#like it doesn't look any worse than some other movies like it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

familyvideostevie · 6 months

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steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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kamiversee · 2 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 16 || The Tension

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, heavy sexual tension, teasing, & taunting.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——OKAY, WELL, A LOT COULD GO WRONG. But of course, you're trying to focus on the positives here. As long as you play your cards right and plan things out properly, nothing will go wrong.

However, that does not stop you from worrying about something going wrong.

Worries aside though, Choso is considered to be medium difficulty, right?

Wait... Are Gojo's levels of difficulty even accurate? Mr. Fushiguro was considered hard but when you really think about it, he wasn't all that hard... At least, not after you planned everything out. As far as Geto goes, well, as of right now you could call the man and tell him to come over and fuck you and he'd be there within twenty minutes.

Gojo himself is obviously the most whipped of those you've seduced so far. Though, you didn't realize just how severe it was at the time-- nor did you care to.

As for your current focus, Choso, the only difficulty in seducing him was how you wanted to go about it. Truth be told, you could probably just call the man over one night and seduce him then call it a day.

But... that's not all you want, now is it?

No, you want something more than sex with Choso. Which was expected, you knew this was going to happen. Sure, you tried to avoid catching feelings but how the hell are you supposed to feel about a man who painted you the day he saw you, drops nearly anything to make sure you're okay, and is just...

Fuck, the guy is everything and more.

You could sleep with him at any point in time. It's kinda cocky of you to think such a way but it's true, you can tell by the way Choso looks at you whenever you're around him and even the way he talks to you over the phone. He's not exactly playing coy about lusting for you.

Even so, whenever it is that you decide to sleep with the guy, you need to plan for the after-effects-- whatever that may be.

Is he going to be clingy? Are you going to be clingy? Will Choso be able to understand that you sleeping with him doesn't lead to an immediate relationship? He should be able to, right? He's a grown man...

Okay, if you're being completely honest with yourself here, it is not Choso you're worried about. It's yourself.

Hell, you're so engrossed in your thoughts of how you're going to go about this that you'd forgotten you have the man in your living room right now sitting next to you and comfortably watching a movie.

Shoko's out and you told her you were inviting someone over, sparing her the details of who, to which she told you that the apartment was all yours for the night. And while that's great and all, every time you turn to your right to steal a little glance at Choso, you get nervous for some reason.

You're excited and eager to have sex with the guy but again, the aftereffect is what concerns you. It terrifies you actually because if he wants a relationship, hypothetically speaking, you'd still have three other guys you have to sleep with.

And hell, knowing Gojo, the asshole would probably make the blackmail worse by threatening to expose your previous actions to the guy you like...

Everything is so fucked. No matter how you think about it.

Maybe you should just save Choso for last? Then, you'd be freed of the list and you'd be able to get with him, right? Then again, would that asshole Gojo even allow that? What's stopping him from blackmailing you further? What if he-

The sudden sound of your name being called makes you break away from your deep thoughts. Your head is slow to turn to your right, meeting Choso's curious eyes.

"You okay?" He asks.

You nod but it's an obvious lie.

Choso raises a brow, "You don't look okay..."

"I... I'm fine. I was just thinking about some things," You hum in response before turning to face forward again.

There's a horror movie on the TV that you'd long since forgotten about. The man beside you leans a little closer to you, "Thinking about what?"

You merely glance at him from out the corner of your eye, "Nothing important."

"Mmh... With the way you suddenly went all quiet on me fifteen minutes ago, it seems pretty important." Choso comments.

Okay, he may have a point there. The two of you were talking about the movie you were watching and at some point, your mind just drifted and you got quiet as the movie continued. Damn him for noticing though, you thought you played it off well.

And to make it worse, of course Choso moves to pause the movie. He then shifts so that his focus is completely on you; sliding a little closer to you and moving to rest an arm behind you along the back of the couch. When you turn your head to look at him, you chuckle at how all his attention is on you.

He probably doesn't realize how cute he looks right now, having gotten all close to you just to hear you talk about whatever's on your mind.

"C'mon, what's on your mind princess?" Choso asks, his voice gentle.

Your heart feels so weird in your chest at the sound of that nickname, a slight smile spreading across your face at the name alone. Your eyes meet his, despite the lack of personal space between the two of you, "I told you, nothing important."

Choso tilts his head, "Okay, tell me anyway."

"Why?" You ask, your brows pinching together.

He shrugs, "Cause' I came over to hang out with you but you're sitting here distracted..."

Another chuckle leaves you, "I was just thinking about school and uh, this project I have coming up."

"Uhuh..." He nods, "Is the project hard?"

"Yeah. Uhm, it's a group project and there's roughly... five of us in the group including me," You begin to explain. It's all a lie but you're going to make an analogy based on your current situation to see if you can get some kind of advice, "I've never worked with three of the people in my group so I'm kinda worried about that..."

Choso is all too intrigued with your words, seeming as though he's hanging off every syllable that leaves your lips. "Mhm..." He hums, awaiting your continuation.

You have to look away from him due to his intense focus, "Then there's this one person in the group. I've worked with them before and I'd like to say I'm pretty good friends with them but, the project we're going to be working on is something I know they won't agree with."

"Why?" He scoffs, "What kinda project is it?"

"A complicated one." You sigh, "I'd explain it but that's like an entirely different conversation so-"

"I mean, I'm not going anywhere." Choso hums.

Again, there's this little feeling in your heart that you try to ignore. "Yeah, I know but the project itself isn't what I'm worried about, it's the people."

He nods, "Alright, go on."

"Like I said, there's this one person in my group that I know better than anyone else in the group. I think I'm..." Your brows push together as you try to figure out how to word things correctly, "I'm worried about what'll happen after the project. I wanna be friends with this person but I feel like the project will change how they see me or something and when it's all over..." You steadily turn and look at Choso, "They'll want nothing to do with me anymore."

The man blinks. It's clear that what you've just explained is bothering you but the way you're looking at him throws him off for a second. His brain had frozen for just a second as he looked into your eyes.

There was no intimacy in the eye contact you both held with each other and yet Choso couldn't help this alluring feeling you gave off.

After a few seconds of staring, he clears his throat, "So like, do you have a crush on this person or something?"

Technically speaking, yes since the person from your analogy represents Choso but you can't tell him that or he'll think you have feelings for someone and won't want to do anything sexual with you in respect for those feelings.

"Uh, more like a friend crush?" You say meekly with a little shrug.

He nods in understanding, "Ohh, I get those sometimes."

"Yeah, I'm not romantically interested in this person," You definitely are, "But I don't want the friendship I have with them to change after the project is over."

"Right, well even though I don't know what this project of yours is, I'm pretty sure nothing will change," Choso says.

You scoff, "What makes you think that?"

"Cause' it's you we're talking about," He comments simply.

There goes that throb in your chest. "What do you mean by that?" You ask.

"I don't think anyone would want to cut ties with you over some project." Choso clarifies, "I can't speak for this person you're talking about but, I'm sure they know you're too great of a person to cut off over something so small."

