#I know I am late to answer so many questions but sometimes I really need a demon possession | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anjelicawrites · 6 months

Text

One step from you

Paring: modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader

Synopsis: a surprise dinner invitation, forces closed off prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to start rethink his life.

Warnings: Aemond's social anxiety, dumbass to (maybe) lovers, reader's overbearing family.

What brings Aemond to dinner with your whole family is the botulinum outbreak in the county.

He means no disrespect, when he elects to interrogate your mum you, obviously, can’t; he would have never expected the woman in front of him to explain him, lengthy and with extreme precision, how to prepare: marinated vegetables, tomato puree and many complicated, traditional dishes.

After he was done with her, he had felt full, not unlike after a wedding feast and he had only had one espresso for breakfast!

You found him still at the precinct late that same night, you obviously working on other cases, him drinking that terrible, horrible, no good coffee from the vending machines in the corridor.

You’ve been meaning to talk to him, to say how sorry you were that your mother had dumped centuries of culinary history on him, while not answering the questions, but you were on the cusp of discovering the heads of a big drug ring, and had managed to come back to your office just half and hour ago.

Despite having worked with him countless times, you find prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to be aloof and difficult to talk to, even when it concerned work matters; not that he’s ever been rude with you, just that you find yourself unconsciously checking your posture and don’t really know how friendly you can be with him, even after years of working together. It doesn’t help that you have a crush on the man that forces you to act more distant with him, that you’d be with anyone else: you can’t risk rumors to spread.

Surprisingly enough, it’s him who starts the conversation.

“Commissioner, I thought I was alone with the night shift.”

“I’ve just returned, sir.” You stared at the vending machine for a second. “I’m sorry about my mother, she told me you interrogated her”

“She was more offended that I believed her a bad cook, than the botulinum outbreak accusations.”

“Sir, my mother is the best chef in the county.”

“I haven’t disputed that”

“By implying that her food might be contaminated, you basically did, sir.”

The way he stared at you made a smile break on your face. It’s safe, no one is around to see it.

“I’ve never said that. We have no idea where the botulinum comes from, let alone which hotel is the, metaphorical, patient zero” he said, stiff

“My mother has her own set of priorities, sir. She might not know much about accounting and how to run that side of the business, but in the kitchen? She’d be able to run the place blindfolded and with her right hand behind her back” you couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite how at odds you and your mother are, sometimes, you are proud of her and of the way she had carved her space in a male dominated world.

“I am merely doing my job” he answered, his face set

“I know sir” you tried to school your expression, but the smile didn’t want to go away (danger! Danger!). “And I will tell her how hard you are working to clean everyone’s name”.

After that the conversation abated, you tried not to gag while drinking your coffee, he stared at you, puzzled as to why you find what he’s just told you so funny.

Despite what Aegon tells him, Aemond is keenly aware of the complicated dance of social interactions, he just finds himself with two left feet, in a world where everyone else is a mix between Rudol'f Nureev and Carla Fracci. Take this moment with you: you two were chatting, you are being friendly and he couldn’t respond in tune, even if he wanted to because he had no idea how joke about your mother info dumping on him, who barely knows how to fry an egg.

“Oh, Gods be good!” You said. “I need some shut eye before we start interrogating the detainees.”

Someone else, anyone else, would have found a witty way to ask you how the investigation was going, what escaped his lips was a dry

“Do you think you will close it soon?”

“I hope so, sir,” the smile on your face less prominent. “We all want to see the results.” You answered feeling the easiness of your conversation abating

“Then good luck”

“Thank you sir,” You answered. “Good luck to you too.”

You bid him goodnight and left him to stare at your retracting back, telling himself what an idiot he’s been in being so awkward with you.

You don’t really see him, too overwhelmed with your drug ring case to go look for him and ask how the botulinum outbreak is going; you know that the people at the hospital are getting better, it’s the rest of the story that you are missing. You make a point of not asking your mother, whenever she calls you, not even when she mentions Aemond: it’s a slippery slope to mix work and family life together.

You stumble upon Aemond, again, late at night. You had foregone the celebrations with your team, after closing the drug ring investigation, to spend some time alone in your office to relax, since both your brain and body are still running high on adrenaline, and you’d rather not crash where your subordinates might see you.

The police station is eerily quiet, the echo of the steps of the night shift barely reaches your floor and the sky is dark outside, the moon hidden by a thick blanket of clouds: it might finally rain.

You jump out of your skin the second Aemond calls you from the shadows, you are positive your heart will explode with fear and adrenaline.

“Sir!” You shout, one hand going to your chest

“Commissioner.” He says, eyeing you

“What are you doing here? It’s late!” Comes out with too much emphasis and he winces inwardly

“I could ask you the same question.” He answers, tone clipped as usual

“Jesus weep!”.

Aemond feels sorry at having scared you so. He knows he is light on his feet, but he thought you’d be able to hear him coming: you’re a cop, after all!

In his heart Aemond knows he should leave before the silence becomes too awkward, he might have a handful of seconds before your breathing goes back to normal and he is forced to perform, badly, some sort of small talk.

Sometimes he hates this divide between him and the rest of the world.

He is getting ready to retreat, when you surprise him

“Have you already eaten dinner?”

He doesn’t know what to respond and why do you care?

“I have some food mother sent me and I don’t feel like eating alone.” You say with a brilliant smile on your face.

Aemond hesitates. You mother’s hotel has been cleared of any responsibility, still he has investigated her: it’s not proper to eat the food of a former suspect, he should politely say no and go home.

The idea of returning to the hotel room he occupies, even since he had to relocate for his first assignment, dampens his volition: the room service has already closed and he doesn’t have any food in the small fridge; on top of that, the idea of eating take out again depresses him when he knows homemade food is within his reach.

Before he can’t stop himself he accepts your invitation. You’re glad he’s answered immediately, or you would have lost courage yourself.

The walk towards your office is short.

Aemond misses the old location of the precinct: a Renaissance building, dusty and a bit moldy, but with character and beautiful frescoes on the ceilings. The new place is depressingly anonymous, all metal and white walls.

He appreciates what you’ve tried to do with you office: the plants and the frames on your desk give the room a spark of personality, whilst maintaining a professional atmosphere; the couch near the window looks comfy and, he suspects with a twinge of tenderness, that you might have taken more than one nap there.

There’s an exaggerated number of Tupperwares and jars on the desk you use for the meetings with your men, all the containers neatly wrapped, the contents written on the paper with a flowery handwriting.

“I told you, sir. Mother exaggerated, as usual.” You tell him with mirth in your voice. “Do you mind moving everything on my desk? I need to set the table.”

With that you head towards one the filing cabinets, open one of the drawers and extract a colorful tablecloth, plastic plates and cutlery, to his immense surprise. Gently you put everything on the top of the cabinet, in order to rummage so more, to produce a tube of plastic glasses.

Again, the divide he feels stops him from saying anything funny when you turn towards him with your arms full and stare quizzically at him. He elects to keep silent as he moves everything on your desk, while you set the table for two.

You two work in silence to unwrap everything and he marvels again at the sheer amount of food that’s on the table: various preserved vegetables, bread, savory pies and desserts.

He sits after you and waits until you’ve served yourself, before trying a bit of everything.

He suppresses a moan of appreciation at the way the flavors explode in his mouth; the food he buys doesn’t taste this good, even what the cook at home used to prepare can’t compare, the various ingredients and textures meld perfectly on his tongue.

“Do you like it?” You ask, after a while, to break the silence.

“It’s excellent” he answers.

“Do you understand why mother was so pissed that you thought she isn’t a good chef?”

Aemond stares at you, eye fixed into yours.

“I’ve never said that. Even the best professional might make a mistake which results in people developing food poisoning.”

“Not mother, sir. I’ve been raised by her side, in the kitchen. I know how precise she is with every preparation, the conserves mostly. She knows the dangers of food going bad. She’d rather throw everything out, than risk hurting someone. She’s so strict, that she only uses the food that she grows in the garden; everything she serves, she knows the origin. Even the juices are home pressed”

“You know how to prepare all of this?”.

He hopes his incredulity doesn’t seep in his words. You don’t look like the kind of person who would slave in a garden and in a kitchen to prepare traditional meals.

“I do, sir, and I would make my own food, if only I weren’t always here. It takes time and energy to organize your work and then prepare everything. Have you ever participated in making tomato sauce? You need a lot of people, time and space, it takes days!”.

Aemond focuses on your face: he’s never seen you this animated. When you are with him you are always serious and controlled, now there’s a spark in your eyes he’s never seen, the air around you vibrates with an energy he’s never experienced when you relate him the results of your inquest. You look alive in ways, he thinks, no one has ever seen here.

“I can’t say I have.” He answers, putting the fork neatly beside the plate. “My family doesn’t hold these kind of traditions”.

He grimaces inwardly, like every time he shares tidbits of himself with the outside world, waiting for his interlocutor to use the information against him.

“It’s fun, sir. You are absolutely destroyed afterwards, but seeing the fruits of your labor on the shelves, makes for it.”

You say with a smile that covers for no judgment, he realizes. You are merely chatting with him and he can’t detect any ill intention on your part; he’s not used at doing this, talking with people with the only intent to pass the time and get to know them.

“Will you tell your mother that I have appreciated everything she’s prepared?”

“I will, sir. Be mindful, though, she might start sending you food as well.”

“Why would she do such a thing? She doesn’t know me.” He is honestly surprised.

“Because she’s a feeder. She’s told me at least trice that you look too thin and she fears you are living off supermarket food. Unfortunately she comes from a generation where stating opinions on someone’s body is the norm, but she means well.”

“You can assure your mother I am eating healthy food. Not homemade, because I don’t have a garden, yet it’s not frozen meals.” he finds himself saying with a smile.

It’s not a lie, not the complete truth either, he hopes the cook at the hotel chooses the best ingredients, but he doesn’t have that kind of back knowledge to know.

“I’ll try my best, sir. Despite you having to investigate her and her hotel, she likes you. She’s told me what a gentleman you have been throughout the questioning, calling her ‘Mrs’ and listening attentively. She’s added something I shouldn’t say out loud, though.” You say, evading his eye.

“Commissioner, I don’t think anything your mother said about me warrants you keeping the secret. I don’t think she insulted me.”

He is intrigued now, and this is better than asking himself why he feels so at ease with you.

You play with the food on your plate, trying to find the right words.

“She said you reminded her of her grandfather. He was a farmer, but he had studied in a seminary, until his own dad had passed away and he was forced to quit to help feeding his mum and siblings. He was known to be well mannered, even when plowing the land, and well spoken. People noticed how lord like he was, they didn’t see the mud on his boots.” You take a sip of water. “I have never met him, of course, but all the tales about him focus on his bright intelligence and gentleness. He was wasted potential, but back in those times his family couldn’t do anything about it. All his neighbors used to come to him to solve their problems with borders, cattle and the like, because he was always capable of finding a solution that was good for all parties.”

Your eyes bore into his lonely one, your hands pick at the bread on the table with nervousness.

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, sir.”

“You haven’t.” He answers. “He sounds like the kind of man anyone should aspire to be. It is a great compliment to be compared to him.”

“Oh thank God!” You say, the breath you’ve been holding escapes your lips in a huff.

