#when you stand for nothing you fall for anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

occamstfs · 2 days ago

Text

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away.

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to.

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers.

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates, just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink.

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet!

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes.

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

#male tf #mental change #straight to gay #male transformation #hair growth #muscle tf #jockification #dumber #reality change

316 notes · View notes

annievrse · 1 day ago

Text

pest control

trafalgar law x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb cw: suggestive but nothing crazy!!

"You're so cute."

Law finally lifts his head from his paperwork. "What?"

After numerous tries to get your boyfriend's attention, you capture him, and you aren't letting him go that easy.

"I said you look like a fruit," You shrug quickly from where you sit on the couch across from his desk. The book in your hands sits limply as you focus solely on him.

"That doesn't make any sense," Law says, shaking his head, his pen dangerously close to the page. He'll return to work if you don't say something soon. So, flustered, you close your book.

"You ate a devil fruit."

"Okay, and?"

Your mind races to keep the small talk going, but you come up short. "I don't know, something about fruit."

Sighing, Law raises an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," You deflate, noticing you've lost his attention. When you see his discarded hat on the desk, an idea sneaks into your mind, but think against it when you realise you must stand up to get it, which would ruin your dramatics.

Instead, your book falls to the floor as you dramatically flop to the other side of the couch. You sigh, waiting for Law's eyes to flicker to you.

When they don't, you sigh again.

Law exhales deeply. "You gonna pick that up?"

Smiling smugly, you shrug. "Maybe, maybe not."

He doesn't dignify you with an answer.

You search your brain for something, anything, that'll get him to focus on you. He's been in this office for far too long.

"Is it hot in here?" You ask, unzipping the top half of your jumpsuit. With your deep knowledge of the man, you know this is one of the things that gets his attention. So when he doesn't even look up, you give up.

"I'm leaving."

"What?" The pen stops scratching on the page. Law freezes where he sits and furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I'm bored. Maybe Bepo can—"

"C'mere, sit on my lap."

You tilt your head. "Won't I be distracting you?"

"More than you are now?" He quips, a smirk on his lips. "No."

Your cheeks warm, and you trudge over to him. Your fingers find the zipper of your jumpsuit, and you start pulling it up.

Law is quick to interject. "Leave that down."

Quirking your lips, you suppress a giggle. "Yes, captain."

"Pest," He mumbles, spreading his legs so you can sit down.

His strong thighs under you have you reeling, and obviously, Law knows. "What's wrong? Still bored?"

Shaking your head, you rest your cheek on his shoulder, your arms circling his neck. "Just wanted to see you."

Law knows better than to coddle you, but the way you cling to him has him thinking differently. But, unbeknownst to him, your smile against his skin turns from angel-like to devilish when he puts his pen down.

"How about we go to the bedroom, yeah?"

Nodding, you tighten your grip when he stands up, his hands finding purchase under your thighs. You kiss his neck and slide one hand into his hair, pleased with the goosebumps that gloss his skin.

And even as he transports you to the room and carries you to the bed, you hide your smug grin.

I think it's safe to say your plan was successful.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #— ann writes!

178 notes · View notes

darkbluekies · 14 hours ago

Text

King Edmund & Hedwig drabbles: Them being drunk

Yandere!king x fem!reader & yandere!richgirl x reader

Warnings: alcohol, unstable behavior

King Edmund

You walk down the hall to his office. According to his secretary, he's been drinking the entire evening. It's the secretary who's sent you to his office, because no one else dare go close.

"Edmund?" you ask carefully and open the door.

He sits behind his desk, leaning on one arm, glaring towards the door. His dull eyes light up as he sees you.

"My jewel!" his voice is slurred.

"You need to go to bed", you say and walk over to him, removing the crystal glass out of his hand carefully. "Enough drinking for today, okay?"

"Why?"

"You've had enough."

"No, I haven't. Give me the fucking bottle."

"Edmund."

He rolls his eyes and stands up. His hands grab at you and pull you into his arms. He sighs and rests his head on yours.

"My pretty jewel", he mumbles and showers your face in kisses. "You're so pretty. All dressed up for me."

"I'm in a nightgown?"

"Not for long."

"Edmund."

He chuckles and holds you tighter. He's calmer than usual when drunk, but you know that if anyone comes to disrupt his cuddle session, he will blow up in anger. When Edmund's drunk, his anger can explode from nothing. He's declared war on a neighbor country before. That's why you need to get him to sleep as quickly as possible.

"Come now, you need to sleep", you say and give his arm a tug.

His ice blue eyes are slightly red around the corners and they have problems with focusing on you. His breathe smells like gin and wine.

"I don't need to fucking sleep."

You need to keep him calm, yet stay stern enough for him to listento you. "Yes, you do. I'll sleep beside you."

"You will?"

"Yeah."

Edmund's foggy head seem to think for a moment. "Okay."

And so, he actually follows you to bed to go to sleep, holding you tighter than a boa constrictor, showering your face in kisses until he falls asleep.

Hedwig:

You're not sure why you agreed to go to the aristocrat party with her. Mostly because you had no choice. If Hedwig does something, so do you. You weren't ready for her to drink herself beyond comprehendability.

"Y/N ..."

You try to remove her clothes to go to bed. She's not making it easy for you. You give up and pull her into the bathroom to remove her, now messy, makeup. You push her down on the toilet.

"Up with your head", you say and hold her chin in your hand.

She pouts her lips and you sigh before kissing them.

"More?"

"Wait, I have to remove your makeup", you say and start to wipe her face with a wet wipe. "Or else you will freak out tomorrow morning and have a horrible day. I know you."

She turns her head and grimaces, resulting in her getting the wet wipe in her mouth and eyes.

"Can you sit still?" you ask.

She stares up at you with sparkling eyes which start to fill with tears.

"Why are you crying?" you ask.

"I love you so much", she pouts. "I'm so lucky to have you."

Every time she's drunk, she starts to cry. Hedwig hugs your waist and hides her face into your stomach, crying.

"You need to sleep", you say.

"Don't ever leave me." Her voice gets muffled against your shirt. "I can't live without you. If you leave ..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She sobs.

"Hedwig", you sigh.

"You have to stay with me, you have to stay with me", she cries. "I don't want anything else I only want you."

"Okay, you need to go to sleep now."

You pull her to bed and tuck her in. She falls alseep immideatly.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere king #female yandere #yandere rich girl

233 notes · View notes

lostintransist · 2 days ago

Text

Seamstress | Part 5

Check out part 1 here.

Every time John brought in a shirt, pair of pants, or suit coat to get fixed it got harder and harder to stop yourself from touching him. Touching him casually, obviously. You weren’t going to up and grope the man. But fuck you bet it would be as amazing as your dreams alluded it might be. He would probably, rightfully, hit you if you did. John seemed bashful around you and his body.

Watching him pull off a sweater in the colder weather became a fascinating trial of self-restraint. The man had a happy trail and a small bump of flesh pushing above the waist of his pants. You wanted to lick that happy trail until he gripped you by the hair and bite his stomach, just gnaw on it. Hair covered him, not an excessive amount but a light dusting that you want to pet.

The sweater he handed you had a hole in the cuff. After he graced you with a smile, that you returned by rote, he turned to the back room. Watching him slip beyond the door every time he came to visit made you want to follow him. Dammit, your new vibrator couldn’t arrive fast enough.

You lived life fine without sex or orgasms until one John Price looked so delectable you wanted nothing more than to sink your teeth into him and hold on like a bulldog. The vibrator would hopefully take the edge off the yearning and sand the edge of your annoyance with dealing with your mother.

She had been hounding you since you had left her house ‘in a huff’ about Christmas. You had managed to dodge her calls, replying via text that you were busy with work and couldn’t talk. Mid-November the damn nearly broke. She sent your father to the shop.

Looking up as the door bell dinged you smiled when you saw your father.

“Hi, Pops! Surprise to see you here.”

Finishing your current project to the point of being able to step away you joined him in front of the counter. After a quick hug, you gestured for him to sit down.

“What brings you by?” You look him over. He sits tall even with age dragging at his bones and color leeching from his hair.

“Your mother sent me,” he says in his quiet, firm voice.

That is all it took. Leaning back in the chair you cross your arms and your legs. The sour look on your communicates your displeasure. Feeling fifteen again sat uncomfortably in your grown body.

“I don’t have anything to say to my mother right now.”

Pops gave you a slow blink that told you so much. He didn’t want to be here, but for the sake of his marriage, he would. His wife bullied and nagged at him until he came to play peacemaker.

“She is upset that you are not talking to her, says you are avoiding calls about Christmas.”

“I am avoiding calls about Christmas. I already called Nana and I will be spending Christmas with her.”

Both Pops’ brows lifted, he spoke to his mother once a month when your mother went to visit her mother.

“If you don’t mind I’ll send her gift up with you then if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind that at all.”

“Why the distance with your mother?”

“She doesn’t listen to me, or like me. She is always siding with my brother in every disagreement and I’m done. I hate the way she treats me and unless she is willing to go therapy I don’t want to talk to her.” The words coated your mouth like vomit.

You had never said these things out loud outside of therapy. In therapy, you ranted that your mother hated you and regretted having you but that wasn’t something you were willing to dump on your father.

“She is upset about the silence,” Pops hedges.

“She makes me upset every time I see her so this feels fair.”

The look your father sends you sends you back to the age of seven as you hold out the broken porcelain doll you had been told repeatedly to not touch. Before either of you can pick the tug-of-war conversation back up the door bell dings. Looking up you can feel the weight of the chat with your father fall away.

John stands in the doorway, a wooden box tucked under one arm. He stomps his feet on the mat and lets the door fall shut behind him. Eager to escape the chat with your Pops you stand.

“John! I wasn’t expecting you today.” He had been yesterday and tended to keep anywhere from four days to three weeks between visits. If he would be gone longer he made sure to mention.

Smiling at nodding once at your father he set his box on the counter. Stepping around to your side of the space you examine the piece with your eyes like you do with clothing.

“I wanted to confirm you liked the design before I started to stain and line it.”

John turned the jewelry box around, watching your face as you examined each corner and the neat construction of it.

You glance up at him, the same look in your eye that you get before you start touching the clothing while he is in it.

“Can I touch?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

Damn if only he could get you to say that about him instead of objects. Any part of him. Really, even his pinky.

The man you had been having an intense chat with stood, drawing John’s attention away from you. The older man stepped around the counter, placing a hand on your back and a kiss to your hair. John’s stomach met the top of his boots.

“Goodbye sweetheart, I will call you later this week to finish this chat.”

“There isn’t anything else I have to say on the matter Pops. She can go to therapy or she can leave me alone.” You don’t look up from slowly rotating the piece in front of you.

“She’s still your mother.”

“And I’m still her daughter, not that that has ever gotten me a modicum of love from her.”

He hums in response, giving John a nod as he heads past him into the cold.

As the ding rings out in time with the blast of cold air you slump forward onto folded arms on the counter.

“John, would you lock the door please?”

Without question, he does as requested. Stepping back to the counter he looks you over.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He probes gently.

“No,” you bite the word out at the countertop.

“Can I show you more about your gift then?”

John knew how to push and when to pull away from the pain and try again later.

“There’s more?” Your head pops up, eyes filled with tears.

Pulling out each drawer he showed you the differences. Two drawers had inserts to increase the storage space. Three were empty and one had been left half filled with wood. Tipping that drawer to John you lifted a brow.

“I know you mentioned you don’t wear rings often but it felt odd to not give you any storage space for them. My mum had heirloom rings she held onto and hated having no good storage for them,” he explained.

Setting the drawer down gently you cover your mouth with one hand and hug yourself tight with the other. John is confused until you let out a small sob, and then he is terrified. What the fuck did he do?

“Sorry, ignore me,” you sob out.

Fuck off, that had no chance of happening. Stepping around the counter John doesn’t wait to ask you for permission, pulling you into his arms.

You cry until you can pull the reigns back on the overly large emotions and shove them back in the box meant for therapy. Leaning back you move away from John. His hands drop slowly, keeping contact with you until they hang at his sides.

“Better?”

You sniff as you tip your head back and forth.

“Meh?”

Looking away from his probing blue eyes you pull a tissue from your shelf. Carefully blowing your nose, because you’ve already cried on the man no need to make it worse by being loud now, you keep your eyes down.

“Why don’t you tell me about it as you finish looking it over? I have more to show you,” John picks up a drawer, rotating it between his hands.

Filling your lungs as deep as you can you try and think of a way out of this. Seeing none within easy reach you decide to get to know him better.

“How about a truth for a truth?”

He glances at you from below his beanie.

“I won’t be sharing any state secrets no matter how pretty you ask.”

His deadpan delivery shocks a laugh out of you.

“What would I do with state secrets other than give myself an ulcer?”

John has a big laugh. You love it instantly.

“Fair point that.”

You trade truths as he shows you how to access the portion of the box that holds necklaces. The top of the box shifts forward. The back wall can be lifted out if a necklace falls from the hooks he will install. You tell John of your rocky relationship with your mother, and he tells you of the distant but decent relationship he has with his siblings.

“You’ve really thought of everything haven’t you?” You start to slide the drawers back into place.

“I have a lot of time on my hands on missions,” he holds out another drawer.

“Can you tell me what this is?” You point at the joint of the drawer you had taken from his hand.

“The joint?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like most furniture I see nowadays. I’ve seen it once on my great grandmother’s dresser drawers,” you look to him.

Seeing the words form in his mind is fascinating.

“‘S called dovetailing. Bit more work but holds joints better than glue alone like most pieces are made with anymore.”

Brushing a finger over the joint you are amazed by the smoothness and dare you say softness of the wood.

“This is lovely John. Much better than I expected. You will tell me how much I owe you when this is all done?”

Watching his eyes crinkle is a treat, even if his expression says he thinks you’re being silly.

“Don’t owe me a thing. Let me use your shop for naps for the low price of a fix to the clothes I bring in? This is the least I can do. You don’t even badger me for state secrets,” he winked at you.

Your cheeks have to be blushing, thankfully you can’t feel the heat radiating off them. Focusing on putting everything away you start speaking again.

“I will be gone the week of Christmas. I am going to be up north with my Nana. Did you possibly want my number so we can coordinate a gift exchange?”

“Don’t need to get me a gift,” John eyes you with suspicion.

“And you don’t need to give me this well-crafted box for free but we find ourselves at an impasse.” You lift a brow at him, liking the drop in your stomach as he narrows his eyes at you. “Do you want my number?”

“Yes, give me your phone and I will text myself.” He shifts from foot to foot, eyes tracing your features.

You pass your phone, number pad ready. After he punches his number in he calls himself instead, the phone carrier-assigned tone ringing out from his pocket.

Taking your phone back you smile at the connection to him.

“There, now you can just text me if you need a nap instead of stealing your men’s clothes.” Glancing up at him you continue, “At this point, I’m almost wondering if you are causing more tears just to come see me.”

John felt the alarm bells go off in his brain. You were onto him somehow. Play it cool John, you can bluff a terrorist cell you can do it to one woman.

“And if I am?”

You have the cutest nose scrunch as if you don’t believe him.

“I don’t think you are but just in case you better knock it off before they start hiding their clothes from you.”

John laughs again, keenly aware that he hasn’t laughed this much since Roach got so tipsy trying to out-drink Gaz that he couldn’t stand right. Gaz had also promptly fallen over when trying to prove he wasn’t that drunk.

“I’ll text you. This,” he placed his hand on the box, “Will be done after Christmas. Want to get together for New Year maybe?”

Smiling at him you folded your arms and tugged the inside of your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Stay safe out there John.”

“Always do.” He left with a wave and a smile, unlocking the door on his way out.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #fluff

134 notes · View notes

the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Say Don't Go | Part Two

Pairings: College!Hockey Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Drinking

A/N: I KNOW the poll said yall wanted the next part to Invisible first but i already had this edited! The next part of invisible will be posted in a couple hours 🫶🏻 i just need to edit it! We about to angsttyyy dick head bucky sooon, so enjoy the bliss of this filler chapter and sweet bucky NEXT chapter before hes a prick lol

------

Once in the quiet of your dorm, you pull out your phone and text Steve, letting him know you made it back safely. But as you sit on the edge of your bed, Bucky’s words echo in your mind, his touch lingering like a warm memory.

You open the door to your dorm as quietly as you can, hoping not to wake Wanda, your roommate and one of the few girls on campus who’s genuinely kind to you. But when you slip inside, you see her sitting at her desk, textbooks open and highlighter in hand, a soft smile spreading across her face as she spots you.

“I don’t know whether to say you’re home early or late,” she teases, glancing at the clock and then back at you. Then her eyes zero in on the jacket draped over your arm, and her eyebrows raise. “Is that his jacket?”

You shrug, trying to act casual. “He was just walking me home.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, setting down her highlighter with a grin. “Please. You two are playing one of the most drawn-out games of cat and mouse I’ve ever seen.” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “For somebody who can body-check a grown man into a sideboard, I don’t know why he’s so nervous to go after you.”

You feel a blush rise to your cheeks and set the jacket on your desk, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe he’s just…embarrassed.”

Wanda lets out a little laugh and lightly slaps her arms in exasperation. “He is definitely not embarrassed. You’re one of the most beautiful girls on campus, you know.”

“Stop it, Wanda,” you mumble, trying to hide your smile as your cheeks heat up even more. “You’re making me blush.”

She laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Fine, fine. But I’m serious.” She stretches, rubbing her eyes. “Anyway, I have to get back to studying. If the light bothers you, just throw a pillow at me or something.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply, stifling a yawn as you settle into bed. “I can sleep through anything.”

Wanda grins, putting on her headphones and returning to her notes. You close your eyes, snuggling under the covers, and let out a sigh, replaying the events of the night in your mind. Bucky’s words, his touch, and the warmth of his jacket linger, making it hard to keep the giddy smile off your face.

