of them is telling the truth. And in that split second, to your horror, Lucas hurtles forward and shoves the stacked wine barrels, hard, knocking both Jack and Peterson onto the ground.

You make a mistake, too, and he gets on your case about it afterwards. You let Lucas slip past you in your rush to reach Jack’s side. He looks dazed and angry and his legs are trapped under the hundred-pound barrel. Gathering your strength, you lift it off of him and set it upright, then fall to your knees to check him over.

“Jack! Are you alright?” You feel carefully along his legs, then gently at the back of his head, running your fingers over his scalp to check for bumps or bleeding.

“I’m okay,” he mutters. “I didn’t hit my head.” But he winces as you help him up, and he’s moving a little gingerly when he takes a step. “Might’ve tweaked my ankle,” he admits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Peterson yells. “You let that little shit get away with my property.”

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Peterson,” Jack growls. “Was it true what he said, about the double accounts?”

“I don’t see how that matters,” he insists angrily. “I hired you to do a job, and I expected a lot better.”

“I’ll tell you why it matters,” Jack tells him. “I don’t work for people who lie to me. Consider the contract dissolved. You can get your ‘property’ back on your own.”

“Actually, you got lucky, Mr. Peterson,” you call back over your shoulder as you help Jack walk over to the stairs. “If we had gotten our hands on that drive, we would have been obligated to turn it over to the IRS. Statesman has connections in the government, too, you know.”

And with that, you leave him sputtering and pale, alone with his precious wine.

It’s 3 AM when you get back to the room. Jack’s ankle isn’t broken, just twisted. You’d made him wait in the car while you stopped at a 24-hour convenience store to get ice on the way, so now you get him tucked into bed with his foot elevated and a baggie of ice draped over his ankle. He’s clearly still peeved over how things went down with Peterson, but he also looks amused watching you play nursemaid for him.

“You know, I’ve been hurt a hell of a lot worse than this before,” he tells you. “I can take care of myself.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Getting badly injured isn’t the brag you think it is,” you counter. “And… you shouldn’t have to take care of it alone. That’s what I’m here for. I know you think I’m just a rookie, but—for this job, we’re partners, right?”

He’s silent for a beat, but then he nods.

Jack is still awake and waiting for you when you return from the bathroom in your pajamas. As you climb into your side of the bed, he says, “I don’t think you’re just a rookie. You did a good job on this case.”

The room is dark but there’s moonlight streaming in through the window, casting a beam of light across his face on the pillow. He’s looking at you. You look back.

“Thank you,” you tell him finally.

“Thanks for the ice,” he returns. He lets out a sigh as his eyes drift shut, and as you follow suit you feel his hand reach out and intertwine with yours.

“G’night, Violet,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

He laughs, and you grin in the dark, and you hold on tight.

[lurafita]

Pirate Malec AU

Mostly raw dialoge that I will likely never write.

Okay, but like, pirate au but with powers (of ones choosing). The premise is that marine Sergeant Alec went undercover in order to arrest the notorious captain bane. When he hasn't returned after a year, his siblings grow worried and against orders, go in themselves. They find the Pirates in some small Port town, partying with the villagers. They spot Alec quickly in the midst, seemingly enjoying himself. Thinking their brother will give them an easy in with the captain and Crew and then they can help alec take them all in. Of course that doesn’t happen. Not only is alec extremely unhappy to see them, he also outs them to the pirates immediately. Izzy and Jace are so shocked it takes them a while to realize that the pirates aren't attacking them.

Later, in a more private accomodation, talks happen. Alec: "They aren't bad people." Jace: "They are pirates!" Alec: "They saved this very town from a tyrant. They beat two of the ten most dangerous and wanted pirates out there and left them for the Marines to imprison. It's because of them the corruption of the 46th unit of the marine corps came to light. the year I sailed with them, I have saved more people than in my whole military career. Magnus is good, and kind, and more noble than a lot of the people I used to serve under. I won't let you or anyone else lay a hand on him. …. or anyone else of the Crew." Izzy: "You are in love with him." Jace: "You could have told us. We could have arranged a covert meet up. Hell, you could have sent us a fucking carrier bird with a written message. Anything would have been better than letting us think that something may have happened to you!" Alec: "I couldn’t trust you." Izzy, hurt: "Couldn’t trust us? Us?!" Jace, hurt also: "Alec!" Alec: "I'm sorry. I really am. But…. Not with him. With anything else. With my life. But not with Magnus. " Then izzy and jace get up and leave the room. Alec stays behind, dejected.

Later Magnus finds izzy and jace.

Magnus: "This might not be my place to ask, but please try not to be too hard with your brother." Izzy: "he said he doesn't trust us." Magnus: "He does." Jace, scoffing: "Apparently with anything else but you." Magnus: "you all are victims of poor Timing. He does trust you. He missed you. Right now, he just isn't in the right frame of mind."

Izzy: "Why? What could have possibly happened that he would question our loyalty to him?" Jace: "And it better be a good fucking reason because he pissed me off big time!" Magnus: "It's my fault. A while ago, we were anchored at a bigger Port. There we met … someone from my past. An ex girlfriend, and the kind of pirate that you really should arrest if ever you get the opportunity. Captain Camille Belcourt. She came to me asking for help. Said she had changed, that she was trying to make up for her past misdeeds. That there were children in danger. Alexander was suspicious, so was the rest of the Crew, but I… I thought I knew her, that I could read her. Maybe I just wanted to believe that she was capable of more than casual cruelty, and that the Version of her I had loved once, wasn't just a facade. Maybe I was just cocky and reckless. I went alone to meet up with her, and she captured me abroad her ship and sailed off. I was her prisoner for 3 weeks, and the accomodations… left a lot to be desired. When Alexander and the Crew finally caught up and managed to free me, I was on the verge of death. It took me almost 4 months to recover, and for a while, we weren’t sure if I would ever be able to walk again. It's still too fresh in his mind. In everyone’s. It's the reason we came here, to get a bit of a change of scenery. Alexander has been very protective of me. Seeing you has most likely brought up some unpleasant associations with the Marines and incarcerations and seeing me in chains. He loves you. He trusts you. Right now, it's just bad timing."

(do forgive the typos I wrote that on my phone and my phone hates me)

[kaylaz-world-00]

Laserhawk!Rayman x Reader

A/n: Okay, I couldn't help myself and write this down. I've been thinking about this idea for a while now. I've been not going to any airports for such a long time, forvgive me if I made a mistake. This is not the special for 300 followers so you know~👀

I am sorry if there is any typo mistakes. I wrote the end in a rush 😭

Summery; You and Rayman trying to go to your arranged hotel peacfully.

Warnings: cursing, guns.

Masterlist

Words: 3.4k

Taglist: @blorbostation @eateableworm @livelaughluvvfaithyy @darkchanx @astoraa @shiroisotto64

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

Dear anons; I would really appreciate it if you could choose an emoji while sending your asks and requests (and stick with it) so I can tell you apart. Thank you~

Hotel

"We are sorry but you can't go through unless you show us a proof that you are infact his manager. Rayman doesn't seem to be very aware of your presence either. If you are lying--"

You growled, "What do you mean I can't go through?! Didn't I just tell you that I was Rayman's manager?" You were angry alright. You could see Rayman from your point against the few guards in front of you. He was surrounded by young kids. My god. Why would there be so many children at the airport at this hour anyway? Now how were you going to convince these fuckers? You didn't want to have to deal with these jerks in the middle of the airport with a bunch of luggage. It was too late at night for that.

"I'm not lying! I can't find my cards and information, they must be in Rayman's bag. At least let me call out to him-" you were stopped by them once again. Normally this wouldn't be such a problem, but you were experiencing this because they found a few... unapproved items on you. To be more specific, weapons. They slowly advanced towards you, making clear their guns precence to you. They weren't pointing it at you... yet. You frowned. It was a warning.

You glared and slowly spoke for them in your own warning tone, calmly stepping back and slightly raising your hands in the air, "I'm his bodyguard. Okay? That's why I keep them with me. At all times. You never know... what might happen any moment." You didn't want to cause a scene here right now. You reminded yourself that you are in the middle of an airport with a lot of bystanders and especially children around you.

"A second ago, you said you were a manager. When did that change? I'm sorry, but I think you're just trying to get out of trouble, but that won't work. We have no reason to believe you. Now come with us without making a scene." You were trying so hard for this right now.

"I'm doing both! I'm telling the truth. Just lemme--" You couldn't keep your calm any longer as they were coming towards you like a truck, and you wouldn't stood still staring like a deer, you couldn't do that. There was a great injustice here and you were definitely can't stand it. You called out to Rayman one last time before you could do anything wrong. If he didn't have your phone, you would have called him already. "RAYMAN, COME HERE Damn it!" you shouted but in vain, it was impossible for him to hear your voice over all the noise, you just hoped he would notice your absence. Right away.

Luckily, Rayman finally managed to notice your absence before security could do anything. You might have laughed if you weren't so tired at the look on his face when his eyes caught your figure. You gestured for him to come here immediately. Now. He looked so scared by your expression that you could have laughed at that. He ran over to you as he apologized to the kids, "Hey, hey! They're with me!" He quickly took out his card and showed it to them with a polite smile.

You rolled your eyes when they were finally convinced to let you in. Rayman helped you carry the luggages. He apologized to you several times as you stared ahead listlessly.

"I thougt you were right behind me! I forget that I was the one carrying your cards! I am really sorry."

You huffed in defeat, "No, it's fine, kids come first." You chuckled tiredly, "It was my fault I should have been the one carrying them in the first place. Whatever let's just catch the plane before they leave without us." You glance at your wrist. "We are only minutes away, god those fuckers took all our time. I suggest we start running." And you did just that, alerting Rayman along with it.

He start running along with you, "Hey, no need to rush Mr/Miss OCPD! We can always buy tickets for another one for today."

"Today? You mean tomorrow?" You scoffed. It was nearly midnight. "I don't want to stay up all night. It's already too late, let's just go. Also I don't have a Obsessive whatever personality disorder, I am just punctual. All my jobs are planned and need to be in time. Especially yours! Do you know how much pain in the ass would be for me if you miss something?! God, Eden would kill me." It's not even like they pay you good for your every success. It wasn't yours it was his success.

He was out of breath from the long, fast, non-stop run, as if you were going to get a reward at the end of it, but he still let out a laugh. But you were going to do whatever it took to get the job done, "Sure. You are a people-pleaser--" he start counting as you rolled your eyes.

"Look who is talking."

"You have Anxiety, obsession, probably dyspraxia too."

"Okay now you are going too far, you jerk. I am completaly a normal person trying to live a normal life. How normal it could be as long as I am stuck with you Mr. Rayman. The man who sheds light in the darkness."

"I'm taking this as a compliment."

The two of you were finally able to board the plane before it took off. You wanted to say that you could finally breathe a sigh of relief, but your clumsiness didn't quite allow it and continued to be a pain in the ass for you.

"You should be happy that we got the best seats. Because I am! Do you think we could see some nice view when we are up above? I heard the weather will be clear tonight." He daydreamed as he looked outside of the window with the biggest grin you ever saw on him.

"Yeah, sure whatever." You grumbled as you tried to push your suitcase into the compartment above your seat. You were obviously struggling but eventually managed to get it inside and quickly closed the compartment with anger and impatience. And finally sat down next to Rayman with a sigh, you can relax a bit now. Your body ached from all the things you were carrying and running around so much causing your frown to deepend.

You give a real remark to his previous statement, "How nice of Eden to be such a gentleman and give us the money for two tickets first-class plane. Unlike the last time..." You scoffed.

Finally deciding to look at you, he took his eyes off the window and turned to you, already aware of your discomfort and exhaustion and hoping to finally address it gently, muttering, "Hey, how about you relax a bit? We've got a four-hour flight. Sleep could do you good. You look like you've been up all night for three days straight. You're much crankier than usual. And you definitely need makeup. For your under eyes." He nervously eyed you.

You rolled your eyes at that, suppressing a sudden yawn appeared in your chest at the mention of sleep, "What a coincidence. How did you know? I've been working and writing non-stop for three days. Trying to get your work done."

He turned to you with a warm smile and a bit of embarrassment, "Hey, you're a lifesaver, okay? But I'm serious. Sleep. I'll wake you up when we land. Don't worry about me or yourself. If anyone tries anything, I have something up my sleeve too." He whispered with a grin and whinked.

"How reassuring. But you're right. I really need some sleep." You needed to gather your strength and mind for tomorrow. You couldn't be this anxious and stressed. Nor this lose and tired. You sighed in defeat and turned onto your side. He didn't say anything and you didn't need to hear any more.

You've been working all your life to get what you want to be like the majority. You always wanted to be able to make a change for the world. Working with Eden wasn't your biggest dream, in fact, quite the opposite. You hated them. But you had no choice. And you were forced to do this. But if it would make a difference, you would even be willing to die. You followed Rayman wherever he went, in a way you became his bodyguard. It didn't take long for you to receive that title from Eden. It had become official, and frankly, it made your job a lot easier. The fact that you knew how to fight was a bonus to them and a reason to use you. But after meeting Rayman and becoming his manager, something changed... He always manages to get into trouble, even if you don't know how, but you were always there to save him. Physically, of course. He already knew how to verbally get himself out of shit. At least that's what you hoped for. Even though some of his words might cause fights in some places... you finally know he doesn't meant to. You knew how much of a trouble Eden could be. So much so that sometimes Rayman needed you not just as a bodyguard or a manager, but as a friend... Rayman needed you to be there... he needed you to support him. He was needy, isolated, manipulated. And you are not saying any of this to insult him. Before that, you didn't realize he was actually innocent... and you continued to remain cold and distant, but he was always innocent, to say the least. You decided to be there for him after learning that. You don’t know why you decided on that. Maybe it was conscience. Or the unfair threatment he is having. Your sense of justice did not allow this. You wanted to help so badly. Even if it means throwing away your job. Yes, you've come to that point. You couldn't believe it yourself either. You saw the real him. Not the person on TV who lies and smiles through his teeth, the face Eden shows. He was defenseless behind the walls he built himself, he was being victimized and used by the company he worked for, even though he had little knowledge and was unaware of it. He was made to believe that what he was doing was a good thing, he was made to believe that he was saved, he put up with what Eden did to him for the sake of the children and for peace. He had no one to call his real friend, damn it! You would have wanted to fill that out, but... the only part you were allowed to do was keep him safe and pass on information. And nothing else.

You slept deeply and surprisingly restfully for the four hours until the plane landed. You woke up soundly asleep without anyone even having to wake you up, which surprised you. Normally this would never happen, especially in a place where you sleep outside of your bed. You were a light sleeper too. So it was normal while you wake up while landing but Rayman didn't woke you up? After yawning a little, you were about to get up to get your suitcase when you notice the weight on your shoulder and glance at your side. Your lips turned into a soft smile upon noticing Rayman was sleeping sound asleep, leaning against you, in a deep slumber.

You couldn't help but giggle, "And here I was hoping you'd stay awake the whole flight. Who am I kidding? Rayman and not sleeping?" How were you going to wake him up now? He's a really heavy sleeper. Your experiences speak for you right now. It's almost impossible to wake him up. Actually you have to but do you want to? He looked really relaxed and happy. Ah, come on he always looks like that! Just wake him up! But... something about that soft smile plastered on his lips telling you this was a real smile unlike the ones he seems to wear on his face all the time. Especially in front of the camera.