You didn’t know how he would have taken being compared to a simple farmer, when you know well enough how old and important his family is.

“Is there anything else your mother said?”

“No, that’s it”.

It’s not entirely the truth. She’s repeated you how handsome Aemond is and that you should find out if he has someone in his life, because he looks like the kind of man who is just perfect for you. He doesn’t need to know that and how much you agree with you mother.

“Would it be awfully impolite if we don’t finish everything?”

“Oh no sir! Those are my rations for at least a week. It is physically impossible to eat all!”

“You shouldn’t have shared it with me, if it was supposed to last you for so long!”

“Nonsense, sir. I offered because I was happy for you to have a meal with me. And I have other food at home, not homemade, but you will not tell mother, right?” The smile is bright on your lips.

He stares at you fondly. This is the first time in a long while, that he’s felt not so detached from the world around him, almost at ease with you.

“On my honor, commissioner” he smiles, without even realizing it.

He helps you put the food in the containers and throw out the trash.

You two argue on your way to the exit, because he wants to carry everything for you, it looks heavy and he is gentleman, after all, to which you answer that you are used to carry and lift more than this bag.

Outside, the first summer storm is raging, fat drops of water falling almost horizontally on the pavement.

“Is your car nearby, commissioner?” He asks, voice raised to make himself heard.

“It’s that one!” You answer, pointing at the beaten out Cinquecento parked on the corner of the street.

“Are you sure it will withstand the storm?” He has to ask, the thing looks ancient.

“It will. It’s more patches than everything else, but it still runs strong!”

With a huff you don your raincoat and fit the hood on your head.

“How are you going home, sir?”

“With that.” He answers, pointing to a car that costs like your annual wage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve driven that through worse conditions.” You stop for a second, unsure of how you should say goodbye. “Well, goodnight sir.”

“Good night commissioner.” He answers.

He stays on the door until you are safely in your car and the thing, miraculously, starts.

Few days pass; he has so much work he might drown in it, yet he has the time to focus on you every single time you two pass the halls of the precinct and of the courthouse. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, at first, you’re there and he greets you, because his mother has taught him good manners, it’s when he is consciously looking for you, that he realizes what he’s been doing.

It’s strange for him to look out for someone who is not his immediate family: keeping and eye on his siblings has always been a sort of second nature, even though he’s not the first born, because they are his blood and he’s supposed to. You are a nobody, a subordinate, yet he realizes, as he’s pouring over some documents, that his subconscious has been focusing on you for a very long time, the change now being, that he wishes to see more of that spark you showed him during your improvised dinner, at least when you stumble upon him.

For your part, you try not to think about the dinner too much. It had been lovely to see a more human side to your colleague, the downside being that whatever interest you had been developing for him, now has more energy to grow. Your mother is of no help either, she keeps asking about Aemond, as if you were in any position to know any personal information and no, you don’t want to know if he’s single or not, it’s not like you have any chance with him, who has shown zero interest towards you, beside work.

You should have known better.

You mother has a tradition: Friday night family dinner, when she gives the reins of the hotel kitchen to her second in command so she can cook for her family only, and spend time with you all.

She’s been particularly pressing this week, you simply thought she wanted you relax with the people who love you, after the grueling months spent chasing the drug ring. You were wrong.

The first bell should have rang when the space in front of the family home is full of cars. The second when you spotted a car that looked suspiciously similar to Aemond’s posh one. The third the second your mother bear hugged you and then dragged you to the kitchen, chatting like a car salesman to stop your questioning.

“Mom, what the hell?”

You finally manage to interrupt her when you see your colleagues, and their families, helping setting the tables in the back garden.

“What?” She stares at you with fake innocence in her eyes.

“Why is my team here?”

“Oh dear. Didn’t I tell you? I wanted to celebrate your hard work!”

Your mum is many things, a good actress she’s not.

“No, you didn’t.” You say exasperated. “And you called me constantly the past week!”

“Oh, I am getting old and forgetful. I’m sorry dearest.”

You know she isn’t and you are certain she hasn’t forgotten about telling you. You almost start grilling her with questions, when she chirps amiably.

“Oh, look who’s managed to come!”

With horror you see Aemond with a casserole in his hand, your older sister directing him on where to put the thing.

“Mom!”

You think you are going to have a heart attack. You are positive it’s going to happen now, because your heart is beating too fast and you feel like fainting with embarrassment. If you die you don’t have to talk to him, to justify your family probably berating him.

If you’re fast enough you can run to your car before Aemond spots you.

You haven’t considered your mother’s grip on your arm, and your nephews’ sudden influx of love towards you, the three little monster screaming your name and hugging your legs: you are positively struck where you are.

If only the ground were to swallow you.

“Mom, do you have the slightest idea of the family he comes from?”

“Yes, of course I do. They all look dashing, but him? Absolutely breathtaking”.

God please take me now, you think, anything but this!

But God is nowhere to be found and is deafer than ever to your prayers when you see your sister talking to Aemond, who then turns and spots you.

You can’t run away now. Maybe a stray thunderbolt might hit you?

“Good evening commissioner”

“Good evening sir”.

You try to look dignified, pretty difficult when there’s a gaggle of children holding on to your legs and you want to die.

“Children, will you please let me go?” You ask.

“Are you going to run away?” Says nephew number one.

“Mum said to get you, so you would stay!” Adds nephew number two.

“She said you’d try to bolt!” The third one nails the last nail on your coffin.

If you longed for death before, now you wish to burst into flames.

“Why would you leave, commissioner?” Aemond looks sincerely curious.

“I will not. Children, please!”.

The three little monster seem to be happy with the damage they have caused and run away, to play.

“You know how kids are, sir. Minds full of wonder. God only knows what they’ve heard!”

“I think we can use our first names tonight, we are not at work, after all.”

Engrossed as you are in your embarrassment, you don’t hear the insecurity in Aemond’s voice

“Yes sir.” You catch yourself .“Aemond. I hope my family wasn’t too berating.”

“They aren’t. A bit loud, but it calls for the occasion.”

Inwardly he lets go of the breath he was holding. He knows it’s stupid but, like every time he takes a step out of his comfort zone, he feels himself preparing for the worse, for his little attempt to be crushed by the outside world.

“Are you two going to stand there and look pretty, or are you going to help?” Screams your brother in law from where he’s minding the barbecue.

“You do your thing.” You shout back. “And I’ll do mine!”

“He is right. I think there’s more that needs to be set on the table.”

You agree and desperately try not to notice how good Aemond looks.

At work he wears conservative suits, tonight his slacks look comfy and soft, the neckline of his white shirt deeper than the ones you are used to see him wear. His gorgeous hair is in a complicated braid that enhance his beautiful face.

Yes, you need to busy yourself.

Your mum has overdone herself. For the usual Friday dinner, she just sets the table, tonight the whole area is illuminated by strings of light and there’s flowers and plants everywhere. The tablecloths are the finest she owns, the ones she uses only for important occasions. You are moved by the hard work you see here, knowing full well how demanding the hotel is, yet you are pissed that both your mother and sister have ambushed you so; you wouldn’t have refused to come, if you’d known that Aemond would be here!

“What were you two thinking?”

You have managed to snag your sister and drag her in a hidden corner of the garden.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I am going to throttle you”

“You are worse at lying than mom is! You have any idea of who Aemond is?”

“I perfectly know who he is. He’s the man who’s making me regret I am married and loyal. He’s so dreamy.”

“What for? You work with him!”

“It’s not the same. We don’t have that kind of relationship!”

“But you’ve eaten with him.”

“How do you know that?”

Whatever high ground you thought you had, disappears from under your feet.

“He thanked mum for the food and complimented her, when she called him to invite him tonight.” Your sister says nonchalantly

“How, in the name of God, does she have his phone number?”

At this point you are beyond flabbergasted

“You should ask her! Now come, it’s time to eat!”

Your sister grabs your arm and your nephews appear out of nowhere to help her drag you to your chair which is, lo and behold, next to Aemond’s.

“I’m going to kill you!” You manage to whisper in your sister’s ear

“Enjoy your dinner!” She says with so much saccharine in her voice, you are afraid her teeth will fall off.

Aemond had to prepare himself for tonight, telling himself that being social for one night would be fine, even fun. He knows your men, his consideration of them is almost positive, considering they are cops. Compared to most of their colleagues, they are bearable and not corrupt, which is a first. On top of that, he has already had dinner with you and the experience had been lovely, you were lovely and he couldn’t say no to a mum, his own mother would kill him, but his heart had beaten a tad too fast while he was driving here, the idea of having to deal with so many people, in an unknown context, scared him.

At the courthouse or the precinct, he has a script in his head he can follow, here? He’s left to his own devices and that rarely ends well.

Surprisingly enough, for him, the welcome he received from you family was warm and made him feel like he had always known all of them. Even being, gently, bossed around by your older sister, felt right, not like she was overstepping.

But he can still feel the glass divide between himself and the rest of the world.

It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere, with nice people, and knowing that there’s this distance he can’t overcome. That he can talk with people, break bread with them and yet know that he’s seeing the whole scene from the outside, instead of being part of it, as if he’s the spectator to a play.

Even you, sitting by his side, chatting and laughing, the delicate scent of your perfume in his nostrils, barely manage to breach the gap that had always distanced him from the rest of the world.

Your mum, for her part, tries to make him participate in the conversation, as if she’s aware of the way he’s feeling. But she can’t know, he tells himself, no one has ever been able to, why could she?

And she seems to be intent to feed him like a pig. Aemond can’t say no to her, not when she puts food on his plate and tells him to try this dish, which she had made especially for him; Alicent would kill him if she’d ever knew he had caused grief to a fellow mother, who has worked hard just for him.

“Do you want to get a breath of fresh air?” You ask him during a lull between courses.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He answers, hoping the relief is not too noticeable.

You hope no one notices you two slipping away to go to the roof of the house. On your way there, you stop in front of an ancient daguerreotype.

“That’s him.” You say.

Aemond behind you hums, his eye admiring the old face staring back at him.

The man looks nothing like him, the huge mustaches occupy his face, giving him a serious look, but that’s not why he understands your mother’s reasoning: it’s the aura he can feel exuding from the daguerreotype, the power that only knowledge gives you, the one Aemond had always felt during his studies, what truly made him feel strong and capable, against a world he rarely understood.

“Thank you for showing me his picture.” Aemond says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart: our family, our roots, it’s all we have, when everything is said and done.

“And this one is my granddad, his son. He’s the one who started the hotel, from his literal home”.

The photo he looks at is yellow with age, a man staring at something just over Aemond’s shoulder, the typical pose for pictures of that time; you look a lot like him, he realizes, in the shape of your eyes and mouth.

“Let’s go, before my sister sends her minions from hell!” You laugh, making your way up the staircase.

The night is warm but a gentle breeze moves your hair, as soon as you and Aemond arrive on the roof.

Like many houses in this region, it is flat and had been used for centuries to store rain water and hang the drying clothes; Aemond notices your family has comfortable garden furniture here and a closed beach umbrella.

Ignoring everything, you head for the edge of the roof, where you can feel the breeze more; Aemond follows you, taking the time to observe you.