Just as you’re drifting off, your phone vibrates on the nightstand. You reach for it, and your heart does a little flip when you see Bucky’s name on the screen. His text is simple, but it’s enough to make your night: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

With a smile, you type back: You’re a hopeless flirt, Barnes. Then you set your phone down with a soft sigh. Wrapped in his jacket’s comforting scent, you fall asleep, already looking forward to whatever tomorrow—and that party—might bring.

The next morning, your alarm jolts you awake at 10:00 a.m., and you groan, fumbling to turn it off. Blinking against the light, you see a handful of notifications: three texts from Steve, one from Wanda, and one from Bucky. Starting with Steve’s, you open it and grin at his messages:

S: Hey sleepyhead, how is it I’m the one up late and you’re still in bed?

S: We have brunch plans!!! Don’t stand up the captain of your undefeated hockey team ;)

S: Alright, Bee, I’ll be at Rosie’s at 11:00 a.m. sharp. If you’re late, you’re buying.

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, Bee. A nickname that only Steve called you because every time you would drink you would brag to the world, or anyone that would listen that you've gone your whole life without being stung by a bee and that was your superpower mainly it was because you would run for the hills if you even heard a buzz, nothing scared you more than the unknown pain of a bee sting. You texted back: Im up, Im up....and starving, can't wait to be ON TIME and order the whole menu, since its your turn to pay <3

Next, you open Wanda’s text:

Wanda: You snore a lot… and I think you may sleep-talk, too. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul… especially Bucky ;)

You groan, shaking your head, not even sure what you might’ve said in your sleep, but with Bucky on your mind last night, you wouldn’t put it past yourself. Finally, you open Bucky’s text, and your heart skips a beat at his reply from last night: Hopeless for you

The words sink in, leaving a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest that you try to brush off as you get ready.

When you arrive at Rosie’s Café, Steve is already at a booth by the window, grinning as he watches you through the glass. He dramatically waves, like he’s greeting some long-lost friend, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you slide into the booth across from him.

“Five minutes late,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I was betting on ten.”

You stick your tongue out at him, snagging the coffee cup he’s already ordered for you. “Please, I’m practically early.”

Steve snorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “Whatever you say, Bee.”

“So,” Steve says, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, “I heard from a reliable source that Buck walked you home last night. Left Tiffany all high and dry.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “We were just walking home. Bucky was being… Bucky.”

“Right,” Steve says, drawing out the word with a smirk. “Because ‘just walking home’ means wearing his jacket, right?”

You feel your cheeks warm. “It’s not like that. Honestly, it’s just harmless flirting. Bucky and I—we’re friends, because of you i might add...that’s all.” you shrug

Steve’s expression softens, his teasing fading. “Bee, it’s never just ‘nothing’ with you. Look, I’m only saying this because I’m looking out for you. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee before adding, “Bucky’s a great guy. But he… he’s got a way of being uncertain. He doesn’t always know what he wants.”

His words settle heavily in your chest, and for a second, you feel your heart dip. But you push away any sign of that, meeting his gaze with a smile. “It’s fine, Stevie. I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself.”

He sighs, nodding, though he doesn’t seem fully convinced. “I know you do. Just… remember, i've always got your back, alright? No matter what.”

You reach across the table, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know. Thanks, Steve.” And as he smiles, you can’t help but feel a little more grounded, even as the thought of Bucky lingers in the back of your mind, stirring a mess of hope and caution.

Just as you’re about to respond, the server arrives with plates of food, sliding them onto the table with a cheerful “Enjoy!” You raise an eyebrow at Steve as he grins, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

“Of course you already ordered for me,” you say, picking up your fork. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

Steve shrugs, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth. “I know you too well, Bee,” he says through a mouthful, barely managing not to laugh.

You lean back, giving him a playful side-eye. “Alright, so who’s this ‘reliable source’ that’s apparently got all the gossip on my night?”

Steve smirks, pausing just long enough for dramatic effect. “From the man himself.”

You blink, surprised. “Bucky told you he walked me home?”

“Yup,” he replies, scrolling through his phone before holding it up so you can see the text. “Got a message from him last night saying he made sure you got back safe and sound or whatever. Real gentleman, right?”

You glance at the screen, reading the short message from Bucky: Walked her home. All safe and sound.

You look back at Steve, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. “Well, that was nice of him. Good to know he’s updating the Captain on his whereabouts.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile in them. “Come on, don’t act like you’re not a little flattered. He doesn’t do this for just anyone.”

You laugh, stabbing a piece of pancake with your fork to cover up your blush. “He’s just looking out for me. Like you said, he’s a good guy.”

Steve just shakes his head knowingly. “Keep telling yourself that, Bee.”

You shift the conversation quickly, hoping to steer attention away from you and Bucky. “Anyway, how’s Natasha?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, smirking a bit. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Since when?”

Steve’s cheeks turn a little red, but before he can respond, a couple of college guys pass by the table, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Hey, Rogers! Great game last night, man. You killed it!”

Steve flashes them a grin. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

As they walk off, he turns back to you, clearing his throat and regaining his composure. “Well…maybe this time feels different,” he admits, a bit shyly. “I really like her. I’m actually thinking of asking her out on a real date.”

You break into a smile. “Congratulations, Stevie. I’m happy for you. She seems like a great girl.”

He gives you a hopeful look. “So you approve?”

Laughing, you shake your head. “I don’t have to approve anyone you want to be with, Steve.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his voice soft but sincere. “You’re my best friend. Your opinion matters to me.”

You soften, feeling a pang of affection for him. “Of course I approve. She’s beautiful, confident, and she’s a genuinely nice person.”

Steve’s face lights up. “I think you two would actually be great friends. You and Natasha? I can totally see it.”

You nod, a warm feeling spreading through you at his happiness. “I think so too.”

As brunch winds down, Steve leans back, watching you with a small smile. “So… ready for the party tonight? I hear everyone’s going to be there, even Bucky’s going all out.”

You try to play it cool, shrugging. “Yeah, should be fun. I mean, it’s not every day the undefeated hockey team throws a party.”

Steve chuckles, clearly amused. “Yeah, well, Bucky might have mentioned a few times how he’s hoping to see you there.”

Your cheeks heat up, but you try to play it off with a casual smile. “Well, I’ll make sure to look my best then.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “Don’t worry too much, Bee. Pretty sure you already do... Are you gonna wear that?" He gestures to Bucky varsity jacket folded beside you nicely

You sigh, glancing down at Bucky’s jacket folded neatly beside you. “Probably not. But I’ll bring it to give it back to him.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Give it back? Why? Looks good on you.”

You shake your head, laughing a little. “Come on, Stevie. I can’t just show up wearing something like this—that would make it seem like we’re… you know, together.” You can’t help but feel a pang of regret as you say it, but you push it down. “And we’re absolutely not together.”

Steve gives you a look, one of those perceptive, big-brother looks that only he can pull off. “You sure that’s all there is to it? Maybe he likes seeing you in it.”

You roll your eyes, shrugging to hide your own uncertainty. “I just want to give it back. It’s his jacket.”

Steve snorts, folding his arms. “Right. Well, if you change your mind, don’t overthink it. You never know—maybe he’d like seeing you show up wearing it.”

You give him a playful shove. “I think I’ll survive without making a grand entrance in his jacket, thanks.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Suit yourself, Bee. Just know I’ll be watching out for you, especially if Bucky tries anything you dont want him to tonight.”

You grin, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’d expect nothing less from the captain himself.”

Steve stands, throwing a few bills on the table for the check. “So, I’ll pick you up at eight, yeah?” he says casually, grabbing his jacket. “Just gotta swing by Natasha’s place off-campus first and pick her up—if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course. I’ll be ready. And hey, don’t keep her waiting too long,” you tease, nudging him.

Steve’s cheeks flush, but he grins back. “Don’t worry. I’d never hear the end of it if I did.”

As you head for the door together, he pauses, giving you one last look, his expression softening. “You sure you’re all good for tonight? No nerves?”

You wave him off, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine, Stevie. It’s just a party. And I’ll have you and Nat there, so what’s there to worry about?”

He chuckles, pulling you into a quick hug. “Alright, alright. Just checking. See you at eight, Bee.”

You wave as he heads off, and you can’t help but feel the familiar flutters of excitement—and maybe a hint of nerves. Tonight’s party feels a little different, like there’s something more hanging in the air.

With a deep breath, you pick up Bucky’s jacket from the booth and walk out, wondering if you’ll actually find the nerve to wear it tonight after all. You tell yourself it’s just a jacket, but a part of you wonders if wearing it tonight would mean something more, even if it’s just between you and Bucky.

---

As you finish getting ready, you smooth down the little black dress that hugs you in all the right places, still debating the jacket. It’s hanging off the edge of your bed, and every time you look at it, your heart flutters. You know what wearing it could imply.

Just as you let out a sigh, your phone pings twice. The first message is from Steve: I’m five minutes away.

You quickly tap out a response, letting him know you’re ready. But then you notice the second message from Bucky. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen, heart pounding. When you finally open it, the message is short, but it’s enough to make you grin--

BB: You better be wearing my coat… see u soon, doll.

A smile tugs at your lips as you grab the jacket, pulling it on. Somehow, it feels like a shield, giving you a rush of confidence. Right on time, your phone lights up again with a message from Steve saying he’s outside.

You hurry downstairs, and Steve’s already out of the car, holding the door open for you like the gentleman he is. As you slide into the back seat, Natasha looks over her shoulder, letting out a low whistle.

“Wow, you look hot,” she says with a grin, nudging Steve. “Doesn’t she look hot?”

You laugh as Steve’s cheeks turn pink. “I… I mean, I can’t… I don’t… I can’t say that about her.”

Natasha rolls her eyes with a laugh, and Steve clears his throat, finally managing, “You look very pretty.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you say with a smile, adjusting Bucky’s jacket around your shoulders.

He eyes it with a smirk. “So, I see you decided to wear the jacket, huh?”

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Well, I’ve gotta give it back to him eventually. And it’s a little chilly, so… win-win.”

Steve gives you a knowing look through the rearview mirror. “Mhm. Sure.”

Natasha stifles a laugh, clearly amused as Steve starts the car, pulling away. You settle back into the seat, your heart racing a little faster with each passing minute as you all head toward the party.

The party is already in full swing when the three of you step inside, music thumping and lights casting a hazy glow over the packed room. Steve has his arm slung around Natasha’s waist, his face beaming as people shout greetings his way, clapping him on the back. The undefeated hockey team’s star has arrived, and he fits right in, like he was born for this spotlight.

You follow closely, but it doesn’t take long to feel a bit adrift, like you’re walking in his shadow. Steve keeps glancing back, making sure you’re close, but you hate that he feels the need to check on you. It’s supposed to be his night, his chance to relax and enjoy himself, not to worry about you.

You start to feel the weight of the jacket on your shoulders, like it’s putting a target on your back. Bucky’s name stitched across it draws eyes in every direction—curious, judgmental, some downright hostile. You catch a couple of girls whispering and shooting you cold, jealous stares. A pang of anxiety twists in your stomach as you force yourself to look away, hoping your face doesn’t betray the flush of self-consciousness rising in you.

Suddenly, it’s too much, and you reach forward, grabbing Steve’s arm. He turns, looking concerned, and you lean in, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink and hit the bathroom,” you say, offering a quick smile to reassure him.

Natasha, noticing the exchange, leans closer. “Want me to come with you?”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to sound confident. “No, you two go have fun. I’ll find you in a bit.”

Steve searches your face, worry lingering in his eyes. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you insist, giving him a playful nudge. “I’m a big girl, Stevie. Go, enjoy yourself!"

He nods, squeezing your shoulder before turning back to Natasha, who’s already pulling him further into the crowd. You watch them disappear, his arm still draped protectively around her, and as they blend into the sea of people, you feel a hollowness settle in your chest.

Alone now, you wrap Bucky’s jacket tighter around yourself, but it’s no longer a comforting weight; instead, it feels heavy, like armor you don’t feel quite strong enough to wear. The flashes of familiar faces and snippets of conversation around you only deepen your sense of isolation. You feel small, like a forgotten piece of someone else’s story, swallowed by the loud music, the swirling lights, and the press of bodies.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky banres #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic

86 notes · View notes

portraitofalinkonfyre · 3 days ago

Text

Counting Stars

Pairing: Wild x Reader

Warning(s): Shameless smut; you and Wild have fun on the roof.

Notes: I jammed this out in like 4 hours so enjoy my brainrot.

Masterlist

"...Are you sure this is safe?" You asked hesitantly, eyeing the open window with a healthy amount of apprehension.

"How do you mean?" A pants-less Wild asked, a single eyebrow raised with one foot already poised on the windowsill. He had been noticeably ecstatic when the chain had ended up in his Hyrule, and you thought his grin would never cease when it was discovered that Hateno Village was less than an hour's walk away, which led to everyone piling inside his admittedly-clean home for a good night's rest.

Except Wild, and, obviously, you.

You would be a liar to say you weren't the tiniest bit pissed when he poked you awake in the dead of night, practically vibrating with excitement and another emotion that you were far too exasperated to consider, but it was whatever, and you knew you would never turn down an opportunity to spend some alone time with your hero, even when he all but dragged you up to the spire structure in the back of the house.

"I don't know," you tried not to grimace, you really did. "It just seems... unstable."

"Mentally or physically?"

You gently smacked his arm. "The roof, honey."

"Ah, nah," he shook his head, shooting you a mischievous smile. "You wouldn't believe the things I've done on this baby–it'll be fine."

You crossed your arms over your chest, expression turning wary. "...That's ominous."

But Wild simply winked, and, in true fashion, jumped out of the window with a soft whoop. You let out a gasp and rushed to the edge, only to see him standing on the tiles, a few meters below you, wearing an excited grin. He glanced up at you and waved his arms in an invitation you knew all too well.

You ran a hand down your face. "Oh Hylia..."

"C'mon, sweetheart," the hero called, . "Live a little!"

"Easy for you to say," you grumbled under your breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing!"

You were going to die tonight, you were sure of it.

Wild waited patiently, making (adorable) grabby hands as you hesitantly hauled yourself up onto the windowsill, the cool air ruffling your hair. "...You're positive we won't fall through the roof?"

"Only one way to find out!" He crowed, looking more amused than anything. You allowed yourself to grin, feeling slightly braver in the face of his infectious enthusiasm. "Just jump and I'll do the rest. Promise."

You inhaled deeply, gathering all your courage.

"If I break anything, I'm blaming you," you mumbled to the wind before leaping from the safety of the spire.

The first thing you registered was the cloying feeling of imminent death as your body plummeted to the tiles below, squeezing your eyes shut as gales of wind whistled in your ears, buffering against your skin and clothes. Maybe you were screaming, or maybe you weren't–it was all a blur of motion until a pair of arms wrapped snuggly around your waist and legs, effectively haunting your fall. You immediately clung to Wild as he held you close, chuckling softly when your head pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart ringing in your ears.

"See?" He asked, grinning down at you. "Told ya I got you!"

You found the strength to smack his left pectoral. "Oh, shut up."

Wild laughed, and you yelped when he sat down on the tiles, maneuvering you so that your back pressed against his front, bare legs caging yours on either side, and you resisted the urge to admonish him for refusing to wear pants again, mostly because he was warm and the night was cold. "So, what are we doing out here?"

"Look," Wild's hand wound under your chin, gingerly tipping it towards the sky, the color of twilight with dozens of twinkling stars scattered across the expanse like little diamonds. The most impressive thing, however, was the moon, which hung heavy in the corner of the sky, more vivid than you ever remembered seeing it.

"Woah!" You exclaimed, taking in the sight with awe. "It's so big!"

"That's what you said–"

"Wild, I swear to Hylia–"

"Kidding, kidding!" He raised his hands in surrender when you turned a burning eye in his direction. "It's a full moon tonight, and I thought you'd want to see it."

You paused, taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. Not that Wild wasn't capable of being sweet, it was simply that it came in leaps and bounds, ebbing and flowing like ocean waves. You were on a quest, after all; there wasn't time to fool around like normal people did.

Until now, your brain reminded you as unhelpfully as possible. "I... thank you, Wild."

"Anything for you," the hero mumbled, his arms wrapping snuggly around your frame. You leaned into him, humming happily when his face buried itself in the crook of your neck and shoulder.

"For me?"

"For you," he responded with a conviction that had your heart fluttering in your chest. One of your hands wormed from his grip, reaching behind you to stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in the hair just above his ponytail.

Wild made a noise between a groan and a hum, hugging you impossibly closer. His knees bent, bare heels bracing against the tile. You winced. "Hylia, wearing socks once in a while won't kill you, you know."

You heard his shrug before you felt it. "I'm not bothered."

"And why's that?"

"Because I've got a cutie in my lap telling me how bad I am."

You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth so as to not encourage him. "Oh my goodness."

Wild grinned against your skin. "What? Can't handle the heat?"

"Honey, I can handle you any day."

"Careful, or I'll take you up on that," he warned, and you merely giggled, leaning your head back against his collarbone.

"Flirt."

"You bring out the best in me," he replied, half teasingly and half fondly.

"I'm honored," you mumbled, turning your head to the side to press a tender kiss on his temple.

Wild chuckled, a deep, smooth sound the reverberated through your skin. "I aim to please," he said, and you believed it. Not that you would admit it, of course.

"Hush, you."

Cerulean eyes flashed mischievously in the moonlight. "Make me."

Your hand released his hair and you spun in his lap. The Champion was grinning, per usual, when you cupped his face, the pads of your right fingers rested carefully over his scars as your thumb brushed his bottom lip. "Don't think I won't, hero."

Wild's lips parted as he sucked in a breath, eyes darting from your face to your own lips in record time. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his left cheek. "There," you said, pulling back slowly. "Now quiet."

The hero was pouting now, in true fashion, and you had half a mind to simply kiss the expression from his cheeky little face. "Aw, sweetheart, that's not a real kiss..."

"It's the best you're getting," you responded sassily.

Wild cocked his head. "Why's that?"

"Gee, maybe because we're on a roof?"

"So?"

"I– Excuse me?"

The Champion leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours as your noses bumped slightly. His fingers danced over your clothed hip, and you were momentarily rendered speechless, until a soft squeeze pulled you from your thoughts.

