#and finding your feet again after such a long time of someone else pulling the strings

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[pathologicalreid]

sense memory | S.R.

After eight months, you and Spencer reunite after he was in prison and you were in WITSEC.

who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader category: flangst content warnings: general cm violence, peter lewis, prison reid, cat adams word count: 2.64k a/n: i have no idea if i like this or not. it might be too cheesy. but i like cheese.

Second floor, apartment 23.

You leaned against the wall and slid down until you were sat on the ground. You left your bag draped over your shoulder, holding the strap tightly.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, sweetie,” someone said, causing your head to snap up. “Here to see him?” Spencer’s elderly neighbor asked as she passed, carrying a grocery bag in her hand from the market down the street.

Nodding, you smiled softly at her, “I was on a trip. I’m just waiting for him to come home.”

She hummed and kept walking to her door, apartment 24. “He went on a trip too, huh.”

Waving halfheartedly as she disappeared into her apartment, you leaned your head against the wall. Yeah, you went on a trip – a trip to witness protection, and Spencer went to prison.

Spencer went to prison. The words still felt foreign to you, you hadn’t heard them until two weeks ago after Peter Lewis died. Since he didn’t know where you were, he sent letters to your old address, and they were forwarded to the marshal assigned to protect you. When you left the program, you got the letters. 178 letters.

Some of them were several pages long, some of them were as simple as an I love you or an I miss you, and some of them had doodles, usually equations.

You wondered if he’d gotten your mail yet. The letters and pictures you’d collected for your marshal to send to him once you were out of WITSEC. You weren’t even sure if he’d want to see you, but your dad encouraged you to try anyway.

You had left in October, just after his birthday, and now it was May.

After being separated from your dad and Jack for so long, you went to stay with them for a week, but you knew you wanted to return to the district. You wanted to see Spencer, for closure if for nothing else. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, JJ,” you heard him say from the first floor, and panic washed over you. The nerves of seeing him again had you wondering whether or not you could survive a jump out of the second-story window.

But the hallway windows didn’t open, you were left panicking, and then there he was.

You shouldn’t be here; you didn’t know what to say to him. The first person from your past should’ve been someone else. You could’ve called JJ or Penelope.

You saw him before he saw you, he was too busy digging in his bag for his keys. Pulling yourself up to your feet, you stood up and wiped your clammy hands on your jeans.

When he looked up and saw you, his expression went from confusion to disbelief to shock. Not once did he look happy, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he, like you, had been finding it hard to be happy lately.

Your chest ached as he walked past you and put his key in the lock. Spencer opened the door, and you held your breath as he held the door open, and you stepped inside of the apartment.

For months, you had imagined this moment in your mind, wondering what you would say when you finally got to see him again. He set his keys down on the entryway table before he turned around and faced you.

Familiar honey-colored irises studied you as if he was comparing the last time he had seen you to now.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you whispered, suddenly feeling like you were imposing on him.

Slowly, you walked backward out of the still-open door, resorting to the idea of never seeing him again. Until he spoke, “Please don’t leave me again.” His voice was soft, timid in a way you had never heard before.

You spun around and your lips parted in surprise. Tentatively, you stepped back toward him before you were right in front of him, inches apart, “I won’t.” It was a promise.

You weren’t sure who reached for who first, but the next moment your arms were slung around his neck and Spencer’s were around your torso, holding you so tightly that your feet lifted off the ground.

He’d bowed his head so that he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, whispering your name like a prayer that had been answered.

Propping your chin up on his shoulder, you took a deep breath, “I’m right here, Spence. I’m right here.” He was the same, and yet entirely different. Maybe more muscular, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You opened your mouth to speak again, to tell him that you would never leave him again, not as long as he didn’t want you to.

Everything had changed in the past eight months; you knew you couldn’t make him that promise. That I’ll never leave you promise. It wasn’t real.

But Spencer was real. He was real and he was clutching you the way you were clutching you, his fingers digging into your skin so hard that you might bruise. “I got your letters,” you whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

You felt tears seep through your clothes as you took a deep breath and gently pried yourself away from him. “222 days,” he told you matter-of-factly. “I haven’t seen you in 222 days because you were in witness protection and you’re apologizing to me.”

“Of course, I’m apologizing to you. God, I left the program, and my marshal was like ‘Oh, by the way, here are hundreds of letters from your friends and your boyfriend wrote to you while you were gone. And just so you know, your boyfriend was in federal prison for the last three months.’” You took a few deep, uneven breaths. “What am I supposed to do with that, Spencer? Stop looking at me like that!”

He was smiling at you, his eyes were still watery, but he was giving you a doting smile even so, “I missed you.”

You dropped to a crouch at his words, and he followed you down. Those were the only words you had needed to hear over the last eight months. Meekly, you looked up at him, kneeling in front of you. When you left, Spencer had seemed like he was on top of the world, his mom had been accepted in that clinical trial, and the two of you had been talking more and more about your future. Now he seemed… heavier. A more burdened person. “I missed you so much,” you cried.

Reaching over to you, Spencer gently wiped the tears from your face before pulling you close to him, “You look as beautiful as you did the day I lost you.”

The two of you toppled over as a result of focusing on holding each other instead of balancing. He laid back on the floor, holding you close to him. You looked up, resting your chin on his shoulder, “You never lost me. You could never lose me. I always knew I’d come back; I always knew you’d get Scratch.”

“I didn’t, though,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

You hummed, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your palm. “We’re here now, doesn’t that count for anything?”

Spencer pushed up so that he was being supported by his elbows, “That counts for everything.” He studied your face, “Where did that scar come from? It’s new,” he said, his voice still quiet, like you were an animal, and he was trying not to scare you away.

“Oh,” you murmured, “bashed my head on a door. Only me, right?” You brushed him off before clambering to your feet. What were you supposed to do now? Ask him if he wanted to talk? You used the sleeve of your jacket to wipe your nose. God, he had called you beautiful with snot running down your face. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, staring at the floor. “I know, I know you’re going to say that I don’t have anything to apologize for, but I’m apologizing anyway. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry that Morgan, my dad, and I all left within the same few months.”

He shook his head, “If you hadn’t gone, you’d most likely be dead now. I’d rather miss you for eight months than grieve you for a lifetime.”

You stepped away from him until you backed into the couch, “I thought about calling you. I had no idea that I wouldn’t have been able to. I just thought that-“

And just like that, he was kissing you. It was inevitable, just a question of who would make the first move. A small, shocked noise bubbled in your throat before you leaned into the kiss. It was gentle, tentative even. You gripped the lapels of his jacket as if he’d fade away, but you kissed him gently until he pulled away. “You showing up is the best thing to happen to me all year,” he murmured, sweeping your hair behind your ears. “You remain the most important person in my life.”

“Second most important,” you corrected. “How’s your mom?” Some of the information in his letters didn’t seem overly optimistic, mentioning him bringing her home to stay with him and a medication that he was getting in Mexico.

Spencer gave you a tight-lipped smile, “She’s good, I just went to see her with JJ, actually. She’s staying at a home in the district now.”

You smiled, “That’s good, keeping her close will be good for the both of you, I think.” Spencer reached around your body and pulled at your jacket, “What are you doing?”

“Taking your coat off in an attempt to coax you into staying,” he answered candidly.

Humming, you allowed him to pull the coat off of you, watching intently as he hung it on the coat rack. “Spence?” His name still felt foreign in your mouth as you moved to sit down on the couch.

He looked at you once he finished hanging his own coat, “Yeah?” Sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. A calculated decision, giving you space, but not sitting in a different chair.

“We should talk about it,” you responded, swallowing thickly. “All of it. Everything,” you continued. Millburn. Cat. Mr. Scratch.

Spencer went first, talking to you intently about what happened in that hotel room in Mexico. When he told you what Lindsay had done, you had to swallow your anger. Every once in a while, he’d trip over his words, and you encouraged him to take a break. You laid down on the couch and Spencer nestled in right next to you, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and enabling you to play with his hair.

Eventually, he told you about Scratch’s takedown. How Luke had watched him dangle from the ledge of that building before he fell to his death.

You sniffled at the end of his story, “I’ll have to thank Luke next time I see him.” You said, closing your eyes and reveling in your sense memory. The smell of his shampoo – tea tree – and the smell of his apartment – stale coffee and old books.

“Where were you?” He whispered, reaching up and skimming the scar on your forehead with his fingertips.

Slowly, you opened your eyes to find his brown ones watching you. “Minnesota,” You whispered, “St. Paul.” Taking a deep breath, you continued, “Then Sacramento, for a while.”

His brows furrowed, “Why did you leave St. Paul?”

You hesitated, afraid to speak about the event. One of the worst things to have ever happened to you, right on up there with the death of your mother. “My uh…” you cleared your throat, “my location was compromised.”

“Does it have anything to do with the scar?” The one you had lied to him about hours ago.

Shutting your eyes, you nodded almost imperceptibly, “It has everything to do with the scar.”

You could see him starting to put a story together on his own, there was a scar on your face that hadn’t been there last year. A scratch. “What happened?”

The memory was there, you wanted to bury it, but it would stick with you forever. The scar on your forehead would fade, but the scar on your soul was permanent. “I did it, I put the scar there,” you admitted. “I don’t know how he found me,” you whispered, that same feeling of defeat rising in your chest.

You were lucky that there was no one else in the house for you to hurt because if Peter Lewis had turned you into a murderer, it might’ve pushed you over the metaphorical edge. As you spoke to Spencer, you told him as much. You were in a bad place while you were in WITSEC.

The two of you remained curled up together in a mess of tears and limbs and fistfuls of shirts and the overwhelming fear of being separated. Looking at him simultaneously broke your heart and put it back together again. “Sacramento was nice, but I missed the East Coast,” you whispered.

“What about your dad?” Spencer asked softly. Part of you wondered if he wanted to go to sleep, it was dark outside now, but you couldn’t be bothered to check the time.

Nodding, you sniffled, “he’s in Philadelphia with Jack, has been the whole time. That’s where I’ve been, with them.”

Spencer lifted his head to look at you, “Where are you staying tonight?”

Sighing, you shifted on the couch, “In a hotel, I’m apartment hunting tomorrow.”

“No,” he said simply, a frown forming on his face.

You laughed lightly, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

He shook his head, “I mean don’t go apartment hunting tomorrow, stay here with me. Stay here tonight, too.” He said, voice bordering on pleading.

“Spencer, we were together for almost six years and never moved in together,” you told him, arching one brow in suspicion. You had talked about it, it just never seemed to happen.

He sat up fully, “I’m tired of making excuses about breaking leases and travel times, Y/N. There’s not enough time in life to keep avoiding it,” he gestured wildly with his hands as his voice slowly rose.

You tried to wrap your head around the idea, “I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through before making a decision this big.” Folding your hands in your lap, you noticed the first real change in him. This was impulsive.

“I spent three months in prison thinking about you!” He said loudly, “Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going.” That was quieter like he realized how loud he was actually being. “I knew there was my mom, I knew there was the team, but seeing you again… that kept me going.” He studied your face and based on the emotions you were feeling you could only imagine what your expression was, “Is it me? Is it everything I told you that I did? The poison? Cat? Do you not love me anymore?”

Your breath hitched, “I love you. Of course, I still love you.” Finally, you saw it. He was different, but at the same time, he was still the boy who hid his feelings from you – afraid of upsetting your father. The two of you had a long way to go before you could be together in way you used to be, and maybe things would never be the same.

His shoulders slouched forward in relief, “then move in with me.”

Nodding, you leaned your head on his shoulder, “okay.” You took his hand in yours, expertly intertwining your fingers as if no time had passed. “Okay,” you whispered. It certainly didn’t hurt to try.

“And for the record,” he murmured, “I love you too.”

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

[munsonkitten]

It starts small.

Steve buys Eddie a handful of cassettes after the whole Upside Down business. Drops them unceremoniously in Eddie’s lap while Eddie’s laid up in the hospital. Eddie pulls them all out of the plastic bag and lays them out in his lap while Steve stands a few feet away, arms crossed protectively over his torn up middle.

“I got things on your vest,” Steve says as Eddie takes in the titles. “I figured everything in your room’s probably gone now, but I still have your vest, and I’ll — I’ll give it back. When you get out of here. It’s safe in my room. But, just — yeah, the tapes are things you have on it.”

Dio’s The Last in Line, Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, Metallica’s Ride the Lightning, Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance, and WASP’s self-titled album.

“I almost bought you more, but I wasn’t sure what else, and I don’t know much about your music, so I just got those. I was going to bring you my Walkman, but I couldn’t find it,” Steve says. “I think one of the kids borrowed it and never gave it back, actually.”

Eddie still hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still taking in the gift in his lap, can’t even comprehend that Steve wanted to give him more.

“Uh,” Eddie says, trying to get his brain working again. “Yeah. Man. Fuck, dude. Thanks. Seriously. Don’t worry about the Walkman, really. This is nice, Harrington.”

“Yeah, no problem, Munson,” Steve says softly. He goes and sits in one of the chairs in Eddie’s hospital room, and stays there until the kids come running from Max’s overcrowded room to ask for a ride home.

Eddie lays there with his tapes spread out over his lap, and he finds himself smiling down at them. He doesn’t even have anything to listen to them on, but he thinks it might be the most thoughtful gift he’s ever gotten from anyone other than Wayne.

It’s nice, he thinks, that he might be becoming friends with Steve Harrington. It’s nice, he thinks, that even when they’re no longer fighting for their lives, Steve might want to stick around.

He didn’t expect that.

Eddie’s in the hospital for two weeks, and Steve stops by almost every day. He sits for a while, sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Eddie wakes up and sees Steve sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. He doesn’t wake him, just smiles to himself because Steve’s tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to be alone.

It’s been a while since Eddie’s had a friend the same age as him. Jeff and Grant are both two years younger than him, Gareth is four years, and Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair are all five or six years younger. He has friends, but Steve feels different, just a few months younger but already graduated. In a way, it makes Eddie feel younger, still being in high school and all.

He doesn’t really think that should matter, but it kind of does. All his younger friends look up to him, he’s always the one making plans and making sure everyone sticks to them, he’s the one in charge of it all — the older one. But when Steve’s around — Steve, with his real job, and high school diploma, and his nice car, and the brood of children he chases after, Steve, who’s an adult in all the ways Eddie himself feels like he’s not — Eddie feels like he can sit back and let someone else do all of that.

When Steve’s around, it feels like he has someone to care for him and look out for him the way he’s done for the others.

It starts to ease everything he’s carried for so long.

* * *

The next time Steve buys something for Eddie, it’s even smaller.

In fact, it’s so small that Eddie doesn’t even notice it at first because Steve was actually really sneaky about it. Eddie would almost find it cute, if he were allowed to think about Steve that way. He’s not, to be clear. It goes against his Munson Doctrine to have crushes on the jocks, rich kids, and straight boys, of which Steve is all three, but if he wasn’t, then yeah, Eddie would find it cute that Steve is sneaking him tiny gifts when he isn’t looking.

There’s a keychain on his van keys that he certainly didn’t get for himself. He notices it one day during a get together at Harrington’s house. Eddie just got out of the hospital a few days ago, and everyone insisted on throwing a party. Now kids are running around Steve’s backyard, yelling and hollering and trying not to fall in the freezing cold pool. It’s still too early in the spring to swim.

Even Max, barely out of the hospital herself, is being wheeled around in her wheelchair by nothing more than El’s mind powers.

It’s kind of fucking insane, to be honest.

But Eddie needs to go out to his car to get his pain meds because he’s really starting to feel the length of the day in his aching joints and healing wounds, so he grabs his keys off Steve’s counter where he left them, and that’s when he sees it.

A tiny metal bat dangling from his keys.

He knows it was Steve because Steve was the only one in the house when he got here and set his stuff down in the kitchen, and no one else has gone inside since Eddie found his way to the backyard, so of course it was Steve.

Eddie doesn’t mention it, just smiles to himself and runs his fingers over the pointed wings.

He sees Steve looking at him when he comes back into the kitchen. Eddie raises his hand and shakes his pill bottle at him, and without another word, Steve goes to the cupboard to get a glass that he fills with water.

Eddie sets his keys back down on the kitchen counter as Steve slides the glass of water over to him. Steve nods at the keys, and Eddie grins at him.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

“I have a matching one,” Steve says, turning back toward the sink to look out the window above it. “Just, you know, because…”

He gestures at his torso, and then over at Eddie, and Eddie nods. He gets it.