You look like summer in your pretty dress and wedge heels, your hair styled and not up in the conservative bun you wear at work. Yes, you are pretty, not that you aren't in your usual clothing, it's just that these illuminate you, make you look happier and livelier. He understands your fashion choices at work. He once heard another female police officer saying that she would have dressed more feminine, but then, where keep her gun? And the field is still so male dominated that showing any other kind of traits, would immediately mean becoming laughing stock.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” A tinge of anxiety marks your voice

“I am. It is different than my usual Friday night, but a good change”

“I’m glad. My family can be hard to handle, even for me.” You say, shielding your face with your hair

“They are a peculiar bunch indeed, but nice and welcoming.”

Silence falls between you two again, broken only by the music coming from downstairs; it’s not heavy, though, Aemond muses, he doesn’t feel the need to either leave or try to awkwardly fill it with words, before the other person decides it has been weird enough. In his life, he only felt like this with his beloved sister Helaena: she never minded sitting by his side, just quietly enjoying life.

“This is my family’s ancestral home. It had been expanded and changed, but my family has been living here since centuries. My grandfather used to rent out all the rooms he could, that’s how the hotel started.”

“It must have been hard.”

“Yes. Many sacrifices were made, but he didn’t want his daughter to slave in the fields all her life.”

“She still decided on physical labor, instead of a managerial position, though.”

“The key is that it was her choice. She wakes up every morning and still wants to do it. It is a luck not everyone has.”

“Do you still have it?”

Aemond doesn’t know where the question comes from, he’s usually mindful of someone else privacy, but with you that invisible, glass divide with the world, seems to become thinner and thinner and he deludes himself with thinking he might truly reach through it and touch you.

“I do, and I don’t sometimes.” You admit, eyes not meeting his. “I love my team and what we do, I just miss how exciting my life was undercover, and after, at the internal affairs.”

“Do you want to go back to that?”

You don’t answer immediately, you let the wind blow through your hair and the lights from downstairs dance in your eyes.

“No, I don’t think I want to. It’s just that this job sucks the life out of you, sometimes. All the violence and the filth and having to shield the people I love from that makes me feel. I think I miss more the person I was, the way I used to look at this work, like a source of a better change for this world. Now that I am older and wiser, I realize that, at best, we try to empty the ocean with a spoon, at worse, we are protecting those who have reduced the world into what it is.”

If he were another person, Aemond would have reached for your hand, to give you comfort, but he is who he is and doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t expect your question.

“What about you, Aemond? Do you still wake up with the same drive you used to have?”

“I do.” He is surprised by how fast he answers, but this had been a surprising night, it’s OK. “I see all of it and it makes me what to double down on my work. But I understand: you are supposed to protect, but whom, truly? The poor person who steals out of hunger, or the company they steal from?”

“You’re lucky then.” You say with a sad smile on your lips

“I probably am.” What you don’t know, it’s that it’s the glass divide he sometimes despises, that helps him keep a distance between himself and the ugly parts of his job.

“I feel like my mind is always there. I cook and clean, play with my nephews and chat with my mum, and a part of me is always pouring over the files. It’s never ending.”

“I have a bike.” He blurts out “We can go on a trip, take you away from your routine.”

He truly doesn’t know where the invitation comes from. Not that he wouldn’t like to go on a spin with you, but when did his brain decide to unlock like this?

“You don’t look like the kind of person who owns a bike.” You are so surprised that you’ve forgotten the sadness of the conversation.

“It belonged to my family for years. It even has a name: Vhagar.”

And I lost my eye for it, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I very much would like to.” Your mouth says before the silly embarrassment caused by your crush can stop you.

“It is lovely plan, then!”

Your sister’s voice makes you and Aemond jump in surprise. How long was she listening? You suspect long enough, judging by the way she puts her arm over your shoulder to hug you sideways.

“I hope you have space for the desserts!” She says, dragging you towards the stairs.

“Desserts?” Comes, a bit strangled, from Aemond

“Oh, mum has overdone herself tonight!” She gleefully answers.

By the time the food is finished, Aemond feels like he could easily roll home: he is full like he had never been before. He jumps up and offers his help, when it’s time to clear the table, maybe a bit of exercise might help him and clear his head as on why it’s so easy to reach to you, of all the people in the world.

Aemond finds himself with a carton of food, near the trunk of his car. He had tried to, politely, refuse, but your mother simply ignored him and put even more food in it.

Aemond is closing the trunk, when your mum arrives with a bag of conserves and trusts it in his hands.

“I cannot accept. It is too much!” He says.

“Oh, nonsense.” She answers. “I am happy to give these to you.”

“But you’ll need those for the hotel.”

“I have more than enough stored in the kitchen there. These are the ones I use at home.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can.” She gently puts her hands over his. “I know how hard it is, accept a stranger’s kindness and reach out of what comforts you. But it’s worth trying.”

Aemond doesn’t believe in coincidences, but you appear in his line of sight and make a beeline for him.

“Mum? You are needed. I’ll help here.”

Your mother bids Aemond goodbye, who answers with a strange expression on his face that makes the alarm bells explode in your head.

"Aemond?" It is so strange to use his given name so freely. "Is everything all right? Or were we too much?"

His eye focuses on you, he doesn't look like a deer caught in the headlights anymore, yet his face is more animated than what you're used to see.

"Everything is fine." He says, your name follows, his voice pensive. "Your mother possesses far more insight than I thought."

You don't really understand what he's implying, it feels like he's talking more to himself than to you.

"She is an extraordinary woman."

And she truly is, to see him, for who he is, without making him feel naked and defenseless.

"Yeah-." You answer without really understanding the topic.

In silence you help him put the food in the trunk of the car, making sure nothing will be broken.

The air feel pregnant, of what you don't know, but you feel like he's going to say something and he's looking for the right words.

"About that little trip." He finally says.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to go?"

You don't know it, but his heart is beating so fast he's afraid it might explode.

"I can't wait. I've never ridden a bike in my entire life."

Another man would have probably said something crass about first times, he simply closes the hood of the car.

"It is the closest thing to flying you'll ever experience. You'll have fun, I promise."

"Good." There's a smile on your face. "I love fun!"

Aemond is driving home. He feels emptied by all the social interactions, yet happy, like he's not going to need to recharge, and it's a first.

His mind drifts off to Helaena and the cryptic words she's told him when he moved here, about strange twists and turns that lend to where one least expects it.

Was she talking about you? Only time will tell and, this uncertainty, doesn't scare him, for the first time in his life.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog @fan-goddess

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen

90 notes · View notes

yourlocaldisneyvillain · 1 year

Note

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done.

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep).

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor, at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost.

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now.

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)?

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening.

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go.

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan.

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to…

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it.

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens.

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room.

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-)

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop.

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door.

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush.

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager.

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise.

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation.

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know.

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies.

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence.

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.”

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward.

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don’t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need.

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp.

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.”

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?”

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear.

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks.

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well.

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses.

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems smut #larissa weems x y/n #gwendoline christie #wednesday 2022 #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it

400 notes · View notes

artistic-intrxvert · 1 year

Note

hey there!

just cus im curious and dealing with some crap, how would Hanako and/or Tsukasa help his S/O who tried to scratch the feeling of someone's touch off of them? Not him of course, but someone else like a bully who touched their arm too much and it made them want the feeling ✨off✨ and ended up really messing up their arm in the process.

He doesn't get to see them do it, but when they're cleaning and take off their jacket so it doesn't get dirty he sees their arm? Or he could watch the event go down and could stop them before it happens. Idk.

If you're not comfortable writing this it's okay, and you don't have to! Have a good day/night/life, wherever you are. <3

Hello hello! I am sorry this took a while to get to! I have been having a hard time with my mental health lately so I tried to take a break! I am feeling much better now, tho! I made these into mini oneshots to make up for this being so late! I for some reason felt a lot writing this one even though I haven’t really ever had problems with this..I am so sorry if you are going through things like this. I know that reading some words probably won’t make it all immediately better but I want you to know that you are so loved and appreciated by those around you, even if they don’t seem like it sometimes. If you don’t believe that, then I want you to know that despite the fact I don’t know who you are, I still care for you and am always here for you when you need it <3

Side note: I am going to stop putting whether my requests are open on my requests so that it doesn’t get confusing for those who only read my past works!! If you want to know if my requests are open, check the pinned post on my page! There you can find when I have request’s open as well as rules! Thank you for taking time to read this! Onto the stories!

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm (can be triggering to some, be careful!), HEAVY angst on Hanako's(comfort later on), cursing(sorry in advance! I couldn’t help myself-)

Proofread: yes

Prompt: Hanako and Tsukasa reacting to a S/O who tries to ✨rub off✨someone’s touch

Hanako

You were helping Yashiro clean the bathrooms, as you usually do at the end of the day. You still question every single day why this was the thing Hanako wanted Nene and you to do for him as a payment.

He could have had you do anything! I mean think about it! He could have you go around and collect cursed objects or try and stop evil apparitions with him..but no. He instead chose to have you clean bathrooms. Seriously, who even uses these??

You let your mind wander as you wiped the sinks along with the mirrors belonging to each sink. Your sleeve slipped down your forearm and revealed...marks on your skin. You froze your movements entirely. Your breath hitched, this was not the best time. Not now.. please not now... you thought to yourself.

You have been hiding the fact that your bully has been..touchy lately. It made you super uncomfortable and no matter how many times you would wash your arms and scrub them with lots of soap, it felt like your arm was covered by the bully's touch. It made you sick to the stomach just thinking about it.

You must have not heard Nene call your name because you were pulled out of your thoughts by Nene tapping your shoulder a little firm, but not in a way that would hurt you. She was too sweet, you know that. She wouldn't do anything to hurt you. "Did you hear me, (Name)?" Nene looked at you with concern. Before you could answer, Hanako came over to see what was happening. He took one look at your arm and froze.

"What happened to your arm, (Name)..?"

Oh, god dammnit.. This was the last thing you wanted. Why did you not just cover up your arm? Now you have to explain how disturbed you are by the touch of someone who gives you shit all the time. You realized you hadn't said anything and that talking would probably be the best thing you can do right now.

"Uhmm..nothing just..anxiety I guess, heh.."The FUCK was that?!? Now they know you have been hurting your arm!! Great going, (Name). Hanako stared into your eyes for a while, his orbs seemed to be filled with mixed emotions. Hurt, worry, ...anger...?

"..Yashiro, could you give us a few minutes? I will call you back in when we are done," Hanako asked, more like demanded with the tone he used. Yashiro nodded and left without a word. Now it was just you and Hanako. The silence made the air feel thick.

"What happened to your arm?" Hanako looked at you with what looked like a mix of pity and slight anger. What he was angry about, nobody knew. "I was just.. scratching at it. I do that sometimes.." You felt tears fill the brim of your eyes.

Hanako gave you a look that said that we wasn't buying it. "Did something else happen..?" His eyes locked with yours, as if they were looking for something. What were they searching for? You probably knew what, but you didn't want to admit your problems. Hanako already has a lot of things he worries about as it is. It would just be a bother..