"...What're you doing over there?"

"I love you," the hero said hopefully, and you knew you were going to kill him, if he didn't do it first with whatever idea he planned to enact tonight.

"We're not having sex on a roof, Wild," you interjected firmly.

"Aw, c'mon," he whined, pouting again. You wondered what had possessed you to let him get to fourth base.

"No."

"But sweetheart–!"

"Absolutely not."

"I'll catch you if you fall!"

"That's not the point!"

He huffed, still unwilling to let go of your hips. "It's romantic, though."

"Romantic, my ass," you scoffed in response, wondering how the hell tile burn and the possibility of death When his gaze landed on your butt, you smacked his chest gently. "My eyes are up here, Wild!"

"I know," the Champion's voice was deceptively innocent, but you knew better. "Can't blame a guy for enjoying the view."

"Then look at the stars," you shot back with a deadpan expression.

Wild's eyes sparkled, and he pulled you closer. "Why would I when the most beautiful star is right in front of me?"

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by the sheer smoothness of that particular comment. "I– who taught you that?"

"Can't remember," the hero smirked. "But I'd like to thank them."

If your face wasn't already on fire, it sure was now. "You little–"

"Now that's not what you said," he teased, and you wondered if it was too late to simply jump to your own death. Unfortunately, his arms were solid around your frame, and you doubted he would allow you to die with the dignity you deserved. "And you call me a tease."

You deadpanned. "Because you are, Wild."

He shrugged, gaze turning calculating. "And what does that make you?"

There was no response, so he did the next best thing and scoot back against the base of the stone spire, dragging you along with him. You helped when the tiles scraped your socked feet. "I swear to Hylia, if we break through this roof–"

"You'll kill me?" He grinned cheekily.

"Damn right."

"Kinky."

You groaned.

Wild continued to smile as he leaned against the spire, unbothered by the slight chill of the air. "Well?"

"Well what?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to make me or what?"

You blinked. "...You're serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life," he said solemnly, and it was a beat unto itself not to burst into laughter.

"You literally said that last week while trying to convince me to give you a blowjob in a tree."

"And it worked, didn't it?" the Champion grinned back.

"That's beside the point," you huffed, knowing full-well that he was right. The tile was starting to dig into your knees, and you shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to alleviate the ache. "Don't start things you can't finish, Wild."

"Who says I won't finish?"

"I do."

"C'mon," he pouted, nose scrunching cutely, and you had to physically remind yourself that what he was asking for was downright madness. "Where's your sense of adventure? Danger?"

"I left it at the window."

"Sigh. For me?"

You chewed your lip, shifting some more. You weren't completely opposed to the idea, but there were enough factors to make you think twice, mostly because your traveling companions were sleeping below and you really didn't want to imagine what would happen if you and Wild crashed, butt naked, through the roof in the dead of night.

"Fine," his expression immediately shifted to elated, and you pushed on his chest to stop him from getting ahead of himself. "BUT–"

"Hm?"

"–If we break anything, I'm leaving you to bleed out."

"...K–"

Oh, for Hylia's sake!

"Finish that sentence and you're not getting laid for a week."

Wild obediently shut his mouth.

"Good boy," you cooed, rewarding him with a swift kiss to the nose, ignoring his disappointed whine. Remembering his current pants-less state, you furrowed your brows. "You're not uncomfortable?"

"Nope," he grinned. "'M used to this."

"Fucking on the roof or being uncomfortable? Because both of those are slightly concerning."

"Yes."

You sighed, wondering why you even tried. "Great," you landed another peck to his lips, only for his hand to cup the back of your head, keeping you pressed his warm mouth. "Mmph!"

After a moment, he pulled away, leaving you both panting. "You can't keep doing that."

You raised an eyebrow in genuine confusion. "Doing what?"

"Kissing me like that and not letting me return the favor," the hero mumbled, bringing you in for a second kiss, one hand cradling your head while the other traced circles on your clothed hip. You gasped lightly, and his tongue immediately darted into your mouth, bumping cheekily against your own. Your hands squeezed his shoulders as your thighs clenched into each other, and you hazily wished he was the one between them.

You broke apart, clinging to each other like it was your last night together. Wild's eyes darted down when you winced, the hard points of the tile digging into your skin, and hauled you into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips. "Better?"

"Yeah," you breathed, running a hand down his back as your face nosed against his neck, lips brushing his adams apple, which bobbed shakily at the contact. You felt his fingers trace the edge of your shirt, shallowly dripping below the fabric to skim over your skin, and hummed your approval into his flesh. "Go ahead."

Wild pulled your shirt up, and you leaned back to allow him to slip it over your head, revealing your chest to his piercing gaze. Gingerly, he cupped your breasts, thumbs passing lovingly over your hardened nipples. "You're beautiful," he said, and you shivered at the words. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

"Shush," if your face wasn't red before, it certainly was now. "I'm the lucky one."

"Hm," he didn't sound convinced, but mercifully let the matter rest, ducking down to roll his tongue over your right nipple, suckling gently. You sucked in a breath, carding your fingers through his hair as he laved and sucked the rosy bud, using his other hand to squeeze the underside of your other breast.

"Ah– Wild!"

He didn't respond verbally, moving to your other nipple as the first one left his mouth with a wet pop, shiny with spit. Your hips rocked forward, brushing his erection through the thin cloth of his boxers, both of you groaning softly at the sensation. He was still wearing his champion's tunic, while your sleep trousers were regrettably on.

Wild detached from your boob, staring up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. One of his hands tugged at the band of your pants. "You're wearing too many clothes."

"Pot, meet kettle."

"I'll show you a kettle," he said, and before you had time to ask what in Hylia that meant, was practically ripping your trousers down your legs, tossing the garment over his shoulder. You squeaked in surprise, and he pressed an apologetic kiss to your sternum, muttering some bullshit about being 'sorry', like you actually believed him.

"Hey–! It's cold, you jerk!"

"I'll warm you up," he promised, and you would have scoffed had he not chosen that exact moment to run his index finger down the center of your underwear, drawing a muffled moan from your lips. Wild grinned, fingers dipping beneath the fabric to graze your stiffened clit, slick with arousal, which had you slapping a hand over your mouth in an effort to remain quiet. "You're so wet, sweetheart."

"S-Shut up," you said, not because you were mad, but because not all the boys were known for their stellar sleep schedules, leaving a part of you terrified at the prospect of being caught, naked, on the roof in the middle of the night. "What if–"

"So?" Wild's expression grew cocky. "We can be quiet."

"You mean I can be quiet– Oh Hylia!" You gasped when two of his fingers sunk into the tight, wet heat of your core, crooking up in the way he knew drove you wild. "F-Fuck!"

"I agree," the hero chuckled, beginning to pump his digits in and out at a steady pace, not bothering to fully remove your underwear. His spare hand rubbed down your bare side, sending shivers down your spine when the pad of his thumb pressed down on your clit. "Feels good?"

"M-Mmm," you nodded, burying your face in his shoulder, lips brushing the soft fabric of his tunic. It was too much and not enough, but you knew you wouldn't last if he kept it up, if the coil steadily building in your stomach was anything to go by. "Please, Wild–"

He turned his head to nibble lightly at your neck, sucking marks on the delicate flesh. You wanted to hiss at him for the action, but a solid flick of your clit had your thoughts stalling. "Are you close?" Wild whispered against you, his hot breath fanning over your oversensitive skin.

"Y-Yeah," you panted, hands scratching down his clothed back. Wild doubled down, gently scissoring his fingers against your gummy walls before they curled in tandem once more, finding that spongey spot within you with ease. "Oh– Wild!"

"That's it, cum for me," the hero purred as he repeated the motion. Your vision went white as your orgasm crashed down on you, no less fierce than the roaring ocean or thundering sky, and the world seemed to melt away as your veins ignited with pleasure, only dimly aware of the fingers leaving your panties and hands coaxing you to rest against his chest. "It's alright, I've got you."

You hummed, shivering slightly when cool air caressed your sweat-soaked back. He had definitely succeeded in warming you up, but all things had their end. "H–"

"Hang on," he said, already one step ahead of you. You blinked in surprise when he removed his tunic, draping the fabric over your head and guiding your tired arms into the sleeves. It was a bit big, and you were distinctly aware of the type of view the slit in the middle of the tunic offered, but there was no way in hell you were returning it. "Better?"

"Mmmm," you said eloquently, nuzzling your face into his now bare shoulder. "Thanks, honey."

"Anytime," his hands traveled to your hips, tracing gentle patterns on the soft skin. "Now..."

With a groan, you sat up blearily, already knowing where this was going. "Yes?"

"Hey baby," he said with a grin that should have been illegal. "Wanna play with my master sword?"

Your eye twitched, and you smacked his arm, moving to stand. Wild's expression fell slightly, and his grip tightened, keeping you where he wanted you. "Hey–"

"Wild, I swear to all that is holy–"

"But sweetheart!"

"–I am not playing with your dick on a roof."

"But I played with your–"

"Do not finish that sentence."

He huffed, gazing at you with a petulant expression. "C'mon, (Y/n), what's the worst that could happen?"

You sighed, long and hard. "We'll both fall off the roof and die?"

"Unlikely, you know I'd catch you."

He would, but that wasn't the point. You pressed an apologetic kiss to his lips. "I dunno, Wild, what if someone sees?"

He responded by pulling you impossibly closer, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your borrowed tunic. "You know, this is the part when you say 'is that the master sword in your pants or are you just happy to see me?'"

"...You're impossible."

"And proud of it!" he said without missing a beat, and you would be a liar if you said you didn't grin a bit at the admission. His expression shifted slightly, and he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. "It's okay if you don't want to, I just–"

"Actually," you interjected, smirking lightly when he perked up. "I don't suppose you'd be up to making wildberry pancakes in the morning?"

Wild smiled boyishly, arms tightening around you when he realized the direction the situation was taking. "It's cute that you think you even have to ask."

"Is that a yes?"

"Absolutely."

"In that case," it took a fair bit of courage for your hands to find the waistband of his boxers, tented with the evidence of his arousal. There was even a small wet spot in the center of the fabric, which was both concerning and flattering. Wild sucked in a breath when you pulled his boxers just below his balls, not wanting him to have tile burn from what was undoubtedly about to occur. "...How do you–?"

"Touch me," the hero interjected, looking at you with an expression that practically screamed need, despite his earlier confidence. It had your heart thudding in your chest, hand reaching down to grip the middle of his length. "Please."

His skin felt hot against your hand, the head of his dick flushed a darker shade of pink that taped off the further down you went, a near-steady dribble of precum burbling at the tip. You pumped your hand slowly, spreading the rest of his dick in shiny pre as your core throbbed. This wasn't the first time you and Wild had been intimate, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, meaning you knew a fair bit about what made him tick, which is why the next thing you did was press your thumb against the veined underside of his length, right below the head.

"Fuck!" Wild swore, hips jerking slightly, and you immediately silenced him with a kiss, swiping over the rosy tip in retribution. He returned the favor eagerly, moaning when your tongue slipped into his mouth, bumping teasingly against his own. The kiss quickly grew, thin strings of saliva running down your chin as you kissed like people starved. You pumped your hand faster, only pausing when he broke the kiss to grab your wrist. "Mmph– wait, wait–"

You abruptly paused, hand falling slack in his grip, and the thought that you had done something wrong was a terrifying one. "Wild?"

"I–" he huffed, taking a short break to breath. "I want to–"

"Want to what?" You prompted, feeling a bit relieved that he didn't seem too distraught. "You can tell me."

"Can you," his hand cupped your mound, thumb brushing your swollen clit, and you immediately understood the assignment. "Dawn is– we can't stay out much longer."

"Guess we'll have to be quick, then," you found yourself grinning, heart swelling when he gripped your hips with vigor, returning the expression. You lifted your hips, scooting forward with his help, and moaned softly when his fingers brushed your dripping heat. It took a bit of maneuvering, but you eventually ended up with his dick sandwiched between your cunt and his stomach, the throbbing length sliding easily through your folds. You sucked in a breath when he head jostled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through the sensitive nub. "Aah, Wild!"

"Feels good?" he asked in a vaguely teasing tone, guiding your hips up and down on his cock, panting slightly as your heat enveloped him. Your hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders when he bent forward to capture one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud with practiced ease. "You're, ah, so hot."

"Mmm," you groaned, temporarily unable to form any words past his name and distinctly-sexual curses. "I need–"

Wild released your nipple, filthy and loud. His eyes shone brightly in the movement, studying your every expression with rapt attention. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"You," you panted, nails digging into his skin. "Please, Wild–"

"It's okay, you can have me," he soothed, manually slowing the pace of your hips with his grip. You wined at the loss of sensation, though it was quickly remedied when he reached down, guiding the head of his dick to press firmly against your entrance, the tip just barely sinking into your pulsing warmth. "You're so perfect," he groaned when you began to slide down, taking every glorious inch like the champ you were. "I-I love you so much."

You sucked in a breath at his words, bucking your hips slightly, and he pressed a kiss to the trembling column of your neck, brushing over your quivering throat. Your hips met his thighs with a wet-sounding noise, and you had to pause for a moment to register how full you felt, how warm and safe his arms made you feel. Speaking of arms, one of Wild's slid up the front of your borrowed tunic, palming your right breast and gingerly flicking your pebbled nipple. "Wild!"

"Shh," he hushed you gently, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Quiet, sweetheart."

"It's hAHrd when you're doing that," you shot back, hardly able to sting together a sentence when he was so deep inside you.

His grin grew devious. "What's wrong with this?" You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming when he twisted your poor nipple.

"Jerk," you gasped, clenching around his dick in what you hoped was karmic vengeance. You lifted your hips, sliding back down on him, and Wild grunted, giving another gentle squeeze to your tit. "I-I thought you were going to make it worth my while."

A dark look flashed across his expression. "Oh, I intend to."

Just like that, he was kissing you again, one hand cradling the back of your neck while the other settled on the small of your back, silently encouraging you to bounce on his cock as he rocked his hips up. You moved to wrap your arms fully around his neck, chests pressed together snugly as your fingers tugged on his loose ponytail, moaning against Wild's lips when the pace increased. There was a familiar coil winding in your belly, whether from the thrill of being caught or Wild himself, but you wouldn't have objected to it being both. "'M gonna–"

"Come on," he urged, thrusting up into your poor body. You jolted, using his mouth to muffle the yelp that threatened to rip past your lips, and began to shake when the hand on your ass circled to your front, the pad of his thumb finding purchase on your sensitive clit, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. "Hylia, you're so tight... cum for me, sweetheart?"

You hugged his neck closer, practically screaming your approval against his mouth, hips twitching as you continued to bounce atop him, determined to finish this before the sun rose. Wild broke the kiss to bury his face in your neck, suctioning a trail of bruising hickeys down the expanse of skin. You knew they would show, but you didn't care, clinging to him for dear life as the coil in your belly grew tighter and tighter. "Wild–... Link– Please!"

A loud growl reverberated in Wild's chest at the sound of his name–his true name–and he grabbed your hip in his free hand, using it as leverage to pound up into you like a man starved. You responded by sinking your teeth in his exposed shoulder to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens as your orgasm crashed over you, vision briefly going white as unimaginable pleasure zipped through every inch of your body, alighting nerves you had forgotten existed. Wild groaned when your muscles clenched around him like a vice, and you shuddered when he rammed into you one last time, thumb never leaving your abused clit as sticky warmth filled you. "(Y/n)!"

Bonelessly, you collapsed against his heaving chest, squirming slightly to let him know you were done. Wild panted with exertion, his hand coming up to card through your hair. "You okay?"

"Never better," you huffed a laugh against the skin of his shoulder, Your skin felt sticky, tacky with sweat and... other fluids. Speaking of liquids that shouldn't belong in you while you were on top of a roof, Wild shifted slightly, a small noise leaving you when his softened cock slipped from your warmth, rivulets of cum already drooling down your thighs, quickly cooling in the night air. "Wild..."

"On it," he said, swiftly pulling his boxers up and hauling you into his arms with a gentleness that had your heart thudding in your chest. There was a ladder on the side of the roof, but you knew he was going to ignore it, choosing to brace yourself as the hero hopped off the ledge, landing perfectly on the ground below. A part of you wondered how his feet were still fine after all that effort, but you quickly remembered that this was Wild, the man who loved going barefoot almost as much as he liked going pants-less. "Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up," his face dipped down to plant a sweet kiss on your cheek. "Okay?"

"Okay," you parroted, quieting when he approached the front door. Seeing as his hands were already full, you reached for the doorknob, stealthily maneuvering the door open. You were wearing his tunic, which was long enough to cover all the important bits, and the other men had no qualms seeing each other naked, so you weren't worried as Wild snuck inside the house, pushing the door closed with his heel. The rest of the chain was laid out across the floor on their sleeping mats, though Wind had used his age as an excuse to get the couch, and you held your breath, praying that they would all be heavy sleepers tonight.

Wild's arms tightened, pulling you closer in a sort of protective gesture. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder as he started up the steps, carrying you to the bed on the second floor. It was no small miracle that it hadn't already been claimed, and you let out a small sigh of relief when the Champion set you down on the sheets. "Hang on," his hand pressed against your sternum when you tried to sit up. "I'll get a washcloth."

"And some tea," you reminded him gently, winching slightly when more globs of cum burbled from your sore cunt. Goddesses, you had really gone crazy, hadn't you?

"Of course," Wild stroked your cheek lovingly before starting down the steps, not bothering to put anything else on that magnificent body of his. There was a soft bang, followed by a few sleepy grumbles, but no one shot up to start yelling about the disturbance, so you allowed yourself to maintain your pretend innocence. The steps creaked, and Wild practically bounded across the landing, a damp-looking cloth in one hand and a cup of liquid in the other. You scooted against the headboard to receive the tea, sipping it while he nudged your legs apart, going to so far as to sling your left knee over his shoulder, wiping leftover cum from your thighs and core. "Is it good?"