You swallow and look away from the man again, "It's not something so small though. It's something that... makes people change the way they look at you, y'know, think about you differently."

"Okay? So?" Choso questions nonchalantly.

You turn to him again, "What do you mean so?"

Choso's still staring at you intently, "What version of you would someone not like?"

The way he words his question only furthers that little feeling in your chest. It's almost as though he were implying that any and all versions of you would be acceptable in his eyes.

"H-Huh?" You breathe out.

"Do you really think someone's going to cut you off just because your views or opinions are different than theirs?" Choso clarifies.

"Uh, yes." You say seriously, trying to calm yourself from those flustered emotions, "A-And it's not just views and opinions, it's actions too."

"What kinda actions?" He quires, the conversations suddenly growing more and more pressing.

"Actions that aren't always considered morally right."

He scoffs, "Like what?? What are we talking about here; Assault? Arson? Robbery? Murder? Theft? I'm confused." Choso blurts out, his voice passionate.

"N-No, none of those things but..." Your gaze wanders back and forth between his left and right eye as you try to come up with a way of wording this without literally telling him everything, "Fuck, I don't know how to explain it."

"You could just tell me what the project itself is." He suggests with a shrug.

Your brain is quick to come up with a slight relation, "It's a social project a-and the things that each of us have to do, especially me as the uh... group leader, they'd make someone see me differently."

Choso rolls his eyes slightly, still feeling confused as to what you could possibly do to make someone view you differently. In the heat of the moment, the man finds his words slipping out faster than he thinks about them, "Baby, unless you're going out here harming people in the name of research, I'm pretty sure no one is going to look at you differently-"

"What if I'm harming people's emotions?" You cut off, not even catching what he just called you.

His brows raise in concern, "Are you?"

"I might be." You scoff.

"I still don't understand." Choso sighs, "What could you possibly be doing that-"

"And wait," What he previously said suddenly clicks, "D-Did you just call me baby?"

"Uh..." Choso looks off to the side for a second as he too realizes what he said. After which he returns his eyes to you and notices the way the name made you slightly flustered, "Okay, yes, I did. But that's not the point here, love."

"S-Stop that." You stammer, turning away from him in embarrassment.

The pet names are throwing you all the way off and you can't even focus on the analogy you were trying to give him nor can you look him in the eyes when he calls you those names.

Choso bites his lower lip at your reaction, finding it cute, "Stop what, princess?"

"That." You emphasize.

"I'm not doing anything, am I?" He responds, his tone innocent.

"Yeah, you are." Your eyes are everywhere except on his, "You keep calling me those pet names and it's distracting..."

"I'm sorry baby." Choso apologizes purposefully.

Your heart skips a beat and you feel heat rush to your face. In reaction, you turn your head away from him, "Fuck, Choso stop."

"Why? Am I..." The man leans closer to you and his voice is low and near your ear, "Am I making you nervous, pretty girl?"

"That amongst other things..." You whisper.

Choso chuckles, "Look at me,"

"I can't now." You mumble. Your nerves are all over the damn place and your heart is pounding like crazy.

"Why?"

"C-Cause' of you, silly." You tell him.

"I didn't do anything," Choso says, "C'mon, we need to get back to our conversation anyways."

"I can't even focus on that now, forget it."

You hear him laugh at you, "You can't focus now?"

"No, no I can't."

"Aww, fuck, that's cute." Choso comments, his voice suddenly low.

You turn your head slightly, only so that you can look at him from the corner of your eye. When you notice he's smirking at you, you raise your hand to his face and playfully push him away.

Choso laughs again from beneath your palm and moves to grab a light hold of your wrist, forcing your hand to stay in place over his face. "You can't focus, huh?" He hums.

You finally turn and look at him, only able to see parts of his face through your fingers, "N-No. And why are you keeping my hand on your face?" You ask as you try to pull yourself away.

Choso's light hold on your wrist grows tighter and he shifts your hand around so that you can see his full face. The man then presses his lips to your palm and carefully kisses your hand, his eyes on yours as he does so.

Was that all it took for the man to have you aroused? Well, with that and all the pet names, yes.

"Did you just..." You blink, "Did you just kiss my hand?"

"Mhm," Choso hums against you before moving to plant another kiss, his eyes trailing down to what he's doing, "...s'that okay?" He mumbles into you.

"I..." You trail off as you watch him plant slow and tender kisses into your hand.

He continues for a little while, nearly losing himself in his simple act before his gaze flicks back up to you. The way your eyes are all widened and you're so clearly flustered has to be the cutest reaction he's ever gotten from you.

Choso slowly pulls away from your hand, still holding your wrist lightly, "Cat got your tongue, princess?"

Yes, actually. You forgot how to speak for a few seconds. "Uh..."

The man decides to give you a second to breathe, releasing your wrist and sliding back away from you a bit, "Sorry," Choso apologizes, "I don't even know why I did that..." He mumbles, looking away from you.

Did you just get him flustered because you were flustered? Holy hell that's the cutest thing in the world. He doesn't even know how to keep teasing you up to a certain point.

"No, it was fine," You finally manage to say.

He just barely looks at you, "Was it?"

"Mhm..." You hum.

Choso then takes his eyes away from you and turns his head slightly, allowing you a moment to see how red his ears are. He was blushing...

Then, he clears his throat, "Uh, a-about that project of yours-"

"Choso," You cut off, causing his voice to get caught in the middle of his throat.

"Hm?" He hums.

You tilt your head and shift on the couch slightly, inching toward him, "Are you... Are you blushing right now?"

The man turns his head all the way away from yours, keeping his face away from your line of vision, "Why would I be blushing...?"

You chuckle, "I dunno, you tell me."

"I'm not." He says, "C-Can we just go back to talking about your project...? I should've never started teasing you."

"Why? I like being teased by you," You blurt out.

Those simple words of yours make his cock unexpectedly twitch inside his pants. Choso clears his throat again, "Don't word it like that."

"Word it like what?" You hum innocently, "And why aren't you looking at me?"

He heaves out a sigh and carefully turns his head to you, almost in slow motion. Choso's face is hued in pink and you can see the flustered shade of red decorating his cheeks. His eyes go wide at how close you are to him, having crawled slightly across the couch to him.

Choso swallows, hard. "There, I'm looking at you. Happy now?"

"Very." You say simply, tilting your head again, "And you lied, you are blushing."

"No... It's just hot in here." He lies.

You scoff, "No it's not."

"Okay well, I'm hot."

"Take your jacket off then," You suggest.

He chuckles, "Right..."

You then watch as he moves to take his jacket off, neatly folding it afterward and pacing it down on the space beside him. After which, when he turns back to you, he sees that you're facing him completely, sitting on your heels with this sudden look in your eyes.

Choso blinks, "So uh, back to your project?"

You shake your head at him, "What if I don't wanna talk about that anymore...?"