You pouted, this is your job and the two of you can't stay on this plane all day… besides, Rayman can sleep at the hotel Eden arranged for you two. Also, you didn't want to be late for your meeting...

You nudge his side. You knew a little nudge won't help him but you started of slow and gentle. You were in a good mood today. "Hey, Ray Ray." You whispered, calling out his nickname. You pushed his head on the other side and turn to him, "Ray! Wake up!" You hold onto hid hand and shook them, "Ray, Rayman! Wake up!!" You get up starting to shook his body, "This isn't sleeping you idiot! This is dying! COME ON! WAKE UP!" You grabbed his clothes and jolt him a few times, you were up infront of him by now, with all your might you continued, "Come on! We landed! Wake up, we need to go! You can sleep later!" You were about to slap him, "If you don't wake up right now I'll throw you off of the fucking plane!" He grumbled a few words hard to understand causing you to halt and lower your hand on his chest once again gripping his clothes. He was still asleep.

You fucking ask for that. You groaned as you wrapped your arms around his body and lifted him up. "God, you're a lot heavier than you look." You huffed and start to carry him towards the exit of the plane.

"I'm fucking throwing you out." You weren't actually gonna do that. You were hoping he would wake up as cold fresh air of the night swarm him. Almost all passengers on the plane had disembarked. The rest were still looking at you strangely because of what had just happened. You didn't pay any attention to them and continued on your way. Even the way you carried Rayman was weird. But how else were you going to carry him when half of the man didn't... exist? His arms and legs were nope, and the only place you could hold on to was his chest. His feet and hands were almost rubbing on the ground. He was still asleep with his head on your shoulder. Oh my god.

When you finally reached the door, you barely lifted him into the air and held him out against the night wind. Even you were cold when you realized he was shivering, he whined a few times and winced. He muttered something about him awoke and rubbed his eyes. Of course you didn't believe that, "If you don't really wake up right now, I'll let you go, don't test my patience. You'll fall down the stairs. My arms are already torn off. Lose some weight."

He grumbled, voice horse from just waking up, it was clear four hours wasn't excatly enough to satisfy his tired body, "You lose some. I am perfectly fine, thank you. You are heavier than I am." He pouted sleepily. "Also... Please put me down my butt is freezing here."

You muttered, "Your ass is freezing because of you."

You scoffed and do as he wished, sighing in relief when you got your aching arms back, massaging them gently, you couldn't hold yourself back from talking further, "We are nearly at the same weight. But you are half of my height. You are fucking heavhy. How dare you can insult me? You are a pain in the ass to wake up! Why I have to be the one to suffer everytime!? Pray that I am in a good mood today or you've been on the cold concrate with a terrible headache."

"You love me too much for that. You wouldn't do that to your favorite... would you?" He hesitate.

While the hostess watch you both argue back and forth like married couples, she couldn't help but smiled at your relationship. You were finally able to wake him up and gather your belongies, finding a taxi and finally on your way to your arranged hotel. Thank god.

While on your way you did everything in your power to not let him fall asleep again. Him grumbling everytime he was woken up before he could sleep on your shoulder.

"I am not gonna carry all that suitcase myself."

"I am not sleeping." He grumbled.

And he fall asleep afterwas. You will gonna rub that in his face later. When you finally arrived at the hotel, luckily the taxi driver was a kind person and helped you carry your belongings. Rayman was still sleeping on the bed you carried to his room while you pay the driver. After closing the door you took a deep breath and sat on the bed. Finally, you can breath a little. Sun already risen, it’s 8 in the morning. Four hours passed, huh? You had still time until your arranged meeting… You pondered to yourself. You watched him sleep a bit, the way he calmly breathed, his chest slowly rising and falling, his blonde locks of hair covering his eyes. He looked so serene.

You get up and reached towards the door. Giving a final glance at the soundly asleep boss of yours, you get out of his room. You already left all his suitcases in his room. He can do whatever he wants with then when he wakes up. You both gonna stay two weeks in there. Reporting things and such. Whatever Rayman does. You heard there is a beach nearby too. Though it was too cold to swim. You are sure Eden especially choose this time around on purpose. Just to tease you two. Those fuckers.

You went past your own room and went straight ahead for the elevator and pressed the top floor. You want to see the view.

After a bit of wait the doors opened with a ding. You walked in the penthouse, glancing around, observing the nice view with a deep happy sigh.

You closed your eyes with a smile. But it faded quickly, you gripped the earphone between your two fingers. You sighed with a thoughtful expression, putting it in your ear and pressed it on, calling for the only contact inside. Before you could even open your mouth, a very familiar voice quickly answered from the other side. "Light. It's been so long since I've heard from you! Honestly, it's good to see you're calling. Do you have something to report?" Light... that was your code name.

"Bullfrog." You greeted back, "Actually no... This time... I need to talk to you... like a friend."

You waited for him to say something. Hearing a few gunshot and a grunt from him your expression soured, "Fuck, was this a bad time?"

"Non, non, not at all. Just gimme a sec."

You waited a few minutes for him. You heard him fight with a few armed people. He heaved a sigh, "I would like to talk also, mon ami. What's up?"

You sighed, "It's about our mission... I can't... I can't do this to him. I want to tell him--"

"If you do you would risk our mission." He sounded serious but you are too.

You chuckled, "Aren't we always under heavhy danger?"

"I always trust your instincts you know that. But you actually believe he could change just so you said so? He believes he is doing good."

"I know. Don't worry, I am not gonna do anything that can risk the mission or us. I just need a right moment. I know we can able to get him to our side." You knew Bullfrog didn't actually believe what you said.

You heard him sigh, you knew he wanted to argue about that, he only softly speak up a few words, "I find it hard, mon ami. Just be more carifull." You heard more gun shots on his side. "I need to go. We'll talk more about this later. You just continue observing." You were an agent after all.

"You want to meet?"

"That's too risky. Just wait for my call."

"Alright. Try to stay alive until then."

"You too, prends soin de toi." He closed the call.

You took a deep breath and took your earphone off. You just need to wait the right time.

The right moment... you wonder...

[oddballwriter]

Late Night Talk

Summary: You and Marc have a hypothetical conversation about the idea of vampirism and what would entail if he were to decide that he wanted to join you in that un-life.

Warnings: Vampire stuff like mentions of drinking blood and other things. Some suggestive talk but it's mostly banter. Some talk of cnc if you squint at certain parts but this is not smut.

Author’s Snip: I wrote this last night while running off barely six hours of sleep and most of a Monster energy can at some time around midnight. If there are typos then I'm sorry. Enjoy the vampire YN though.

Notes: This one shot is not in the Dwelling in the Night canon, this exists on its own.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 876

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (You too can join the taglist! Just ask!)

"What do you mean it's complicated?" Marc asked after you gave a weird answer to his hypothetical question.

"Vampirism is a very hard thing to get used to for both parties. You'd have to get used to the new lifestyle and also there's the whole thing with fledglinghood," you explain before Marc cuts you off. "Fledglinghood? That's an actual thing?" Marc scoffs. "Believe it or not, Marc Spector. Fledglings are a legit thing in the vampire world and it's something alright," you say. "It's a whole thing. I'd basically have to teach you to adapt and get used to everything as a new vampire." you explain.

Marc lets out an amused scoff again, "I think I could hunt for my own. I had to track down people back before Jake took the job as Moon Knight for me and Steven." he says.

"Oh, that would be another thing," you exclaim. "I don't know how the whole fledgling thing would work because as the one turning you I would basically own your soul and body. Kind of...?" you drawl out, "And that would lead me and the old bird to have a custody battle over you." you add. Marc looks to you confused and slightly shocked. "Listen I don't know how DID works in regards to vampirism and going off the whole story you told me about dying for the second time I can't tell if you, Steven, and Jake count as three parts of a whole soul or you have your own. Also, you guys have the same body so all three of you would have it," you mention, "And I know Steven would hate the eating part of vampirism." you comment.

"True," Marc agrees. "But can we go back to the soul and body owning part? What the hell is that all about? Do I get it back or do you just keep it?" Marc questions. "Yes and no at the same time." you answer, "So if I were to turn you I would technically own you because I have your soul and you would be my fledgling. And in the old vampire world that usually spelled out servitude and other stuff. But in modern times we don't do that, but the soul owning is still a thing." you explain. "What usually happens now is I would own your soul till you were prepared to handle vampirism and control your urges just so you don't cause havoc when you're in a feeding frenzy state. Once you're out of that period I would give you your soul back and you then have autonomy over yourself again," you conclude. "Basically it's like a kiddie leash for vampires. You don't run off and cause trouble." you simplify.

"Huh." Marc responds. "Is that like in the movies? Where it's like trances?" Marc asks. You take a moment to think about it. "If I wanted to, yeah. But I don't usually do that when I can. I can make you do anything and I can control how conscious you are of it." you say. You expect Marc to just nod but something seems to catch his interest. "When you can?" he exclaims, "What the hell does that mean?" he questions. You realize that you've let something slip.

You sigh.

"Okay, don't be mad or freak out. But sometimes when you guys can't sleep or refuse to, I make you fall asleep. That's all I do, I swear. And I don't do it a lot. I only do it when you guys have been up for too long for it to be healthy and when I'm able to." you explain quickly. "And how are you able to?" Marc questions, seemingly slightly concerned. "Only when I've drunk your guys' blood recently." you answer, "I could also do it through eye contact but that's harder to sneak by you and also it freaks me out," you mention. "Freaks you out?" Marc echos. "When I do it through eye contact I can see your mind leave your eyes and you completely untense your body and it just looks freaky to me." you say. "It's not just you. It's when I do it to anyone in general." you clarify.

"I guess you never noticed because you assume someone else took the body and went to sleep," you comment. "Though..." you mutter. Marc looks at you with a quirked eyebrow. You smile nervously, "I think Steven's caught on." you confess. "I have no proof but I swear when I tell him that it's getting late and he should sleep, he kind of...", you pause to think, "He drawls out staying up sometimes. Like he doesn't do anything. Like he's waiting for me to do it," you explain. "I don't know though. I'm not trying to point fingers and accuse him of anything," you remark.

You pretend to not see Marc look towards a reflective surface to his reflection for a second. You don't know what Steven might be saying but Marc looks like he doesn't buy it.

"Well, Steven can get up to whatever he wants. I won't shame him for anything he wants to do." Marc shrugs.

"Jake, though? Oh, 100% he'd be into that kind of stuff. Everything is foreplay to him." Marc half-jokes.

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter twelve | chapter eleven | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: I read a few books and remembered how to write again :) Sorry for being gone for so long. I will be doing a huge revise of the whole story, just because I had planned on doing that all along… and of course I kept putting it off and before I knew it I was almost 15 chapters in, so between the time of posting this updated and chapter 14 and writing chapter 15, just keep in mind that I did not go MIA again, I am working on updates. I'm going to try to get chapter 14 up tomorrow!

**I wrote this at work so if there’s typos, I’m sorry. I tried my best to catch as many I could and I get so eager to post**

word count: 9005

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Thirteen

Fuck, fu–ck, you incoherently hear. The distant sound of someone’s voice draws you out of your state of sleep. Your eyes gently flutter open, eyelashes brushing up against your under eyes as you take a deep breath in and tensing your body up as a way to somewhat stretch your limbs due to the limited space offered by the couch. Must’ve been a part of a dream, you think as the silence makes your ears ring, your eyes darting around at different spots on the ceiling.

A fleeting feeling of intense nausea comes over you, as it does most mornings after you drink. You let a small moan escape past your lips as you run your hand over your stomach; you hate the feeling that you’re about to vomit more than anything. Rolling over onto your side, you nuzzle your face against the back cushion and pull the thick woven blanket further up your body to bask in the remaining warmth. The cold weather arrived early this year, leaving you shivering throughout the nights. 

The longer you stay cuddled into the cushions of the couch, the comfier and more relaxed you become, your limbs now feeling like puddles of liquid.  I’ll get up in a few minutes, you think to yourself, allowing your eyes to become heavy, not fighting your tiredness any longer. The swirling colors that the dim lighting of the room curated behind your eyelids begin to hypnotize you back to sleep.

That is until a loud thud comes from somewhere inside your house, causing you to shoot up from your lying position, still clutching on tightly to the blanket. Panic washes over you and your heart is beating faster than it has in a long time. You have your eyes locked on the staircase, straining your hearing for any indication where the noise may have come from.

God damnit, the quiet but gruff voice of a man causes you to quickly turn around toward the kitchen, more muttering follows, but you can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Just as you begin to take a small step forward, Joel pops up from behind the counter, tossing the paper bag filled with coffee grounds on the surface. He is very visibly frustrated, letting out a soft sigh. You find yourself to be somewhat confused, shifting your eyes just past him; the cabinet door is slightly ajar and two mugs sit side by side on the counter. 

As his head comes past the edge of the counter, the two of you immediately lock eyes, widening at your presence as if he were surprised. You’re in my house, you think. You toss the blanket onto the couch, only breaking eye contact for a few short moments. Joel’s mouth opens slightly, however nothing comes out. 

“You scared me,” You say quietly, yet relieved. Your heart still feels as if it were beating outside of your chest. 

“Shit, sorry,” His words came out as mumbled, resting his palms flat against the edge of the countertop and leaning his weight into his hands. He looks down for a moment, letting out a breath of air as you come around the back of the couch, situating yourself across from him. “I was tryin’ not to wake you.” 

Joel appears to be slightly embarrassed by the current situation, his cheeks very subtly stained pink and he’s rubbing his thumb over the laminate countertop. As the two of you continue to stand there, you can’t help but feel confused; confused as to why he’s in your house, not that you’re upset by the fact– just confused. Although, who knows what you potentially said to him, after James left, the last thing you remember is finishing off the bottle of alcohol while Joel quietly sat at the table across from you, babying the small glass he ended up pouring himself. You cringe at the thought.

“When did you become so… domesticated,” You say dryly, meaning it as a joke, jutting your chin towards the mugs, going up on your tiptoes to see the coffee ground that laid messily in a pile in the ground. It was hard imagining Joel as anyone other than who he’s shown you; a man who will kill to survive– do anything to survive– not someone who brews coffee in the morning for himself and his… whatever. 

Joel follows your gesture, bringing his hand up to his chin, rubbing it gently with his thumb and forefinger. You cock your head waiting for his response. Although you intended it as a joke, you were still curious. This wasn’t typical Joel, not the one you knew, or at least not the one you thought you knew. 

“Was tryin’ to make some coffee before we head out, but I hit my head on the cabinet door and dropped the grounds,” He followed up, gesturing first to the cabinet and then to the loose coffee grounds that were still scattered on the ground.  Joel drew some air before continuing. “I changed your kitchen light by the way, the one that kept flickerin’, nearly gave me a damn headache last night.”

“Last night?” You furrow your brows, the mention of it brings you a sense of impending doom, your stomach twisting up in knots. Closing your eyes, you let out a huff of air. “Right, last night.” 

Your voice sounds muffled. 

With your eyes closed, all you can see is tJames’ face and the way it changed from his sweet smile to a look of utter dismay. You feel guilty for lying to him and you thought that by drinking you could drown out that guilt, but now it’s the next day, you feel even guiltier and you feel like shit. This time, you’ve dug yourself into a hole you weren’t quite sure how you were going to get yourself out of. What do you even tell James? Sorry, the sudden return of a man who, for some reason, I cannot get off my mind and makes my heart flutter like it never has before, caught me off guard so for the time being I’m just going to tell you to fuck off. Please just give me some time and space while I figure things out. No, absolutely not. If it had been anyone else besides James, maybe. 