"Nope," you snorted. Moon tea would never be an enjoyable drink, but you finished it anyways, setting the cup on the nightstand. "But it's good for me."

"You know, I wouldn't mind having–"

"Perish the thought."

He raised his unoccupied hand in surrender. "Kidding, kidding!"

"Better be," you mumbled, hissing when the washcloth brushed over your sore clit. "Ah– gentle."

"Sorry," Wild said with a wince, leaning down to press a kiss to your lower belly. Your heart fluttered, and you waited patiently for him to finish. "...How do you feel?"

"Sore," you replied honestly. He had been a bit rougher than usual, but you weren't complaining. Much. "But it was nice."

"Yeah?" He asked, looking hopeful. "Nice enough to do again?"

You made a face. "Don't push your luck, mister."

"I'm joking," he reassured you by leaning forward to peck your lips, tossing the washcloth onto the floor below. You grimaced slightly, knowing that you were likely the one who was going to have to wash it later, but that was a problem for tomorrow, so you simply opened your arms to him. Wild settled in your embrace with a happy sigh, head tucked under your chin with an arm slung just under your breasts. The scars on his cheek felt rough against your skin, but you couldn't have loved them more. "Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, honey," you responded softly, running your hand down his spine. Exhaustion was quickly taking hold, and you noted how close the moon had gotten to the horizon, heralding the dawn's approach. It was unfortunate–you had been looking forward to getting a full night's rest for weeks–but you couldn't bring yourself to be upset at the Champion, who had already fallen asleep, clearly exhausted from your... activities. Not that you minded, he deserved a break, and you couldn't help but smile as you drifted to sleep, the first rays of dawn illuminating the sky like a firebrand.

You were at the dining table when it happened. The sun was high in the sky, and you were pleased to report that you had managed to get six hours of rest before Wind came to throw himself on your stomach, shouting some bullshit about how the day waited for no one.

"Wild, I hate to be the one to tell you this," Warriors began, having just come in after what you assumed to be a bath. "But whoever made your roof did not care one bit."

"How do you mean?" Wild asked from his place by the fire, likely entrenched in the wildberry pancakes he was making.

"Ugh," Legend joined the fray, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "For once, I agree with the captain, it was shaking all night–"

You nearly choked on your milk.

"–And something hit my forehead!" Wind interjected from his place across from you, a slight whine in his tone, rubbing the affected area despite there being no physical evidence to be seen.

"Was it a piece of tile?" Hyrule asked, looking up to study the ceiling with a concerned expression. "I hope nothing falls through–"

"No, I think it was a bug," Wind said thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin.

"A bug?" Twilight asked, looking at you quizzically. "I thought ya closed all tha' windows?"

"I..." You were not having this conversation right now, but apparently fate had other plans. "I'm not sure, it could have gotten in through a crack?"

"Do remember what it looked like?" Sky asked.

"I squished it," the Sailor responded, and you breathed a sigh of relief at the supposed end of this conversation from hell. "But I was listening more to the noises–"

Fuck!

"Noises?" Time spoke, tone vaguely curious. "What kind of noises?"

Wind shrugged, and you wanted to die. "They were weird, I don't know."

"I think I heard things too," Four added with a thoughtful expression, leaning back against the chair. "Like... animal noises?"

"They sounded like the noise a cat makes when it's mating," Legend said with a perfect deadpan, and you would have laughed had your dignity not depended on it.

"What if there's a cat outside?" Wind's face instantly lit up. "We should go look for it!"

"Dunno," Wild said, finally putting his two cents in as he placed a steaming pile of pancakes on the table, taking a seat beside you as everyone dug in. "It's probably long gone if it was here last night."

"Aw..." Wind mumbled, mouth already stuffed full of pancake. You grimaced when more than a few crumbs rained past his lips, and Legend leaned forward to smack the back of the Sailor's head. "Hwey!"

"Chew your food, idiot."

"Fwuc owf–"

"Boys," Time interrupted before the situation could escalate further. He turned his gaze to Wild. "It sounds like repairs are in order, we'll help in any way we can."

"I'll keep that in mind," the Champion said gratefully, eyes sliding to you as a suspiciously giddy light flashed in them. "Say, (Y/n), how about helping me take a look after breakfast? I know how good you are with hammers, after all."

You gaped, knowing he wasn't talking about repairing the roof. With a forced grin and gaze that could have cut iron, you answered. "Sure thing, hon–" your hand slipped an inch over to grip his thigh, and Wild jerked subtly, ears turning slightly pink. "–but don't come crying when I make you do all the hammering."

"...I don't know what the fuck this is, but you two need a room," Legend said in disgust.

"No, a bed."

"Sky, please."

"What?" The skyloftian said with a wink. "Beds are more comfy."

"...I hate you sometimes."

"You love us," Warriors said, and the Vet's fist clenched.

"Actually–"

"Hey," Four interjected around a mouthful of pancakes, jerking his thumb to you and Wild. "We already hear enough from those two, we don't need to add a third."

"Oh Hylia," Twilight said, and you took great satisfaction in seeing him took a bit green.

"What?"

"Shut up and eat your pancakes," you said, shoveling a forkful of fluffy goodness into your mouth, humming happily. Wild was truly the best, and not just because of that mouthwatering ass of his.

"(Y/n), are you going to help us look for the cat?" Wind asked sweetly, and you caught Wild's gaze long enough for him to mouth 'pussy', followed by a very rude gesture using his tongue and the fork he was holding.

You buried your head in your hands and wondered how difficult it would be to make his death look like an accident.

I've been in a bit of a funk, so hopefully this makes up for all the radio silence.

#linked universe #the chain x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader smut #lu x reader #lu wild #lu wild x reader #lu smut

71 notes · View notes

rekino2114 · 2 days ago

Note

How would the ddlc ladies react to their partner telling motioning them over, only to be kissed on the forehead and called a good girl?

The ddlc girls' reaction to being kissed and praised

M/n:thanks for requesting someth-

A/n:Monika....what are you doing in my author's note?

M/n:it's been ages since you wrote something about me, I just wanted to thank the anon for requesting

A/n:they didn't request you specifically you know?

M/n:I'm sure they did that to not make the other girls feel bad, I'm definitely their favorite

A/n:just get out this is already too long

M/n:No way, not only do you not write anything about me for so long, but you also forbid me from breaking the fourth wall? That's literally my thing

A/n:Fine, I guess you can stay here when I write ddlc stuff if the readers are fine with it

M/n:hehe, good boy

A/n:...........

M/n:what? It fit with the post

Monika

It's me ˆᵕˆ

What did I tell you?

Is confused at first but just giggles and accepts it

She quickly kisses you back, on the lips this time, and you just start making out passionately

She also praises you back for how well you kissed her

"Hm? What is it darling?"

Before Monika could say anything else, you kiss her on the forehead

"Good girl"

She stands there for a second before a teasing smile appears on her face, and she giggles

"Oh, I see. Well, since I'm such a good girl"

She hugs you closer to her and whispers in your ear seductively

"Then you be good too and give me a real kiss"

She kisses you passionately as you two fall on the bed and wrap your arms around each other while making out

Yuri

Yuri.exe stopped working.......genuinely you might have broken her

She was already blushing when you kissed her, and she went the reddest you had ever seen her when you praised her

When her brain fully processed what you just said and did, she just fainted from emotion

"Is something wrong y/n?"

Yuri blushed as you got close, and her cheeks got even hotter when she felt your lips on her forehead

"Good girl"

Her brain short circuited when she heard you say that, she mumbled an incoherent string of words struggling to come up with a response

"E-eh....w-ha d-did you- just......w-what w-why-"

When she finished, she fell on the bed with an even redder face

"A-are you ok yuri?"

Sayori

She blushes for a bit before thanking you and kissing you on the cheek as thanks

Meanwhile, in her mind, she's processing all that:it actually felt really good when you called her good girl, you helped her discover she might have a thing for being praised

After this, she'll try to do more stuff for you in hopes that she'll get praised for it. It's really adorable

"What's up babe?"

"Oh, nothing, just wanted to do this"

You kissed sayori's forehead and she blushed but still kept her beaming smile

"Good girl"

"E-eh?"

"Oh, sorry do you not like that?"

"N-no......actually I kinda liked it.....a lot"

Sayori started playing with her fingers and blushing more, you giggled and pat her head

"You're such a good girl, you know that?"

"T-thanks"

Natsuki

She kinda ignored you when you first motioned her over, but eventually went where you were

She blushed so much when you kissed her, and when you praised her, she might have considered slapping you

She'll try to act mad at you for giving her unprompted affection, but she easily caved when you hugged her and started to cuddle (she's just a grumpy cat fr)

"*sighs* what is it?"

"Finally!"

"If it was something important, you could have used your words"

"Well, you still came so"

You pressed your lips on her forehead and watched as her face became as pink as her hair

"I guess you're still a good girl"

"W-what did you just call me you idiot?"

"Good girl, is there a problem with that?"

"Y-yeah there is, don't call me like that again dummy"

"I dunno, I think you liked it~"

"S-SHUT UP!"

61 notes · View notes

batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 hours ago

Text

okayyyyy!!! bad week politically but it's chapter five! and Tash is my uwu babygirl forever.

The following morning Tash Taylor woke up in a strange bed and promptly had a panic attack.

The time and place were terrible, as these things went, but Tash had figured out a while ago that there was really no such thing as a convenient moment to completely fall apart. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like her chest was going to cave in, breath was coming in strained and strangled gasps, and her consciousness was shrinking rapidly away from her body. God, this was fucking mortifying.

Focus. Focus. She’d found things that helped, hadn’t she? She’d done all the research she could, trying to figure out how you put your brain back together when you would probably never be able to see a real doctor again in your life. Why had she never bothered to check out the free therapy on campus? She might have learned something, anything, that would help her now.

Think, Tash.

Breathe. Long breath in, hold that until it hurts, let it out slow. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Not all of the breaths work, sometimes it hitches and leaves her sputtering, paralyzed body jerking and twitching. Christ, she’s so cold. No, she can do this. One breath after the other. Tie everything to that, pull her mind back into her body even though it feels like an awful, shambolic place to be, like standing in a house getting ripped apart in an earthquake. Hold it together.

The five senses. That’s something, right? You’re supposed to check in, pay attention to things around you and focus on that so that your brain has something to do other than circle the drain. She can do that. All she has to do is open her eyes. Now. Now. Okay, now.

No. Not yet. Too overwhelming, too much unknown. Start smaller. What about smell?

She buries her face deep in the pillow and inhales deeply, surprised when she’s greeted by a vanilla-ish scent that’s not unpleasant. It’s a little too sweet, reminiscent of the glittery body spray every girl used in middle school. But there are worse things to smell like than a store in the mall where shoddy ear piercings get done.

The pillowcase is nice, too, and Tash rubs it between her fingers. That feels like silk, unless she’s very much mistaken, and so do the sheets. Her hair is already a disaster, badly damaged and sorely in need of a trip to the salon that’s probably never going to come, but it’s nice to imagine that at least she won’t regret sleeping with it unwrapped last night.

Okay. Okay. That’s two senses. What else is there? Taste?

No, that’s a mistake. The only thing to taste right now is the inside of her own mouth and that’s a bad place to be. That one’s always seemed like a mistake to her, anyway, really relying on the assumption that you happened to have something edible on hand when you started freaking out. Or maybe the point is to get you really tasting the back of your own teeth, catching a whiff of your last meal so you can ground yourself in how gross that is. It does seem to be working.

Tash rubs a little circle in the sheet, presses her face harder into the pillowcase. Her heart is slowing down, if nothing else. She thought she understood anxiety once, might have even blithely said she’d had a panic attack or two, but it turns out that all she ever had was a case of the social jitters. Oh, baby Tash, you get stressed out sometimes? You can’t handle a room full of strangers without a buddy to cling to or a drink in your hand? That’s cute. Wait until you find out what it’s like to have your own heart trying to kill you, beating so hard that it aches in your sternum. What then?

No. No, that’s not helping. Deep breath, deep breath. What can she hear, over the sound of her own mutinous body?

Movement. Not in this room, probably, but not so far away. And the sounds are right out of a commercial trying to sell you something breakfasty, somebody bustling around opening up rattling drawers and moving tinkling dishes. Fleetwood Mac is playing and whoever’s cooking is singing along with an incredible lack of self-consciousness considering that they are no Stevie Nicks. Something sizzles, and the smell of a greasy breakfast hits Tash with enough force to make her mouth water. She’s flirted with going vegetarian and even vegan in the past, opposed as is she to factory farming and the way cows fart out greenhouse gasses en masse and all that, but in this exact moment she’ll take the meat no questions asked. There’s a cold pit in her belly that doesn’t exactly hurt but never feels good; Tash can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel a little hungry.

She’s calming down now, which is crazy because Tash is pretty sure she knows where she is and it’s not somewhere she wanted to be. Later she’s going to have a meeting with her self-loathing that’s not going to go well for her, but for the time being at least she can be functional. The state of immediate crisis has passed.

Tash sat up, slow and achy, her body sore in ways that she’d forgotten. She’d slept pressed close to a wall, not far from a window whose blinds were hanging askew. She looked away sharply from that, before she could get any ideas; the last thing she needed was to suddenly be standing out on the sidewalk in her underwear. It had come to her attention that she wasn’t wearing much of anything, just her own boy shorts and a T-shirt that she could have been swaddled in. Upon closer inspection it bore a shitty cartoon of Ricochet and the words SUPERHERO APPRECIATION DAY, which made Tash want to hurl.

The rest of the room wasn’t much better on that front. This was a drag queen’s boudoir smashed together with a nerd convention; tucked among the sequins and stacks of magazines and an actual dress form there were countless action figures, plushies, art prints, and stickers depicting a whole host of costumed creeps that Tash didn’t know. But the ones that she did recognize were there over and over: Ricochet and Sub-Zero and Frostbite herself, rendered in every medium imaginable. It was ghoulish, to be sure, but it also brought Tash’s racing mind to a clunky, graceless stop through the power of sheer disgust.

“Jesus Christ,” she said out loud. “What is wrong with you?”

Which was when Frostbite, as if waiting for her cue, announced herself from the doorway.

“Hey! You’re awake!”

***

Tash flinched when Jessie spoke, which was fair because she had been drinking like a dog the night before and was probably hungover to hell and back, but she also jerked her head hard to stare down into her own blanket-covered lap, as if she was afraid that Jessie might be indecent. Which actually wasn’t an unreasonable concern either, on second glance.

“Whoa there, no worries,” Jessie said, hovering in the doorway of her own bedroom. “I just thought you might want some water and aspirin before breakfast. I didn’t know what you like, so there’s some of everything. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee. I even chopped up some fruit. And I could make you some toast or a bagel, if you want.”

Tash was ignoring her, instead looking with suspicion at the glass of water and the pills Jessie had left on the nightstand.

“What? It’s just knock-off brand painkillers, it’s safe,” Jessie said. “I think I have ibuprofen too if you prefer that, and it’s only a little expired.”

“Why would I trust fucking anything you give me?” Tash asked, rough-voiced. “I take this and then what, you sell me to S.C.R.U. or the next highest bidder?”

“Jesus Christ, you think I work for the government? Seriously?” Jessie shoved down the urge to be annoyed by that. Now that Tash was sobered up and hungover she was evidently skittish all over again, which was an irritating step back but not insurmountable. “Babe, listen, you can take it or leave it. If I wanted to bag you up and raffle you off, I wouldn’t have waited for you to wake up. I’d just chloroform you while you were sleeping, you know? Work smarter, not harder.”

Which Tash looked disgusted by, but she evidently agreed with the logic since she shrugged and downed both aspirins with the entire glass of water anyway.

“Atta girl,” Jessie said. “Bathroom’s over here, if you need it. And your yoga pants are on the vanity, if you want ‘em. No worries if not, though. We encourage nudity here.”

But nudity wasn’t on the docket anymore. Tash returned from the bathroom dressed in last night’s squashed clothes, hiding in the protective hugeness of her sweatshirt as she skulked into the kitchen. Jessie was getting everything plated up at the small, rickety table by then, happy to present the heaps of food she’d made for both of them. Thank god she had bothered to get groceries yesterday; this would have been mortifying if she hadn’t had anything to offer but her freezer burned breakfast burritos.

“Jesus Christ,” Tash said, looking over the spread. “Did you invite more people over?”

“Nope. I just like to cook, and I haven’t had an excuse to go all out in a while. Grab as much as you want.”

Tash sank into her seat slowly, moving so gingerly you’d think she expected the chair to blow up, then stared at the food like she didn’t remember how to feed herself.

“Coffee?” Jessie asked brightly. “Orange juice?”

“Orange juice,” Tash mumbled. She blinked hard, keeping her eyes shut too long, then opened them and seemed more calm. “And coffee, black. Did we have sex last night?”

“What? No.” Jessie passed her the juice, which she’d gone to the trouble of squeezing herself because boredom and horniness were a powerful combination. “I mean, almost. You were really going for it. Didn’t quite shake out, though.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tash buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in slow despair.

“We didn’t actually get anywhere,” Jessie said. “If that helps at all. You got a little nervous.”

That was putting it mildly. By the time they had walked back to Jessie’s—not a short walk, mind you, made longer by the two of them getting into a couple fights on the way—Jessie was pretty well sobered up and feeling fine aside from a mild headache. She’d more or less abandoned the idea that anything sexy was going to happen between them; this was going to be a purely professional situation in which two colleagues shared a bed out of deeply unsensual necessity.

Then they’d hit the apartment and Tash, who’d been drinking like the world was ending and was very much still feeling it, had pounced with an astonishing lack of subtlety or ambiguity. One moment Jessie was fighting for her life trying to fumble her earrings out, the next Tash was kissing her furiously on the mouth. Jessie’s initial reaction to that was, admittedly, horror rather than excitement, because she’d thrown up in the gutter on the way home and god only knew what was happening in her mouth by that point. But on the other hand, Tash had held her hair back for her while she yarfed, which was the sweetest thing anyone who wasn’t Jonas had ever done for her. The feeling of Tash’s hands in her hair had been shockingly intimate, and those same hands cradling her face had her heart hammering.