It makes him feel a little bit closer to Steve. Even if Eddie isn’t allowed to crush on him, he’s happy to have someone who gets him. Who understands what he went through, and feels similar pain.

It’s like Steve’s saying You’re with me now, we’re connected, and you’re not getting rid of me.

Read on AO3

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #steddie fic #my fics #stranger things

[chaconnenha]

⸝⸝ ❛ i' m in love with a fairytale . . .

╰ ❪ ꕤ ❫ ENHYPEN ( HYUNG LINE ) as disney princes !

en- hyung line x fem!reader ʬʬʬ───includes. swoon-worthy princes, fluff, romance, minor angst, kissing, violence, abusive & toxic households, semi-nudity, word dumps/messy writing . . . ( MAKNAE LINE VER. found here ) BACK TO LIBRARY ?!

LEE HEESEUNG as PRINCE ERIC ( THE LITTLE MERMAID ) !

when you pulled him to the shore from the wreckage of his sunken ship, and you felt the sand on the shore for the very first time, you knew you could never go back to how things were… and when you fell for him for the very first time, you knew you would never be able to love anyone else. but he had someone else now—a princess, who could speak, could laugh, could tell him just how much she loved him… you were just a mermaid who traded her voice for legs; a silly girl who used forks as a hairbrush, and couldn’t walk two steps before tumbling over the other. there was no way he would fall for you… or so you thought.

you had no idea his love for you ran deeper than the ocean that you saved him from. that the moment he found out you were missing and nowhere to be found, he felt his heart drop in his chest right down to his stomach. or that the first thing he did was send his guards out to every corner of the city in search of you, hoping that he didn’t just lost you forever. and that was why, when he saw you standing at the beach where he met you for the first time, he couldn’t hold back his feelings. not after reading the letter you left behind for him, saying that you were leaving him so that he could marry someone who wasn’t you. he wasted no time in chasing you down before you could even set foot in the sea, his arm grabbing yours and hauling you to his chest, as if you were the one sinking this time, and it was his job to pull you back to shore.

you couldn’t even gasp in surprise before his lips were on yours, swallowing your protests like he was drowning again, and you were his last pocket of air. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” he panted between desperate kisses, his arms pressing you even more firmly against his body. you stared at him in shock as salty tears ran down his beautiful face, reflecting the ones that fell down yours not too long ago. “please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “i love you too much to let you go.”

PARK JEONGSEONG as PRINCE CHARMING ( CINDERELLA ) !

you were used to being treated like a trampled flower in the dirt. the moment your father passed away and left you in the care—or rather, the mercy—of your stepmother, you had learnt to tuck away your dreams in the back of your mind, where they would remain unrealised, yes, but at the very least, untouched by the hands of your wicked stepsisters, who would not hesitate to tear them into shreds like the did your mother’s precious gown.

but the prince was different. you could still remember his handsome face and his gentle smile, the way his calloused hands held your waist ever so gently while the two of you danced beneath the light of the crystal chandeliers and the burning eyes of a hundred spectators. would he be disappointed if he couldn’t find the girl who fit the glass slipper you left behind? you hoped not, for you had no doubt there would be princesses all around the world eager to fill the spot that you missed… and yet, they couldn’t. because they weren’t you. he made that clear when he broke through the door with the force of the men at his beck and call, eyes searching frantically until they landed on your figure—-dressed in rags and covered in ashes.

you scrambled to your feet, your face burning in shame as you bowed your head. you almost wished he didn’t find you here, if only to spare him the disappointment of realising that the girl he had been chasing was no princess, but a servant girl who didn’t even have a scrap of new clothing to her name. and yet, those calloused hands of his found their way to your chin ever so gently, lifting your eyes to meet his ones. your knees felt weak, and your face warm— like the sunlight that filtered through the attic window, and like the look in his eyes as he gazed upon you. “it’s you,” he said with a whisper, a wide smile blooming across his face. because there was no way it wasn't you; not when he had been dreaming of those eyes of yours since the night you met. “my princess…”

SIM JAEYUN as FLYNN RIDER ( TANGLED ) !

there was once a time where you wanted nothing more than to know what it felt like to feel the grass beneath your feet, and to lie in meadows of dandelions under the sun, like they always talked about in the books you piled up in your little room. to know what it was like to be free. and he was the one who gave you that. the one who showed you the world. but being with him was dangerous, for the both of you, and you would rather stay locked up in the tower forever than let him be hurt. now, the only thing you wanted, was for him to be safe. even if that meant giving up the freedom you would once trade anything for.

you stared at the painting on your ceilings—the painting of the lanterns that he took you to see, just as he promised. the lanterns that bore witness to your first kiss on a boat in the middle of the lake… right before your mother found you, and dragged you back to the tower, promising pain on the man you loved–yes, loved—if you didn’t do as she said. you sighed as you raised a hand over your eyes. and it was then that you heard a knocking from the inside of the walls. someone was here. and it wasn’t your mother. you moved faster than you ever did before you learnt how to braid your ropes of hair, and you slotted yourself between one of the bookshelves to hide, frypan in hand, at the ready.

this scene felt all too familiar. you found yourself remembering the charming grin as you stood with a frypan in hand, eyeing the man who broke into your home and changed everything. but now was not the time for such thoughts. as soon as you heard the intruder enter, your charged with your pan held over your head with violent intent—only to have it fall from your hand when a hand you knew all too well wrapped around your wrists, securing them together in its singular grip, before pushing you up against the nearby wall. jake watched your lips fall apart in a silent gasp, eyes lighting up in recognition at his face. his name left your lips in a quiet sigh, and his heart leapt at the sound, at the sight of your pretty face under the sensual lighting of the setting sun. he wasted no time in ravaging your mouth with hungry kisses, his hard body pressed against yours as he attempted to feel every part of you against him, so he could feel you like he wanted to since the day you were taken from him. “i missed you so fucking much,” he whispered. you scolded him, telling him he shouldn’t be here… but— “i don’t care. i’m here to take my girl back.”

PARK SUNGHOON as PRINCE ADAM ( BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ) !

when you first found yourself at the beast’s—no, sunghoon’s, castle—demanding that he let your father go, you would admit that you almost turned and ran for the hills at the sight of his beastly form. he was the image of the monsters that you read about in all those books you buried your nose in all day, the ones that you lost yourself to fantasy with. but the longer you remained in his care, the more you realised just how much lay beneath the surface of a supposed beast. the way he had so awkwardly tried to pull your chair out for your on the first night you had dinner together, the way he was so hesitant to grasp your hands when you danced, as if too scared he might shatter it; the way he so willingly threw himself before an arrow just to make sure it didn’t touch you…

you called his name with falling tears, watching as he lay limp on the ground before you. his small huffs of annoyance were never so missed as they were now, instead replaced by silence as you continued to shake his lying form, his blood staining your dress. you never even got to say thank you, to tell him you didn’t mean it when you said he was an insufferable and intolerable beast—and now, you would never have the chance again… or so you thought. as you rested your head against his unmoving chest, wallowing in the grief that washed over you like a tidal wave, you failed to notice as the beast you came to knew started to shift into a man, his bare chest healed of any wounds because of the love that you shed in your precious tears. it wasn’t until a human hand cradled your cheek and lifted your face did you notice what had happened, and god was he beautiful—just as he was on the inside.

his lips were raised into a soft smile, and you heart leapt at the sight of small dimples poking his cheeks, and a pair of fangs that looked like a miniature version of the ones he had when he was a beast. “why are you crying?” he asked, his lips pressing a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “did you really think you would get rid of me that easily?” he cupped your face into his warm, large hands, his eyes bearing into yours. “silly girl… i’m too in love with you to leave.”

#enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen hyung line #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fluff #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay fluff #jake x reader #jake imagines #jake fluff #jake scenarios #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fluff #heeseung angst #jake angst #jay angst #sunghoon angst #enhypen angst #enhypen au #enhypen x female reader

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: nope

INSTAGRAM.

liked by fernandoalo_official, scuderiaferrari, and 720,553 others

charles_leclerc starting P3 in abu dhabi for the final race of the season! fingers crossed for a good result

view all 267,394 comments

carlossainz55 a good result in the race or somewhere else

⤷ charles_leclerc shut it

user 2022 season almost over :(

landonorris bring it on 😏😏😏

scuderiaferrari let’s race!!

INSTAGRAM.

liked by charles_leclerc, badgirlriri, and 943,600 others

yourusername MY NEW ALBUM “emails i can’t send” OUT AUGUST 14. this year has been a whirlwind of emotions but it’s given me a lot of very dear songs. thank you for your patience 💌

view all 510,305 comments

user NEW MUSIC ALERT

gracieabrams squealing with excitement

arianagrande SO excited 🤍

user a whole album inspired by austin AND charles???? yes please

landonorris preordered and presaved can you send me a signed copy

taylorswift EEK!

it was finally here. the weekend of the final grand prix in abu dhabi, the end of another season of racing. you’d had your flight booked for weeks, but you hadn’t decided what you were going to do with it. all of your contemplating had made you late to the airport, having to rush through the terminal just in time to make the flight. and even then, thousands of miles in the air, you kept wanting to turn back.

you wanted charles, that much you knew. but you didn’t want to get hurt again, you were sure your heart was running out of bandaids.

no one knew you were here, besides lewis. he had helped you sneak in and out of the hotel, and into the paddock, without being caught. you didn’t want to let anyone know you were here, considering you might still change your mind at the last second.

but then it was sunday, before you knew it, and you were donning a red ferrari cap as you waited the race prep out in lewis’ driver’s room. every so often, you got the sudden urge to get up and run away, far far away. your heart was racing — maybe charles had changed his mind since you last spoke. three months was a long time, long enough to find someone else.

the race began and you watched it intently on the screens, biting at your fingernails every time charles rounded another corner. come the final lap, your feet were carrying you out to the paddock, away from the mercedes hut and towards ferrari. the crowd erupted nearby, charles crossing the finish line in P2. your heart swelled with a thrill, happiness for him filling you. a podium on the last race, something he’d spoken of time and time again.

you squeezed yourself through the celebrating ferrari employees, right to the front of the fence, watching as charles’ car pulled into it’s space after the cool down lap. you pulled the hat off, hoping your hair on show would catch his attention better. his fist pumped as he clambered out of the car, pulling off of his helmet and beaming at the crowds.

by instinct he moved to run towards the group all in red, the usual celebrations waiting to follow. but the monegasque driver stopped, his eyes stuck in the middle of the group. on you. you had come — you had actually come. charles could have pinched himself, sure he could never have gotten so lucky.

you felt your mouth run dry, unable to read his expression from where he was standing. everyone around you carried on celebrating, but the two of you were frozen. you smiled a little, shoulder shrugging with a slight chuckle. and when he smiled back at you, you knew.

you knew this was where you were meant to be.

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liked by danielricciardo, nicohulkenberg, and 762,401 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc possibly the best race of my life, i won the greatest prize of all ❤️❤️❤️ oh and i got P2

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user SCREAMING

landonorris i cried seeing that on the screen after the race

carlossainz55 they grow up so fast 🥲

user i never thought i’d live to see this day

scuderiaferrari OUR FAVS!!!!!!

yourusername my one and only ❤️‍🔥

⤷ yourusername pls ignore all the times i curse u out in the new album thanks 👍

writers note: i was THIS 🤏 close to her not getting on the plane

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 instagram au #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #lance stroll x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader

[storiesforthemoonchild]

Jealousy | Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

I know I said a Lessi fic was next, but let's be honest... this is basically an Aitana fan page atp. based on this request, enjoy :)

You enter the locker room and excitedly wrap yourself around Aitana’s smaller frame only to have her shake you off, “rude! What did I do to you?” You whine trying to grab hold again. 

Aitana doesn’t spare you a glance before she’s huffing and heading to the showers. 

Keira laughs, “looks like you’re in the dog house today.”

“I didn’t do anything though,” you pout taking a seat at your locker. You had no clue what you could’ve possibly done in the matter of fifteen minutes from the match ending to you making it back to the changing rooms. 

Aitana had as usual been the first one wrapping you in a hug after the win. You replay every single moment since that hug trying to find what happened. 

“You are in trouble,” Mapi arrives in the changing rooms laughing. 

Eyes wide at the claim you jump to your feet, “I didn’t do anything.” Mapi shrugs still laughing along with a few other girls at your expense. 

The fact everyone but you seemed to know why Aitana was upset with you only makes you more angry. You stuff your belongings into your bag and make your way to the bus, skipping the shower until you get home. 

The time alone allowed for you to calm down before the rest of the team started filing on the bus. You had hoped the shower would’ve done the same for Aitana but she again doesn’t even look your way as she settles in beside Kiera. 

You groan, letting the bus fill up before making your way to the midfielder. You squat in the aisle and grab hold of her hand, “Tana, come sit with me please.” You do your best to whisper, knowing that as soon as one of the girls caught on it would be nonstop teasing. 

“I want to talk to Kiera,” Aitana’s pout cute as ever makes you want to scream. 

However, you were really just happy she didn’t pull her hand away, “please cariño.” You see Aitana tries to fight a smile at you using the Spanish term of endearment by shaking her head. “Okay,” you lean down and place a kiss on her hand before walking away. 

You couldn’t force her and she had told you she planned on staying at your place tonight, so you’d have plenty of time to talk. The ride felt excruciatingly long, your leg bouncing nervously the whole way. 

You and Aitana hadn’t been together that long. Every small thing that happened felt like a first still. Of course you had some miscommunication and tiny arguments, but she had never ignored you. 

When the bus arrives back you don’t give Aitana the chance to try and make her way to someone else’s car. She arrived with you and you planned to make sure she left with you. You grab her bag silently and march over towards your car, “hey!” Aitana shrieks her short legs working double time to match your pace. 

You don’t stop until you reach your car, opening the back door and throwing both bags in, “what should we have for dinner?” You question like everything is normal. 

“I’m not hungry,” Aitana grumbles, putting up no fight and sliding into the passenger seat. 

You follow suit, allowing the silence to consume you both for a moment before reaching over and grabbing her hand, “can we talk now?”

“No,” the newly stubborn midfielder says firmly. “I want to go home to my place.”

You groan, running a frustrated hand over your face, “baby, give me something. I have no clue what I did.”

“Why don’t you go talk to your little friend from Levante,” she’s stoic, arms crossed over her chest and eyes straight ahead. 

You try to hold your laugh when you finally realize what she means, but it’s too funny. This was definitely a first, it all made sense now. “Aitana you’re joking right?”

“I got a yellow card for you,” she nearly shouts.

“What?” You giggle not understanding how her yellow card was for you. 

A defeated sigh falls from her and you try to straighten up, “she…she kept grabbing you and holding you on corners. I don’t like it so I knocked her over on purpose, but then you go off and cuddle her on the pitch after.”

“I didn’t cuddle anyone Tana, we are friends, so I gave her a hug. Are you seriously jealous?”

“No,” she vehemently denies. “You let her rub your leg.”

You think back on the whole interaction you had after the game. Greeting your former teammate with a hug, and talking about the little details of your life, where you mostly gushed about your girlfriend. Then, the leg cramps you get after nearly every game coming on and her helping to work them out. It was all innocent and you hadn’t thought anything of it. 

“Cariño, I had a cramp,” you reason, your thumb gliding across her cheek. 

Her eyes finally meet yours, “but I am supposed to be the one who helps you with them. You are mine,” she pouts. 

As if you needed more reasons to fall deeper for her she goes and does this. “I am very much yours. Everyone knows that.”

“I do not want others touching,” she whispers, eyes fluttering close when you lean in to place a soft kiss to her lips. 

You never pegged Aitana as the jealous type. Everything between you had been light and simple since the start. No dramatics, no big declarations, just easy. You both said what you wanted and that was that. 

However, it doesn’t mean you mind the jealousy. It was cute if nothing else, but you never wanted her to feel like she had a reason to question whether you were hers. “Okay, no one else. I’ll let you rub out all of my cramps from now on,” you assure her. 

“Promise?” She looks at you tenderly, eyes wide and mouth set in an adorable frown. 

You use your hands to lift her mouth into a smile, pinching her cheeks softly until a real smile reveals itself. “I promise. Even though seeing you jealous is very cute,” you chuckle. 

Aitana whines, folding her arms across her chest as she sits back in her seat, “can we just go home. It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, look at me,” you wait for her eyes to meet yours. “There’s no one else in the world that I want. You’re stuck with me amor.”

Aitana’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she sighs, unable to get whatever words she wants to say out. You had an idea, the both of you having laid out a few hints that you wanted to say those three words over the last couple weeks. Again there was no rush, you knew it would happen naturally. “You…” Aitana pokes at your chest, “are mine,” she declares, pulling you into a deep kiss. 

