#my brain is just itching to make so much content and come up with more ideas

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ . °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

���And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Heating Up |

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing(s): Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Rogers

Warnings: A/B/O Themes, Heat, Polyamory, Oral (F), PinV Sex, Knotting, Two sickly sweet alphas who adore their baby — if I’ve missed any let me know.

Word count: 1.5k

Note: Well hello enjoyers of my work I’m so sorry I abandoned you but life came at me fast. Having a puppy is hard work and before I knew it he was almost a year old and I hadn’t posted in a long time. I had surgery also so with everything going on I haven’t had time to write but hopefully I’ll get back to it. For now please enjoy a lil snippet from my drafts you beautiful souls.

This has not been looked over thoroughly forgive my mistakes!!

Your mates were concerned to say the least. You’d spent all but the better half of this week avoiding them, choosing to spend most of your waking hours cooped up in your room instead—only leaving to eat when both men had vacated the house or were tucked up in the much larger bed in the master bedroom.

“Steve have you seen my shirt?” A half naked Bucky stomps in, a scowl marring his perfect features. His bonding mark on perfect display above ropes of muscle that rippled and stretched at each little movement he made.

Steve only hummed, jutting his chin out in the direction of the closed door, your separate little bedroom.

“Thought I couldn’t hear her sneaking out while you were showering, I saw her come back with it not even five minutes ago.” Steve tossed the contents of his frying pan into the air, making sure to catch everything again effortlessly.

This hadn’t been the first time Bucky or Steve’s clothing had vanished into thin air this week. Just the other day Steve and Bucky had gone to training, each of them discarding their clothing in a pile before showering. When they finished the pile was nowhere to be found. They’d tried to question you, Steve pulling on the handle of the closed door but it was locked.

They both had a sneaky suspicion about what was up but you hadn’t had anything since dating the Alphas. It would be strange for it to happen now, right?

They let your strange behaviour continue, you weren’t harming anyone but Bucky was chomping at the bit to see you again. The more reserved of the two had become quite smitten with you, his bonding mark itched when you weren’t joined at the hip and the itch was becoming too much to bear. He waited until Steve was distracted before picking the lock of your room and stepping in.

The first thing that hit him was your scent, heavy in the air, its cherry undertones strong and almost overpowering, he could almost taste it. His alpha brain clicked instantly and told him to leave you alone but his human side craved your contact.

You weren’t in the bed, the shower running let him know exactly where you were. The perfect cover for him. The white sheets had been thrown on the floor, the bed littered in Steve and his shirts and other discarded clothing. It took him only a second to realise that the arrangement was intricate and thought out. A nest.

“What? Get out!” You snarled from behind him, teeth bared and eyes crazy, your body wrapped in a little towel. He blinked at you for a second before promptly apologising for the intrusion and slinked out of the room, jumping lightly at the loud slam and click of the lock.

“She’s in heat.” Steve groaned from his spot in the hall. Your sweet scent had wafted throughout the house, alerting Steve of your vulnerability. His cock hardened in his pants as his pupils dilated, matching the same look Bucky had.

Both of your poor alphas went to bed painfully hard, trying to ignore your soft yowls from the other room. You tried to hold off, deal with the feeling on your own but you couldn’t, you needed them.

-

Steve awoke instantly at the creak of their door, his nose twitching at your smell. He glanced over to Bucky who clutched your pillow, still fast asleep.

Your whimpers grew closer, the bed dipping under your weight as you crawled onto the mattress, until you straddled Steve.

“Stevieee,” you moaned weakly, your hips grinding into his brief covered crotch, your pussy hot against him. You whined as his length twitched against you, hardening easily.

“Oh angel, you’re in heat?” He asked, his large hands helping you move. When you nodded he snarled, flipping you both over until your head made contact with the pillow in Bucky’s arms, Steve’s head nuzzling into your neck, his teeth nipping and licking at your bonding mark. The ministrations had your sweet scent flowing from you in waves. The scent woke Bucky up, his hot breath on the side of your face as he growled lowly.

“Babygirl, you finally come around?” He chuckled at the pathetic sound that fell from your lips, your hand carding through Steve’s dirty blonde locks as he kissed down your almost naked body. Your panties clung to you as another wave of slick fell from you.

“Don’t k-know why…mm Stevie…just felt hot and needy,” you babbled, tears pooling in your water line as you looked up at Bucky. He thought you looked absolutely ravishing, your lip petted and swollen from your lip biting, your body flushed and glistening already.

“You shouldn’t have held back from us omega, you know we live to serve you.” You cried out at his words, nodding before leaning up slightly to slot his lips with yours.

Steve’s chuckle vibrated against your core as he watched how desperate you were. Steve didn’t mind that you and Bucky had such a close relationship, you were his first after all, but he knew you loved him too. Especially when he suckled on your sweet scent through your cotton panties.

“Mmm Stevieee,” your head fell back onto the sheets, your mouth gaping as your eyes fell shut, the fingers in his hair tugging tightly.

“You like that angel? Like your Alpha tasting you? Taste so sweet omega, so fucking sweet.” He growled, hooking a finger into the gusset of your panties before devouring your pussy.

Your sweet moans and whines were like music to your Alphas ears, your hips grinding up and practically riding Steve’s bearded face. You came undone when his nose nudged your sensitive little bud, your cunt gushing over his bearded face. You didn’t even know you could leak that much.

“Oh pleasepleaseplease Alpha, need your knot so bad, so so so bad,” you sobbed, uncaring of who’s knot you got, you just needed to be filled.

“Ok babygirl, alphas got you ok? We’ll let Stevie fuck that weeping cunt first alright, since he was such a good boy and made you cum” Bucky moved so he was sitting behind you, his arms holding your hips while Steve slipped your panties off before moving each of your feet to rest on his bulging thighs, spreading you out for the blonde haired man.

You keened at the sight of Steve’s long length, the curve of his cock decorated in thick, rope like veins leading to a fat tip. He might not have been as thick as Bucky but he still stretched you out nice.

You both moaned in tandem with each other as Steve sunk into you, his head grazing the rigid skin of your sweet spot making you clench around him almost painfully.

“Ohh fuck angel so tight, mmm relax lemme breed that sweet pussy ‘mega” he was panting already, balls slapping against you as he fucked you deeply, making sure you could feel everything. Your soft noises mixed with the slick slapping sound and wet squelching filled the room, your pussy gushing all over the sheets. You must’ve looked pathetic, wailing for your alphas cock to breed you full.

To both of them though, you were the sexiest fucking thing ever. Bucky lipsed down your neck, whispering sweet nothings to you as Steve picked up his pace.

“Ohh there we go babygirl, taking it like a fucking champ. Stevie gonna breed you full of his pups yeah? Look at how soaked you’ve got him, such a good little omega”

Bucky’s filthy words paired with Steve’s swelling knot sent you over the edge, your screams reverberating off the walls—neighbours be damned. Steve followed suit, pressing as deep as he could into you before spilling his seed, his knot swollen to full size to prevent anything from slipping out.

You might’ve blacked out, you don’t know, the only thing you could vaguely register was Steve’s teeth biting down on your dark mark, causing another shockwave of your orgasm to shoot through you.

“There we go babygirl that’s it took it so well, ohh my fucking god” Steve’s chest rumbled with laughter as he settled, grabbing the water Bucky handed him and gulping down gratefully before helping you take a drink yourself.

Both of them moved so that you lay on top of Steve, waiting for the swell of his knot to settle. Bucky’s fingers brushed through your locks, his head laying on Steve’s other pec so he could kiss you gently.

“Take a little nap babygirl ‘cause once Stevie’s knot is gone I’m gonna fucking ruin that cunt, ok?” Despite the sweet way he spoke you knew Bucky meant every single word of it. And your pussy throbbed with excitement.

“We are never gonna survive this” Steve joked after you’d fallen asleep, his hand running up and down your bare arm. Bucky laughed in agreement before speaking,

“We’ll give it our best shot.”

-

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Law has a thing for you, so when he catches you and Luffy fooling around one night, the captain makes him an offer that he can’t refuse. This is very Law-centric. ~2.8k words.

CW: Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns used a few times), double penetration, plz note that this is consensual~

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Law didn’t like admitting it to himself, but he was painfully infatuated with you. Each moment he spent on the ship (when he wasn’t actively dealing with the Strawhat crew’s nonsense) was occupied with thoughts about you. You were an itch in his mind that he couldn’t scratch.

He realized he had a problem when you caught him staring at you. You asked him straight up, “Is there something on my face?” He stuttered and apologized, excusing himself by saying that he “spaced out.”

Law’s favorite thing about you was your eyes. They were like magnets. Anytime you were around, he could feel himself being pulled towards you, with the nagging desire to just look into your eyes. He had never felt this before and was having difficulty coping. His fixation with you was taking up too much space in his head, it was starting to cause him genuine distress.

Along with missing his crew and Luffy driving him up the fucking wall, your presence agitated him. He was snappy, rude, reserved, and unreadable in every interaction. He swore to himself that he wasn’t this much of a dick usually, but the ship was driving him crazy.

Law was in denial about how intoxicating your presence was. One day he caught himself accidentally musing about what it would be like to ‘room’ and ‘shambles’ you out of your clothes and into his bed. He pretended like it was a momentary aberration.

The next night at dinner, you finished your food and got up to wash your plate. Law’s eyes followed you. Luffy went for another portion of meat at the same time as you, and when he walked past you, he unceremoniously slapped the ever-living fuck out of your ass. You were unfazed, and so was everyone else on the crew.

Law was flabbergasted and his jaw literally dropped. To think that Luffy was involved with you in that way… it broke Law’s brain. He just didn’t see it coming. It made him question his own judgment—why was he caught so off guard by that? Why didn’t he expect the captain of the Strawhats to pull? And why didn’t anyone else on the crew react to that? It must have been a normal occurrence.

He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn’t shake the sight of Luffy smacking your ass, especially the way your ass had jiggled when Luffy’s palm made contact.

Law cursed himself. Fucking hell, he told himself. Get a grip.

Luffy annoyed him beyond comprehension. Sure, Law admired his faith in the crew and his strength, but god, he was annoying. It annoyed him even more to think that Luffy was with you.

A week or so later, Law stumbled into the kitchen after a long day buried in textbooks. It must have been 2AM. Sanji told him there were leftovers in the fridge, so he was going to grab a plate and get back to his cabin.

His eyes were met with a sight that would be seared into his brain forever. He took in the whole scene, in an instant.

Luffy’s back was facing Law, and his shorts were pooled at his feet. You were on the counter, legs spread, naked, with your arms thrown around Luffy’s neck.

He was fucking you, and wet slapping noises sounded through the room—it was a wonder Law hadn’t heard them on his way to the kitchen.

While Luffy fucked you, Law’s eyes darted to the counter. There was a discarded plate of meat a few feet away from where you were being railed. Law put the pieces together. It looks like Luffy wanted a midnight snack, but he found a meal instead.

In the split second that Law stood in the doorway, you locked eyes. Your eyes were lidded, your mouth hung open and sweet sounds were falling from your lips. Your cheeks were ruddy, and your hair was askew.

Law couldn’t pull himself away. His heart did a twisting thing seeing your eyes glossy and lustful like this, and he didn’t even think about looking at your cunt yet. He was entranced, getting harder by the millisecond.

Luffy’s head turned.

“Oh, Traffy!” The captain smiled and did his classic goofy laugh. “Funny seeing you here!”

“Fuck, Strawhat.” Law choked out the words, incredulous. “Can’t you do that in your room?”

Luffy’s hips kept crashing into yours. “What, you don’t wanna try some?”

Law froze. Was Luffy offering you up like some sort of meal? Asking him if he wanted a taste? Law’s cock twitched in his pants. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was wildly out of character and felt downright wrong. But the way you just sat there, taking Luffy’s cock with that fucked-out look on your face tortured him. He wanted you.

“C’monnnnn,” Luffy entreated him. “I think she wants you too.”

Law blinked, speechless as he saw your hand creep over to your clit. You started to draw circles on it, eyes locked onto Law’s still. What little shred of reason and inhibition left in Law was thrown unabashedly out the window the second he saw your fingers rub your sensitive bud like that.

Without a word, you nodded at Law eagerly and he felt his body go into autopilot. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, hard cock lining up with your entrance.

A fleeting moment of reason flashed through his mind. What the fuck am I doing? He banished the thought and brought himself back to the present. You were ready for him.

Your folds were already dripping wet and inflamed. Law’s hands were on your hips and your fingers snaked up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. He watched your pupils dilate barely, and his heart stopped for a second. He knew what that meant.

Law pressed into you slowly, and you arched your back with a whine, swallowing up his inches greedily, like it was nothing. His cock was girthier and longer than Luffy’s, stretching you out deliciously. It felt better than you could have imagined. And yes, you had imagined it before. How could you not?

Law didn’t even register that Luffy was next to him, fucking his own fist to the sight of Law’s shaft disappearing in you.

“Law, fuck.”

His name coming out of your mouth sounded like music to him. It tingled in his ears, raised his pulse, made blush creep up his neck. He rolled his hips into your core, producing sparks of electrifying pleasure every time his tip nudged your g-spot.

Your walls clenched around Law’s cock and he let out a low groan. The way you were staring up at him, the way that your tits bounced so prettily on your chest, the feeling of your fingers pulling on his hair—it was all going to his head.

“Hey Traffy,” Luffy’s jarring voice cut through Law’s dreamlike state and reminded him of what was actually happening. “Doesn’t she feel so mushy and warm? She likes it when you get her all messed up inside.”

Before Law could choke out an answer, you pulled his neck down and crashed your lips into his. When your legs wrapped around him and squeezed him closer, he was so turned on that he felt like he was going to pass out.

Of course, you loved Luffy’s cock. He knew your body inside and out. But Law’s cock was just different, in a good way. Before he initially pushed it into you, you had observed that Law’s tip was redder and more inflamed than Luffy’s usually was. It was a bit curved too, just barely, and his head was more defined.

Law fucked you differently than Luffy, too. Law treated you delicately and gently, like he was worried he’d hurt you. His eyes were so innocent and shocked that it made your heart melt, and his thrusts were haphazard. Each breath was ragged and shuddering. He was so obviously nervous and flustered.

Luffy kept stroking himself as Law get worked up and lost in pleasure fucking you. Anything having to do with you turned Luffy on—regardless of who was fucking you, Luffy was just happy to see you wet and panting.

Each jerk of Law’s cock into you elicited some desperate variation of a groan or grunt from him. You had admittedly underestimated how muscular the doctor was. He was shredded—his pecs were defined and hard, along with his arms, abs, every part of him. His tattoos emphasized how gorgeous he was.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself, Traffy,” Luffy frowned and huffed. He liked to see you getting ravaged like this, but he wasn’t full yet. “Wait, I have an idea.”

Law paused his hips and pulled out of you. When you whimpered at the emptiness, he felt like he would implode.

Luffy commanded Law to lay down on the floor (which initially Law thought “fuck no” to, but he realized that he’d have to comply if he wanted more of you). You sat on top of Law, cowgirl-style. As you sunk down on his cock, his hips bucked up inadvertently. He threw his head back and turned crimson—he could hardly control his body and it was taking every morsel of discipline to stay still.

Luffy told you to lean forward. You collapsed, bracing yourself on Law’s bare chest with your ass in the air. Law’s heart was beating so fast that you could feel it, and if he didn’t know better, he would have been worried it would stop entirely.

As you nuzzled your face in the crook of Law’s neck, Luffy positioned himself behind you. He started loosening up your other hole, working it open gradually as you let out sounds of whiny protest.

While you laid there nestled up to him, Law could feel you pulse around his cock. You cockwarmed him few minutes before Luffy decided you were sufficiently loosened up. Each rogue throb of your cunt made him feel crazier. He had half a mind to flip you over and fuck you prone bone until you screamed his name.

Meanwhile, the captain spat in his hand and rubbed saliva and his precum down his shaft, lubing up before he pressed his tip to your entrance. “You ready for me?” He asked gruffly, and when you nodded into Law’s neck, Luffy began to enter you.

You moaned in what was a mixture of pleasure and pain. Law could feel the pressure from Luffy’s cock making you tighter. He couldn’t comprehend the reality of this situation. If he had been in his right mind, he would have just ran out of the room the second he saw you and Luffy fucking. But he wasn’t in his right mind, and he hadn’t been since the first time he saw you.

When Luffy bottomed out you twitched in discomfort. “Luffyyy.” Law could hear the frown in your voice. He felt your hot breath on his neck, and it gave him goosebumps. “It hurts. ‘m too full.”

“Hang onnnn, it’ll feel good soon.” Luffy responded carelessly, rolling his eyes. He started to rock his hips into you slowly. Law laid motionlessly with his cock in you. He was worried about hurting you. He closed his eyes. No point in watching Luffy fuck you from this angle.

After a minute or so, you let out a muffled keen in Law’s neck. You latched your lips onto it and sucked harshly; his breath hitched.

Nothing could beat the feeling of being filled up like this. Sometimes Luffy would do it with toys, but having another cock inside you along with Luffy’s was just an unreal sensation. The pleasure wasn’t just in the feeling of being double penetrated—that was an added bonus. What set this apart from the toys Luffy would use on you was the fact that Law’s cock was real, warm, fleshy, and jumping. It was accompanied by a man, by this man, who looked even better up close, blushing bright red and buried inside of you. He smelled good, musky and clean at the same time, he looked hot with his hair ruffled a bit, and his stubble felt nice anytime it brushed your cheek.

When you were warmed up enough, you started to grind down on Law’s cock and back into Luffy’s, effectively fucking yourself harder with both. Now that heat was burning in your cunt again, you were insatiable.

“I told you it would feel good,” Luffy teased when he felt you pushing back on his cock, and you murmured a quiet “mmmhmmm.”

You moved your lips from Law’s neck to his ear, biting on his earlobe. He inhaled sharply again. You somehow managed to turn him on more than he thought was possible. “Harder, Law.”

He jerked his hips up at your words and you moaned again, directly into his ear. That was almost too much. He was holding on for dear life. Your lips wandered from his ear to his jawline and smashed onto his, giving him sloppy kisses as you fucked yourself with his cock. You bit his lip and parted his lips with your tongue. He was a spectacular kisser. You suspected as much.

Luffy’s shaft in your ass made you feel extra tight—Law couldn’t believe how good you felt. He felt like he was floating in pleasure. His hands came up to rest on your waist as he pushed up into you—he (once again) forgot Luffy was there.

Your thighs shook and Law groaned with every thrust. His voice was deep, carnal, and gravelly.

Luffy could tell that you were about to cum. He pulled out.

“Traffy, you can cum in her. I know she’s hungry for me, so I’ll wait.”

“L-law,” you mewled into his mouth and pulled your lips away from his. A string of saliva connected your bottom lips. “I’m close. Fuck me harder. I need you.”

Law nodded clumsily. If he was more cognizant of reality, he would have thought it was odd for Luffy to just pronounce and claim that it was fine if he (Law) came in you. But since you didn’t seem to have a problem with it, he guessed that he didn’t either. (You didn’t have a problem with any of it, and Luffy knew that.)

Law’s hands wandered down to grab rough fistfuls of your ass, kneading and pulling your cheeks apart as he rutted his cock up feverishly.

“Gonna cum, Law” your voice was strained.

“F-Fuck, do it,” he grunted, breathless. “Cum for me.”

You bounced on Law’s cock, desperately angling him towards your g-spot for a few more moments before you started to squirm and writhe, whining his name at a deafening level. You convulsed in pleasure, creaming around his cock in ecstasy.

Feeling you spasm around him and moan his name—something he had fantasized about countless times before—sent him over the edge. He shuddered and bucked into you one last time before he was completely lost in oblivion. His hot cum exploded in you as his whole body tensed.

Law’s seed oozed out of your cunt and down his shaft as he let out one last body-wracking groan—but you cut him off with a kiss, a passionate and sweet one. He didn’t know the nature of your relationship with Luffy, but he wondered if you kissed Luffy like this. Your kisses were tender and soft, unexpected and welcomed.

“Gosh, I know you like him a lot, but I’m starving over here.” Luffy complained impatiently and you pulled away from Law’s lips with a smile. Luffy rolled his eyes. “You guys can keep kissing later but now it’s my turn.”

Law was confused but tickled, beyond his better judgment. Had he heard that right? You liked him a lot? He could keep kissing you later?

When you pulled yourself off Law’s cock, Luffy picked you up and sat upright. He made you straddle him as he fucked you silly. Law, in a daze, watched Luffy coax another orgasm out of you, and when Luffy came inside of you he pulled you off his cock and sat you up straight. You could hardly hold yourself up.

“There. Law, your turn now. Go get her cleaned up or keep fucking her, I don’t care. I’m gonna get something to eat.” You giggled and Law sat up on his elbows. Both of those things happened, coincidentally enough—Law got you cleaned up then brought you back to his bed and fucked another couple orgasms out of you; it should go without saying, but they were euphoric and toe-curling. It wouldn’t be the last time.

ta-da!! i think this is another one of my faves so far for my kinktober thingy.

here’s my masterlist and here’s my posting schedule for october.

also, trick or treat?

[emmyrosee]

Geto doesn’t know how to respond to pet names.

It took him a long enough time to become used to the traditional “baby” and “love,” it was just recently when you started busting out these absurd nicknames for whatever thing you could be subjecting him too.

You were cooking once, and you called him “scnhookums” and asked him to pass the peppers. He dropped the tray.

Driving, you told your “stinky man” to take a left. He slammed on his brakes.

You’d been painting his nails and got some on his cuticle, and you asked your “little poop” to pass you some acetone. He just took his hands away.

It’s not that he doesn’t… like them, they’re just not quite what he expects. They’re so extreme, so left field that in a way, he feels as if you’re mocking him, making fun of him.

He doesn’t like that feeling.

But what he hates even more, is when you pause on giving him disgustingly sweet pet names. This, makes him feel like you no longer care, no longer wanting to take the time to come up with the gushy names that keep him in a shy state.

And you haven’t given him one in days.

He hasn’t been able to sleep. Nothing major, nightmares plaguing the dreams he thinks should be pleasant, 

“Shhh,” you soothe. “Stay asleep. I’ve got you.”

He merely nods and lets his head bury back into the pillows, your lips press against his temple before he lets his breathing even out once again.

As if your kiss soothed the monsters that dance, he’s able to sleep a few more hours, waking up disgustingly late and pouting to find your side of the bed cold.

He’s not proud of the pout okay, you’re just really good at scratching the affectionate itch that digs his brain. all he wants is his ‘pooky bear’ to cuddle their little ‘chickadee’ and let him fall back asleep in their arms.

He’s sure those names aren’t far in your arsenal of names.

When he finally does come to search you out, he’s not completely surprised to see you, stretched out on the couch and in a state of relaxation he finds envy in.

“What’re you watching?” He asks, shuffling into the living room. You smile up at him and say nothing, but instead pat your lap as an invitation for him to come and curl against you.

With a nod, he does just that, letting himself lay down on the couch with you, his head nestled in your thighs. Your fingers instantly start their magic on carding his loose hair, and his eyes slack slightly at the tingly feeling.

“Feel better?” You ask, and he hums contently. “I told you more sleep would help. You just never listen to me.”

He says nothing, merely letting his fingers gently trace the lines on your kneecap.

There’s a whirl of silence in the room, and he feels his eyes grow tired from your loving touch, the post warmth of his shower, and the cat that’s curled on his feet, keeping them warm under her rhythmic breathing.

“My handsome man,” you mumble, bending down to plant a kiss at his temple. his eyes widen as he cranes his head up to look at you, curved in surprise and a glimmer of love in his dark pools. “So pretty it hurts… my handsome, pretty man.”

That. That, he could get used to.

He smiles dopily and turns his head to nuzzle into your thigh, trying to hide the heating of his cheeks from you and your potential teasing by keeping his face buried.