She mumbled something embarrassing into Tash’s mouth, something like “Aren’t you tired?” but Tash had shoved that question aside rather forcefully with her tongue. Evidently she was as awake as she needed to be, tugging Jessie down into bed.

That lasted for all of a couple minutes, and that was a generous estimate. The point being that Tash very suddenly went still under Jessie, limp and unresponsive as a dead fish and squeezing her eyes shut tight while her breathing got all jerky.

Jessie had rolled away immediately. “Hey. Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Tash said, and then took a long, shaky wet breath that very much indicated that the rest of that sentence ought to be not okay even a little bit jesus christ. What she actually said was, “I’m fine. I just need a second.”

She was curling up towards the wall, holding her own head tightly in her hands. There was not much about this that suggested she was going to be fine in a second, or any time soon.

“It’s okay,” Jessie said quietly. “It’s fine, no rush. Maybe we just call it a night, okay? Do you want some water or anything?”

Tash whimpered. “No. I’m, no, I’m fine. I just think this was a mistake. Sorry. I’m really sorry, this is stupid. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Jessie said, too quickly, and then backpedaled, not wanting to scare her. “I mean, you shouldn’t do that. My couch is bad, and you said you’re already fucking up your back sleeping in your cousin’s living room, right? You take the bed, you’re a guest. I can sleep in the living room for one night.”

“That’s stupid,” Tash said weakly. Any trace of the confidence she’d rediscovered through the night was gone; she was curled in on herself whimpering and absolutely wretched now. “Just let me go, alright? I’m sorry, I fucked up.”

“Shut the fuck up. Sorry, but Jesus. You’re allowed to change your mind or whatever, okay? I’m not mad about it. Just hunker down and try to get some sleep.”

Jessie rearranged herself, smoothing out her pajamas and wiggling herself under the comforter. Tash was laying with her face towards the wall, her back to Jessie. Her side was rising and falling in a way that suggested she was breathing hard, trembling silently. Jessie wanted badly to reach out and touch her, give her a totally sexless squeeze of reassurance, but she worried that would make Tash jump out of her skin right now. She wrapped her arms around her own body instead, holding herself back.

She said, quietly, “I didn’t invite you over because I wanted you to fuck me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t scheming or whatever. I just thought this would be fun. So actually I should be sorry, I guess.”

There was a silence so long that she thought Tash had decided to completely ignore her, or had mercifully fallen asleep.

Then her voice, quiet and croaky: “Can I ask you something stupid?”

“It’s probably not stupid, but sure.”

“Will you leave that light on?” Tash asked, meaning the small lamp with the sequined lampshade that sat on Jessie’s bedside table. “I can’t sleep when it’s too dark. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’ve got a little sleep mask anyway, okay? It’s fine.” Jessie pulled on the mask, powder blue silk snug on her face with Princess spelled out in rhinestones. It had been a joke once, a thing that she bought because as a child she’d thought it was the most luxurious thing to have a little mask that you put on just to protect your delicate eyes while you slept. And then it turned out it was actually perfectly comfortable, and now it would let her keep the light on for Tash, which was evidently important even if Tash wasn’t going to tell her why. So it was fine, everything was working out. Like they were meant to be together.

She’d crawled out of bed earlier than she would under any other circumstances, more motivated to be awake than she had been in weeks. Ordinarily she’d beeline to the bathroom, pee, and then fling herself back beneath the covers for another hour or six. Today she was so overjoyed to find that Tash hadn’t sprinted away in the middle of the night that she immediately got to work on providing a stronger incentive to stay.

It was too much, right? All of the food, and and going so far as to leave her water and painkillers. What did Jessie think she was, some kind of 50s housewife? A little domestic debutante? Fat chance. But the whole morning while she’d been bustling around the kitchen she’d been thinking about how glad she was that Tash was sleeping in, getting the rest she so obviously needed. Jessie felt soft! Squishy and soft and it was weird, but she’d moved so far beyond wanting Tash to be her one night stand or even her partner in crime. Jessie wanted to wrap Tash up in a blanket and feed her a home-cooked meal, which was an abstract level of horniness that she hadn’t previously known existed.

Well, one out of two wasn’t bad. Tash was tight-lipped but staying, had popped a few blueberries in her mouth and nodded to herself when it turned they really hadn’t been laced with arsenic.

“Thanks,” she said. “For all this, and for being cool last night.”

“What, for not committing fucking date rape? Yeah, no problem. Low bar.” Jessie shook herself, startled all over again at just how low her reputation had sunk. She nodded to the food, because she knew she at least had to get some credit for making a damn nice breakfast spread. “Eat up already, will you? You look like a skeleton.”

Which Tash didn’t argue with, possibly because she had no actual rebuttal. She ate with a voracious efficiency, taking some of everything and chewing through it with a stoic focus that was, frankly, a little hot. When she’d finished everything on her plate she loaded up immediately on seconds and got to work eating with the exact same force, pausing only for alternating sips of juice and coffee. Any attempt at smalltalk by Jessie was rebuffed, not harshly but with a determinedly full mouth that prevented any responses more involved than grunts of affirmation or disapproval.

Near the end of her second serving Tash started slowing down, finally reduced to toying around with her fork on her syrup-smeared plate. She cleared her throat, awkward. “Well, it’s been real. Let’s never do this again.”

“I can give you a ride,” Jessie said immediately. “Maudie and the girls dropped my brother’s van off this morning while we were both asleep. And you said your cousin’s place is practically out in the ‘burbs, right? It’ll be way faster than taking the bus.”

Tash’s left eye was twitching, very slightly. “I told you where my cousin’s house is?”

“Not, like, the address, but you know. Approximate. You said it’s a pain in the ass getting to work, that’s the main thing. Do you seriously not remember?”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because it sent Tash’s lip curling up in response. “No, jackass. I’m a fucking alcoholic, okay? I don’t just do a couple drinks and then have a silly night, I binge drink until I black out and try to fuck people I don’t like. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jessie said, but it was one of the less convincing lies she’d tell that morning.

Tash groaned and turned her face downward, avoiding Jessie’s eyes. “No, that was a dick thing to say. It’s not that I don’t—I mean, no. I don’t, okay? I’m not into you like that. Last night was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have done the other time, either. But you’re not… you’re way cooler than I thought you were. I don’t respect the whole costumed domestic terrorist thing, but you’re not, like, you know. Somebody could do worse than you.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.”

“This is so stupid,” Tash said, in such a way that all of her frustration was obviously aimed inwards. “I mean that you’re fine, okay? You’re fine and I don’t hate you and I’m not mad at you because we almost hooked up, I’m mad at me for getting drunk and spiraling when I cannot fucking afford to do that. Okay? It’s not you and I’m sorry for acting like it was.”

“So last night, when you told me that I ruined your life…?”

Tash rolled her eyes, hard, at this interruption of her devastatingly sincere apology. “Yeah, okay, that was also a shithead move. I ruined my own life. Happy?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” Jessie said. Externally, she was casually spearing a strawberry on a fork to give it a nibble, totally at ease. Internally, she was poised on the edge of a tall, tall building getting ready to take a leap. To extend that metaphor, she was hoping to sprout wings on the way down, but there was an admittedly enormous chance that she would simply splatter on the sidewalk or get shot in the head instead. The move she was about to make was risky, and there would be absolutely no going back once she started, and if she was wrong then she was going to look like a huge asshole and Tash was probably never going to speak to her again.

And in the best case scenario, where she was right, she was also going to look like a huge asshole and, come to think of it, Tash might still never want to speak to her ever again. But she had to take the chance. She took a breath, toppled the first domino.

“It’s not really your fault, right? It’s Mothwoman.”

It was instantaneous: Tash, wide-eyed and bloodless, her little hands balled up into tight fists, staring at Jessie like a kicked dog winding up to bite. She hadn’t been at ease before, exactly, but she’d been relaxed enough, probably as calm as she ever got these days. God, it hurt to do that to her. Jessie inhaled through her nose, forcing her expression to stay extremely neutral.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tash demanded. “I don’t care how drunk I got, I know I didn’t tell you anything about the Moth.”

Jessie resisted the urge to roll out that old cliche, pointing out that someone had turned guesswork into certainty by the force of their own reaction. She was, admittedly, trying to break Tash a little bit, but falling back on cliches was a level of pettiness that felt excessive even to her. Restraining herself was a sign of respect for Tash, one villain to another.

Instead she was going to, respectfully, tear Tash’s entire life apart.

“Listen,” Jessie said, her voice sliding ever so slightly towards the icy tones of Frostbite so as to convey that she was done playing. “I know what people think about me, but I’m not dumb. And I’m kind of obsessed with you, so when you talk I fucking listen. And even when you don’t, I’m paying attention. Alright? And here’s what I’ve got: you’re supposed to be back in Crown City going to grad school, not tending bar in a shithole like Polly’s, especially if you really do want to be done with the whole crime thing. And sidebar about that real quick: there’s no way. You were good. You were brilliant. And you goddamn loved doing it. I know you did, no matter what you say about it now. You don’t just walk away from a career like that unless something catastrophic happens to you.”

“It wasn’t a career,” Tash said. She was rigid now, voice a hoarse whisper. Once again her gaze was directed forcibly down, eyes locked on her own bruised knuckles. “I was running around playing dress-up like an idiot pretending that I was accomplishing something impressive, making any kind of real difference by stealing from people I didn’t like. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Wrong. I know exactly what it’s like. The rush when you realize that you can get away with anything, as long as you’re too cool to fuck with? That feeling when you always knew the world was a little bullshit and then it turns out, yeah, you were right? The walls are all just fucking cardboard and the rules are made of tissue paper and you can knock it all over like that if you want to, as long as you have the right attitude. How do you ever go back to being a normal person after that? You don’t. You can’t, unless you don’t have any other options. And how do you lose all your options?”

It was a good thing that rhetorical questions didn’t need answers, because there certainly wouldn’t be one forthcoming from Tash. She’d turned into a furious statue, shaking ever so slightly as her indignation boiled up inside of her. God, Jessie was a monster. She swallowed down hard on the guilt rising in her gorge, reminding herself that this would be best for both of them. She just needed to be able to make her case first.

“You get made,” she said, to Tash and her rapt imaginary audience. “Somebody figured out who you were under the cute little balaclava, so you had to run. Obviously it wasn’t the CCPD; they couldn’t catch you if their moms’ lives depended on it. Gotta be the Moth, right? She’s fast enough, that’s for damn sure. And if she caught your scent, that explains why you dropped out of school and decided to hide out somewhere like Rustbelt. You needed to be around other rogues, right? Seems counterintuitive, if you’re trying to lay low, but everyone knows that good bad guys don’t snitch. So you get to be safe hiding out with Maud, getting paid under the table and knowing that nobody’s going to call the cops even if they figure out who you are.”

Jessie paused here for dramatic effect, something she had learned with years of experience. People needed a moment to plead dramatically and shit themselves while they tried to convince you that they were wrong and you’d made up the whole thing, as if their overwrought reactions weren’t already confirming exactly what you’d said. Sometimes they’d try for defiant, crying or making a speech before ultimately admitting that you were right and they should do whatever the fuck you wanted.

It should have occurred to Jessie that Tash would be nothing like those goons.

Sure, she was visibly having a terrible time. But she was also furious, and that was radiating off of her as she dragged her gaze up from the floor and straight to Jessie’s core, which she glared through with withering disdain. “Okay, BBC Sherlock. You got me. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Jessie sipped her coffee to let the silence linger a little longer. Here was the thing: she was nearly half a foot taller than Tash and significantly heavier, and none of that would mean anything if it came to a fight. She’d seen Tash make mincemeat of Voltzz with no skin in the game; imagine what she’d do to Jessie if Jessie became a sufficient enough threat. Kind of hot as a hypothetical, but probably best to avoid making it a reality.

She put on her most inoffensive smile and hoped she wasn’t visibly sweating. “I want to offer you a job.”

“Declined and go fuck yourself,” Tash said immediately. “Thanks for breakfast, have a terrible day.”

Fuck, she was heading for the door. Jessie rushed after her, heart racing.

“Wait wait wait! Listen to me for three seconds, okay? You need money, right? You’re sleeping on a couch, you’re ruining your back! You’re picking up extra shifts at the worst bar in the world! That fucking sucks, you’re better than that! We both know you’re better than this!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So work with me! I can protect you!”

“What?”

Got her.

“Ricochet can’t touch me. How do you think me and Sub-Zero get away with everything? We’re good, but nobody’s that good. If we didn’t have something on her, we’d have gotten thrown in the can by now like every other freak of the week.”

Tash considered that. “Honestly? I heard it was because your brother’s hooking up with her.”

“What? No! Ew! What? Why? Who told you that? I want names, I’m going to ice their tongues out. Jesus. He would never, he respects himself too much to even think about it. God. Never say that to me again. Ugh.” Jessie scrubbed at her eyes, like she could wipe that image clean out of her brain. She knew that there was a fandom for that, of course, but she avoided the corners of the internet where it flourished and blocked it out so thoroughly that it had been practically eradicated from her life. Christ. She shook her head, trying to refocus. “What was I even saying? Look, we have dirt on her. Jonas figured out her secret identity years ago, not because he was fucking her, and we’ve had an arrangement ever since.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessie flashed her a wide, shit-eating grin, letting the cool facade finally slip a little. “She can’t ever take us in for good, or we’ll tell everyone who she is. She can try to stop us, sure, whatever, fair play; it would look bad if she never went after us at all. It’s like a game, right? Keepaway. She’s allowed to fuck with us, she can try to catch us and take back what we stole, that’s all in good fun. I mean, she hates it, but what’s she gonna do? We could ruin her entire life.”

There was Tash’s eye twitching again. “You have all that sway over her and you bargained with it? You should be having her transfer money straight into your fucking bank account! Why do you bother going through with all of this?”

“Because she’s flat fucking broke, for one. And this is more fun.” Jessie shrugged like it didn’t bother her, but the question didn’t hit quite right. Why did they do it that way? Even if Ric didn’t have a lot of cash herself, N.E.X.T. obviously did. It seemed like something Jonas should have thought of. But she kept up the smile for Tash, easy breezy. Her doubts were for her, not for other people to see. “But the most important thing is that she keeps this city locked down, alright? The director of N.E.X.T. gets really territorial about other heroes coming to Rustbelt, she doesn’t stand for that shit. Ricochet kicked Arrowhead’s ass all the way down Main Street last year when he started snooping around without her permission, it was crazy.”

“Who the fuck is Arrowhead?”

“Jesus Christ, how do you not know any of this? He’s that hotshot archery guy from out in Condor Cove, you must know him. The one with the sidekick who went off the rails and killed like three of their rogues, it was a whole thing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Tash asked. “That thing you just said about people getting murdered, like it was a completely normal thing to say? That’s why I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. It’s not a fucking game!”

“Well, I’m not playing. I take it dead serious,” Jessie assured her. She’d had her little fangirl moment but she had to calm down, center herself again. Make the case. “But so does Ricochet, and she respects our agreement. She has for years. She’s not going to go back on it now, okay? I’m untouchable, so what do you think happens if you’re part of my crew?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tash took a deep breath, rocking back on her heels as she weighed her options. “If I say yes, I’m not working for you, okay?”

“Oh, hell no. I’d never ask you to. It’ll be just like me and Sub-Zero, splitting everything 50/50. Partners.”

“And where is Sub-Zero in all of this?”

“Expanding our operation outside of the city. Why do you think I need some fresh blood around the joint?”

Tash squinted at that, like she smelled the bullshit and knew it. But that wasn’t her problem, was it? And she was too smart to ask questions that she didn’t want the answer to.

“Whatever. I don’t care, as long as he’s not around and you don’t think you’re my boss. Even split from all our jobs, I’m not wearing a costume, and I leave as soon as I have what I need.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I’m in debt. Like, unbelievable amounts of debt. I want to pay all of that off, clean my slate, and then go somewhere the people have never even heard of Night Noir. And then I’m going to disappear forever.”

“Sounds good to me, babe,” said Jessie, who thought that sounded fucking horrible, actually. She had, like, one fourth of a friend and even that friend was already trying to make plans to vanish off the face of the earth and never see her again. But it sounded like Tash was going to need a lot of money, right? That meant that Jessie would have time. All she needed to do was make sure that it was enough time to convince Tash to stay. She had a way of growing on people like mildew; she could make it work. She gave Tash another smile that was wide and benevolent, definitely not the face of a woman who was panicking, and held out her hand. “Shake on it?”

“Pass,” Tash said immediately. “But count me in, or whatever. As long as you can keep me safe, I’m there.”

Jessie said something, some vaguely cool bullshit like “Let’s go down to business” or maybe “Welcome aboard” if she was feeling a little piratical, but ultimately that part didn’t really matter. She was running on autopilot now, unable to even enjoy her success. The important thing was that she was lying through her teeth, and she knew that could only last for so long before she got caught. She was going to have to figure out Ricochet’s secret identity the hard way, and she was going to have to do it fucking fast.

But how hard could it be, right? Jonas had done it, and Jessie was pretty sure she was at least five times as desperate as Jonas had ever been in his life. That had to count for something.

more of jessie lying wetly

chapter one

chapter two

cool art by @hamandeggbun

and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.

The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it.

The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.

Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.

“Still owes me twenty dollars.”

“Did I tell you she blocked me?”

“I thought she got arrested.”

“What did Sub-Zero say?”

Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.

Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?

Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.”

“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”

“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”

“Did you send one?”

Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”

Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week.

She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo.

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”

“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”

Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”

She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.

There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit.

“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”

Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”

“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”

“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.

“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“God. How did you even hear about that?”

“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”

“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”

Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”

“Maudie!”

Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.

“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”

Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”

“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.

Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I know that!”

“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”

Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.

The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment.

Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.

“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”

“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down.

“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ten times?”

He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”

“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”

“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”

Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.

Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.

Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything.

In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash.

“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”

***

Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.

Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.

Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be.

In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.

Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.

Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.

You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.

But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.