"What uh, what do you want to talk about then?" He asks wearily, he then tears his gaze away from you, "A-And why do you keep looking at me like that?"

A light scoff leaves you, "Like what?"

"I dunno, like..." Choso glances at you one more time, "Fuck," He whispers to himself.

You weren't aware but you were giving the man bedroom eyes and since your eyes are the feature Choso loves paying attention to, it doesn't take him anything more than a glance to acknowledge what that look of yours is.

One of his hands rises to his face and he wipes it off as if that'll cleanse him of the sudden thoughts he's having.

"Like what, Choso?" You question again, "Cat got your tongue now?"

He turns his head to you, trying to look anywhere except for your eyes. That only worsens his situation though because of course looking at your lips doesn't make it any better. Gazing at your torso, which is hardly covered up with the tank top you're wearing, only leads him to stare at your tits.

Choso results in shooting his sights up to your ceiling and groans at himself, "Now I can't focus."

Your brows furrow, "Are you okay?" You ask, chuckling slightly at the man in front of you.

He shakes his head, "No."

"What's wrong?"

"You," Choso says seriously.

"Eh? Me??" You blink.

He makes this little gesture with his hand in the air toward his head as if to say he's going crazy, "I can't even have a regular conversation with you without thinking like this."

"Like what?" You ask teasingly.

The man sinks into the couch a little, resting his head back comfortably as he keeps his gaze directed upwards, "You're asking too many questions."

You giggle, "Am I?"

"Mhm."

"I mean, I'm just curious..." You say coyly, shrugging a little, "After all, you had me explain what was on my mind so, isn't it your turn now?"

"You didn't even finish explaining." Choso points out.

"And who's fault is that?"

He scoffs, "Whatever."

"C'mon Choso, tell me what's on your mind." You urge, moving to poke his arm slightly.

"Mmmmmh," He hums in thought, smiling to himself ever so slightly, "You might not like it."

"Unless you're thinking about robbing me, I think it'll be fine." You joke.

"I dunno, my thoughts are..." He trails off for a second before sighing. "Lewd."

You bat your eyelashes at him, "Lewd?"

"Mhm, very lewd."

"Well, now I'm really curious." Excitement is clear in your tone.

Choso finds how intrigued you are cute and he hopes his words will throw you off again, "Stay curious, baby."

You pause. Then you click your tongue, "That's not gonna distract me this time." You hum, almost seductively. You then move to sit closer to him, "Share those lewd thoughts of yours with me."

He shakes his head, "No."

You whine, "C'mon, don't make me beg for it."

"Maybe I want you to."

"Yeah?" You utter, your tone is completely sultry now but you don't care. "How do you want me to beg, hm?"

"Fuck," Choso whispers under his breath. He again turns his head away from you and you just barely hear him speak, "I can't take this..."

"Can't take what?"

"You." He clarifies.

You chuckle, "Can't take me? I'm not doing anything?"

"Yes, you are."

"What am I doing??"

Choso is slow to finally turn his head and look at you. His eyes are all low, lower than normal, lust swirling within his gaze. You don't miss the way he glances down at your lips, shamelessly staring at the way you're smiling at him.

"You're teasing me," Choso voices out, his tone low.

You inch a bit closer to him, "Am I?"

"Yeah, you are."

"Should I stop?"

"Depends." He hums.

Your smirk is constant, "On?"

He pauses for just a second. Whatever this back-and-forth banter the two of you have going on is, he likes it. "Where you want this conversation to go," Choso responds.

You raise a brow, "What if I don't want it to be a conversation anymore?"

"What do you want it to be then, princess?"

"Maybe actions." You tell him suggestively.

"Actions..." He repeats, "What kinda actions?"

You and Choso both pause, staring at one another. His eyes are on your lips and your eyes are on his. The tension in the air is palpable. There's so much sexual tension between you two that you're practically undressing one another through looks alone.

The way Choso licks his lips slowly as he awaits your next snarky response doesn't go unnoticed. He's got a comeback for anything and everything you say to him, ready to keep whatever the two of you are doing going until the other can't come up with something to say or until it leads to something else.

Choso leans in closer to you, his face nearing yours carefully, "Tell me, what kinda actions are you suggesting here?"

You let out a breathy laugh, "Take a guess."

"Nono, I want you to tell me." Choso says clearly, "You can do that, right?"

"You want me to explain to you what I'm suggesting...?"

"Mhm, I wanna hear you say it."

"So you know what I'm implying, you just me to admit it out loud?" You question further, clearly avoiding what he wants.

The male whispers to you, "Such a smart girl. That's exactly what I want you to do."

"Choso," You whisper in response.

"Hm?" He hums.

You stare at him again, refusing to say anything to the man until he looks into your eyes again. It's slow the way he drags his gaze upward along your face before he meets yours.

"...I want you to touch me," You finally answer, keeping your words as vague as possible.

Obviously, you want him to do more than just touch you but dragging it out like this is way more fun.

The corner of Choso's lips twitch and he smirks, "Yeah?"

"Mhm..." You hum innocently.

He raises a brow, the eye contact continuous, "Touch you how?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I want you to explore me."

Choso freezes and he swears his cock is throbbing right now with how unbelievably hard it is. The man swallows, "Explore you?"

"Yes, Choso." You sigh.

He flashes you a lustful smile and finally lifts his head from the couch, moving toward you. Choso's hand goes to your chin and he gently pulls you toward himself. You're quick to follow his touch, your heart at a steady beat within your chest despite how nervous you are.

His head tips to the side and he brings his lips just barely over your own, his breath tickling you as he speaks lowly, "I'm gonna explore your mouth first, s'that okay?"

You try to stop yourself from smiling, "Yeah..."

Choso slides his thumb up from your chin to your bottom lip and pulls it down slightly, "You sure?"

"Choso if you keep teasing me like this, I'm gonna lose it-- just kiss me already." You huff out.

He just couldn't help himself, not with how needy you looked right now or with how tense you were because of his one little touch. The two of you are sharing breaths at this point and it's so slow how his thumb moves and his lips press into yours.

You're quick to push into him and move your lips over his, to which he smiles slightly at how eager you are. The feeling of one of his hands going to your waist makes your breath hitch as you kiss him and you even pull away from him slightly, to which he pushes right back in aggressively.

Your arms carefully move to wrap around his neck as Choso turns his body more. Then, after growing frustrated with the awkward position, Choso simply shifts to pull you on top of him. You don't fully sit down, too engrossed in your slow make-out session to do so.

The man then clasps your bottom lip in between his teeth and pries your mouth open, pushing his tongue in. Fuck, that action made you hum against him and you get straight chills down your spine when his tongue swipes over yours.

An abrupt feeling of a smooth metal ball is felt and you pull away slightly, "Hah, w-wait, Choso..."

He's smiling at you mischievously. "You didn't know?"

You swallow hard as you shake your head and watch the man.

Choso carefully sticks his tongue out for you, revealing a piercing you weren't expecting him to have nor did you ever notice it.