But you don’t pick on him. Instead, you click your tongue adoringly and press another kiss to his temple. He feels your nose taking deep breaths of his scent, and your thumb strokes his cheek lovingly.

“Shut up”, Suguru says happily, as an acceptance, letting his sleepy eyes close and allowing your affections to swallow him whole.

Yes, he thinks to himself. It’s the fluttery feeling everyone talks about. The air filling his lungs and his head skipping beats just by the tone of which you call him handsome.

You call him your man.

Maybe pet names don’t always have to be sticky and sweet; but it just makes the most meaningful ones penetrate his heart that much more.

And this pet name, he hopes you decide to keep.

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not��to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[mullermilkshake]

Be stationary.

You try to hide. It doesn't work.

Hisoka x Fem! Reader DEAD DOVE DON’T EAT,Non con/rape,Possessive,Forced orgasm,Vaginal fingering,Vaginal sex,Oral sex,Blood,Blood play,Biting,Nipple play,Bungee gum,Praise kink,Breeding kink

<<< For more Hisoka content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

You knew it. The moment you stepped into the supply closet, you were indefinitely screwed.

You knew the atmosphere would change as soon as he noticed you on your own, foolishly wandering off for a second, lost in your own thoughts. 

A predatory state you had been warned about. 

His dead eyes bore into the back of your head when the door closed and locked, shrouding the mind numbing supplies in darkness. He was a shark honing in on the injured seal sitting upon a rock it was too big for. This was no aura, just pure bloodlust. 

“It’s about time I had you on your own.” He said, hands behind his back, undressing you with his eyes. “One would almost think you were avoiding me.”

You said nothing, not knowing whether an excuse would enrage him or give him pleasure. But you could feel him, his presence slinking closer, making the fallen strands of hair on your neck straighten and shiver. 

Your eyes took a moment to adjust, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he touched you. 

There was nothing to defend yourself. Not that you could go up against him anyway. He’d only enjoy it. 

“Nothing to say?”

“You seemed quite lively last night with..” His footsteps paused. “I forget his name.”

You stopped, squeezing your eyes closed looking away. You had brought a man back with you last night, a drunken fling to itch the scratch you’d kept pent up. But even you couldn’t remember his name.

“Did he call you back?”

A pen, you had a pen, metal ballpoint sharp enough to stab somewhere. Your nail beds stung with the grip you had around it deep in your pocket.

“It’s none of your business. Just leave me alone.” You turned back around to the monstrous man, the shadow of his feet illuminated by the slice of light under the door.

But it was then, after the soft chuckle that left his lips. You realised what you had done.

“Mhmm. I just adore it when you spit venom at me. It really makes conversation worth having.”

He took a step towards you. You took one backwards. Where had all the air gone? That was pushed out of you the moment your back made contact with the shelf behind you, and the only escape now was right past him. 

Another step. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me with that fear in your eyes. And I'm just dying to inhale you.”

You put your hand out in front of him as a warning, as if that would help you, you other firmly grasping the pen, nails digging into your hand with as much fear as an abandoned animal. 

“Don’t come any closer. I mean it-

It wasn’t even a fraction of a second when he lunged, as though he had teleported to close the gap between you. Your feet had even left the floor, the tips of your shoes barely scraping at the scratched linoleum floor. 

“My my, I just love how perfect my fingers fit around that pretty little neck of yours.”

You gasped for air, clawing away to pry his ironclad fingers away.

“What was that dear? I couldn’t understand a word coming from your lips.”

You could only see the yellow of his eyes, getting closer before they blurred away along with the oxygen to your brain. Your eyes had only adjusted. His smile was all that was left. So devious, predatory and lustful. 

With all your strength, the cold hand you kept away in your pocket flew out, flying at his neck. But that wasn’t quick enough. 

Hisoka, a man known for his speed, caught your hand mid swing, encapsulating it in his.

“You really thought I hadn’t noticed your own bloodlust? How foolish.”

He twisted it. The pen dropped and you let out a husky, dry curdle with what little air you had left. But he didn’t stop there, not until your wrist made a full circle, snapping it at the joint. 

Then he dropped you. “Ah!-” 

His fingers found your mouth, clamping around it.

“Uh uh.” he cooed. “Can’t have you attracting an audience now, can I? I never took you for an exhibitionist.”

The pain. It was worse than the fear. But the fear washed over like a tidal wave, creeping into the very being of your soul. The way he had moved his arms around you like a hungry animal. 

“P-please.” 

You breathed through the crashing bellows of agony, barely getting that one word out. But Hisoka chuckled, taking his hand away from your mouth,s brushing the loose strands from your face. You couldn’t move and you weren’t sure why, be it the pain or the terrifying realisation that this was just the beginning. 

A spark came from your peripheral, then warmth. The room lit up, though just barely, the amber glow called out to you, offering its comforting aura. A familiarity you knew with sincerity.

That spark was that of a lighter, a small flame bright enough to illuminate the surrounding space. But it grew bigger, falling down into a discarded metal trash bin crackling away inside at the used fuel abandoned in its metal frame.

And your eyes met.

“Ah, now there’s the fear I was looking for.” The tip of his finger graced your cheek, wiping a tear away you hadn’t realised slipped. 

That finger found its way to your chin. “Keep that up and I may not break your body. Only your soul.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I-I’ll just leave.” 

“Oh sweetie, you’re so naive. I adore innocence. But I’ll cut to the chase.” He grasped your chin, you yelped. “I won’t repeat myself either.”

You shook, shivering like a leaf in autumn, your stomach churning at the distorted display of affection you never wanted. 

“What do you want from me?” 

That’s when Hisoka’s bloodlust exploded, flooding your eyes with animalistic cruelty, audibly licking his lips, moving closer to your frozen position. 

 “I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your own mortality.”

“What? W-wait!” 

You were up in an instant pressed up against the wall in his arms, pinned tight by his hips. You gasped at the singed pain in your wrist as he grasped it above your head. 

“Ow! Hisoka, please don’t do this. It hurts!”

His expression never changed, his drunken eyes focused down to your chest under the glowing spark of fire, flickering away with playing shadows, sitting idly by, doing nothing but make the darkness even darker. 

“I always wondered what you would taste like.” 

He stuck his tongue out, running it agonisingly slow up your neck, sniffing and inhaling. “Mmm, salty skin is ever sweet. The sweat of terror never fails to turn me on.” 

You were whimpering now, holding what tears you had in. Don’t give him that satisfaction, you couldn’t. But there was no way to fight him either. If you did try anything, what would he break next? Or would he kill you? 

“Oh you’ve gone quiet again love. Let me hear you squeal.” 

He put a hand at your mouth and moved your wrist again. 

“ Ughhh! ” You were muffled, but the ringing in your ears could have been an air horn by your ears, making your brain shut down near to passing out. 

“Oh if you only knew how deranged you make me feel, your screams are absolutely tantalising.”

You could have tried to wriggle, squirm from his grip and run away and tell everyone that Hisoka should be locked away and the key thrown into the depths of the sea to deteriorate and him rot away in hell. 

But it was impossible. He was impossible. This situation was impossible.

He moved, letting your hand drop with a sickening slap on the shelf. A zip sounded, moving at a pace, something fretful echoing against the crackles in the fire. It was the zip of his pants. 

Involuntarily, you struggled, heaving against his hand, clawing and hoping he’d yield. 

“Please by all means struggle. Can’t you see how hard it makes me?” 

He took your broken, limp hand in a comforting embrace, guiding it down to his hardened cock, twitching at your touch, like it was starved in the darkness awaiting revival. 

You mumbled in the process, shaking your head with the tears you held back working so hard to keep away. He let go of you, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. He balled it up, taking care to neaten it with both hands before tutting and losing his patience. 

“Open wide.” He said, but before you could protest, he shoved it into your mouth. 

The dry fabric. The chemical laundry detergent gagged you, the overwhelming taste left it bitter. You heaved, breathing so loud you knew he could hear it over the dying fire, making you sweat. 

He pinned you back against the wall, taking you by the shoulders with force, taking a deep breath in at the crook of your neck. “I hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I will. But much like a game of cards. There’s no guarantee you’ll win.”

Hisoka ripped open your shirt like an animal in heat, growling like the beast he was, tearing the fabric between the cups of your breasts, making them bounce. He moaned in pleasure cupping them rougher than you thought possible. 

His fingers dug in, pinching at your nipples. You flinched, looking away, closing your eyes. Your mouth was so full, still gagging while he tugged and pulled. The warmth of his mouth cupped around your tit, swirling his tongue and nipping. 

“You taste good, I bet your pussy is dripping already.” 

His hand made its way to your waistline, his slender fingers finding their way in to the boundaries of your underwear. You squirmed again, taking no notice of your throbbing wrist, bringing a knee up to make a space between the two of you. 

But again, Hisoka blocked it, bringing his own knee behind yours and his elbow came down, dropping a hand from your swollen breast. This attack could have been a sharp assassins knife for all you knew. Though it never broke your knee, it incapacitated your joint making you howl against the handkerchief. 

“If you’re going to misbehave, perhaps I’ll be rough. Maybe that will teach you a lesson.”

He took you by the chin, his nails digging in for dear life. His eyes. Oh fuck his eyes. It could only be described as hatred. 

“You’ll be quiet. And you’ll take what I have to give you. It excites me when my little whore takes it.” He was so close now. “Are you my little whore?”

You nodded without question, hoping this would end quicker than it started. Those eyes would kill you. They would kill you dead, you’d disappear and no one would care. They’d listen to his excuses. 

You ran away with some man who swept you off your feet? Or he’d deny having anything to do with you. But one thing you knew for certain.

No one would find you. 

“Good.” He said. His hand continued down your stomach, never hesitating at your waist band. 

“You’re wet already. I knew you enjoyed pain, your aura dictates it.” He cooed once more, his fingertips glossing over your clit. 

You flinched, an involuntary act, your body had a mind of its own, preparing itself for the inevitable. Hisoka pinned you with his other hand and drew back quickly. 

With your arm still raised, it didn’t move, no matter how much you pulled, and invisible force held it in place. 

“I wouldn’t bother exerting yourself, my aura is all over you already and you never realised.” 

Hisoka pulled his free hand with a snap, you went with his motion, your nipples stretched with him sending all sorts of signals to your brain, your thighs clenched.

“I wrapped my aura around your breasts to keep them taught. It’ll help get you in the mood.” He yanked again. And you groaned against the over stimulation. 

“You’re welcome.” 

He placed a finger inside you, slowly pumping away whilst running his hand up and down the length of his cock. 

His groans were softer than you thought, so low as the fire had almost gone out, leaving the room in darkness once more. 

He inserted another finger, picking up the pace. Now he nipped at your neck, sucking so hard, the marks he would leave felt permanent. 

You felt a knot in your stomach. Oh shit. Your body, it prepared for this. You trembled, looking down, feeling another finger, it was too much, he moved them, stretching you out it burned. 

Taking his hand off his cock, he undid your buttons yanking down your bottom clothes in one swift tug. He had better access now, pumping much harder now, his other hand back onto his throbbing cock. 

“I need to taste you. You’re clenching. Be a good girl and finish.” 

Hisoka knelt down, you tried to resist, but his nails were sharp enough to cut your skin, stabbing into your thigh. 

He pulled your legs open, picking you up and burying his head between them, his tongue viscously fought around your clit. Your body jolted and the sensation of your coming orgasm was approaching, no matter how hard you fought it. 

But now, if you came it would be over, it would end and you could leave, get your hand seen too and run away as far as possible so he could never find you again. 

It was then that you let your body relax, you came quickly, more powerful than ever. You hated it. You gasped for air with the gag in your mouth, your nose working hard to supply oxygen. 

“See. Wasn’t that nice? I bet what’s-his-name couldn’t make you come like that now could he?” 

You absentmindedly nodded your head, grateful it was done. Finished.

But it wasn’t. 

Hisoka stood up, without warning he lined himself up with your limp bottom half, picking it up and grasping hard on your hips, kneading the fat of your ass for good measure. 

“My turn.”

He thrusted in hard, stretching you further you were sure it would bleed, no matter how wet you were. 

Your muffled scream fell on deaf ears as he moaned, slipping a hand to the small of your back for extra support. 

“Oh, I love a good struggle.” He gasped, licking his lips before placing small pecks on your stretched breasts. 

“I’ll fill you all up. More than anyone ever will.”

He ploughed you, the slap of skin on skin echoed through the small dank supply closet. He didn’t seem to care who could hear him now, nor how much he hurt you. 

He kept fucking you, growing a little sloppy. He bent over, never stopping. “I want to breed you so bad, then you’ll have to stay by my side.” 

You howled against the cloth in your mouth, opened so wide it eventually fell from your lips. “Ahh!”

Hisoka had clamped down on your shoulder with his teeth, burning, singing your nerve endings so deep, that it made them warm, dripping with blood. 

He covered your mouth once more. 

And with a few last pumps, he released your shoulder, groaning and pining your hips to his, keeping his cum filled inside you. 

You grew limp. It was over. Finally you could go. 

Hisoka put you down, sliding his dripping cock out, letting cum dribble down your exposed, bruised legs. 

“Oh your bleeding.” He wiped his mouth. “I tend to get carried away.” 

He pulled you in and lapped up the blood making your wound sting. 

“Well. At least you’ve gotten past the marking. It’ll be a permanent reminder of who you belong to. Branding you would have been more hygienic, but I guess a mark in the face of passion is far more romantic.”

You gazed up at him in horror, his form towering over you, and he smiled. 

“What? Did you think this was a one time thing?”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[onyourowndaisymae]

"is... is that my sweater?"

satan notes the lethargic way you look up from your book, watching heavy eyelids lead a slow blink. whatever dusty tome lies in your hands has clearly lured you halfway to dreamland-- and from the looks of it, your cozy attire and the crackle of the nearby fireplace didn't seem to help much, either.

"huh?"

"are you wearing my sweater?" he asks, softer this time.

you let your head fall down to your own chest. you stare at the familiar green sweater on your body for a few moments before lifting your head.

"huh?" you repeat, too tired to comprehend the question for a long moment. then, "... oh. yeah."

a warm chuckle rumbles in his chest as he comes closer. satan had been looking for his sweater all day-- left only in a black undershirt, because it was more about the principle of finding it than needing it-- but he had been wholly unaware he'd left it in your room earlier that day. he couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. you look quite cozy cuddled up on the library sofa like that, swaddled in a blanket and his scent, lost in some book like a vision from an old painting. how he wishes he'd been a little quieter entering the library-- maybe he could have snapped a photo of you like this for himself.

as your lover, satan knows he should probably escort you to bed for a proper rest. but a selfish part of him wants to bask in this scene longer, to let the storm that rages in him find solace at this little slice of heaven. it's odd for a demon to crave peace like this. you've domesticated him in that way-- like a feral cat off the street finding comfort in a stranger's apartment, you've lulled him into a sense of contentness he didn't think he'd find in this lifetime.

oh, what a wonder you are.

"do you mind a little company?"

you nod, sleepily, yawning through what was intended to be a verbal response, but satan's at your side before you make yourself try again. his hand finds your shoulder and coaxes you to sit up. with a little adjusting, he slides into the space behind you and urges you to lean back into his chest. his legs stay on either side of you-- it's warm, comforting, doing nothing to help you stay awake. but it doesn't seem like satan minds your drowsiness.

his eyes fall to the nearly discarded book in your hands. emerald eyes scan over the words. they're familiar, causing a curious itch in his brain that lingers for a few seconds before his epiphany.

"is this... that book i read last week?"

"mhmm. i wanted--" another yawn, "-- to understand what you were talking about, but... i got sleepy."

he understands now. his sweater on your warm body, the library couch, the low fire nearby-- you're indulging in a small taste of his world.

what did he do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?

"i can read it to you, if you'd like," he murmurs, low and quiet. if you wanted the full experience, he'd give it to you-- complete with a nap in his arms. it's selfish, though. he really just wants an excuse to admire you up close, to lose himself in thought about how much he truly, deeply adores you. sometimes the sensation is so overwhelming that it shows on his face in flushed cheeks and soft eyes-- and that is a little too embarrassing to be caught with by anyone, but especially by you.

when you snuggle into his chest, he begins to read from the top of the page where you left off. it doesn't take long for your breathing to even out, your body to grow still and heavy in his grasp. he slides the bookmark between old pages where you originally left off. satan predicts you'll forget most everything he read to you by the time you wake up.

his mind wanders to the soundtrack of your peaceful breathing. he's grateful for lazy days like this. being able to bask in your presence is a gift. to know that you yourself were creating a similar experience by hiding away in one of his favorite reading spots, well... he's lucky you're asleep, as the flush on his cheeks only grows hotter at the thought.

maybe he'll let you borrow his things more often.

[femd-archive]

hiiii!! omg i love ur work sm it just scratches an itch i’ve had forever, i’ve always loved the dom reader + sub male character relationship and ur work is perfect! if it’s okay could i be 🌺 anon if you use the emoji system for that?

i have a request if ur taking them atm, i saw ur sub kenji oneshots and i was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a subby kenji x reader w a lot of miscommunication or general angst bc that’s my absolute fave!! w all the smut you want ofc!

and if you don’t want to take the request that’s totally cool! i really just wanted to tell you ur writing is amazing and ily!

— 🌺

hello! thanks for ur request :] and of course u can be 🌺 anon! i also love angst, more so the hurt/comfort trope, but i'm really bad at writting it (╥‸╥) so this was my attempt to write a hurt/comfort fic for the first time. hope u like it! i'll practice to make it better next time (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

p.s.: i didn't add much smut, mostly because my brain is fried :p

NOT ALONE

pairing: ultraman: rising — ken sato x fem!reader

word counting: 2.7k

content warning: arguing | kenji is so stressed :( | riding | unprotected sex | masturbation (female)

side note: english is not my first lenguage, so i apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes

You notice, of course you notice.

You love and care for Kenji too much to not notice the dark circles under his eyes because of the lack of sleep; the way he's been more sensitive, even over the most little things; how he overworks himself in his baseball practices and won't stop unless Mina turns the stadium hologram off.

You knew how his relationship with his father was, but you have seen the way he declines his calls without a second thought now, knowing the guilt trip he had to overcome before he even hit the decline button on his watch before.

You notice, and of course you're worried about it. You didn't have to be his girlfriend to be worried. Hell, you would even be worried by just seeing him walk like a zombie in the streets as a stranger! And all that worry is what brings you in front of his mansion door at midnight.

He hasn't been answering your messages nor calls. You get it, he's a busy baseball player, but he always made at least a few minutes to reply to your messages, mostly saying sorry for not picking up your calls and that he'll call you back after he's done with an interview, telling you that he loves you.

After ringing his doorbell, you only had to wait for a few minutes before you could hear the hurried footsteps coming to the door. Opening it, there he was. With his adorable bed head, he looked up at you, tired eyes wide with surprise.

"Baby" his voice cracked, making him clear his throat before he talks again. "Hey baby, uhm...I didn't know that you were coming!" he laughs nervously.

"Well...I did text you" you shake your phone, and Kenji gulps.

"I..." he sighs, "I'm sorry baby. I just been...so busy later" he groans, rubbing a hand over his face with fatigue.

"I understand, Kenji. May I come in? I just wanna talk with you. It's been a while"

Kenji looks at you through his sleepy eyes, and even in that state, you were able to see the way his eyes softened at the sight of you. It really has been a while. He reaches a hand to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"Of course" he mumbles, low but loud enough for you to hear him. He moves his hand from your face to your hand, taking it and pulling you softly inside, closing the door behind him.

You guys walk over the kitchen. Kenji lets go of your hand to walk over the fridge. "Do you want anything?" he asks, referring to the fridge's content.

[Name] sucks in a breath, gathering courage to speak. "Yeah, I'd like for us to talk" she finally said, noticing how Kenji's shoulder tense as he close the door's fridge, staying there with a can of soda in his head, not facing her. "For you to talk to me, Kenji. I believe you when you say you're busy with baseball, I really do! But I thrust my gut to know that there's something else going on"

She walks closer to him, staring at his broad back. How she wishes she could just hug him from behind and erase all his problems. But the world is more complicated than that, and she knows it.

"You can't always rely on your gut to make conclusions" opening the can soda, Kenji spit those words with a gruff tone, making [Name] surprised over his mood change.

Of course she wasn't off limits of seeing him mad only because she was his girlfriend, but she didn't expect for him to talk to her like that over a simple request.

"Then talk to me, Kenji. I don't wanna be like this either" she starts talking, following Kenji as he walks away while drinking from the can. "You don't have to tell me everything, but at least admit that you're having a hard time so I can at least hold you"

Kenji lets out a chuckle, incredulous. "Hard time? Baby, I'm Ken Sato! I don't have hard times, I only have good times" he spread his arms beside him, trying to appear as flawless as ever, obtaining a deadpan face from you.

"Kenji, you look like shit" you simply say. "You can barely walk with your eyes open. I don't know about anyone else, but I can see the lack of sleep in your eyes, I can see how your shoulder has been bothering you more each day that passes. I know that you always work hard to be on a good shape for the games, but you go to an extent that is not healthy"

"What? Did you became a physician now?" he asks after finishing rubbing his eyes, a mocking tone on his words.

"What? No" you needed to take a breath to not break. "I'm just concerned about your well being"

"I am okay" he affirms, eyebrows furrowed. "You're the that's being like 'Ohh Kenji ~ you're so tired. You should rest up'" with a high pitched tone, he mimicks you in a mocking way while pouting exaggeratedly.

You feel your heart beating fast on your chest, your cheeks hot with embarrassement. Why was he behaving like that? You just want to help. Were you being too overboard? You give him his space, you have gave it to him for weeks. And that you finally thought it was a good time to adress his lack of selfcare and how sad he looks, he talks to you like this...

"I know that you're having a hard time, Kenji. Everyone that cares about you can notice that. I just...I just want to help in what I can" you say with a weak tone now. You had shrunk in your spot, suddenly feeling sorry for even going to his house in the first place.

"Well guess what? You can't help me"

In a desperate attempt to push you away —because if you kept looking at him with those pretty eyes, he'll spill everything— he's mean to you. Not the smartest choice to treat your lover, but that's the only response that he could muster at the moment.

He was flustered at the confrontation. Of course you will notice about his poor state. You love him and care too much for him to not notice that he's going insane little by little, but he doesn't want to share that burden with you. In his mind, he just can't.

You look up at him, big sad eyes that just make him want to hug you until you both forget this stupid moment.

Holding back your tears, the only thing you could do was sigh. Your heart feels heavy on your chest, wunded by his words and harsh tone. You're not the savior of the word, you're not Ultraman either, you just wanted to help your boyfriend...

"Yeah, I already knew that" you mumble. Taking a deep breath, you look up at him with a weak smile. "Alright, you might not want to talk right now, but if you need anything...I'm always gonna be there" you remind him, giving him one last look before starting to walk off to the front door.

Kenji looks at you go. You seemed little with the way your shoulders shrunk and you walked slowly, like an injured animal. His heart also feels heavy on his chest, a pang of guilt striking over all his body as his eyes are already watering with tears.

He hated that his stupid pride wouldn't let him as for help, for it to hurt you when the only thing you wanted to do was help him in whatever way you could.

He knew you weren't weak, he knew that you could be able to handle all the secrets that he's harboring on his chest, but he doesn't want to share the burden, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to you only because you know he's Ultraman.

What would he do if he lost you? He's sure that he was gonna lose his mind. Just the same way he'll lose his mind if he let you walk away through that door.

"Mina, lock the door" he commanded, and in a split of a second, the computer did so.

You didn't even try to open it after you've heard his command. Confused, you look back at Kenji, who's already walking towards you like a kicked puppy.

"Forgot to say something?" you ask, bitterness on your tone that made Kenji cringe.

He sighs, a guilty expression on his face. "Yes...I'm sorry baby" he begins. "I...I promise that I want to tell you, I want to tell you everything! But— it's...it's too dangerous"

And finally, after months of bottling all this emotions, Kenji finally breaks into loud sobs, fat tears running down his cheeks. Startled, [Name] didn't have any other reflections than hug him, even though she was still mad at his earlier attitude.