“Take these,” Joel breaks you out of your thoughts. He’s sliding two pills across the counter and then fills a glass up with water from the sink. “Maybe a shower will help too, you were pretty messed up when I left last night.” 

You let out a small hum, picking up the pills from the counter and throwing your head back, swallowing them at once. Joel continues to watch you carefully, running his eyes all over you. You raise your eyebrows at him, which seems to snap him out of some sort of daze. He clears his throat, turning to the now boiling percolator.

“I got our assignment today,” Joel says. The realization he is returning to patrol makes you happy, something you had been secretly hoping would be the case.

“The hunting sheds,” the two of you say in unison. Joel gives you a single nod, pursing his lips. You simply stare back at him.

The hunting shed was one of your least favorite assignments. It’s fairly easy other than the fact you’re out all day, climbing up and down steep hills. It’s more so tiring than hard, but it’s something that obviously must be done to keep the security of Jackson up to par.

“Yeah, hope you’re ready for a full day of fun,” His tone is sarcastic. You can tell he is definitely not looking forward to it either. 

You give him a very obvious fake smile, letting your palms drag along the counter as you turn to head for the stairs, desperately hoping this shower will be your saving grace from how horrible you feel. 

–

You take the steps downward slowly as you dry your hair with the already damp towel, only stopping for a brief moment on the bottom step when you see Joel sitting at the table. He has one of his ankles propped up on the other leg’s knee, a mug in one hand and the other is holding up one of the old newspapers you always leave on the table. He seems to be engulfed in whatever he’s reading, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes dart across the page, reading it line by line. The massive stack of newspapers that were once neatly stacked on one end of the table are now messily strewn about.

Quietly, you come up from behind him, glancing down at the paper and running your eyes along the bolded article titles. This one you know particularly well after the many rereads you’ve done. September 13, 2003; Community Development Plan Completed, building is to start November of this year!; Jackson Men To Complete 2,350 Mile Kayak Trip, 2,050 Miles down with 300 Miles to go! A part of you wondered if they ever did complete their trip, and did they come back into town to the infected, or how exactly that all went down. 

As you pass Joel, your elbow grazes his bicep, causing him to jump, likely startled by your sudden presence; neither of you say anything. The chair he’s sitting quietly squeaks as he shifts his weight, while you make a beeline directly for the stove. As you reach for the mug Joel set out for you, he clears his throat, causing you to glance at him over your shoulder. 

You let out a small hm, prompting him to spill whatever is currently on his mind before turning back around.

“You read these often?” he says, the paper crinkling as he folds it back up.

“Most mornings… gives me something to do,” you respond dryly as you slowly fill your mug, stream rolling off the top and the moist warmth hitting the bottom side of your chin. 

“Seems like a lifetime ago.” He says in a small voice. The statement is so simple, yet seems loaded. 

“No kidding.” You say softly, you’re not even sure if he heard you. 

You turn around to face him with your mug in hand, giving him a tired look while you run your fingers across the tattered edge of the countertop with your free hand. There is no denying that you feel like shit. The shower didn’t help and you are almost positive the coffee isn’t going to do anything either. Your exhaustion must be obvious because Joel is looking at you sympathetically, carefully watching you as you stand leaning against the edge of the countertop. Taking a sip of your coffee, you look at him through the rim of your mug, the two of you meet each other's eyes. Joel quickly looks away, sitting up straighter in his chair and setting the newspaper down on the table. He lets out a deep sigh, using the wooden surface to push himself upright. 

“I’m gonna go get the horses ready to go,” He says while walking over to the sink and setting his empty upside down, then pulling a thermos out from the side of his bag. “Meet me at the stables in 15 or so… will that be enough time for you?” 

You nod your head, pulling your lip in between your teeth as he turns and walks toward you. 

Placing his hand just above one of your hips, you take a few steps to the side, to which he steps where you were once standing. The feeling on his fingertips against your side makes your stomach jump and you have to fight against your instinct to shiver. He fills his thermos with coffee, you staring at him, watching his face. He glances at you, you can see his throat bob as he prevents the percolator from dripping down the side of his container. The air is still. Your eyes dart down to his bottom lip which he is toying at with his teeth. Your heart begins to thump loudly in your ears, he’s making it hard not to imagine what it’d be like to be the one toying with it for him.

“I’ll see you in a few,” he says awkwardly, and you give him a shy nod.

The moment Joel leaves, you can feel your body relax, letting out a small huff of air. You mindlessly gather different supplies, making sure you have a lunch packed. As you’re doing so, you let your mind wander, how you were going to handle things with James, now that Joel is back. It feels wrong to continue things with James, especially when he’s not who you want– he was never who you wanted. 

Whether Joel feels the same way, doesn’t factor into your decision. 

–

The air is quite a bit chillier than you expected. This year the cold weather has come early, something that sort of threw the community for a loop. The town square is always already filled with people by 6am due to the increased workload in the gardens, making sure everything can be harvested before the cold gets to it. Today was no different, you could hear the bustling of the townspeople the moment you took a step out from your house. The murmurs make your ears buzz. 

You’re messing with the floppy straps of your backpack that always find a way to twist, not quite paying attention as you come out of the side pathway that separates your part of the community and the townsquare. When you finally look up, you immediately notice James and Joel and they are very obviously arguing. People start to slow down as they pass by them, confused as to what could possibly be going on between the two men. You are wondering the same. Did James say something to Joel? Would Joel really be that upset about something like that? You think, slowing your pace. You can feel your eyebrows draw together, your teeth clenching down hard. 

As people pass by, leaving an opening for you to look through, you then notice Nessa standing a few feet behind James as well as Tommy engaged in what seems to be a pretty intense conversation based on his active nodding and hardened facial expression with Maria. You feel your heart sink into your stomach. Continuing your slow pace, you observe the loosely formed group.

Nessa and you catch eyes, a fire is burning behind her eyes, before walking over to Tommy, tapping his shoulder, and gesturing in your direction. In unison, the four all stop their conversations, turning to look at you. They each hold a different facial expression. Joel appears to be heavily annoyed but his look softens when the two of you make eye contact, James looks nervous and mildly perturbed, Tommy’s usually cheery expression has been exchanged for an outright stressed one, and Maria looks concerned yet confident as always. The range of emotions make your stomach churn. 

As soon as you and Tommy make eye contact, he lurches forward, quickly approaching you with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans. You stop in your tracks, hoping he can give you the run down of exactly what the fuck is going on. 

“You’ve been doin’ your patrol alone?” He doesn’t waste time asking, his voice is hushed not wanting the other around to hear. He places his hands on your shoulder and blocks you out of the view of the others. His usual kind, soft eyes are now intense and dark. 

Fuck, you think to yourself, parting your lips ever so slightly, not quite sure what to say. You kept Tommy in the dark about this, not wanting him to worry and honestly, it was better if he didn’t know. You explicitly lied when he would ask you about patrol or when you’d tell him peculiar stories about the events that happened out on patro, usually pulling someone’s name out of thin air whoever was your partner for that day. 

“James came to Maria this mornin’ with some concerns about you,” Tommy adds, anticipating your response, desperately hoping that James’ accusations aren’t the truth, or at least not the whole truth. His expression is pleading, darting from one part of your face to another.

As soon as James’ name rolls past Tommy’s lips, you dart your eyes over to him, who quickly tips his head down toward the ground, completely avoiding you. You can feel your face feel with heat which only makes the throbbing in your head to worsen, and chaos begins to brew in your chest. Fucking James. 

“Tommy,” you say, sounding outright guilty and round your posture. Sweat begins to pool in your palms, soaking into the strap of your bag that you were still tightly holding onto. He lets out a disappointed sigh, shifting his eyes past you. 

“Jesus Christ,” He says breathily, slightly shaking his head. He begins to knead his fingertips into your shoulder blade, taking a moment longer to think. You stare at him blankly. “Okay… we’ll figure this out, just tell Maria the truth, I’ll see what I can do after that… but she is not going to like hearing this.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly in defeat, looking down at your feet before looking back up at Tommy. “I’m sorry Tommy.” 

When he finally looks back at you, he gives you a pitiful smile, one that quickly fades. Sliding his hand back between your shoulder blades, he guides you over to the rest of the ground. Nessa is still giving you a deathly stare, which annoys you because a few days ago the two of you were fine, you were laughing together over some old memory from your time as school girls. What changed so suddenly? 

You can see her mouth move, saying something just quiet enough to where you couldn't hear her with you still being a few yards away. Joel’s face twists up, twisting his upper body toward her. Don’t fucking say that, his voice is unmistakable, and so is the harsh intent behind his words. She’s very clearly biting her tongue, fighting the urge to shoot something back at him, but before she can make the decision to respond, Joel turns away from her, chewing on his bottom lip. You can see the anger boiling inside her as she sticks her tongue in her cheek, shaking her head. 

As you come up to the group, she scoffs, storming off into the opposite direction. 

“What’s going on,” you ask. Your body is facing Maria, but you keep your eyes fixated on James who still won’t look at you. 

“James’ had some… concerns regarding your patrols, would you be able to talk in my office? Me, you, Tommy?” Maria responds cooly, her tone seems hesitant yet confident. You’re sure this must be an awkward thing to do, the whole he said, she said situation. You force yourself to swallow against the lump of anger in your throat. 

“Of course,” The annoyance you feel hangs heavy onto your words as they come out of your mouth.

You glance between James over to Joel and you begin to follow Tommy and Maria. His eyes are intense and you notice the quick rise and fall of his chest. 

“I’m coming too,” Joel’s voice is loud as he tightens his grip around the bottom of his pack straps, taking a step forward towards you. A few community members who remained to watch, exchanged looks between each other.

Maria lets out a heavy sigh before turning around. 

“If he’s going, then I am too,” James quickly adds. You know he doesn’t actually want to be there, but if Joel is going then he must too. You roll your eyes. 

“Neither of you will be joining us,” She says firmly. “James, you already told us your concerns, I will speak to her, get her side of things and then I will handle it from there. And Joel… you haven’t been here, so I’m not quite sure why you are concerning yourself with things that you would have no idea about.” 

You slowly shift your attention from Maria over to Joel, who is clenching his jaw. He’s looking at Tommy who refuses to look back, kicking at the dirt and rocks with his hands back in his pockets. When Joel realizes he won’t be getting a response, he quickly turns on his heel, giving you an emotionless look, and heading towards the entrance of the community. James is quick to follow, tailing closely behind Joel. 

“C’mon,” Tommy juts his chin in the direction of the main building, reaching his arm out towards you.

–

It’s been a while since you’ve last been here. Everything remains the same, even the old dried flowers that still sit on the table between the two chairs in the center of the room. The morning glow illuminates the room with a warm glow, however the air is chilly. You have your palms resting on the rounded ends of the arms of the chair, slowly rubbing the back and forth. Maria and Tommy are standing in front of you; Maria is upright, her hands clasped together in front of her while Tommy is leaning against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed and shoulder slightly slouched. Even though you know both of them quite well at this point, it doesn’t stop you from feeling inferior, especially in the given situation. 

“So, what’d he say,” You impatiently ask, your tone portraying your emotions very clearly. You already knew, but you wanted to know exactly what he told Maria. 

Maria glances over to Tommy who returns with an awkward smile, unfolding his arms and pointing at himself. She gives him a single nod before he pushes himself upright, clearing his throat. 

“Well, he came to Maria this morning, while we were talkin’,” He starts, “said he’s concerned– you haven’t been following the protocol or proper guard etiquette…”

He trails off, looking at Maria through his peripheral view who is waiting for him to continue. Her eyes are focused solely on him as if she were urging him to go on, silently supporting him through this tough conversation. 

“He said something about you goin’ out, doing patrol by yourself,” Tommy finally finishes, a wheeze of air escaping past his lips before continuing, “‘n that he was concerned for your safety.” 

You let out an amused scoff, shifting your weight in the chair. Concerned with my safety, his excuse was laughable. You knew exactly why he was doing this and it wasn’t his concern.

“I didn’t call in yesterday, I’ll admit to that, because I get it… it’s my responsibility to do that, and it slipped my mind,” you say, your throat burning as you speak. “But he’s known what I've been doing for months.” 

Maria purses her lips and nods, walking over to the chair next to you and taking a seat. You turn your body towards her, waiting for her to say something. 

“And that’s concerning for me, knowing that I've put him in charge and he’s allowing that,” she simply says. It was hard to read her calm demeanor, something that made you feel anxious. 

You look at Tommy through your peripheral vision, he appears to be somewhat confused, staring at Maria. 

“He also said you’ve been staying out late, sometimes the entire day,” she continues.

You can feel your nose twitch at the mention of you staying out past your patrol, you force yourself to slightly smile, although you know nothing will cover up your initial reaction. Your breathing becomes shallow. You’re completely done for. There’s nothing Tommy can do that will save you from being taken off patrol. You knew the chances, but you never thought James would be the reason you were caught. Your brain is racing with thoughts, trying to come up with something in response that may cover your ass. 

Maria cocks her head and raises her eyebrows slightly, encouraging you to say something. Your mouth has gone dry. Time’s up, you think, letting out a small shaky breath. 

“There’s an outlook I go to somedays– well, actually, most days,” Your voice is small. “I go there after I’m done with patrol, after I call in, and I just… think, I don’t know, I just do whatever.” 

A feeling of embarrassment comes over you as you admit to your whereabouts. Telling them about the outlook feels shameful, and not for the reason that you aren’t supposed to be doing stuff like that. Them now being aware of a place that you connected with Joel through in absence made you feel sick, even if they don’t know that’s the reason why you went.

Tommy and Maria exchange looks again, this time her eyes softening. 

“I know I’m not supposed to be doing that, I know it’s dangerous going out by myself, I just…” You say with your head hanging low. “When I’m out there, it’s the only time I feel like myself.”

Mmm, Maria quietly hums. 

“About what happened at the dam–” She starts to say.

“Maria…” You abruptly cut her off, something you normally wouldn’t do, but you couldn’t listen any longer.“I don’t know what James told you, but I do my job. I do it exactly how I was taught and doing it by myself does not change that. I promise you I did not see anything out of the ordinary yesterday, otherwise I would have reported it the moment  I saw it.” 

You stare intensely into Maria’s eyes as you speak. It was the truth. You were good at what you did, whether you were alone or with someone else. Always being ready to go, ready to defend, ready to fight, to give your life if need be– it was all you knew in this new world, and you were good at it. You hadn’t made it this far on pure luck, anyone with a brain would know that. A one time mistake does not make that statement untrue and James all of a sudden coming forward with his concerns also does not make that untrue. 

You can feel the anger creep its way up your throat as you think of James’ pettiness, how all of this was because Joel was at your house last night. Sure, you can agree that lying to James about having plans was wrong, but it didn’t make it right that he did this in response. How childish, you think.

The sound of Tommy clearing his throat pulls you out of your deep state of thought. Both you and Maria shift your attention to him. 

“Maria, if you don’t mind, I was just thinkin’... with Joel being back,” Tommy says with a slight hesitation. He knew he shouldn’t be making any sort of suggestions without discussing with her first, but then again he promised he’d do everything he could to keep you out of trouble. This is him risking that to keep his promise to you. “There’s really no reason to punish her, ‘specially if James was the one allowing this, she took it as permission– him knowing, ya know… at least that’s what I assume. Her and Joel can just continue patrol together, then we take the rest up with James.” 