Of course. Of course Choso Kamo has a damn tongue piercing. He tilts his head and his hands latch onto your waist firmly, tugging you closer to him and causing your chest to be flush with his, "Does it bother you?" He whispers.

"What, no." You reply quickly.

He moves to kiss you again, planting one little peck against you before whispering, "Then... Actually, has anyone ever..." He trails off a bit, his face reddening all over again.

You tilt your head, "Has anyone ever, what?"

"Has anyone with a piercing ever given you head?" Choso finally gets out.

You swallow deeply, your arousal thrumming through your body as you look at the man before you. Slowly, you grin at him, "No..."

Choso takes a deep breath and you can feel a throb in between your legs as he finally asks his next question, "Can I change that?"

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ☐

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

??? NAOYA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

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alwaysshallow · 5 months

Text

@bunnyreaper's secret santa thing; I had the pleasure to write for @cooliofango ❤️ I hope you're gonna have the best time reading this, love.

AO3 VERSION

Simon isn't there—that's the first thing you notice, when you wake up.

You think it's odd; he always sticks around, especially in the morning. Either he is reading something in bed, a book or an article, or tries to wake you up, softly, kissing your arm, if it was past nine in the morning.

Right now, even his side of the bed is cold, so he had to leave at least an hour ago, maybe more. You get up with a slight frown on your face, multiple questions in the back of your mind, what possibly could bring Simon out of bed. There's many thoughts, and they aren't really positive; usually if he had to leave, it was something military related. A missile missing, someone to rescue, intel to get or secure.

Being with Riley made you realize how fucked up the world is and how many times it needs to be saved. This time though, in theory, he has vacations that he asked for. Holidays with his girlfriend, he said, which caused you to grin like crazy one, since you loved this term. His girlfriend, his significant other with whom he decided to spend time with, even if he doesn't like holidays.

It's main reason why you aren't really doing anything festive this year; out of respect to him. Sure, you spend more time together, you plan to watch movies tonight, make some food, but nothing really related to Christmas. No lights, no tree, nothing what could possibly trigger his memory with the holidays and make the time worse than it already was.

But now, your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen, and your plans are under a big question mark. You don't even know where he is, if he is here, in your shared house that you've decided to buy a few months ago.

"Baby?" you call out, looking around. There's a few boxes laying on the ground, door is wide-open; if you wouldn't know any better, you'd assume that somebody broke in. Knowing your boyfriend though, how he secured the house... hell, it takes only one wrong move and alarm goes off, as Simon said once, shortly after he installed it.

So, door wide-open, bringing in the cold, clear indicator that he actually is here somewhere. And, sooner than later, you'll see him.

You prefer sooner than later, though, so you go through the door, just to see your man with a tree—Christmas tree, to be precise—with shocked expression on his face. Then, he puts it down, just to sneak his arms around you, tight. Just like he loved to do, practically from the start of your relationship.

For a military man, he is very touch starved, and you try every time to give him the love he deserves.

"You didn't wake me," you murmur into his broad chest, at which he chuckles. You look up at him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling.

"Sorry, love. Had to take care of some things," he says, his hand caressing your back delicately. "But 'm here now. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

"Oh, no, no," you laugh, shaking your head. "I want to know why there's a Christmas tree here. And those boxes? Seems like decorations to me, Mr. Riley."

He acts like you caught him red handed on something; Simon looks away and sighs, just to look at you a few seconds later with a semi-guilty look on his face. You have to hold back a laugh; he seems so stressed about something simple, it's adorable.

"I don't like Christmas," he starts, playing with your hair. "But I know you like 'em. Your eyes sparkle every time you see this shit, lights, trees, everythin' and—"

"—Simon, we don't have to—"

"—let me finish." He looks at you, a bit sternly, so you nod. You have to listen to him, especially if he asks you to. "And I just can't do this to you. Take it away from you. 'm a grown man, it's time to change some things. 'specially those hurtful ones."

You gnaw at your bottom lip, silent for a few seconds, as you try to collect your thoughts about this situation. It's hard not to cry right now, given how he overcomes his own weaknesses, just for you. Just for the both of you, so your future will be brighter.

"You are," you cup his cheeks into your hands, "the best man I've ever, ever met. I'm so lucky to have you, you know? A man that's willing to spend Christmas with me the traditional way, to

“You can't say this shit to me,” he warns, his voice almost a whisper. You raise your eyebrow, but you don't stop kissing his jaw, even when he sighs.

"Because that's so bad? Or because that's the truth and you'll blush any second?" you ask teasingly, at which he rolls his eyes with a small smile on his lips. To see his smile, to see how happy you can make him... you cherish every moment like that, knowing his history. Knowing how hard it was, how hard it still is because demons doesn't go easily.

Yet, you see the progress. His battle, to be more open, to allow himself to be more vulnerable at least around you.

“You’re gonna make me even more addicted," he explains to you, kissing your face a few times. He bangs with his nose against your eyeglasses, but he doesn't really seem to mind. "And I’m already weak. It's like... you're something that I’m not immune to. Everyone will see that later, on that Christmas party.”

He doesn’t say he loves you. That would be crazy, he thinks; every time he told someone he loves them, they died. He doesn't want it to happen with you, not when he didn't think of an idea how to possibly save you, keep you safe and locked, close to his heart.

But he can’t deny that you have him wrapped around your finger and you always will. Task Force 141 knows about you, they even invited you two to the Christmas party later, but the l-word has to wait. You know that he loves you anyway; maybe he doesn't say it, but his actions shows you enough love. And, he has other words—be safe, you know I care about you.

It speaks louder than simple I love you but he knows he's gonna say it. He has to, even for your sake.

"That's good. I love you being addicted." You grin, hugging him even tighter. "Because I'm addicted to you as well. To my big, wonderful boyfriend. Now... about those Christmas decorations."

You wouldn't think that decorating your shared house with Simon would be so fun and chaotic in the same time. Your boyfriend does the lights—since his height abilities are just insane—and you are basically running around with snowmen, reindeers and other creatures that you somehow can associate with winter. Riley also gives you disapproval looks from time to time, telling you to dress yourself properly, as you're just on your pyjamas; it ends up in you being in his big, warm hoodie, since you don't listen.

It's like everything you dreamed for, in domestic matter.

The best is taking care of the tree, though. You two have different ideas—yours with doing it in two colors that compliment each other, red and gold for example, which would give the glamour vibe of the house. Or, Simon's idea which is complete chaos. He looks so happy with placing the ornaments, that you don't tell him about color theory, you don't suggest making it less colorful either.

You just put everything just like he is, with instinct, and when he asks about your opinion, you can't help but smile widely and praise him for being creative. His enjoyment gives you the time of your life, honestly.

"You do it like it's in your blood," you say, laughing happily when he gives your cheek a big, wet kiss. His arms locks around you automatically, his lips dropping a bit lower.

"'st because of you. My girl," he purrs. "Maybe we should take a break and eat somethin', eh? Something Christmas-y."