"Hey, hey" she whispered, running a hand up and down his back. "It's okay, it's okay"

Kenji wraps his arms around her shoulders, hiding his face on her neck. "I don't—" he chokes, "I don't want anything to happen to you" he cries, almost incomprehensible.

"Nothing is gonna happen to me, baby" she reassures, feeling his tears run down her neck and wetting her shirt, but she doesn't care about it. Kenji finally is being open with her, and that's all that matter.

Kenji sniffs a few times before talking with a weak voice. "Promise?" he asks.

She squeezes him a little bit more in her arms. "I promise"

Still sniffing, Kenji slowly pulls away from the hug, looking at his girlfriend with his big eyes full of tears, a cute pout in his lips. [Name] reaches her hands to run her thumbs under his eyes, drying his tears away. He nuzzles into her, a shaky breath exhaling out of him as he calms down.

"There you go" she whispers softly, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs now. "Come on, let's sit on the couch. I'll get you some water"

After a lot of reassurance that nothing was gonna happen and lots of cuddles, Kenji had finally told her everything. That his dad was Ultraman; that he took his legacy and he now serves as the new Ultraman to the city of Tokyo, and how he knows he's not doing a good job; that he has a 6 feet tall baby Kaiju that think he's her mother trapped in a container, and he clearly don't know how to take care of her; how much he misses his mother everyday...

[Name] listened to him attentively, her heart swelling at how much pain Kenji had to endure on his own and feeling guilty about not noticing sooner. Why she couldn't have been there for him? Right now, everything seemed so obvious, all of it happen in front of her, and she couldn't do nothing.

Her caresses on the back of his hand never stopped for even one second, even caressing his back when he needed to make a pause to cry.

Now they were cuddled up in the couch under a blanket. After spilling everthing out, Kenji just let himself fall into her arms and bask into her warmth.

"Thank you for telling me, Kenji. I really didn't wanna pressure you into talking, but you looked so sick...I was just so worried" she blinked back the tears, she needed to be strong for him now. "And yeah, it's a lot to take in. Like damn...I'm dating Ultraman" her comment makes Kenji giggle, his body trembling with laughter in her arms, "but it's nothing that we can't overcome, together" she remarks the last word. "And it's not something that it's gonna make me love you any less"

Kenji pulls away from her arms to make eye contact, his puffy eyes still able to show how soft they become when he looks at her. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out for you to talk. I just— I don't know how to ask for help" he admits, feeling a weight that he didn't know he had on his chest being gone.

"Well, admiting that is a big first step, so I'm really proud of you for that" she kisses his forehead, making him smile. "And we can work on that. We can search for professional service, that wpuld help out a lot. And, I'm always gonna be there for you" she reminds him, running her fingers through his hair.

She cups his cheeks, making him look at her in the eyes. "You're not a burden, Kenji. Your problems are valid and I'm always gonna be up to hearing them and help you in what I can and I can't do. We're in this together, alright? You're not alone anymore"

[Name] saw the way that Kenji's eyes swell with this again, a small pout on his lips as he gulps softly. He nods, slowly, letting her words sink in. He was not alone...he had her. It was not something that it would easily stick in his mind, but he'll try to remind himelf everyday. He was not alone anymore.

She leaned in, going for a kiss, and Kanji meet her midway, kissing her with yearn after all those weeks that they couldn't be together, that they couldn't touch each other. He could've barely see her with his busy schedule, and that also added to all his stress, all this mess. All he needed was to be in her arms.

Kenji takes one of [Name]'s hands that cupped his cheek and slide it down his shirt at the same time he traced her bottom lip with his tongue.

[Name] pulls away from the kiss, almost smiling when she hears Kenji whine and chase after her lips, desperate. "Hey, you really wanna do this? You're still tired, Kenji" she reproached.

"Please baby" he whines, looking at her eyes and then her lips, intensely. "I need you"

Kenji straddles his girlfriend's lap completely, letting her feel his hard cock against her stomach. [Name] gasps softly, looking up at Kenji's cute needy face as he starts rocking his hips softly.

She bits down her bottom lip before pulling him into another kiss where he moans.

They didn't even realize when did Mina lowered the lights. How could they? When they were so engrossed in each other's touch. The room was filled with the couple's moans and their skin hitting against each other.

Kenji was laying down on the couch, [Name] on top of him, as they hugged each other thightly while she moved her hips up and down, Kenji's dick hitting the right spot with every thrust.

Kenji's grip on [Name]'s waist just get tighter as he hide his moans in her neck. "Baby...baby" he calls for her, feeling his orgasm coming.

"I know baby, I know" she kisses his shoulder. "Go ahead, you can cum" she reassures, speeding the pace of her thrusts.

Kenji meets his girlfriend's hips midway, bucking his own as he hits the last thrusts before sliding out of her, ropes of cum shooting out of his tip, dirtying [Name]'s back, his thighs and the expensive couch under them. But who cared? He could buy another one.

[Name] brings her hand to her clit, making circle motions on it with her fingers as she grins on Kenji's abs. He manages to look up at her with cloudy eyes, brain still fuzzy with the euphoria of his recent climax. Still, his hands come up to caress her thighs, encouraging her to keep using him to get off.

"S' pretty" he slurs, running his thumbs on her skin.

"Fuck...Kenji" with his name on her lips, she ends up cumming with a few more motions of her fingers before collapsing on top of her boyfriend's chest.

They stayed there, in each other's embrace as they calmed down. Kenji's finger run softly down [Name]'s arm, his free arm wrapped around her waist.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you get off" he whispers suddenly, making [Name] chuckle.

"It's okay. To be fair, you're about to pass out now" she props her chin on his chest, looking at him with dreamy eyes. Kenji chuckles as well, not denying it. "Come on, let's take a bath and then you can finally have some good night sleep" patting his chest softly, she starts getting up and helps him as well.

"Are you gonna introduce me to the baby Kaiju tomorrow?" she asks as they walk together to the bathroom.

"Oh yeah, and she's gonna love ~ you. Just like I do ~" he litters her cheek with kisses, making her giggle.

"Come on, Romeo. Let's take a bath"

[taglist] @vinegarjello

[palettepainter]

To Love and Be Loved

@muletia merformers content grabbed my artblock by the throat and launched it into space. This AU is driving me crazy

I've never been the type to be consistent with AU's when making them just cuz I'm really bad at posting frequently for them, or I loose interest in continuing them, so I've only ever been invested in a few AU's online. Merformers?? I don't know WHAT it is about this concept, but it scratches an itch in my brain, so I wrote a drabble based off a scenario muletia's answered on their blog!

I'm still fairly new to character x reader content soooo please be nice,,,I actually had a lot of fun writing this, might write more! Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors

The AU belongs to muletia. I tried not to go into too much detail concerning readers appearance, but for backstory sake I made them a fisherman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight burns behind your eyelids, even when you stubbornly clamp them tighter with a whine. You would have thrown your arm over your face to block it entirely, if everything didn’t feel like it weighed triple what it was, and if everything didn’t ache

A curious, painful numbness weighed heavily in every limb, as if your very bones themselves had turned to cement blocks. You whine again, attempting with what little reserve of energy you possessed to move

You didn’t move much, and you know you probably didn’t look very graceful doing so, but with effort, you roll onto your side

The familiar, yet undeniably unwelcome sensation of sand sticking to the skin of your cheek pulls yet another discomforted whine from you, but the very thought of trying to manoeuvre yourself so you can wipe it off - and the following realisation of how much energy it would take to do so - you abide to lay there and sulk in your uncomfortable misery instead 

And then a crab walked sideways into your line of vision, about an inch away from your nose

A pity really, that you were stranded upon this island alone, scientists around the world would have been amazed at the speed in which you all but catapult yourself away with

That same startled movement however, causes you to instantly double over with a hiss and clutch desperately at your leg when an unexpected, angry flare of pain shoots up your limb. You suppress the urge to yelp, sucking air through your clenched teeth, it’s only after a few seconds that your eyes start to mist up pathetically, and you have to blink in a futile attempt to restore your vision 

‘What the hell?!-’

You don’t care to glance up to see if the crab has retreated, or rub your face into your shoulder to brush off the sand that you can feel is still stubbornly glueing itself to your skin, everything else was distant, unimportant: the concern for why you were in such unexpected, such worrying pain, greatly outweighed anything else 

Thanks to your clumsy flurry to get away from the crab you are at least partially sitting, so you have an easy view of your left leg from where the pain was originating from

At a glance, you are doused in immediate relief when you see your leg clearly isn’t broken. To confirm the theory, you give the limb an experimental roll and bend the knee. It was sore, but not totally painful. You practically deflate like a balloon, hand covering your heart, a broken leg would be just your luck 

You can also see no visible sign of blood, which is promising

You’re no medical experiment by any means, but getting an open wound on a island you still have no idea how to truly navigate or live off of and contracting something, or having it become infected, is really not something you want to worry about

Still, if there is no sign of blood and there is no apparent bone sticking out at an awkward angle, then maybe you pulled something?? 

Leaving the unexplained pain only to have it come back and bite you later for not trying to soothe it is out of the question, so you reach down to peel back your absolutely sodden trousers

They’re as soaked as they are uncomfortable, exposing your cold skin to the merciless open air that has goosebumps prickling your skin in nanoseconds. Despite the clothing on the rest of your body, you feel the wind's icy hand invade up the back of your shirt and scratch at your spine, the hairs on your neck standing on end

You force yourself to ignore it, hiking your trouser further upward until it rests above your knee

There, you see your problem 

Sickly yellow swirls around the lip of your boot and up your calf, it’s as unpleasant to look at as it feels

Removing your boot only further reveals the extent of the damage: the bruise is heaviest at your ankle, the flesh swollen and sore, specks of dingy purple dotting the area above the bone which is almost completely swallowed by the swelling 

That...wasn’t good

Bracing yourself for the worst, for what you already know is going to be the case, you cradle your ankle and press oh so gently onto the tender skin. Each poke, even feather light, causes little shocks of agitation to flare through your muscles and draws a wince from you each time without fail

‘This is…really not good’

“Shit...” you mumble, because there was no other word appropriate to describe your situation

Quietly, you can silently concede that the situation could have been more dire, you would have been royally screwed if you had a broken leg. Heavy bruising was at least managable, annoying yes, but manageable

You’d survive at least, that was comforting, you really didn’t want swollen ankle and heavy bruising to be the cause of death carved on your tombstone 

All things considered, you conclude you got very, very lucky (that or some kind of deity must have been feeling particularly merciful), of all the injuries you could have sustained, not to mention literally drowning, surviving an ocean storm with a sore leg was a blessing-

Eyes snapping open, alert and awake, everything comes rushing back to you at an overwhelming pace: the storm, the rain and wind, the pathway along the coastline, the loose rock, losing your balance, falling, water - water everywhere - all around you, in your eyes, in your mouth, suffocating you

You were going to drown, you were certain that was it

You remember being pulled under, wave after wave throttling you, hurling your small, frail body under its currents, kicking and flailing. Disorientation had scrambled your brain, and the pressure constricted your ribcage, a burning sensation climbing higher in your throat and behind your eyes 

Light fading, the surface getting further and further away, you were sure you were drowning- you had been drowning! You were going to die, and yet…you’re here

Still reeling, you turn your head unhurriedly to survey your surroundings. The breeze is light and soft, just barely tussling your raggedy hair, a far cry from the ferocity of the tempest that had been set on devouring the island and its inhabitants hours ago

You were sitting on the outskirts of a lagoon, not one you recognised, you must have been washed up on an unexplored part of the island. If the circumstances which had brought you here had been anything less morbid, you think you would have found the surroundings quite peaceful

The lagoon is calm, a sanctuary held between two platforms of rock that curve around to isolate it from the rest of the sea, the only entrance in and out is a single gap in the rock formation opposite the section of beach you were resting on

Now though, in your delirious, near paralysed from fear state, the unfamiliar environment only feeds your unease

You want nothing more then to rot into the sand, to surrender to the heaviness that weighs on your shoulders and pleads for you to collapse and recharge, but if it’s the surge of adrenaline from realising you narrowly escaped sharing a handshake with the grim reaper not twenty four hours ago, or the pain in your leg the forbids you to forget it’s presence, you refuse 

Inhaling a breath to gather yourself, you swallow past the lump lodged in your throat despite how painful it is to do so, and brace your hands on the sand “Okay- Okay…easy does it. One…two…three!-” not without grunting, you manage to heave yourself onto your feet unsteadily

Okay. You’re standing. That’s good. Good.

After a thorough examination of yourself, and patting around your head to check for any bumps or dried blood, you reprocess again that you got very, very, VERY lucky!

There are no weird bumps on your head and the only thing you do feel that's out of place is the odd bit of reed caught in your hair or sand stuck on your scalp, the worst of the damage is a few new tears in your t-shirt, but none that would render it ruined (not that fashion was even in your priorities)

You sigh, if you ever get off this island you were so buying a lottery ticket

“Alright then…now for the fun part” you say dismally, casting a nervous glance down to your bruised leg

With every bit of caution one would use when stepping on cracked ice, you first take a step forward on your non injured leg. One step forward, simple. Then, you brace to carefully take the next step with your bruised one, easier said than done you think

Tenderly, you lift your foot from the miniature crater the sole of your boot had left in the sand, deciding to only move it forward a few inches before you let your boot rest again on the ground

No agitated pain came to smite you, only the general soreness persisted, which was gradually becoming tolerable now that you were up and had your bearings

‘So far so good..’

Still with care, you begin to unhurriedly shift your weight from your right foot to your left in preparation for your next step-

Pain. Just- Pain. A lot of it.

Your shriek is half muffled by the sand rushing up to greet you, where you barely manage to catch yourself on shaking arms before too much splats into your mouth. You fall, and you fall hard, and in your attempt to jerk and recorrect your balance, you only manage to infuriate your bruised leg further 

For several, uninterrupted beats, you lay there, defeated in a crater of your own making, content to do so until you shrivel up like a raisin in the sun and die.

However, it seems you’re not out of stubborn grit yet, because despite every blaring alarm in your head that begs you to not move because that was way more painful then you thought it would be!- you roll onto your back

You’re crying, both from pain, and the fact that now is simply the time to cry. You don’t bother to wipe the tears away, knowing more will just spill in their place

Every breath wheezes as you greedily inhale, one hand mindlessly rubbing at your leg in some weak attempt to alleviate some of the agony, it’s as successful as you imagined it would be

“Ow..” you whimper, your voice small and weak, like someone had stepped on it

“That…r-really hurt” you speak your thoughts aloud, because it’s better to focus on doing that then the aching sensation that you know now has rendered your leg near useless

You sniffle, attempting to steady your breathing by taking rhythmic inhales and exhales as you had done many times before, it was the only method you had that was somewhat keeping you from losing your goddamn mind

“So, walking is gunna suck..” you state, and you can feel your resolve fracturing as a particularly strong jolt of pain from your leg reinforces the statement “Maybe…I could fashion a walking stick out of a branch??” you continue to speak aloud “Maybe a splint? Finding a branch shouldn’t be too hard”

A pause settles, the only sound that drifts over to you is the sound of waves gently lapping at the edge of the rocks that surround the lagoon 

“Hm…I should get up” you don’t move

“...I shouldn’t be putting pressure on my leg if it’s hurt, but I need to find food and water” you had managed to survive living off the land and sea, though trying to catch fish and deducing what plants looked safe enough to eat was not easy

It’d be much easier if you had your fishing rod, but after more than a week of being washed up on the island without a trace of your boat or gear washing up on shore, you had come to accept the glum fate that your beloved boat and expensive gear were long gone. 

You’d never been overly fond of that boat anyway, you’d gotten it second hand for a price way too high for a vessel that had awkward steering, but if you saw that crooked old boat again you’d kiss

The only gear you had left on hand was your craft knife, which had been your saving grace when sawing through branches to construct your first shelter, gutting fish, starting a fire-....you feverishly patted your pocket

You frowned

You no longer had your knife

“UUUGH!!..”

As you begin to curse the world for your rotten luck, battling the temptation to start crying again because you know crying like a three year old isn’t going to solve your problems, much less aid you, the sound of rippling water is not lost to the sound of your own laboured breathing 

You go to turn your head to investigate the sound- only to startle upward for the second time that day when something begins rising out of the water 

With your busted leg you only managed to pitifully crawl yourself backwards and away from where the water meets the sand by your arms, eyes not once leaving the mass that steadily grows bigger as it comes upwards to the surface

Your nerves are shot, your heart is threatening to erupt from your chest, and you are in no condition to be running away from potential threats 

If the storm didn’t kill you, you’re sure whatever creature is approaching the shallows surely will

You’re going to die alone on this forsaken island and the only acknowledgement of your death will probably be years from now on some unsolved murders podcast 

If the worst is to end you then and there you don’t wish to see it, so, you throw up your arms in a measly shield, hoping that whatever creature has pulled itself up from the depths is feeling generous and puts you out of your misery swiftly 

As the moment stretches on at a painful pace, breathing hard through your nose with your head ducked into your shoulders like a terrified turtle, the sound of sloshing water draws to a sudden stop, and a pitched, single chirp breaks through the silent air 

Still, you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and lower your arms, sitting stiff as a statue to the point your muscles start aching

You nearly jump out of your skin when a careful pressure nudges against your forearm, slick and cold from the water but warm all the same. It’s barely a sliver of a touch, almost hesitant in its precise delicacy 

Still, you don’t move. You remain locked steadily in place, terrified that if you so much as breathe incorrectly this beast will tear out your jugular 

The pressure leaves your skin, and a….pitiful churr sounds from the creature

Not threatened, not angry, not territorial, just…sad, dispirited 

An expanse of your terror that sits heavily in the centre of your chest breaks away, and further chunks begin to crumble and vanish the longer you sit there unharmed, despite knowing you are well within the range of biting distance

…You cautiously peel away your arms from your face, just enough to cast a clear glance towards your unexpected company

You hoped to gain an observing glance undetected, and yet the moment your arms have moved enough for you to see, you meet a heavy stare from a pair of electric blue eyes that sit well within your bubble of personal space

They instantly widen upon noticing your revealed face, a ghost of anticipation flooding the features of their expression as you ever so slowly continue to remove your arms from your face. The blue eyes twinkle, something elated glinting in them which further settles the anxious coil that felt like it had been constricting your windpipe

The creature sinks, or at least, you’re pretty sure they do, and you’re almost certain something like relief settles on their expression once your arms have fully lowered

The baby blue eyes are familiar, combined with a complexion composed of deep navy and ruby that cuts through your paranoia, a warm wave of relief flooding in to occupy the space it had been hogging in your chest

“Optimus!..” you breath breathlessly, almost dizzy from the drop in your stress levels that his presence brings 

The mer continues to stare at you unblinkingly, yet you’re too joyed at the discovery of the creature being only Optimus, a mer who had founded a curious, unexplained interest in you, that you don’t notice the way he practically glowed at the sound of your voice, physically perking, fins and all 

“God- you scared me for a second! I thought you-” You don’t get to finish your sentence

Strong, solid arms wrap around your middle with such speed you almost topple backwards into the sand again. His forearms alone cover the expanse of your back, his face practically covering the length of your stomach and chest, leaving you unintentionally pinned in an embrace, which on any other occasion, you would have not minded

This time however-

“Owowow-LeglegLEG!! GET OFF MY LEG-”

To his credit, Optimus doesn’t miss a beat at the sound of the evident distress in your voice, promptly tearing himself away from you with a string of worried chirps

He doesn’t whimper or give any acknowledgment to the assault of panicked slaps you had landed to the back of his head in your haste to have him remove himself, and instead his concerned eyes flicker over your body at an alarming speed 

All in all, it takes him about two seconds to process the tight lines of pain that have carved themselves into your face, the tension that hangs on your jawline, your lips which have peeled back over pearl white teeth in an obvious show of great discomfort, which pains him greatly

As you busy yourself trying to calm the roaring sensation of hot fire pain that bristles up your lower leg, Optimus’s eyes follow the line of your arms which clutch desperately at the sides of your limb, a grip which he concludes is no doubt leaving crescent moon dents in your skin

Whatever surge of delight he had felt at seeing you at last awake is instantly snuffed upon the sight of the discolouration bleeding across the skin of your calf

Once you’ve eased your breathing, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears from your eyes before they fall, do you take note of the mournful slump that has overtaken Optimus’s shoulders

He wilts into the sand, his grand fins that stretch along his back and down the length of his tail that stretches into the water behind him drooping, eyes not once lifting from your injured leg, and he lets out a lone, terribly gloomy churr 

His hand hovers, and without meaning to you tense at the prospect of someone prodding your very much newly formed, sore bruise. As miniscule as the action is, Optimus somehow still catches it, and withdraws his webbed hand from you

It’s both amazing and intriguing to see such raw emotions displayed on his face, knowing that such depictions of emotions had never been shown in illustrations of mermaids or sirens in the many safety handbooks you’d read

But when Optimus looks to you, in a way not too different from a worried companion would, and then back to your leg, do you see the display for what it is

He’s concerned 

With an expression that gradually grows more troubled the longer he flickers his gaze between your face and your leg, your expression shifts to something more gentler: “H-Hey hey, Optimus, I’m fine! It’s just a bruise”

It’s not just a bruise, the miniature version of yourself in your brain corrects, you have most definitely sprained your ankle in some capacity and not only is that going to greatly hinder your mobility, but it’s going to take more then a week to at least be semi healed, it adds

In that moment though, you decide that’s not information that Optimus needs to know, but it seems your mermaid friend does not believe you regardless when he remeets your gaze with clear doubt in his eyes.

He casts another upset look to your leg, and you watch as his fingers dig into the sad in displeasure at the sight, the fins on the side of his head that act as ears pinning downward, only further showing how troubling he finds the situation 

“Really, I’m okay!” you insist with a bat of your hand, the mermaid does not shift his focus from your leg, looking to be in deep thought if the way his brows have started to mildly scrunch together is any indication 

You’re not sure what to focus your attention on more: his clear worry for your well being, or the way he quietly contemplates something you can’t pinpoint 

Still, even with his worry, your legs are starting to grow uncomfortably numb from the cold sand beneath you, and you need to either get back to your current shelter or find some way of crafting a new one without the help of your knife. Perhaps you’d get lucky and find somewhere sheltered further inland, but you weren’t going to get any progress done sitting 

So, against what every medical professional would tell you, you stagger to your feet. 