You can feel yourself exhale in relief at his suggestion, a part of you slightly surprised by him throwing James under the bus. Regardless of Maria’s decision, you were grateful for Tommy having your back, proof that the two of you really are as close as you thought. The two of you carefully watch Maria as she contemplates his suggestion, her eyes glaze over as she thinks.

She gives a slight nod to Tommy, who glances over to you, giving you a short lived smile before you turn your attention back to Maria. 

“You and Joel, never just you and never just Joel, is that clear?” She says, giving you a serious look. “Make sure you call in after every patrol, I do not want to hear any of this it slipped my mind nonsense again.” 

“Yes ma’am,” You respond affirmingly, sitting up straighter in the chair. “I promise.” 

“And you’ll be sure to pass that onto Joel?” Maria directs to Tommy as she rises from her sitting position.

“Yes, of course,” He says.

–

Tommy stayed back to have a few more words with Maria, telling you that he would be just behind you to talk to Joel. Don’t let him leave without talking to me first, he requested. You’re moving your legs as fast and they will allow you to move them, knowing your already long day has become even longer due to heading out so late now. On top of that, the animosity you now felt did not help with your headache and queasy stomach.

With the stables now in view, you see James standing out front by the wooden gate with Nora and a couple of the other guards. He’s using one of his arms to prop himself up as he leans against one of the wooden posts. Since you saw him earlier this morning, he’s had a complete mood shift; he’s laughing, his cheeks rosy with glee, his eyes soften as he jokes around with the others, lighting hitting the back on his hand against one of the men standing to his side. Seeing him like this, thinking he succeeded in his plan to get you in trouble, makes your heart skip a beat, a feeling of rage quickly taking over your rational thought. You begin to charge toward him, taking bigger and longer strides. 

The moment he sees you, the blood drains from his face as if he has just seen a ghost. His jaw tenses up. Perfect, you think. The closer you got to him, the more you struggled to keep the newfound deep hatred for him from exploding out of you..

“What?” You yell out to him, charging straight for him with blurred tunnel vision. “You surprised to see me?” 

Typically, you are not the confrontational type, but James crossed the line by going to Maria; putting the one thing you had that kept you sane on the line. Your anger hit a boiling point seeing him act as if nothing had happened and you didn’t care who heard what or who would be caught in the crossfire of it all. 

“Get ready to head out, I’ll be right behind you guys,” He quickly says. Nora and the others give you a conflicting look almost as if they were confused by your brashness towards James.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” You say to them, shifting your attention onto James when you are finished. There’s a bite in your tone that has made everyone in hearing distance stop in their tracks. “I didn’t get taken off of patrol duty like he wanted.” 

James’ face drops at your announcement, his face twisting up. He’s shocked– shocked that his plan did not work. Seeing him like this was priceless, though the only thing you wanted to do was shove that confused and wide eyed face of his into the horse manure that was scattered around the stable grounds.

“You didn’t?” He says quietly, staring at you with furrowed brows. You couldn’t miss the surprise in his tone. 

Your anger cools for a second and you take a step in closer, crossing your arms and looking up at him through your browline darkly.

“What the fuck was that about?” your words come out shakily as you try to act calm and collected. Your breath feels like it's coming out in flames. This was just meant for him to hear, you hushened your tone so no one, not even the shadows of his companions, could hear.

“I was concerned,” His tone is monotonous, not breaking eye contact with you. His chest was heaving at this point as he struggled to control it. 

“Bullshit, James,” You practically hiss through your teeth. “You’re telling me this has nothing to do with Joel last night?” 

His eye twitches at the mention of him showing up at your house. You can see his throat bob as he struggles to remain apparently unaffected. 

“You lied to me,” he says slowly. “Lied about you and Nessa, lied about you and–” 

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel calls out, coming out of the stable with Callus in hand. He gives you a look of concern before handing off the horses’ lead to one of the stable workers. James scoffs, gesturing towards Joel with one of his hands, giving you a sarcastic smile. His eyebrows are raised halfway up his forehead to tell you that he didn’t even need to say exactly who he was referring to.

Just as you open your mouth to speak, you feel someone rest their hands on your shoulders, lightly squeezing them, almost an nonverbal way of telling you to stand down. It’s Tommy, and he’s shaking his head, urging everyone to drop this. You chew on the inner flesh of your bottom lip, contemplating your choices. Narrowing your eyes, you take one step forward, Tommy’s hands now slipping away from you.

“Fuck you,” You whisper to James as you brush up past him, your shoulder firmly knocking into his. One of the stable workers opens the gate for you, giving you a firm nod as you pass by. 

“Yeah? Fuck me?” he responds, now raising his voice in a way you’ve never heard from him before. “After everything I’ve done for you, for being there for you– now he’s back you’re just going to pretend we–” 

Just as you begin to turn on your heel, Tommy cuts in and takes complete control over the situation.

“Hey,” Tommy shouts in a stern tone, cutting James off before he can finish. “Drop it, now. Maria would like to speak to you, tell your friends to go to the North tower, see if they need any help there today.” 

James looks dumbfounded by Tommy, almost offended by him obviously choosing sides. He remains standing at the post for a moment longer, staring at the ground with his hands kneading at his hips, before turning to face his friends. You could hear the unmistakable sound of his voice, unable to make out what he was saying to them with the distance you created. 

You watch as Nora starts walking back towards the main part of the community while the rest aren’t shy to hide their dirty looks from you. Initially, you didn’t care that much, not entirely bothered by their hateful stares, but it still somewhat hurt deep down inside of you. As angry as you were at James, it hurt you that this was how he thought to get back at you; how intental the damage that would have been caused if it hadn’t been for Tommy. Not being able to take the group’s lingering looks any longer, you drop your head to stare at the ground anticipating their departure.

“By the way, Charles has been wondering where you’ve been– Dot and Henry too,” James calls out from the other side of the gate. Now he’s the one who doesn’t care about who overhears. “Never quite sure what to tell them.” 

“James,” Joel growls. 

James head shoots in his direction, his reaction directly influencing Joel to take large strides over to the where James stood, the only thing separating the two is the rotting wooden fencing,  something that could easily be bypassed. Tommy immediately comes between the two serving as another barrier, placing his hand on James’ chest. James swipes at Tommy’s arm. 

“I’m leaving, damn,” He says quietly, giving a deathly glare as Joel and then you. 

Callus nudges at one of your shoulders from behind causing you to turn, James’ look burned into your mind. You’re doing everything you can to stop your lip from quivering, running your hand down the smooth snout of the horse which has come to comfort you. Joel returns from the fence, quickly fixing your twisted strap on your backpack. You can feel him staring at you from your side, but you keep your eyes forward, avoiding his gaze– afraid of what might come out of you if you were to look at him. Last thing I need is for everyone, especially him to see me cry, you soothe yourself, desperately holding onto what's left of your ego.

Tommy has now joined the two of you by the entrance of the main stable building, forcing you to face the two men now. Joel takes a step closer to you, your arms brushing  up against each other. 

“You know this already,” He says to you before fixing his eyes on Joel. “You two stay together, no one does patrol alone… I mean that, Joel.” 

Tommy glares at him until Joel acknowledges what he says. Joel gives a simple, single nod which causes Tommy to finally release a long breath of air, his chest very visibly falling. 

“Okay,” He says in relief, returning back to his normal self. “We’re still doing dinner tonight right?” 

Mhm, Joel hums along with a nod, his hands are stuffed deep in his pockets. 

“I’ll meet you there, ‘round 7,” Tommy replies. “Be safe.”

He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before exiting through the stable’s fence gate and returning to the main part of town. Joel and you are left standing there for a moment. You aren’t quite sure what to say and by Joel’s expression he isn’t quite sure either. 

“Everything okay?” Joel is the first to speak, his tone somewhat dry. 

Is everything okay? You mock him in your own thoughts. You want to roll your eyes, instead opting for a blake stare. You pass him, heading into the stables to start helping the others where were in the process of readying Lucky. 

– 

Without exchanging any deciding words, you took the lead for today’s assignment. As per usual, leaving the horses at the old worn down barn that was treated as a halfway point between the community and the treeline that led to the dense forested area. The anger from the events of this morning clung onto you fiercely and no matter how much you tried to push it away, it clung on tighter. 

Joel was caught in the crossfire of these events. You weren’t mad at him, but that didn’t stop you from taking it out on him no matter how badly you didn’t want to. Between leaving the front gates to now, Joel tried to talk to you, tried making conversation. You're going to be warm enough with just that, he asked, gesturing to your hoodie tied around your waist. All you could get yourself to do in response was shrug your shoulders, not caring enough to even give him a second look. 

“I came over last night to talk to you about somethin’” Joel says, the words coming out weak through his tired breathing. Initially his words piqued an interest with you, but that faded just as quick as it came. “But-uh, didn’t seem like the right time once I was there.”

“And right now is?” You responded just as breathily. The never ending steep hill seems to have taken a toll on you– both of you.

“I’d rather get it over with, good time as any, I suppose,” he says, pausing as if he were waiting for you to give him the go ahead to continue. You felt like you had already given him your answer, letting him decide whether he wanted to go on or not. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “About what happened the day I left…”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath, quickening your pace, trying to let Joel fall behind to avoid talking about that. Perhaps on any other day, as uncomfortable as it would have been, you’d be willing to talk about it, but not today… not in the state of mind you're currently in. “There’s nothing to talk about, Joel, I misread your intentions and… and it's been a year. We have a job to do, so let’s just get it done.” 

“That’s not–” He takes a deep breath, letting it out forcibly as if he were annoyed. “I tried stopping by your place before I left.”

“Stop,” you say with a bit more bite than you intended.

“I don’t want you to think–” Joel pressed on, truly determined to say whatever he wanted to say. 

“Stop it,” you spit. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does now that I’m back,” he raises his voice to talk over you. “I want to make sure–”

“Make sure we’re good?” you interrupt him. “We are, so drop it.” 

The two of you come to a stand still. Joel’s chest is quickly rising and falling, his cheeks stained pink by the energy required to climb up the steep hill. A breeze picks up, sweeping Joel’s longish hair over his eyes; he pushes the strands out of way, still holding eye contact with you. 

Taking a deep breath as a way to cleanse your mind, an attempt to shake off this anger you feel, you begin to head up the hill again. This time slowing your pace to allow Joel to keep up without exerting himself too much. You both still had a long day ahead of you whether you wanted to be there or not. 

As silence ensued, Joel finally accepted that no matter how hard he tried, you did not want to talk to him that night. Although you didn’t want to talk about it, it didn’t stop random thoughts from popping up in your mind. You couldn’t build up the courage to make one particular thought known, to ask him the burning question that haunted you since he left. 

Joel managed to make his way to your side, his presence startling you from your deep state of thought. He didn’t say anything, just tightening his grip on his shoulder straps and giving you a quick glance. His jaw clamped shut. 

“Were you planning on leaving before…” You stop prematurely as the words rushed out of your mouth, the burning in your chest disappearing the moment you let the words enter reality. A shaky exhale escaped past your lips. Why does it matter, you questioned your own words, if he says no, then what? What does it change?

A nasty feeling overcomes you when he doesn't react, not even looking up from his focused stare at the ground. Nothing? You think, your throat begins to close in on itself.

“Let’s just get this done, I’m tired and my head hurts,” you say, your heart feeling like it shattered into a million pieces.

–

After your little spat with Joel neither of you speak  for a long while. A few task related words had been exchanged, but nothing beyond that. As the day ran longer and your mind returned to a neutral state, you felt bad for how you treated Joel. You felt bad for taking out your problem with James on him. 

“Sorry I was mean earlier,” you say quietly, picking at the sandwich you brought for lunch today. “Just the whole thing with James, you know?”

“You’re okay, darlin’” Joel says, the words coming out of his mouth smoothly, sending a blanket of warmth over your entire body. “James does that to people, I would know.” 

You force yourself to smile, although the guilt of how you treated him earlier when you were still seething with anger continued to eat at you.  

“Take this,” Joel added, causing you to look up from your food which you had balanced on one of your knees. He pulled out a neatly folded flannel from his backpack. It turns out that the hoodie you brought was in fact not warm enough, and between your shivering body and your chattering teeth, it must’ve been obvious. “You’re makin’ me cold just watchin’ you.” 

You mutter a small thanks to him as you meet him in the middle, taking it from him without any rebuttal or hesitation. As you slip your arms through the baggy sleeve, Joel’s smell engulfs you. Your heart flutters, quickening its pace, and your stomach twists into a knot. A smell that you couldn’t quite describe beyond comforting and one that warmed to the core, more warmth than any jacket could offer you. 

“You said you had some stuff to wrap up in Boston” you ask, trying to continue the conversation from earlier and receive some sort of answer from him. Your mouth became dry as you chewed slowly on a small piece of stale bread. “What’d you have to do?”

“A friend, her name’s Tess,” he begins, his words coming out slowly. You remember Joel mentioning Tess once before, a long time ago. “I’ve known her for a while– met her on  the road with Tommy after the outbreak happened.” 

“I remember you mentioning her,” you say, carefully watching his expression for any changes.

“Yeah, she’s-uh badass… real badass,” he responds, his eyes lighting up. Not good, you tell yourself as a feeling of jealousy washes over you. “I wasn’t planning on being gone so long, but she needed help finishing up some deals, tried convincin’ her to come out with me, but she wanted to stay, so…” 

You could see a hint of smile as he spoke about her and then a bit of sorrow at the end. 

“You love Tess?” You remember asking him before if they were together, a part of you wondered if that had changed between then and now.

The question catches him off guard. 

“No,” He immediately shoots back, his face twisting into a complex expression you couldn’t quite read. “No, no… it’s not like that. We’ve been through a lot together though, and– and I guess sometimes that has blurs the lines a bit.”  

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you let the conversation come to an end. The faint song of birds soon fills the air giving you something to listen to as you think over his words over and over again. He doesn’t love her but he feels something for her, you think, the jealousy stabbing into your stomach repeatedly. 

“I don’t mean this in a…” He starts, stopping a moment to think, “are you sure Nessa’s your friend?” 

The mention of Nessa amidst all of the mess Joel witnessed this morning provokes a laugh from you. You have to bite your lip in order for you to stop and answer his inquiry.

“After this morning, I have no idea,” You tell him nothing but the truth. “We were friends a few days ago. What’d she say?”

Joel shook his head, his eyes lowering to his hand which had been fumbling with the edge of a paper bag that held the jerky he brought along.

“C’mon,” you egg him on. By his reaction, you knew it had to have been nasty and knowing Nessa, you weren’t surprised. You knew how she could get, the things she came up in her mind to say about people who crossed her the wrong way. Though, you never thought you’d be in her line of fire.

“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head again.

“Why are you protecting me?” His resistance causes you to become annoyed. “First with James, now this.” 

“James?” He says almost as if he had no idea what you’d been talking about.

“At the stables,” You try to cool your tone, now trying to come off nonchalant. “When he tried to provoke me about Charles and his kids, and even before….”

Joel scoffs, a sense of embarrassment hidden behind it. 

“I’m not protectin’ you, I– I–” he stammers and throws the half filled paper bag onto the base of his bad. “It doesn’t matter what she said because it wasn’t true.”

You force down the rest of the food you brought along, not necessarily because you wanted to but more so because it gave you something to do while Joel sulked. The usual Joel that you knew too well returned, and he became standoffish. You didn’t pay much mind to it because something told you that his little mood swing wouldn’t last, so all you could do was wait it out. He put up with my mood earlier, I guess it's only fair if I do the same, you told yourself, stealing glances of the slouching  man sitting adjacent from you.