You nod, smiling when she rolls her eyes playfully shoving you away as she tries to still appear upset. A part of you wanted to make her jealous more often just to see the cute reaction. The other part wanted to do everything in your power to never be the reason she frowned again. You knew the latter would win, you were humiliatingly weak for making her smile. 

“Jealous,” you joke one final time as you start the car. She groans, slumping deeper down into the seat as a blush coats her cheeks. 

“Just drive,” she groans, reaching for your hand and placing it in her lap. A content smile on your face as she plays with your fingers, happy peace has been restored. 

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

#opla #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece netflix #one piece fluff #sanji opla #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #opla x reader #opla x you #opla fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #scheduled post

[elfven-blog]

Secrets of the Manor

Summary: You try to spend a night in an abandoned Manor during a storm. Ghost!Leon x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, p in v, dubcon, manipulation, fingers, orgasm denial (reader doesn't finish at all), creampie. Word count: 2.4K

As the thunder rumbled around you and the rain soaked through the coat you had wrapped around you, your mind couldn’t help but play tricks on you. Making your way through a storm with inadequate equipment was hard enough but the feeling of eyes burning into your back had haunted you since you’d left the forest, and set on this cobblestone path. 

Your eyes widened as you came upon a large manor, biting your lip as you considered entering or not, remembering the words of your grandmother about avoiding anything that seemed to good to be true while on this journey, but as the rain seemed to get heavier and your skin felt like ice you couldn't ignore the idea of a warm…or at least dry place to stay.

The heavy door creaked as you opened it, and you struggled to heave it closed again. Once shut it left you in a dark hallway that smelled of mildew, you could feel the wood beneath your feet as you moved towards what looked like a sitting room. A crack of lightning caused the room to glow as you jumped out of your skin at the thunder that followed. You were able to light some candles in the room, the dust rising as you moved which resulted in you coughing while trying to give the room some light.

You carried one of them in your hands, moving with it to the big fireplace but once there you realised the wood in the centre had all rotted. There goes your hope for some warmth. As you look around the rest of the room, hoping for something you can use as fuel for a fire, the state of the room catches your attention. Torn apart curtains, chunks taken out of the upholstery on the sofa and random clutter scattered around in ways that made no sense. Perhaps the manor had been ransacked a long time ago, the bookshelf held no books but the floor certainly did. The candle holders were long since empty and the rug had been shredded until only small parts of it were left.

The wind whistled through the manor causing you to pull what little clothing you had to cover yourself tighter, you needed to find that warmth and find it soon. You left the room going along the corridor and it felt like the shadows were getting longer, even though you were now in some form of shelter it didnt mean that you were any less relaxed. The shadows seemed to take more shapes than just getting longer, from the corner of your eye you could swear you saw a man but when you whipped around to look there was only an empty corner.

Creak after creak echoed through the manor as you made your way up the crumbing stairs, you had tried to hold onto the bannister but it had leant and snapped so instead you stayed as close to the wall as possible. Your eyes kept watch on the steps to make sure you avoided the holes and anything else that could possibly lead to injuries, once you’d finally made it to the landing you decided to go for the closest door.

And you jumped again as the wind whistled past your ear, it almost sounded like someone speaking but you shook your head and opened the door. It took a moment, the door knob wouldn’t turn and when it did the door stuck so you had to ram it with your shoulder until you nearly fell into the room as it swung open. 

Inside the room was a large bed, curtains almost hanging off and the dust was disturbed as you walked, leaving a trail of the clouds that had you coughing as it invaded your nose and mouth. Once it had settled again your eyes wandered the ornate room, and finally the realisation of how this now destitute manor was once a grandiose home for someone as you saw the detail in the woodwork around the room and the random decorations that seemed to serve no purpose.

There was hesitation in your steps now as you saw the bed, it had been so long since you’d been able to sleep in a bed that guard you had up immediately dissolved. You gently sat on the bed as if worried it would collapse but your hands spread against the blanket, surprised that it was still intact and there seemed to be no dust as you touched it. Not that you would complain. 

As you discarded the soaked clothes you were wearing, the noise of something falling reverberated from somewhere in the manor. Part of you hoped it was just rats, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity of sleeping in a real bed so instead you moved the heavy wooden dresser in front of the door. Hoping it would hold enough that you’d be able to hide or escape if someone else did find the manor.

After that was sorted you continued taking the outer layer of your clothes off, leaving you in the underwear you had, as you peeled back the cover with an apprehensive look part of you was glad that it seemed to be clean and you climbed into the bed. It didn’t take long for the exhaustion to hit you as your eyes quickly slipped shut, taking you into a deep slumber.

You don’t know what time it is when you wake up, the feeling of hands travelling up your torso as you blink away slowly. It isn’t until something pinches your nipple that you bolt upright and fling the cover off you, only to be met with nothing. Your hands try to wipe off whatever it was causing the feeling but there is still nothing.

The room feels heavy as your head swings around trying to see if anyone is there, but the dresser is still in front of the door. It hasn’t moved an inch. Your heart starts to calm, before your body tenses up and your eyes move to stare at the bed…what if? No! Surely not! 

You leant over the edge of the bed, lifting the cover that had fallen over the side and looked under the bed. Only to find nothing, causing you to blink slowly before you lay back on the bed. Head sinking into the pillow with a furrowed brow while you were trying to figure out what was happening. It must have been a dream. A very realistic dream. With a nod as if deciding this must be the answer, your eyes slipped closed again.

The next time you awoke it was to the sound of something wet. It took you a little longer this time, a yawn leaving your mouth, you were laying on your stomach and when you tried to turn over something stopped you. A weight settled on your back causing you to struggle, a deep voice resonating through the room “Shh shh now pretty girl, just stay right there f’me” it was then you realised your legs had been forced apart, and the wet sound was coming from between them.

What felt like fingers were spreading your pussy, and the bed rocked slightly as that sound came again “Fuck, not seen such a cute cunt in so long” your head turned so you could see behind you, brow furrowed when you saw nothing but you definitely felt as something hard and cold rubbed against your hole before dragging down to your clit. “So wet and all I had to do was play with those pretty tits for a bit”.

There was a slight shimmer between your legs, moonlight streaming from the window glinting off whatever was between your legs. And you could see the outline of a man, his head leant forward as he watched the way your hole seemed to clench around nothing and his arm moved. The source of the bed rocking and the wet sound, he groaned as he felt your slick cover his cock, “So fucking warm too” and his cockhead bumped at your clit again which caused a moan to leave your mouth. Your hand managing to slap against your lips to stop “No no, none of that. Move your hand” 

You didn’t move your hand, not wanting whatever this man was to hear those noises from you but part of your mind wanted to give in, especially as the tip of his cock stretched your hole and your hips moved back to try and take more of him. This caused a deep chuckle to leave the apparition as his hands moved to your hips and held you down “Sorry sweetheart, but if you don’t do as your told you dont get rewarded” as if to make a point he moved his hips until you were left empty and you whined at the feeling.

Until he pushed into you again, stretching you out that little bit and never more as his hips moved in small thrusts. It felt so good and so wrong at the same time, the cold of his dick only pressing into your warm hole shallowly. But you refused to move your hand, like some last stance, even if he could feel the way your thighs squirmed on the bed or how your other hand clenched at the sheets. Or how your cunt was trying to suck him deeper in as it clenched around the head of his cock. “C’mon, don't you wanna be a good girl?”

And those words broke you. You did want to be a good girl. The hand covering your mouth slipped down to grip at the sheets as your hips bucked back and the ghoul seemed to dig its nails deeper into you as his own hips started rabbiting against you. With the way you were positioned his balls slapped at your clit and the sudden change in pace had your body rocking the bed. “See ain't so bad, is it? Just gotta lay there and take it” and you gave him what he wanted as moans slipped from your mouth in a whiny pitch.

You felt something cold and wet lean over your back, locks of shimmery blonde hair falling into your line of sight and your eyes wandered as far as they could. Trying to concentrate on how this man…this ghost looked like, but the feeling of his cock dragging along your pulsing walls made it extremely difficult. Apart from the blonde hair, he had a strong jaw and his arms were clearly made from years of work, you wondered how he’d died.

“Fuck, feels so good. Needed this, ain't had good pussy in so long” his words had your ears turning red, and you felt a hand creep under your body to touch your nipples. Your eyes widened at the familiar feeling, the same one as when you’d first woken up. Your nipples hardened from the cool touch, and he rolled the pebbled bud between his fingers in a way that had you arching into his hand as much as it could. In a weird way you could feel the sheets below his hand but his fingers still worked at your nipple.

His fast strokes turned into deep, slow ones as he rolled his hips against your ass and you pressed your hips up against him trying to signal that you wanted his original pace but he tutted in your ear. His tongue dipped against the outer shell “I’d say I’m sorry but this aint for you, just gonna use this little pussy” his cock twitched inside your cunt, and you whined at his words unable to speak when all these sensations were happening. He seemed to press himself closer to you, his thrusts almost felt non existent with how slow he went, tediously drawing his cock in and out.

“So fucking warm” it felt like an eternity of this, the tip of his head bumping at your cervix every now and then until one of his hands moved to your legs and pushed it up at the knee, the new angle had you almost drooling. Your mind was clouded, and somewhere far away you felt the cold lift from your back, a whimper leaving you but then it was like he’d had a new sense of energy as he started fucking into you at a brutal pace. 

The feet of the bed scraped against the floor, and the headboard hit the wall echoing throughout the manor. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, saliva drooling messily down your chin as his hand yanked your head back with your hair, a slight pain searing through the scalp but the feeling of his twitching cock filling you up distracted you from that pain. “That’s it, just fucking take it” 

A few moments later and your thighs were shaking from the feeling, until he suddenly slowed. And you gasped at the sensation of something cold filling you up, what were normally hot sticky ropes was almost freezing as he grunted above you, emptying his balls into your hole. Holding you close so you couldn't move, until his cock stopped twitching and there was nothing left to give.

You lifted your hips, expecting his hand to dip below to circle your clit but nothing. Suddenly you were warm again, and there was no other weight on the bed, no hands holding you down. Hands pushing against the sheets so that you could move to sit on the bed properly, your head turning around as you realised he was gone. You ached from the use, and he had left. A frown took over your mouth and for a moment you thought you’d imagined the entire thing until you looked between your legs and saw a shimmering white cum leaking from your hole, your hand touched it and you gasped at how cold it was.

You quickly changed, and managed to move the dresser from the door, deciding you didn’t want to spend another second in that forsaken manor. You didn’t care that it was still dark, and raining. You just had to get out of there. Your mind tried to rationalise what had happened, you denied with every part of you that you had enjoyed what had happened. And if you had taken a moment to look back, you would have seen the figure of the blonde man in the window staring as you made your escape.

It wasn’t for months that you’d find out who it was that had used you in such a way. You were rolling your eyes as you listened to some of the people gossiping “Such a shame though, that manor. You know, the Lord and Lady left after their son Leon had died. Those poor Kennedy’s, the Lady went mad. Saying she could see her son wandering the halls.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader #re4!leonkennedy x f!reader #leon kennedy x f!reader #ghost!Leon kennedy #Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

[aneveningsword]

𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 '𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! reader warnings: not proofread words: 832 summary: 3 different ways Spencer shows he loves you

masterlist

one Spencer often went away for long periods of time, it came with having a job at the BAU. Despite missing him and disliking how quiet your home becomes, you knew what you were getting into. You would never stop him from going on a case, no matter how little time you get to spend with him in between.

The longing for your partner was not onesided. There were times Spencer hated to be away for so long, to come home for a few days before leaving you again. He disliked how lonely he felt at night, the bed in the hotel felt too large without someone else there.

It's why he was out and about in whatever city he was in at the time. He would send you photos of things that remind him of you. Maybe some blooming flowers out front of a store. A dog that vaguely looks like you. A couple of birds sitting on a branch together.

Sometimes they would be accompanied by messages. 'thinking of you'. 'doesn't it kinda look like you?'. 'did you know these birds mate for life'. Just small facts or messages that always bring a smile to your face.

It helped ease the loneliness when he was away, knowing he was thinking of you just as much as you were thinking of him.

two While you weren't as much of a book addict as Spencer, you enjoyed reading. You often asked the man to recommend one for you to read. It always brought a smile to his face as he rambled on about the plot and characters, ensuring he did not give anything away. You read at a much more leisurely pace than your partner who could read large chapter books like it was a small letter.

Sometimes you were a bit jealous of his ability to read so fast, not wishing to wade through a large part of the text before getting to the exciting part. But you could not help but enjoy curling up in a chair with a cup of tea and a good book.

Persuasion by Jane Austen was the book you were currently reading, being recommended after expressing a desire for a romance book. But as you read you began to notice small annotations hastily scribbled in Spencer's handwriting. Somewhere about the characters or the thoughts on the themes. But some were drawing parallels to your relationship.

The more you read the less the annotations became about the book and more about your relationship. You found it endearing, more reading the book to get to the next annotation than the next chapter. A stupid love-sick smile graced your face as your eyes skimmed over the writing squeezed in between paragraphs.

The sound of footsteps graced your ears as you quickly began finishing the page you were on. "Enjoying the book?" Spencer's voice rang out, wanting to ensure his recommendation was right. Glazing up at him from the book your smile only grew. "Yes, I am. But I find myself liking the annotations better."

It took a moment for Spencer to understand before the tip of his ears flushed red as well as his cheeks. His eyes flicked downwards as he grappled with what to say. Deciding to give him a break you speak again. "I find them very cute. Shows how much you love me."

three It wasn't often that Spencer had time to sleep in, not getting up at the crack of dawn to get an early start on his work. So, you wanted to do something sweet for him, and what was better than breakfast in bed? What you didn't account for was him waking up before you were finished.

Humming a tune to yourself, you failed to hear the patter of sock-clad feet on the floor. Too busy making sure you didn't overcook the eggs in the frying pan. When two lanky arms wrapped around your middle, it caused a squeak of surprise to be pulled from you. The spatula in your hand dropped onto the counter in surprise.

Soft, muffled laughter filled the room, a mop of brown curls invading your vision as Spencer buried his face into your shoulder. A small huff leaves you, realising your surprise is ruined. "You're meant to be asleep." You whined though a small smile played on your lips, enjoying the sleepy back hug you were receiving.

"Sorry, darling. I just missed you in bed." His voice was rough with sleep, clearly having only woken up moments ago to an empty bed and set out to find you. Reaching one hand up you ran your fingers through his messy hair pulling a small hum of pleasure from him.

"Why don't you go back to bed? I'll bring breakfast and we can spend the morning there?" You offer softly, it takes a moment before you feel a soft nod. Spencer untangling himself from you before trudging off to bed once more, a small lovesick smile on his face.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines

[villainousauthor]

Would you plss write something where a villain and hero realize they're soulmates? Thank you<333

Hero grunted in pain as they clutched their abdomen and tried to catch their breath. Their head swam, and their vision blurred as they attempted to gain their bearings. One second, they were in a massive fight against several villains. The next, they found themselves being pushed back through a portal. Supervillain was likely to blame for that, with his ability to warp people anywhere in the world.

Hopefully, their communicator wasn't broken in battle, so they'll be able to send their location to their team. If they could even find it.

They try to stand, and immediately, their vision starts to darken around the edges and their head throbs. With a hiss they fall back to the ground.

"Careful, you probably have a concussion."

Hero cranes their neck to see Villain a few feet away, remarkably less injured and approaching. They don't have any weapons drawn, but still, hero feels their heart lurch.

They open their mouth, trying to speak. "I didn't see you go through the portal.. " Even their voice is laced with pain.

Villain is closer now and stops a few feet away, kneeling so they're at eye level. They seem to be assessing Hero's current state. Probably to see if they can easily finish them off, Hero assumes.

"I came in after you." Villain says nonchalantly, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. They eye the blood currently dripping down Hero's head, and the large gash in their arm.

Hero snort, and their chests aches in protest. "Why, to finish the job? Make sure I don't come back?"

Standing up and getting closer, Villain rolls their eyes.

"No, idiot. One day, if you die, it's not going to be at Supervillain's hands. Or because you bled out in-" Villain looks around at the tall trees, the lack of buildings or signs of civilization. "- the middle of the...pacific northwest? I don't even know where we are." They finish, unsure.

Hero tries to sit up as Villain kneels down again, closer this time. "I don't know either. I lost all my tech, I don't even have a way of contacting my team."