"..No, I am just..anxious is all.. It's fine, really!" You tried to reassure him with a fake smile. "You are lying." Hanako said, his tone starting to scare you a bit. Hanako reached out for your arm but you flinched away, pulling your sleeve over your arm."H-Hanako.. you're scaring me.." The tears you were holding in started to stream down your face.

"I'm scaring you? I'M scaring you? (Name), you look like you have been hurting yourself and you aren't telling me what has been going on! I am scared! I am worried about you, (Name)! I don't want you to hurt yourself! I have been there, I get it! But please, tell me what's going on!"

Hanako has tears in his eyes. You'd never seen him like this before. You felt bad now, he was just worried about you. And yet for some reason you decide to not talk to him.

"Hanako.." You reach out to him and before you can get past his name, he already has his arms wrapped tightly around you. He held you like if he let his grip loose even slightly, you would fade away.

"I just..I want you to be okay..So please..please talk to me.." He let out a quiet sob. You hugged him back and started crying with him.

"Okay, Hanako. I will tell you what has been..going on...but can we just...sit down for a few minutes..?" You quietly asked between sniffles and sobs. He slowly nodded, still embracing you in his arms as he sat you both down on the floor by the window sill.

-a few minutes later-

Hanako had finally calmed down and was patiently waiting for you to tell him whatever has been on your mind. You took a deep breath and look into Hanako's curious, orange orbs.

"So..I have told you about (Bully's Name), right?" You softly asked, already starting to feel terrible just saying their name. "Yes..you have told me about them a few times..do they have something to do with this?" Hanako replied, deep concern in his voice.

"Yes, they are involved in this... They have been..kind of an asshole lately and uhm.. they have also been..grabbing my arm and stuff.." You explained, getting more and more anxious as you spoke.

Hanako remained silent, listening to your every word. But you could see that the more he spoke, the more pissed he seemed. He wasn't mad at you, oh, of course not! He just wanted to talk to this..(Bully's Name)... Hanako spoke up after a few moments of silence.

"Are the scratches from them or did you do that?"

"I did that..it feels like their touch is just...always there..like i can't get it off no matter how many times i wash or scrub or..scratch my arm.."

Oh.. Now Hanako understood. He felt bad for you, really. This was not what he thought was originally happening. He is relieved you weren't hurting yourself due to..bad thoughts. However, he is still kind of upset that you have this problem.

"Im so sorry, dear. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" He asked, moving his arm so that he can hold your hand.

You gave his hand a gentle, affirming sqeeze and held a small smile before replying, "I don't think so.. Maybe some cuddles..?"

He smirked at that and let out a small chuckle. "Alright, (Name). Get comfortable, I am not going to be letting you go for a while."

You ended up falling asleep while having your face in Hanako's neck. Noticing this, Hanako smiled and gave a kiss to your forehead. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is whispering into your ear, "As long as I am around, I won't let them hurt you. You have my word. Sweet dreams, love." And then he fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom, you in his loving arms.

Tsukasa

You were making your way towards the broadcasting room since the last bell of the day had rung. You couldn't wait to see Tsukasa, he said that he had a surprise for you. You wondered what it could possibly be. Knowing him, though, it might be a dead mokke he found or possibly some kind of tea party date.

You two often had tea party dates and while they are nice and all, you really want to just sit down and cuddle every once in a while.Your thought train was forced to a halt when you heard your name being called by a certain someone.

Oh no.. please not now.. you thought to yourself and as you tried your best to ignore the voice and continue walking to the broadcasting room. "(Name)! Did you not hear me? Deaf bitch, can't even respond to your own name! How pathetic!" (Bully's Name) called out to you. Just ignore it..just ignore it.. you're almost there..

Turns out ignoring it was not the best choice you have made. You felt a firm and painfully tight grip on your wrist, yanking backwards and onto the floor. You hit the ground and felt the air knocked out of your lungs. You closed your eyes and let out a pained groan.

(Bully's Name) chuckled manically and stared down at you. "Oh, how pathetic! You can't even keep yourself standing!" Hearing those words made your eyes feel glossy. You knew you couldn't keep yourself standing. You knew that already. But despite that fact, you still tried. You still tried to stand your ground.

You felt your eyes start to tear up, and you tried to rub your eyes to stop them from streaming down your face. Before you can lift them to your face, (Bully's Name) grabs both your wrists and stares you down. You try and pull your wrists away, tears rolling down your cheeks now.

"All I have to do is grab your wrists and you act all pathetic! It's funny how weak you are!" They just kept spewing insult after insult until they were satisfied with your state of being.

You watched as they left and went to turn the corner of the hallway when you heard them let out a pained cry followed by rapid footsteps getting further and further away. Had he run into someone else? Before you could even try and answer that question, you felt your arm start to burn.

Not in a way where it hurt, but it a way where it was uncomfortable and you felt like (Bully's Name) was still touching you. It felt horrible. You started scratching your arm trying to get the feeling off when two hands gently held your wrists away from each other.

Your eyes shot up in fear, had (Bully's Name) come back to torment you?

No, it was actually your boyfriend Tsukasa. You looked up at him in shock, not knowing what to say. Was he the one that ran into your bully? He must have, (Bully's Name) is not the type to get scared easily and Tsukasa was the most sadistic person..ghost..you knew.

"Hi, Doll~ Who was that back there? I noticed they were getting reallll close to you.." Tsukasa asked, his eyes going dark. His tone sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh them, that was just..never mind. Can you let go of my wrists please? They hurt..” you mumbled the last part to yourself. But Tsukasa only let go of one of your wrists and held your face with his free hand.

“Doll, I know you’re lying. If you tell me who it is, I will give you cuddles~” he tried to deal with you despite the fact that even if you did get cuddles, he always ends up clinging to you in the broadcasting room anyway. Cuddles did sound pretty promising, though.

“…Fine. That was (Bully’s Name). They have been…talking to me since middle school. I don’t know why but all I know is that they keep touching my arms along with insulting me a lot and it makes me uncomfortable.” You admitted, already knowing Tsukasa was going to end up finding and killing this kid. Oh well, you tried.

“Ohh~ They must be the reason you are always itching at your arms, yes? Well, you won’t have to worry about them anymore.” The last part made you feel uneasy. But at the same time, you wouldn’t be seeing (Bully’s Name) again..

“Now, let’s go to the broadcasting room. ‘Kay, (Name)?” Tsukasa asked you, holding out his hand for you to take. You gave a gentle smile and took his hand. You nodded and he teleported you to the broadcasting room.

-A few minutes later-

Tsukasa had you on his arms on the couch in the broadcasting room. And while you realized that Tsukasa never gave you your surprise, you didn't care since you were starting to feel tried. You felt Tsukasa kiss your cheek before kissing your neck gently, telling you to sleep if you need to.

You eventually fell asleep in his arms and Tsukasa pet your hair gently, smiling at your sleeping form. Sakura and Natsuhiko walked in and were about to say something when Tsukasa gave them “the stare”. They got the message and left quietly.

Tsukasa couldn’t wait to track down this (Bully’s Name) and make sure they pay for what they did to you. But for right now, he was going to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings to you as you slept peacefully in his grasp.

I am really sorry for this coming out late! I hope you enjoyed, tho! I spent a LOT of time on this so I hope it is to your liking and I also hope I got the correct meaning of “trying to rub off their bully’s touch” and if I didn’t, please let me know and I can fix it for you! Have an amazing day/night and I hope to see more requests from you lovely human beings!! <333

-artistic-intrxvert

#tbhk #tbhk x reader #jshk #jshk x reader #hanako kun x reader #hanako x reader #tsukasa yugi x reader #tsukasa yugi

441 notes · View notes

rageprufrock · 8 months

Note

Hi Pru, this is a career question... I am in my mid-twenties, female, not quite the most junior employee at my organization but treated often as one. The workplace is highly male-dominated, competitive, the older supervisors sometimes hilariously old-boys'-club, and the younger men (my age) mean well (feminist, etc.) but have their own territories to defend. For complicated reasons I cannot leave. I knew some of this coming in but am ashamed to say that

You’ll love this: my response is so late because I too girlbossed too close to the sun and have accidentally reached mid-senior leadership status at my organization and the past month has been the most hilarious cluster of fucks. Insert clown emoji herey.

ANYWAY.

I have a few thoughts on this one, and hopefully one, or some, of these are helpful as you're navigating your early career.

To address your most immediate question: is it meant to be this hard? I think "is it meant" or "is it always" are two different questions, and each with branching answers completely dependent on your field and profession. Some are notorious for early career hazing--banking, medicine, etc--and then the answers are that the suffering is a feature, not a bug, for these industries (this can be debated ad nauseum but you know what I mean), and then for many, many other professions, the answer is that while it's not meant to be this difficult, it still is, and that it's all we can do to survive it.

But setting aside the macro issues, of whether the role itself is objectively hard or if the environment you're in is objectively sub-optimal, the more nebulous and inescapable thing is that each one of us, individually, in our early career are undergoing one of many puberties and all its attendant implied indignities. I find it weird that culturally we don't talk about this much--at least not in Western or the Eastern cultures with which I'm most conversational--but think about it: in the first five to ten years of your working life, you're often simultaneously navigating a staggering number of life-changing systemic shifts that have a tectonic impact on your lived experience. I

For a lot of us, beginning your life as a working adult means you're likely moving out of your parents' home, which adds a huge amount to your mental load and financial burden.

For a lot of us, these early professional jobs are also the first time we're operating in a performance-reward system for which there is no clear rubric or understandable progression monitoring--there aren't any grades, and I can't tell you the number of people who I've spoken to in my career who have been shocked when they're told they're being put on performance improvement plans even though they thought they were doing fine.

It's like being sent to college with no class list, textbooks hidden in eight different departments run by varyingly helpful people, while trapped in an inescapable group project run by someone who seems just as frazzled as you are, and told "okay well you should need to bring me your completed degree by EOD Thursday." This doesn't even take into account your genetic assignment to play this entire game on hard mode by failing to be a cisgendered man in the dominant cultural demographic.

People who've had multiple jobs and career changes can attest, every new job, no matter how seasoned you are, is fucking exhausting. It's almost a joke among my friends at this point how often I change jobs, and every single time I do, there's at least a six month run where at the end of every day, I'm fucking spent. I couldn't calculate 1+3 if my life depended on it, because I've spent my working day so furiously trying to read the professional tea leaves and figuring out what the actual fuck I'm supposed to be doing--which, funnily enough, is never as clear as you would think! Even if you are at increasingly senior levels of responsibility! It's really fun and good! Your boss's boss's leadership team meetings? Surprisingly similar to when I used go get coffee during my break working at an ice cream shop to complain about our customers and equipment and boss! It's amazing how no matter how much changes, everything stays the same!

So I think in the end, my answer to your question is this:

Is it meant to be this hard? Depending on what you do, maybe.

But should it be this hard? Of course not. Life is short and lush and wonderful, but already so filled with challenges, and it's a shame that being rooted in capitalism, we're all forced to participate in a system that's so unbending and unforgiving.

But does that mean it's going to be forever? Or that you can't survive and thrive and have fun in the process? Absolutely not.