Joel suddenly his throat, catching your attention.

“What do you do when you aren’t on patrol?” His words came out dry, but seemed genuinely curious. 

You let out a puff of air. A whole lot of nothing, you thought and what you wanted to tell him. Nothing important or worth talking about. 

“I drink with some friend,” you state simply, letting your voice falter on the last word. Joel picked up on your intonation of friends, narrowing his eyes.

“Friends?” He nearly mocked you perfectly. “Who?” 

You have to bite your tongue from letting out a small giggle. He should get a kick out of this, you think. 

“Don’t laugh,” you say, looking at him through your browline, a small smile appearing on your face. “I spent quite a bit of my evening with Heather and Aimee, Drew too… and Nessa of course, that whole group.” 

You very specifically left James out of that out of spite, but you were sure Joel would include him as he was a part of that group. Joel, of course, laughed, nearly choking on his water that he just took in from his canteen.

“I told you not to laugh,” You broke out into a smile as Joel wiped his mouth clean from water and saliva. “Besides, there’s not that many people to choose from.”

“There’s enough people to not choose them,” he quickly rebuttal in a joking tone. You just shrug, mainly because he wasn’t wrong. “I’m assumin’ James is apart of that mix too.”

“Yeah, James is there too,” Your face drops. At least he was, you added just to yourself, Or at least I was, you corrected yourself knowing that the gang would choose him over you in any instance, including Nessa.

“What happened between you two?” He asked genuinely, cocking his head to the side as he studied you. “Is he your–”

“Friend I suppose,” You cut him off desperately wanting him to disassociate you and James as being that. “Just a friend.” You weren’t sure if you clarified for him or more for yourself. “Just some petty drama, hopefully it’s over now.”

That seemed to satisfy Joel’s curiosity because he didn’t press any further or ask more questions regarding your friends.

As you pack up your things, now in a much merrier and less hangry mood than before lunch, you catch Joel watching you. Not watching you in a way that he had in the past. It was almost as if he were stuck on you, unable to peel his eyes off of you even if he wanted to. The shift in the air made butterflies form in your stomach at his consistent attention, you tried to ignore it until you couldn't. The two of you lock eyes as you meet him at the base of a rocky ledge.

“What?” you softly ask as you unbunch your many layers of clothes under the straps of your bag.

“Hm,” he half-consciously responds as if he didn’t entirely grasp onto what you just said.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you expand your question further, causing him to blink quickly a few times as if it were bringing him back to the present moment.

“Like what?” he frantically darts his eyes along the ground, furrowing his brows.

“Like–” you begin to say, but the words are stuck in your throat, unwilling to be heard. With your heart fluttering, you continue. “Nevermind.”

But regardless, you saw it in his eyes. 

You saw it.

–

By the time the two of you make it back, the sun has nearly fully set for the day. Your legs hurt, you’re tired, and you’re hungry. The staff who had been there when you left had now all gone home leaving you and Joel to put all the equipment and horses away for the night.

“You hungry?” Joel asks, grunting as he picks up one of the saddles to be put away.

“Very” you drag out the word, letting the exhaustion fill the word entirely. 

“Why don’t you join Tommy ‘n I for dinner,” His voice is quiet, slightly nervous sounding. “Goin’ to Jackson BBQ, best BBQ in town.” 

“It’s the only…” You begin to say, your exhaustion not allowing yourself to pick up on his joke, only stopping once you realize.

He gives you a slight smile which causes you to stop for a moment and take in his offer.

“I– I don’t want to intrude,” You say quietly, though you want to say yes a million times over. “I know how much he’s missed you, so…” 

“He admitted that?” Joel asks with a smirk, wiping his hands off on his already dirty jeans and taking a step in front of you. 

“Not in those words, but…” You smile, lowering your head to hide your face. Joel lets out a hearty laugh. 

“Well, I want you to come,” He follows up with a laugh still lingering in his voice. His emphasis on want made you flinch, not in a bad way, but his directness catches you off guard. When you finally look up from the ground to look at him, he’s eyeing you nearly identical to when you had packed up after lunch. Your breathing hitches. “He won’t mind.”

Joel adds the last part after a few moments of silence between the two you, the soft neighs of the horses and rustle of the wind fill in the spaces.

You draw in a deep, slow breath; the cool air burning your lungs.

“Okay,” You finally agreed.

read chapter fourteen here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[abiiors]

Stay // M.H.

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: You run into each other again after one year of separation

Warnings: angst, break-ups, it’s just sad. (Also I literally just wrote this so I'm sorry if there are any typos)

Word Count: 800

A/N: Just something I wrote while listening to Robbers on repeat. Sorry about the Fleabag reference but I just had to. 

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

‘...he's begging, babe stay, stay / Stay, stay, stay’

It’s his voice that you hear through the speakers. It’s always his voice, inescapable wherever you’ve tried to go this past year. 

It’s the girl next to you on the bus who keeps blaring his songs through her shitty headphones. You desperately want to get up and move but there’s no other empty seat you can spot. 

So you just turn up your volume as high as possible. 

He begged you to stay, didn’t he… it’s a very unhelpful part of your brain that’s trying to guilt-trip you. 

But you had to experience life outside of his gravitational pull, outside his limelight. 

You press your forehead to the cool glass window, trying to drown out the remnants of his voice. The bus jostles a bit, making you open your eyes once again. And there it is -

“The 1975 - At Their Very Best”

It’s his face on the poster. It’s always his face, inescapable wherever you’ve tried to go this past year.

You try to focus on the faces of the three other boys. There was an almost friendship there—something budding that you could have nurtured. 

The light turns green, the bus moves again. You refuse to stare at the billboard anymore. 

***

‘The bar feels more crowded than usual,’ your coworker remarks 

It’s New York, the bar is always going to be crowded. 

‘Yea, I heard there’s some famous band that’s just come in,’ the other chimes in. 

It’s New York, there’s always some famous band in your vicinity. 

The conversation is quickly getting claustrophobic. You should have never agreed to drinks but your day has been so shit already, you thought nothing else could ruin it. 

‘I’m going to use the loo,’ you beeline before they’ve had the chance to register it.

The bathroom is mercifully quiet—quieter than the outside at least. But you can’t say sequestered here forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to go out again. 

You fix your lipstick (it’s not smudged), wash your hands (you’d already washed them before), anything to stall time. 

Then you walk out with a purpose.

And run into someone.

Both of you let out a small oomph at the impact and step back to assess the damage. 

It takes you a second longer to look up but your entire body goes numb when you do. Matty looks like he’s going through a similar reaction. 

‘Hey,’ you say softly, tentatively. There’s no reason you can’t be amicable with each other. 

‘Hey,’ he mirrors your tone. 

This could be so easy you think. You could just tell you miss him. You could tell him you still love him. 

‘Uh, I didn’t,’ he clears his throat, ‘sorry, we just came in.’

You nod at him dumbly. There are so many things you want to say. The words should practically be fighting to get out right now. But your whole body seems to have shut down.

‘Come get some drinks with us, catch up,’ he offers. 

And even if it sounds so formal and awkward, you want to say yes. The conversation needn’t start with grand gestures, you have time. You both have time. 

Then you hear the camera click.

It dawns on him then, the source of your hesitation and he scrambles to come up with some solution. 

‘It’s not just me, they’re all here,’ he points behind you. You turn around; Adam has his arm slung around Carly’s shoulder. George and Ross look like they’re in the middle of telling the funniest story ever.

‘Unless you would rather not be pictured with me…’ he hesitates. 

‘I’d rather not be pictured at all,’ you laugh, although it lacks any ounce of mirth. 

The hope in his eyes shutters. And suddenly you’re back in London, telling him that you’re tired of this life, tired of moving around constantly. 

Music was his dream, it has always been his dream. He’s trying to beg you to stay, he’s trying to tell you that things will get better but you know they won't. 

‘I will lose my mind like this,’ you tell him. Your voice breaks. His heart breaks.

One year later, you know it’s still the same. You still want a life free of the spotlight and he seems to have gotten bigger than ever. 

‘I can’t…’ there’s a lump in your throat now and speaking around it is getting difficult. 

‘Stay,’ he tries again, ‘please. Just for one drink.’

You shake your head. You can’t let him see the tears forming in your eyes. He’ll never let you go if he sees that. 

His fingers catch around your wrist and a jolt goes down at the contact. 

It shouldn’t be like this. Your body shouldn’t be so ready for his touch.

He doesn’t want to let go, he’s never wanted to let go. Even now as he desperately looks at you with open want. Even now as he clutches your wrist like it’s his only lifeline.

‘I miss you,’ he whispers. 

You remember that one scene from that one TV show you watched a long time ago. 

It’ll pass, you want to say. That’s the kindest thing you could say to him. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you say instead. 

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Honestly I red the WIP you reposted. And I wanna ask all those questions but imma settle for a wild card question instead.

What is your favorite smutty scene you wrote 😁😁😁😁

Wildcard answer for a wildcard question!! Not OPLA. Not really necessary to know what fandom it's for, just that the characters in question were separated for seven years because of a freak time travel accident, this is their first time seeing each other since the night they got engaged.

Not edited, so sorry in advance about any possible typos I didn't notice.

And their eyes met, so fully and suddenly that she couldn't breathe.

##########

He scoffed. "Feel free to go say hi." She pulled back from him sharply, opening her eyes to look at him in alarm. "He's...chained up, down..."

"Down in the dun..."

He seemed to be having no easier a time than her, speech failing him before he could finish. She had been right, he had definitely changed, his torso marred by an abundance of new scars; broader at his chest and shoulders, his once lean muscles expanded and far more pronounced, his lavender hair hanging down well past his powerful chest.

But it was still him. Still his devilishly handsome face going red around the cheeks as he looked at her with the same shock that froze her in place; still his full, enticing lips, parted, fighting to finish his forgotten sentence--still his deep crimson eyes, widened in astonishment as they came to rest on hers.

She wasn't sure which of them moved first, whether they had thawed from their mutual shock in the same instant, but their lips were together again, his hand tugging at her waist to turn her even as she was already scrambling to throw her arms around his neck. She wrapped her thighs around him, pressing herself against his bare chest, moaning as he pulled her forward by her hips, moving his hands quickly between them to tug impatiently at her leather corset again, at the straps over her shoulders, the lace across her chest, the hooks and fastens holding it shut over her stomach.

"How the fuck--" His irritated growl as he tore his lips away brought a breathless laugh from her. "Shut it, shrimp--" he grunted, pulling the laces loose and grasping at it to force several of the hooks open at once. "Fucking corsets--"

"They were very fashionable in the sixth century," she giggled, curling a hand over her mouth.

"I'm buying you new clothes," he snapped over her laughter as he finally got it open and shoved it down her shoulders. "Little shit--" He pressed his lips to hers briefly to muffle her, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as he drew back. "You're gonna get it now."

"Is that a promise?" she asked breathlessly, grinning. She leaned back as he pulled her much looser blouse over her head and tossed it aside.

"Oh, you're so gonna fucking get it," he growled through his teeth, pushing her breasts up. He pulled a sharp cry from her as he wrapped his lips hungrily around one of her stiffening nipples, sucking it hard into his mouth and dragging his tongue across it, brushing his thumb across the other, sending such a sudden, intense shock of pleasure through her that she couldn't do anything to stifle the shameless moan that tore its way out of her chest. She laid her head back, leaning back as she wrapped her thighs around him, and he shoved his hand against the small of her back to pull her right back to him, to feel the hard, growing bulge pressing against her through his loose white pants.

He released her from the agonizing pleasure of his skillful mouth, briefly tilting his head to brush his lips across her other nipple as he pulled the ties at the front of her skirt loose.

"I'm--" She plunged her hands into his hair when he finally looked up at her and crushed her lips to his, muffling another moan in the brief, passionate kiss. He groaned sharply as he pulled his lips away, staring straight into her eyes as he shoved her skirt and her panties down her hips. "I'm gonna make you come so many fucking times," he went on in a low murmur, his suggestion alone swelling a moan in her chest.

She pulled herself back long enough to kick the flowy fabric away and tug her panties down to her ankle, and he pulled her back to him immediately with only one hand at her hip, pulling her to grind down against that hard bulge, pressing his lips to hers to dampen both of their breathless moans. He pushed a hand into her hair, holding her in place, giving her nowhere to look but into his lustful gaze, his devilish smirk sending her heart into a marathon. "Make you come until you pass out," he breathed, shoving his pants down his own hips and shifting to kick them away. She tilted her head in to kiss him again, but he tightened his grip on her hair to stop her, chuckling at her desperate moan. "And wake you back up for more," he went on, pulling her sharply against him by her ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh and groaning as he rolled his hips up to grind against her overestimated vulva.

"Oh god--" she gasped, her eyes slipping shut as a flood of euphoria melted her against him. She believed it, every indecent claim, every last word leaving his lips, because if he kept teasing her she was going to come the second he was inside her--and gods, did she want him inside her.

But he wasn't done yet. He abruptly lowered his head and pulled one of her nipples into his mouth again, and she could feel the pressure building within her as he guided her to grind down on his throbbing shaft, over and over, answering her unrestrained moans, threatening to make it burst before he even entered her.

"Please--" she moaned, her hands slipping down to his shoulders, gripping at them, digging her short nails into the hard muscle. "I need you--need you inside me, please--!"

He released her nipple in a low moan, pressing his lips into the crook of her neck. "God, I fucking love it when you beg for it," he gasped, moving his other hand to her waist. He brushed his lips to her jaw as she laid her head back, her hips rolling automatically in her mounting pleasure. "Tell me how bad you want it." She bit her lip, whining as he raised his hand again, pulling her head back down, pulling her eyes back to his, murmuring against her lips, "Tell me how bad you wanna feel me throbbing inside you--"

His low moan answered her much sharper one as she pressed her lips to his, pressing her thighs around him, pressing herself against him, needing to feel him with every last inch of her body.

"I don't--" She whined in protest as he moved his hands to her hips, holding her still. "I don't want it, I need it," she moaned, reveling in the flicker in his confident smirk. He wasn't nearly as in control as he would have had her believe. She drew in a slow, deep breath, posing herself to take advantage of this enticing knowledge, to tear away the reigns and take what she wanted, what she desperately needed. She hooked an arm around his neck, laying her forehead against his, gazing hopefully into his eyes.

"Please," she said softly, brushing his fingertips down his cheek. It was more than just a flicker this time--brushing her lips to his, brushing that self-assured smirk right off of them as he breathed a slow, shaking sigh that dissolved into a quiet groan as she grinned slowly down the full length of his arousal. "Make love to me."

She had him, from the desperate desire burning to life in his eyes to the sharp breath he sucked in through his gritted teeth.

"Fuck--" He crushed his lips against hers, pulling her up sharply by her hips, reaching between them only long enough to position himself and tug her right back down--

And her orgasm lashed through her entire body like the crack of a whip as he finally, finally entered her. Her thighs tensed so they quivered around him, her hands trembling as they slipped down his neck, down his chest, her breath filling her lungs in a sharp gasp that left her as an even sharper cry of abandon, that agonizing pressure finally bursting into pure pleasure the likes of which she hadn't known for nearly a decade.