"Lucky for you, my stuff faired much better." Villain says smugly, and Hero wishes they could knock the look off their face. "I'll send my location to my henchmen, and they'll come to get us."

Villain reaches out for their arm, and Hero immediately finds themselves flinching away. Villain's lips press into a thin line.

"I'm not going to kill you, like I said. Unless you want to bleed out before someone arrives, you should let me treat your wounds." Villain's voice is firm as they pull a small first aid kid off their utility belt.

"I'm not going to bled out, it's not that bad." Hero tries to keep a defiant edge to their voice. For all they know, Villain will kill them, probably inject them with some poison or something just to make it easy.

"How bad did you hit your head? Are you blind suddenly? Because it looks pretty damn bad." Villain opens the small kit, showing Hero the contents. "Look, normal first aid crap." Their brows are furrowed, frustrated by Hero's reluctance.

Finally, after several tense seconds, Hero relents. They nod and slump their shoulders, as Villain moves closer now.

"The amount of trust issues you have is ridiculous..." They grumble under their breath as they slowly pull the damaged and blood-soaked sleeve of Hero's uniform back. They get a good look at the deep and long cut. Their frown deepens.

Pulling off their dirty gloves, Villain speaks again as they reach for something else.

"I'm going to have to clean this before I dress it. You might need sutures, though." Grabbing alcohol wipes, they use one hand to hold Hero's arm steady, grabbing their forearm.

Hero immediately hisses and jumps back, wrenching their arm from Villain's grasp.

"Jesus christ! Cleaning it shouldn't hurt that much!" Hero exclaims, even more tense. "What did you do, burn me?" They demand, but then they see Villain's expression. Their eyes are focused on Hero's arm, and their face looks cloudy and unreadable. They don't respond to what Hero said, like they didn't register it.

Hero looks down at their arm, and their eyes widen when they see it. Right on their arm, below the wound is a handprint. A completely different shade than Hero's skin tone, it stands out. A soulmark. Right where Villain grabbed them.

"Oh..." Is all Hero can manage to say in this moment. Villain seems to snap out of their trance and reaches for Hero's arm quickly, wrapping their hand back around where the mark is. It fits perfectly.

"This is...this really...this wasn't here before, right?" Villain asks, even though they saw Hero's completely blank and markless skin moments before. They unknowingly tighten their hold, and Hero yelps, their arm still in pain.

Pulling their hand back like they were burned, Villain finally meets Hero's eyes. "You're..." Villain trails off, shaking their head. They look away, palm to their forehead like they're trying to process this.

Hero feels like the forest floor will open up any minute and swallow them whole. If it weren't for their probable concussion, they're sure they would be taking this a lot harder. It feels like there's a charge around them now, an electrical current, live and dangerous between them.

Finally, Villain swallows and talks. "Let me just...let me just treat your wounds, and we can talk about this later." They manage.

Hero just nods as Villain returns to their first aid kit, ignoring the spark and air of tension now between them.

#hero x villain #prompts #dialogue prompt #original writing #hero #hero prompt #villain #villain prompt #villain x hero #superhero #whump #injuries #soulmates #asks #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompts

[ma1dita]

I need a pt 2 to the Luke and long distance!gf PLEASEEEEE

mdni

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

pt 1 here

a/n: man... getting out of my writing rut so here's this filth. sexting. kinda public. luke cums in his pants. what a loser

wc: 780

*bzzz*

Luke’s phone buzzes for the third time in a row in his Financial Marketing lecture today. The notification shakes his phone against the wood of the table to the point that it’s bugging the hell out of Chris who’s locked into whatever the professor’s saying—but as soon as Luke sees your name flash across the slightly cracked screen of his iPhone, he drops his pen in favor of you. His brother rolls his eyes, slumping further into his seat head lolling against his arm. There’s a smile that immediately settles upon Luke’s cheeks at the thought of you.

“baby 🤭 you busy?”

“why are you not answering you don’t even like this class anyway”

“fine ig i’ll ask someone else for their opinion 🤷🏻‍♀️” 

He chuckles lowly as he types out a reply, “opinion on what babe 👀” and Chris nudges his arm with a nod to ask if everything’s good. The professor drones on in the background about the stock market and for once, Luke is glad that Hermes gave him the ability to skate through his Econ degree (the only think he’ll be grateful to his absent father for), because it gives him more time to focus on more important things, like the slew of images of you trying on bikinis that infiltrate his phone.

[5 Image attachments]

“oops sorry! guess i sent them to the wrong person”

He gulps almost comically, shifting in his seat as he saves them for later. Shifty eyes and quick fingers can only do so much in a crowded lecture hall. But you see that his read receipts are on, and frankly the lack of a response is irritating when you’re pulling your best poses in the comfort of your living room. Boys never get how much effort it takes to be sexy.

“damn. guess i’ll go find a new boyfriend who can appreciate all of this”

Luke sighs, half stifled by is need to see you bare and his spit going down the wrong pipe that he clears his throat loudly, trying to ignore his jeans tightening by the second. Licking his lips, he clicks on the presentation slides, trying to catch up to where the professor is after your very welcome distractions. 

[Image attachment]

He presses the ‘next’ button just as another iMessage notification pops up on his screen, trigger finger clicking open an image of your tits pressed between your fingers, nipples taut against the fabric and lips between your teeth—all shiny soft skin almost bursting through the flimsy top that’s loosening and almost vivid through the still image. If there’s more, he thinks he’s seeing stars.

Luke slams his laptop shut and it echoes.

He takes a deep breath trying to remember what year it is.

“You good bro?”

Chris mumbles with a furrowed brow, watching sweat glisten against Luke’s flushed cheeks.

“Not feeling well. Think I’m gonna head out. Send me notes later?”

It’s almost an inside joke between the two of them, but Luke laughs a little too hard trying to play it off. He shoves his laptop into his backpack, before slowly weaving through the row and hoping no one noticed his girlfriend’s tits on the blown up screen of his Macbook. But then again, something’s obviously off as he walks stiffly towards the exit, feet swift with no predetermined destination. Luke contemplates the probability of someone interrupting him in the hall bathroom if he goes there to rub one out. His dick is hard and weepy, frustration brimming at the seams of his resolve when he walks out of the lecture hall. Readjusting himself into his waistband and groaning at the pressure, Luke wonders if he can walk home fast enough.

[Video attachment]

He stops in his tracks as he opens your message, the sound of your moans and slick movements of your fingers buried under the damp bottoms of your bikini almost too loud in his Airpods. His dark brown eyes trace the movements of your swiveling hips on his screen and he leans against the wall to groan lowly, a pathetic noise clawing up his throat, until his mouth dries at the sight of you parting the fabric aside just in time for him to watch you cum hard, soaking the rest of your hand and the leather of the couch beneath your ass. Luke doesn’t realize his body’s unprompted decision to join your release until he feels a sticky, uncomfortable warmth pool against the bottom of his shirt, soiled beyond belief.

His head of curls bangs against the wall behind him as he moans.

*bzzz*

A lopsided grin forms on his face when his phone buzzes again in his hand.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩ #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Part 3 to Mid-day Texts

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: After your explosive homecoming where everything seemed to fall right into place, Simon begins to get cold feet about his feelings and what they could mean for the both of you. All seems bleak until a text about someone harassing you while you're on a night out makes him come to your aid and solidifies a decision he has already made.

Word Count: 8.8 k

Warnings:

Part 1 | Part 2

Simon’s gaze lingered a few more seconds at his office's door you had just left out of with a smile pressed to his lips. You were back and even though it was such a small occurrence in the grand scheme of things, it felt like a holiday to him. He settled back into his chair at the desk to dive back into his paperwork feeling as light as air, continuously checking his watch to count down until he could finally leave and give you the text to head over so you both could pick up again where you had just left off. 

Even as the elation of knowing you were back was still at the forefront of his mind through the rest of his day, there was a dark omen gathering at the edge of his thoughts that he was not fully conscious of yet. It sat there in the shadow like the distant accumulation of clouds before a storm.

It was nothing, he tried to tell himself, but still there it lay in wait for him…until he really understood why it was there at all.

Never had you experienced such an explosive homecoming than the one Simon gave you the second you returned from your mission. All those worries you had about him finding someone else to fill his bed had been for not as the way his lips were on yours the very second you two were alone was all the proof you needed, his yearning flowing into you until you were drunk upon it. 

That night, as you lay beside him in his bed with that post-coital glow radiating off the both of you, there was a strange calmness to the room that had not been there before. For a second it almost felt like…. No you couldn’t say it, not even just in your head. That elation you felt was that of someone returning to a familiar place after a long trip, that’s all, nothing more. 

Simon’s long, thick fingers drew slow circles along the curve of your hip as you lay close while he finished off the last of his cigarette. Crushing the butt into the ashtray on the table beside the bed, he pulled you against his bare chest that was still warm and pink from the rigorous activity you both had been engaged in. Your head rested on his pectoral, your ear pressed against it so you could hear the repetitious thumping of his heartbeat. 

Listening to the calming rhythm fill your head, the only sound in the room beside your collective breathing, your eyelids began to droop and your head became more heavy as it lulled forward. Amber eyes took notice and yet Simon didn’t say a word, not yet. With a gentle touch he ran his fingertips along your spine up and down as he watched a smile just barely breach the line of your lips.

If you had been more awake you would have heard that rhythmic thumping quicken in tempo as the man who swore only a short time ago that this was nothing more than a fling was caught off guard by how perfectly you fit against him as you lay there in his arms. It was more wonderful than he could have asked for.  

Quietly Simon cleared his throat. “Ya can stay the night, if ya want,” that low, gruff voice brought you back from the brink of sleep, making you stir against his bare chest. 

You rubbed your eyes, only then realizing that you had dozed off. “Guess I’m more exhausted than I thought,” you chuckled as you stretched, hoping the increased blood flow to your limbs would rouse you.

“You’ve been gone a while and left us both high an dry; I might get a hankerin’ for a midnight snack since I’ve been starvin’ for over a fuckin’ month. Just stay.”

You chuckled soft as you nuzzled back down onto his chest, throwing your arm over top of his abdomen to secure you to him. “Fine,” you agreed, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while your stomach did backflips; in your sleepy state you couldn’t tell if you had pulled it off or not. “But it’s only because I’m already fucking comfortable and walking all the way back to my barracks would be hell right now. Promise I’ll be sure to be gone by sunrise.”

"Sure, sure," he chuckled as he hunkered down into the bed with you wrapped in his embrace.

He should have been more than content to lay there tangled together, naked bodies pressed close after how much he had missed you, but a cold sweat spread through his limbs as the minutes passed until his whole body was engulfed. As he silently watched your breathing settle into a steady pattern, your chest rising and falling lightly, his own chest grew more and more tight with the realization of what he couldn’t deny any longer; he had broken his promise to himself. This was more than emotional words conflated in the heat of the moment as he thought the confession in his office to be.

Simon had fallen in love with you…and that terrified him. 

This wasn’t like him, he wasn’t the type to be involved with someone that way; ever the stone cold sniper, dedicated to his work, living life behind a shield of anonymity that hid his face when he wanted. Attachment wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to him, that was a dangerous game that he knew well, and yet despite all that here he lay as his heart filled to the brim with an emotion he had very little experience in. 

That fear churned around in his mind as he placed a kiss to the top of your head and turned off the light before staring up at the ceiling. In the dark the shadows danced along the surface, creating patterns out of nothing as he weighed everything in his mind.  As he drifted off into sleep, unable to hold it back any longer, he was no closer to an answer then when he started. 

When you awoke Simon was passed out beside you fast asleep. Reaching down to the floor, your fingers found your watch and you brought it to your face to check the time; it was just at sunrise and you needed to go. Silently you moved out from his side and gathered your things, redressing in the attached bathroom so you wouldn’t risk waking him. Only then did you creep back over to the bed and place a soft kiss to his cheek before leaving him to sneak back to your barracks before you were caught.

As you quietly brought the door to latch and your hand released the handle, your body shivered as you were instantly hit by an overwhelming feeling of dread. There was no reason for your heart to be pounding or your hands to suddenly go clammy, but as you made your way back you just couldn’t shake this new feeling. 

It was silly, the entire time you had spent with him nothing had felt out of place. And yet that sensation persisted, rearing its ugly head completely out of thin air.

Something had shifted as you slept, something that was there to rob you of your happy homecoming, and for the rest of the day it ate at your mind so that by the time you were finished your nerves were completely frazzled. You constantly pulled your cell phone out of your pocket to check the screen, but nothing ever appeared from Simon. There could have been any number of reasons that caused him to stay silent all damn day and if you didn’t have this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you probably would have focused on that. 

Today though it only served as confirmation that something was wrong.

The moment night hit and you had a spare moment as you lay in your bunk, you finally gathered the courage to face this head on and you hurriedly wrote out a text to send.

Need some company tonight?

You sent the text and watched as it went through, but there was no quick reply, no instant confirmation that he wanted to see you as soon as you could get your ass over there. Radio silence.

Setting your phone down beside you on your bed, you tried to focus on your book to pass the time, but you could not pry your thoughts away from drifting back to your phone. It took all your will not to keep flipping the damned thing over to check the screen for what you knew would be nothing. The minutes ticked on in agonizing fashion until finally you felt your phone vibrate and you rushed to pick it up. One text glared back at you.

Bit busy tonight, maybe later alright? 

Fuck. 

It felt like you had been shot as a stinging sensation ran through your chest. Night after night you had gone over there no matter the conditions: if he was busy, if he was tired, if he was stressed. Whatever it was he still made it his mission to have you both sweating and out of breath…and now nothing. 

Days passed under the same excuse with slight variation, always that he was busy or too tired or just didn’t feel up to company. You'd repeat to yourself that this was just a dry spell and that things would pick back up soon. Then one week became two and two weeks became three and at that point you had to be honest with yourself that something had happened that caused him to back away from you. 

Had you done something in your tired state that made him push away? Came on too strong, said something out of turn? You stopped messaging him and he didn’t try to contact you outside of a few minor things here and there concerning work.

For something that was supposed to be casual, the sudden lack of it was causing you to become listless and reclusive, to the point that when off duty you would seclude yourself in your barracks. Days seemed to stretch on in endless fashion as what was once a major part of them was no longer available to you and that left you in a state of confusion. Why did it bother you so much? You knew the terms- this was just a casual thing.

And yet you knew there was more to it than that. You didn’t want to admit that you had…no, you couldn’t… but the signs were as clear as day. You had fallen for him and now you had to suffer the pain of rejection.  

Simon’s company was something you had grown accustomed to: the smell of his cigarettes at the end of the night, the weight of his hand on your bare hip as you both sat in silence coming down from that euphoric high, those random texts he’d send either asking to see you or checking in. Now all that familiarity had nowhere to go and it left you empty.

Why did you have to go and break the only rule that could ultimately destroy you? Why did you have to fall in love?

Sulking alone in your room after hours, you gave yourself a few more days to feel sorry for yourself before you had had enough. If Simon was moving on, then you needed to as well and maybe things could get back to normal. The weekend was coming up and with no new missions on the horizon you had the whole thing to yourself. So why not go out for a bit, just to clear your head?

There was a bar within a ten minute walk from the base, a small rundown hole-in-the-wall that was filled with regulars and members from the taskforce whenever they got the chance. It wasn’t much, but a change in scenery was all you needed. A little fun wouldn’t hurt, would it? Besides maybe a few drinks would help you get out of your head, at least for the night anyway. 

No sense in waiting around for a text you knew wouldn’t come.

As you walked in amidst the sound of hard rock blasting from the jukebox against the wall, you took note of a few familiar faces among the crowd. You didn’t feel up to socializing just yet, but it was nice to know that if you got the hankering for conversation later there would be someone there you sort of knew.

There were several empty seats situated around the sparsely filled bar as most were stationed in groups at the tables scattered throughout and you took your place amongst the few regulars before ordering a beer from the bartender. You’d gotten halfway through slowly sipping at your drink, messing about on your phone when a text popped up on screen and you couldn’t believe who it was from.

It was Simon.

Where are you? Went by your barracks and you weren’t there.

He was looking for you? You had not expected to hear from him at all tonight, but to see the words written out that he had come by to look for you made your heart skip a beat. It felt like being a teenager again, getting worked up for your crush to message you and you hated how quick you were to get excited to have him talk to you again after all that distance. 

You sat there with your phone in hand, debating if you even wanted to text him back yet or not. On one hand it would be nice to let him suffer for a bit, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. This was supposed to be a casual hookup relationship and you were acting like you were dating. Simon was only acting as he would in your type of situation; why punish him for that?