However awful you feel, however bad the job is, it doesn't have to be forever. This role you're in now may be just what you need to find your next, better, better paid opportunity. And maybe that one won't be the ideal for more than a year, maybe two, but that's why you keep an eye out and a keen focus on what you want, and what's most important, and like a shark, you continue to move and grow as you get clearer on where you want to move and how you want to grow. The person I was at 24 could not have imagined the person I am at 38, and I'm guessing that the woman I am today can't fathom who I'll be in another 10 years. Whoever she is, I hope she's still choosing to do hard things and--to the very best of her ability--having a good time in the process.

It's okay to cry about work. It's okay to cry at work, even though I strongly recommend that you do this huddled in a restroom in privacy because otherwise it gets messy--fairly or otherwise. It's okay and normal to do these things. It's okay and normal to feel like a fucking disaster, to feel--or to in actuality!--be categorically failing. It is okay and normal to hate and love your job, and to love money and hate the work. There is no right way to do this, and the only wrong way is to give up on yourself, or to create a situation where you cannot have the freedom of your choices or your future.

It's also going to get easier with time. Even if you don't feel it, every day you're getting more experienced, more confident, more discerning. Those microscopic, atomic changes in you accrue, and I'm sure if you're honest with yourself you can already identify how even today, you are a stronger, more capable person in your professional context than you may have been just a year or two ago. Even if you don't mean to do it, just the experience, the bruises, the callouses from throwing yourself at the brick wall over time will rewrite the person you are--if you do this with your eyes open and intentionally, all the better.

Five years from now, ten years from now, you might still find yourself crying about work. But hopefully you'll share the good fortune I have been privileged enough to have, and find yourself the type of good friends who say, "don't care during work hours, it's beneath you to give them the satisfaction--cry later," and actually have the wherewithal to follow that extremely correct guidance.

So anyway, it shouldn't be this hard, but it is. The good thing is, you're better and stronger than it is, and you can look forward to the day you get to look over the shoulder at all the worlds you've conquered as you get ready to do it all over again.

💖

#advice #career advice

104 notes · View notes

writting-for-a-chain-of-heros · 16 days

Text

Links divorce HC

Day 1:

Sky

Neglected

Tw: Divorce, depression, neglect and a lot of angst

He really didn't know how it happened but one day you both had gotten into a slow routine where you were both acting more like roommates than a couple

Or more specifically YOU stopped acting like his spouse

It was slow at first, little changes here and there that didn't seem like a big deal at first but looking back at them they were warning signs he should have considered before the situation escalated into this.

At first they were complaints about how tired you had been feeling lately, how busy you had been with helping to repair the damages your era had faced by Dark Link plus his goons and how forgetful you had started being on time to your dates with Sky.

Then you started to slowly sleep in more during the morning,which Sky couldn't protest against too much since it meant more time for him to sleep but also more time to cuddle with you in his arms as you rested against him.

But soon after it got to a point where even HE was concerned with how many days you'd spend doing nothing but laying in your covers with the rare exception of work that was also on the edge of being forgotten in exchange for sloth.

He'd try to get you to get out more often by suggesting some of the things you loved to do together, unfortunately they also didn't work.

You want to go exploring? Sorry not today, your legs feel weak :(

You want to go flying? The weather is too cold/hot/humid/sunny, maybe next time

Do you want to go spar for a few rounds? You have an upset stomach,your head hurts or you just don't have the energy for it today.

At some point you stop eating as much as you use to, in fact you're barely eating at all

He tries his best to be a good spouse by bringing the food to you in bed which results in you refusing to eat and leaving behind a full plate or only patrically eating it while leaving most of it behind

Every time he'd try to question you on why you haven't been going out or caring for yourself he's met with either silence or a half answer excuse.

“Can you tell me what's been bothering you?” He'd ask

“It's nothing, I am just in a funk, I'll get out of it soon,Link.”

He doesn't want to push you beyond your limits and he genuinely believes you when you tell him those lines over to him

It's ok

You're ok

Everything is ok.

You're just in a bad mood, this will pass in time

He just needs to give you space and comfort then you'll be back to the same old you from before.

He just has to wait and be patient.

That's what he tells himself for weeks as you slowly start to get worse and worse over time.

It was bad enough when you were both acting so distant but now he was less of a spouse and more like a parent now.

It has been 6 months and you had stopped do all chores, stopped feeding yourself, stopped showering, stopped working, stopped going on dates completely and stopped,well, basically doing everything except breathing

Sometimes you'd get up to go to the bathroom, maybe eat a little bit of the food Link had gotten you and that was it before you plopped back down to bed with the old stained blanket

The room would stink of day-old food that was barely touched and Link would have to be the one to toss it out while he did the dishes along with the rest of the household chores he had been doing alone for some time now.

He’d find himself having to drag you out of bed to clean you since you refused to do it yourself.

He'd change out the bed sheets,blankets, pillows you had been sleeping in for Hylia knows how long.

He'd brush your hair,brush your teeth,clip your nails, change your clothes,do the laundry & do his daily activities outside while you continue to show no progress

He tries to talk to you a few more times but you don't even bother to give an excuse anymore which leads to a lot of one sided arguments that only frustrate him more as the relationship becomes more strained.

He tries to get you to do couples counseling and tries to seek help from his friends to mediate the situation only for it to fail as well.

He wants to help you.

He really does but he doesn't know how.

But the most frustrating part of it all is that it seems as though you aren't even trying at all

After a year & a half of consistently trying he finally gives you an ultimatum.

You either seek professional help and try to get better or there's a divorce.

He loves you

He absolutely loves you

He wants to spend the rest of his life with you

But he can't stay with you if you refuse to do anything to change or improve

He feels neglected

He feels alone

He wants the bright person you used to be to come back...

Please..

……

…..

The relationship ends.

#linked universe #lu #linked universe x reader #chesse tag #cheese writes #angst #lu sky x reader #lu sky

26 notes · View notes

skoulsons · 9 months

Text

started crying thinking about this at 1am in bed so. ✌🏻 my writing doesn’t do the mental image I had justice so please bear with me ok i got sad and am a Bad Writer

Tommy gave it to her. Ellie had been asking him endless questions about Sarah that he could barely answer without cracking. Eventually the conversation was too taxing on Tommy, so he gave Ellie the picture. This is her, he’d said. She was a… beautiful kid.

It was the one of Joel with his hand over Sarah’s eyes. Both their faces were beaming and their smiles were so wide.

She didn’t think Joel could smile that wide. And Sarah? Yeah, she did have a killer smile.

Joel didn’t know Tommy gave Ellie the picture, but what caught him even more off guard was seeing Ellie admire it.

His hitched breath is what alerted Ellie to his presence. Joel made his way from the living room to the kitchen with a shaky breath and fists tight enough to draw blood from his palms.

Ellie kid the photo quickly and followed Joel, pestering him with a mix of are you okay’s and I’m sorry’s. Ellie’s concerns never landed on his ears—only the swift, fleeting sound her laugh as he covered her eyes and the dad! Shouted as he chuckled at the photo opportunity.

Sarah. Her smile. Her laugh. Her voice.

They don’t talk about it. At least, not until later. Not until Ellie’s curiosity got the best of her. Not until Joel had calmed down and she thought maybe.

Besides, she lost Riley. And Henry. And Sam. He’d understand, right? Thinking about her the way Ellie thinks about them? Dreaming about them?

She was his daughter, of course he did. His nightmares filled with it should’ve been me over and over again. They had to be about Sarah.

Maybe, in a way, it was selfish to ask him about her. Maybe, also, she was doing it so he could have the chance to talk about her. It couldn’t hurt, right?

“Do you still think about her?”

Joel shuffled his feet and breathed. Lying and leaving both crossed his mind, but they wouldn’t do any good. She’d come back with them again sometime later. He nodded his head. “Every day,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

Ellie nodded at the response. Really, that was all she needed. It answered her question. But, again, curiosity. What was she like? What made her laugh? Did you watch movies with her, too?

To her surprise, she’s not the one to ask the next question.

“Do you have it?”

His question surprised her, but Ellie didn’t waste a second to run upstairs, two steps at a time, and grab the photo.

When she returned, Joel’s face was in his hands. He wasn’t crying, not yet at least, but he must’ve been preparing.

Ellie wondered if he’d seen her face in full since That Day.

She sat beside him again and held the photo out. “Here,” she whispered.

He took the picture from her and held it in both his hands, his left thumb gently under Sarah’s chin.

Joel sniffed seeing her in full now. How perfect she was.

And the realization hits him way too late that all he ever did was take her for granted. Her first word, her first steps, the first time she fed herself with a fork. Her first swimming lessons and her first day of soccer practice. Their first guitar lesson together and the first time sarah cooked breakfast for him before work, just because she wanted to.

He hugged her extra tight that morning.

Every fair, museum visit and road-trip were taken for granted. Every smile and cry. Every bloody knee, twisted ankle, and calloused finger.

Joel rubbed his left thumb over her face gently and, for a brief moment, it felt like her skin. It wasn’t her face on a piece of paper anymore, it was her. The perfect, clean skin he’d washed more time than he could count. The cheeks that he’d wiped tears from so many times over. The nose he’d kissed when she was a baby. It was her.

He cried. He clutched the photo as gently as he could in one hand and cried.

Ellie was there, of course. She was pressed against his arm, her hand draped over his arm that was periodically wiping the tears from his face. His other hand was still holding tightly to the photo, his thumb occasionally brushing over her face.

And after Joel felt her the way he’d denied doing for twenty years, he talked about her more. Her beautiful smile. The way she’d always laugh at his stupid attempts at dad jokes. Her height, her room, the music she liked and how she and Tommy would gang up on Joel all turned into lengthy conversations and heartwarming memories between them.

#is this actually sad or am I just a wimp #jess I hope you see this I know how much you love Joel and Sarah stuff #ellis too. sorry bud #the end is so abrupt please forgive me #my mental image didn’t go that far I apologize #anyway uh. yeah.#:)#joel miller #sarah miller #the last of us hbo #L fics

70 notes · View notes

pocketramblr · 8 months

Note

AU where kid AFO tries to summon a powerful demon to kill his parents but he ends up summoning a young and still learning the ropes demon his age named Yoichi.

Lol so the reverse of this one fun

Hajime watched the summoning circle. The imp was shifting, melting into a bright human form. It's light and smoke faded, and suddenly a boy with an impossibly bright green eye was staring at him.

The demon's form was far from intimidating. Hajime wondered if it was to lure foolish summoners into underestimating it, trick them into breaking the circle.

"Why did you summon me?" The demon asked. His voice felt familiar. Eerie, a good touch.

"I want to make a deal."

The demon blinked. "What?"

"A pact, oath? I give you something, you do something for me."

"What am I supposed to do for you?" The demon sounded confused.

"Well, to start with, I want my parents dead."

The demon's mouth dropped open. "You- what?"

"Oh, you can collect both of their souls, if you want them."

The demon stared.

Hajime waved his hand to catch his attention. "Do you take souls?" He'd read about that in the Demon Lord versus Captain Hero comics- some special issue where the hero had almost been sacrificed.

"I mean, I guess, technically, we do?" The demon said it like it was a question. "Do you... know what I am?"

"A demon, I hope. Why, are there different types? Do I need to summon a soul eating one?"

"No, you don't need to do that. But, you know, demons punish sinners. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I don't care how you punish them. As long as they're gone."