"Ahh--oh, goddamit--" His broken, breathless moan answered her as she tightened around him like a vice. He pushed his hand into her hair to guide her lips back down to his for a slow, deep kiss; guided the rolling of her hips with his other, moving deep within her as she slowly rode out that impossible pleasure, like the crashing waves of a high tide ebbing away toward a the warm, gentle current of morning.

As the tension of the agonizing ecstasy lifted she was left weak, half limp, nothing holding her up but his hands as they came to rest at her waist. She lifted a hand to his hair, combing her fingers back through it, struggling even to keep her lips from slipping away from his. He turned her then and laid her back on the bed so her hands fell to the soft down pillows, holding himself over her with an elbow and slipping his fingers through hers, tracing his lips down her neck and across her shoulder. He curled his arm beneath her arching back, still moving in her so slowly, tensing and gripping hard at her hand as he fought to keep himself under control, draw it out as long as he could stand to. She wouldn't complain if they went on until morning, until she left from the balcony at first light.

But she couldn't bear to think of that right now. Leaving him willfully would be the hardest thing she ever had to do.

She lowered her hand to slip it into his soft hair, turning her head and brushing her lips to his strong jaw. "I missed you so much," she breathed, resting her forehead at his temple and curling her arm around his neck. He lifted himself enough to press his lips to hers, drawing in a slow, deep breath amid the brief kiss. He rested his forehead with hers as his lips slipped only far enough away for him to speak in a quiet murmur, the adoration in his eyes setting her heart to flutter and filling her stomach with butterflies.

"I love you." She moaned softly as his brushed his lips to hers, wondering if he was determined to make her faint already. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

[eurydicees]

love love love the way you write those fics based on prompts, can you pls do one for atsuiwa and 71 :)

first of all, thank you so much, i'm so glad you're enjoying them!! i love writing them sm. that being said some of these songs Do Not Fit. this one was super fun to write though!! i wrote it mostly on my phone in a car so forgive me for any typos, and sorry about the angst lmao. blame the song not the writer.

summary: the memories never really go away. they never really heal, either. atsumu left his fingerprints all over iwaizumi's heart and those are not bruises that are ever going to fade. prompt: spotify wrapped #71, all too well, ten minute version (taylor swift) pairings: atsumu miya/hajime iwaizumi words: 2724 warnings: bittersweet/unhappy ending, unsafe driving

remember me / bruise me

memory / it all comes back 

After it’s all over, Iwaizumi remembers it too well. It’s not a distant memory, not yet, though maybe one day it will be. 

But right now it’s more like a bruise, one that won’t fade. Purple and blue and yellow, right there on his heart and growing every day. Iwaizumi watches Atsumu, grander than life on the TV screen, and can almost feel his fingers press into that bruise. 

getting colder / border lines

It’s the time of year when the wind starts to bite and the chill in the air begins to leave Iwaizumi’s cheeks pink and the tips of his ears red with cold. He pulls his gloves on as he exits the MSBY Black Jackals training center, already shivering before he’s even made it a block closer to the bus stop. He’s been working for the Jackals for a few weeks now, filling in a temporary position while he waits for preparation with the national team to start. 

“Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi stops, frowning as he turns around. Atsumu is jogging down the sidewalk, chasing after him. “Hey.”

“You forgot your scarf,” Atsumu says. He’s not out of breath, but his words leave a fog in the air. “Didn’t want you to be caught in the cold without it.” 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, blinking. 

Atsumu grins at him, that wide smile that makes the lines at his eyes crinkle and his cheeks flush. “Here.”

“Thanks.” 

Iwaizumi is ready for Atsumu to hand over the blue scarf—the only one he owns, a hand-knit gift from his mother—but Atsumu reaches over and drapes the scarf around his neck himself. He wraps the scarf around his neck twice and then tucks the ends in. 

“There,” Atsumu says, looking all too satisfied with himself. 

Suddenly flustered, his cheeks pink and heart picking up, Iwaizumi just nods numbly. The cold must be getting to him. That must be why his head feels so dizzy. 

Atsumu turns away to head back to the gym parking lot, where his car is. He grins again. “You’ll miss your bus if you stand there all day, you know.”

Iwaizumi blinks. “Oh. Right. Right, shit.”

Atsumu laughs—not cruelly, but clearly entertained by Iwaizumi’s sudden imbalance. His legs feel shaky, breath caught in his throat. “See you tomorrow.”

Then he’s walking away, hands shoved in his coat pockets and head held high. Iwaizumi watches him walk away, wondering why he can’t focus on anything except the gait of Atsumu leaving. 

He misses his bus. 

red lights / promises 

Atsumu gives Iwaizumi a ride from his apartment to a party being held at Onigiri Miya, forty-five minutes away. What Iwaizumi discovers—very, very quickly—is that Atsumu Miya is actually a really terrible driver. 

Iwaizumi sits in the passenger side seat, gripping tightly to the edge of the seat as he stares through the windshield with an intensity that’s almost scary. Atsumu hits a pothole at 64 kilometers per hour and Iwaizumi swears that either he flies out of his seat or his soul leaves his body. Either way, he lurches against the seatbelt and is suddenly incredibly grateful for the car safety measures his parents had ingrained in him as a teenager learning to drive for the first time. 

“You don’t have to be so tense,” Atsumu says, glancing at Iwaizumi. “I’m a perfectly fine driver.”

“Please keep your eyes on the road,” Iwaizumi says through gritted teeth. 

Atsumu laughs. “I’m paying attention, I promise.”

“Fuck, fuck, Atsumu, that was a red light!”

Atsumu flinches, whipping his gaze back to the road and away from Iwaizumi. “Oops.”

“I’m going to die,” Iwaizumi mutters, not quite sure if he’s joking or not. Atsumu laughs anyway. “I’m actually going to die in a car with Atsumu Miya.”

“It’d be an honor to die by my side,” Atsumu says indignantly.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. He can’t watch another stop sign fly by without Atsumu showing any sign of knowing what the brake pedal does. If anything, he speeds up just to spite Iwaizumi. 

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi mutters. “Please just tell me we’re almost there.”

“About ten minutes away.” 

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh of relief. Atsumu hits another pothole. 

red flushed cheeks / pressing close

The party is to celebrate the announcement of the National Team members for the Olympics—everyone there is either on the team or close to someone on the team. Iwaizumi, though he works for the team and received an explicit invitation from Osamu, is a drink in and still trying his best not to feel out of place or unwanted. Parties have never really been his thing; he much prefers a quiet night in. He’s never sure how to mingle with people he isn’t close with or how to introduce himself to people he doesn’t know. 

But Atsumu seems determined to make him socialize. He wraps one hand around Iwaizumi’s forearm and drags him over to every table that people are sitting at. He knows many of them already, but there are still new faces and names that he can’t quite keep track of. 

It’s overwhelming, after a little while. He’s just about ready to make his excuses to Atsumu and go sit with Ushijima, who’s become a kind of eye in the storm that is the rest of the team’s antics. Before he can say anything, Atsumu glances at him, seeming to read his expression without needing words. 

“Want to get some air?” Atsumu asks, motioning towards the back door. Iwaizumi nods, and Atsumu pulls him across the room and outside. Iwaizumi swears he feels everyone’s eyes on them as the door swings closed. 

“It was getting kind of warm in there,” Iwaizumi says. He sits on the concrete steps, rubbing a hand over his face. “I love this team but…”

“But we can be a lot,” Atsumu finishes, smiling a little. He sits down next to Iwaizumi, quiet. Iwaizumi wants to make some kind of joke that this is the first time Atsumu has been quiet in his life, but he doesn’t. There’s something too gentle, too precious about the moment. Then Atsumu breaks the silence. “Do I ever overwhelm you?”

Iwaizumi swallows, not sure what to do with the question. It feels like Atsumu is asking something more than that but Iwaizumi doesn’t know what it is. 

“No,” he says, and he’s surprised to realize that it’s the truth. Atsumu doesn’t overwhelm him. He’s too attentive, too conscious of Iwaizumi’s boundaries, to be an unforgiving presence. “You never do.” 

“Oh.” Atsumu exhales, breath hanging in the air. Iwaizumi shivers. “Good.”

Iwaizumi watches him out of the corner of his eye, not sure what he can say. But Atsumu smiles, and Iwaizumi figures that he doesn’t have to say anything. This is comfortable enough. 

pressing close / red flushed cheeks

Atsumu cannot cook. Despite having a brother who’s one of the most loved chefs in the area, Atsumu cannot for the life of him cook. He can get by enough to be a functioning athlete and he can kind of follow the type of recipe that involves a microwave, but Iwaizumi finds out that Atsumu broke his stove trying to turn it on and nearly has an aneurysm. He doesn’t know how that's even possible.  

So Iwaizumi tiredly drags Atsumu to his own apartment for a real, home cooked meal, the first he’ll have had since Osamu gave up on teaching him how to pan fry things without burning himself. 

“I’m not letting you starve to death,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes. “Of course I’m going to feed you if you broke your oven.”

Atsumu laughs, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I should break my kitchen appliances more often if it means you’re gonna cook for me.” 

“Don’t you dare. And get off my counter.”

“Fine, fine,” Atsumu says, still laughing lightly. 

He jumps off the counter, then walks over to lean over Iwaizumi’s shoulder and look at the pot of tomato sauce that he’s stirring. He rests his chin on Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi tries to hold back a flinch. It’s not that he doesn’t like the contact or doesn’t want it, it just surprises him every time that Atsumu initiates it. Atsumu has always been a touchy person, always giving hugs and high fives, but Iwaizumi never thought he’d be on the receiving end of it. 

Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice Iwaizumi’s hesitation, settling with his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder as if he belongs there. He hums softly, then pulls away. “Can I put on music?” 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says absentmindedly, not really paying attention as Atsumu starts tapping away at his phone. After a moment of silence, Atsumu starts playing some song that Iwaizumi doesn’t recognize. 

Iwaizumi is all too aware of it as Atsumu steps back, closer to him again. He puts his hands on Iwaizumi’s hips, then starts swaying slightly. Iwaizumi swallows hard. He lets Atsumu move him; sway, sway, sway. He lets Atsumu do what he wants, but he’s also always been so aware of Atsumu’s touch that this is sending the heat on his cheeks into overdrive. 

“Atsumu,” Iwaizumi chokes out. “What are you doing?” 

“Just feel the music,” Atsumu says, his breath hot next to Iwaizumi’s ear. He takes Iwaizumi’s hand, putting the spoon on the counter. Then he’s spinning Iwaizumi around to face him. Their chests are nearly pressed together, and Iwaizumi can see the deep dark of Atsumu’s eyes. They’re so close. They’re so close. Iwaizumi is pretty sure that he’s not breathing. Atsumu chuckles a little, pressing their foreheads together. “Relax.” 

Iwaizumi takes a shaky breath. He can see the place where Atsumu had been biting his lip earlier, a ridge on his bottom lip. He wants to—

Then Atsumu is leaning in, their swaying paused, his hand trailing up from Iwaizumi’s waist to his cheek, guiding him closer. Then—

It’s their first kiss. Iwaizumi won’t ever forget it. 

promises / red lights 

They kiss again and again and again and at some point Iwaizumi stops counting because he thinks that it’ll never stop coming. He stops counting because he thinks that he’ll never run out of time. 

It was fucking stupid of him.

“I’m moving,” Atsumu says quietly. Iwaizumi goes still. They’re lying in his bed, tangled up in the bedsheets and holding onto each other as if they’ll never let go, as if there’s no point in trying. Atsumu has his head resting on Iwaizumi’s chest, making no move to shift and look Iwaizumi in the eyes. “A team in Paris wants me.” 

Iwaizumi says only, “Oh,” and he’s pretty sure that’s the only word left that fits in his mouth. He’s pretty sure that he’s forgotten how to say anything else, anything that matters. 

It’s not like they were ever anything official. This, this thing, between them—they never actually talked about it. They never defined anything, they never put a label on it. This, whatever it is—was—never mattered enough. Enough to talk about this together. Enough to even bring it up before the decision was made. Enough to mean something to Atsumu, apparently. 

“I already signed the contract,” Atsumu continues. “I leave next month. Coach and the team all know already.” 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi murmurs again. Everyone knew except for him. Everyone. 

Atsumu says, “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you before.” He says, “I should have said something earlier, probably.” He says, “Are you mad?” 

Iwaizumi swallows. “I—” 

Words don’t feel like enough for what he’s feeling. They don’t feel like enough to express the boiling of emotion in the pit of his stomach. He moves his hand, letting go of Atsumu and gently pushing him away. He sits up, rubbing his hand over his face and then wrapping his arms around his knees, the movements jerky. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to move his body, what to say. 

“I think you should go,” Iwaizumi whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut. He didn’t think it would hurt this much when Atsumu left; because he was always going to leave, Iwaizumi knows now. Atsumu was never meant to stay with someone like him. “I’ll—just. Can you go?” 

I’ll be okay, he wants to say. I’ll see you later. 

But that doesn’t feel true, not really. Atsumu’s love, care, friendship—whatever you want to call it—feels, now, like a stain on his heart that he can’t scrub away even now that Atsumu is going to disappear. Off to fucking Paris with a month’s warning. 

“We’ll still be friends,” Atsumu says, something desperate in his voice. 

Iwaizumi takes a shaky breath. “Good luck in Paris, Atsumu. You’re gonna—you’re gonna do great.” 

border lines / getting colder

Atsumu calls, sometimes. 

Iwaizumi always answers. 

Atsumu tells him about Paris: his new team, the city, all of the new things he’s trying, the strangeness of a new language, the difficulty of communicating with people who don’t understand him, how brilliant his new team is, how much he loves playing with them, how much he’s enjoying himself. He tells Iwaizumi about all of his new adventures, all of the things that Iwaizumi can never be there for. 

There was a time when they shared these moments in person. They went out and explored the towns they traveled to for games—together. They tried new restaurants together. They played volleyball together on their off days. Iwaizumi recalls all of it so clearly, with so much fondness, with so much nostalgia. But no amount of remembering is going to change the fact that it’s over. 

Atsumu tells him about a girl he met. She’s pretty: blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, thin. Kind. Gentle. Doesn’t know a thing about volleyball, but wants to listen to Atsumu talk about it, wants to learn. She’s dreamy. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know why the fuck Atsumu thinks he wants to hear any of this, but he listens anyway. It’s a little masochistic of him; listening to Atsumu talk makes him want to hit something or maybe cry and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Their phone calls are always long, as if Atsumu can never run out of things to say. Iwaizumi tells him things too: life in Japan, how it feels at his new job with the Red Falcons, the beginnings of preparation for the Olympics, his new favorite ramen shop, which just opened down the street. 

There’s always so much that they can bring themselves to say. There’s always so much that they do say, letting the phone line ease the fear of saying them. There are, too, so many things that they aren’t afraid to say in the first place. Then again, there are always so many things Iwaizumi wants to say that he can’t. Atsumu doesn’t want to hear them, and he knows it. 

One day, despite this: “I miss you,” Iwaizumi says quietly. It’s painful to admit, it’s painful to break his own heart every time he talks to Atsumu. This time, that doesn’t stop him from saying it. He’s always been blunt, always been able to call it as he sees it, but this hurts. 

“I’ll call you later,” Atsumu says, faint over the phone line. “Bye, Hajime.” 

Iwaizumi hangs up. 

it all comes back / memory 

They see each other at the Olympics. It’s the first time that they stand face to face in a year. It’s the first time that they’ve been within the same country’s border lines. It’s strange. It feels weird. It hurts. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do with this, with this feeling. He doesn’t know what to do with the bruise that’s aching on his heart, in the space between his muscles, all over his body. 