At the bar. Wanted to get out.

You shot the text back and instantly another followed behind.

Are you coming back soon?

Did he need another fix, is that why he was so curious? I mean, it wasn’t entirely out of the question, though you would need to take the edge off a little more before you saw him again; you had to be sure you wouldn’t let your feelings make this complicated. You still wanted to have sex with him and that was enough…you guessed. At least it was something.

Just as you were about to text him back to let him know that you’d be back soon and ask if he wanted to meet at his, you felt the presence of someone standing at your elbow. As you turned and looked up, you found yourself face to face with a strange, greasy-haired man that you had briefly caught a glimpse of earlier sitting at the other end of the bar. 

“Well hello pretty lady,” he greeted you, his speech a little slurred. He stumbled as he came to sit in the bar stool right next to you, almost spilling his drink in your lap. “Care for some company? Name’s Dylan by the way.”

“I’m good,” you instantly shot back as your nose wrinkled and your lips contorted into a frown. “Thanks anyway.”

You turned your attention back to your phone only to be met with a hand on your arm as he began to stroke it up and down. “Come on baby, don’t be like that. You can’t be having much fun over here all by your lonesome. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at making beautiful ladies laugh.”

Quickly you snapped your arm back out of his reach. “I said I’m good,” you repeated a little more forcefully this time, hoping that the hint would be taken as you’d give him one chance to walk away with his dignity still intact if he wanted. 

“No need to get heated,” he shot back, not taking anything but the time to keep harassing you. “I just want to chat. You could at least give me a chance. Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself more than you think.”

“Doubtful,” you sneered. “Do you always corner women in bars to get them to talk to you? Seems like maybe you’re not as good a conversationalist as you think you are. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Pushing the stool out a little you made to get up and leave, but as you stood so did Dylan and his hand was already around your wrist before you could step away. Your eyes flashed over to where the bartender should have been, but he must have popped into the back and those around you both acted as if they didn’t see a thing. Quickly you darted your eyes over to the table where the others from base had been and your heart sank as you didn’t know where they went; this might actually be a problem.

Just what you needed tonight.

Back at base something felt off about how you hadn’t answered yet, causing Simon’s pulse to quicken in his veins, almost as if he could sense through the phone the situation unfolding. He leaned against the outside wall of your barracks and took another long drag of his cigarette as he watched his phone screen closely. The way his stomach began to churn and his whole body felt tense forced him to hurriedly send a follow up text. If he looked dumb, at least his mind would be put at ease. 

You alright?

Your phone buzzed in your hand, but Dylan wouldn’t let go of your wrist even as you struggled in his grasp. Maneuvering the small rectangle in your free hand, you used your thumb as best you could to type out your message. You didn’t want Simon to worry; you’d be done with this douchebag soon enough.  

Sorry. Gotta creep that doesn’t understand no.

Give me a min, might have to get physical.

He quickly read the message the instant it pulled up on the screen and his cig slipped from his fingers as his blood ran cold. You were in trouble, that’s all he read and it was like a switch had been flipped. Instantly Simon perked up and began moving as fast as his strong legs could carry him off base and towards the bar with murder on his mind. 

Thank Christ it was just under a ten minute walk; his blood pressure was already so high he could hear his heartbeat pulsating in his ears as he spotted the front door just a few feet away. Finally reaching the door, he grabbed the handle and flung it open with force.

Roaming eyes instantly clocked your back as you stood facing a man who had his hands on you and as he came closer he made out the slurred speech of the man fixing to be on a slab in the morgue if he didn’t remove himself immediately.

“You don’t want to cause a scene do you?” Dylan smirked as you tried to rip your arm out of his grasp. “I promise I’m not all bad; I can treat you real good if you just give me the chance. Never been with a military girl before. I bet you could teach me a few things.”

Your mouth was open, the words already on your tongue when you watched as the man at your elbow stopped and his attention was drawn behind you. Then you felt it, another presence to add to the mix, except you already knew who it was before he spoke.

“Get the fuck away from ‘er,” Simon’s low growl sounded as he stalked up behind you, “or you’re gonna wish you fuckin’ had.”

The man before you looked behind you wide-eyed at the massive figure of Simon standing at your back, but he couldn’t back down, not when his ego was on the line. Somewhere in that alcohol riddled brain he came to the conclusion that if he could just get the big man to leave that you would eventually give in to him. 

Again he reached his hand out to grope your arm as you wrenched it out of the way. “Look pal,” the slimy bastard addressed him snidely, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this isn’t what it looks like so why don’t you just go along. We were just having a little fun, weren’t we baby?” 

“No, we fucking weren’t,” you hissed back as you joined Simon in glaring him down.

“Ya heard ‘er,” Simon immediately jumped to your defense, “so even though I rarely like repeatin’ myself, I’ll tell you one more time. Get. The fuck. Away. From ‘er.”

The rage in his voice made you shudder with its intensity. Though you could not see it, you knew by the way he spoke through his teeth that his jaw was clenched tight, matching what you could see which were his fists tensing so tight that it was turning his knuckles white. Shit just the aura radiating off of him was so full of wrath that there was no mistaking just how angry he was. 

The man took another swig of liquid courage before he grimaced with a shake of his head. “You think you can just waltz over and steal this sweet little thing out from under me?” he challenged, stepping in closer to you to get in Simon’s face. “I saw her first, she came here alone. So, she’s gonna be coming home with me; I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

He reached out to you once more and actually got a bit of a substantial caress this time on your hip; instantly Simon saw nothing but red.

That was fucking it. Whatever modicum of decorum Simon possessed up until now completely flew out the window the moment that bastard had even brought up trying to get you to go home with him. And now he had watched him touch you?! If he didn’t back off now, they would be carrying him out in a body bag.

It didn’t matter anymore of who saw or heard what; if the guys back at base figured it out from the buzz of talk that would come from tonight or if it somehow got all the way back to Price tomorrow, Simon wasn’t about to let this fucking creep keep putting his filthy hands and lay claim to what belonged to him.

“She may ‘ave come here alone, but she’s wit me,” Simon again growled as his accent became more pronounced, this time with enough venom that it could have burnt a hole through the floor. “So I suggest you get your fuckin’ hand off my girl before you go home wit one fewer. Or test me and see what prize ya get. I’ve been itchin’ to try out my new Bowie knife. Supposed to be the sharpest on the market; maybe we should see how well it carves you up.”

As he spoke, his strong forearm snaked its way from behind you and wrapped itself securely around your waist so that as he took a step forward your back was right up against his chest. Through the shadow of his balaclava, those chestnut eyes glared daggers down into the man, daring him to make a move and give him a reason to commit murder, but lucky for him that Dylan’s brain finally reactivated in time. The intimidation had worked and the greasy piece of shit gave you both a nasty, agitated look before he grabbed his beer and walked off somewhere further into the opposite side of the bar.

Once he was out of sight, Simon quickly spun you around in his arms, his hands cupping around your cheeks as you came to face him. Those brown eyes softened as they shifted from anger to concern as he looked you over, checking down the line of your body for any signs that that bastard had done anything more to you that he hadn’t seen yet. “Ya alright?” he questioned. “He didn’t do anythin’ to hurt ya, did he?”

The question went right past you as your mind was reeling from the entire encounter the moment that you heard Simon’s voice behind you. You knew you had heard exactly what had been said, but was it all an act to get the man to leave?… you couldn’t be sure, but it was enough to put your mind into turmoil.

You were drawn out of your thoughts by more indistinct talking from Simon. “Hmm?” you asked as you met his eyes again. 

“I asked if ya were okay to go,” he repeated, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently over the hollow of your cheek to bring you back into the moment.

“Yeah,” you muttered with a nod of your head as Simon let you go so you could double check you had everything. You paid your tab and with his hand on the small of your back, he ushered you both out the front doors.

Once outside, the cool night air wrapped itself around you, easing that tension in your chest from the stifling atmosphere of the bar as you both began to walk back the short distance to the base in silence. So many questions you had, so much uncertainty about what had just happened, that you were so consumed with your thoughts that you hadn’t realized you were back at Simon’s room until he was opening the door and you were following him inside like a lost pup.    

He offered you a seat on the only thing he really had, his bed, and you took it just as you had done so many times it was almost like second nature to you now. Squatting down before you, he looked you over once more.

“Are ya really alright?” he asked the question again now in a more subdued setting where you could hopefully think more clearly.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “Annoyed, but fine.”

Why did it feel like that wasn’t the real question he was asking?

His eyes peered deep into your face a moment as if he was searching for something behind the surface, but it passed quickly and soon he stood back up to his full height and let the silence take back over. You allowed the moment to fall away as a more pressing question lingered on the tip of your tongue, gnawing at your mind until you couldn't ignore it any longer, one that you had almost forgotten all about in the chaos. 

"So, what were you doing earlier, looking for me I mean?" you asked, genuinely curious.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his stance. "It's…complicated…" he started, but something caused him to pause.

As you waited for him to reply, everything hit you all at once as if suddenly stirred by being in his room and it felt hard to breathe. It had been going so well until that second, being here surrounded in that specific familiarity again, but fuck it brought too much baggage with it. Memories aroused by the feeling of his sheets against your hand, the scent of his room, the proximity to him after all that space was overwhelming and you could feel your shoulders begin to tense. 

You had to get out and soon before you did or said something you’d regret.

“I should really go,” you said all of a sudden, just as Simon found his voice. “You can always tell me later, it's fine. We’ll need to keep our distance for a bit in case a private or someone saw what happened. Don’t want them to misconstrue what they thought was going on.”

Still and silent, Simon watched you through the mask a moment as you stood back to your feet. “Thank you though for coming to help, I really appreciate it,” the genuine sentiment prominent in your voice as you gave him a smile. Taking a few steps you moved to leave by walking past him, but his hand shot out from his side and grabbed your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“Don’t,” he muttered softly.

Your heart skipped a beat, you couldn’t help it.  A thousand times you’d heard him bark orders to the new recruits and this was nothing compared to that. His tone wasn’t demanding or harsh; it was soft and almost pleading. And against your mind telling you to go, you could do nothing else except stop right where you stood.

He moved his hand down to yours and kept it locked in his grasp as he reached up to his face and slid his balaclava up the back of his head until it came off of his chin, revealing those striking features that you hadn’t seen much of these days. Idly he turned your hand over in his so that the palms were touching and he could place his fingers between the spaces. You looked down at the connection and then up into his face where you were met with him staring straight back at you with such intensity it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to break the silence.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to keep your head about all this. “About tonight?” you asked, sure that was what he was referring to. “It’s fine. I’ve dealt with many creeps over my lifetime. He won’t be the last, but I’m tough. Would have handed his ass to him in a minute, even if you hadn't come to my rescue.”

Simon shook his head as he took a step closer, nearly against you now. The air around you shifted to become thick with intentions that had not yet been spoken, but were on the horizon. “No, don’t mean ‘bout what happened tonight.”

Everything stood still, even time itself within that space that existed around just the both of you. Your pounding heartbeat pulsed hard until you could hear it in your ears as he moved in completely, taking your cheek in his free hand as he leaned his head down to rest his forehead against your own. Eyes closed, you held your breath as you waited for him to speak. 

“I know you ‘eard what I said back there. Look, I tried to keep this casual like we agreed, I really fuckin’ did, luv, but watchin’ that goddamn pig put his hands on ya solidified everything for me…” he took a breath as his heart too was nearly beating out of his chest and you could feel his pulse through his hand still wrapped in yours. “I… I don’t want casual anymore.”

“What?” It felt like a dream, this couldn’t possibly be real… could it? Was he really saying what you thought he was?

A slight chuckle at your reaction, he continued. “When ya left on that mission, I thought it’d be fine; you’d return and we’d get back to what we do best: passin’ the time by in each other's company. Maybe the separation would do us some fuckin’ good, give us time to cool off. Then I spent over a month’s worth of nights without even seein’ ya once and it was fuckin’ torture. The way I missed ya was too strong for casual.”

“Then why…?” you started the confused question.

“Avoid ya?” he finished it. “I’m not the best at this shit and I panicked. For that I'm more sorry than ya know. But ya need to understand…I know I can be rough ‘round the edges; I’m the last person that deserves somethin’ as soft and gentle as you, sweetheart. Thought if I kept my distance, we could go back to just foolin’ ‘round. But I realized I don’t wanna go back; I want to try this, us, because fuck I can’t stand not havin’ ya all to myself. I want you…really, truly, only you…”

He was close, the warmth of his body as he came down from that rush of adrenaline made the air around you both heated. Moving his head until your lips were almost touching, bodies molded into the curves of one another, his fingertips brushed against your cheek as his gaze never wavered from the lower half of your face. 

"Are…are you sure?" you asked hesitantly, as if he would take it all back in an instant.

He nodded against your head. “I want us to be together. Say you'll be mine,” he whispered, hot breath so close to your mouth you could feel it tingle across the skin of your lips. "I need ta hear ya say you'll be with me.”

Your head may have been foggy by the tension flowing between your bodies, but there was nothing you were ever more sure of than this being what you wanted. Without a moment of hesitation, you gave him his answer. “Simon, you idiot,” you chided him gently, “I was already yours. You’re the only one I want to be with.”

Moist lips were already capturing your own by the time the ending sound of the last word left your mouth as if he were trying to swallow the words down so you could not take them back. Kisses like fire peppered your lips, his entire mouth enveloping your own with nose pressed into his cheek so that you could barely breathe and yet you did not try to escape.

Everywhere his fingers went as they caressed the lines of your body left trails of sensitive nerve endings bursting to life, sending waves of delicious tingles coursing through your limbs until they reached the very top of your head. Something in the way he touched you was like he was trying to take all those feelings you both knew you had for each other and capture it to hold in the palms of his hands; he could not get enough.

Whatever lingering bit of upset that still clung to you was dissipated the longer he molded your bodies together until there was nothing left. You knew the type of man Simon was, knew that raw emotion was not something he had much experience in; for him to be so vulnerable about what he wanted, he was trying to prove that he was willing to change- for you. And that was enough to make you forgive him for everything. 

"Please," he groaned into your open mouth, his hands dancing around your waist near the bottom of your shirt."I need ta be inside ya."

Your smile was on his lips. "Then what are you waiting for? Can't leave my boyfriend suffering," you replied with just as much desperation and that was all the confirmation he required.

Simon hadn't held that title in a long, long time, but something about how it sounded in your sweet voice made him feral and he was lost to anything but how you felt against him and how he would feel in you.

Grabbing the hem of your shirt with his exploring fingers, he released your mouth only long enough to rip it off over your head and toss it somewhere onto his floor. He had seen you naked dozens of times, had learned all the parts of your anatomy by touch alone, and yet here in this moment it was like seeing you for the first time again. 

"Christ, luv, you are always such a pretty sight," he said, pupils dilating as he took a lingering moment to run those rough fingers along the side of your breast all the way to your hip. "I am one lucky bastard to have such a beauty for a girlfriend."

Fuck, you both were so drunk on the other that there was only one need that desperately had to be met and that was to feel your bodies become one and solidify this relationship. This wasn't just sex, this had become something more. You were now connected and wanted to reflect that physically just as it was emotionally. Everything went quickly after that: clothes being removed in a mess of heated breath and tangled parts, until both of you stood completely bare before the other. 

He held onto you as he moved you both together closer to the bed where he sat back, pulling you into his lap onto the mattress. "I was a goddamn fuckin' fool to push away from ya like that," he said breathlessly as he helped you to situate yourself on him where he had you lean backward so that your back was pressed against his chest. "You are the only one for me, the only one that makes all this fuckin' hell worth somethin'."

His cock throbbed wildly between your thighs and up against his stomach, that aching tip with its dribble of precum begging to be allowed inside of your silky walls, but it wasn’t time for that yet. You were his focus, the one he wanted to bear penance to, and so securing you to him with a strong arm around your waist, his other hand rubbed across the length of your thigh until he decided to slip it in the crevasse between them.

"I am neva gonna let you go again, I fuckin’ swear it," his humid breath purred at your ear as he palmed your sex, catching the damp heat in his hand. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Mine.”

You opened your legs wider, until your thighs were on the outside of his. He extended his middle finger and drug it across the slit in your petals until he split them open and plunged it deep inside. You bucked in his grasp at the shock of his touch, back arching in a jolt as he ran that one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as he found your clit and began to rub circles around the bundle. 

“Simon,” your soft voice moaned his name as your head fell back to his shoulder and he smirked as he kissed your cheek.