The demon went from looking confused to something Hajime hated- pity. "Do they hurt you?"

Hajime shrugged. "Sometimes. What's that matter? Does it factor into how you kill them?"

"I'm not going to kill them! I'm going to help you." The demon shook his head, white hair flicking back and forth. "Look- I'm just interning in Hell this semester, but if I tell my supervisor I'm sure-"

"You're an intern?" Hajime had to ask, then quickly, "Hell has interns?"

"Um, yes?"

"Are they unpaid internships?" That would at least make a little more sense.

"I mean, I guess, we don't really have a currency system like humans do. We pick jobs we like and are good at, after studying and finding who we work best with, and are sustained in a way similar to a plant in sunlight. I'm interning in Hell because you're supposed to try everything, but really I'm more excited to try some of the Angel corps next decade, being a guardian sounds really cool and- are you still listening?"

Hajime was not, as he was considering that an intern was probably a pathetically weak demon who could not give him what he wanted, no matter how many souls he offered.

"Could I summon a more powerful demon to kill my parents?" He asked instead.

The demon's face fell.

"No." He said, very slowly. "You haven't lived long enough- humans get more powerful over their lives. You could probably summon someone at the level of my manager when you're, oh, fifty? But! I can absolutely tell them about your parents now, we can get someone to help you."

"How long would it take for me to be able to summon, like, a demon lord?"

"A... lord?" The demon repeated.

Oh right, he was an intern. So they probably called them... "A demon CEO?"

"Oh. Well, I guess the demon equivalent would be... It'd take you about 500 years."

"So I need to survive for five centuries." Hajime frowned. "Is there a lower level demon I could get that much longevity out of?"

"You're better off praying for a miracle." The demon boy answered plainly. "Oh, well- no."

"Well what?"

"It wouldn't matter- but, um, have you humans been noticing any strange things lately?"

Hajime stared at him. There were a lot of strange things. Like- oh. "Is living in Hell that literally under a rock? Yeah, I heard the news about the UBC pattern found, the meta-humans. Why?"

"It doesn't matter. Some humans might be born with such long lifespans now because of the- what did you call them? Meta? But you don't have a longevity one, so." The demon shrugged.

"Could I make a deal for one?"

"You don't need to, you've already got one." The demon blinked, then covered his mouth with a gasp. "Oh, I have no idea if I'm allowed to say that or not!"

"I... have a meta-power?"

The demon nodded, but kept the hands over his mouth.

"So you know where meta-powers come from. Did someone else make a deal?"

"No deals." The demon sighed, dropping his hand. "I'm not sure where you got that idea from anyway. But, I know my manager was talking to the circle's secretary about the new human powers. They thought it was from the Plague Department but she said it wasn't, she thought it was the Miracles Office and so... yeah, I'm not sure." He shrugged. "Can I... go, now?"

"No, I have more questions." He didn't, actually, but he had to stay in control of the demon summoning situation. "So, you say you don't make deals, but you can be summoned."

"Yeah, how did you even figure out how to summon me?"

"Comic book."

The demon tilted his head, interested. "Can you show me?"

Hajime didn't turn his back as he moved to get the issue from his pile, carefully handing it over so his arm didn't pass the circle around the demon.

The demon studied the panel with a hum, then began to flip through the other pages.

He kept reading. After a while, Hajime felt ignored.

He got an idea, and shifted back a little.

"Are you done looking at it?" He asked. "Be careful with it, I don't have the money to buy many of my own issues, so..."

The demon looked up, then nodded. "Right, sorry- here." He handed it back; in doing so, his hand had to pass a bit farther to reach where Hajime was, and it crossed the circle.

Hajime grabbed his hand, not the comic, and tugged him out.

"Hey!" The demon yelped, stumbling out of the circle. "What was that for?"

Instead of answering, Hajime clipped a bracelet of twisted metal wire around the demon's wrist.

"I was right." He said, carefully kicking and ruining the summoning circle. "That circle protects both of us. I would have been in your power if I went inside, and now you're in mine because you're outside. But the bracelet will keep you from having to go back to Hell."

The demon stared at him, then his wrist, then at him again.

"You aren't letting me go back?"

"You want to go back to Hell? To being an unpaid intern?" Hajime asked, pitching his voice up. "That awful place where they torture people? After you offered to help me?"

"Um, I'm really fine there, and it's only- no, wait. You were trying to help me too?" The demon squinted at him.

It didn't have much effect, half hidden behind the curtain of hair. This imp really was naive, it was almost cute.

"You're the only one who was nice to me, why wouldn't I?"

"Do you... have any friends?"

Hajime shook his head.

"Oh. Wow. Ok, there's a lot going on there. Um." The demon sighed. "Look, I want to help you, but I guess if you want me to stay a bit, maybe I could find out more about your parents, then take back word and bring it to the attention of someone who can do more?"

"Sure!" Hajime said with every intention of arguing that 'a bit' could mean '490 years', from a certain point of view.

This demon was too valuable to let him get away, not with his knowledge of meta-powers and other demons, plus his apparent desire towards aiding his summoner. Maybe that was part of the summoning too.

"We can go to the comic store- the library is still under reconsruction from the last riot- and look at whatever issues you want. My dad won't leave the house until six but any time after five Mom probably won't notice you sneaking in. Oh! We could tell people you're my little brother if you asked, I think we could pull it off." Hajime scooped up the comic book and pressed it into the demon's hand so he wouldn't keep messing with his circle cuff.

"What?"

"Let's go! Oh, right, what's your name?"

"I don't think I should tell you..."

"Fine, then I'll just call you little brother until you do." Hajime decided.

"Um, what's your name?"

He began to start tugging the demon to move, but paused. "You know I have a meta-power just by looking, but you don't know my name?"

"Names are different." the demon stressed, but let himself be pulled along.

Well that certainly explained the reluctance to share his.

"You can call me big brother, and I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours." Hajime decided. "Now come on, we're burning daylight."

He could figure out the killing-his-parents plan another day. For now, he needed to work on this development.

#whoops it became a whole thing #anon #pocket talks to people

54 notes · View notes

spacesurfing · 1 year

Note

Hello. I am very insecure and feel like Im too boring for the Ghouls. Like I don't do anything exciting or think I'm not really skilled specially. Can I get some fluffy reassurance with some anxiety and hiding and shutting out with Aether and or Sodo? Lots of love in advance 🤍

I think we all feel a little like this sometimes :)

•--•

And Never Let Me Down;

Aether Ghoul x Reader

Summary: You can't do anything right, and you surely have no talent that was passed down to you. But Aether will try to change your mind every day.

Warnings: insecurities, crying

•--•

Slamming your fist down on the desk, you found yourself frustrated to the point of tears. There it is again, that slip in your life that tells you exactly where you are and what you have missed out on. And that answer is a lot, a lot of things. God, maybe too many things.

You felt like a fish out of water in the ministry, especially when you were agitated like this, because of something you feel could have been in your control. You can here to feel devoted to something, to feel like you belonged to something, or somewhere.

Never feeling like you belonged in a group, you walked around blindly before you discovered there was religion without being locked in a cage. And yes, maybe you were in a religious building, dorming with one of the other Sisters of Sin, but there was always a feeling of liberation when you were here, knowing there was truly no judgement.

But then there was the Ghouls. The talented Ghouls who took everyone's heart and juiced it of all the affection and attention they could get. And they were damn well good at it. They took your breath away, their talented minds and talented hands working wonders into the air around, they could even sing like nobody else.

How does it feel to be able to do all of that? To have something special and to make it yours. No two voices sounded the same, their talent was truly their own, and it hurt you more when you stared up at your ceiling, teary-eyed, and realized you have no true talent.

You tore the page from your sketchbook, the roughness of your actions ripping a bit of the next page out. The paper formed into a ball in your hands, noises of crinkling paper filling your ears irritatingly. Art was definitely not gonna help, so much for therapy.

Throwing the ball into a wastebasket next to your desk, you let yourself sit against a wall, tears streaming down your face like you'd been crying for hours. But the pent up frustration of your hand not working the way you asked it to broke you. You felt so stupid in this moment. You really couldn't do anything right. Your knees came to your chest, arms wrapping around them to secure your thighs firmly to your stomach.

God, you felt pathetic.

A rigid rapping at the door had your head perking up and heart racing. Both hands came up to wipe at the tears that had been spilling from your eyes. Dammit, you weren't even dressed in your habit, too late in the day to care about going out. You dabbed at your cheeks with your hoodie sleeve before standing up on legs that felt the littlest-bit unsteady.

You opened the door a crack, fulling expecting to see your roommates face, but instead you were greeted by a leather mask and a frown.

Aether didn't exactly care about asking to come in, he was proficient in allowing himself inside of a room that didn't belong to him in the slightest. You learned to get used to that. You also should've learned to get used to the abnormal way he knew when you were drowning in the blues. You knew now to just shut the door behind him and wait for his questions to come to fruition.

But Aether didn't ask questions as soon as he entered, instead he took you into his arms. They pulled you close, holding you lovingly. You didn't think it was what you needed, but you realized it most definitely was; a long hug was what you needed most.

You tucked your head into his broad chest, forehead to his sternum and nose to his stomach. Your own arms came up to reciprocate the hug tight, holding him to you with a gentle pull that strongly contrasted the way he had secured you in his hold prior.

As if he could be an closer.

You let yourself go in that moment, allowing yourself to cry and cry and cry. Your overgrown nails found a place dug into his clothes, an attempt to keep your head above the water-table of your tears. But, you left yourself drown in Aether's delicate vest with it's pretty design, all lined in velvet black.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" Aether asked, kissing the top of your head to coax you from his chest. You didn't bite though, just continued to sob quietly.

He never pushed you to answer his questions, only waited patiently unlike when he was outside of your door, and allowed you to take your time. He knew the way you stressed yourself; over and over till you inevitably broke yourself. Though you figured he liked holding you in his arms like this, vulnerable and open to him.

Sniffling, you tried to piece yourself back together bit by bit. Pulling away from his chest, you rested your chin on the line of his vest and looked up at his face. He greeted you with purple eyes, ones filled with a certain feeling that you could never pinpoint, but it was always there when you made eye contact.

Removing one of his arms from your back, he reached a hand up to stroke your cheek, spreading the fallen tears into your skin and rubbing to sooth your pounding heart. A strand of hair that was curled around his horn fell loose and into his face, where your index finger pushed it away.

"I feel so worthless," your voice was barely a whisper, "I can't do anything right."

Aether's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, pressing your forehead towards his mouth where his sharp nose rested against your hairline and his lips pressed against the skin. He kissed you, a lingering piece of love that he always offered when you were upset. Like he didn't trust himself to connect the both of your lips, he only pressed his gently to your damp skin.

"You're not worthless. Skills take practice, and practice takes patience. Be more patient with yourself," his voice vibrated against your skull, fingers now massaging your scalp.

You wanted to huff, to beat back in your stubborn way and ask how. How could you possibly be more patient if you would be waiting for nothing? But Aether already knew the way your head spun, the way it worked, the way every cog turned according to the other.

"To have patience in yourself is to trust that you will improve. Just keep trying, you're doing this for you. Not some critic, not the ministry, not me, you're using art therapy to help you."