He remembers it all. Everything Atsumu made him feel. The masterpiece of it all. The glory of it all. The driving too fast, letting go of fear and embracing the unknown, jumping off of a ledge and trusting Atsumu to catch him. Dancing in the dim light of the kitchen, the fire of the stove flickering under the pot, the smell of their dinner cooking. First kisses. The taste of Atsumu’s chapstick. 

He sees Atsumu again at the training camp before the Olympics. It all comes back like a rush of blood to the head. Like fingerprints pressed onto a bruise. He remembers, and he does nothing about it. There’s nothing he can do. 

[darkpetal16]

I IMMEDIATELY GO TO REPLAY UNDERFELL ONCE AGAIN BC THE UPDATE😭💕

It's all sooo good!! Harem route by far is my favorite because it's combined THREE routes into one and it's PERFECT.

I love all the bonus scenes you added, it give the flavor of what happens after ending and I love it!

I saw in the author note that you making a progress on SWAPFELL!? SO WE GETTING BOTH UNDERSWAP AND SWAPFELL??? PETALS YOU SPOILED US!

Really appreciate your works thank you for all the game you making its gotta be one of the best memories in my life.

(Ps. If I annoyed you or others followers I'm sorry you can called me out I don't mind bc if you don't I might bother you in your inbox like this almost every updates😭)

YAY!

YES! The harem was fun to write, I kept laughing when I wrote peoples' reaction to it.

Thank you so much for playing, I'm so happy enjoyed the bonus scenes as well. I plan to keep making them and adding them with each update. :)

THAT WAS A TYPO I meant underswap D: I quickly fixed that, so so sorry for the confusion!

Thank you very very much for playing my games and commenting! It really inspires me when I read people enjoy them. I love these AUs so much so getting to create games of them has been an absolute blast.

(nooooo, you didn't annoy at all! I appreciate you commenting so much!! please feel free to do so again!)

[mollybecameanengineer]

✨🌻💝 for the fic writer ask :)

Thanks for the ask, @lilolilyr! Here is the orignal post.

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

I have two answers for this. (As you all probably noticed) I've recently become fixated on the X-Files, but before that it was Star Trek: Voyager, so most of my fic is for that show. But I'll give one from each, because it's hard for me to consolidate the two. I was in a very different mental space writing Voyager (circa 2015-2017) than I am today.

For The X-Files: Keys,Wallet, Phone. It's the first one I wrote for this fandom, and it's very different than anything I'd written before. One of the asks on here was 'which fic would you like to be a podfic?' and this one would be my answer as well. It has a lyrical quality that I really like and I think would be great read aloud.

For Voyager: My baby, The Lament of a Daughter. This is all B'Elanna backstory... the culminations of years and years of thinking about this character. This, and The Sea of Gatan are probably some of the best things I ever wrote.

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

What makes me give up? Two things: anxiety and lack of head space.

For the anxiety bit, this is why I stopped writing in 2017. Trying to improve and what not was just driving me insane. This is also why, despite the fact I want to, I'll likely not participate in exchanges. When the prompt is right, it's magic. But man, it can really get to me if I can't think of anything. So this time around I've been posting things unbetaed (which likely leads to way more typos, sorry) but this has really been a path back to joy for me. Just write and release.

On lack of head space: I have a job that could consume every moment of my life if I let it. I have an idea for an original novel, which I started writing, but I found my mind was always preoccupied with it, and I wasn't thinking about my research (and therefore not making progress.) So, I don't really know what to do about that. The problem is less one of time, and more about have to pick and choose what I think about. (Which might be a weird problem to have.) It seems to work better for me to write short things to get the idea out of my head, and then move on. I am looking forward to a stage in my life where this won’t be an issue anymore.

Moving on to what makes me keep going: it’s fun (if I'm not busy being my own worse enemy). I like getting my thoughts out of my head and I like the reaction others have to those thoughts. Most of my stories are about something that is going on in my life, so it’s cathartic (or amusing, depending on what it is) to put OTP of the week in those situations. Sometimes I wonder if I could write professionally, but I do that would remove the fun and the joy. I do like my job, but there are for sure times that are NOT joyful.

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Well, I didn't expect people to like Qualifying Life Events this much! I wrote it in like an hour on Monday when the internet went out, so I couldn't do work. (Well, really, I should have been reviewing papers, which were saved on my computer, but see above comment on not concentrating on work so well these days.) In general, all the pieces I’ve quickly written and posted have been way more enjoyed than I expected. They tend to be silly little things (ex: The Case of the Nip Slip, The Joy of Cooking, and the above-mentioned Qualifying Life Events). I have other pieces that took way more effort, but they are just as enjoyed as the short silly ones. So, I think it’s been freeing to break the association of my effort to other people’s enjoyment (which is probably a capitalistic way of looking at things, anyway).

(Aside: for some reason, the tumblr editor isn’t spell checking, which is a huge issue for me. So I had to write this elsewhere and paste it in and Tumblr was being a dick… Why is this editor so bad?)

[fyredraka]

Book Reviews of Jane Austen's book, Emma, for IB literature. The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green.

Dated 23/2/2012, re-edited 02/03/2024

Sorry if I haven't posted as often as I should, however, I have been swamped with multiple assignments. I had the great desire to launch a radio drama, however this was not achieved. I'm not sure if I will ever get around to doing radio dramas. Perhaps a podcast would be possible. Of what topic I am not sure.

As for creative projects. I wrote a monologue/soliloquy for Jane's Austen book, Emma, for IB Literature class. (I have no clue if this was every submitted) I disliked this book at the time but now I have learnt to appreciate it greatly. Trying to read this work was like trying to trudge through wet cement waist deep. To Jane Austen fans, I am sorry if this offends you. I just deeply dislike reading books that waffle on and on and on. These books that waffle on are not books that I enjoy spending time on, and this continues to be true to this day. I find romantic dramas dull, until I am very hormonal and want to elicit tears.

In comparison, I managed to finish John Green's book, The Fault in Our Stars in less that 18 hours (when I mean less than, what I intend is that I couldn't be bothered to calculate how much time it took for me to sleep or eat or attend classes, but what I do know is that I read it very quickly). It made me cry four times in thirty minutes, and I generally did not cry easily (now this is different). Only certain pieces of literature make me cry, such as the end of the Eragon cycle or if one of my favorite characters died in Harry Potter. I consume fantasy literature with a great voracity. I read and eat, I stay up until I no longer can and then sleep until noon or deal with the sleep deficit during the day. This continues until I am done with the book.

For this reason I have stopped reading books in general because my passions consume me, and I fear this. However now I have coping mechanisms. I write my thoughts, I write summaries, I reflect. I put time slots to organize myself. I have developed a great passion for food and cooking and having restful sleeps. I now prioritize my own sanity and well being over my passions. I hate cramming and pulling all-nighters. I need consistency and personal summaries, to think creatively and analytically. I do follow logical flows and can identify patterns, long before the majority of people become concerned. My traumas have left my senses hyper-keen. Multi-generational trauma and having to survive the Amazon has left me keen. I appreciate my hearing and attempt to protect it. I appreciate nature and all its values. We need to learn to live in harmony with nature, before we exhaust all our natural resources and destroy our own planet. By 2025 we will reach a tipping point. To return to the main topic at hand…

If I were to review the Fault in Our Stars, I would give it a 5/5 because it was EXCELLENT. It will bring laughter, tears, and hopefully you will want to read it again and again, because I have read this book multiple times and have watched the movie multiple times. I let one of my friends borrow the book, so I cannot read it again… until yet another friend of mine reads it… which probably means I will not be in the presence of this book until a month or so from now (sighs). That and yet another, third friend, wants to read it, a male friend… so I am not so sure how well he will appreciate the book.

And you (John Green) do have typos in the first chapter of The Fault in Our Stars… that or you actually meant to say "lo"…

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Given the fact that you're an actual brazilian lol I gotta ask: Did anyone believe two years ago that someone like Bolsonaro could win? Because I'm not an expert in brazilian politics but I'm really shocked, like we have a right wing president but he is like... a normal right wing asshole? As in he doesn't defend torture and so on. I guess I'm scared bc I see our countries as quite similar, I think Brasil is a little more conservative and you guys have more issues with crime but still similar.

This is really, really big, but I wanted to give you the full picture of what happened in my country. I hope it doesn’t happen on yours or any other country from Latin America (or anywhere, no one deserves it).

Honestly… it depends who you ask. His fans/electors have been yelling that Bolsonaro would be president for the good part of two, three years, but big part of the population didn’t take him seriously because he honestly sounds like a caricature. It’s hard to believe a person can be like this, and therefore people did not take him serious.

Big mistake, that was.

To give you a little context: during most of our democratic history (that isn’t very long), Brazil was ruled by right wing parties. We have several political parties in here, but the biggest one from the right wing side was PSDB (Partido da Social Democracia Brasileira). The biggest political party on the left wing side is PT (Partido dos Trabalhadores).

Brazil was a military dictatorship from 1964 to 1985. This was a horrible, bloody piece of our history, and we only started to have a democratic state after 1985. During the years that followed, in most of the elections the main dispute was between PT and PSDB, PT always losing until 2002, when Lula aka Luís Inácio Lula da Silva won for elections.

Lula ruled from 2002 to 2010; a presidential term on Brazil lasts for four years, but we have reelections and Lula won a second term in 2006.

His time as a president was marked for several things. There was several social projects for poor people, projects to fight famine, to give finantial help to people who received too low income, projects to help poor people get into universities. They were not perfect projects by any means but I can assure you that it made a HUGE difference for millions of people in this country.

Another thing that marked Lula’s time as a president was the corruption scandals.

You see, it’s not that Brazil didn’t have corruption before, because corruption is in this country’s bones. But it was during Lula’s time as a president that we came to know how big the proportions of this corruption was. This was called the ‘mensalão’; Lula claimed that he did not know about it (which I doubt very much), but people from all political parties were implicated, including from PT.

Lula was still very popular and loved by many people, but this was the first seeds of the so called anti-petismo, that would take much bigger proportions later.

After Lula, we had Dilma Rousseff, also from PT, supported by Lula; her first term was from 2010 and 2014.

Dilma had little experience for this charge, and her time as president showed it. Her term was very mediocre, and popular insatisfaction began to rise, especially because of the World Cup that happened here on 2014 - a LOT of money was spent on it, and often the planning was really bad.

More popular insatisfaction rising; the elites were never happy to have a left wing party on power, but now middle class people started to being deluded that they were elite and anti-petismo started to get bigger. Dilma still won reelections in 2014, but it was a close call with her oponent.

Now we have a very divided country. And during the World Cup there was plenty of jobs everywhere, but after it there was a huge wave of unemployment all over the nation, the economy was a shambles. Even MORE popular insatisfaction. Things getting ugly and uglier by minute.

I won’t give you all details because this is already getting ridiculous long and it is a very long story, but Dilma suffered an impeachment. She was not very competent, but that was bullshit and clearly a coup, because we have recorded audios of the right wing opposition plotting to get her out so they could put in power her vice, Michel Temer, a right wing politic.

So now that’s still our president, Michel Temer. Just two years on power, but boy, the man did so much of damage all around, and no one, not people sympathetic to the left nor people sympathetic to the right like the man.

More popular insatisfaction, all around now. No one is happy in this country; everyone wants a change.

Now, take Bolsonaro, this dumb piece of shit we just elected. The man have been a congressist for 27 years. In this time he aproved like, two projects. In several opportunities he voted against the rights of poor people. You may remember the video of him talking with Ellen Page or Stephen Fry and how horrible that was. No one would want a horrible AND incompetent man like that as a president, right?

Right?

Well. Brazil have a wide variation of people in our nation and most people have black relatives, but we’re still a very racist, misogynistic, homophobic country. This people started to enjoy Bolsonaro’s speeches because they identify with him. Their mentality was something like… we need to stop the corruption in this country, and Bolsonaro will do it! Never mind he says that gay people should be beaten. That his white son would never marry a black woman because he received good education. That police should straight up invade favelas and kill poor people. That he said to a woman that the only reason he wouldn’t rape her was because she was not worth raping. They don’t care if women and queer people, and black and poor people get hurt or killed in this process; our lives are a small price to pay for them.

Now I do believe that even if this planet is loaded with horrible awful people, there’s still more good than bad. There’s still more good people than not, and how could good people vote for this man?

The means they used to get these votes was mass manipulation. Very similar tactics that Trump used in this campaign; dozen, hundreds of fake news all around. While in US they used mainly Facebook for this means, in Brazil they used an app called WhatsApp, because not everyone has facebook on Brazil but everyone has a cellphone and uses this app for easy communication.

In these groups they exalted that Bolsonaro would end corruption, would be a ‘correct christian man’, would stop the ‘LGBT doutrination of children on schools’. He would save this country. Mito (mith) is how his fans call him, or Messias (his middle name), and they absoluted demonized the opposition.

Now Bolsonaro is extreme right wing; the centrists and the normal right wing assholes are another story. PSDB tried to launch a candidate with no sucess, and PT was planning to launch Lula again as a candidate… but Lula was arrested in april (another bullshit). If he was not, he might have won; at least all the surveys showed Lula was more popular than even Bolsonaro. Because of that, PT tried to launch Lula as candidate even from inside prison, and of course, it didn’t work out, so there was a huge delay in PT choosing a candidate.

Eventually, Fernando Haddad was chosen. He’s a professor, a good man; was mayor of São Paulo. Was a ministry in Lula’s term, helped to create several education projects. But he was also not very known - I didn’t even know him until like four months ago.

The fact that he was not very well known helped a lot the pro-Bolsonaro groups to demonize the man and his vice. Many fake news were made up about him, stuff like him trying to legalize paedophilia, that he he was going to give a ‘gay kit’ for kids in school and therefore incentive the erotization of children, that he was a rapist. That he was against traditional family, but Bolsonaro would save the Brazilian Family. All of this being spread in those WhatsApp groups with little to no fiscalization, being spread out by hateful people and by people who don’t have a good grasp in politics and believe everything they read.

There was also a great demonization of PT as a party - oh no, you can’t let PT back on power again, right? PT is corrupt! They stole us! Don’t you remember mensalão? They DESTROYED the country, they’re gonna do it AGAIN, they BROKE this country and tore it apart (anyone would thing we lived in some sort of paradise before), PT is gonna transform this country in a COMMUNIST DICTATORSHIP we’re gonna be the next Venezuela.

(I kid you not. I heard this last part from my father’s mouth last time I saw him. People really believed this)

Nevermind that PT was on power for 14 years and we didn’t become communists and if anything they appllied a more centrist line of ruling the leftist; we can’t let PT win. Bolsonaro will save this country.

Now another thing you need to understand is that Bolsonaro is DUMB. He’s dumb as fuck. In the first part of the elections he showed up to a few presidential debates and said horrible things like “Portugueses (our collonizers) never even set foot on Africa, Black people slavered themselves” that caused some popular outtrage. For that reason, in the second part of the elections he didn’t showed up in any debate, least he opened his mouth and people realize the kind of person they were trying to elect to represent them. Bolsonaro also suffered an attack in September (was stabbed in the belly), which helped to incentivate his popularity (after all, the man is a martyr now).

These were the main ingredients that elected Bolsonaro. Anti-petismo, misguided and ignorant people being led on in a flood of fake news, fascists that knew exactly who they were electing, a refusal to hear good arguments, since his supporters think that every piece of evidence we have of Bolsonaro being a piece of garbage was edited or taken out of context (it was not).