“I do fuckin’ love the way ya say my name, luv,” he groaned. 

It was like your lips turned sound into gold and never had a man felt more rich than he did. 

His finger locked onto your clit continued in its steady rhythm while he risked moving his hand up to massage your breast so he could stimulate the nipple till it grew hard enough that he could lightly twist it between his fingers. A gasp escaped from your mouth into the room at the multiple points of sensitivity getting his attention that it was making your thoughts hazy. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad all the time I feel like I’m constantly burnin’,” he whispered more of his yearning words into your ear. “I should have known by how much I craved ya even from the start that it was never just gonna remain casual. You and I were meant to be.”

Your body felt like it was on a cloud, so feather light with pleasure that even his words added to the euphoria.  Placing your hands on either side of your bodies onto the mattress you used the leverage to roll your hips onto his hand, grinding down in rhythm with the stroke of his finger. The heat from your body working its hardest the closer it got to its release caused sweat to bead along your forehead. 

Not wanting to leave any part of you unloved, he switched his hand to your other breast where the nipple already stood hard and raised, waiting for him as he continued his confessions. “Even after I made ya come, ya still wanted to linger around like I was somethin’ special,” his bassy voice hummed in your head, “fuck was that addictive. Whenever ya left I’d get a knot in my stomach, cause I missed ya bein’ near. All the excuses I made to keep you hangin’ ‘round just a little longer were all bullshit. I just wanted ya to stay with me.”

Your pace quickened as he spoke, breathing heavy and labourous, spurred on by the longing in his words that made you ache. To finally hear the sheer extent of his want for you, goddamn it was like a deep inhale after holding your breath for far too long; there was no hiding anymore, no more skirting around feelings that were surfacing. You could let go and experience the full capacity of everything he had to give you without fear or confusion. 

A sharp hiss of air between his lips as he rocked along with your movements, enjoying how lost you were in the depths of your oncoming release. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groaned, his fingers coated in your warm juices as it nearly dripped to his palm. “Couldn’t say it before, but I can now. I am so smitten with ya I can’t see straight.”

Christ, Simon’s cock was so hard, the tip so swollen that the slightest bump from your thigh was enough that he felt like he might blow before he even got the chance to be inside you. The adrenaline from his admissions didn’t help either as skin felt like it was on fire and the way you moved over top of him had him grasping at anything to keep him sane until he could get you off once before diving in.

Your orgasm was approaching fast and your ability to think, let alone talk, was disrupted to the point that all you could do was grind harder on his hand and focus on remembering how to breathe. That pressure gathered as you rushed towards the peak, your muscles in your abdomen tightening as Simon leaned into your ear one more time to whisper the final thing that he wanted you to know about all this. 

“Ya are my addiction,” he breathed into the skin of your neck before his lips latched on to suck and bite along all that tender meat. 

And all at once it was over. The dam broke, completely exploded as the flood could not be contained a second more and as your head flew back with eyes closed you came so hard that you nearly knocked him over, but just as he had said earlier, he had you. Those fingers milked your clit through your orgasm for all it was worth, stroking out every last bit until there was nothing more for you to give him and you sank down into a puddle in his arms. 

He held you snug in his embrace as he stippled kisses along the edge of your jawline and down your neck, delicate pecks as the ecstasy played itself out. “That’s it sweetheart, ride it out. All the way for me,” he groaned his praises. “I want ya to have your fill.”

Minutes passed with all your focus put solely on steadying your erratic breathing and racing pulse, until finally you were able to collect yourself. Only then did Simon give you a gentle nudge with his hand against your ass. “Get up,” he directed as he helped you to stand, turning you around to face him before guiding you back down to kneel over his lap, that thick cock twitching between your thighs. “I need to see those pretty eyes.”

Positioning your body over top of him, Simon held your hips tightly in his grasp as he led them down over the top of his lap. The head of his cock prodded against the folds of your cunt until he was able to slip between them, that first sensation of all that warm slick coating him making his torso shudder as he drug the length through the petals. 

“Ya want this inside ya, pretty girl? Want me to fill that tight little cunt full of me?” he grunted as he continued to slather his cock in your cum. “Come on sweetheart, let me hear ya say it. I need to hear ya say it.”

Shit, the wind was knocked from your lungs, head lolling back as you felt all that delicious girth resting between your legs so close to its goal and yet still so far. You squirmed in his grip, trying to wrestle that fucking appendage inside you, but goddammit Simon had you firmly. Quickly you nodded your reply. “Please, Simon, please,” you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded. “I need you inside me so bad. Please.”

That was the most he could tease as he was rocking dangerously close to the fucking edge and there was no way he would allow himself to come without taking you with him. Having you sit up again he aligned the tip with your entrance and as he guided your hips back down he pressed into it and in he went. He shoved your body down until you sat against his thighs so that he was buried in you to the base.

“Fuck,” he whined as abs clenched while his body convulsed so that he had to cling to you tight, fingers drilling into the muscle at your sides that would surely leave marks tomorrow. Christ you always felt like heaven. 

Your arms locked around the back of his neck to keep you from falling off, delicate whimpers dripping from your lips as his cock nestled securely inside to stretch you good and full to the brim. It pulsed and throbbed against your walls like a heartbeat deep in your core, its rhythm making your body tremble to the cadence of a dance that only you two had perfected.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel so good,” he sighed. 

More primal instinct overtook you as your mind crumbled to the euphoria of the connection of your bodies. Being on top you were in control of the pace and set it nice and easy as you rolled your hips till he loosened his grip and you could add a bit of bounce to the movement, using your knees to push off the mattress. Simon released your hips and gave you the reins to use him as you wanted, instead opting to palm as much of your ass as he could in each hand.

Massaging each cheek as he used his strength to take some of the pressure off your legs, he groaned desperately into your face, the last bit of speech he would be able to create for the moment as your body became his paradise. “That’s it, pretty girl, fuckin’ use me.”  

You ground your hips harder into his pelvis to engage your swollen clit like you couldn’t get enough of the way it felt. Your fingertips tingled with the prickling sensation of them running over the cropped bottom of Simon’s blonde locks as you rode him, every part of you from your head down to your toes in pure bliss. It was overwhelming, intense, mind-numbing, and you did not want it to stop. 

You were consumed with the pleasure of him and nothing else.

The desire to kiss again intensified, but the ecstasy running like magma through your veins left you both unable to do little else than to moan and gasp uncontrollably into each other's slack mouths, moist air being siphoned between one mouth into the other. Damp hair clung to the sides of your face and the back of your neck as the muscles in your thighs strained and flesh stuck against sweaty flesh.

Too much, too fucking much, and yet he need even more. Simon could not stand it any longer, the need to drill into you took over him and leaning himself back slightly he held your hips in place as he thrust up into you with strong snaps of his pelvis. The pressure of his cock being forced into your dripping cunt caused wet, slapping sounds to fill the space to accentuate the squeaking now emanating from the springs in his bed.

The pace was now his and by its slowly increasing speed you knew he was getting close; he only got this desperate when he was about to finish. You were right there with him, the stimulation of your clit helping to start that warm tightening in your stomach so that now you were so sensitive it would not take much more from him to send you over the edge.

More aggressively he thrust inside all the way up until he reached the base of his phallus, nearly bottoming out in you the harder he went. It was impossible not to get lost in the feeling of something so silky, so tight, so warm, not when it belonged to someone he needed like air. Goddammit he was aching to come, the struggle about to give out at any minute.

His hand pawed at your face, holding you by the cheek to prop your head up as you bobbed with his thrusts so that those amber eyes could meet yours. “Come with me baby,” he made his grunted plea, “come on, I wanna do this togetha. Are ya close?”

You nodded exaggeratedly to convey the messages since you were still not able to form words. Thrust after thrust he continued to pound into you, each one making that knot in your stomach grow stronger and stronger until finally like the flick of a switch it was over and you cried out as you came all over his cock, shuddering as the electric spark snaked its way up your spine while you sticky juices dripped down to his pelvis.

Simon, having completed his work, finally allowed himself to let go and he came with a fury and a shaky loud groan that ripped out from his chest. His body convulsed as he drained his swollen balls dry. “That’s it, that’s it sweetheart,” he repeated over and over breathlessly as you both rode out that high through to the very end. 

You fell forward into him, exhausted and satisfied while he still clung to your body so that his warm breath wafted over your shoulder as he came back down from the ecstasy. He didn't want to let you go and you were more than content to stay nestled in his arms for as long as possible just to feel him. After a moment his sweat-speckled forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his arms never loosening one bit.

“No one ever gets me like this, save for you,” he whispered into your skin before placing a kiss to seal it in. “And no one is ever gonna get the chance now cause I ain’t ever gonna let ya go.” 

Eventually his heart rate slowed enough that he could breathe normally again and as he did he eased you both down to the mattress on your sides so that his arms could stay wrapped tight. Against his chest he held you close as his fingers ran long, gentle lines along your spine and up into your hair in a tender gesture that soothed you back down into a calm.

At least your body was, but this was uncharted territory you were dealing with now that you had both made it official to one another and that brought along with it a whole slew of new dilemmas that you would face. And of course, you being the one to always be prepared, couldn’t help but bring up a few in that comfortable post-coital silence that followed.  

"You know that we are going to have to be even more careful now," you mused aloud. "What if a recruit tries to hit on me or something? What if I slip up and tell them about us?"

“Doesn’t matter what ya tell 'em. You're taken, so just tell 'em that,” he muttered sleepily as he worked those digits over your skin. 

“I don’t think Price is gonna be happy with us if and when he finds out we’re in a relationship,” you commented, still stuck on the line of thinking currently plaguing your mind. "I don't want you to get in trouble or anything, ya kn…."

His strong hands were already wrapped around your cheeks in an instant as Simon leaned into your face to peck your lips to stop you from speaking. “Stop fuckin’ worrin’, sweetheart. I don’t care,” he reassured softly. “We can figure all that shit out later. Right now, I want to lay ‘ere with my girl; fuck the rest. I'm not runnin', not anymore, so there’s plenty of time for us to work this out.”

His girl. His. Yeah, you could get used to him calling you that.

As you snuggled back down against him, you weren’t sure what this new development would bring for you both in the coming days, if it would be a struggle or not, but you knew that nothing could be as hard as not being together. Whatever it was you had to do to preserve this, you would.

Tag list: @ashcarmine @moviefreak1205 @dragonstoneshortcake

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #angst with a happy ending #fluff and smut #cod smut #simon smut #ghost smut #smut #simin ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost #simon ghost x you #ghost cod smut #cod ghost

[buckymorelikefuckme]

a shore thing

bucky barnes x fem reader

i decided to write it hehe

a/n: any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged & welcomed :) xoxo

Bucky calls your name for the umpteenth time, beyond exasperated as you stumble away, giggling uncontrollably as you evade capture. He's hardly tipsy anymore, having decided to nurse a single beer for the last couple hours when he noticed how heavy you were drinking. Somebody needed to be responsible, he told himself. Even Steve was letting loose more than usual. But, to be fair, they were all on vacation.

“Guys, the taxis are here,” Nat announces, yet again, leaning heavily against one of said vehicles. “Bucky, we gotta go.”

“I’m trying my best here,” he replies. Although, that's not entirely true. “Someone should've cut her off ages ago.”

“Boooooo,” you heckle as you run past him.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fine. You can stay here by yourself.”

You pause abruptly, almost tripping over your own feet, but you catch yourself before you face-plant into the gravel. “You're leaving me?” you ask in a pitiful tone.

“Yup.” Bucky turns and takes a few steps away, hearing you whine in protest. “Have fun.”

“Noooo, wait!”

Your uneven steps come closer and closer to Bucky and as soon as he gauges you're within arm’s reach he spins around with a smirk. It makes you lurch to a stop, gasping as it dawns on you.

“Betrayal!” you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You try to take off running again, but Bucky is quicker. You're swooped up into a fireman’s carry before you even register your feet leaving the ground. “Ack! Put me down, you absolute caveman!”

Sam sticks his head out of the taxi. “There's room in this one.”

Bucky steers his steps that way, feeling your tiny fists beating his back the whole way, and plops you into the open seat. You let out a cute oof that he ignores as he tries to latch the seatbelt. You're a squirmy little shit though, and he soon finds that the only way he’ll be able to get the group back to the hotel is to enter the taxi himself and pull you into his lap. He quickly shuts the door and finally latches the seatbelt around the both of you, telling the driver to go.

Sam shakes his head in amusement in the seat beside Bucky. “You're seriously the only one who can rally that firecracker of a woman.”

“Hey!” you object with a pout. “I'm drunkies, not deaf. I can still hear you.”

You and Sam begin bickering and Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to interfere. He's too busy trying to think about literally anything else other than the ginormous mistake he made by placing you on his lap. You, the person he's been in love with for far too long now, who has absolutely no clue of his feelings and sends constant mixed signals.

There are days he's sure you feel the same with the way you look at him, but then the next day you go out of your way to make sure he knows the two of you are just friends. He's losing his fucking mind. He doesn't know if he should tell you how he feels or try to move on.

You're wiggling suddenly, body jostling atop Bucky’s and his mind is forced to return to the present, only to see you and Sam slap-fighting like children.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he addresses the driver, “I swear they're actually adults when they're not three sheets to the wind.”

The driver waves off the apology with a chuckle. The fight ends with you pinching Sam’s nipple, his cry of pain and outrage making you giggle wildly and throw your head back onto Bucky’s shoulder. After you catch your breath you sit up and wiggle some more until you're sitting sideways and can look at Bucky. Your eyes are glassy and your smile is sly and a touch wonky, and Bucky still thinks you're the cutest, sexiest woman he's ever known.

“Why don't you like me for real?”

The taxi is uncomfortably quiet. Bucky blinks a few times, shifting his gaze to Sam, who’s suddenly very interested in the passing streetlights and palm trees outside the window. Traitor, Bucky thinks. With no help from his supposed friend, Bucky looks back to you.

He clears his throat. “I do like you.”

“No,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I mean like, like me like me. Like, more.”

Bucky is silent again, his mind whirling with a million questions–the biggest one being what the fuck?

“I'm not sure what you mean,” he says carefully. He hopes playing dumb will work in deterring the conversation, but he should've known better.

“You always just joke about it, but you never mean it. Always get my hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” he blurts, truly flabbergasted, but he cuts you off before you can reply. “No, don't answer that. You're drunk, okay? You don't know what you're saying.”

You poke his cheek roughly, pouting. “I just want you to like me back, Buck. Wanna kiss you whenever I want.”

Bucky swallows thickly, unable to take his eyes away from yours as you lean in closer.

“Don't you wanna kiss me?” you question, reaching up you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

Your lips graze his, a feather-light touch, and he exhales shakily. Of fucking course he wants to kiss you. He's wanted nothing else for the last year. But he doesn't want it like this. He says your name, voice low in warning. You either don't hear him or you don't care.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you continue pressing light kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin, along his jaw. He fists his hands where they rest on either side of you, praying for the will to remain strong.

“You're drunk,” he repeats, a last ditch effort in getting you to stop, but even he can hear how weak the protest is.

“I still know what I want, what I feel.” You brush your nose against his. “I want you.”

Sam coughs pointedly beside both of you. “We’re here.”

Bucky is quick to unlatch the seatbelt and help you out of the car. Nat walks over and grabs your hand, Steve walking leisurely behind her.

“Let's go to bed, please,” she begs as she drags you with her.

You begin whining again, reminding Bucky of your inebriated state. He shouldn't have let you kiss him. You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Guilt punches him in the gut. He's so fucking weak when it comes to you.

“I wanna sleep with Bucky,” you complain as you resist.

Natasha squawks. “What?!” Her eyes are as wide as saucers, flicking back and forth from you and Bucky. Sam fails to hide his snort.

“His bed is bigger,” you explain, “You take up too much space.”

Natasha gasps. “How dare you!”

You turn to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Bucky, please let me sleep with you.”

“I… I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he replies.

You stomp your foot. “Pleeeease?” Your pout is lethal. “I promise I won't take up too much space.”

Sam puts his hand over Nat’s mouth before she can start yelling, doing his best to frogmarch her into the hotel so they don't cause a disturbance. Steve follows languidly, which is the sign that he's quickly coming down from his drunken high and will likely crash the moment his head hits the pillow.

“You should just sleep in your room with Nat,” Bucky advises.

“I don't wanna sleep with her,” you say, stepping back into Bucky’s space. One of your hands grasps his shirt, the other trailing across his chest. He fights the shiver threatening to run down his spine. “I wanna cuddle you.”