"Christmas-y?" you repeat, observing with a small smile stomach how he drags you over to the couch, towering over you. He has absolutely no problem with crashing you with his weight, which feels so good considering how warm he is. "What would you like?"

"Anything my woman wants, I'll eat. My civilian woman."

You can't help the sensation of your heart fluttering at this view; at Simon kissing your knuckles, at Simon being so affectionate. You are sure that you haven't seen him like this before, not this open with his feelings.

"Yours. That civilian woman, for a superordinary man," you say, quietly.

“My civilian woman.” Simon’s eyes shine as he repeats your words, a light smirk forming as he gazes down at you. You really are gorgeous, so beautiful as you're there in his arms. "'m not superordinary, but I guess I'll take it."

He reaches over to remote, turning off the light in the room. Now, all that’s illuminated is the moonlight and sparkling, multicolor Christmas lights, casting a pale ray of light in the darkness.

Before he loses himself in your eyes, he leans over and presses his mouth to yours. It’s a slow, quiet, yet passionate kiss—one that sparks a fire in both your souls.

"That sounds very dorky, if you think about it," you chuckle quietly, still keeping his gaze. His brown eyes are fixed on yours, glimmering so gently, you can't help but be lost in them. God, it's even better when he turned off the light. You don't see each other properly, but the dark figures are adding everything to your imagination, when you continue this slow kiss.

You can only hear your lips smacking against each other.

“You’re perfect to me,” he says, his voice husky as he gazes down at you. You make his heart flutter. You always do, but lately, those butterflies have turned into something else, as he told you a dew days ago. "The most perfect woman in the world. Even if it's cheesy, as you say."

"You're such a cheesy man, Riley," you whisper, as you smile at his sudden comment how you are perfect to him. Knowing that he's not the best with words, and still says something like this, was just the most important thing for you. "But I like that in you. Just as much as your soft spot for those romcoms we watch. Even if you call them sappy and cringe," you say, closing your eyes.

"They are sappy and cringe. But it's our type of sappy and cringe," he murmurs into your skin, burying his face in your neck. Right in this moment, he doesn't seem to care about anything else.

And you don't care about anything else either, when you have him right by your side. Safe and secure, far from deployment, far from all those dangerous things probably just waiting for him out there.

"I love you," he whispers.

And you know you have your gift.

#simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley fluff

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another-random-paradise · 12 days

Note

Hello everything is fine? I just found your account and I'm already in love!!!

I loved your sleepy confession writing post, if it doesn't bother you and only if you want, could you do it for Kalim, Jamil and Ruggie? They are so cute!!! >w<

Oh, and sorry if the English is wrong, it's not my first language...

An even sleepier confession

Thank you for the request and the sweet words!! And don’t worry about your English, it’s great! Plus, it isn’t my first language either, so i get the struggle, haha! :)

——————————————————————————————————

Crush!Reader sleepily telling him, they want to marry him / part one

Characters: Kalim, Jamil, Ruggie

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Kalim

-Chances are, you were at one of his party’s, stayed late, and are too tired to go back to ramshackle

-so, Kalim being Kalim, annoys convinces Jamil to let you two have a sleepover. The absolute energy boost Kalim gets after getting permission already makes Jamil regret his decision..

-after a long night of story telling (with how many siblings Kalim has, he definitely always has tea to spill), pillow fights, and movie marathons, you finally decide to go to sleep, much to Jamils relief

-Just before you two fall asleep though, you unconsciously make one last comment “Life is always so fun with you, really makes me wanna marry you one day..”

-If you thought you’d get any sleep after a comment like that, you’re wrong! Because Kalim is now wide awake and practically yelling in excitement

-He’d be asking you if you really meant it, before talking about how you’ll have to meet his family first, especially all his siblings! They’ll love you!! Why don’t you come with him over the next Holidays?! All while being all over you, kind of like an exited puppy are those ears and a tail??, meanwhile you’re just sitting there like ‘oh shit, I said that out loud?!’

-It’ll only get worse if you confirm that, yes, you do, in fact, want to be with him and maybe, hopefully, marry him one day

-Jamil storms in, thinking you two were getting assassinated or something, only to see Kalim hugging you, practically shaking in excitement, talking about all the dates he’ll take you on (and about your wedding of course)

-you sheepishly look over at Jamil, who is staring daggers into you, the message clear ‘you couldn’t have waited until morning?’. If looks could kill, Jamil would have cut you into a three course meal just now :D

-Jamil tells him to quiet down, so the rest of the dorm can rest

-Kalim continues to whisper-yell, till eventually you two fall asleep cuddling

-the next day, half the school already knows about your now relationship, partially because the entirety of scarabia could hear him, and partially because Kalim can’t keep his mouth shut-

-He is so hung up on that marriage comment, that he might accidentally introduce you as his fiancée a few times!

Jamil

-you, being the kind soul that you are, probably decided to help him out with his chores around Scarabia

-But unlike him, you aren’t used to so much work, No matter how much Crowley tries to overwork you so eventually you’re just straight up exhausted.

-Jamil brings you to one of the many couches, but he makes sure it’s one away from the business of the dorm, he wouldn’t want you to be disturbed while you sleep he cares to much about you for that

-He picks up the few dirty plates some other students left behind, as you get comfortable, which is a very easy task, considering all those silk blankets and soft pillows! You mumble something a mere second before falling asleep. “You’re so caring, Jamil… makes me want to marry you even more than i already to..”

-Jamil halts in his tracks, he almost drops the plates he was carrying! Partially because he’s flustered, but also because a part of him hoped you wouldn’t like him back and the crush would pass.. not that it ever would have

-He is lost in thought as he makes his way to the kitchen, he almost even runs into another student

-Jamil likes you, he really does, there’s no doubt there, but he’s worried more than anything. He doesn’t have time for love!

-not only would you distract him from keeping Kalim from accidentally getting himself killed, but his work would mean that he’d have little to no time to spend with you.. not to mention if you get married, you and your future children would be forced to work for the Asim family too- Unless..

-If he takes you’re last name, instead of him yours, neither of you would be a part of the Viper name any longer. Instead of him enslaving you into service, you could free him from his life of servitude.

-And you always find ways to hang out, despite how busy he is

-He continues to work, now with a smile on his face.

-Maybe this could work out after all :)

Ruggie

-Another one who you were probably helping with work

-Usually he’d refuse help, he doesn’t want to be indebted to anyone, but hey, it’s an excuse to spend more time with you, so he’ll make an exception

-Afterwards, your beat.. even after book 3 and knowing him for a while, you never could have guessed how much work just one certain Lion could make.

-He lays down next to you, either making a sarcastic or teasing comment as he does.

-As always, you laugh in response, but this time you follow it up with “You’re a great guy, you know that? I hope i get to marry you one day..”

-His usual smug smirk, is gone. Just like that. It’s replaced by absolute shock

-He turns to you, to question you about it, only to see you’re already in the land of dreams

-Ruggie doesn’t know how to feel, He is shocked, flustered, and most of all, confused. Yes, he is happy that you like him back, it just confuses him.