Everybody’s mad at me.

And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.

So. You should come home.

Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now.

By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”

“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.

She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”

“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”

Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with.

“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.

She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”

“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”

“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”

“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”

“You know Maud?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”

“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”

“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”

“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”

“Plenty of room for you.”

“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”

“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”

“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”

“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”

“Yes.”

“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”

“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”

“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”

Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”

“That’s blue, right?”

“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”

She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.

Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.

The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.

The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes.

The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.

“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”

The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”

#jessie lies wetly

158 notes · View notes

bisnes-socks · 2 days ago

Text

i love kot kot. i've always loved kot kot. and i'm gonna tell you why.

i think it's a beautiful song, i think it's a banger, i think it's a nostalgic sound, and i think it's an incredibly sad song.

musically, i think kot kot sounds like a summer night in finland. the contrast between the melodic, soaring chorus and the darker, harder verses sounds like walking back and forth between the bright light midnight and the dark clubs or bars or restaurants or something. going from the first verse into the chorus again feels like stepping out from a dark venue and it's 2 am but the light outside is the same as it was when you went in hours ago. it's actually super eerie the way time doesn't seem to move at all during the height of summer in finland. it's a sort of a liminal space that can feel either like never ending horror or an addictive state of true living, depening on how you deal with endless light.

this is a summer song to me.

i love love love the free flying chorus.

i love love love the old school sound of the verses.

the chorus is beautiful with it's long soaring vowels and lines. the verses are mega bangers that remind of early 2000's music. the echoes of like old school drum and bass, breakbeat etc. are super nostalgic to me and have sent me down the rabbit hole of music from my childhood multiple times since the song came out. and i personally love the contrasts and different sections in the song. i think they go together well, i don't think they clash.

i think jurek and allu have composed a clever song. and honestly allu deserves more recognition across the board i am sorry i've been slipping in that department.

now. to the sad part.

i always felt like the chorus was sort of... wistful and melancholic. but the album puts all of that in a different context. he's not just mr. lonely. he's fucking terrified of being alone.

"pelottaa, ettei jatkopläänit ehkä osukkaa, kuumottaa tosissaan, osote ois saatava, poket tos jo hoputta siis vastatkaa nyt saatana" meaning "i'm scared that after party plans will fall through, seriously getting jittery about it, i need an address, bouncers are on my case, somebody pick up the phone" like with the context of the full album now, it's really painting a picture of someone who does not want to go home and face being alone with his thoughts.

i remember when the song came out and people had all sorts of headcanons and ideas as to why the second time round the voice on the phone is in english - things like maybe he's making an international call or something. well, the truth is that in finland, that message is always played in three languages: finnish, swedish and english. so why is it in english the second time? honestly in all seriousness i think it's just a little nod to his international fans or something, like i don't think there is a real story reason for it. but if there was.. well, if anything, to me it suggests that he must have stayed on the phone, listening through the whole litany: valitsemaanne numeroon ei juuri nyt saada yhteyttä, kontakt med numret ni har valt fås ej, the number you have dialed cannot be reached. to get to the english part he has already been told twice in two languages that there is no one there, nobody is picking up, but he's still there.

honestly this song more than anything feels like the true pair of autiomaa, because to me, this song is someone trying to avoid feeling exactly the way autiomaa describes. feeling empty, feeling nothing, feeling alone. he says as much: "tää klubi on yht tyhjä ku sen katsoja" meaning this club is as empty as he who is looking at it. he's empty and finding other people to party and hang out with is the only way out of feeling empty, the only way to distract himself from the fact that he is lost.

and so for skit and autiomaa to come right after this? he has reached a breaking point and realised he has to face the nothingness inside.

and again, like with takavoltti, i think this song represents that long standing finnish tradition of writing funny lyrics about difficult subjects. it's also very very typical in finnish culture to make songs that seem to be about drinking on the surface level but are actually not about that. this song builds a lot of very comedic images: him vibing to celine dion alone in a club and refusing to leave, fighting with bouncers etc. and then of course there is the whole chicken thing with kot kot kot. it's funny - except it's not funny at all.

but the thing is, it's okay to find things funny in the song. they both are and are not funny at the same time, because isn't that what life is. i don't think the intention of these songs is to make you feel one specific way, it's just a matter of perspective. and that can change from day to day. so i think it's okay if one day the song breaks your heart on behalf of the käärijä in the story of the song, and on another day you just want to belt out the chorus and dance through the verses. it's all okay, it's all good.

and that's pretty skilled song writing.

#käärijä

66 notes · View notes

fishii-writes · 1 day ago

Text

alibi - reo mikage

paring: reo x gn!reader

cw: not proofread, intended lowercase, probably ooc reo (SORRY.), murder, mentions of blood (nothing graphic!), reo is a tiny bit possessive, a bit of swearing ("bastard", "assed"), lwk shitty ending. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: i wrote this in like maybe 30 minutes... writers block kicked my ass but hey i wrote for once 🤯🤯 hope you enjoy, requests are open and i'm open to interactions as usual! forgive me this is shitty.

word count: 1111

based off the song alibi

it’s a common saying, red is the colour of love. who should deny it, love hearts, roses and everything nice are red! including the liquid staining your hands, clothes and skin. only a few specks of it flicked onto your white shirt, but your hands and face say otherwise.

another day, another night of killing under cover. you feel your shoulders loosen tiredly, watching the last desperate breaths escape the crimson liquid source. one last breath, their fingers that were curling in the air in futile attempt to cling onto, maybe life you think, fall to the floor. you flop down a safe distance away from the body, sighing out.

you hear clapping behind you, a short round of applause that anyone could guess are sarcastic. but not anyone could guess who the audience is. no one would even guess.

“my, my, [name]. you’ve outdone yourself once more~” a flirty voice, one you didn’t expect to hear, calls out. you don’t need to turn around to know what sick bastard was flirting with you, even after he watched you murder a person. a living being. well, now not living.

“mikage.” a name, or rather, last name, you hate having to leave your lips. you don’t turn around still, but you know he’s doing that — oh so cute — thing where he tilts his head slightly and pouts those pretty pink lips.

“how many times have i said, just call me reo? what, you’re tryna practice my last name before you take it?” he teases, walking closer. you can hear it, he wasn’t discreet about it either. he stops right behind you, looking down and smiling. a drop dead gorgeous smile, one that was sure to charm anyone who sees it.

you throw your head back, propped up on your arms as you lean back a bit, looking up at the — undeniably gorgeous — purple haired man.

“hmmm~?” he hums, teasing smirk on his lips. you roll your eyes.

“no. i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again. i don’t want to associate with you.” your eyebrows furrow at his sickeningly sweet smile. his smile doesn’t falter as he talks, its almost scary.

“might you remind me why?” his lips morph into a borderline fear-inducing grin, or maybe its his eyes. they do say, “its in the eyes.” yeah. maybe it is the eyes.

those ethereal lavender eyes, ones that glare holes into the backs of people who talk to you, people who touch you, your victims that speak back — basically everyone who isn’t him.

“because we are nothing. you give me orders to kill, i do. you’re not even a-” you get cut off by his smile suddenly fading, and his eyebrows furrowing so harshly they change the shape of his eyes.

“[name]. get up.” his tone changes, from flirty and sweet to as ordering as he is when giving you missions.

you look at him, a confused and weirded out look. he repeats his order, his voice laced with urgency and concern. you refuse again, so he — as gently as he can, but unfortunately, the haste made it rough — grabs your arm, dragging you to stand up and points to a large pillar.

“hide behind it, when they come in, run.” he whisper-shouts, gently rubbing the spot he grabbed your arm.

“mikage- what’s going on?!” without realising it, you also whisper-shout. he shakes his head, as if to say he won’t tell you.

“mikage!” you raise your voice, causing him to give you a dirty glare. a look he’s never looked at you with, let alone a glare.

scoffing in defeat, you drag yourself with a half-assed sense of urgency, to hide behind the pillar reo instructed. you peak over the edge, confused. it doesn’t make sense, not at all. but on the other hand, he’s a man of his word. he wouldn’t lie, roughly handle you and glare at you for no reason.

just as you’re about to question, he cuts you off.

“say, [name]. what were you going to say? what am i “not even”?” he asks, in a semi-bitter tone. but his eyes give him away. they look at you with a hint of guilt, of sadness and somehow love.

ew! reo mikage, the reo mikage! in love? with you? how scandalous!

if him being the head of an agency that hires people such as yourself to kill, yeah, that’s right. if that isn’t scandalous enough already.

“i was… i was gonna say, you’re not even an accomplice…” you mutter, and he somehow hears you from the distance he stands. he smiles, almost a little sadly. before shrugging.

“i don’t know, maybe i like another word better.” you watch as his smile almost screams cockiness.

but that’s when you notice. whenever he usually comes in after you finish, he stands beside you. never in direct view of the door, or any windows. so are you looking too far into this when you realise he’s walking backwards, slowly but surely, towards the door?

“mikage…” you mumble under your breath, hands sweaty from clinging onto the corner of the pillar.

“[name].” his eyes are serene, loving, even.

“mikage!” you yell out. he shrugs, eyes almost animated as his lashes touch his upper eyelids. oh.

“mikage don’t you dare do it-” you yell out again, pushing yourself off the pillar and running towards him. he simply winks, blowing you a kiss.

“have fun, and remember two things. one, call me reo.” he giggles, it’s terrifying.

“what do you mean?! are you serious?!” you freeze in place, as he shoos you away in a playful manner. but his now open eyes betray his feigned innocence.

“and two. i’m your alibi~” he blows you another kiss, before you hear loud sirens. red and blue lights seep through the small crack in the entrance doors, one of two exits in this abandoned warehouse.

“go, now. don’t want my love to go to waste. well, i guess we could both rot in jail together. ah! how romantic~” he does that — stupidly charming, even in this situation — thing again, he tilts his head and pokes the tip of his index finger into his plush cheek.

“reo!!” you yell out, watching him point to the exit once more. he mouths the words “go now”, and you do as he says. just in time, as well. the sirens blare even louder when you’re outside, they’ll turn off when he’s inside.

taglist: @your-local-reblogging-kazoo , @nareldata , @seungsuki +

open (send an ask if you'd like to be added! :D)

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! <3

37 notes · View notes

thereareeyesinsidethetrees · 1 day ago

Text

blorbos are how we are coping with current events

so uh. here’s a few nice lighthearted gravity falls headcanons for you all (and yes there is a lot of ford centric ones here. no negativity about him on this post, please. preferably not about anyone else featured here either)

-both stan twins are trans. shermie was the first one they told about this, and he’s been immensely supportive of them. he started referring to them as ‘boys’ whenever he could, especially when filbrick was around (‘you boys ready?’ and stuff like that). even though the twins haven’t seen him in a while, and his relationship with ford is a little strained, they both still feel safe around him

-shermie’s daughter, the mother of the mystery twins, is transmascfem. they’ve always been much closer to her than to their father. it was her idea to get a cat, and she let the niblings pick it out. they collectively named it ‘smoky’

-both mystery twins are trans as well. as soon as he knew, stan made damn sure they were aware of his support for them. mabel told ford she was trans before dipper did, and he made sure they both knew he would support them as well

-the stan twins get a ship cat with polydactyl and name him icarus. he was supposed to work as pest control, but ford babied him too much so now he’s just there for emotional support

-upon figuring out how cellphones work, ford took an immense liking to the camera function. he frequently sends stan and the niblings pictures of anomalies, animals, or just cool stuff he finds

-stan keeps his cool when being insulted, but absolutely cannot stand it when the same happens to his family. type of guy to go ‘ok’ when you tell him he sucks, and then turn around and threaten to murder you when you say the same to ford or the niblings

-gideon is an exception. gideon crossed the line with mabel and now stan can’t help but get irrationally angry every time he sees or hears him

-ford isn’t as good at math as people tend to thinks he is, and he is. so anxious about someone finding that out

-ford has maladaptive daydreaming disorder, and so does mabel

-ford initially bought the painting in the attic of a ship in a storm because it reminded him of stan

-melody and soos got a tabby cat and named it metronome. soos chose the name because it was similar in theme to ‘melody’ and cause he thought it sounded cool. melody calls the cat ‘bloop’ and at this point it probably thinks that’s its actual name

-mabel uses exclusively edible glitter due to all the pets in her life (waddles, smoky, icarus, metronome)

-mabel helps pacifica realize that she’s transmascfemneu. this makes pacifica think about things a lot, and eventually she ends up in a qpr with mabel (featuring candy and grenda as wingmen)

-wendy is bigender and enby

-ford nearly cried the first time stan made pancakes after the portal

-it’s become a running bit to call ford anything but his name and at this point he’s just given up on correcting people and chosen to embrace it

-robbie’s first name is actually robin. his friends started calling him robbie when he came out as trans and the name just stuck. he’s still very attached to ‘robin’ though and has no problem being called that as well

-stan repaired his old winter jacket, though he doesn’t wear it any more. ford sometimes does

-because stan runs hot and ford runs very cold, ford has a tendency to come up to stan and hug him under his coat. stan is fine with this, despite his grumblings about ford just doing it to steal some warmth

-ford experiences cuteness aggression to the max, while stan really doesn’t at all. icarus has experienced both threats of being eaten/crushed and ford screaming into his fluff

-icarus has separation anxiety with ford

-stan doodles on ford a lot. the only rule is nothing on his face and do NOT touch the neck tattoo (destroyed as it may be from weirdmaggedon). yes, stanley, the all-star one. get that smug smile off your face- stop laughing-!

-ford’s sleep schedule has significantly improved since getting icarus. this is mostly because he sometimes falls asleep while waiting for icarus to move off his lap (can’t move til the cat does, y’know how it is)

-stan loves loves LOVES sunny cloudy days. they remind him of running across the beach with his brother, and watching the niblings throw water balloons at each other, and hearing his twin laugh as he tells jokes on the stan o’ war ii

-stan had ford custom engrave his lighter. he thinks it looks cool as shit

-ford has made several smoke bombs for stan. he has no clue what he keeps using them for, but he likes building things, so he doesn’t mind

-mabel has set up three music playlists for the stans. one only for ford, one only for stan, and one that’s visible to both where they can both add music

-mabel introduced ford to breakcore and noisecore. she was very surprised that he liked the two genres

-ford is agender and anattractional

-stan’s favorite smells are cinnamon, bergamot, and saltwater

-stan made sure to always have supplies to make brownies and hot chocolate on the ship in case of them need some mood lifting

-ford has a plaid weighted blanket. the cat laying on top of him every night also helps

-ford made sure stan got a good mattress that would work with his back before they set sail. stan argued with him the entire time, but he has been waking up in less pain since then

-ford always ends up hogging the blankets in any bed. more cover = better in his unconscious mind. stan doesn’t really mind too much, but he would like to keep at least one blanket some time

-ford makes a startlingly good seagull impression

#gravity falls #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #long post #headcanons #enjoy <|:3c #and now we are done with our lunch break so. back to college stuff! have a good afternoon everyone

35 notes · View notes

violetsiren90 · 2 days ago

Note

today is so depressing and scary and I was wondering if I could request some binnie gurt and comfort with the couple from the light in your eyes? ty in advance and take care ❤‍🩹

Pairing: Changbin/Reader (gender not mentioned, but this does reference the Light of Your Eyes couple)

Genre: drabble; established relationship; hurt/comfort

Summary: Sometimes everything is wrong...everything but him.

Content warnings: PG for content, but all my work is 18+ (minors, DNI); descriptions of feelings of deep unhappiness; implied dissociation; emotional catharsis; tears; hugs and being HELD 🥺❤

Word Count: ~500

Author's Note: Here you are, Anon! Today is indeed bleak, and I hope this helps even a tiny bit. Please take care of yourself, my friend.

Precious readers and moots: If any of you find yourself feeling hurt, despondent, and unsafe and need someone to turn to, please feel free to message me or send me an ask. Don't let anyone or anything induce you to doubt that you are so incredibly deserving of being seen and held.

You, each and every one of you, are so loved and worthy of it. 🧜💜

***********************

It’s not raining - in fact, there’s not a cloud in the sky. The autumn air is crisp and clear and the leaves hang brightly and decadently on the branches of the trees as you stand at your own front door. You can feel your features tugging downward in dejection, your body aching and shivering with the deep sort of unhappiness that feels like a chill as you hesitate to take your misery over the threshold.

It's not raining, but it should be. Pouring. Thunder rumbling somewhere afar as you stand in the torrent. Then at least it would feel right, and maybe you would feel like you belonged in that body, standing in that place instead of whatever this is - with the sunshine and the calls of the migrating geese.

Your lip trembles and your heart hammers with the adrenaline of anger and pain...

And then you remember.

He’d asked you not to do this to yourself, said that he wanted it. To share it.

So you curse at the sun and the gentle breeze and turn your key in the lock.

“Bin?” You call instantly, desperately, kicking off your shoes and tossing away your bag.

“Bin!” You drop your coat in the hall as your legs carry you with stumbling steps to his home studio.

When you open the door, he’s already halfway out of his chair with his headphones around his neck, dark lovely eyes wide behind his black-rimmed glasses, and when you reach for him he sinks back down and pulls you over his lap.

Strong arms circle your waist as his head tilts against yours where you press your face into the crook of his neck.

One of his hands splays over your back as he rubs it in wide, soothing circles. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, that will come later. Right now he holds you.

Some wrongs can’t be righted. Not by you. Life can be terribly unfair. It can be downright cruel. But you can be afraid and angry and confused and sad…and in his arms.

Releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your tears silently begin to fall.

He kisses into your hair.

His body is sturdy and soft and you breathe in cologne and detergent and the scent of his skin and you feel his chest expand and contract, silently beckoning your own to match its steady pace where you're pressed against him.

His presence washes over you and draws you in - deeper, softer. Safer.

Safe. Held. Of nothing required.

One of your hands slides up to tangle your fingers in the dark curls at the back of his head.

And then you’re not wishing for rain anymore. The warmth and peace feel like they belong to you - to your body, to your soul - even in your grief.