They also had a little help from their American friends; in this picture you can see Eduardo Bolsonaro (the son of the piece of shit, also a piece of shit himself) cozying up with Steve Bannon, the white supremacist from Trump’s presidential campaign, and give yesterday’s results, his tips sure seem to have worked here too.

Edit: this article can also help you to understand a little the reasons of why he won:

Bolsonaro business backers accused of illegal Whatsapp fake news campaign

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hi! I'm not very good at English and I don't know if you are accepting requests for oneshots or images. But could you write some Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Shapeshifter Reader? The reader and Daemon have become friends, Daemon likes the energetic personality of the reader and he likes that she can transform into animals and dragons. The reader is quite innocent in terms of love and passion, so Daemon is willing to teach her, and that helps him demonstrate the feelings that arose between the two. Something fluffy and smut, please? Thanks in advance ✨

Doves, Snakes, Dragons

Daemon Targaryen x Shapshifter!Reader

Summary: You were an oddity sold at the price of an ewer of wine and two loaves of bread. Upon the death of your buyer, you find yourself in the hands of a Targayen who, for once, is unafraid of the magic in your blood.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: GIRL RUN I WROTE ANGST IM SORRY, literally .01 fluff, 0 feminism left on my hands and knees, mentions of slavery, reader is a shapeshifter idk what to tell you bestie, infidelity, smut (crying while fucking, aggressive choking?, impregnation kink?, praise kink?, vaginal penetration, pulling out) fem!reader, typos, etc.

A/N: Ngl you had me at shapeshifter. BUT GIRL IM SO SORRY I DID THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT YOU ASKED AND refuse TO FIX IT ASHFL:AHS:ASFHASL:F ITS NOT FLUFF ITS ANGST IM SO SORRY And if there is any lore about shapeshifters in this universe, i am blissfully unaware of is, therefore all of u just roll with my punches 😚✌️ Also all my anons be apologizing for their english, literally when this language has silent k's 🤨 u think it deserves respect? Repeat after me: we are speaking english AMAZINGLY 😩 slay bilinguals slay Pssst i made a p2 babes "To The Heart"

It happened like this: a man saw me, thought he could take me as a whore and the man who owned me gave him a piece of his mind. My master was no match to the large attacker, and was gravely injured by him. Yet when the attacker tried to grab me, a sword sliced his neck. I was then acquainted with Daemon Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne.

When my master succumbed to his wounds, I then begged the prince to take me in, but instead of claiming me as his property, he set me free. To this day, I do not know why.

"My prince!" I called out the moment I felt his presence from outside my home. I run to the door, passing my handmaiden who followed after my heels in similar excitement.

I run out of the door and see Daemon galloping towards me on his black horse. I smile and wave at him enthusiastically. I feel my servant nudge me from behind, making my body heat up in response.

Daemon swiftly unmounts his horse and walks over to me, hand extended for me to take. The moment I take it, he pulls me close to him and places a chaste kiss on my cheek, "my favorite skin changer."

I press my lips into a smile, "I'm the only skin changer you know, my prince."

"Wouldn't you like that to be true," he teases, making me furrow my brows at him, sequentially making him laugh.

He leads me back into my home, and my servant quickly calls that she will prepare snacks for us.

"How may I be of assistance to you, my prince?" I ask in urgency as I sit on the settee beside the man who already made himself comfortable.

Daemon brushes hair behind my ear, "the usual."

I nod, "to whom must I deliver a message?"

He does not reply for a moment, his violet eyes far too busy taking in my face. I enjoy his attention, much like I enjoy his fingers that were fiddling with the ends of my hair.

He speaks in High Valyrian. He only looks again at me, measuring my reaction.

I bite my lip in thought, "did you just say I'm pretty, your grace?"

Daemon breaks into a chuckle, pulling his hand away from me to prop his arm on the cushioned backrest, "I said your beauty is being wasted."

I shake my head, just as my handmaiden arrived with a tray of snacks. She gives me a look, Daemon is the one that catches it though, then rushes out the moment she sets the things down on table before us, "if it is for my liberator, it is not a waste at all."

"Perhaps I freed you from that twisted fuck you thought to be a kind master," Daemon takes a turn to shake his head, "but you have in turn shackled me, sweet girl."

I lean into him, resting my head on his chest.

As quickly as I feel contented in his arms, I feel envy bite at me. My mind is envious of the truth of it all, that he had a wife, Lady Rhea Royce, and I was simply passing his time. I decide not to speak about it, I never do, in fear of making him draw away from me.

"House Baratheon is situated quite far from here," Daemon changes the subject as he places a hand on my back.

I pull away after hearing this, eager to learn more of his newest order, much to his disappointment.

"Are you sure you cannot change into a fish?" Daemon asks me for the nth time, making me release a half amused sigh.

"My love, I-" realizing my mistake, I freeze, breaking my gaze from him, "if- if I was able to change into a fish I would have bared my gills at you a long time ago."

Daemon's face is hard when I turn back to him.

"I can only change into birds or reptiles, same as ever," I blurt, faking the fact I was not nervous under his gaze.

"I'm simply concerned that some idiot might think to shoot you upon seeing your wings," he says, hand stroking my shoulder.

I shake my head, "I have been having trouble ruffling my feathers as of late, my prince. I think I will crawl into his house instead."

The prince straightens up upon hearing that, brows shooting up with him, "you will walk all the way there?"

I chuckle at his concerned look, "no less tiring than flying, I assure you," I return a smile to contrast his worried wrinkles, "but no. I will ride on Buttercup and decide how I'll leave your message when I am close enough."

Knowing my shifting preferences, he leans back, "don't turn into a snake."

I chuckle yet again.

"Those fuckers will not hesitate to strike you."

"My prince," I pacify, hand going to his cheek, "this is something you do not have to worry about."

"I am," he replies simply, hand grabbing my wrist.

I look at him, then look away, willing myself not to be affected by his words.

Daemon pulls me up with him when he stands. He takes me outside. We begin to roam the beachside by my house, heading wordlessly to the cave we always ended up in.

Much like all the other times, it doesn't take long before the prince has me against him, back pressed against one of the trees near the mouth of the cave.

I am hungry for his touch, starving like I always am, and it is palpable in how I tug on his clothes and dig at his skin. He however is not as eager today. He wants to take his time, savor the moment. Daemon instead forces me to slow down when he grabs my nimble hands. He wants to feel of his mouth on mine, to share the breath he is breathing.

I am defenseless against him and crumble to his desire. I moan at his soft touches, subservient to whatever he wants from me.

It is only in moments like this I am brave enough to mutter his name. I speak it like a prayer, claiming him with my voice, deluding myself he is actually mine.

"Daemon," I whine in between a moment of huffs as his hands finally roam down my skirt. I pull him closer to me and lean against the tree bark behind me.

He kneads my bare thighs once he finds them, then pushes forward, bending down so he can secure my legs around his hips. Not needing to worry about falling out of his clutch, my own hands work on undoing his breeches. He silently allows me to do so then shakes them down enough to be able to enter me.

When he does so, I roar the way I do when I am in animal form. Daemon basks in the wet heat around him and growls against my ear.

He positions me better against him, hands pressing firmly against my sides. He pushes into me, slowly, fully in and out, and the sounds that escape me are absolutely filthy to the ears.

In the same moment, the wind blows fiercely, making the trees shift and the leaves fall all over around us. My eyes that were barely open manages to behold this. This must be what heaven feels like.

I nearly break into tears when I hear what Daemon says next. He grumbles, pace not yet quickening, "my love, how I've missed to be inside you."

The words make my grip on his neck tighten, and my mouth go completely dry.

Daemon grunts at the feeling of my nails. He takes this moment to pick up the pace.

"I've missed you too," I mutter in between whimpers. Daemon heavily breaths against me as I pepper kisses all over his neck.

I begin to helplessly bawl on him, tears watering at both the pleasure he was bringing and the thoughts that were suddenly plaguing my head. My teeth lightly scratches on his skin as I confess, "I pray to the gods that you will not leave me next time you come."

He sighs, "fuck," pace suddenly slacking, grip loosening until I slip off him. My feet fall to the ground. I was looking up at Daemon when he suddenly forces me around, lifting my skirt up yet again and enters me this time with a much more brutal pace.

I grip on the tree trunk for dear life as Daemon hoists me up by hips, forcing me on my toes. My back arches to further submit to him. My nails dig into the wood when he pushes against me in the most roughly delicious of ways.

"Daemon," I beg, licking my lips, tasting the tears that moistened them.

He is silent, save for his own whines and throaty rumbles.

Whatever eagerness I had initially is nothing compared to how he takes me now. He slams into like it was his only purpose in life. My body is nothing against him, and does not know whether to tense or melt. I find myself constantly shifting somewhere in between.

I begin to clench around him in anticipation of my high. A slave to my needs, Daemon senses this and brings his fingers to my dripping core, hastily rubbing the surface, making more tears run down my pleasure contorted face.

"Come now, good girl," Daemon hisses, "come for me."

I whine, absolutely dying to obey him and follow in his bidding.

However, knowing what would come next, I look over my shoulder, mouth opening wider at the sight of Daemon's expression, "inside please."

Daemon does not hear this, so I repeat his name out quickly, quickly, quickly. He finally notices my gaze on him.

"Come inside me, Daemon," I beg with tears, "I want to have you. Fill me with y-"

His hand chokes me before I could continue. He heaves, a darkness covers his eyes, "I will not fuck a bastard in you."

I whine at the pressure. His hands do not leave me as he continues and my belly goes into a frenzy because of it.

"Daemon," I heave.

He presses a kiss on my cheek as my eyes close. Tears down to his hand on my neck.

He finally releases me once I've come undone around him. I shake violently as unholy sounds stream out of my lips. I relish in his continuous pounding, absolutely spent by his raw an relentless fucking.

It takes everything in him not to do as he was begged to. Still, Daemon prides himself in his self-control and pulls out, pumping himself with his hand, finishing on the sand beside him, imagining he was not as pathetic as he was in that moment.

I claw at the tree, trying to find my footing as my legs were still like jelly.

A moment passes and I finally manage to straighten myself up.

I turn to the ground beside me, seeing the wetness on the ground that was Daemon's seed. Suddenly, I feel ashamed by my treasonous words.

I turn around, catching Daemon tying his pants back up, "Dae-"

Daemon turns to me.

"My prince," I correct myself, "I-"

"Bring this to Lord Baratheon at once," Daemon cuts me off, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket the moment he was done sorting himself out.

I gulp the lump on my throat. I bite my lower lip tightly in an attempt to hold back tears.

Daemon steps over to me, grabbing my hand, placing his letter in it. His jaw clenches as he watches tears gush from my eyes. He does not make any attempts to soothe me.

I nod at him, knowing whatever comes out of my mouth would only be sounds that betray me.

You deserve better than me, Daemon wants to say. His pride will not allow it though, especially not his selfishness. He instead pulls away in such a manner that his hands brush all the way down to my finger tips. When he walks away, he tells himself not to look back. His self-control fails him in that moment.

I crumble to the floor, crying into the piece of paper in my hands.

Daemon clenches his fists tightly as he draws his gaze away.

[sweet-seishu]

KATIE MY LOVE I HAVE SOME FLUFF THINGS I MUST ASK OF YOU

Ok, what do you think the Tokyo Revengers characters (any of them, you pick) would do if you just walked up to them and hugged them, then when they had to do something and said you needed to let them go, you said “I’ll never let you go”?

I NEED ANSWERS PLS 😭

At your very own convenience of course, no rush, take all the time you would like 🥰

MY LOVE WNSODKWO IM SORRY I TOOK FOREVER so i added mikey just for you <3😌

i only did the few that popped into my head im sorry. I'm also sorry this kind of sucks? 🙂

ignore all typos and grammar errors i wrote this in 10 mins (◍•ᴗ•◍)

i'll never let you go

𝕀ℕ𝕌𝕀 would instantly hug you back, a small smile on his face as you squeezed him tightly. He loved the affection you showed him, especially when it was out of the blue. Like when you would randomly visit him at the shop. "You okay sweetheart?" He asked. "Yeah, just wanted to hug you." You mumbled into his chest. He only chuckled, lifting your head softly and pecking your lips quickly before moving to go back to work, but your hold tightened. "Princess, I gotta get back to work." Inui said softly, trying to pry your hands away. "No." You huffed, snuggling further into him. "I dont ever wanna let you go." Inui went beet red, looking down at with love filled eyes. "Yeah? Wanna stay with me forever princess?" He asked, a smirk on his face as you looked up at him. "Of course i do, i love you inupi." You confirmed. He picked you up bridal style, causing you to gasp as you struggled to get a new hold on him while he walked you both out of the shop. "Draken, I'm taking the rest of the day, gotta go spend it with my forever."

𝕂𝔸ℤ𝕌𝕋𝕆ℝ𝔸 would probably completely freeze, we all know this sweet baby is so touch starved, so when you ran up to hug him from behind at the shop his face got red and he didn't know how to react. "W-what are you doing?" He asked. "Just hugging you tora, I missed you." You smiled, squeezing tighter. "Missed you to..." He whispered, smiling to himself. "But I have to go put this stock away, so you have to let me go." You only tightened your hold on him. "But tora, I'll never let you go, don't you know you're stuck with me forever?" Kazutora didn't know what to say at your words, but he felt relief when he heard them knowing that you wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with you. He turned around in your hold, his arms going around you as he looked down at you with a small smile. "Good, because I don't want to let you go either."

𝕄𝕀𝕋𝕊𝕋𝕌𝕐𝔸 would think you are the most precious thing in the world pls. He'd be working on a design or something and you would just walk up to him, making him stop what he was doing so you could climb in his lap, hugging him tightly as he just chuckled. "What are you doing pretty girl?" He smiled, kissing your forehead softly. "Just hugging you." You mumbled, nuzzling your face into his neck. Mitsuya smiled, holding you tightly as you both sat in a comfortable silence, your eyes shutting slowly as you took in his warmth. "As much as I love the cuddles, I have to get these done pretty, you have to let me go back to sketching." You groaned at his words, snuggling into him more. "No, never want to let you go Kashi, wanna stay here forever." Mitsuya swore he fell for you all over again, you were just so cute. "Forever eh?" He teased. "Mhmm." You nodded, softly kissing his neck. "Good, glad to know we're on the same page." He smiled. "Now let's go take a nap my love, we can cuddle as much as you want."

𝕄𝕀𝕂𝔼𝕐 would probably be the one to do this to you tbh. He has lost so many people and the last thing he wanted was to ever lose you. You would probably be doing some dishes, maybe even just reading a book or something, and he would quickly be behind you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving soft kisses on your skin. "You okay Mikey?" You'd ask, a soft smile on your face as your heart fluttered. "Mhm, just wanna be close to you that's all." He'd mumble, pulling you tighter against him. "Like being close to you like this." He'd tell you. "I like being close to you to Mikey, but I need to go get dinner started, so you have to let me go." Almost like those words were a trigger his heart picked up it's pace, his breathing became nearly erratic as he held you impossibly tighter. "Mikey what's wrong?" You'd ask. "Not gonna let you go, can't let you go, won't lose you to–" "Mikey.." You'd lean back into him, whispering sweet nothings before you suggested ordering takeout instead, which he would happily agree to, holding you until you both fell asleep on the couch. You both completely forgot to order food tbh