-You’re in a school filled with rich guys and literal Royalty. So, by the seven, why would you like a guy like him? Especially since your first meeting was literally him stealing a sandwich from your son friend!

-But it makes him smile, in a school filled with rich people, someone as amazing as you, still chooses him, so he must be really great, right?

-Now he’s even more determined to get a good job, so that he can give you and your possible children a good life!

-He just hopes his Grandma and the kids will like you.. nah, he’s sure they will, you’re you!

-He won’t immediately make his move to ask you out, but he’s definitely working on it! He would be a bit more hesitant about asking you out (Even after you basically asked to marry him) if you’re a girl, as in nature male hyenas are naturally more submissive towards the female they’re trying to court

This was so much fun to write, thank you so much for the request!!

Feedback is welcomed, just please be nice!! Hope you all have a nice day <3

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headkiss · 2 months

Note

heyyy, how are you?? i love your work so much!!! i was wondering if you could write something about steve having a crush on r, but when they are together he gest shy and quiet and r misunderstands that and thinks he doesn't like her like everyone is telling her he is ???

im sorry if its confusing, english is not my first language,, anywayy feel free to change anything !!! ❤️

hi baby thank you so much!!! i’m so sorry this has been in my asks since september but i hope u enjoy all the same :,) i finally wrote something!!! yay!!! | 0.7k teeny tiny angst and fluff!!

You’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you. That’s what you tell Robin when you see her at the Family Video counter, alone for once. She bursts out laughing.

“I’m being serious!”

Before Robin responds, Steve walks out of the back room, grinning that grin you wish you didn’t love so much, his hair a little messy, like he didn’t have enough time to style it this morning the way he usually does.

He’s looking at Robin when he says: “what’s so funny?”

“I bet you’d love to know, dingus.” She nods at you and shrugs, “it’s girl stuff.”

It’s only then that he notices you’re there, his eyes flicking over your face quickly, his head ripping in a small nod. You might not have noticed it if you weren’t looking right at him already.

“Oh, right.” He smiles again, tight-lipped this time. “Hey.”

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hey,” he says again.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you, because this is what happens whenever you’re around. He goes quiet, awkward, where others have always found him outgoing and kind.

You suppose it only makes things worse when you want him to like you so bad. If only as a friend, even.

“Um, I was just grabbing…” You flounder before picking up a random movie by the front desk, “this.”

“Right,” he scratches the back of his neck as he says it.

Meanwhile Robin’s head is turning to look between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You widen your eyes at her and she gets the signal, scanning your movie and letting you head out with it when she knows you’ll be returning it before even opening the case.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says to Steve as the door shuts behind you, the bell jingling with your departure.

“Robin-”

“No! You are, Steve. Listen, you know I love you, but she thinks you don’t like her. At all!”

Now, Steve knows that he acts like an absolute dork wherever you’re concerned, but he never wanted you to think that. Never. If anything, he likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone before, and it terrifies him.

Any ounce of the confidence that’s left over from his ‘King Steve’ era seems to evaporate, and the words just don’t come the way they should. But fuck, he didn’t want to hurt you. He’d never want to hurt you.

“Shit,” he runs a hand through his hair, uncaring about how it might look for once.

“Yeah, shit.” Robin nudges her shoulder against his, “she’s still in her car, by the way. Just saying.”

Steve nods, muttering some kind of encouragement for himself under his breath. He pushes his way out the door, picking up his pace to a jog when he hears you start your car.

The knock on your window startles you, surprises you when you look over to find Steve standing out there, the sun a halo around his figure, his Family Video vest just a little crooked.

You shut your car off and roll your window down, squinting up at him, “Steve? Everything okay?”

“I do like you.”

“What?”

His chest is rising and falling quickly, his eyes wide and something like worry looming in them. “I do like you.”

“Steve, did Robin put you up to this? ‘Cause you don’t have to-”

“She didn’t. I promise she didn’t,” he leans down a little, his hands resting on your door. “She told me you thought I didn’t like you and I couldn’t let you leave still thinking that. I like you. A lot.”

You blink up at him, mouth opening and closing, trying to figure out what to say. For so long, you’d been convinced that he wasn’t a fan of yours, and here he is, sincerity written all over his face.

“You never talk to me, I thought-”

“I know. I know and I’m sorry.” Steve hangs his head for a second, inhaling once before looking at you again. “The truth is I, uh, have a crush on you. Probably more than a crush, and I didn’t know what to do with it so I acted like a fucking idiot.”

“You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, I do. Kind of a big one.”

You can’t fight the smile on your face at that. “I have a crush on you too, Steve.”

It’s the first time you make Steve Harrington blush, the first genuine smile of his that you earn. And it won’t be the last.

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thekitsunesiren · 4 months

Text

Dc x Dp #43

(Here's my spin on the existing in another universe as a cartoon plot)

Danny stared at Clockwork with wide eyes as the ancient ghost told him the truth about the universe he had just visited.

He thought that it would've been another alternate universe that had a Dan that he needed to fight and stop from coming to his. But no. No, instead he landed into a universe of his favorite comic book series. DC Comics.

When he came through the portal, he instantly recognized the city that was known as Gotham and its dreary atmosphere that he's only seen in the various comics he kept on his bedroom shelf.

At first, he was excited. DC was real. That means that Batman and the Robins were real. Gasp. He could meet Martian Manhunter.

His fanboying was cut short when the sound of a grappling hook and light footsteps reached his ears caused him to look down and see who it was.

Batman. In the flesh, covered by his long cape and the darkness of the city around him. Honest to Ancients it was Batman! And Nightwing was there as well! Danny was going to die again!

Danny hesitated on approaching as he didn't know how they would react to him being in Gotham all of a sudden. Honestly, other than Deadman, Danny didn't know about anymore ghosts in DC.

What he didn't expect was for Nightwing-Nightwing!-to point to him and mention how he had a good Danny Phantom cosplay? Does that mean he was a hero in the DC world too and that he had fans? Awesome!

He didn't have time to question it as another portal opened and Danny was quick to take it, not wanting to be attacked by his favorite characters.

He definitely had to tell Clockwork about this.

"What do you mean I'm a cartoon in other universes?" The halfa asked the ancient of time, feeling as if his entire world was being flipped upside down for Ancient's know how many times already.

Clockwork gave the same smile that showed he knew something that he didn't. An expression that Danny knew all too well.

"Did you truly think that your universe was the only one out there, Daniel? There are

"But all you talk about are timelines

"There are many universes out there, Daniel. All of them have their own stories, their own people, and their own endings that they shall meet when the time is right. But, even then, other universes can exist in them as well. They are simply not physical."

Danny tilted his head at the last part, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

"Physical?" He repeated.

Clockwork nodded. His form shifting from his young looking self to that of his older version with the elongated beard.