You look up at him through your lashes and Bucky knows he's lost. He sighs. You grin and giggle, grabbing his hand to lead him inside the hotel. He's quiet the whole ride up in the elevator. Your head is resting on his shoulder, humming along to whatever song is playing in your head. You’re still holding his hand.

When you're both standing in front of his room door, Bucky pauses, about to try one last time to get you to go two rooms down to the one you're supposed to be sharing with Nat, but you snatch the key card out of his hand and open the door before a word can leave his mouth. He doesn't trust you to be alone right now, and with Sam babysitting Nat and Steve probably snoring away in his own room, Bucky accepts his fate. He enters the room, closing the door with resignation.

“Ugh, god, these heels are the worst,” you grumble as you trip your way over to sit on the bed. You fight with the small buckle before making a noise of complaint. “Buckyyy…”

“Jesus,” he mutters, huffing as he walks to you.

He kneels in front of you and carefully takes your shoes off. You hum, pleased, once your feet are free, wiggling your toes.

“Why do you wear them if you hate them so much?” he mumbles.

“Because they make my legs and ass look fantastic, duh.”

Well. That's fair, Bucky supposes.

“Can you unzip me now?”

Fuck. Bucky chokes on nothing.

“Unzip you? What are you planning on sleeping in? Your pajamas are in your room,” he points out.

“Can't I borrow one of your shirts?” you ask, blinking innocent eyes up at him.

He doesn't trust it one bit.

“Please, Bucky? My dress won't be comfortable.”

Your pout makes yet another appearance. He doesn't bother pointing out that you wouldn't have this problem if you went to your own room. You'd ignore him anyway.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He rifles through his bag to find a shirt for you, grabbing pajamas for himself while he's at it. “I'll go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to head that way, but you stop him.

“My dress,” you remind him, spinning around and pointing at the zip.

Bucky's pretty sure you could do this by yourself, but he's just ready to go to bed at this point, so he’ll do whatever he has to to get there. He tries not to put too much thought into the action, but his mind can't help but wander, imagining unzipping your dress with different intentions. The more skin that is revealed to him, the more his breathing picks up. He takes note that you didn't wear a bra with this dress, which makes him realize you'll be wearing his shirt with only your underwear beneath it. He curses mentally.

He steps away like he's been burned once the zipper reaches the bottom. “There you go,” he says, voice gruff.

He doesn't wait for your response, quickly escaping into the bathroom before anything else can be asked of him. It doesn't take Bucky long to change his clothes, but he still lingers in the small space to gather his wits, taking his time as he brushes his teeth, and even splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment.

“She’ll forget all of this by morning,” he assures himself.

He's not fond of the way that statement makes his stomach twist.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds your dress pooled on the floor in the same spot you stood as he unzipped it. You're standing next to the bed, fidgeting with the hem of Bucky’s shirt that hangs off your small frame. He raises a quizzical brow.

“I don't know which side you prefer,” you say, unsure.

Bucky feels himself soften at your expression. “I'm good either way.”

You dart for the left side, lifting the comforter and sheets and snuggling underneath them. Bucky's lips twitch, but he resists smiling.

“C’mon, Buck, I want cuddles,” you entice, patting the spot beside you exaggeratedly.

He only hesitates for a split second. It's late and exhaustion is settling in his bones. He’ll worry about consequences in the morning.

You waste no time in invading his space once he's in the bed. You nudge his arm until he lifts it, worming your way under it and placing your head on his chest, your own arm slung over his waist. Bucky goes still, holding his breath until you get comfortable. Slowly, he lets his arm fall across your back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

You nuzzle into his pec. “Love you.”

Bucky's eyes snap open then. His heart begins hammering in his chest and he prays that you're close enough to sleep to not notice.

“Goodnight,” he rasps after a minute passes by.

Your only reply is a light snore. Bucky feels his heart crack in his chest.

~

The next morning, Bucky lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure exactly how much sleep he got, but it wasn't a lot. You only got clingier as you slept, practically wrapping your whole body around him.

Bucky is a weak, weak man.

Sunlight begins peeking through the curtains, eventually finding its way to the bed and across your closed eyes. A frown forms between your brows and he almost smoothes it with his thumb. The only reason he stops himself is because you groan and turn away before he can.

“Turn it off,” you croak.

“The sun?” he retorts with a laugh.

“Yes,” you reply derisively. “Kick its ass for waking me up.”

Bucky smiles to himself. “Whatever you want, my love.”

It feels like the room freezes in time after the endearment escapes him. With a jolt, you sit up and face him. Bucky can't read your expression, but that's mostly because he's doing his best to look anywhere but your face.

“Seriously?” you gripe. “You're still going to poke fun about that kind of shit even after what I said last night?”

That gets his attention pretty easily. He meets your gaze and hates the dejected look on your face.

“What–what are you talking about?” he questions, thrown.

Your chin wobbles slightly before you scoff, whipping the comforter off your body as you attempt to leave the bed, but Bucky sits up and grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Wait–”

“Let go of me,” you demand, refusing to look at him.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” he replies firmly.

You turn to him with a glare. “You're still joking about my feelings for you, even though I made it perfectly clear how I felt last night.”

“Felt? You… you don't feel the same anymore?” He's grasping for straws here. “I thought–I mean, I didn't think you were serious. You were drunk, I…”

“It doesn't matter if I still feel the same or not,” you reply, the fight leaving your body.

“Yes, it does!” he exclaims. “God, of course it fucking matters. If you have feelings for me, I need to know.”

“Have I not made it abundantly clear already?!” you retort. “If you're that fucking dense, then here you go: I'm fucking in love with you, you big, stupid, gigantic ass–”

He cuts you off by dragging your body to his and kissing you. You make a sound of shock, but you don't push him away, so he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a gasp, your tongue meeting his and making you both moan. He pulls away, chest heaving.

“We're both stupid,” he declares. “I'm in love with you too. I thought you were the one not taking it seriously.”

Your dazed expression begins clearing and realization sets in. “Oh my god,” you mumble as you yank him back into a kiss that has him reeling.

“Do you know,” he starts between kisses, “how fucking hard it was—to be a gentleman last night?”

You giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn't be a gentleman.”

Bucky curses, manhandling you until you're flat on your back. “That can be arranged.”

“Promises, promises,” you goad, biting your lip.

“Exactly,” he replies, lips tugging into a smirk.

~

Needless to say, the two of you have to put up with merciless teasing for the rest of the trip… But it's worth it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

[steddiealltheway]

Part two of The Danger in Romanticizing. Part One. Ao3 Link.

The entire time Eddie is over, Steve can’t stop smiling. There’s just something about him that puts Steve at ease and simultaneously keeps him on his feet with the continuous banter. And he brings out a side of Chrissy that he’s never seen before that makes Steve like her even more. Even Robin seems in constant high spirits around him, making jokes about nerdy shit that has Steve exchanging confused looks with Chrissy.  

But Steve also finds solace in Eddie whenever they become clear third wheels to the couple. And honestly, it’s nice to have someone else to share these moments with, and he doesn’t just mean Eddie. The four of them together fill a hole in Steve’s heart that he didn’t know was empty. 

When it gets late, Eddie and Chrissy begin to excuse themselves, and Steve’s heart sinks a little. But at least he knows he’ll at least see Chrissy soon. 

He moves toward the front hallway as the girls go into Robin’s room to have a private moment before they say goodbye. 

Eddie puts his hands in his pockets and smiles at Steve. “I’ve never had someone around for this part. Then again, usually I just go to my room.” 

“I do the same, but this is nice.” 

“It is,” Eddie agrees, taking a step closer to him. 

Steve takes a stabilizing breath as Eddie pushes into his personal space hardly for the first time that night. It seems like he’s incapable of keeping his distance, but Steve doesn’t mind. 

“It was really nice meeting you. Better than I expected,” Eddie admits. 

Steve laughs. “I would hope so, considering we were prepared for the worst.” 

“And it’s a good thing I was so I could be slightly prepared for the sight of your closet,” Eddie jokes, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

Steve lightly shoves him back while rolling his eyes, but Eddie just chuckles in response and bounces right back into his space. Steve fixes him with a look and asks, “What are you going to do when you inevitably see me in my horrible clothes?” 

“Begrudgingly admit that you look good in them.” 

The comment takes Steve off guard, but as he’s searching for a way to reply, Eddie points behind him. Steve turns and finds that he’s pointing at a picture of Robin at her high school graduation in her cap and gown beaming at the camera as Steve pulls her into his side with a proud smile wearing one of his favorite striped polos. He smiles at the memory. 

“I don’t know how you do it, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.” 

Steve snorts and turns back to Eddie. “I doubt I could pull off your style either.” 

Eddie looks him up and down for a moment before saying, “If I wasn’t about to leave then I would say we should trade clothes right now.” 

“Maybe another time?” 

“Definitely, as long as there’s no photo evidence.” 

Steve laughs again and claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m glad we finally met.” 

“Me too,” Eddie says with a small smile. 

Steve isn’t sure why, but he lets his hand linger on Eddie’s arm for a moment, debating if it’s too soon to hug him goodbye. 

Unfortunately, Robin and Chrissy decide that’s the best moment to leave Robin’s room, so Steve quickly drops his hand from Eddie’s shoulder and shoves it in his pocket. He ignores the look Robin gives him and moves toward the front door. 

They go through the process of saying goodbye and Steve hugs Chrissy while Robin pulls Eddie into a hug. When they pull away, Steve can see Robin and Chrissy watching him and Eddie intently, so in a moment of panic he holds out his hand in front of him, going for a handshake and an awkward, “Good to meet you.” 

Eddie just smiles and takes his hand, shaking it once before letting go. Steve tries not to let his hand linger for too long and pulls it through his hair to give it something else to do. 

He watches sadly as the pair leave, understanding why Robin always lingers in the doorway for a little while after Chrissy leaves. 

He watches as Eddie turns back and gives him a final wave that Steve quickly returns before he gets into what must be his car with Chrissy. Once they drive off, Robin slowly closes the door. 

The pair linger for a moment then Steve rushes off to the living room saying, “I need to call Dustin!” 

He starts dialing the number before Robin can say anything about the evening, and Steve tries to ignore why he’s unwilling to reflect. Luckily, Dustin’s mom answers the phone quickly. “Hello?” 

“Hi Ms. Henderson, it’s Steve.” 

Claudia coos on the other line, “Steve! It’s so good to hear your voice. How is life in the city?” 

Steve smiles and sits on the arm of the couch. “It’s great! I’m really enjoying it here. In fact, I think Dustin would too. I was wondering if he could come visit one weekend. I could even get Robin to take him on a tour of the college.” 

“That sounds wonderful! I was just-” There’s a little commotion on the line as Steve hears Dustin ask who his mom is talking to then rustling as Dustin tries to take the phone from her hands. “Dusty-!” 

“Steve!” Dustin yells into the phone. 

Steve pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing a bit. “Hey Henderson, you’re never going to believe who I just met.” Robin shoots him a smile as she goes into her room and closes the door. 

“Carl Sagan.” 

“No. Wait, who?” 

“Carl Sagan,” Dustin repeats sounding annoyed. “You know the astronomer and astrophys-” 

“Let’s circle back to this later. But think about some of your favorite books,” Steve tries again. 

Dustin pauses before saying, “Well, Tolkien is dead, so I’m not sure who you could be talking about.” 

Steve sighs and gives up. “Eddie Munson.” 

There’s a pause on the other line then a gasp. “No way! He’s never put any author description or any way to contact him! How could you have met him?” 

“Friend of a friend,” Steve answers simply. “But guess what?” 

“He’s a total asshole?” Dustin guesses excitedly. 

Steve pinches his nose and dramatically slides onto the couch. “You’re killing me, Henderson. But no, he’s not an asshole. He’s actually really great, and he agreed to meet you. Plus, apparently, Maybe We’re the Same was originally a novel instead of a children’s book.” 

“You’re telling me that there’s more to the universe that I will directly be able to ask the author about?” 

“Yes.” 

Dustin laughs on the other line and yells, “Mike is going to be so jealous! Do you think I could bring some of Will’s drawings that were inspired by the book? He’s always wanted to get feedback from Eddie.” 

Steve shrugs. “I mean yeah sure. But I’m not sure what he’ll really be able to say.” 

“Dude, Eddie illustrated the book, of course he’s going to have a lot to say. I wonder if he could use some of Will’s art if he ever decides to publish the original novel! Oh! You should bring him to Hawkins whenever you visit so he can meet the whole party! Only after I visit though! I want to be able to have bragging rights.” 

Steve smiles as he listens to Dustin rant, but he gets stuck on the fact that Eddie illustrated the book and finds himself wondering what else he draws and if his original novel included more drawings that he had to cut from the children’s book. If so, how could he decide what to keep and what to remove? 

Steve shakes his head as he goes down a rabbit hole of more questions for Eddie that he wants to ask. It’s like everything new he finds out about him makes him want to learn more. 

“Earth to Steve. Do you copy?” Dustin says loudly. 

Steve blinks and clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry, I was in my own world for a second there.” 

“I was just saying how I’ll have to ask my mom if I can visit during fall break which is about three weeks from now.” 

Steve smiles and sits up. “Yeah, I’ll have to check my calendar, but I usually don’t have anything planned for the weekends. I’ll also have to check with Robin, but your mom sounded excited about you visiting when I mentioned it to her earlier.” 

“Awesome! I can’t believe this! But hey, Suzie is going to call soon, so I have to go, but call sometime so we can catch up!” 

Steve smiles sadly and nods. “I’ll call when I can get some plans solidified. It was good talking to you. Tell Suzie I say hi.” 

“I will! Bye, Steve.” 

“Bye, Dustin.” Steve puts the phone back in its holder and tries to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of all the kids growing up. He slowly stands up and makes his way to Robin’s door, knocking before pushing it open. 

She looks up at him from her small desk and puts her pencil down. “Dustin’s visiting?” 

“If you’re okay with putting up with him for a weekend.” 

Robin leans back in her chair and sighs, “I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I kind of miss the kid. So, I don’t mind putting up with him as long as I don’t have some big exam or paper coming up and he bothers me while studying.” 

“I may have also told his mom that you wouldn’t mind showing him around the campus,” Steve confesses, deciding to bite the bullet early on so she can’t complain too much later. 

Robin’s mouth pulls into a flat line before she throws her hands up and says, “Sure. Why not? As long as Chrissy can help because she’d be better at selling the place.” 

“Sound good,” Steve affirms with a smile, stepping back to leave Robin to her homework. 

“Wait,” Robin says and crosses her arms. “What did you really think of Eddie?” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. He thought he was pretty clear about how he felt. “He’s great. I mean, I can see why you would think we wouldn’t get along, but that’s just surface-level stuff.” 

“He’s not too much for you?” Robin presses on. 

Steve shakes his head and says, “He’s...” he trails off when he realizes the next word that comes to mind is perfect. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “He’s really great." 

It’s like a weight is lifted off Robin’s shoulders. She’s quick to ramble, “Okay, that’s great! Now we can hang out more as a group, and there isn’t this overbearing weight of ‘what if they hate each other?’ Because at first, we both agreed that you two would either hate each other’s guts or you’d absolutely...” she trails off and freezes. 

“Absolutely what?” 

Robin shakes her head and looks down at her nails. “You’d absolutely hit it off like you just did now,” she completes the thought, but Steve can tell that’s not what she was going to say. 

“Mhm,” Steve says, trying to pull the truth out of her. 

Instead, Robin just blazes on saying, “But you know I tend to assume the worst, and Chrissy sometimes does too.” 

“It’s like you two were made to worry each other to death,” Steve teases. 

Robin flips him off and turns back to her work staring at some type of worksheet. “I’m glad you like him.” 

Steve’s heart beats a little too hard at the comment. “Me too.” He steps out of the doorway and says, “Good luck with your work.” 

“I’m gonna need it,” Robin groans. 

Steve closes the door behind him and makes his way to his room, grabbing Eddie’s book as he sits on his bed. His fingers trace over the cover of The Boy as he looks off in the distance at the dragon coming to attack the town while Dart stands at his side. Steve has no idea how Eddie can be so damn talented and embarrassed about it. He wonders if he’s the same way about whatever instrument he played in his band. 

Steve sighs and lays back, trying not to think too hard about the man as he flips through the pages of his book with new appreciation for all his drawings. When he gets to the end of the story, he closes it and places it on his nightstand, staring off at his blank walls. 

Eddie was right, he needs to decorate. But he’s not getting rid of any of his clothes. 