Aether's words made sense. These were ones you could follow along the lines with; ones that explained to you how to do what you were told to.

Knowing your acceptance of his response, he let you stay how you were, with a firm arm wrapped around the middle of your back, the other bent to hold the back of your head. The quiescent ghoul kept pressing feather-light kisses to your forehead and allowed himself periodic squeezed of your body with his arm. And you, in return, closed your eyes to fall into the rhythm of his deep breaths.

What would you do without him?

•--•

#the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fluff #the band ghost x reader fluff #aether ghoul x reader #aether ghoul fluff #aether x reader #aether fluff

102 notes · View notes

kittyandco · 2 months

Text

i actually have no idea what to do right now [more info and an insight into how i've been feeling lately under the cut].

i've been trying to find a job for almost 10 months. i'm tired of this. i'm tired of slogging through applications and unfair job descriptions, changing my resume for the 50th time (or not and just mass applying), writing new cover letters (or not and just using the same one), researching companies to prepare for interviews for hours at a time, scrutinizing my every move and breath because i know that they're already doing it and it still isn't good enough. i'm almost 250 applications deep. many interviews that never amount to anything. it feels like i'm running out of jobs to even apply for. [trying to move beyond retail but even those are hit-or-miss] thinking about job applications and employment is basically a compulsion at this point and i WISH i could get it out of my head.

i am bored beyond belief. i hate how much time i've had to fill with just scrolling my dash or my youtube home feed when it's the same stuff on it over and over and over and not even deciding on anything to read/watch. how much time i've spend just... laying there. there have been times where it's just so hard to take care of myself, where i don't have much of anything motivating me.

my life has amounted to absolutely nothing (i know that isn't TRUE but it feels like it right now); i won't even reach any semblance of independence that i so desperately need anytime soon. i thought i could. i really thought i could succeed. i can't seem to move forward in any way at all. my two options are standing still or moving backwards. idk what to do. i've tried everything i can think of

it's gotten to the point where i'm either angry, sad, uncomfortable, or guilty all the time and i hate it so much. the only time i don't feel that way is when i'm working on my personal projects, reading, or hanging out with my friends. that can only take me so far, too. because sometimes, especially with the reading and personal projects, it feels like an obligation to get my mind off stuff, rather than what i want to do. i just feel trapped in a small, small world.

i've just gone nonverbal for the past few hours. i can't even look my parent (the one who isn't constantly criticizing literally everything i do on top of everything going on and knowing how i've been feeling) in the face and say hello. i try. very hard. to not seem hopeless. but this happens a lot. i'm so irritated i just want to be ALONE for ONCE. i don't want to answer to anyone. i'm ready to just get away. i'm just so beaten down

i have editing and extensive writing experience so i've been thinking about opening paid requests to edit essays or other types of writing, or even fic commissions, but i know that it isn't even going to go anywhere. all anyone cares about is art anyway and i stopped posting my writing here long ago because of that. so i probably won't even bother

please don't comment with advice or questions about job applications or anything of the sort. no "something will come along" please... it's just so painful to hear now. when i say i've heard it all, TRUST ME. i do not want to hear it.

anyway i just wanted to get this out where others could see it but not in a one-on-one conversation, and not in the private pages of my journal. my journal is full of stuff just like this, and it makes me feel worse just continuing to fill it with spiraling of the same same same same same same because nothing ever changes for me

and finally, if one of you is going through the same thing, take solace. you aren't alone. you are loved despite how you feel

#meows

22 notes · View notes

akxrra · 3 months

Text

❝ smokin' out the window. ❞

bruno mars, silk sonic.

────────────────────

synopsis: smoking with your loved one, in the dead of night. what more could anyone ask for? featured: rosaria, fade x fem!reader contains: 2nd pov, smoking, established relationship (rosaria), hurt w/ comfort if you squint (fade), not proofread links: masterlist | introductory post and rules a/n: i love them both

★

"what are you doing here?"

you always knew of rosaria's errands every night. your girlfriend would sneak out of the house late at night, and your curiosity would make you follow her as discreetly as possible. out of fear, you'd never tell the cold nun that you caught her 'cleaning' up monstadt, but you felt bold this night.

"sorry," you reply, a sheepish smile on your face. "i just... wanted to be with you."

rosaria stays silent for a moment, the cigarette in between her index and middle finger letting out its smoke. she's dumbfounded—scared, even. scared that you'll run away at the sight of her bloodstained cheek and dagger.

until you walk to her side.

"got an extra?" you smile. "you smoke?" "ehhh, not really. teach me."

the nun chuckles at your statement, mumbling out the words 'how silly' under her breath. she reaches to the pockets of her belt, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. "here. put it on your mouth and inhale slowly."

rosaria rarely shows any sign of joy, but when you follow her instructions and cough, she couldn't help but let a smile break out. you're adorable in her eyes, so sweet and gentle. her fears are put to sleep as your hand slowly wraps around the nun's, and rosaria laughs.

"what are you laughing for~?"

she inhales the fumes of her cigarette before blowing smoke on your face.

"nothing."

☆

"you're crying."

it's hard being an agent for valorant. you're aware that it's all for a good cause, but sometimes, you just wished that you stayed at the comfort of your home. you miss your family, you miss your friends, you miss your old life.

every night, 3 am, you'd cry in the range. it's so dark, and you feel so alone, yet it's a great place to weep quietly. it's solemn and serene, and you've lost count on how many times you went here to let your tears fall. you're sad, yet you're in peace.

until fade suddenly showed up.

"f-fade?!" you exclaim, quickly attempting to wipe off the never-ending tears on your cheeks. "w-why're you here? it's so late."

"doesn't matter," fade narrows her eyes, kneeling down in front of you. her dark, heterochromatic eyes never failed to send shivers down your eyes. "why are you crying?"

you didn't want to answer. who would want to answer that kind of question? your throat clogs up as you refuse to say anything, but you knew that the fellow agent could just force the words out of you.

"so? do i need to use my powers to get my answer?" "no..." "then tell me." you sniffle, "why do you wanna know?" "because i care for you. now, tell me."

your eyes widen before slowly softening. fade hums before reaching to her pocket and taking out two cigarettes.

"you smoke, right? tell me all your problems."

────────────────────

#fanfic #wlw #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #valorant #valorant x reader #rosaria genshin impact #rosaria x reader #fade valorant #fade x reader #genshxn.works #valorrant.works #trrxgerr.works #all.works

26 notes · View notes

atenea14 · 4 months

Text

Tokyo Love: Shinichiro x Reader 2

Part 2

Part 1 Here

Summary: You go on your first date with Shin

Warnings: Just fluff

Word count: 4k

It didn't take Shinichiro long to send me a message so we're meeting this weekend and Rio is more excited about it than I am. She's not fooling me, all she wants is a new source of gossip. Anyway here we are, in my room and she's rummaging through my clothes to find a 'worthy' outfit for the occasion.

- Y/N you've got too many geeky t-shirts. - I'm offended by that.

- I'm sorry, but there are never enough of them, right? And the geekier the better. - I look at her indignantly and she looks back at me thoughtfully.

- If I didn't tell you anything, how would you dress for the date? - I admit I wasn't expecting the question.

- Honestly, depending on the mood I'm in on Saturday.

- Understandable, okay then how about we think of several sets with different styles?

- Why are you so interested?

- Because it's fun, of course.

- I think you need a date more than me. -Rio sighs as she inspects one of my blouses.

- Don't remind me.

It's the day of the appointment and I'm more nervous than I expected, why do I suddenly care so much? I look at my watch and realise that I'm on a tight schedule and I still have to get ready but I don't know what to wear, even though I have my outfits pre-prepared. I decide to call Rio.

- Hello?

- Rio, it's me.

- Y/N? Why are you calling so early on a Saturday? - I hear her yawning, I must have woken her up.

- It's just... today's the date and I don't know why I'm getting more nervous than I should be.

- It's true, today is the date! Of course you're nervous, silly, because you like him. - I can imagine her smirk.

- That's not true.

- Of course it's true and that's why you're panicking.

- You know what? Forget I called. I'll wear whatever.

- Duuuh rude, but I'll forgive you when you tell me all about the date.

I don't know what I expected from Rio but I decide to stop thinking about it and finally get dressed and head for the train station.

No way... 20 minutes late for the train? I knew I shouldn't have lingered so long at home. Well, I'll call Shin and let him know.

I start looking for my mobile in my bag but I can't find it.

Why am I like this? I left my mobile phone on my bed.

Shin POV:

It didn't happen again did it? It wouldn't make sense, Y/N was nice, she even gave me her number... I'm sure she's just late, yeah....

I refuse to think that I've been stood up again, but it's been almost an hour, and I've finished my pack of cigarettes faster than usual because of my nerves. Maybe I should go home.

- Oi - I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around to see Wakasa and Takeomi.

- What are you doing here? - They side glance at each other hesitantly and finally it's Wakasa who answers.

- Well... we were a bit worried, you know... flirting isn't your thing - I didn't really need to hear that.

- Dude, be more careful. - Takeomi doesn't say anything else and gives me a cigarette.

- Did you call her? - Wakasa is sometimes too direct. But the cigarette relaxes me a bit.

- Yes, but she didn't answer. -

- Well, don't think the worst of it, from what you've told us she seemed like a nice girl, maybe she has an explanation. - Takeomi tries to cheer me up but right now I just want to go home, if it wasn't for it being so early I'd even go and get drunk.

- I rather not to think abou… -

- Shin-kun!-

My heart skips a beat as I hear someone shouting my name, I move my gaze to look for where it came from and see Y/N waving at me as she comes running. I can't help but smile as I wave back, until my heart skips another beat as I see her somehow lose her balance on a straight, flat path and fall. I hurry to her side.

-Are you all right? - Y/N raises her head and I see that her eyes are a bit watery as she pouts, I can't help but laugh a bit because I find it adorable.

- Don't laugh at me! -

- I'm sorry, I'm sorry - Y/N narrows her eyes, trying to look intimidating, but she doesn't succeed at all. - Did you hurt yourself? - I ask her as I help her up and see that she has scraped her knee.

- Truth is, my ankle hurts. -

Y/N POV:

Great, limp on my first date, I just can’t get it right.

- Let's go to a bench so you can sit down and I'll go to a pharmacy, okay? - Shin grabs me by the waist to help me walk and my nerves get even more on edge.

- You don't need to bother. - Shin looks at me in indignation.

- Don't be silly, you're bleeding.- He helps me sit up and looks me straight in the eye smiling at me, he's so handsome and I can't help but blush.

- Thank you.- We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I'm spellbound. Shin is the first to react.

- All right, I'll be right back - I watch as Shin quickly walks away and realise that I still haven't apologised for being late. Luckily it takes him very little time to return.

- Here, I've brought you some water. - He holds out the bottle and starts to take some things out of the bag, kneels down in front of me and starts tending to my wounds.

- Thank you very much, really. - Shin looks at me smiling, he has a very kind look on his face.

- It's nothing, besides I have practice treating wounds. -

- For your little brother? -

- Uh... yeah, sure. - I see him tense up a bit, but I overlook it.

- By the way, I'm sorry I was late.