"Physical, Daniel. Like how their universe, DC as you call it, your or a version of your universe exist in theirs as a cartoon. Many universes when clashed are too powerful for one universe to handle on their own if they were real, so they exist in forms of novels, shows, movies, even comic books, to allow their existence to prosper. They will be able to exist peacefully without causing any true harm to the universe and causing mass disasters that would happen if they existed on the same plane."

As he listened, his eyes widened in awe. Multiple universes that existed like that. That means there has to be a chance where there was a him that actually existed in the DC world other than being a cartoon.

While lost in thought, his eyes suddenly widened as a thought occurred to him. "Wait! If I'm a cartoon in their world that means that they just need to watch the show and find out all about me. My weaknesses, my past, the ghost zone, everything!" And boy, wasn't that a thought. He didn't want the Batfamily looking up his show and discovering how to beat him. Worse, how he died.

Clockwork simply raised a hand to stop his worrying tirade.

"Peace, Daniel. While your life may be a cartoon, it isn't all there. I've seen small glimpses, and it doesn't compare to your life. Various relationships, parts of your life, your powers, all of it could be underplayed or over exaggerated. While some could be true, they would still have to nitpick through it to find out the bits that are. Just like you would have to with those comic books to determine how much is real and fiction as well."

Hearing that, Danny did calm down some. Placing a hand on his chest with a sigh of relief.

"That is good then. i thought I was gonna die a second time."

The halfa floated closer to Clockwork as his old form turned back to his adult form, red eyes watching the young ghost as

"Though there's one more thing I gotta ask, Clockwork?"

"Yes, Daniel?"

"How many seasons did my show get?"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #dc×dp prompt #dp crossover

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starwrighter · 1 year

Text

The first out of three prompts I'm throwing out this month

Featuring my favorite trope of de aging the ghost boy for trauma and angst purposes :D

Okay! So Danny gets captured by the G.I.W or the Fenton's he's experimented on until his body can no longer take it and he retreats back into his core. Since he is still in the G.I.W's/ the Fenton's lab this doesn't exactly help him escape. With Sadistic Joy the G.I.W/ Fenton's start experimenting with Danny's core. They don't manage to break his core fortunately (whether it be because halfa cores are hard to break or the sheer powerhouse that is Danny you decide!)

Danny reforms before they could figure out how to use his core as a weapon and this causes some side effects. Both halves of him were balanced with each other, instincts clicked into place. New organs and features of his body worked perfectly with his newly enhanced human ones. Only problem with this was that he was now a baby. A literal baby like a little under a year old! And worse news he was still in the lab, his memorys blurry and his thinking process babyfied. He didn't know much about the people keeping him captive right now but he knew they hurt him and he wanted out.

The G.I.W/ Fenton's are furious that Danny reformed before they could create the perfect weapon and are now trying to make him retreat back into his core yet again. They do their worst but do to Danny's new balanced forms He. Does. Not. Give. Danny doesn't retreat back into his core he's unable to; his body healing the damage faster than they could deal it. Eventually they decided they'd kill Danny again the same way he died the first time.

They put the now officially 1yo halfa into the portal chamber. He's cuffed and muzzled to keep him from escaping or making any of those ghostly chirps, clicks, and warbles at them. (They think Danny is threatening them but he's just showing distress and calling for an adult to help him)

They quickly turn the portal off and on again with Danny inside but when they look into the chamber there's no Phantom or ghost core.

The portal didn't kill him though. No, it blasted the infant through the infinite realms so fast he clips into a different universe and crashes directly into Bruce Wayne's living room.

The batfam are very startled because they were just having a movie night, they even got Jason to show up! Now they're trying to coax a terrified baby out from under a piece of furniture so they can get the cuffs and muzzle off him.

Everyone's gone from laughing and cringing from embarrassment from the stupid movie made about their vigilante persona's to being concerned, sad, and angry on behalf of their unexpected guest.

Damian leaves the room for a second and returns with a stuffed animal from his room, offering it to the baby. The baby doesn't have the free hands to grab it but crawls out to reach for it. Damian takes the opportunity to scoop the little boy up and removing muzzle and cuffs.

Danny immediately let's out an avalanche of repressed chirps and trills, excited to be free from his chains and happy with the toy he was given. Danny decides the angry child is okay, he didn't know about the bigger people though.

The entire fam has already decided he's theirs now and they're going to destroy whoever had the balls to do something like this to a child.

(Damian would make a great older brother and you can fight me on this! >:(

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #dcxdp #Amity park after the batfam finds Danny: Why do I hear boss music?#Damian after Danny accepted the stuffed animal: I am the favorite sibling; Fear my title! All of you are inferior.#Sorry if this was bad I'm writing this with a minor concussion #I'm fine though. on bed rest for a bit

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours.

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true.

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut.

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind.

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door.

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs.

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies.

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?”

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail.

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up.

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you.

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so.

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls.

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you.

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling.

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

“We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw.

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be.

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie.

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you.

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw.

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy.

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart.

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…”

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips.

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you.

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression.

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 5 months

Note

Just any genshin or aot girls of your choice watching 50 shades of gray with their s/o

I had this idea and was giggling at the thought of Lisa being like “gives me idea cutie…”😭

(Genshin impact) Lisa, Eula, Jean, Lumine, Yae, Ei, Yelan, Rosaria, and Ayaka, and Shenhe watching Fifty Shades of Grey with their S/O

I feel like I would be in danger considering the characters that are on this post.

NSF-W Implications below the cut!

(Lisa) "Oh my. This is an...interesting movie choice for us tonight, S/O."

S/O had shown Lisa many of these "movies". They ranged from comedic, serious, action-packed, name a genre, S/O would have it!

Though, she didn't predict "smut" to be on their movie library.

Part of her wonders if S/O was trying to tell her something by having this movie on tonight.

(Lisa) "You know, if you wanted to try something exciting in the bedroom, you could have just told me, dear.~"

Lisa teases as her fingers brush across their shoulder, giggling.

Lisa was highly amused by the movie, but can't help but wonder how anyone could've acted those scenes out with a straight face.

Well regardless, it definitely gave her some new ideas.

(Eula) "...What on earth did you put on, S/O?!"

Eula is blushing madly as the movie goes on, eventually just shaking her head and pausing the movie straight up.

She did not mind the selection S/O usually put on during movie nights, but this was too far!

Her heart couldn't take it Eula had far more class than whatever the hell this was!

(Eula) "I refuse to watch something so indecent! S/O, put on a different film at once, lest you incur my wrath!"

This time, she actually means it.

The fact they specifically chose this movie changes Eula's view on S/O on...certain topics.

She tries her best to keep the movie's scenes out of her mind lest she succumb to becoming a flustered mess.

Jean's face is blushing madly, her jaw slightly agape, and eyes wide open.

She could not peel her eyes off the screen, being completely speechless.

Jean does not look S/O in the eyes the entire duration, just remaining dead silent.

(Jean) "..."

It's only after the movie is done that she clears her throat.