“I love you,” comes his gentle, deep murmur.

Not in placation, but in promise.

When you find your words again you’ll whisper those three in return, as you always do. But until then, and in every moment hideous or lovely thereafter, you’ll reach for Changbin, and he will hold you.

-Fin-

32 notes · View notes

benispunk · 3 hours ago

Text

Lucky Number

logan howlett x reader

Logan wants to know why 12 is Y/N's lucky number. He might be falling in love all over again.

TW: language

Masterlist

\I/

Y/n’s favorite time of the day was the evening. Not because she could finally relax, have some time for herself, enjoy the silence of her room without, most of the time, anyone in the mansion interrupting it… Well, maybe yes, it was that. But that’s not the point.

Y/n’s favorite time of the day was the evening because she could finally spend time with Logan outside of the school’s routine, out of everyone's eye sights, just the two of them against the world.

And this evening wasn’t any different. She absolutely adored those moments with him as he looked and sounded so relaxed, and she felt as if she was falling more and more in love with him every single time.

She had bought a bottle wine and some appetizers that she had hidden in the kitchen all day, just for their special night, and Logan would do the same. Even though their relationship was official to everyone in the mansion, they always felt the need to sneak into each other’s rooms like teenagers in love.

One time, Logan was discreetly walking towards your door with two glasses in hand and his bottle of whiskey under his arm when he heard someone cough at the end of the corridor. He turned around, startled. Scott had been standing there, probably waiting to catch one of the two lovers and embarrass them. Logan stood there, saying nothing before flipping him off and entering Y/N’s room.

She sat curled up on her bed, a glass of red wine in hand, as she lazily picked at a plate of cheese and crackers between sips. Logan sat next to her, leaning against the headboard, holding his own glass of whiskey, his eyes glinting with amusement. He could stay there for days, listening to her talk, laugh, watching her smile. Anything that had to do with her, he needed to be there.

They had been playing a ridiculous card game for the last 20 minutes where you had to pick a number between one and twenty and then pick two cards, the closest to their number wins.

They were laughing again when Logan leaned forward with another challenge, his grin cocky. “Alright, one more time.”

Y/N smiled wide and quickly answered, “Twelve!”

Logan narrowed his eyes at her this time, his smirk softening into something more curious. “Again with twelve?” he asked, amused. “That’s the third time tonight you’ve picked twelve.”

Y/N blinked. “No, it’s not,” she said, a little too defensively, taking a bigger sip of wine. Maybe she should slow down with the drinking part.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Yeah, it is. You even won with that number.” He gave her a knowing look. “And now this. You pickin' twelve on purpose or somethin’? Are you cheating?”

She gasped at the accusation, « How dare you accuse me of such a crime? A girl can’t have a lucky number anymore. » She sipped some more wine dramatically, which made Logan laugh. How much she loved that sound.

Logan’s grin widened as he leaned in a bit closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Lucky number, huh? What makes twelve so special?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Y/N felt her breath catch slightly, the warmth from the wine making her feel just a bit too relaxed. She hadn’t even realized she'd been picking twelve that much. It just... came out. It was her lucky number indeed. And now, Logan was asking about it. Oh no.

She gave a casual shrug, trying to play it off. "Oh, you know… twelve’s just... a good number. Balanced. You know, 1 plus 2 equals 3, and… uh, three’s cool."

Logan tilted his head, staring at her with an amused expression that said he wasn’t buying a word of it. « Then why not pick three? »

She could feel the heat rising to her face even more. He was too perceptive. She tried to shrug again, but it came off awkward. « I—I don’t know! Twelve just feels… lucky, I guess."

But Logan wasn’t letting it go. Of coure, he wasn’t. He leaned in even closer, his voice a low tease. "You’re hiding something." His tone was playful, but his eyes held a tenderness that made her feel even more flustered. "Why twelve, darlin’?"

Y/N's heart raced as she realized there was no escaping the truth. She hadn’t even thought about it consciously until now, but of course, twelve was special. It was his birthday— October 12. And the more she thought about it, the more it embarrassed her. It felt too sweet, too sentimental to admit out loud, but Logan's gaze was gentle, and she knew he wouldn't let up until she told him.

She cleared her throat and bit her lip, looking anywhere but at him. "It's... It’s your birthday. » she finally mumbled, barely above a whisper, still trying to avoid his eyes. "October 12. That’s why it’s... my lucky number."

There was a pause— a silence that stretched just long enough for her to regret saying it, but when she glance up at Logan, she saw something different in his expression. His face softened, his eyes widening just a bit before something warm and quiet settled in them. For a second, he seemed speechless, which rarely happened with Logan.

« My birthday?" he asked, his voice softer than before, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Y/N nodded, feeling vulnerable and a little embarrassed. « Yes. I’m sorry this is so embarrass— »

“Put your glass down,” he said firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“What?” she asked, confusion clouding her expression.

Without missing a beat, Logan took her glass from her hand and placed it gently on the nightstand beside his own. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to pause as they melted into each other, the warmth of the moment enveloping them. Every worry, every ounce of embarrassment faded away as Y/N felt herself sink deeper into the kiss, the intoxicating taste of whiskey on his lips mixing with the sweetness of the wine on hers.

Her lucky number was his birthday. How fucking wonderful. What did he even do to deserve that? To deserve her. His grip on her tightened slightly, pulling her closer as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together, to ensure that nothing could ever come between them. How lucky he was.

When they finally broke away, he held her gaze with a softness that made her heart race.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

The moment hung between them. Y/N could see the sincerity in his gaze, the way he was allowing himself to be vulnerable. Her heart ached with love. But he wasn’t done.

His hand cradled her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “You keep doin’ this—showin’ me how much I mean to you… » He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, « I’m falling for you all over again,” he confessed, his voice low and raw.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, a smile breaking through her earlier embarrassment. « See why twelve’s my lucky number? »

Logan laughed softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes, before he suddenly lunged forward, pinning her down onto the bed. Y/N squealed in surprise, laughter bubbling up as he captured her lips in a quick kiss. The warmth of his body over hers ignited sparks of electricity that left her breathless.

As they broke apart, he held her gaze, his eyes gleaming with adoration. The warmth between them crackled with unspoken affection, and Y/N felt her heart swell. If he was her lucky charm, she was his too.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, their foreheads touching as they breathed each other in. Logan leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper and more lingering, their lips brushing together softly. The moment was pure magic.

Y/N felt happiness enveloping her, knowing that luck wasn’t just about numbers; it was about sharing her life with him.

XXX

#fanfiction #fandom #ao3 #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #marvel cinematic universe #logan howlett #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #xmen fanfiction #xmen x reader #deadpool 3 #logan x reader #x men movies #xmen fanart #x men

40 notes · View notes

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 day ago

Text

Wishing on Golden Stars [5]

Anxiety of Illness

genre: isekai, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, humor(?)

chapter warning(s)!!!: descriptions of illness/aches/fevers etc., ayato in distress he's stressin', teeny hints of overprotective/jealous ayato 🫣

chapter w.count: 6.3k

a/n: he's back babie (fr this time)!!! and bc i've deprived you guys of ayato scenes for two whole chapters in a row- i combined what was supposed to be two chapters into one :D (dont say i never did anything for you. this baby is jam packed (kinda))

The following few weeks Thoma and Ayaka would take silent shifts on keeping an eye on you. The chip on your shoulder finally starts falling away and you begin returning back to the mannerisms you garnered since first arriving here. If you weren’t serving or tending to Ayaka, then Thoma was watching you like a hawk. Assigning himself the position of ‘supervisor’ when it came to household chores you both had somehow falling into together.

While it was a bit suffocating and annoying at times, you understand their dilemma. You did just sort of decide on your own to rush off to Tataratsuna without any approval while also being constantly stressed beyond belief for days on end with no explanation for them to fathom. You figure when they get tired of babysitting- for lack of better wording- and realize that you’re calming back down, they’ll give you a little bit of leniency back.

You were currently out in the courtyard, hanging out laundry that's just been washed. “Y/n,” a cool, and far too collected voice calls at your back. Throwing a sheet over the laundry line, you jump at the familiarity of it, nearly dropping the freshly cleaned linen onto the ground.

Oh…he’s back early.

You turn after flattening the sheet out of creases on the line, what greets you is Thoma standing behind one early returnee from extended business: Kamisato Ayato.

Thoma stood behind Ayato's shoulder, a sheepish look on his face. That coupled with the stretched smile on Ayato’s face you know that someone had tattled. You’re not sure if Thoma told him about your recent fleeing to a different island or Ayaka in the short window he's been back without you even knowing, but whoever did, you wouldn’t be forgetting about it anytime soon. Because now you’re going to either face a lecture from your incredibly far too composed employer or crumble under his scrutinizing smile that declares nothing short of silent irritation.

“Welcome back, milord.” Maybe you can play nice and just skate by his attitude. “I hope your business went well?”

“Quite,” was his curt reply. “Once you’ve finished your tasks out here, please see yourself to my office. I believe you and I are in need of a discussion regarding your recent… behavior while I was away.”

Dammit. You lower your head, yielding quickly. It would do you no good to try and worm your way out of this. He’d only get more annoyed, and you didn’t feel like poking the proverbial bear.

“I understand,” you dejectedly obey. Ayato, with a cheekish shift in his grin, turns with practiced grace and leaves you. Thoma weakly apologzing silently behind his back towards you as you glare at you. His kicked puppy expression tells you all you need to know. Traitor.

Turning back to your laundry, you wonder if you should take your time. Extend the task as long as possible as to postpone the scolding waiting for you in Ayato’s office. Even then, he’d somehow know that you did so and would then also scold you for that. You whine to yourself among the white sheets that billowed lightly in the wind of the midmorning air.

“This sucks,” you murmur defeated before finishing your task. Taking the basket you used to carry the sheets outside back where it belongs, you were soon marching sadly towards those familiar sliding doors where your pale haired employer sits inside. Staring at the doors, you wonder if he knows you're out here already. Wonder if he’s aware of you fidgeting and hesitation on announcing your arrival and purposefully drawing it out for his own amusement?

Or maybe you’re just thinking too much.

Taking a deep, quiet breath in, you hold it just enough to announce your arrival. “My lord, you requested my presence?”

You hear him hum inside, a bit too cheerily. An eyeroll leaves you behind the safety of the still shut door.

“Come in,” he commands with a suspicious lithe in his tone. With one more breath, you slide the door open, step inside and close it at your back. You wonder if it’s too early to start groveling?

Making familiar strides across the office, you move to take your place on a small cushion reserved for guests at the back of the room with a small tea table. It was this very table years ago Ayato got his first bit of information out of you. It really has been a while, it’s weird you remember it so vividly. You begin kneeling down to get comfortable when-

“Not there,” Ayato stops you mid-kneel. Body awkwardly standing at a half-bent angle. You look over towards him. He hasn’t lifted his gaze from whatever document he was looking over. One of his hands holds the long sleeve of his opposite arm back when he lifts his brush to scribble something down on an unrolled scroll with wet ink. You slowly, cautiously, stand back up and your fidgeting starts running the autopilot function.

“My lord?” Still, without looking up at you or even making a slight stop in his work, his chin juts out to the front of his desk that rests on the floor.

“There,” he says. The more extravagant cushion on the other side of him was undoubtedly what he was referring to. You’ve only caught glimpses of much higher individuals sitting there when coming to meet with the Kamisato head. The Kujou and Hiiragi Clans for example. You, a random staff member who was hired on more than suspicious terms, shouldn’t be doing so as well.

Looking around you wonder if there was different cushion around for you to take instead of that one. Or perhaps he means for you to take the cushion you were about to sit on over and sit in front of his desk in that fashion. If that was so, you understand perfectly.

“No, no,” his voice takes on a playful shift. Still, it makes your shoulders jump because when you lift your gaze back up from the plain cushion at your feet, Ayato is finally looking up at you.

He's set down his still wet tipped brush on a block of elegantly carved wood to prevent it from rolling away and ruining his hard work. The scroll he had been brushing upon with his skilled calligraphy was left idle as the ink began the drying process. One of his arms rests with his elbow on the very edge of his desk to support his chin- a very unprofessional yet comfortable move- while the other rests on his folded lap. “Come here and sit,” he instructs. His eyes shut with a smile and you feel sweat gather at the nape of your neck. Oh, he’s pissed.

As collected as you could, you make your way to the far too fancy pillow and set yourself formally on top of it. Seemingly satisfied, Ayato picks up his brush once more. Dripping it into the ink well that was surely to run out soon, he begins new brush strokes in silence. The sound of the brush bristles against the parchment would be almost soothing any other time when the aura of the Kamisato head wasn’t boring down on you like a boulder.

“Are you perhaps… upset, my lord?” You test the waters quietly. You didn’t want to be here all afternoon with this pressure. You could throw up if he drags this out.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “so, you can tell?” Forget the boulder. A mountain of negative energy just crashed directly into your cranium. “You’ve gotten better at reading people since I've been gone I see.” You know better than to reply. No matter what answer you could give him, it’d be pointless. So, you choose to sit there and give him nothing. He chuckles at your decision of silence. “That reminds me. While I was gone, it seems you also decided to go off and your own, shall we say, adventure?” You swallow and avert your gaze guiltily. “Thoma informed me.”

“That snitch,” you whisper entirely to yourself impulsively.

“Part of his duties as a trusted aide is to inform me of anything that could interest or involve me. It seems your actions fulfilled both criteria judging by the haste in which he rushed me as soon as I arrived.”

“It really wasn’t that large of an ordeal,” you murmur in half-truth.

“Was it not?” Ayato’s voice shifts once more. All playfulness vanishes and your posture stalls. You ball your hands on our lap with your chin down staring only at the top of his desk and the items that liter it. You hear him once again place his brush down and you know you’re in for it now that his full attention will be directed at you. “I assume your reasons for making such a foolish decision after rescuing Thoma from the Shogun- which while I am grateful for- are justified?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“How.” That was what you always say when he tries to ask you anything about yourself. It was so frustrating to him.

You swallow at his pressing agenda. You have no idea how to explain it to him. If he knows what happened, then surely he knows about Aether too. Or maybe he hasn’t been home long enough to hear word of him? No, there's no way. Aether’s name is floating all across Inazuma by now, so he has to have heard it at least once. Should you just use his name to your benefit to try and worm your way out of this? Would that be morally wrong?

“Y/n,” Ayato beckons your train of thought back and you jump at the summon.

“It’s just,” you fumble, “it was for Aether!” You continue to fumble. Ayato’s anger-laced smile finally drops and his brow furrows in mock confusion. You swallow at the bitter look on his face.

“That blond traveler?” His voice reflects the stupid excuse you just spat at him. “I’ve also heard of him from Thoma and Ayaka in passing when she greeted me back.”

“That's right!” You shuffle on your legs that were slowly starting to go numb. “He was a big help in the Vision Hunt Decree rebellious forces. After we returned to Komore Teahouse, Aether was going to head towards Tatarasuna alone. I thought, since I was also seen with them, that showing him the way would be better than-”

“-Then staying at the teahouse with Thoma where it was safe? Instead, you chose to throw yourself into more danger by exposing yourself out in the open with a stranger you hardly know a thing about?”

“...Well, when you say it like that.” Ayato sighs, the hand supporting his chin has now been promoted to holding his forehead as he lowers it with a small shake of his head. “Aether really isn’t all that bad though.” Even with you looking towards him now that his gaze wasn’t boring into you, you still miss the twitch his body goes through at the mention of your defense of the blond. “He really pulled through with the rebellion and he kept me safe the whole time until we got to Watatsumi. We even have a lot in common!”

“A lot in common, you say?” His voice was quiet and you couldn’t be sure if he spoke aloud to you or to himself. “Explain.” Oh, so he was talking to you.

“Well, we’re both a long way from home. And, um, we’re both from really far away places.” You lower your eyes and take a moment to collect your thoughts. You did have a lot in common with Aether, and while those two things are true, the majority of the connection comes from the more emotional impact of your time in Teyvat. Ayato, not satisfied with your two weak defenses, lifts his head annoyed.

“Thats-”

“We both feel alone here,” you whisper. It must’ve been a slip of the tongue judging by the quick reaction of you slapping your hands over your mouth. Ayato’s arm drops as his tense expression relaxes into something somber. “No, what I meant is-” You fumble around trying to backpedal and Ayato just barely hears it.

You felt lonely? Was it because you weren’t allowed to leave Narukami without sufficient reason or supervision, for instance for business or the like? Did you feel trapped? Did he do it? The last thing Ayato wants to do was make you feel like him. Trapped.

While Ayato loves his family and takes pride in his work, he was undeniably stuck here. Unable to go and run from it even if he tried. He had to take this position for his deceased parents. To protect Ayaka and keep her shielded from the more bloody and cutthroat aspects of the position as clan leader. To keep the Kamisato Clan safe and stable. He could hardly ever be Kamisato Ayato, he was always the Yashiro Commissioner.

Was it his fault?

“Ayato!” You screaming his name brings him back to the here and now. Have you ever called him solely by name before? “Please, calm down, my lord. It really isn’t a big deal.” He feels a pain in his leg, one caused by his tight grip against his thigh. When did he start doing that? “What I meant is that sometimes I can get a bit homesick, that’s all. I don’t mean anything else by it.” That was a lie. He could tell. The look in your eyes makes it all too obvious, but you also just wanted him to relax.

“I apologize,” he composes himself quickly. “It seems I’m more exhausted from my trip than I originally thought.”

“You often work yourself sick. You ought to fix that bad habit,” you quip. Ayato chuckles.

“Perhaps I should take a small moment to regather myself.”

“I’ll go and prepare some tea then. I’m sure her Ladyship would enjoy hearing about your trip. Perhaps you can spend the afternoon together for a change?” You shift backward to wake up your legs before Ayato is nodding along with your suggestion. Taking advantage of the laxed situation, you quickly stand and politely excuse yourself.