- Don't worry about it. I called you a couple of times but you didn't answer, actually for a moment I thought you had stood me up. -

- Oh no, I'm sorry to have upset you. It's just that I left home late, the train was quite late and I left my mobile phone at home in my haste… - I feel embarrassed so I look away.

- I see, anyway, I'm glad you're here - I think I'm going to be melting with his smiles for the whole date. -

- I'm glad too. - I look down at the band-aids on my knee and the bandage on my ankle, it looks well done.

- No, I'm better now, thank you. - Shinichiro holds out his hand to help me up, I try to walk and it's still hard, so he holds out his arm to support me. I'm very embarrassed about the whole situation but it's better to hold on to him than to fall again.

- I had thought about going bowling but maybe we should change our plans, how about we go for a coffee.- I smile and nod.

We ended up in a nice quiet coffee shop. Talking to Shin is very easy so I had a good time and by the time I realised it we had been talking for hours.

- Oh dear, it's getting pretty late. - Shin looks at the time on his watch.

- That's right, do you want to go somewhere else or shall I walk you home? - I think about it for a moment, I don't want to go home but I don't know what we could do now either.

- I have a free day tomorrow, so we can do something if that's fine with you, do you have any ideas? - Shin smiles at me.

- Yes, let’s go. - He got up quickly and came over to me to help me. - Do the blows still hurt?

- How thoughtful Shin-kun, they bother me a little but I'm much better. - Shin blushes a little and offers me his arm to use as a support.

- I'm glad to hear that. How about a ride on my bike? -

- Oh, uhm... I've never actually ridden one - I don't know why but I'm embarrassed to confess it, maybe it's because of Shin's fascination with them. He quickly changes his expression to a smirk.

- Are you nervous about your first time? Don't worry, I'll be gentle. - I can't help but be startled by his clumsy joke and punch him in the arm.

- Shin, don't be an idiot. - He starts to laugh so I push him a little with my body in complaint as I pout at him.

- I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Besides, I know you've never done it before, you told me last time. Now seriously, do you want to go for a ride on the bike? If you don't want to do something else. -

- Oh... my memories of that day are a bit fuzzy... But I do want to, I want to get on one, but you only have one helmet, right? - Shin seems to hesitate a bit until his eyes get fixed on something.

- I thought so, but it seems that some pixies have done us a favour. - I'm really shocked after hearing this.

- What? - Shin blushes.

- I'm sorry, I promise I'm not weird. It's just that some friends were here earlier and they left another helmet on my bike. That's the one over there, see? - I nod- You mean the guys you were with when I arrived? -

- The same. - He's clearly more relaxed now than he was at the beginning of the date although he's still a bit socially awkward, it's cute. But I'm not one to talk about social skills, that's for sure. I get so caught up in my thoughts that I don't notice that we've arrived by the bike or the fact that I haven't let go of his arm yet. When I look up, I see that Shin is looking at me.

- Is everything OK? -

- Yes. Which one is my helmet? - Shin takes one and gives it to me.

- Do you want me to help you put it on? -

- I think I can do it myself. -

- Alright. - While I struggle with the helmet Shin puts his on with no problem and stares at me as I try to adjust it to my size.

- Here, let me help. - I give up when Shin approaches me smiling. - That's it, is it tight? - I shake my head and make a gesture to get on the bike. - Wait, the ride pillion gets in second.

- What kind of rule is that? - Shin laughs.

- It's the kind of rule that keeps you from falling off the bike by sitting in the back first - it makes sense, will I stop embarrassing myself? I feel my cheeks flush and hear Shin laugh as he climbs on. - It's all right, get on. Lean on my shoulders if you need to. - I realise as I grab his shoulder that he's more muscular than he looks. I manage to pull myself up after a couple of attempts, Shin turns his head to look at me for a moment. - You can either hold on to my shoulders or my torso. - I don't think twice and hug him from behind, Shin gives my hands a little squeeze before he speaks again. - Ready? -

- Yes! - He starts the bike and we start riding through the traffic. I realise I haven't asked him where we're going but I feel safe with him so I don't think too much about it and enjoy the ride. At a traffic light Shin turns his head slightly and takes the opportunity to talk to me.

- Are you doing well? -

- Yes! Where are we going? -

- That's a surprise! In a little while we'll get a bit further away from the traffic so I'll be able to run more, don't panic. -

- Okay! - True to his word, as soon as he can, he accelerates, despite his warning my heart starts to race and I hold on to him tighter. He drives for a while longer, I'm enjoying the ride so I don't know how much time has passed but as we come out of a sharp curve I see that we're coming to the coast. It's been a while since I've been to the beach. A little later Shin parks the bike and we get off.

- I hope you like the beach. -

- I'm not a big fan of being in the sun but the sea is beautiful. It's been a long time since I've been here. -

- Do you want to walk a bit along the promenade? Or does your ankle still hurt? -

- It's okay, I’d like to go for a walk. - Shin smiles and offers me his arm again for support so I link our arms and we start walking. I think I'll be able to hold on well with my ankle, I think. As in the café the conversation comes easily but my knee and ankle are starting to hurt again so I ask him if he wants to sit on the sand for a while. We sit in silence for a while looking at the sea until Shin speaks.

- I'm having a great time today, would you like to meet up again? - I turn to face Shin and see that he's already looking at me.

- Yes, I would like to meet other times, I'm having a good time too. - Shin smiles a huge smile.

- Good. - We stare at each other for a few seconds and Shin slowly approaches me. Seeing that I'm leaning towards him too, he puts his hand on the back of my neck holding my head and we stare at each other. I can't handle the tension so I close the small distance between us and kiss him. Shin tightens his grip a little more and takes control of the kiss, when I gasp for air and pull away a little he pulls me back into him. I could melt in his hands right now, I'm so nervous my heart is going to burst. When we finally pull apart, Shin frowns and makes a worried face, much to my surprise.

- Are you alright? - I tilt my head, I don't understand why he's asking.

- Yes, why...? -

- You're shaking. - I didn't notice until he mentioned it.

- Oh... I hadn't noticed, I'm just so nervous… - I blush even more than I already was, if that's possible, and I smile shyly, avoiding Shin's gaze.

- You're adorable. - Before I can react Shin pulls me to him and kisses me again, this time more softly, then rests his forehead against mine and smiles. I collapse a little from nervousness and I don't know where to put myself so I hug him so I can hide my face in his neck. He hugs me back and it's one of those hugs that feels good, where the person squeezes you without hurting you. Shin pulls away from me and I feel cold, it's getting a little late and the sea breeze is cold. Shin notices.

- Maybe we should go back home, it's late. -

- Yes, it's starting to get cooler - Shin stands up and holds out his hand to me, when I stand up my ankle fails me, it's gotten cold and it hurts a lot so he has to grab my waist so I don't fall down.

- Your injuries? -

- Yes, it's just that my ankle hurts a lot again. - Once I'm stabilised Shin lets go of me and I see him crouch down with his back to me.

- Hope on, I'll carry you. -

- It's not necessary! I'm quite heavy, and we've had a long walk before. -

- Don't worry about that, I can carry you without any problems, besides it will be worse if you force your foot. -

I accept his offer and hop on, Shin grabs my legs while I put my arms around his neck so I don't fall off. Quietly and talking about stupid things we get back on the bike. The ride back is quiet, but I still hold on to Shin tightly as I rest my head on his back. Before I know it, we've reached my house. Shin parks the bike and gets off it too.

- The day has flown by.

- To me too Shin-kun. - He smiles at me and takes a step towards me leaving very little space between us. I didn't notice before because we were sitting but he's so tall, he’s easily one head taller from me so I have to look up. Shin bends down a little and kisses me again, this time it's a goodbye kiss.

- I'll call you. - He takes my hand for a moment and squeezes it gently.

- I'll wait for your call then. - I smile at him before turning and walking into the house.

When I get home I run to my room and like a teenager I throw myself on the bed and put my head against my pillow and let out a little scream of excitement. When I finally calm down I decide to call Rio, I need to tell someone about this.

- Really? That's great! The date sounds like something out of a TV drama. Oh... I wish I… - I can't help but giggle at Rio's comments. - So when are you going to introduce me to him? -

- No, I won't. I've only just met him, I'm not going to introduce him to you so quickly. -

- Ooh. You're bad. -

- Oh, come on! You wouldn't introduce me to him after a first date either. -

- I don't know what to tell you Y/N, I don't think any of my first dates have ever gone that well. - Listening to her I have an idea.

- I'm sure you're dramatising. Anyway, if things go well with Shin, we could go out with his friends later on and who knows, maybe there'll be a decent one. -

- Oooh. I like that idea, at least I'll get to take you out partying at last. - I don't like this so much anymore.

- I didn't say it's a party meeting. -

- But it's the easiest thing to do! Especially if the groups don't know each other -

- Good point, I guess. I can't wait to meet up again. - Rio laughs a little.

- Understandable. We'll discuss all this at lunchtime at work on Monday if you like. -

- Sounds good! -

Talking to Rio was a good way to let off some of my pent up anger and after a good shower and dinner I start to feel a little tired after a long day out so it doesn’t take me a while to get into bed.

Shin’s POV:

- I can't believe that guy still has it in for you even though it's been a while since you disbanded Black Dragons. Doesn't he have anything better to do? - I look at Wakasa, his worried words don't really match his relaxed tone and posture, but hey, it's Wakasa.

- Yea, he could get over the fact that his gang lost to ours once and for all. He's gone from funny to be a pain - This time it's Takeomi.

- Forget about that punk's message. Shin-kun still hasn't told us how his day went. - This directly catches Wakasa's attention and he looks straight at me. However, Takeomi looks confused.

- And why is that interesting. - Takeomi asks.

- Oh, Shin-kun had a date today. - Wakasa gives me a smirk as the three of them wait for my answer.

- Oh that. - I don't know why I got so nervous all of a sudden, I cleared my throat a bit before speaking again while avoiding their gaze. - That went well.

- You just turned as red as a tomato, man, you look like a schoolgirl. -

- Thanks Takeomi. -That's all I can manage to say to him while Wakasa continues with his stupid smirk.

- Ha! And you were worried that she was going to stand you up. I'm happy for you. - I smile sincerely to Benkei, surprisingly he seems to be the nicest one tonight.

- Will you meet again? - This time it's Wakasa who asks.

- Yes, I have to call her to decide on the day but yes. -

- What are you waiting for? Call her now. -

- Wait, wait, wait, Benkei, he can't go that fast, he'll look desperate. - Wakasa tries to dissuade me from Benkei's advice.

- But Shin-kun is desperate. -

- Takeomi! You know perfectly well that I'm not, as if she was the first girl I've ever dated. -

- Yeah? What about the streak of asking all the girls in class? -

- That was when we were in high school! I was a kid so it doesn't count. - I hear Waka laugh.

- I don't know... It does count for me. -

- I'd better go. - Benkei bursts out laughing.

- No need Shin-kun, we'll stop now. How about we go get some beers?

The rest of the night is filled with laugh while we remember old times. At some point I finally get home and fall asleep with a dumb smile on my face remembering all that's happened today.

#shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro #shinichiro sano #tokyo rev x you #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #shinichiro x you #shinichiro sano x y/n #shinichiro sano x you

48 notes · View notes