Lightning quick, Optimus watches your movements with the sharpness of a hawk, though you feel no terror under his observant stare. You’ve known the mer for the majority of your time stranded, and have come to learn that despite what you have read, he hasn’t shown even a flicker of aggression towards you once 

At first, it unnerved you, thinking that he was trying to lull you into lowering your guard. You’d read that mermaids were scarily intelligent. But that hadn’t happened, and the fear you’d felt towards his presence had gradually faded with time 

Standing to your full height, you hope it isn’t obvious how little pressure you’re putting on your hurt leg “See? Totally fine!~” to emphasis, you flash him the biggest reassuring smile you can muster 

It’s not very effective

Optimus remains half out of the water, his upper half resting in the sand propped up by his arms until he ‘stands’ at eye level with you. His tail twitches in the water behind him, casting ripples across it’s otherwise crystal clear surface while his mouth sets into an uncertain frown 

He produces a chirp, head slightly cocked, then a few more

The language barrier does make communicating a bit difficult, but you’re fairly certain based on his expression and general feel for the sounds he just made that he doesn’t hold a lot of hope in spite of your words 

You know very well that in order to demolish whatever doubts he has for good, you’re going to have to walk, the thought alone makes you nervous, let alone the idea of acting upon it. Still, with Optimus not looking anywhere close to dropping his concern, you didn’t have much of a choice…

“Welp!” you awkwardly stuff your hands into the pockets of your trousers because you’re not sure what else to do with them “It was uh…nice to see you!” you say with a nod. In your mind there is no way your laid back, casual act comes across as convincing, yet you press on

You half turn away, and Optimus’s eyes still bore attentive holes into your form “I’ll see you later I guess..” you bid farewell, throwing in a small wave over your shoulder as you take your first step forward on your good food, and then follow with your left with more caution

Now knowing what to expect you actually manage to take a step forward without falling, albeit a wobbly one which makes you bite the inside of your cheek, but you’ll count it as a win

With a bit more ease you smile, and unconsciously, you begin the movement needed to take the next step-

Three things happen in the span of two seconds: a bolt of excruciating pain slices up your calf with all the subtleness of a snapping bear trap. A yelp rips from your throat before you have a hope of muffling it, and before you can brace to make contact with the sand, there is a rapid flurry of splashes behind you accompanied by a startled trill before something abruptly stops your fall

A soaked, webbed appendage securely supports your head, the other you can feel pressing into your stomach, holding your body up from the sand. In a potent mix of fear and utter embarrassment you dare not move as you feel a surge of heat explode across your face 

Optimus had stopped your fall

From somewhere behind you, you can clearly hear the sound of Optimus’s calculated, deep breathing, and you don’t need to crane your head back to look at him to know that his eyes are no doubt as wide as saucers. He doesn’t move, and neither do you

The very tips of his clawed fingers press just enough into the plush flesh of your covered stomach that you can feel them pinching the surface of your skin through your t-shirt, and so, you shove aside your immense mortification and force yourself to find your voice 

“Uhm…meant to do that” 

Suddenly, you’re being moved with all the grace and care one would use to handle a helpless infant. As he meticulously lowers your form to the sand, the hand on your face shifting to rest on the side of your neck do you wonder if it’s at all possible for Optimus to hear how hard your heart is thundering with his close proximity 

His hands hover and then gradually pull away from you once he is sure you are steady on the floor and not going to keel over just from sitting upright

You don’t want to look at him, scared of what expression he might be wearing and dreading the thought of him seeing your own. Your own cherry red face that you know is as obvious as it feels

You want nothing more than for a sinkhole to open up in the sand right beneath you and swallow you into darkness, but alas, that pity isn’t granted 

You can hear sand shifting behind you, most likely Optimus trying to move higher up the sand to be near you, the mer had a strange obsession with being as close to you as possible when he could. His form settles besides you in the corner of your peripheral vision, his shadow bathing you in temporary shade that only further confirms how close he is

A troubled chirp and a gentle nudge to your shoulder, followed by a puff of hot air hitting the shell of your ear caused your breathing to involuntarily still, and then, his troubled face is ducking down and moving into your field of vision 

He doesn't look angry, or disappointed, or judgemental at all, you find nothing in his gaze to feel ashamed about

He just looks worried, a worry of such caring magnitudes it renders you speechless for a moment, totally lost on how to respond, and curiously, has the temperature in your cheeks rising higher 

When you do respond, your voice is low, head still ducked as you fiddle with your fingers anxiously “Okay…maybe I’m not totally okay..”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It’s been a day since you woke up at the lagoon, and Optimus has been at your beck and call for that entire duration 

He rarely leaves you, which in fairness you suppose you can’t blame him for doing, given how you told him you were totally fine and then nearly face planted the floor seconds later. You try to cut him some slack, despite how overbearing he can be 

You’re certain it’s because he just wants to make sure you’re okay, but there have been times where you’ve quite literally had to swat him away with your own hand 

When he does leave, either willingly or by you demanding him to - to which you swear you can hear him whimper like a kicked puppy - it’s only ever for what feels like an hour at most (you lost your phone when you first arrived at the island, so you really had no clue how long he was actually gone for at a time), and everytime he comes back he always brings you a fish

You have a small collection of fish gathered on a palm tree leaf tucked away under a small gap in the rocks, concealed from the view of any wandering birds that may have been looking for an easy meal 

And of course, you’re grateful for Optimus’s attempts to help, but you can’t eat the fish without firewood, and you can’t gut the fish without your knife

The firewood part was an easy fix at least, and technically you could still eat the fish without gutting them first, but still, losing your only tool and means of general protection was pretty frustrating

It made you feel all the more smaller and helpless in the incredibly vast, uncharted territory you were stuck in 

Still, even without your knife and even with Optimus’s generous aid, you didn’t want to sit back helplessly while your dear friend did all the work, so, after Optimus’s form disappears beneath the surface of the water and you watch his red and blue rippled shape swim out of the lagoon, you climb to your feet

Learning that walking was a no go, you opt to instead hop on your good leg while dragging your other. Was it the most efficient means of moving around?? Not a chance. Was it a hell of a lot less painful then if you tried walking?? Absoloutly

When you reach the treeline, where the sand gradually climbs upward and becomes obscured by a layer of dried, fallen leaves and other masses of vegetation, you begin your search for a big branch to act as a walking aid

A splint probably would have been better, but given how you have no material to secure it to your leg, a walking stick will have to do. And thankfully, with the recent storm, there are a plethora of waiting branches littering the ground for you to pick from

It only takes around ten minutes of you scavenging before you come across a branch that looks decent enough, which surprises you as it does please you

With a grunt, you haul the thing up and hold it outwards to give it a once over. It wasn’t a particularly thick branch and was easy enough to hold with just one hand, it’s shape like that of a capital Y, forming the perfect perch for you to rest your arm over

The only downside you could really label was the fact it didn’t look the smoothest, but you were sure you could find a leaf somewhere and attempt to smooth it down for convenience. Though you doubted you’d even notice the pain of a splinter over your leg 

“Please don’t snap, please don’t snap, PLEASE don’t snap!..” you chant under your breath as you begin to settle the branch at your side and fold your arm over the top where it rests beneath your armpit

You stand, processing the feel, and with a final prayer, you begin to lean your weight onto the branch

It holds. Doesn’t so much as snap a creak of exertion at supporting you. Hopeful results, but you need to know for sure it’ll work

You take a step forward, then repeat with your injured leg, using the stick to carry the brunt of your weight as you use it to propel yourself forward a few inches. Again, the branch doesn’t utter a single groan of complaint 

You sigh, a small blessing of good luck 

“Firewood..” you mutter to yourself, already using your new crutch to turn back to the trees where you focus to gather as many small pieces of wood you can find to construct a fire

Though you know starting one will be no easy feat with the loss of your knife

You didn’t have the standard fishing knife when you’d first started your career, you didn’t see a need to purchase one at the time when you already had an old camping knife that could cut fishing line, cut bait, and prepare fish just as well

The thing had been sitting on your kitchen shelf for god knows how long until then, so it was nice to finally get some use out of it 

But what you really, really missed about it the most right now, was the flint fire starter it came with 

You didn’t even know it came with the feature when you’d first brought it, but man what you would give to have that knife back. Starting a fire was certainly going to be a lot more interesting without, it wouldn’t be impossible, but the difficulty had certainly amped up

And you couldn’t just simply not have a fire, it would get cold when the sun went down, and even if you hadn’t come across any dangerous predators on the land just yet, you’re not terribly keen on the idea of sitting terrified in the freezing darkness 

Plus, you’re not so desperately hungry that you’ll resort to eating raw fish yet

Starting a fire with two twigs can’t possibly be that hard

After you’ve gathered as much firewood in your arm that isn’t holding your clutch as you can do you turn and begin to hobble back down in the direction of the lagoon, where you drop your supply into a pile in the sand a little ways up from the water. 

It’s not much, you’ll definitely have to do a few more trips of gathering small sticks, but it was a start 

“Hope the tide doesn’t come too far in..” you say as you raise your eyes to the shifting mass of blue beyond the safeguard of the lagoon's edge. The thought is instantly followed up by where you’re going to sleep tonight, since you doubt you could easily craft a shelter with a busted leg and without your knife

You consider the idea of a cave, you’d seen a handful along the parts of the island you’d explored, but you hurriedly brush away the idea, probably not wise to sleep in a cave when there was a possibility of the tide coming in

“I’ll deal with that problem later” you conclude, settling yourself into the sand with your legs either side of your pile of firewood. You look at it dejectedly, bracing yourself for whatever frustration you’re about to willing subject yourself to 

“Okay!...let's give this a shot”

With a stick in each hand you begin what you are sure is going to be a laborious task that is going to eat up possibly the next few hours of your time, you don’t know, you’d never made a fire by rubbing sticks before

It's not six minutes later that your shoulders begin to cry from the repetitive motion, the ache building and building until it forces you to stop and you heave for breath, not realising you’d been holding it

There isn’t so much as a dent in your sticks, and your firewood looks no closer to being lit then it did when you gathered it 

You hang your head “Nnnngh…”

The process of rubbing your two sticks furiously together, only to then stop to grant your arms some mercy, followed by repeating the process went on for several minutes, and both your sticks and firewood continue to mock your efforts

If it’s the heat from the sun, the amount of effort you’re forcing your body to produce with rubbing the sticks, or a mix of both, but you can feel a thin veil of sweat on your forehead and an annoying heat spreading on your back where the sun hits you

No fire, no knife, no shelter, no good pair of legs because the storm had to fuck up one of them!-

“UGH!”

The frustration boils over, and in a blind moment of pure annoyance, you pick up the largest chunk of your firewood and proceed to lob it as far as you’re able to into the lagoon, just in time for Optimus to move into the calm shallows where his body breached the surface 

His delighted chirp of greeting is cut off as the twig bounced harmlessly off his head and then plonked into the water beside him. He blinked confused eyes, turning to watch the wood sink till it came to gently rest in the sand

He blinked again, then, turned back to you

Mortified is an understatement for how you feel 

“Oh my god!- I am SO so so sorry!! I-I swear I wasn’t aiming for you!! I just-” there is no possible explanation that exists on earth nor jupiter that you can conjure up to explain your childness display of annoyance, so instead you simply sigh, for what feels like the umpteenth time that day 

“I…yeah I got nothing, that was just stupid of me” you admit while rubbing the back of your neck

Though you feel your apology and flimsy excuse aren’t substantial, Optimus didn’t appear offended in the slightest, he appeared just as happy to see you as he did shortly after you had woken up

As you had come to expect, in his hand he holds a fish, one you cannot name a species too, but it is one Optimus has gifted to you before so you’re comforted with the knowledge it’s safe to eat 

‘Safe to eat when it’s cooked at least’

“Thanks buddy, can you put it with the others?” you ask, waving your stick in the general direct of the current fish hoard he’s gathered for you before you resume your fire making efforts

Optimus does as you ask without complaint, as you have learnt he often does, why he is so ready to accept your requests for literally anything you still don’t fully understand…or at least, you think you don’t

An answer had begun to trickle into the back of your mind, one which fills you with an endless, overflowing surge of anxiety that thinking about it for too long has you zoning out. Has something uncomfortable clutching your heart, a crawl racking up your spine that has you shivering

A feeling that is always accompanied by a longing yearnsome stare of adoration that feels a bit too domestic for your comfort, a tender brush of knuckles on the side of your head that easily hooks your hair behind your ear and out of your face, an action that shouldn’t make your heart rate pulse the way it does

Because being friends with someone shouldn’t come with confusing, fluffy feelings you’re too scared to unpack

“Maybe he’s just trying to be accommodating” was the excuse you’d told yourself when those unexplained little bubbly feelings began to become a bit too common for you to easily brush aside, and everytime you try to pair an explanation to his nurturing, near worshipful behaviour, you believe yourself a little less 

Even so, you refuse to let yourself believe for a second that Optimus is doing any of this because of some…crush on you

You were entirely different species! It wouldn’t be in his nature to pursue someone of a different biology. On the very rare chance he did see more than a friend in you (of which you heavily doubt), what on earth would he see in you that he wouldn’t find in another mer?? 

You couldn’t even breathe underwater for crying out loud! You had no characteristics that made you look anything remotely like a mermaid, so no, there was no way Optimus was doing any of these gestures in an attempt to impress you, to show he could be reliable, protective, loyal 

No

Optimus was your dear friend, nothing more

He needed to be with his own kind, someone like him, someone who could thrive in the water and not tie him down to navigating only the shorelines. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you, but especially him 

So no, Optimus did not have a crush on you. It made no sense for him to hold such feelings. He was intelligent, far more than yourself, surely he would see the fault in chasing after you. He was of the sea, and you the land, you weren’t compatible

Diving into those thoughts, you hadn’t even clocked how you’d fallen quiet, how your fire starting efforts had gradually slowed to a stop, leaving you to stare blankly off into the distance with an unreadable expression - but Optimus had noticed

He tilted his head, confused, assuming you were collecting your thoughts. But when a large enough space of time had passed and you still hadn’t so much as twitched, he chirped. No response 

Easily sliding closer his fins lower in worry on instinct at the way you don’t even seem to notice his presence, another concerned chirp goes unacknowledged by you. It doesn’t take him long before he decides to nudge you

You straighten, blinking hard with a shake of your head as Optimus pulls you out from the corners of your mind and plonks you back there on the sand of the lagoon

Turning, you’re ashamed at the still very present look of worry on his face, worry that you’ve caused, tilting his head like a curious dog trying to figure you out 

You give him a sheepish smile “Ah- Sorry! Spacing out” you assure, though Optimus only raises a brow at you

You don’t need to be a marine biologist to understand he doesn’t fully believe you, confirmed when he turns around and easily scoops up one of the fish from your pile and offers it to you encouragingly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he churrs a soothing purr to you

The salty waft from the fish reminds you of how hungry of you, and while Optimus’s gesture is heartwarming, you’re not eating a fish raw, thankfully, you’re not that desperate to quench the miniature ache that’s building in your stomach 

You push his hand aside with the back of your own, still smiling “Thanks buddy but, I can’t eat that” before his face can morph to unhappy you’re already explaining your reasoning 

“I need to get this fire going if I wanna cook any of them, not that that's gonna happen anytime soon, unfortunately..” you say with a huff and a not so pleased scowl down to your pile of kindling. Even with your explanation, Optimus only continued to look puzzled, and so, you resume venting your frustrations 

“Just had to loose my stupid knife in that stupid storm..” you grumble, not even trying to hide how annoyed you feel. You’re not sure if Optimus ever really understands your human speak when you try to communicate with him, but regardless, he’s an ear to listen if he can translate you or not

And man do you crave some kind of interaction, aside from when you talk to yourself to keep boredom at bay 

“I could have lost my jacket, or my own shoe, but nooo I had to lose my knife!” you reshuffle the kindling into a neater pile between your legs, brows gathered like angry thunder heads and face as welcoming as broken glass 

“As if hurting my leg wasn’t bad enough, losing my knife is just the cherry on top of the shitty sundae” just barely, you catch Optimus’s fin ears perking at that particular sentence, and a tiny voice in the back of your head snickered at the idea of him understanding what a swear word was

That same voice is quickly smothered underneath your frustrations however

“Can’t start a fire, can’t make a shelter, can’t gut fish..” you rant, the volume in your voice decreasing further and further as your own words reinforce just how helpless you’ve become with the loss of your blade

Even if you have no knowledge on how to survive being stranded, you’d managed, and your knife gave you a somewhat feeling of protection in the large, intimidating environment you’d been marooned on

A miniscule feeling of safety, gone just like that, all of a sudden you were back to the place you where when you’d first woken up on that island, and you hated it 

Silently, Optimus regards you and your curled up posture. You can’t easily curl your injured leg up to your chest, so you set on simply hugging one leg to your chest and hiding your face in your folded arms, sighing with all the tiredness and weariness in the world 

Seemed you were more tired than you thought

You can feel a building heat growing behind your eyes, and dreading the thought of crying infront of Optimus and making a fool of yourself, you refuse to look anywhere in his general direction, even when he lets out a series of soothing chirps that you know are his way of urging you to look at him 

You shift your head in your arms, turning further away from him 

“I-I’m okay Optimus, I’m okay!..” your voice sounds more watery then you would have liked, dammit 

God you were so pathetic! 

Here Optimus was, going out of his way to provide for you while you recovered, and all you can do is focus on the negatives. You have no doubt in your heart that if Optimus hadn’t chosen to be kind to you, you would be in a far dire situation, maybe even dead. You were continuously fumbling and falling, and Optimus, without fail, would always show to help you without you ever asking him to

He just would, as if doing so was as simple as breathing

Optimus truly was the best 

Attempting to compose yourself, you inhale a deep breath through your nose, chest rising as your lungs inflate to their fullest, then deflate as you exhale slowly through your mouth. When you reopen your eyes again, you feel better grounded and spare Optimus a glance, and notice how the mer has turned his focus to the water

There’s a considering detail to his face, contemplative, as if he was weighing the pros and cons of something 

Admittedly, the expression causes your grief to take a back seat as you hum curiously to yourself, wondering what thought could warrant such a heavy level of pondering 

“You good?” you ask

The only way you’re sure he heard you was the twitch in his fin on the side of his head, like the way a cat's ear would swivel to attention

He continued to study the surface of the water that glittered beneath the golden rays of sun that reflect of it, before he then turns his focus to you

The pensive quality to his face doesn’t waver, even when he temporarily looks off to the side and his brows gather by a smidge in the centre of his forehead. You try to not grow worried, you really try, whatever it is he’s thinking about you’re sure it’s nothing serious

But to see such an intense expression upon the otherwise social mer you’d come to warm up to was…concerning 

“You okay??..” you repeat your earlier inquiry, which causes Optimus to return his eyes back to you

He still looked serious, but there was something more relaxed about him, leaving you to assume that whatever debate he was having he must have come to a conclusion too. Whatever a mermaid of his size has to worry about you have zero clue, honestly you’re not entirely sure if knowing would just make you more nervous

If you wanted to know or not however, you learn that Optimus wasn’t planning to try and share

With another chirp he moved the fish into your hand, softly closing your fingers around it before you can utter a word. Then, he leaned forward until his forehead gently connected with your own. His skin was cold as it was smooth, pleasant to the touch, his rumbling churr travelling from his body to yours like a comforting hug 

There's something intimate and personal about the gesture that you simply don’t have the heart to turn down, he does it every time he has to leave you, the only answer you can make is that it’s some mermaid equivalent of saying goodbye

It was oddly comforting, like a wave, passing through your body, soothing and surprisingly powerful that struck down the knot of negativity and doubt festering within you

When he’d first tried to do it, you’d thought he was going to eat you and had jumped, but now, you welcomed the gesture gratefully 

He pulled away moments later, smiling down at you when your eyes fluttered back open. He offered one last chirp before he gradually began to drag himself back to the water, soon moving with graceful ease once deep enough, his grand body sliding out from the lagoon 

You blinked after him, brow climbing up into your hairline

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It’s only ten minutes after Optimus leaves do you throw in the towel in your fire starting efforts, all you’ve managed to create is a cramp in your shoulder 

Sitting there in the sand sulking is the first thing you debate on doing, considering how done you are with just about everything, but in the end, you decide to exercise your injured leg instead 

You try to keep pressure off it as much as you can, but seeing how you and your crutch are going to be spending a lot of time together as you heal, the sooner you get used to moving around with it the better. Plus, it gave you a nice excuse to explore the rest of the lagoon 

Now that your earlier anxiety had worn away, you can appreciate how serene your surroundings are. Despite the storm, the lagoon seemed pretty well off all things considered. If you didn’t count the littering debris of tree branches you’d have thought the place was untouched entirely!

Walking along the rock formation that forms one half of the wall that snuggly cradles the lagoon off in a corner is much easier to walk along then the sand owning to the sturdier surface, and as you meander along, you frequently stop to admire the many smaller rock pools that had formed into the structure and the little worlds flourishing with them:

So far you’ve found starfish, shrimp, hermit crabs, regular crabs, small fish and even a jellyfish the size of your pinky. As you cross the halfway mark along the wall you stumble across a particular sizeable upturned seashell, must have been tossed there by a wave, you think 

Kneeling to pick it up you’re marvelled at how gorgeous it looks, scarlet stripes painting across its shell with little darker speckles that have you thinking of the red scales of Optimus’s shoulders and back

As you think of the mer, you can’t help but also remember that he’s been gone a suspiciously long amount of time..

You hum pensively as you cast your eyes over to the sea, wondering when a blue and cool grey face with an unmistakable pair of turquoise eyes will appear

You really have no way of telling how much time has passed exactly, but the sun was high up when he was last here, and now it’s lowering. If you had to wager a rough guess, evening couldn’t be more than a few hours away 

But this was definitely the longest period he had left you alone for in a while

Had you upset him earlier?

He’d been trying to comfort you, and all you’d really done was vent

Just as quickly as the theory enters your head do you dismiss it, if Optimus had really been annoyed then surely he wouldn’t have done his whole forehead goodbye thingy he was so fond of, why would he have smiled and chirped at you if your behaviour had irked him??

“Maybe..he’s out hunting??” you suggest to yourself “He’s been bringing me a lot of fish and I never see him eat any of them”

The idea of Optimus pushing away his own hunger in favour of making sure you had plenty both filled you with immense gratitude for the mer and sadness at the same time, you didn’t want him to neglect his needs for your sake. You make a mental note to discuss it with him whenever he returns, because you know he will, a gut instinct, you just don’t know when 

Hopefully before it’s dark..

Reaching the end of the rock platform you carefully lower yourself to sit, legs dangling over the ledge but not so much you risk falling in. Even if the water looked peaceful, you don’t fancy a dip with a hurt leg, considering how you were only just starting to nail walking with a crutch

With nothing to do and no mermaid to occupy your attention, you let your good leg sway and your fingers brush over the rough, textured surface of your seashell. For a brief moment, everything felt still and right

Your situation still wasn’t the best, you’re still stuck on an island with no other human life, but for now, everything felt okay 

With one hand holding your shell, thumb idly stroking back and forth across it, your other hand holds your face, your reflection on the water below staring right back

The water looked especially refreshing, a part of you does long to throw haste to the wind and jump in for a swim, but the more mature part of you knows that’ll only put needless stress on your leg trying to keep yourself afloat 

Sometimes, if you sit still enough, a small fish will dart out from its hiding spot under the rocks before zipping away from sight, it’s like your own personal aquarium, and even better, it’s free!

A particularly large fish caught your attention as it swam along with it’s belly against the smooth sand that made the bed of the lagoon, it paused some ways directly below you where you feet dangle, giving you a nice view of it’s spotty scales that likely make it blend in well amongst the underwater reeds

Seconds later, it decides it’s done resting and shoots off towards the exit of the, swimming over the ridge of sand before it dived into the vast sea beyond its sheltered walls 

You hadn’t noticed earlier, given how this was the first time you’d gotten so close to the exit and entrance of the lagoon, but where the gap in the wall had formed, the sand steeps upward into a miniature mound, cultivated through creatures big and small swimming in and out 

It dipped sharply downward into the rest of the ocean, merging with the seafloor below and meshing with the rest of the rock and sand beyond

As you stare, you acknowledge again how lucky it was that out of all the places you could have washed up, you washed up in the safety of a quite lagoon….and that you just happened to drift through the only gap that made both the exit and entrance to said lagoon

In fact, it was a miracle you hadn’t sunk to the sea floor before you were carried over to the lagoon. If you’d been drowning any earlier then you might have sunk too low to pass over the small wall of sand 

But, looking back, you don’t ever remember seeing this lagoon, even from the line of the coast path you’d been following before falling into the water. You’re sure you would have seen it, because before the storm had suddenly settled the weather had been relatively decent

The waves…couldn’t have carried you that far, could they??

In fact, you’re astonished the waves didn’t end up throwing you over the wall like a sack of potatoes. The walls were high yes, but not immensely so, a giant, powerful wave could have easily washed over them as if they were nothing

Really, what were the chances you’d wash up in a safe lagoon in the middle of a storm??