Standing out in the hall and escaping from the heavy atmosphere of his office, you let out a deep breath from the very pit of your gut. You managed to worm your way out of any consequences and kept most of your secrets to yourself once again. Still, looking over your shoulder at the doors, you wonder why you feel like crap? The look of... guilt on Ayato’s face from earlier plays in the back of your mind.

Shaking your head, you dismiss any idea of telling him anything. He was the one who graciously took you in and gave you a job that came with the added bonus of close companions you can depend on. On top of that, he was an incredibly busy man. How could you unload your burdens onto him when he was already feeling enough of those himself? You couldn’t and until some immovable object places itself in your path, you wouldn’t.

“Y/n!” Thoma comes walking down the hall towards you. You huff, snubbing him as you pass him by. With a nervous chuckle, he chases your back. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to tell his lordship these kinds of things.” He lamely tries to defend himself, but it doesn't work. Not at all.

“Lord Kamisato will be having tea with her ladyship this afternoon. Please, go start brewing some while I look for her.”

“...Understood,” with a sad air of acceptance, Thoma ambles off with a cloud over his head. You’d accept his apology later when you've properly calmed down. Right now, there's a younger sister you have to find and invite to tea.

It’s been months since the Vision Hunt Decree as well as the Sakoku Decree were abolished and the nation of electro was slowly returning to the times. Opening its borders and allowing traffic in and out to all sorts of people. It was a rough road since there were rumors floating around that a part of the rebellion had tried to reignite conflict. It was quickly shut down however, since more fighting at this point would be pointless.

There's been a feeling in the back of your throat all day long and despite your best efforts to clear it out, nothing was working. The itch was constant and no amount of muted coughing behind your fist would clear it.

You were currently out with Ayato, taking the role of unofficial babysitter from Thoma for the day. What his goal for today is, remains a total mystery to you. He was only insistent that you accompany him into the city and was strangely unable to be swayed into taking Thoma instead.

His lordship was currently in a rather passionate conversation with Tomoki about yet more unusual flavors of dango milk when you try once again to clear your throat off to the side. With yet another unsuccessful attempt, your attention was pulled away from the commissioner-vendor duo when your name was called from the other direction of the stall.

“y/n!” Both you and Ayato turn to the familiar chime of Paimon’s voice. Coming up the way from the north side entrance of Inazuma City was none other than Paimon and Aether. On a completely separate occasion when you were out with Ayaka, apparently Aether had come into Inazuma looking for Thoma and ended up meeting Ayato at the Kamisato residence. Of course, that was all in Ayato’s character quest according to your reality-knowledge. It was relieving since Ayato didn’t need to keep his guard up around the pair of travelers now.

The pale-haired man politely dismissed himself from the conversation he was having with Tomoki. Making his way to your side as Aether waltzes himself up to join the group.

“It’s been a while,” you greet when the blond stops in front of you. You’ve seen him once or twice in quick passing since your trip to Watatsumi during the war. He’s always busy with something or another when he’s here. Whether it be wrapped up in something Itto had dragged him into, or commissions he’d picked up out of the goodness of his heart; so proper greetings were hard to come by. “I hope you’ve both been keeping out of trouble.”

Aether rubs the back of his head sheepishly as Paimon joins him in the silent answer of ‘sort of’.

“It’s never anything we can’t handle,” Paimon defends.

“I’m sure,” you humor.

“What brings you both back to Inazuma?” Ayato asks. An easy and relaxed expression rests on his cheeks and it makes you forget about the discomfort in your throat seeing him even a smidge more relaxed than usual. “Nothing untoward I hope.”

“We just wanted to come and catch up with some friends!” Paimon explains.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve come back here on anything other than business,” Aether supports. “It’s nice to take in the island air sometimes.” You nod, understanding. He, of all people, needs to look after himself in the event of a crisis.

“It’s good to take time for yourself,” you tell him. Crossing your arms, you shoot a look of disapproval to your employer who stands at your shoulder. “If only I could get a certain someone to follow your example.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” The smile that was once relaxed, shifts to one of enjoyment as he looks at you. “I’m making time right now, aren’t I?” Rolling your eyes you brush off his attempt at pushing your buttons.

“Only after Thoma’s constant insisting.” With his arms folded behind him and a slight bend in his back to get closer into your space, you turn away from him with a huff. Paimon and Aether look at each other before looking back at you both. It's obvious Ayato is enjoying prodding you and from the looks of it, you were just letting him. It could hardly be seen as a scenario between a mere employer and retainer. It’s much more... comfortable.

Ayato’s attention was briefly taken away from you at Tomoki’s nervous beckon. Apparently, he had taken one of Ayato’s out of world ideas into consideration and wanted a bit more of an idea for the future. Dismissing himself, Aether steps up to the plate to continue entertaining you in Ayato’s stead.

“It’s good to see you’re getting along,” he tells you in regards to Ayato.

“Of course. He’s tough to handle, but nothing I can’t subdue.” You chuckle. It was always good seeing Aether. Even if you both couldn’t speak of your outworld heritage, just knowing that he knew was enough for you to feel a weight off your shoulders.

“It’s usually Thoma trailing after him like this, so I was shocked to see you instead.”

“Yeah, that's true!” Paimon agreed. You nod.

“For some reason, Lord Kamisato wanted me to come out with him today instead. Thoma may have been too busy with housework and since Ayaka had no plans today, having him stay with her made more sense.” Of course, you didn’t know the full reason and that was just you thinking out loud.

“Yeah," the floater draws out her word with an unconvinced look. "Somehow Paimon doesn’t think that’s true at all,” she shoots you a look with her arms cross. Blinking at her, you raise a brow.

“What do you mean?” You ask. She shares a knowing glance with Aether before looking back. “What are you both thinking about?” Aether steps forward and whispers something in your ear.

It was nonsense. Ayato preferring you over Thoma like he was suggesting was just folly! Still, it made your ears burn and you wanted to smack the smirk off his face when he finally stepped away from you.

With your head down and hand raised to pinch between your eyes on the bridge of your nose, the smirk on Aether’s face twitches as he looks over your shoulder.

Behind you- turned away from Tomoki who was scribbling something down in a small notepad- Ayato shoots him a rather ominous look. Aether was a pretty good reader of a person's emotions, but Ayato had always been difficult to grasp; years of experience he guesses. This look, however, was loud and clear. The blond took another half-step back as he tucked his hands down to his side.

“What’s your problem?” You ask, head lifted back up and noticing his odd shift in behavior.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He brushes off your attempt to get behind the reason for his change. You want to press more, but don’t get the chance to do so.

The itch in your throat rushes back to the forefront of your mind with a harsh cough. Turning away from Aether, you cover your mouth and try to swallow back the coughing behind your hand to avoid making a scene. It doesn’t work. Suppressing it only makes it feel worse.

You hear Paimon start panicking behind you and Aether’s body comes closer, hovering around you unsure about what he should do. The hand you feel push against your back wasn’t the traveler’s, but the gloved hand of Ayato. With him watching your back, he quickly takes notice of your condition and rushes to your side. Your coughing fit ends with you gathering your breath with a slumped posture. Ayato’s hand still softly runs up and down your spine as you gathered yourself.

“Are you okay?” Paimon asks in worry. With sweat on your forehead, you nod. You can't tell if you mean it or not. It's suddenly far too warm out in Narukami today.

“This always seems to happen around this time of year,” Ayato speaks. You weren’t sure if he was addressing you, Aether and Paimon, or deducing it himself. Still, it’s heard by everyone regardless.

“Oh no," Paimon worries, "are you sick?” She floats over to you, now standing back up to your full height, and frets in even closer proximity.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse than a cough before.” You voice stays muffled behind your hand you keep in front of it. If you were sick, then you'd hate to spread it around.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t sick,” Aether argues before Paimon floats back to his side and agrees behind his shoulder. “You should go home and rest.”

“That’s-”

“Exactly what we intend to do,” Ayato interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him behind you. His face is serious. He means every word. You feel sort of guilty. Like you just ruined one of the few chances he has to come into town that isn’t work related because of a cough. “You’ll have to excuse us,” he addresses Aether, not letting you get a word in to argue with his decision.

“Should we walk you back?” The blond offers. Ayato knows it’s all in good faith and he’s only worried, but the clawing feeling at the back of his neck almost makes him frown at the suggestion.

“No need,” Ayato declines. “We can manage.” Aether doesn’t press anymore, leaving it to the commissioner. With a few more quick words of parting, Ayato offers you his arm to hold onto, which you politely decline since you weren’t so weak you couldn’t walk on your own. Soon, you both were leaving the city and making your way back to the Kamisato estate.

By the time you arrived back home, Ayato is holding your hand in his gloved one. Leading you through the gates on the verge of yet another coughing fit. A samurai standing guard was quickly instructed to find Thoma immediately. Kamisato Ayato was a man of many skills and talents, but caring for the ill is still something he lacks in. He would need guidance to collect himself.

Not too much later, you were placed in a private room on a clean futon. Thoma swiftly leaves after getting you situated to inform Ayaka of your state of illness while Ayato stays behind to tend to you. All the housekeeper left behind was instructions to make sure you consum the medicine he had prepared for you. 'Make sure she drinks it all!', he had told him.

“Sit up, just a bit,” Ayato softly instructs you. You felt fine this morning, nothing but that itch in your throat. Now you feel terrible. The itch was now a burn, and no amount of water or tea would soothe it. Your head pounds and your eyesight would swim between weary blinks. You feel your body being lifted behind your shoulders. You can barely see a small bowl of tonic hovering near your chin as Ayato keeps your torso lifted with his arm. “This will help.”

You try to down the tonic, you really do. However, the moment the bitter taste hits your tongue, your body pulls away in repulsion. You already feel awful, you just couldn’t bring yourself to swallow something just as awful.

Ayato sighs when you close your eyes in disgust. You were so stubborn even when sick. Though, he's more than aware of this fact.

The last two years you’ve been here, this scenario has happened before. Around this time every year, you get sick out of nowhere. No one knows why you’re sick or what's wrong but it’s always the same: a fever, a horrid cough, aches and pains and agony no medicine can help followed by several days of near-continuous sleep.

It didn't matter how many doctors he calls upon; none are able to diagnose you with any sort of illness. 'All we can do is wait it out' are the words he's always forced to hear with another prescription of medicine to add to his ledger.

Always this time of year. Always around the time when Thoma first found you on the docks of Ritou and Ayato brought you back to the Kamisato home.

Living through two years of this illness before, Ayato was half expecting this. The whole reason he wanted you to come with him to town was because he wanted to keep an eye on you. He didn’t know how quickly your condition would deteriorate though. Guilt nags at him as he watches you lay in the futon. Still, he needs you to consume the tonic regardless of if you want to or not.

With a defeated sigh, Ayato looks to the closed door to the room. There was no sound outside. Good.

“Pardon my actions,” pulling the small bowl away from you, he takes the bitter liquid into his mouth, holding it there. The taste is atrocious, no wonder you didn't want anything to do with it.

Setting the bowl aside, he keeps your body raised and his other arm crosses over to rest on the opposite side of your hips so he hovers over your face. Pushing his lips against yours that desperately gasp for air, he pushes the tonic into your mouth, forcing you to swallow it. He keeps his hand on the back of your head so you don't pull away from him and waste the medicine.

Once the foul liquid is out of his mouth, into yours and properly swallowed, you cough and recoil from the taste when he pulls away from you. He swipes his palm under his chin, wiping away the trails of medicine that didn't make it to you.

Ayato once again lays you down gently, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders to keep the chills of fever away. He takes one of his gloves off, setting it aside and places his palm on your forehead. It was on fire. He winces at the clammy, hot feeling of your skin against his.

“If only I was able to pinpoint why this keeps happening to you,” he laments. Your breathing, while harsh, evens out as you slip into a fever induced state of sleep. He hopes that the illness doesn’t cause you nightmares. With a deep breath, his hand slips from your forehead to brush against your hair in a weak attempt to soothe you. “Just as before, I’ll make sure your recovery is swift.”

And just as the two years before, during your bedrest and hazy moments of consciousness, Ayato has his work moved into the recovery room in which you rest so that he can spend as much time beside you as he can. It makes him too anxious- leaving you on your own. The room is private for this very reason, and no one can talk him out of these actions- not even Thoma.

You never remember falling so deathly ill when you finally start recovering- or, at least you haven't in the years prior; it's all just a long, blacked out memory.

You never remember Ayato tending to you as often as he can. You never know that your deep, struggling breaths become the only noise he pays attention to. You never know that when he gets accustomed to your ragged breathing, he holds your wrist in his palm so he continues to feel your pulse ebb over his touch. You never know how he looks up at the sky at night while he grips your hand tightly in his, hoping he won’t see any shooting stars that he fears might carry you away.

It was the dawn of the fourth day since you had fallen ill and the anniversary of your arrival had passed. Thoma and Ayaka had both gone out and purchased two small trinkets for you as both a get well presents and also to commemorate your years with them. Ayato would do the same once you were awake, aware and healthy again just as he has in the past. Perhaps a good luck charm centered around health would be an ideal purchase.

Ayato’s temporary work desk, one much smaller than his office desk in the office, was already filled with paperwork and open books to scrawl in when he heard two knocks on the door. No doubt it was Thoma coming to check on both of his friends.

“You may enter,” he grants. As he suspects, Thoma’s face slides into view with the opening of the plain doors. “Good morning, Thoma,” he greets without lifting his face from his work. Partly because work did have his attention for the most part, but also because he was probably sporting some nasty eyebags that the pyro wielder would scold him about.

“Same to you, my lord. Are you hungry? I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.” Ayato only nods along to Thoma’s whims even if his appetite hasn’t been the biggest the last four days. Thoma moves to kneel in front of your still unconscious body. Placing his hand on your forehead, replacing a cold rag there, and checking your pulse he nods to himself. “I’ll bring some more medicine for y/n while I’m at it. They seem to already be doing better. That’s much faster than last year!”

That was true. Last year it was a week before you started showing any signs of improvement. Ayato’s shoulders relax a bit at that fact.

“You really shouldn’t stress out so much, my lord.” Thoma looks at the small space between your head and Ayato’s place sitting at his temporary workspace. “I know you’re worried, we all are. Still, if y/n ever finds out that you always push yourself so much when she gets sick, she might feel guilty about it.”

Ayato halts all his actions and lets out a deep breath. He knows Thoma’s right, but it wasn’t like he could just not care.

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to care,” it’s like Thoma could read Ayato’s mind sometimes. “We all just wish you’d take better care of your health too. Y/n will recover, she always does. So please, try not to worry too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Thoma.” The housekeeper dismisses himself with a small quip and when the door shuts and Ayato is left alone with you again, he deflates. Placing his items down, he shifts and reaches over to brush his fingers over your bangs that were damp from the fresh cold cloth on your forehead.

Later that day, Thoma visits once again only this time, he’s brought an additional party member. Or rather, two.

“Ayato, we’re here to visit y/n.” Paimon announces as she floats in beside Aether and behind Thoma. Ayato feels astonished to see the blond and also somehow conflicted at his visit. Perhaps it was just his imagination, and he was more tired than he thought.

Thoma excuses himself to leave you all alone so he could tend to his own work. Aether takes a seat next to your body while Ayato dismisses himself from work for the duration of however long Aether plans to stay. He feels antsy. It's irritating.

“How is she?” Aether asks.

“Improving. This happens annually.”

“Does she have some kind of illness?” Paimon asks.

“We’re not sure. No one has been able to identify exactly the cause of her collapsing like this. It’s always around this time of year, but it doesn’t last long enough to become fatal.”

“How weird,” Paimon worries.

A small conversation between the three of them begins easily and Ayato is soon changing your towel again. Aether and Paimon are near astonished seeing the commissioner remove his gloves to tend to you. In fact, they were shocked he was taking this so seriously if it has happened before and doesn’t risk your life. They expected him to worry of course, they know Ayato isn't heartless- but he was taking it so seriously. Like you really could die.

Ayato’s fingers run briefly through your hair when he draws back from placing the freshly squeezed towel on your forehead and dabbing your face of sweat.

“Say, Aether,” he starts yet another conversation while looking towards you instead of his guest. Bad manners aside, Aether hums back at the call of attention. “You come from beyond Teyvat, correct?” The blond swallows.

“I do.” There was no point in hiding it if Ayato already knew. Of course he did, it seems like he always has access to knowledge that is basically pointless to him.

“Y/n once told me that you both have many things in common. Being far from home was an example of such a bond.” Finally lifting his gaze and straightening his posture, the commissioner looks Aether in his eyes. “Is there a chance y/n is also from beyond Teyvat. A place we of the common folk could never reach?”

Aether knows the answer. Of course that was the truth, but he has no right to explain that in your stead. It was something you had to do yourself.

“I couldn’t say,” was the answer Ayato received. “Why not ask her about it when she recovers. I’m sure she’d be willing.”

“Perhaps,” he muses dismissively. You hadn’t opened up to him about your home for three years at this point. Why would you suddenly do so now? Then again, maybe it was because he wasn’t fully open with you either. It was a challenge opening up to anyone, but maybe if he explains your position in his life- your significance- you’d be more willing...?

Ayato looks up at the sky outside the room. It was late afternoon and soon the sun would be setting. Would you wake up tomorrow? He hopes so.

Aether and Paimon stay at the residence for dinner. Ayato is persuaded to join them, Thoma and Ayaka all for a big joint meal. You were left with a trusted attendant until Ayato could return and while he knows you're in good hands, he still couldn’t focus. He even drops his chopsticks a few times when his mind began to wander for too long causing his grip to slacken.

After a good meal, and a politely declined offer of staying over the duration of the night, the Kamisatos' see Aether and Paimon off. Free from the binds of being a good host, Ayato makes haste back to your side to dismiss the attendant tending to you as well as settle the anxiety in his chest that comes with being away from you.

Oh, how he wishes you’ll wake up tomorrow.

a/n pt.2: oh the woes of be infected with isekai sickness. rest in pieces but did you see that he kisSeD-

<- Prev. | INDEX | Next ->

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #ayato fluff #ayato angst #ayato hurt/comfort #ayato comfort #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fanfic #genshin imagines

23 notes · View notes