Steve shakes his head and wonders how someone new can have such a big impact on his life in such a short amount of time. 

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, Steve rushes to get ready, opting to get a few more minutes of sleep before going in. In his rush, he forgets to leave Robin a note to tell Chrissy to tell Eddie he says hi. But as the day goes on, he can’t help but think that the notion of the note could’ve been a little too ridiculous. 

He forgets it entirely when he gets in the tedious process of going through paperwork, but he’s glad that he has an excuse for staying away from the floor where Collin is swaggering around. Steve sometimes wonders if all his stories are lies to cover the fact that no one finds him as attractive as he finds himself. 

When the clock hits five, Steve immediately clocks out and rushes to get back to his apartment. As soon as he’s inside, he feels a sense of relief. 

Robin peaks around the corner while he’s taking off his shoes. “Hey, how was work?” 

“Same as always.” 

“How’s Collin?” 

Steve chuckles, “Same as always. How were your classes?”

Robin groans, “My sociolinguistics professor still talks too damn fast, but the class is literally about language. And I had my work shift without Chrissy today.”

“Tragic,” Steve teases, making his way to the fridge to figure out what he’ll make for dinner that night. 

“Oh! I nearly forgot. Chrissy wanted me to tell you that Eddie asked her to tell me to tell you he says hi.” 

Steve slowly turns around and squints at Robin as he processes what the hell she just said. 

“Eddie says hi,” she quickly clarifies as it finally clicks. 

Steve smiles, thinking that maybe the note wouldn’t have been so ridiculous after all. “Well, tell Chrissy to tell Eddie that I say hi.” 

“Will do,” Robin says, saluting him before making her way back to her room. 

The rest of the night goes by fairly quickly once Steve starts making dinner, opting for an easy enchilada recipe for two. Him and Robin fill each other in on the rest of their days over dinner like always, and Steve follows the tradition of hanging around the kitchen while Robin does the dishes, going on about random stuff like trying to plan what they’ll do when Dustin gets there. 

At eight, Robin makes her way to the couch and settles in next to their phone to complete her nightly call with Chrissy. Steve politely excuses himself (rolls his eyes and tells Robin to not be so disgustingly in love when they have thin walls) and puts on some light music to give her privacy. 

Steve sits on his bed and debates going through his latest sports magazine, but instead, he stares at his walls and tries to imagine hanging stuff up. He’s not sure why it’s so hard with just his room since every other place in the apartment is decorated just fine. But maybe it’s the combination of his childhood bedroom like he told Eddie and the fact that maybe his walls reflect how he feels about himself. 

He doesn’t mean for it to be a sad thought. But outside of high school, he feels... unimportant and uninteresting. And maybe a little bit stuck. 

His mind flashes back to his conversation with Eddie asking him why he doesn’t do something else. Honestly, he doesn’t know what else he would like to do. He makes it by at his dad’s dealership, but he doesn’t really enjoy his job. Sure, interacting with people can be nice, but the paperwork just gives him a headache. Or maybe it’s just Collin. 

He sighs and lays back on his bed. Maybe one day he’ll figure it out. 

There’s a light knock on his door and Steve props himself up on his elbows as Robin opens the door. “There’s a call for you.” 

Steve frowns. Usually people don’t call him. “I didn’t hear the phone ring,” he comments as he makes his way to the living room and picks up the phone. “Hello?” 

“What are you wearing?” 

Steve laughs as Chrissy yells, “Eddie!” in the background of the call. He can practically see the face the two of them are making at each other even though he has only known Eddie for a little more than twenty-four hours.  

“I’m wearing one of my green polos with khakis,” Steve answers easily. “No belt though because I took it off once I got home.” 

Robin freezes on her way to her room and turns around with a frown on her face. 

“That sounds horrible.” 

“Well, I could wear something like a button down, slacks, and a tie like my coworker wears if that’s what you prefer,” Steve replies, laying back on the couch with a big smile, ignoring the look Robin is giving him. 

“I’d actually prefer you in noth-” Eddie starts but is quickly cut off on the other line by Chrissy which is unfortunately muffled by what Steve assumes to be a hand over the phone. When the muffled noises go away Eddie says, “Chrissy told me I’m not allowed to be my flirtatious self with you yet.” 

“Once again, they’re trying to keep us from each other. But Robin hasn’t banned me yet, so I can ask what are you wearing?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie says with what sounds like a proud smile. 

“Nothing?” Steve repeats and whistles low. “You and Chrissy are definitely too comfortable with each other.” 

Robin starts waving her hands at Steve to get his attention. He glances at her and she’s quick to mouth what the fuck? Steve laughs and says into the phone, “Hold on a second, I have to explain to Robin that we’re not actually having phone sex.” 

“Oh my gosh, Steve,” Robin says and puts her head in her hands. 

Eddie gasps loudly, “We’re not? What a shame. That would be a fun first phone call.” 

Steve smiles and quickly remembers that he actually needs to ask him something. “Not to change subjects, but I was wondering if your weekends are typically free. Dustin said he might come up in a few weeks, so I was hoping you could meet him then. If you still want to of course.” 

“I would love to. And yeah, usually my weekends are free,” Eddie pauses before saying, “Saying that out loud sounds so sad.” 

“Don’t worry, my weekends are usually free, too.” 

Eddie dramatically sighs, “What a relief. I was really afraid of not sounding cool especially since you were a former jock.” 

Steve laughs and can practically feel his day shifting from mediocre to good. 

“Well, Chrissy is about to kill me because I promised I just wanted to briefly say hi,” Eddie announces. 

“Hi,” Steve says, sounding a little too flustered for his liking. 

But then Eddie practically giggles when saying, “Hi,” which makes Steve feel better. 

Suddenly, Eddie is quickly saying, “Okay, Chrissy is taking the phone now. Bye!” 

Steve doesn’t have time to properly say goodbye before Chrissy is on the line. “Hi, Steve. Sorry if he bothered you.” 

“Not at all,” Steve insists. “Thank you for giving up some of your phone time to let us talk by the way. I’ll give you back to Robin now.” He tilts the phone away from his mouth and says to Robin, “Chrissy is back.” 

“Thank god. I think I would’ve died if I had to witness any more of that,” Robin says as she grabs the phone and says, “Hi sweetheart. We never should’ve introduced them to each other.” 

Steve just laughs and makes his way back to his room. He turns at the doorway and says, “Tell Chrissy I said goodnight.” 

Robin tilts the phone away from her mouth. “And Eddie?” 

“And Eddie,” Steve confirms with a smile. 

As he gets ready for bed, he’s hit with the thought that Eddie’s “sort of boyfriend” is probably waiting for Chrissy and Robin to get off the phone so he can call Eddie. Or maybe he called before. Steve tries not to let the thought make him too sick, but he definitely has to add it to the list of questions he wants to ask Eddie. He wonders how much the list will grow as time goes on. 

Part Three

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #the danger in romanticizing fic

[the-blind-bard]

Parasite Shigaraki x Reader Pt. 2

|Part 1 | Part 3 (Soon) | Masterlist |

Synopsis: [Strangers/Lovers, Smut, Loser!Obsessive! Shigaraki] - |Shigaraki x Reader| Your family called your quirk "parasite", able to feed off of someone's quirk and make it temporarily your own. Luckily, the only other person on the subway happens to have the most powerful quirk you've ever seen and zero experience with women.

Content: MDNI, stalking, voyeurism, mention of masturbation, mutual obsession, reader has a quirk, submissive Shigaraki

You hadn’t heard from him at all.

Nights were spent pacing around your shitty excuse of an apartment, bitter curses leaving your lips and hands itching to destroy everything around you. 

You were irreparably mad that your lust for power must have -understandably- scared him off. 

For fucks sake, (Y/n). You killed a guy in front of him.

That might have been the most impulsive thing you’d ever done.

If only you had stuck to the friendly and cute act, not showing him the power-hungry monster that lives beneath your skin.

He would have been so easy. 

You could tell the minute you touched him that he would do anything you asked, clumsy and blushing. 

You were sure if you hadn’t scared him but instead had just pressed your lips to his and let your fingers pull his hair like pretty, blue ribbons, he would have been yours.

He was meant to be yours.

You could have both built him up and broken him down.

And now you sit in the silence of knowing what could have been.

What you could have been.

It threw you into a fit of rage at first. 

When a couple of days had passed without a single text or call, you thought surely you might run into him again on the subway.

Nothing. 

You got more and more desperate.

Taking long walks that were way out of your way, hoping to find out which direction he lived in. 

You were trying so hard to push down the obsession of finding Shigaraki, but every time you remembered the feeling of absolute destruction on the tips of your fingers, you took another hour-long detour home.

It had been a little over a week when you noticed it.

You were walking home from work, feet sore and not looking forward to the purgatory state of being on that subway. Today you were wondering if you should once again try to take some random stops home and seek Shigaraki out, but you were too tired for that today.

Good thing.

It had been another particularly bad day, leaving you with depths of unresolvable anger and an itch in your blood.

But things weren’t all bad.

 At least now you were comforted by the gentle footsteps lingering in the shadows behind you.

Leaving work, you noticed the feeling of eyes lurking in dark spaces. 

Red. 

Like you were being watched by a starved animal.

Flashes of blue.

Poor shy, pretty boy.

You were so sure he would either get on the subway and sit by you or he would approach you on the street, feigning coincidence. 

When you reached the subway, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You walked slowly to the subway stop, hands retreating from the cold and into your pockets. 

You could hear the softest patter of feet behind you. 

How cute.

The destructive little street cat wasn’t aware that he was chasing a panther.

And you let him think he was getting away with it too. 

You did for a couple of days, playing the role of the ignorant airhead, acting entirely unaware of the rapid increase in time he spent “with” you. 

Throughout the day and night, footsteps always echo from not too far behind you. 

You let him believe he had the power. 

You wanted him to get hooked to you like you were the memory of his quirk, unable to chase after anything else. 

When there were a couple of consecutive days where you were sure he’d been following you from morning till deep in the night, you decided he was ready.

Leaving work, Shigaraki was there.

Walking home, Shigaraki was there.

Dead of the night, purposefully leaving your bedroom curtain cracked open, Shigaraki was there.

Leaving for work in the morning?

Depends.

Looks like even he had limits on how persistent he could be. It made you wonder what else he did throughout his days.

What was he sacrificing in his daily life as he spent his time muffling whines in his throat as he peeked through your windows? 

On this day, though, he was there. His footsteps were a little more reckless. Sleep-deprived and dazed by you, he was far from stealthy. 

At this point in allowing him to follow you, Shigaraki is over-confident. 

He thought his girl needed him now more than ever. If she was too stupid to notice someone following her for this long, what would she do without him ever again? He couldn’t trust you to walk home alone. 

Not after that pretty but reckless mouth almost had that guy and his friends come at you like that. 

Tomura wasn’t sure of the extent of your quirk, but he hadn’t seen you use a quirk at all since that night. He was so sure now that you needed him as much as he needed to feel your hands caress his face again. Fuck, touch anywhere. He just needs you-

Tomura’s lethal confidence. 

He seemed to be a little bit bolder than you gave him credit for and it was obvious to you that he wasn’t as innocent either. You’d still grant him shy, but hearing him fail to stifle those pretty noises at night derailed some notions of innocence. 

No, you decided Tomura Shigaraki must be a closeted freak, perverted and nasty in the privacy of his mind and wherever he called home. 

That, you could certainly work with to your advantage. 

It was a little warmer today than usual, a murky and humid heat. 

Even the slight chill of the night did little to stop the sticky feeling of sweat on your skin. 

You dressed appropriately, clothes a little bit more revealing than usual. 

To anyone else, you were just a normal person dressing for the weather. 

But to the footsteps behind you, Tomura couldn’t decide if he loved the feeling of seeing you like this more than how disgusted he was when anyone else looked at you. 

You could hear every step of his, smiling to yourself.

You were near the part of the street where Shigaraki would stay hidden and watch -waiting to make sure you got on the subway- when you suddenly stopped walking. 

Your back was turned to him, but your smile never faltered. This was a drastic risk to take, but you had to do something.

“Would you like to walk with me instead of taking the subway today?”

You didn’t turn around, not wanting to startle the lurking man with sudden movement. For a while, you didn’t hear any response aside from the initial gasp at your question and the approaching sound of nails scratching angry skin.

A shadow was cast on the pavement from right beside you. Illuminated by the glowing street light, his shadow loomed over yours. 

Turning your head to him with a sweet smile, you could see the wild look in his eyes, fingers tearing at his skin with his other hand clutched in the pocket of his hoodie. 

Feral.

“Thank you, Shigaraki.” You started back on your course of walking.

It was odd. 

The two of you had been walking for a decent amount of time and no one made a move towards speaking. You tried to read his body language, but you were too worried about enacting his need to run. 

Meanwhile, he didn’t see anything wrong with the silence at all. He was reveling in your presence.

He was bitter about you finding him out, wondering how long you’d known, but he couldn’t find it in him to care now that you asked for him to walk next to you. God, he missed the smell of you. 

To be able to see every detail of you up close. 

This beats fogging up the window of your room, hand traveling dangerously low as he tries to justify the disgusting way your name leaves his lips in a pathetic prayer for mercy. 

How sweet and peaceful you looked, blissfully sleeping.

His angel. 

Surely angels were forgiving, right? 

You could forgive him as he relentlessly fucks into his own fist, brought to euphoria just by seeing you and remembering what your hand felt like on his skin.

“Join the league,” he mumbled to you so lowly your brows scrunched in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You kept walking, leaning in towards him to hear better.

His breath hitched slightly. Every inch closer you were to him the more alive he felt. 

“League of Villians. I saw you dust that fuckin’ guy the other day. But you’re not shit on your own, so you’d be a dumbass to not join us.” Perfect. Tomura was sure those words perfectly reflected that he simply wants you to come live with him, help him take over the world, fuck him stupid…

You were stunned by how boldly he spoke. This wasn’t the same whimpering man that sticks to shadows. Seems like when Shigaraki wasn’t needy, he was rude. 

Is it bad that it kind of excited you? That you felt goosebumps rise on your flesh in the middle of a summer night? That you like how unpredictable he’s proving to be? 

You like how he has the potential to be destruction embodied and maybe you can pave a path to being the only thing he wants to keep whole and to himself?

Hm. But he was proving unpredictable. 

League of Villians? Who the fuck is this guy?

Looks like you might have to be careful to not get attached to the boy more than the power.

Was this a joke? No way he could be this fucking perfect. 

“Villian, huh?” You smirked at him. “That’s why you’ve been my personal shadow lately? They have you on recruitment?” 

Shigaraku scoffed, but his heart picked up pace, anxiety prickling at being called out for following you. 

“I’m not some idiot lackey, side character. I’m the leader of the league. I also just had to make sure you weren’t some crazy bitch after being stupid enough to kill a guy in front of two witnesses and a stranger and not finish off everyone else.”

Fair enough. That wasn’t your brightest moment, but you could hardly be blamed for that when you were running off of the adrenaline of meeting someone like Tomura Shigaraki. 

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Shigaraki felt his heart physically pound, throbbing. Was this a fucking heart attack? God, you were going to kill him. 

You were holding back for him? Why the fuck did you care about a stranger like that? He’d never. 

It was all for him. You’re all for him. You’re his.

“Whatever.” Shigaraki shrugged, but the blush creeping up his pale skin told you enough.

Shigaraki tried to instinctively curl in on himself in flustered embarrassment. His shoulders were hunched forward, hands in his pockets, and his hair shielded his face from your view. 

You reveled in knowing all of his attitude was just a front. 

Carefully, you moved a hand towards him to tuck some of those loose, blue strands behind his ear. 

When his face was exposed to you once more, his eyes were blown wide, looking at you. You were the only person to ever reach out and touch him so boldly, and he thought there couldn’t be a sweeter feeling in this world. 

He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. Anything would come out as an embarrassing noise or he might not be able to stop himself from simply begging you to touch him again. 

Anywhere.

 However you’d like. 

A deep content flooded your chest like the warmth of an ignited fire. 

“Are there more members of this league?”

He nods. You hum, pretending to weigh a decision you’d already made. 

“Take me there.”

Who was he to not follow a command from you? His feet set forward on the familiar path to the decrepit bar he called home and headquarters. 

tag list: @milolooooong @shiggysgf890 @raccoonc0re @faithyinnitt @nymeriiiia @koreluvsspring @fudo-aki @tomura-complex @lovelylyana07 @chxrrybobaby-sin @confused-smol-fan

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shigaraki smut #tomura shigiraki x reader #tomura shiragaki