You can’t remember all the details very clearly, but you know for certain that you didn’t swim into the lagoon yourself, you remember the sea overpowering you, pushing you further under and fighting back against your thrashing legs and arms

You remember the fear, the blood chilling realisation that this is where you were going to meet your grave. At the bottom of the sea

You were drowning, you were going to die, and yet, despite all odds, you’re alive

Surely this couldn’t be dumb luck, it was just too convenient: the idea that the tide just happened to deliver your unconscious body into the lagoon, just happened to make you drift gracefully through the gap in the rocks rather than lobbing you over them, just happened to do all this before you drowned for real 

‘Unless…it wasn’t the sea that-!!’

Your seashell numbly fell from your hand

You don’t register it falling into the water with a light splash, nor do you register the large body of colour moving towards the lagoon, not until a body of red, blue, white and soft gray surges upwards from the water and has you wildly falling onto your back

The body of Optimus looms above you, strong arms that are twice the width of your body supporting him, while the end of his tail continues to sway in the water. Your chest heaves, eyes threatening to split your face from how they seemingly bug out of your skull from the sudden closeness

He’s pinned you beneath him on the rock, and your heart does a backflip involuntarily

You forget how to breath

Water cascaded down his body and drips down his chin, splashing onto your face, which seems to be the thing to urge you to do something, aside from lay there with your chest heaving like a petrified rabbit 

“Uh…H-Hi” you squeak, barely managing to move your fingers in a tiny wave 

If Optimus is at all aware of your fluster he is either oblivious to it, or was doing a very spectacular job of not showing it

His mouth pulled up into a smile at hearing your voice, sharp teeth glinting behind his lips that have your face turning darker, you can practically feel the heat travelling up to the tips of your ears 

You shuffle backwards as quickly as you can without infuriating your injury, coughing to find your voice “Heh, you uh..you were uhm, gone for a while” you start, completely unsure if there is even a way to smoothly transition to a conversation

Once you can comfortable sit with your injured leg outstretched, you are shocked again by Optimus when - instead of folding his arms and letting them rest on the rocky outcrop - he instead heaved his long, heavy body out of the water

Making a noise of concern you reach out and place your hand upon the scales of his arm as he settled in front of you “Wha- wait can you be fully out of the water?? Is that safe for you!”

At your touch, you instantly draw a pleased trill from him, the dominant fin that trails down the centre of his back and down his tail shivering happily. He offers you a gentle, assuring smile, before using the end of his tail to easily splash water up onto his body 

You get hit by a few drops of water in the process that draws a humoured huff from Optimus, the breath hitting your face and causing loose bits of your hair to be blown back 

You however, are far from being amused at his playfulness, your brain still whirling to digest your realisation 

It seemed whatever expression you were wearing was signal enough for the mer to gather you had something quite heavy on your mind, and he cocked his head at you, at once his amusement subsiding 

When you speak, your voice is quiet “Optimus..” the mer recognises the call of his name, offering you his full, undivided attention as you collect yourself to spit out the rest of your question 

“Did you…bring me to the lagoon?”

Who else could have??

Who else would know of such a safe, secure area for you to rest when hurt?? Who else could have easily swam you through the entrance and carefully laid you on the sand far away from the merciless crashing of waves?? Who else would have gone out of there way, in a storm of all things, to ensure your safety??

You’re not sure what type of reaction you were expecting, perhaps for him to give it a nervous second thought before answering? What you do not expect, is for Optimus to respond with a genuine, confident churr

Your eyes widen all over again

Optimus had been the one to bring you to the lagoon

Optimus had SAVED you

“Y-You…You..” you tried, stammering, his churr sounding so true that it threw you through several loops and then some. On the other hand, Optimus appeared unphased, he looked at you with such fond adoration, his smile small but real, that it was almost too much for you to process 

You try again to find your words, to say anything in response, but your throat continued to hold any half assembled words you’d strung together hostage, leaving you stuttering and red faced

Did Optimus understand the gravity of the deed he did? Did he know he had actually saved you from drowning?? That if he hadn’t found you, if he had been swimming at any other part of the island, if he’d shown up even a minute later then you might have..

“..Op..Optimus, I-I-”

He outstretched his hand, palm facing the sky, an object sitting there for you

At a glance, you thought it was some kind of weirdly shaped pebble, not the first of its type to be gifted to you by the mer. But when you look at it again, properly, you see the item for what it actually is

There's a tremble to your hands are you take the item slowly from him, being mindful of the bladed end against the fragile skin of your fingers 

“M-My…My knife..” you say, then, you whirl your face up to Optimus

He sits in a way an eager child would after they’ve handed someone a present, anticipating your reaction with a jubilant shine in his eye 

Meanwhile, yours shine for a different reason

You can’t think, can’t blink, can’t process why Optimus not only saved you, but returned your knife, the knife you had lost in the storm. How did he?!- WHY did he?!-

“You….You..” your voice is quiet, still in disbelief “Y-You went…looking for this?? Is THAT where you’ve been?!”

A collection of pleased chirps and trills is his answer, his fins raising as you clumsily fumble to inspect the handle of your knife

You miss is the first time when you try to grab for the string handle that dangles from the bottom, but you eventually manage to grasp it with your shaking fingers, pulling on it to free the flint striker that slotted into it when not in use

You can…you can start your fire with this. Prepare your fish, make a new shelter if you have to!

All because…Optimus went searching for it

He had no use for a knife, why would he?? His webbed appendages were already naturally sharp and his teeth even more so, why would he need to find a knife?? For you, that’s why 

For you

…Small, damp spots form on the material of your now dried trousers as moisture begins to freely fall down your face, your cheeks becoming sleek with them in a matter of seconds 

“T-This is…i-its..”

Your voice is devoid of its usually cheery quality that Optimus had come to admire so much, now, you only sound confused, sad, it doesn’t sit right with him at all

Afraid that he is the cause, Optimus ducked his head to try and catch your eye, but he barely gets a glance at your face before a broken sob rips out of your throat, startling him back 

You sob, your knife clattering to the rocky surface beneath you as your hands fly up to desperately hide your face and muffle your howling. The sound of Optimus’s panicked chirps as he tries to figure out what has caused you such unexpected distress are drowned out under the sound of your gross sniffling and crying 

You hiccuped, choking for air past your sobbing, body trembling. Your rocked with a wail, curling up to bury your face in your palm before Optimus can see 

Your heart was flooded with gratitude, overflowing with warmth and approval for the grand mermaid the likes of which you had never felt for any other being before. But alongside it, was a just as immense sense of confusion, of astonishment, of fear

Why? Why was Optimus so-…why would he bother-

“T-This!-..T-This is-” you hiccup, sniffling loudly as you clumsily wipe your eyes “T-This is..t-the nicest thing anyones ever done for me!!” you wail, head still ducked so low that Optimus can’t see your face. 

He churrs and chirps non-stop, desperately trying to figure out how he should proceed, you should say something to calm him, to promise him you are the furthest thing from disappointed at his act of kindness, but all you can think to say is:

“W-Why?..” You croak, pulling at the bottom of your shirt as a makeshift rag, wiping it across your face “W-Why are you…y-you being so..” with courage, you shakily raise your head to Optimus, who cowers with a sad whine at the disheartening look on your tear stained face

Your eyes were puffy, red, and you looked so utterly lost and confused that it caught him so off guard he almost slipped off the edge of the rock. With a trembling voice, you manage to finish your query: “Why are you being so…n-nice to me??”

Optimus found himself frozen, like ice had been injected into his being, he had never expected such an intense bout of tears from you from his gift. Was it not to your liking? Had he overstepped?? If only you could simply tell him what was wrong, he would fix it!

It took your sight becoming blurry once again, and a hiccup to escape your throat do you process that you were crying again

You knew you shouldn’t, you knew it would only make Optimus more stressed, but you just couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t stop it from building and overflowing inside you

You hugged yourself, arms tightly wrapping around your body with your head hung low. You must look so tiny to Optimus, so small and dramatic, he must be revolted at your improper reaction to his generous, meaningful gift..

A gentle nudge to the side of your head as Optimus, with all the tenderness he could muster, softly touched the side of your head in a brief nuzzle. He chirped, but you refused to abide to his wordless request, furiously shaking your head

Something woeful fell over his expression, and knowing you were the cause only makes the ache in your chest double 

You just didn’t understand, why was Optimus so caring towards you?? Why you?? Why not another mer?? What made you so…special to him??

Carefully, with precise movements, Optimus slowly curled himself around you, circling you protectively with his tail. Still with care, churring sadfully at your sniffling, he laid his chin upon your good leg, staring upward at you 

You didn’t want to look at him, you knew it would just cause you to break further, and yet, your head slowly turned without thought, hands moving away from your face until you meet his:

The look on his face, the way he looks at you - you feel your heart simultaneously break and swell 

You were uncertain just how much Optimus was able to understand the true extent of your muddled emotions, you weren’t even sure just how much you could make sense of them. But what you were certain of was the weight in your chest, and how looking at Optimus, seeing the honest to goodness care in his eyes made it feel just that bit lighter

All for you, imperfect, messy, unique you 

You reached for him, gently cupping either side of his face with your hands that looked dwarfed in comparison. He leaned into the touch, quietly churring. Tears welled back up in your glossy eyes, shivering from the intensity of your emotions 

Your voice wobbled as you spoke “T-Thank you”

Without asking, your tone conveying enough, Optimus moved forward. You carefully wrapped your arms around his head, pulling him to your chest where you lowered your head into the crown of his own, sobbing quietly, soft sniffles leaving you ever now and then 

An arm gently wrapped around you, his hand reaching for the small of your back where he simply supported you. After a moment, he began to churr again, the calming vibrations reminding you of a large, purring cat

Before you can stop it, you huff out a tired snicker at the amusing comparison 

The length of Optimus’s grand tail curls tighter around you, safely cocooning you, you had never felt so safe and grounded then right there, in the centre of his embrace, his head nuzzling into your stomach.

You held him tightly, trying to return even a fraction of the feeling of security you felt by his presence

“Thank you..” you said again, and you meant it

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the mood i'm in ❞ ─ an adhd chronicles blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!adhd!reader. summary: sometimes rearranging a whole entire closet is a biological need. content warnings: fluff, adhd antics (i'm diagnosed don't try to come for me) word count: 600+. a/n: this was requested by @ficmeoutofthisworld and i felt the need to make a blurb!verse of it, so expect more fluff for these three 🩵 & the idea of jack calling you honey came from honey is for love by @angellsell

      “Daddy, honey has that weird look again.” Aaron can’t help but smile at his little boy, putting the files he was working on down on his desk, telling him to come closer with his hands. Jack had gotten into the habit of calling you honey very early on in your relationship, that being one of the pet names Aaron used the most when talking to you. It was too endearing to correct him, even after you moved in. You both just let the boy be, knowing that he would call you by name once he got older.

      You didn’t mind him not calling you mom or any of its variants, even if the relationship you shared now was much alike mother and child, Jack didn’t remember a lot of Haley by himself, he was too little, but Aaron always did his best to keep her memory alive in him, so if for his young mind it was easier to call you a pet name, you would take it every single time with a smile. And so would Aaron. 

      “What look, buddy?” He asks even though he’s sure he knows the answer, having been through that a few times over the last two years. 

      “She’s staring at my stuff and sitting on the floor.” Bingo. Every once in a while you would get obsessed with something, it made sense after you were diagnosed with ADHD and he learnt how to accommodate you properly, but for a while it was just a big clash of his organized and controlling nature and your chaotic mind. 

      “Let’s see what she needs, okay?” Jack nods, leading the way with his dad closely behind. They find you exactly as his boy explained to him, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor, staring at his wardrobe so attentively it might scare the unknown eye. 

      “Darling? What’s going on?” He asks without entering the room, not wanting to invade your space before you called him in, instead he decided to lean on the door frame, observing you with his kind eyes.

      “I want to rearrange all of Jack’s clothes but we need more hangers for that and I don’t want to go to the store just to buy hangers, but I also can’t get up to go to the kitchen and check what else we need.” You answered quickly, finishing your ramble with a huff, dropping your shoulders and looking at your fiancé with a pout that made him get closer to you, offering his hands so you could have some support while getting up, you lazily do it, being embraced by him as soon as your feet touch the ground. 

      “Go watch something with Jack, okay?” His tone is always soft, as if your conversations, even the silliest and mundane ones, were secrets for you two to keep. He knew you too well, so he prevented the whine he knew would come–you wanted to get this done, you needed to rearrange Jack’s clothes or the itch in your brain wouldn’t leave–and he did so by holding both of your cheeks with his hands, making you look at him. “I’ll make the shopping list and then you both can go to Target while I get some reports done.” You nod happily, his hands moving with your head. 

      Telling you to watch something with Jack could seem like a mindless choice of words, but it wasn’t, Aaron knew you were feeling stuck and how bad that made you feel, you needed a dopamine kick before you could do something, and no better way for that than colorful silly shows with your favorite boy.

      By the time he’s done with the shopping list, you had already started another important project: Napping on the couch with Jack. So he leaves it attached with a magnet on the fridge, gives you both soft forehead kisses and goes back to work, not minding the fact he did it quickly for no reason, happy you were resting and that it was done for when you decided to shop.

[postmodernbeliever]

sick and twisted- fox mulder x female reader (smutsmutsmutsmut)

in a sudden bout of sickness, you are staying with fox, who is yearning to take care of you (...in more ways than one.)

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hope you enjoy this incredibly horny thing... wrote this as i worked through raging period hormones <333 (sometimes i still get a little nervous to post these but yknow what. if im thinking it someone else is too probably. so yolo)

my ao3 | word count: 2,906

content tags: soft dom fox mulder, fox mulder the top of every girl's dreams, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, sickfic, sick reader, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering & sex, plus size reader if you squint, past fox was a little plus size if you ALSO SQUINT!!!!, idiots in love, pet names, smut, pain relief, talking you through it bc he's a nice boy, cross-posted on ao3

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it was twisted, the way fox was turned on by you being sick. it checked every fantasy in his head off the list and you didn't even know.

by the time you got off work last night, you felt the brain fog rolling in, and you came straight to fox’s place instead of your own- and he was more than happy to oblige you. he wanted to set you up in his bed, but you refused, so he made you a little home on his couch, fixed with his good pillows and the blanket you designated as your own months ago. the man had been itching to come home all day. his brain was so out of the loop, in fact, that he handed dana a case report only half completed, with sentences stopping midway through. his partner had to force him out of the office just so he didn’t screw anything else up, but he couldn’t care less, because he was on his way home to his girl. he even went to the store to get you ginger ale and animal crackers, because he knows that’s your favorite remedy. and god, if you weren't everything he’d been dreaming of since he left you last. 

you were splayed out on his couch beneath a blanket, coughing up a storm. your nose was red and irritated from blowing it into so many tissues, lips swollen from all the chapstick and chewing; a glassy, sleepy look glazed over your eyes, and your skin paled everywhere but your cheeks, which were flushed in a pretty little smear across your face. you were in his old academy t-shirt, which left room to breathe- he was a bit bigger back then, lucky for you- and a little pair of boxers that were hiked up your thighs from sitting in them all day. you were the vision he couldn’t have conjured even if he tried. he wished that they could make a calendar of just you, looking like this, for every month until he died. but above all, your voice was the part that truly drove him up the wall. you didn’t think of the raspiness as much more than grating, but to him? gruff, weak, gentle, needy, undeniably brutally irrefutably hot- he had a thesaurus written just to put it to words. every word that fell from your lethargic lips was like music to his ears; he could listen to your stuffy breathing forever.

fox had been taking care of you, despite your protests to leave you be. you didn't want to get him sick, but he didn't care. he insisted on keeping you company and doing mindless work at his living room desk until you felt like getting back into the world. that was another thing. seeing you helpless and dependent on him, needing him to feel better… he loved that. he loved spoiling you, feeding you, treating you like a princess. that's what you were to him. there was so much in his life that was out of his control, that he couldn’t protect, but you were the one constant thing he could keep safe. the one thing he could selfishly keep. there was no chance he was going to give that up so easily, not when you were catering to his urges so wonderfully.

it was getting late, but you'd slept all day, so the exhaustion behind your eyes was keeping you awake. overtired and restless, your head was throbbing, and you couldn't get comfortable. the man heard rustling from the couch and turned in his desk chair, a serene smile on his face. he noticed you shifting awkwardly and came to the rescue.

"what is it, baby?"

you ceased trying to rearrange the contents of the couch and let yourself flop against the pillows, huffing in aggravation. "ugh, nothing. just can't get comfy."

"let me help you," fox urged. he rose from his chair and stalked over, kneeling dutifully at the couch's edge to help you adjust the pillows behind your head and beneath your legs. "better?"

"mhm. thank you."

"of course. how’re you feeling?"

"not good," you pouted, voice thick with strain, "my head is killing me, and my stomach is aching. and my nose and throat, too… i took some medicine not too long ago, but it’s taking forever to kick in… ugh. you know i hate being sick."

that childish pout had his stomach churning. he knew this wasn't about him, and you needed rest, but he also couldn't ignore how enticing you looked, all innocent and sleepy on his couch. how you trailed off between thoughts, working through the sick haze in your head. he leaned over a bit to rest his hands on your lower abdomen, pressing the heels of his palms against your belly softly. you hummed at the touch, and he had to force his eyes not to roll back.

"what can i do to make you feel better?"

"can..." you trailed off. "maybe you could cuddle me?"

"i'd love to."

the man climbed onto the couch without a thought, allowing his body to mold to how yours curved. you felt his strong chest rising and falling against your back, the constancy soothing as he draped his arm over your side, letting his rough hands drift slowly back down to your tummy. fox pressed a few lazy kisses behind your ears, causing the hair on your arms to stand up stiff. his lips were always warm, but with your skin burning up as it was, they felt frigid.

"too cold?"

"mm-mm," you hummed. maybe they were, but you weren’t going to jeopardize him stopping. 

fox was starting to disregard his better judgment as he tucked himself into you, feeling the feverish heat of your back. he was more attuned to the motions you made than his thoughts. the way your hands, so soft, just a touch smaller than his own, laid safely atop his wrists; how when he rubbed slow circles against your aching stomach, you made a little noise that was something heavenly, both hum and sigh; how your left foot ran up and down your right leg, feeling the fuzzy fabric of the blanket wedged between. he was so lost in how good it felt to be wanted that it was crossing over into obsession. he wanted every square inch of you to need his attention. he wanted to touch every spot that felt sick and nurse you back to life- to have it engrained in your head that only he could make it feel better, and no one else. 

so engrossed in his urges, fox kissed a little more, and what started as innocent turned urgent. he sucked softly behind your ear, nipping relentlessly on that sensitive spot you had. you began to pant, feeling the fever chills leave and a different kind of warmth roll over you. you pushed your hips into his hands, trying not to squirm and failing miserably. 

"oh, god," you covered your face with your hands. “fox…”

fox’s low laugh rumbled against your shoulder blades. the man relished in your inability to resist. his fingers began to travel down to your boxers, and he tucked his hand right below the waistband. he put pressure right against your heat and you buried your face as best as possible into the couch cushion, letting out a helpless whine.

"feels good, right, baby?"

"a-ah," you hiccuped.

"m'just gonna touch it, that's all,”

"but-"

"i can make you feel so much better," he kissed your ear, "make all those aches go away so fast, baby. can i?”

"please," you whispered.

he reached down and dragged his fingers along the fabric separating him from what he wanted, feeling the wetness beneath. his touch was feather-light, and as he gently wriggled his fingers beneath the cotton, you squeezed your eyes shut and scratched softly at the knuckles of his hand still on your waist. you were struggling to do anything other than lie there, but he didn’t need a thing from you anyway. eagerly, you felt his steady fingers brush against your entrance, and his lips parted hungrily at how slick you were.

"god, you're so easy, aren’t you?"

fox dipped two fingers inside you, testing the waters. when your hips rocked back into his, he couldn’t bite back the greedy smile that overtook his face. impatient, he pushed them deeper, feeling the familiar pressure of you squeezing around his hand. you licked your chapped lips, feeling a knot tying itself in your tummy where he worked his fingers inside you. he’d been away a lot recently, so much so that this was a reminder of just how long his fingers truly were. 

"mm, now how’s that, sweetheart?"

"it’s… good," you drawled.

"you like it when i touch you like this, don't you? y’like how my fingers feel?"

you turned your head to look down at where his wrist disappeared beneath your boxers, and you keeled back against the pillow, meeting his broad shoulder. you shuddered in pleasure, and he craned his neck over to lock you in a kiss, feeling possessive like never before. he tasted the minty vicks above your lip and moaned right into your mouth.

"my poor, sick girl… just need me, don't you, baby? oh, you just want me to make it feel better, i know."

you practically melted into the couch as he buried his fingers between your hips. skillfully, he maneuvered you onto your back and crawled up and over so you could lay flat; he anchored his arm right over your head so he could stare down and watch the bliss reach your rosy face, all the while never taking his hand away. once you started breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers, he pulled them out, dragging his slick fingertips across your stomach, leaving shiny streaks behind. when you groaned at the loss, he clicked his tongue.

"no whining, angel. i'm not done. i'm gonna take good care of you."

you watched through spinning vision as he pushed down the couch, crawling low until he could lean over your hips. then, with his big palms stationed between your thighs, he spread you wide, ogling your plush pink folds.

"you're so pretty, baby. my pretty girl."

he pressed a few kisses on the mound just above where you ached, sending shocks up to the tips of your hair. then, he dipped his tongue right inside. he was too needy to start with kitten licks, so instead he swirled around, curling his tongue like a hook, big button nose rubbing against your clit as he breathed you like air. you were officially somewhere new, somewhere out of your own mind; his tongue was so long it could've been one of his god-given fingers, so warm inside you, so deep you couldn't see straight. 

"mmm- god- i love you.”

your toes curled as he moaned all kinds of sweet nothings into you, feeling the soundwaves rolling against your walls. just when his tongue had you going, he moved up to your clit and began sucking so hard you started seeing stars. you clamped your thighs around his head and felt his strong, rough hands grip the chub on them hard, fingertips digging enough to leave moon-shaped bruises. you tugged on his hair, unable to do anything but feel him against you and try not to slip away. but there was no stopping the way you floated in limbo, surrounded by the way he made you feel.

"fuck, baby, look at you," he growled between your hips. "c’mon. let me hear that scratchy little voice of yours."

"oh my god," you moaned, "oh, y-you... i... fox,"

"fuck, that's it. is it good, love, am i good?"

"you're so good! so…s-so good…fuck!" you fought not to trail off, but thinking was hard enough as it is.

“that’s my job, sweetheart.”

he kept himself there, getting off on the way you bucked your hips against his jaw. it didn’t take much longer for the burning in your stomach to grow unbearable, and through trembling little spasms confined by his stronghold on your waist, you unraveled right on his tongue. he came up for air with milky lips after working it out of you for a minute, pressing wet kisses all up your stomach and chest. you felt so dirty as you smiled down at the sheen trail of cum prints in the shape of his pretty lips.

“good girl. did that help?"

"mhm," you heaved, head spinning. “need…”

"what? what is it?"

"i- oh..."

"use your words, princess. words."

"c-can you- you..."

he knew what you wanted. he saw it in the pathetic way you glanced from your hips to his, too worked up to get it out. he chuckled in a way that sent chills up your legs and said, "awh, baby. you want me to fuck you now?"

you bit your lip and bucked your hips in the air. he lodged his leg between your thigh with a smirk and you pressed yourself against it, grinding on the worn fabric of his sweatpants. he felt a wet patch soaking through to his skin, and he twitched in anticipation. you batted your eyelashes and let out a raspy little noise, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt while you moved. and when a sniffle interrupted your humming, it drove him right over the edge.

"fuck. you’re so cute, you little tease.”

he shimmied his sweatpants down in an instant and wasted no time, groaning gutterally as he pushed in and bottomed out. you were hot around him, pulsing like a steady heartbeat.

"fuck, baby. never gets old,” he swooned, pressing a gentle kiss to your chin.  

he began to thrust in and out, hips rolling religiously into the curve of your legs. you clung to his shoulders and tugged him down so he was stuck against your neck, breath hot. he began to fuck you faster, pressing starving kisses to your collarbone, and you arched your back, gasping for a solid breath.

"oh my god!"

"god, you’re so tight," he growled, “been saving it all up for me, huh? missed me bad, i can tell,”

"mm… fox!”

"you like it when i fuck you like this? right on the couch, where anybody could see in that window? say it, baby,”

"i love it," you croaked, gathering the little tufts of overgrown hair at the nape of fox’s neck and tugging them in a last-ditch effort to ground yourself. he tipped his head back into your touch and whined, and you gave a dizzy, darling smile.

"god, i love you. i love you, i love you, i fucking love you," he praised, timing every confession with a thrust of his hips.

all you could manage was a distracted, "m-me... too... ah!"

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he uprighted himself and yanked you by the love handles, dragging you down the couch like a doll. he clawed at your hips, leaving red marks he’d have to soothe later. fox snapped harder and harder, losing control but not caring at all; you let him take you in his hands, surrendering until you couldn't take anymore, and suddenly the knot in your stomach burst. you shivered and writhed all around, whispering his name like a strangled prayer as your hands searched for something to squeeze. he leaned down so you could grab his biceps, and you scratched at them like a cat, a string of lewd things falling from your tired mouth. he came undone as you clenched around him, and his warmth in your tummy was so thick you felt like you could feel it in your throat. 

"so good, baby, jesus christ," fox wheezed. "you sound so pretty when you’re sick. can’t help myself."

you were nearly unresponsive. your head had never spun the way it did now, and your ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, along with your throat. you couldn't form any words, all you could do was claw at his arms and tremble, face stuck in a permanent state of bliss. 

"feeling any better?" fox pressed little kisses to your chin and neck and eyes, and he traced shapes on your stomach to wake you up. "come on, princess, open your eyes. come back to me.” when you smiled and sighed, letting out an embarrassed giggle, he cooed, "there she is, my pretty girl."

"mhm."

"still feel bad?"

you shook your head sweetly, eyes drooping. "nuh-uh."

his heart swelled and he just wanted to eat you alive, so he did the next best thing. he leaned down and kissed your swollen lips with a softness he abandoned just minutes ago, swiping his tongue against your lips and all over your face. he kissed you with all the maneuvers of love he could muster, and you hummed against his mouth, pulling on his hair to hear those pretty little sounds again.

"you’ve got me so whipped, sweetheart," he purred between kisses, "just wanna take care of you."

"you're so good at it," you blushed.

"i do what i can." 

he kissed and kissed and kissed you into the couch, and all that kissing got heated, and one thing led to another because the two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves. and the next day, he woke up as sick as you. who saw that coming?

[snzydarling]

Trial And Error

fandom- totk  characters- link, Purah, Sidon, Zelda  relationship- zelda/link cw- sneezing, kink content, mess notes- hi!!! I'm locked in!! So hard!!! This might be my magnum opus. I forgot to include it I think but his ears are twitching just as much as his nose in this because I think it's cute LOL hope u all enjoy it!!! the puffshroom allergy is inspired by @sf-akahana 's fic !!! its literally never left my brain

Link's never seen anything like a Puff shroom. Probably something dredged up by the upheaval, they're long and vase-shaped, and as Link quickly finds out, incredibly itchy. 

He's somewhere in central Hyrule, fighting off a minor monster camp at the request of a stable hand, when he feels something land at his feet.  His first instinct is to shield himself from some explosion, gasping, but that proves useless as he gets a lung full of something and is sent coughing, stumbling around Uselessly In the cloud of smoke. His nose is on fire, twitching desperately with need of release, but there's no time. He has to get out of there. 

Link runs until he can finally see, breath held against every spasm of his lungs. Once he's out, he can't breathe for another reason, though, nose aflame and flaring. He's sent reeling with a rapid set Off inhales, barely avoiding choking on his irritated lungs as he sneezes and sneezes. 

“ hiA’tSHh- t'CHh-  e’TCHh-ieww! hI'H-TSCHh-! hiD'TCH’yu! t’CHh- eT’tChh-t'CSHh- e'TCHhi-ieww!” he stumbles forward, still off balance, every breath of air he manages to choke is stolen from him in an instant. He needs to breathe, so he pinches his nose between the fingers of his unchanged hand and prays to Hylia for something as he takes in another whining inhale. 

“hD'NGK'T-! e’nDT- n'GKT! heiH'TSH-n’GKT! hiH-hiA'TCHh-iewh!!” he finally gets some respite, wheezing into the damp grass beneath him. But he's not done. His nose tickles with such need, and his eyes are streaming, and a mess is running down his face. Scrubbing his nose against the rough fabric of his sleeves sets off another reaction, making his Entire face itch with A desperation he's never felt before as he pitches forward. 

“ ‘iISHHihh-yU! hI’ySCHHh-e’TCHhih-yu!   hiAh’CHHTt-ieW!” Link whines, his breath coming still in pitchy gasps. His nose isn't even satisfied, still aflame, prickling deep within his swollen sinus. He's never sneezed like this before. He tries to swallow it down, tongue pressed to the top of his mouth as he stands. He doesn't dare to dust himself off. 

The trek back to Lookout Landing is slow going. Every time He can't resist the urge to scrub His nose against something, he's left pinching his flaring nostrils, trying to hold off any kind of reaction. By the time he finally drags himself to the landing, the sun has changed positions in the sky, and Purah's staring down at him with an unreadable look in her eyes. 

“Jeez, what happened to you?” She clicks her tongue, studying his itch-flushed face, and dares a poke at the skin above his sinus’. It sends every feeling he'd been trying to repress back to the forefront, and there's Nothing he can do but stumble away from Purah as he twitches and twitches from his nose to his ears as he gasps, teetering over the edge, before yet another fit tears itself out of him. 

“ y'DSCHh-! eHD’TZzHhih-iewh! hyIHT'DZzsH-yuu! hyI-” There's a hand on his shoulder supporting him, too large to be Purah's, and when he finally manages to look up, there's a soldier giving him a worried frown. He can't hear what anyone's saying, too muffled beneath his pitchy inhales as a whine escapes from his throat. Vaguely, He thinks he registers something about ‘washing off’ and ‘Hylia, bless you!’ ashes sent into more Rapid sneezes. 

He tries to gesture vaguely at himself as he catches his breath, but it's interrupted as he's thrown forward with a “hIHt'CHHhi-!” that scrapes his throat and leaves him coughing and wheezing into his elbow. The cover is pulled from him, and Purah tells him he's going to “smother himself, silly man.” And his entire system is shocked as he's suddenly doused in cold water. 

The short-circuiting is enough to let him get an actual bearing of their surroundings, and he looks up through swollen lids to see Purah worrying her bottom lip at him, the same soldier holding an empty bucket. He grins Sheepishly at Link. “Sorry, it's the only thing we could think of. You were having a pretty bad allergy attack.” Allergy?  He knew what they were, of course, but Link had never been allergic to anything. He tries to get Such across, with a shake of his head that sends water droplets flying from his hair. 

Purah sighs. “Well, obviously you do now.” She begins, poking him in the forehead and graciously avoiding his nose. “There are a lot of new things around. Do you know what it was?” So link pantomimes a mushroom and then an explosion, the crude gestures sending Purah giggling a bit into her hand. “Sounds like a puff shroom.” The soldier states, now handing him a towel, Link's not sure of the source. He doesn't ask, too exhausted and still-itchy to do much of anything besides dry himself off. 

“A puff shroom, huh?” Purah muses to herself. “Looks like you'd do well to avoid them, chosen knight.” 

 _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Resting for A moment in some unnamed forest near Hateno village, Link decides to experiment. 

He's a resourceful person, whether through training or by nature, and he's smart enough to understand the benefit of puff shrooms might have in battle. He has 3, stuffed as far back in his inventory as he can manage, and he buries his face in his hood as he takes them out. The sight of the white spores floating in the air makes his nose twitch. 

He takes out an arrow, sniffing as the itch starts to build at the tip of his nose. It's not his first time attaching something to an arrow like this, but he's not sure how much puff shroom's exposure his nose can take. He has to test it. 

So he stands, taking his bow and aliGning the arrow in its ridges, a subconscious motion. His nose is starting to tickle so much, though, and he scrubs it on his shoulder before assuming a proper stance, staring Down A tree across from the clearing he's in. 

inhale- he draws himself tightly, taking a check of every part of his body. He draws his booting tight. He tries to ignore the glittering white powder on his hands, just inches away from his nose. hold- with everything taught with anticipation, he aims. Closes one eye and aligns the bow until the tip of his arrow is staring at the center of the tree. His nose is starting to burn, urgent and needy. He tries to ignore it until his lungs start to demand more air, taking in hitchy breaths. And release- the arrow whirls by his ear, but he can't see if it met its mark because He pitches forward just a moment after. 

“y'DSCHh-! eH’TZzHhi-! hyIHT'shHi-yuu!” he manages to peel his eyes open for just a millisecond, trying to observe how well the puff shroom envelopes everything, but the sight of the spores just ignites the itch again, and suddenly he's sneezing impossibly more. 

“h'EISHHh- eTCHh'iew! hyH’tTCHHhi-!” he can feel his Nose drip onto his upper lip, he realizes mutedly, but there's nothing he can do about it yet, because everything just tickles so much that he's got no choice but to scrub at his face, failing to realize his hands are covered in the mushrooms Spores. He's hopeless to his own body as he gasps, head thrown back like a wild animal, every part of his face wet and on fire with Need.

 He's smart enough to keep his hands away froM his face now, but it leaves him sneezing down his own front, misting his clothes and the grass beneath his feet. Something finally, mercifully gives, and he can finally breathe, Chest heaving with the effort. He needs to sit down, but not before scrubbing His hands raw in a nearby Pond. 

He lays in the grass, head still spinning, watching His horse stare at him with judgmental eyes. He paws at his nose, the faint tickle still residing up in the tip of his nose, sending him into a rapid flurry of small, breathy sneezes. 

It might be for the best if he doesn't use them in battle, after all. Maybe his horse will eat mushrooms. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

It's months before the allergen presents itself again, so Link's entirely unprepared when it does. 

That's not the only reason, though. He's come to expect it in battle and at the trunks of trees, but being face-to-face with a puff shroom in the middle of Zoras's Domain is unprecedented. 

It's literally face-to-face, too, Because Sidon’s hands are eye level To link, and he's holding one of those mushrooms in his clawed Grasp As he chitters on eagerly. 

“Link!! How lovely to see you, old friend! I was just discussing with one of our dear warriors about you!! Impeccable timing, as always, friend! Rivan apprehended this from a bokoblin this morning and thought it might- oh dear, are you alright?” For all of Sidon's ability to talk anyone's ear off, his perceptiveness deserves credit, as Link wrinkles his nose and gives his head a rough shake that he hopes communicates something. 

Sidon softens anyway. “You look A bit unwell, dear friend. Have you considered getting some rest at the inn? I must say, the water beds are truly…” As he talks, he presses a cool hand into Link's shoulder. If he squints, he can see the white spores against the bright red of the king's skin. Unfortunately for him, the movement jostles the mushroom just slightly, and spores float up directly into Link's face. 

He can't help but gasp as the tickle Ignites, prompting even more concern and even more movement from Sidon, kneeling and talking incomprehensibly to link, whose sole focus is the tickle that's ignited Itself across his nostrils, leaving him in a staccato hitch as he desperately tries to pull away from Sidon's stubborn grasp. 

“hIHH! hih-hAh-” “dear me! Have I made you cry, dear friend?! Do not worry, link, I will-""hiAh’CHHTiew-! hiD'TCH’yu!!” unable to move quickly enough, he sneezes into the open air, beads of mist joining the dampness of the air. Sidon releases him suddenly, leaving him to stumble back for a moment. 

Can Zora even sneeze? The thought only grasps him for a moment as he throws his head back, the itch not muffled but somehow worsened by the release. He takes in a quick gasp, then another, and another, but nothing's enough to send him over the edge, even as the tickle burns to the tips of his nostrils, his mouth gaping wide and flashing long canines to the world.  He opens a watery eye, taking in Sidon's concerned frown for just a second before something about the light or just the sight of that hylia-forsaken mushroom finally breaks the dam. 

He gasps, taking in impossibly more air, before pitching forward entirely uncovered. “h'EISHHh- eTCHh'iew-!hI'H-” Suddenly, remembering some vague sense of decorum left over from years of knighthood, he buries himself into his elbow. “tCHh-eTChh’yu! hIH'h-  snf!” He gives another wild shake of his head, feeling something adjacent to cleared out, until He's faced with a sudden dampness on his upper lip. 

Shame overtakes his relief, and he can't help the redness on his cheeks as Sidon peers down at him with a half-curious, half-concerned look in his eyes. Link gestures to the mushroom, forgotten in his Hand amid the whole event, and hopes that's enough to connect the dots, because if Sidon doesn't know what's wrong with somebody, he'll pester until he does something he thinks will help. 

In this case, it does. Sidon breaks his stupor after just a second of staring, whirling into motion with a simultaneous wide step-back and handkerchief pressed into Link's hands, which are hovering dumbly in the air. Despite Link's clear embarrassment, or maybe as a result of it, Sidon grins down even wider than usual. 

“Goddess bless you, dear friend!! I've never seen you sneeze quite like that. I apologize for not knowing about your allergy, a true friend should know about that kind of thing!” Link waves off his apologies as he gives an embarrassingly productive blow into the gifted handkerchief. The material is fancy, soft, and tickly enough to warrant a quick “tI’shiew!” into its folds. It's such a contrast from his issue treatment of his nose, as he's so used to just scrubbing it against whatever sleeve he has on, absentmindedly. The difference from the usual rough fabric to this simple display of royalty is enough to send a pang of hurt into his heart somewhere, but he mentally shakes it off. 

Without his knowledge, Sidon has started pushing him towards the baths, babbling Something about ‘washing everything off’, disregarding the fact that he's the one that had the puff shroom, though he's not sure where it ended up now. Sidon's absent-mindedness is so familiar that it stings, a strange habit today, but Link allows himself the rare privilege in getting lost in it, Finding himself suddenly exhausted with the day's events. 

If he doesn't come back to himself until hours later, waking up in the nicest bed in the inn, he doesn't question it too much. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

Puff shrooms and really anything to do with fighting are pushed far back in Link's mind for the moment. 

It's such unknown territory that he's not sure what to do with himself. Ganon was defeated, and after long and painstaking months of rehabilitation, they've finally found some peace back in Hateno. 

It's a good thing, too. While the house itself is sturdy, over a year of disuse left every surface covered in nearly an inch of dust that took them hours to clean, and left both of them a little sneezy. But now, the house was starting to feel lived in again. 

There was the lingering scent of dinner in the air, and sunlight lit a patch of the wooden flooring up like gold. Link found himself in bed, limbs tangled up lazily with Zelda's as he stared absentmindedly, tracing the grain of the wooden floor. His face lay against her cool neck, forehead set against its crook, and he could feel one of her hands working itself through his tangles of hair, brushing out the knotted bits between her fingers. Ever since he had gotten her back, they stayed impossibly close, like 3 months of staying together like puzzle pieces could make up for almost a year of separation. 

When Zelda breaks the Warm silence, he can feel her voice vibrate against her throat. “I went to visit Sidon the other day,” she pauses, probably waiting for a response to verify that he's awake. He gives it in a soft hum. “He told me a story about a little mushroom making you sneeze.” She punctuates the sentence with little giggles, only increasing in intensity as he flushes a bit with embarrassment. 

She presses a gentle kiss to his nose, and he scrunches it in response. It conveys the annoyance because she giggles again. “No, it's cute. I didn't know you were allergic to anything. I want to see.” That makes him look up at her, wide-eyed with surprise. She smiles even wider. “For science, of course. Would you do that for me?” She asks so gently. He doesn't tell her that he'd give her the world if she asked; he doesn't even need to. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

When Zelda managed to acquire a puff shroom, it was so long after the initial conversation that Link had completely forgotten about it. 

She comes home one day from some fancy meeting link that wasn't invited To- not that he particularly wanted to go, anyways, with an extra pep in her step that leaves Him making a questioning noise when she walks in the door. 

She smirks at him. “Oh, it's nothing. Just something for later.” She winks at him, giggling, and runs upstairs to their shared Bedroom. Links will as a knight is possibly the only thing keeping his curiosity at bay, but he also knows that if he doesn't prod, she’ll usually spill eventually. 

Eventually turns out to be a couple of hours later, when they're both lounging out against a tree, full and happy from dinner. Link is half asleep when Zelda jumps out, rushes inside, and runs back out, grinning with her hands clasped behind her back. 

“I can finally fulfill our little promise.” She teases, placing her hands into her lap, palm open, revealing a small, grey mushroom. The sight of it alone makes his nose start to itch, and he scrunches up his face to quell it. That's all the time it takes for her to get even closer to him, staring at him with a silent ask. “Do you trust me?” And “with my life.” It is such a common song-and-dance for them that she doesn't even need words. 

The already-blooming itch spells certain disaster, but Link can't ever say no to Zelda, so he nods anyway. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket, setting it into his lap. “You'll need this, I think.” She teases with a gentle peck to his nose, already starting to twitch. 

It takes her a minute to decide how to go about this, evident by the Way she gently worries her lip. Eventually, she takes the puff shroom in both hands and holds it up to his face. She locks eyes with him, anticipation and eagerness and a little bit of something he can place in them, and bites her lip when he leans forward, sniffing in deep. 

The effects are imminent. He gasps, throwing his head back, nose on fire from tip to nostril. it prickles deep into his sinus’, so intense that he doesn't know what to do besides hitch and hitch, until he takes in a whiny breath and throws himself forward until he meets a solid weight. 

“hiAh’CHHT-! hI’TSCHhih-t’CHh-eH’TCHhh’yu-!!hIT- … hiH - hA'DTCHh! hH'kNGT'yu-! hI'H-” he realizes with desperation that he just cannot stop. Every breath he manages to suck in Is immediately pulled away from him, and they've done nothing to quell the itch. He's curled into himself, trying to hide such a shameful and weak display. But they keep coming, and he's barely able to think.

“hD'NGk't-! hIAH-” His body is short-circuited when a kiss is pressed against His lips, unbothered by the mess clinging to his cupid's bow. “Don't hold them in.” The lips mutter against him, leaving him hopeless in his body again as it finally catches up. It can't be so simple, though, never for him, and he's left gasping, staring up at the sky through allergic tears in a standstill. 

It tickles so bad ,though, and he's so desperate. A whine escapes him, high-pitched and begging for some kind of relief as everything in his nose feels like it's on fire. His mouth is gaping open in a pathetic display, chest stuttering with every needy gasp. 

Zelda. The thought comes to him like light at the end of the tunnel, and suddenly he's gasping for her, begging for help, and he can hear her Soft laugh somewhere underneath his own raspy, uneven breaths. Then there's a finger tracing the outside of his nose ever so gently, and he barely feels the touch before the tickle is ignited impossibly more, and he gasps impossibly deeper. 

“ah’EITCHh-E’SCHh’yu-!! hI'ySCHHh! hA'DTCHh-ieww!! oh-hiIDTCH-tSCHhi'ieww! hi-hiIH- 

..hiDt’tSCHh'yu!” Even his nose is getting exhausted, the fit leaving him panting and his face uncomfortably damp. He tries to scrub the remnants of the itch away, but it triggers a quick, little “hits-sSHh’iew!” That he doesn't quite cover in time, so he's forced to look at the little droplets of mist left in the air as he sniffles wetly.

“May Hylia bless you, love.” Zelda’s voice startles him- in his allergic desperation, he'd completely forgotten he was there, and the realization makes his head spin. He curls back in on himself, shame coiling up in his gut, swallowing hard. it makes A little click! Sound, muddled by the congestion in his throat. 

A pair of hands, impossibly gentle, bring his face back up to the light. Every self-deprecating Thought is brought to a screeching halt as she kisses him again, hands holding him in place as he tries to pull away. He doesn't have any good way of articulating that he's gross, so he just makes a raspy-sounding whine against her lips. She pulls away, then, giving one last peck to his bottom lip. 

She moves one hand to the handkerchief long forgotten in his lap, using the other to cup his face as she cleans him up. His nose is so sensitive that the too-gentle touch leaves his nose tickling away, and he paws at Zelda's hand as he hitches, feeling his nose twitch and twitch, but she holds firm, handkerchief pressed to his nose, and there's nothing he can do when she rubs his nose again.

“hiD'sHhu - hI'DtsHh! d'shH-yu! hiD'tShh! hiH-! hiDtT-!” They're ticklish and entirely unsatisfied, not nearly enough to quell the last bit of the itch prickling deep in his nose. He holds his breath, fighting every need to take in more pitchy gasps, waiting for something. And Zelda, tried and true, manages to understand. There's that underside of a nail again, tracing down the crooked bridge of his nose, and everything comes Alive with such intensity that he's helpless to it.

“hiD’TSCHHh'yu-! eH’TCHhh’yu! e’TCHh-ieww! oh-” He pants with relief, but Zelda removes the damp handkerchief from his nose, and he's just filled with shame. A knight should never be so weak, so disgusting, never in front of his princess. Her father would probably banish him to the depths for a display like that. 

But Zelda doesn't mind, somehow. Instead, she cups his face again, brushes the irritated tears from his cheeks, and massages the irritated skin under his eyes. “Bless you,” she mutters, so impossibly tender. “I think that did the trick.” And she smiles against his lips. 

Once the adrenaline well and truly wears off, he's exhausted. His head started to ache, and he was sure he pulled something in his back from being thrown forward so much. Zelda guides him forward, into the house and bed, setting him down with a kiss to the top of his head and a promise to return in a moment. 

Link took the time to truly blow his nose, and the satisfaction of it outweighed the embarrassment at how loud it was. Sniffling again sent a “dsch'u!” tumbling out of him, his nose is still abnormally sensitive. Within a minute his eyes are drooping close, but he's startled awake When his hands are guided to a steaming cup. 

“Warm milk,” Zelda explains, sitting down next to him with her cup. “Are you feeling better? Your eyes are all red.” There's something deeper in her tone, so he looks over at her, where she's frowning down at her untouched drink. “I'm sorry for making you sneeze so much. I didn't know you were so allergic.” He shakes his head and tilts his Head in a dog-like way that makes her giggle. “Yes, I did enjoy it.” She admitted, leaning into him. 

“I've never seen you sneeze like that before,” she continues, pressing her lips to Adam's apple. “It was so cute.” He feels her mouth curve into a smile against her throat. The feeling is ticklish, and it makes him cough. Once he surfaces from his shoulder, he takes a long drink of the milk and hums mostly to test his voice. He's surprised to find it mostly intact, if a bit congested. Link kisses her back, long and gently, on her lips. He has to pull back far too soon, though, unable to breathe through his nose enough not to suffocate. 

Another soft fit escapes him- “d'tcHh-! hi’dtshh'yu!” lazily covered by his wrist. Eyes drooping, he feels more than hears the “bless you” from Zelda from where she's nestled against his neck.

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 6

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.7k+

Note: Swag mode 😎😎. here's more William content. please don't look at the texts too hard, I have no clue how to write a convincing text exchange. i scoured a bit more willne videos to see their studio space lmao, so unnecessary, also mention of my twin orla in this one!

xxx

The next morning, I’m wrecked from staying up way too late, scrolling through flat listings and obsessively refreshing every page in hopes of some miracle. My eyes are sore, and my head feels like it’s been pounded with a hammer. I’m on my third cup of coffee, questioning whether a fourth would be pure madness or just a necessary survival tactic. The caffeine’s not helping as much as I’d like it to, but at least the warm cup in my hands feels like a small comfort.

I’m squinting at my computer screen, trying to focus, when my phone buzzes on my desk. The vibration cuts through the fog in my brain, making me jump slightly. I glance at the screen, half-expecting another spam message about payday loans or some kind of bad news. But it’s not.

It’s Will.

You free Saturday?

Will and I have still been DMing in the background. It’s weird. I don’t know what I expected to happen after the time we ran into each other at the pub, but I guess I didn’t think we'd still be talking. The messages come less frequently now, but there's still this pull every time his name lights up on my screen.

It’s like we’re both doing the bare minimum to keep the banter going without it feeling too forced. I know I’ve been busy, flat-hunting, work, trying not to drown in my bedsheets, and I assume he has too. He’s been very frequently posting on his second channel. I don’t watch them out of principle, but I would by lying if I say I didn’t check. He seems kind of person who just seems to have endless energy, but even so, I’m pretty sure he’s not sitting around waiting for my next message.

But still, here we are. Two weeks later, and I’m still somehow locked in this weird back-and-forth with him. The tension that was once a sharp sting now feels more like an itch that I can’t quite scratch. It’s not as urgent, but it’s still there, simmering.

The messages are still laced with sarcasm, just like before, but there’s a slightly different tone to them now. Less relentless. Less needling at me all the time. And, strangely, I miss it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the challenge.

never-ending game we’re both playing. I hope we’re not friends. God, that would be so much worse. Will drives me crazy—in that way where he can make me laugh when I shouldn’t, or get under my skin without even trying. I mean, it’s almost impressive how he can do both at once. But friends? Nah. Definitely not.

Sometimes, he shows up at the flat, a guest of Chris or George. He, barges in like he owns the place, strutting around with that smug look of his, making offhand comments that make me want to scream. It’s always the same. I’ll be hanging out with Chris, George, and whoever else, and it’ll be fine until it’s time for me to sleep.

Will, of course, notices. He’s always got this sixth sense for when I’m about to dip out, as if he can smell when I’m done with the noise and need to retreat. And that’s when he starts in on me.

“You’re so boring,” he’ll say, leaning back with that shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself for getting a rise out of me.

I’ll give him one of those looks, the kind that says don’t even but doesn’t quite stop me from firing back. “I have a degree,” I’ll say, deadpan, “I’m allowed to be boring.”

He’ll laugh, and that laugh, damn it, it always hits me like an electric shock. It’s not funny, but it is. And I hate it. I hate that I know I’ll never hear the end of it. He'll always have some smartass remark to throw back, but I’ll try my best to shut him down, even if it’s just with a quick glance or a snide comment of my own. Still, no matter how much I want to hate him, part of me gets that twisted satisfaction from sparring with him, like I’m winning a battle I never actually signed up for.

So for him to ask me if I'm free Saturday is strange to say the least. It’s totally random, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the fact that he’s still so Will. I let it sit for an hour. I am at work after all.

Am I now buzzing for Saturday? Yes. But do I like him? No. That’s still a solid no. He's still the guy who grins like he’s got some secret joke whenever I’m around, and he’s still way too cocky for my taste.

But, I’ll admit it, there’s something there that makes me want to keep digging.

So, maybe this Saturday thing will give me a bit more insight. Maybe I’ll even see the real Will, or if my assumptions are correct, and he is just annoying at all hours of the day.

xxx

Saturday takes forever to arrive. Every day at work drags like it knows I’m waiting for something, like the universe is deliberately slowing time just to mess with me. By the time I’m in the elevator heading up to the studio, I can barely stand still. Nerves are buzzing under my skin like static.

A sudden, very real thought hits me—this could be a prank. I mean, it’s Will. Why wouldn’t it be? Maybe I should’ve actually watched some of his videos before agreeing to this. At least then I’d have some idea what I’ve signed up for. But no, I just said yes like a moron.

But then I remember, this is content, after all. And for content to be good, I have to be somebody. A character. A moment. My Instagram barely scrapes 500 followers. I’m not anybody.

So why the hell did he invite me here?

I’m not exactly sure what I expected a YouTuber’s studio to look like, but... it wasn’t this.

When Will talks about going to “the office,” I imagined something like mine—sterile, full of cold overhead lighting, open-plan with sad little partitions and passive-aggressive mugs. This is something else entirely.

The space is basically one big room, wide open, chaotic in a strangely intentional way. One wall is lined with IKEA storage cubes—every single one full to bursting. Half the fabric drawers are bulging open, and the labels are just printer paper taped on with what looks like the last sticky bit of an old roll. Minimal effort, maximal clutter.

There’s a random blue couch sitting smack in the middle of the room, like it wandered in and never left. Underneath, of course, is more stuff. There’s also a bar cart—because why not?—loaded with more spirits than a corner shop and about a dozen mismatched, vaguely fancy glasses.

Floor-to-ceiling windows should give the place an airy, open feel, but most of them are cloaked in heavy blackout curtains. A half-built Jenga tower is perched dangerously close to collapse on the floor, surrounded by wires, stray props, and what I hope is fake slime. Miscellaneous art hangs on the walls, and even more is propped up on the floor, leaning at awkward angles like it’s too tired to be displayed properly. There’s gear everywhere, light stands, mics, cables snaking across the floor like trip hazards waiting for a victim.

I get the vibe they tried to make this place cool and chic, and maybe at one point it was. But now? There’s just too much... stuff.

Toward the far end, four desks are arranged in a tight cluster, all facing inward like a gamer coven. The setups are ridiculous—giant monitors, ring lights, camera rigs, and enough SD cards and hard drives to launch a medium-sized moon mission. It makes my work desk look like a forgotten school project.

At one end of the room, there are two distinct sets. One looks like it used to be something—a cosy corner with a worn armchair and faux brick wallpaper—but now it’s been completely taken over by boxes, old office chairs, and random tech graveyard junk. Honestly, it looks a lot like my room.

The other set is clearly the main filming space. Wooden panelling lines the backdrop, LED strip lights between some of the panels, and there’s a desk front and centre with a seriously impressive lighting and camera rig aimed right at it. It looks very sleek professional, completely out of place with the rest of the office.

A woman who looks about my age—reddish-brown hair, dramatic eyeliner, cool in a way I’ll never be—is wrangling what can only be described as a mountain of shit. And by shit, I mean a completely random pile of objects: plush toys, plastic bowls, a Pokémon hat that’s seen better days. She’s also got a frankly terrifying number of energy drink cans, all in different colours. I think she’s arranging them in a specific order, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the logic is.

I stand awkwardly just out of the way, clutching my tote bag like it’s a shield. Will’s across the room, mid-conversation with James-Jacob (the same one from the party). They’re laughing about something, completely at ease, like I’m not even here. Which, to be fair, I sort of am and sort of... am not.

James-Jacob is sitting in one of the chairs in the set, in a denim jacket that somehow looks vintage and expensive at the same time. His hair is styled in that effortless way that definitely took twenty minutes and at least two products. The moustache is… a choice, but it weirdly works for him. It's bold. He’s holding an iced long black like it’s an accessory, casually sipping it as if the studio isn’t a war zone of clutter and chaos around him. He has the arty-but-effortless thing down pat.

I don’t know what to say. Or how to announce my presence without sounding like I’ve wandered in by accident. I still don’t know why I’m here, and the longer I stand in this chaotic studio space, the more I wonder if I’ve misread the entire situation.

I start to look for my phone, to check if I have the time and date right, but then Will finally spots me. Will turns around, as James-Jacob gestures to me.

“Y/N!” I almost think it's not him who says it because, for half a second, he actually sounds... genuinely pleased to see me.

That second doesn’t last long.

“You’ve finally figured out how to dress like a human!” he adds, grinning. He starts to walk over to me. “I was worried I’d have to stage an intervention after the Great Blazer Incident.”

I roll my eyes, already regretting every decision that led me here. “It was one time. I came from work.”

“And yet I still think about it at least once a week,” he says solemnly, like it haunts him.

He seems... different here. There’s an ease to him I’m not used to seeing. The usual smugness is still there, of course it is, but it’s dialled down, softened by something that looks suspiciously like genuine professionalism.

There’s a quiet, unspoken respect between him and the crew, like they all trust each other to get things done without needing to say much. He’s still cracking jokes, still being Will, but there’s something more grounded underneath it. He’s more relaxed. More personable.

And for a second, I kind of get it—the whole YouTube thing. The appeal.

Him.

“So,” I say, arms crossed, trying not to sound defensive, “are you ever going to tell me why I’m actually here? Or did I just win a competition I didn’t enter?”

Will grins, that usual glint in his eye. “Thought it was time you saw what a real job looks like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Right, because rearranging Pokémon hats is the height of professionalism.”

He leans back against the desk, clearly enjoying himself. “Also thought it might help with the whole crushing loneliness thing you’ve got going on.”

It lands sharper than he probably means it to. My smile falters for a second before I catch it.

“Ouch,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Thanks for the charity invite, then.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to walk it back, maybe to double down, but someone calls his name across the room and he just gives me a look before walking off. The look haunts me for a second. It looked almost… apologetic, Like he knew he crossed a line. This second passes when I notice the man who called for Will's attention.

The man looks maybe a year or two younger than me, he has a pearl necklace peeking out of his oversized t-shirt. He has  a full tattoo sleeve, and his other arm littered with smaller ink. God is everyone who works here just super cool? I feel out of place even more so. This man is also downright handsome.

I walk over to Will, trying to act (never a good start) casual and confident. I blurt out, “Are you planning on introducing me to anyone, or...?”

It comes out sharper than I meant. Demanding, even. Great.

Will raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Wow. Okay. Demanding guest energy. Got it.”

I open my mouth to backtrack, but then I catch a glimpse of handsome-man who is now holding a very professional-looking camera. Of course. He’s on the crew. I suddenly become painfully aware of how out of place I must look, awkward, underdressed, and clearly not cool enough to be here.

I clear my throat, shifting my tote on my shoulder like that’ll help. “I just thought... y’know, manners.”

Will smirks. “Sure. Manners. Let’s go with that.”

Will, to his credit, does introduce me, though only after a very theatrical sigh, like I’m the one interrupting his party.

“Alright, alright,” he says, waving me forward like a reluctant tour guide. “Come meet the people who actually make the videos good.”

He gestures to Handsome-Man-With-the-Camera first. “This is Ieuan, camera god, walking tripod, professional stabiliser of shaky chaos.”

I nod, trying not to be weird about the fact that he’s even better looking up close. “Hi.”

“Ieuan,” I repeat, effortlessly now. A few years ago at uni, I’d have butchered that pronunciation on site, but after enough time around Welsh names, I’ve stopped fearing vowels.

He smiles politely and gives a small wave before adjusting something on his rig. Cool and quiet. Of course.

Will points toward the woman still knee-deep in boxes. “That’s Orla. Producer, chaos coordinator, and part-time tour manager for James.”

Orla looks up briefly and gives me a smile, dramatic eyeliner still flawless despite what I can only assume has been a long morning. “Nice to meet you,” she says, with the sort of energy that suggests she’s already done three people’s jobs today and has no plans to slow down. With that being said though, her smile is very genuine.

“And this,” Will continues, clapping a hand on James’ shoulder, “is James. The other half of the so-called talent.”

James smiles at me. “I’m the one people actually like.”  His name is James. I was actually very close.

Will snorts. “True. I keep him around for the algorithm. Likes, shares, ad revenue. It’s all James.”'

But something in the way James grins back at him makes it obvious there’s more to it than that. The banter’s real, but so is the friendship. It’s written in the comfortable way they stand near each other, in the ease of being known.

“I think we met at Old Mate’s party,” I say to James.

Will gives me a bit of a look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You mean Cal’s.”

Right. Cal. Of course he has a real name. I think his internet name is Calsqueezy or something.

James nods, taking a sip of his iced coffee. “Oh yeah. I was only there for a bit, not really my scene.”

He says it casually, but I can tell he means it. There’s no judgment, just that quiet honesty some people wear without even trying. It kind of disarms me.

Will nods. “There’s also Aby,” he says, glancing around. “She’s running an errand, probably saving our asses from some scheduling disaster. She’s another producer." he thinks to himself for a moment, "Oh there's also editor Mikey but he's off today."

As the introductions wind down, Will leans casually against the desk. “This lot,” he says, with a sweeping gesture, “are far too talented to be stuck making dumb review videos with me. Ieuan’s skills are wasted behind my ridiculous face, Orla could run a small nation, and—”

He pauses, looking at James, probably searching for a compliment.

“Don’t,” James warns, pointing at him. “Just don’t.”

Will grins. “See? He knows I have one, and that’s what matters.”

He waits a beat, and then claps his hands once, loud enough to cut through the idle chatter. “Alright, let’s get started!”

He glances over at me, and for a second I think he’s about to say something sarcastic, but he just gives me a quick nod, all business, then turns back to the crew like he’s flipping a switch.

And just like that, he’s in his element.

He gives directions, laughs with the crew, makes some offhand joke that sends James into a fit of giggles, then smirks to himself like he knows he’s good. It should be annoying. It is annoying. But when it’s not aimed at me, it’s... magnetic.

I find a seat off to the side. I'm far enough away not to be in the way, but close enough to witness the chaos. From here, it looks like organised madness. Cables, lights, props being moved. Voices overlapping. Will moves through it like it’s all choreographed.

He prances around the space. yes, prances is the only word for it. he's checking angles, tweaking lighting, fussing over his camera like it’s a pet. Once or twice, he catches me watching. He flashes a grin, quick and unbothered, then gets right back to work.

No smug comment. No teasing. Just... working.

It throws me off.

It throws me off so bad I almost forget to catch a few glances at Ieuan. Almost.

xxx

The first video is about tasting a bunch of discontinued energy drinks, because apparently slowly poisoning yourself for content is just part of the brand. There’s a “good bin” and a “bad bin” where they sort each one after tasting, with Orla handing them the drinks one by one like a caffeinated sommelier. They then also add a splash of each drink to a 'mega drink' which I cant imagine is going to go well.

Turns out the method to her madness earlier was sorting them by caffeine content—from lowest to highest. Which now makes terrifying sense.

I get it now. I get why people watch this.

Will is electric. He’s practically bouncing off the walls before they even hit the halfway mark. The energy between him and James is nonstop. The rapid-fire jokes, silly moment, dramatic reactions over flavours that “taste like potpourri I used to eat as a kid.” The banter is sharp, ridiculous, and weirdly charming.

To finish off the video, Will and James down a cup of the “mega drink” and the room instantly fills with this ridiculous, contagious laughter. They’re joking, teasing, and ribbing each other like old friends who’ve known each other forever. It’s effortless, the kind of easy camaraderie that’s rare to witness. James is making the most ridiculous face I've ever seen.

I have to clamp my hand over my mouth, barely holding back my own laughter. The last thing I want is to blow the shot, but damn, it’s hard not to crack up watching them.

There’s something... phenomenal about it. Watching them like this, it’s clear this isn’t just work for them. It’s their thing. Their space. And somehow, even from the sidelines, it’s almost mesmerising.

And this is with the awkward bits still in. I can only imagine how tight and hilarious it is once it’s edited down with the fun graphics.

Watching it unfold live feels a bit like watching improv on energy drinks. Which, I suppose, it is.

Ieuan calls ‘done!’ and just like that, the chaos dissolves. Cameras go off, lights dim, and everyone moves with the kind of precision that only comes after doing this a thousand times before. Straight toward the snacks.

We gather around on the green couch, which is near a scuffed table now covered in bags of Doritos, hummus, and what might be the saddest salsa I’ve ever seen. Orla triumphantly produces it all from a mini-fridge I hadn’t even noticed earlier, probably because it’s hidden beneath a tower of tangled cables and what I’m pretty sure is a rubber chicken.

Will flops down next to me, surprisingly not saying something mocking or snide. Instead, he nods toward Orla and announces, “She’s only here for the snacks.”

“That was the deal,” I deadpan, grabbing a chip.

He grins. “She’s also here to witness a legend in action.” He throws that line to Orla like it’s an inside joke, then turns back to me. “Drinks after, by the way. You’re coming.”

I blink at him, genuinely thrown.

“Yeah, it’s rough dragging everyone in on a Saturday,” he adds, stretching back like he’s worked a double shift in a mine. “But Orla and James are off on tour soon, so we had to squeeze in an extra day. I’m compensating by putting the company card on the tab.”

“Truly a man of the people,” Orla mutters, passing me the dip.

He ignores her. “Aby and Mikey are coming too. Should be a proper send-off-slash-financial mistake.”

I'm still stuck on the drinks thing. Drinks? With them? With him? Will doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him. That’s been the whole foundation of our weird, petty little dynamic. Mutual disdain with a side of sarcasm.

But now he’s inviting me out like we’re... what? Friends?

My brain short-circuits trying to process it, but my mouth gets there first. “You sure you want me there? I might ruin your whole mysterious internet persona.”

Will smirks without missing a beat. “That’s kind of the point.”

I glance around, half-expecting one of the others to be laughing or filming me as part of some elaborate prank. But no. They’re all just eating chips like this is normal.

So maybe it is. Maybe I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe where Will isn’t actively trying to get on my nerves... and I don’t immediately want to leave.

I pop a Dorito into my mouth to avoid saying anything else. Because if he’s being weirdly nice, I need at least three more snacks to emotionally prepare.

xxx

They film the second video, and James is still clearly buzzing from all the caffeine—he’s practically vibrating with energy. The chemistry between him and Will is just as electric as before, and the banter is nonstop. I catch myself laughing louder than I realize, probably loud enough for the mics to pick up. Nobody says anything about it, but I get the sense that my unexpected outbursts just blend right into the chaos of the shoot. It’s oddly comforting to be part of this wild, caffeinated madness, even if just on the side lines.

Ieuan calls “Done!” and the room bursts into boisterous laughter. Everyone starts shuffling toward the door, energised and buzzing with excitement for the afternoon ahead. The air feels electric, full of that easy camaraderie that comes from shared chaos, and maybe just a little too much caffeine.

The pub’s within walking distance of the studio and clearly a well-loved local, no matter how divey it is. The second we step inside, I’m hit with the smell of stale beer, fried food, and whatever cleaning product they gave up on halfway through the floors.

My sneakers instantly stick to something on the ground. Great.

It’s the kind of place that has mismatched chairs, chalkboard specials that haven’t changed since 2017, and fairy lights that probably haven’t been turned off since they were first hung. But judging by the way everyone relaxes the moment we walk in, this is clearly their spot.

Orla turns to the group to proudly say, “Our booth’s free!”

There’s a sort of triumphant energy to it, like this was the final boss of the night and she’s just won. She leads the way toward a worn-in corner booth that looks like it’s absorbed every conversation, spilled drink, and questionable life choice this crew has ever made.

We’re barely seated when Will steps away from the table, already pulling out his wallet.

“Alright,” he says, pointing as he goes down the mental checklist like a bartender who moonlights as a psychic. “Orla, you’ll want a Guinness. James, lemon-lime and bitters. Ieuan, your usual IPA. Y/N…” he pauses, smirking slightly, “cider, right?”

I blink. “Yeah.”

He turns toward the bar like it’s no big deal. “Mikey and Aby are two minutes away in the Uber, so I’ll order theirs too.”

Everyone nods, completely unfazed. Business as usual. No one acts like it’s anything special—but I’m sitting there stunned.

He didn’t just know their orders, which would be impressive enough but he remembered mine. From the one time we ran into each other at the pub after my work drinks. A throwaway detail from weeks ago. He remembered.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It probably doesn’t. But there’s something oddly touching about it. And it throws me off more than any sarcastic comment ever could.

I'm just completely thrown today.

Conversations break out easily once drinks hit the table. The kind of noise that fills every space with overlapping stories and half-heard jokes.

I end up leaning toward James, asking about his upcoming tour.

He lights up immediately. “I’m excited,” he says, then after a pause, “but nervous. We’re playing a lot of the new album live for the first time. Could totally flop.”

He laughs like he’s joking, but I catch the flicker of real worry behind it. Before I can say anything reassuring, Orla cuts in to rib him about learning his own lyrics properly this time, and the moment drifts away with the laughter.

Ieuan starts talking to Orla, but I catch a few words. He’s moving in with his girlfriend. I nod politely when he mentions it, even manage a smile. My brain offers me a quiet, helpful suggestion: This is the part where you’re supposed to feel crushed.

I don’t. Not really. Just a little... floaty.

Mikey and Aby arrive a few minutes later, both looking like they’ve already been laughing about something. Apparently Aby ran into him while grabbing lunch on her “errand,” and they decided to come back together.

James snorts. “You’re scamming a living, Aby.”

She flips him off without missing a beat. Everyone laughs, so it's clearly an ongoing bit. It’s warm. Familiar.

I introduce myself, a little awkwardly, but both are immediately friendly. Aby’s effortlessly cool with her blonde hair, oversized blazer and total girlboss energy. Mikey, on the other hand, is pure chaos. His bright red hair is sticking up like he lost a fight with a wind tunnel, and he talks with his whole body, hands flailing, voice animated, bouncing between topics like he’s buffering in real time.

I like them instantly.

Will returns with a tray of drinks, and the table erupts like he’s just brought a round of gold.

“Look at this man go,” Orla says, raising her glass.

“Hero of the people,” Mikey adds, dramatically clutching his chest.

On the tray: five pints, one lemon-lime bitters, and a glass of white wine. Without saying a word, Will starts placing each drink in front of its rightful owner, setting them down with casual precision, each one on a coaster. Like it’s muscle memory.

When he reaches me, he places the pint of cider gently in front of me, with the glass turned, label facing out, like some kind of pub sommelier. And then, as he shifts the tray under his arm, his other one moves behind my chair.

He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t say anything. Just that one arm resting casually along the back of my seat.

It shouldn't mean anything. It's probably just for balance. But my breath catches in my throat anyway, sharp and embarrassing. He’s not even touching me.

And then he’s gone, walking off to return the tray like it’s nothing.

I blink, trying to reset my brain. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Just... proximity. Pub physics. Nothing to write a diary entry about.

Still, I find myself watching the space he left behind like it might explain why my pulse hasn’t slowed down yet.

Two more pints later, the table has reached a comfortable kind of chaos. The volume’s gone up, the laughter’s coming easier, and conversations have splintered off in every direction.

Orla and Aby are deep in a stream of gossip about mutual friends, names I don’t recognise, but their dramatic re-enactments are gripping. Across the table, Will and James are animatedly dissecting some obscure TV series they’ve both just discovered and apparently believe is a cultural cornerstone.

Closer to me, Ieuan’s mid-rant about the stress of moving flats, arms flailing slightly as he describes the war zone of cardboard boxes his life has become. Mikey jumps in occasionally to offer moving “advice,” most of which sounds borderline illegal.

I chime in without thinking. “I’ve got four inspections lined up this week. Four. And I’m already mentally composing my rejection emails.”

Ieuan winces. “You flat-hunting in London?”

I nod grimly. “Yeah. It’s like a full-time job where every interview ends with, ‘We’ll let you know,’ and then they don’t.”

Mikey offers me a crisp from the middle of the table, looking weirdly sympathetic. “That’s brutal. I lasted three days when I tried. Moved back home and started a fish tank.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that, but it makes me laugh.

And just like that, I realise how easy this all feels. Sitting here, wedged between people I barely know and yet somehow don’t feel out of place with. For a moment, I forget about the flat stress. I forget about the weird tension I can’t name.

I’m just... here. And it’s not terrible.

The conversation between Will and James starts to fizzle, both of them finally running out of steam, or maybe just tired of trying to convince each other to watch the same show. I’m mid-laugh at something else Mikey says when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

I turn, and Will’s leaning in slightly, his face unreadable in the low pub light. “So,” he says, voice pitched just for me, “does this make up for Valentine’s Day?”

It takes me a second. “What?”

“I couldn't take you out” he continues, like it’s obvious. “So. Drinks. Company. Pint on me. Consider it... delayed compensation.”

I blink at him, genuinely thrown. “You remember that?”

He just shrugs, casual. Too casual. “I remember everything you say.”

That quiet little sentence knocks the wind out of me more than I care to admit. He says it like it’s nothing, like it's just true. But it lands with way more weight than it should.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that my brain is short-circuiting. “Okay, whoa. No. I want cocky Will back. This version’s way too emotionally available.”

He smirks, sitting back like I’ve walked straight into his trap. “Fine. You’re welcome, by the way—for being the most interesting part of your boring little 9 to 5 life.”

I snort. “There he is.”

He grins wider, clearly pleased with himself. “Missed me?”

“Like a toothache,” I smirk, but I find it hard for it to not turn into a fully-fledged smile.

After a surprisingly good steak (courtesy of Will, no less) and more pints than I’m willing to admit to in writing, I fish my phone out of my bag and start tapping for an Uber.

Before I can get past the address screen, Will reaches across the table and gently pushes my hand down. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, already pulling out his own phone. “I’ve got it.”

I blink at him. “You’ve got it?”

He’s typing something in before I can argue. “Yeah. I already know where you live.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, stalker?”

He rolls his eyes. “You live with Chris and George. It’s not that deep.”

Right. That.

I sit back, feeling weirdly... thrown. For a second, I forgot about the shared connections, the overlapping social circles. I forgot he’s not just the guy who gets under my skin, but also the guy who shows up to our flat like he’s part of the furniture.

Still. There’s something strange about the way he does it without asking. Like it’s second nature.

I glance at him, but he’s already looking at his phone, scrolling to confirm the ride like it’s no big deal.

Maybe it’s not, but for some reason, it kind of feels like it is.

He even walks me out to wait for the Uber. It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun’s sliding low, casting a lazy orange glow. Typical London, never a good sunset, but somehow I don’t notice.

“Thanks for coming today, Y/N,” he says quietly. I brace myself for a snarky comment, but it doesn’t come. “I hope you had a good time.” I check my phone. The Uber should be just around the corner.

“Thanks. I genuinely did have a good day,” I say, turning to look at him. His expression is unreadable, like he’s holding something back, or maybe trying not to.

The Uber pulls up just then. I reach for the door handle before he can beat me to it.

Inside the car, Will’s words from earlier echo in my head, the ones about the crushing loneliness thing I have going on. The way he said it so flippantly earlier made my skin crawl. And honestly? Part of me wants to snap back, “How dare he make my loneliness his problem?” Like, since when did my mess become his to carry? I’m supposed to be the one who manages my life, not someone else’s charity case.

I didn’t ask him to notice. I didn’t invite his pity or his concern. I’m used to burying those feelings deep, pretending they don’t exist. So why does it sting so much that he saw through the act? It’s infuriating, really. The idea that someone else is holding a mirror up to my cracks and expecting me to care. Because caring means admitting I’m not fine. And admitting that? That feels like losing.

But then there’s this other part, stubborn and reluctant, that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he genuinely did just see that I have no friends here, and offered some of his to me.

Still. I’m not ready to hand him a damn map to my loneliness. Not yet. Not ever.

I'm just a little bit too drunk to think about it any further, about whether he invited me for a different reason entirely.

Then my phone buzzed.

Oh my god...

[days-until-burnout]

Maybe something about breezeborne etho? Perhaps including blazeborn tango? I'm in love with your writing, your characterisation is on point lol

not me procrastinating an hour trying to figure out breeze hybridness lol blasting brain waves so yall can see my vision without me having to explain it ALSO merry christmas and happy holidays ♥ _____

📧 Day 115 -

Characters - Etho/Tango Words - 557 Time - 30 mins Content - Hermitcraft

At the two minute mark, barely enough time to put his shulker down, Tango is knocked off his feet. A strong gust of wind hits him hard, pushing him away from his shulker. Then another and another, making him stumble on his feet away from his tools and redstone. 

His fiery hair burns, smoke clouding his vision as he is pushed around. Eventually, he stops, colliding against something firm. He hangs onto whatever he can grab, head spinning. 

Something holds him tight, steadying him. 

“Break time!” 

Tango looks up, the smoke from his agitated fire mixing into the cloud of a white collar. That tells him all he needs to know; damn Etho. 

“You are unbelievable,” he huffs, pushing himself onto his feet. He smirks, pushing Etho’s shoulder as his eyes crinkle. “I just got here, let me work.”

“Nooooo,” Etho whines, the ends of it breaking into coughed laughs. 

Tango rolls his eyes, swatting his reaching hands again. He turns on his heels, his tail whipping the side of Etho’s leg in retaliation. Still, he only takes two steps away before having to jump back, an airy explosion breaking in front of his feet. 

He spins, glaring as Etho hides his hands behind his back. He looks away, rocking on his heels, playing innocent even though Tango can clearly see the missing piece in his collar. There are wisps melting into the air from his clothes and hair.

“Break time,” Etho sing-songs again, leaning forward to get closer. Though Tango cannot see it, he knows there is a mischievous smirk under that mask. “Come on, Tango. You need to stop being cooped up in your holes.”

“I just got here!” He argues, trying hard to not break into an ironic laugh. 

Etho, however, sees through it, floating closer. 

And Tango’s mistake is letting him get too close, because in a blink, Etho holds his arm firmly, pulling him forward. Again, he tumbles, crashing into Etho’s chest. He winces when his tail whips the back of his leg from the jolt. 

“Sorry,” Etho whispers, but Tango only huffs. 

He tries to pull free, itching to work on redstone, but Etho seems insistent in keeping him away from it. In the back of his mind he questions when Etho got so strong, though seeing him wrangle Joel should have been his first clue. 

So a struggle or two after, Tango ends up on top of Etho’s chest, limp and without the energy to fight him. Etho is laying down, floating above the floor with a cloud under him. Tango throws a hand over, letting it run through his fingers. The cloud is cool to his warmth, much like Etho is. 

“Ah, nap time,” Etho hums, throwing his left hand around Tango’s back, his right arm behind his head. He inhales and sighs, closing his eyes as Tango headbutts his chest. “I’ll wake you up in ten minutes, I swear.”

“Uh-huh.” Tango rolls his eyes, lightly pushing up to make himself comfortable, accepting his fate. He lays his cheek on his peck, an arm snaking up beside his head and the other dropped down him. 

“Ten minutes,” Etho repeats, that slightly sharp and crisp tone that lets him know he is absolutely lying. 

And they both know. 

Still, as he dozes off, Tango wraps his tail around Etho’s leg.

_____

i... should write something for the holidays but alas 😌 also, unfortunately, i couldnt write more today. would i still love me if i wrote the minimum? im tryin to!

[click for a random day]

[paperclips37]

I am on a writing role.

And Frank being a yearning sap of a man is too fun to write. He is down bad and that is where I like it.

Set two years after the season finale.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65282857

-----

Almost two years sober.

Frank stares up at the cloudy sky above him. Carefully stretching his abused back as best he can. The urges still linger on the back of his tongue most days. Instead of that intense itching, ants under the skill there just a want to numb the pain. Be free of it even for a moment.

But he knows how to walk past it. Is better about contact his sponsor for middle of the night rants. Cassie when he needs his ass kicked. Robbie when he craves absolution. Mel and Becs when he needs to be reminded that he can be a good person. And someone to make him laugh.

It’s a life long struggle.

His NA support group are insisting on a party for him. This weekend; family and friends are more than welcome.

The 1 year chip is warm in his hand. He has yet to ask a soul to come.

It feels like a slap in the face to ask Abbey but he knows she’d straight up murder him if he doesn’t. They’ve stayed friends. The divorce was as easy as any of things go. Kids seem content. There’s more attention and adventures to Dad’s place. She’s been quietly supportive. Easily adapting when he has a bad day and plans change.

The guilt digs into his soul.

The time missed. Added weight to Abbey’s shoulders.

But the more he sits and reflects or even sees her. They’re both better for it. She’s not carrying his bullshit any more and neither of them have to act like things are okay. For the first time in a long time they have honesty. Abbey freely talks about how angry and scared she was. How his behaviours and inability to ask for help drove her away. No judgement just the truth.

How she fell out of love with him long before his addiction become obvious to her. It was just her limit.

He had to agree. Their relationship had naturally moved into that of partners, tied to one another for the rest of their lives but the romantic aspect had faded naturally. He braced himself against the metal railings and let those thought drift away.

‘It’s just weird. My brain is freakin’ me out!’ Santos in her classic fashion is talking/yelling about something. She’s so fucking loud and abrasive. Irritating. She’s been intent on stealing his shtick since her first day. They’re relationship had evolved from completely adversarial to mutually competitive. Dare he say he found it fun and friendly? Exchanging barbs back and forth. Being critical of papers the other wrote. Calling each other out on the pettiest of things.

‘Brains are known to do that.’ Mel. Her deep voice always drew his focus. He turned to see the pair walk outside. Trinity was flailing. Actually flailing. Mel’s eyebrows raised and knotted in that way they always did when people were being weird. When she was trying to determine what they actually meant. Glasses slipping down her nose.

‘I had a sex dream about a GUY.’ Frank choked.

‘Oh hi Langdon.’ He turned around and rested his lower back against the railing. Doing his level best to not laugh in Santos’s face. The woman knew Krav Maga, he was not going to piss her off any more than he already had.

‘Hi Frank.’ There was a squeak to Mel’s voice that could be interpreted as a laugh. Trinity was slowly turning beet red. Crossing his arm he doesn’t say a word. Just raises his eyebrows at Mel. Her dark eyes shift away hiding a smile. Trin shoots him a middle finger. Refreshing to see her so on the back step.

‘It’s wrong.’ Her voice is so petulant, so childish and un-Trinity that Frank couldn’t stop the laugh if he tried. Trinity turns apoplectic. ‘I’m a fucking lesbian Langdon.’ He snorts. It seems the absurdity finally sinks in and Trinity succumbs to the humour. Mel’s face, rosy from her own much better contained mirth turns contemplative.

‘Research is still on going into why we have sex dreams.’ Her head bobs in that way it does when her brain is ruining through her knowledge of things. So she completely misses how he’s having a fucking heart attack.

She’s researched this?

Luckily Trinity also look as flabbergasted as he does. Her eyes huge saucers. Frank makes himself blink and tries not to wonder what Mel’s dreams may look like. Or who might be in them. He fails miserably.

‘Dreams are inherently hard to research as the data is entirely subjective and I imagine that trying to standardise the data is next to impossible.’ Mel nods to herself, as she leans over the railing and stares down at the ground below.

‘Is there anything about sexual orientation in what you’ve read?’ Jesus Christ what was happening. Trinity looked concerned. Mel twists around, her braid slapping him on the shoulder. The hit giving him a much needed jolt of reality.

‘Most experts theorise that dreaming is the brain filtering through information gathered through the day. So it’s likely that one of your interactions yesterday was the trigger for your dream. I don’t think it means anything deeper?’

It was Trinity’s turn to choke. Her flush deeper with constipated look on her face. Parts of her dream coming back to her. Mel looked up at him slightly bewildered. Frank was not touching that particular comment with a 10 foot pole. Telling his brain not to do anything with it.

God only knows what his brain was going to make of any of this.

‘Okay maybe I can avoid an existential crisis.’

‘I think Abbot is doing consults if you need any advice.’ Frank throws the comment at Trinity’s jogging back. Her phone is buzzing. Off break. She once again shoots him a middle finger but she’d chuckling.

It’s nice having her on side Frank decides.

Mel is single hand clapping next to him. Head bopping to a quick rhythm. Frank knows her well enough that’s she working through something and it’s best to give her space to do so. He just waits. Besides it’s interesting watching her think. In The Pitt when she’d thinking she’s tends to still. Like every part of her is diverting energy to her brain. But when it’s more casual thinking she moves. Feet shift and tap. Hands tense and relax. She bends them at angles that worried him for a while. Then he learned that over half of people with a diagnosis of neurodivergency have some degree of hyperflexibility. 20% for neurotypicals. Or neuroborings as Becca calls them every so often. His own fingers bend back more than he expected.

Her face is a constant whirl of silent speaking and expressions. Maybe he pays too much attention but it’s fascinating the way Mel moves through the world. Sometimes you could see everything in her face and eyes. Other times her mind was a complete mystery. He smiles.

‘Trinity was surprised I’d ever had a sex dream.’

Her voice is flat monotone. Mel has shut down her emotional reaction.

Shit.

‘I think she was actually surprised I’ve had sex.’ Frank winces at that. He knows from previous conversations that Mel has experienced judgements and infantilisation simply because she’s different. He’s even seen it himself. People trying to be nice but coming off as condescending. As though she isn’t a high intelligent competent woman. She’s a doctor for fucks sake. It enrages him, how Mel tolerates it so patiently is beyond him. Also he tries to stop himself from picturing her actual having sex. He does not do well with that.

‘Santos can be clueless.’ Mel turns around and folds in on herself. He resists the urge to pull in close. That wouldn’t help right now. So he just leans against her. Enough pressure to tell her he’s there but not forcing much contact. He is far more pleased than he should be as she matched his pressure.

‘I know my brain is different but I have the same needs and desires as anyone else. I just approach it differently.’ He can tell her bottom lip is wobbling. Her voice has the tiniest hint of vibrato. ‘And she did say sorry for her assumption but...’

‘It hurt.’ He finishes, his voice low and careful. She nods slowly.

‘She’s known me for two years and still made an ableist assumption.’ Frank just wants to get her out of the hospital and back to her place. Bundle her up on the coach and make her laugh. But they still have a few more hours to go.

‘You didn’t think that did you? That I was a virgin. Not that I judge anyone for that, but I'm definitely not.’ In classic form Mel turns the situation to him. Not that she’s trying to get a rise out of him or anything. She genuinely wants his opinion and take. The more information the better for her internal analysis. Frank shakes his head quickly, trying to parse his words cautiously.

‘Of course not Mel.’ She turns to face him fully. He immediately mourns the lack of contact with her. Her eyebrows lift and come together they way they do when she’s fully keyed into something. Not one word will be forgotten. Frank mimics her, leaning more on the railing so he’s a bit closer to her eye level.

‘Like you said you have your own needs and wants.’ He cannot bring him to say desires to her face. Mel misses some underlying things, part of her charm, but he can’t risk her figuring out how this whole conversation is messing with his head. The heat simmering from the controllable to an inferno that could burn them both to ash if he looses hold of it.

Because fucking hell, there’s something about Mel King that haunts him. She’s so direct and honest. Sweet to absolutely everyone. The way she tries so hard to connect. Mel sees the best in everyone. Even a wrecked soul like him. She’d known him all of 12 hours and still turned up to the rehab centre. Not a lick of judgement in her eyes. One of the very few who doesn’t look at him any bit differently to that first day. He’s overheard her scolding people for the whispers behind his back.

Mel is strong and stubborn- but her fully asserting herself and talking people down isn’t really her style.

And she did it for him.

It was fucking hot.

And she was. That was the other thing about her. She had absolutely zero clue about the effect she had on people. Her bright sunny smile always demanded one back. Not even Robby and Abbot were immune to her magnetism. Dark brown doe eyes that could bring any one to their knees if she had half a mind to. Strong and athletic. The EMTs could be frequently overheard rating asses and she tended to be at the top. Every so often when he was close enough and her glasses slipped due to exertion, she’d stare up at him over the top of her frames. Each time he had to fight the urge to drag her away to any private place he could find. A cliché but the hot librarian thing was a thing for him.

‘You are a beautiful, intelligent and funny woman. Of course people want you.’ His mouth was drier than the Sahara. Felt like he was chomping down on cotton balls. It's a miracle he's managing to be any bit eloquent.

I want you. Damnit Mel I need you. Climb me like a fucking tree. His brain chants entirely unhelpfully.

‘Thank you.’ He’s really not sure if he’s more relieved she hasn’t caught on to his increasing heart rate. Damn scrubs do not hide a damn thing. Or annoyed that she hasn’t figured out that he’d give his left arm for any sort of chance with her.

But she’s too good for him.

Frank is a wreck of a human. Recovering addict, one fucked up marriage with two kids in tow.

He’s irritable, impatient, quick to judgement and way too mean for someone so good.

As she stares up at him, the cutest little please smile on her face he feels that maybe someday be might be close to her goodness.

Maybe.

She glows under his complement. If only she knew what he really thought. Would it freak her out? Or would she be curious? Even into it? Frank doesn’t have the stones to ask it. Not now. Mel turns to leave, expecting him to follow. They’ve really pushed the limit on their break. Frank is surprised that Dana hasn’t come investigating.

‘Ah Mel?’ She stops dead and turns to face him. Head tilting, the lights behind her head dancing off her blonde hair. He’s struck dumb for a second by the halo of light. Pure good.

‘Yes?’ Her cute little frown returns as she waits for him to speak.

‘It’s my two year soberversary this weekend.’ He swallows heavily, breathing through the swell of emotions. Some pride, bitterness, guilt and exhaustion rolling through him like a thunderstorm. Mel nods like she already knew. He feels his lips quirk up in a lopsided smile. She does know. Mel remembers the important things.

‘I was wondering, if you are free. Family and friends are welcome. Would you-’

‘Yes.’ Her interruption takes him by surprise. Mel follows the unspoken rule book as much as she can. He can count on two hand the number of times he’s ever seen her cut someone off. Her easy quick reply settles him. His shoulders drop in relief.

‘Really?’

‘Of course! It’s a big thing. I’m honoured you want me there.’

‘You’re one of my best friends Mel. Of course I need- want you there.’ Shit his self control is slipping. Mel dithers for a second, rapidly trying to make a decision. Then her arms around his neck and her lips are burning against his cheek. The hug is so out of left field his hands hover in mid air for a second. Freezing as he goes into sensory overdrive.

He has hugged Mel before. But it’s always been him initiating contact after checking in. Never just her throwing herself at him. This hug, she’s on her tip toes with more of her weight on him. Mel is always so careful to avoid any risk of aggravation to his back. This time she’s done it on a whim so she is fully pressed up against him.

Holy fucking shit.

It has been years since he’s had sex. His and Abbey’s failing relationship coupled with his benzo addiction pretty much killed his libido. Two years in and single. Mel’s lithe and yet soft body is shutting down all higher brain function. Her lips pressing that quick and light to his cheek and the fire burns through his body from the tiny contact. It takes every remaining brain cell he has (which is probably about three) to do his best to clamp down on a physical reaction to her.

His hands damn near span her back. Her hair smells like lavender and her skin is dangerously soft and smooth. Images threaten to flash in his mind. Tongue and teeth dragging along the satin skin.

‘Do you want Becca there?’ The loss of her heat has his base brain screaming. He thinks he’s imagining things but her breath seems a little shallow, voice a little huskier. Was she affected by the contact like he was? No. No a chance.

‘Have a cake related event without Becs? I may be an idiot but I’m not suicidal.’ Mel’s face scrunches for a second. Her sarcasm radar has improved greatly but every so often, context depending, it takes her a second. It’s adorable. Then her face is brighter than any sunlit day he’s ever seen.

‘Great!’ She does her little happy dance, hands clapping eagerly. It’s not so hard asking people. He quickly takes out his phone and sends Abbey a quick message. Kids don’t need to be there. They are still a little too young. He tells her if she wants to be there he’ll cover the sitter. Abbey responds with a thumbs up and her parents are happy to spend some time with the kids.

He feels decidedly lighter as he follows Mel back down to the Pitt.

Mel is muttering to herself about something. Frank is so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t really pay attention to it. He stops to scan for Cassie and Robby. They’re next on their list. He spies them at the boards and makes a beeline towards them. But then he catches Mel’s voice behind him. Her deeper pitch travels further than he expects.

‘That hug is going to trigger another dream.’

Another dream?

His brain completely short circuits at the idea that Mel whether conscious or unconscious has thought about sex with him.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Those previous images he fought against flood his fried brain and he’s done.

Then he trips over a gurney.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Sweet Respite

Summary: a classic, "Who did this to you?" with Hunter. Reader is named Bright Eyes but can be read as an OC, too.

A/n: Thanks to @lizartgurl, who feeds my brain worms. I needed a fun little prompt, and she always has some creative ideas to share!

Warning: Involves bruising, so the Reader is implied to have a skin tone that shows bruising.

You huffed as you entered your home on Alderaan, sliding your heels off your aching feet. The wine from dinner warmed your cheeks, blissfully coaxing you into a state of soft contentment. Hunter closed the door behind you, locking it, before leaning against it to take in your wiggling body, sighing at the relief of not wearing shoes.

“If you say I told you so, I’m kicking you out,” You warned with a cheeky smile, mirroring his lean against the wall behind you. Crossing your arms, you smirked as his eyes drifted to your barely-there cleavage. The soft, barely-there lingerie hidden beneath rubbed against your skin, begging to come off now that you two were home. It had been a while since you two had a date night, much less the opportunity to be intimate, thanks to rebellion efforts against the Empire. It was always the Empire nowadays. If you weren’t running underground rebels in one place or another, Hunter was off on some distant planet helping Echo.

“I know better than that, cyare,” Hunter grinned. “I couldn’t stop you from wearing what you wanted if I tried. Besides, I like your shoes.”

You scoffed, laughing as you turned down the hall to your kitchen, “You like my ass in these shoes.”

“No,” Hunter chuckled as he grabbed your hips and pulled you into his arms. His lips pressed little kisses along your neck, making you sigh and hum. “I just like your ass.”

Opening your eyes, you giggled, turning in his arms. Amber eyes met yours, twisting and sparkling in the dim light of your kitchen. Hunter smiled, tilting his head, a boyish look you had fallen for so many years prior on Kamino.

“I love you so much. You know that?” You whispered. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.” Caressing his cheek, he leaned into the touch, the smile blooming ever wider. Every word was accurate. You owed so much to him and his brothers for saving you on Kamino, and Hunter loved you through the pain of losing friends. He had protected you when you failed to protect yourself. Hunter managed to carve out a space beside his soul that fit yours perfectly over the years and cherished your place beside his.

“I love you, Bright Eyes. I wish I could be here more often with you. It never feels quite right without you.” Hunter leaned in, bumping his nose against yours affectionately. You tilted your head to catch his lips in a chaste kiss, but Hunter refused to let you go so quickly.

Sighing into his mouth, you let your hand drift to his chest, feeling the thump, thump, thump of his heart. You so severely wished you could crawl inside his chest and live beside his heart, entwined as physically as you felt spiritually. If he were to die, the funeral master would have to make a space beside his remains for yours.

You pressed Hunter against the wall with your hands fisting the hem of his shirt, itching to feel his skin. He had slowly begun to put on more weight since finding a home on Pabu 9, and he wore it well. Somehow, he had become more attractive as time passed, wisdom streaking his hair with little greys and fine lines along his eyes, which crinkled when he grinned. Your hands pressed under his shirt with your nails dragging along his skin to feel his lungs shudder in a breath.

His hands found a similar path on your body, sliding under your dress and up your thighs, pausing as his thumbs ran along the lace of your panties.

“What are you wearing?” Hunter growled lowly, following the lace up where it was connected to your body suit.

“Nothing of importance,” You giggled as you stepped back, tugging his bandana off his head. “Come on, hotshot, I want you to fuck me in our bed.”

“Nothing of importance,” Hunter huffed, yanking you gently back into his hold as soon as he crossed the bedroom threshold. “Bright Eyes, take off the dress,” He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his shirt and shoes as he watched you unzip the side and slide out of it. Stepping out, you expected his eyes to darken as he took in the one-piece set crossing over your body. Instead, his eyes were locked on the large purple bruises on your arm that the sleeves of your dress had covered.

Hunter stood, crossing the distance in only a step and a half, and gently lifted your arm to inspect the three bruises. His hair fell in ringlets to frame his face as his eyes dimmed into a protective sneer.

“Who did this to you? Are you okay? You should come to Pabu so Tech can,”

“Hunter,” You smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I’m okay. An older man accidentally grabbed my arm yesterday while on the train for balance. He thought I was his aide. It’s just some bruising. I���ll be fine.”

Hunter sighed, rubbing his finger over your arm before leaning down to kiss the bruising. The tender relief ebbed from his shoulders and curled around his lip as Hunter kissed along your skin before placing one final kiss on your lips before taking you to bed.