(Jean) ahem "T-That...was an odd choice for a movie, tonight S/O."

She does not say a single thing about the movie other than that.

Jean's face is completely red, hoping that S/O wasn't going to say anything about it.

Barbatos help her, the movie is on her mind for at least then next week, even while at work.

Her flustered state gets worse when she envisions-

NOPE. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

(Jean) frustrated sigh

(Lumine) "...I think I would've liked an action movie better."

Lumine can't help but be a little flustered while watching the movie.

Especially with S/O sitting next to her as it goes on.

But it was made worse as Paimon was just sitting there, eating the popcorn.

(Paimon) "Uh...Paimon doesn't understand what's happening here. Why is she tied up?"

(Lumine) "Paimon, go get us some more popcorn. Now."

Paimon happily agrees to get more food as she shovels the remaining bucket into her mouth, leaving them alone.

Lumine crosses her arms and frowns at S/O.

(Lumine) "If you're trying to tell me something with this, I don't find it funny."

She would be taken more serious had her blush not completely overtaken her face.

(Yae) "Oh, they turned that book you lent me into a theatre production? How risque."

Yae is highly amused by watching the scenes she read acted out.

She also notices how many differences there were between the film and novels.

(Yae) "Hm. They do not pounce on each other nearly as much as they did in the text. I do not know if I am disappointed or relieved..."

Nitpicking aside, she enjoys the experience of watching the movie and comparing the book.

(Yae) "I wonder how this would do if I were to publish this in house. Would many people read it, or would it be forgotten?"

She shrugs and looks back at S/O, a dangerous glint in her eye.

(Yae) "Nevermind that. Is there a particular reason you wanted to show me this, little one? I doubt it was solely because you wanted to see my reaction."

She laughs upon seeing S/O's face, her hand covering her mouth.

Confusion, thy name is Ei.

There were so many questions she had throughout the movie, especially when it came to the spicier scenes.

(Ei) "Ana is getting tied up, is she about to be interroga-...Oh. They are naked. What exactly is happening to her?"

She just blinks in curiosity throughout the entire movie, her attitude barely shifting.

Ei feels like she has even more questions about what humans do in their off time than ever before.

(Ei) "Is this based off a true story? I do not feel like this is entirely healthy for humans to have. Unless we are the outlier?"

She doesn't really know what to think of the movie, honestly.

(Yelan) "Well, this is as subtle as Ningguang throwing the Jade Palace at whatever's inconveniencing her that day."

Honestly? Yelan finds the movie pretty entertaining.

Beats just doing nothing with her night.

But she can't help but wonder the implications of S/O choosing this movie of all things to watch.

Especially considering her Vision's powers.

Yelan had never really thought about using her strings that way before.

(Yelan) "I hope you're not planning on asking me to try everything we saw, S/O. I have more class than that. And I certainly hope you have higher standards than her."

Rosaria has a slight smirk the entire movie duration, not really commenting on anything aloud.

Not until the movie is finished that she speaks up.

(Rosaria) "I feel like I need a bath after watching that."

She leans back into the sofa, looking at S/O with an eyebrow raised.

(Rosaria) "Not that I hated watching it, but why exactly did you wanna show me this movie? I know you got your kinks, but I didn't think you were that freaky."

Rosaria chuckles as she simply moves to find another movie.

(Rosaria) "Not judging. Just surprised is all."

Ayaka didn't really know what to expect hearing the name.

But as the film progressed, her face scrunched up and cheeks heated faster than anything in her life had done.

The moment the first spicy scene hits, she's already sweating profusely as she turns to S/O, trying to ignore the sounds.

(Ayaka) "S-S/O! Could we change the movie?...Please?!"

She would literally watch anything other than this. Even the horror movies!

Ayaka was already embarrassed in the bedroom, there was no need to have it presented to her in such...such a degenerate form!

(Ayaka) "I would thank you if we were to not watch those kinds of movies S/O. Not that I am ungrateful for us spending time together but...But why that?!"

Shenhe's face barely moves the entire movie.

Her monotone voice simply speaks up during certain scenes like:

(Shenhe) "We do not do that when you are on top of me."

Or:

(Shenhe) "Is that how you're supposed to do it? What you do to me is very different."

Shenhe doesn't even blink at any of the more spicy scenes.

Shenhe unintentionally guts the eroticism out of the entire movie, watching it as if it was some kind of guide on how romance should be done.

Regardless, it's something Shenhe doesn't approve of, at all.

(Shenhe) "That did not look enjoyable. Thank you for treating me well, S/O. May we watch another movie?"

Shenhe puts on something that she can understand far better, and was far more enjoyable.

She doesn't even really think about Fifty Shades of Grey. For her, it was a movie, and that was about the extent of it.

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lihhelsing · 7 months

Text

Part 3

Eddie can barely react when Steve offers to pick him up at his house for their date night.

Eddie is a nervous wreck at this point as he's been with everything that's related to Steve (or related to not-Steve).

Ever since he first matched with him, Eddie felt like he was living in a parallel world because there was no way in hell someone like him would ever swipe right on someone like Eddie. And yet. It really happened.

Well, at first it didn't, but then Steve called and said all those nice things to Eddie and fuck if he wasn't easy when someone flattered him.

But Eddie was also a paranoid shit, so he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Steve to laugh at him and tell him it was just a prank. For him to ghost him - which maybe would be even worse.

But Steve didn't and now he was waiting outside of his place in a fucking BMW? What the fuck was that?

Steve looks good because he always does. They had been exchanging pictures of themselves as they talked and even when Steve was all sweaty and gross from a workout he still looked good. Eddie compensated with good angles and dork faces that Steve said time and time again were adorable.

He insisted so much that he thought Eddie was cute that Eddie was almost believing him. He had also tried his hardest for their date, putting on some of his favorite clothes, a band t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans that made him look good. His hair was down because it felt like a good armor if he needed to hide from something.

Steve doesn't even give him time to anything before he's smiling and saying 'you look so handsome,' and placing his hand on Eddie's thigh and fuck, he forgot how to breathe.

"Thanks, you, uh, you look good, too," Eddie blabbers and Steve chuckles and it's adorable. He's adorable and Eddie is losing his shit.

"Ready for our date?" Steve smiles and turns the car on, his hand heavy on Eddie's leg still. There's a part of Eddie that's sure he's the farthest thing from ready, but this is happening, no question.

Somehow, Eddie tricks Steve into inviting him over after the movie is over. Steve said he wanted to take him to dinner, but he failed to mention dinner was actually eating popcorn and candy at a drive-in.

Eddie had no notes.

After the movie started, he managed to relax a bit. Steve seemed to feel it because he, too, relaxed and when they were done with their food, he offered his hand for Eddie to take. He felt giddy like a high-schooler and like Steve had, somehow, known Eddie never had the chance to do any of that in high school.

Despite his fancy car, Steve's apartment is more modest than Eddie expects it to be. He mentioned having a roommate who he's friends with, although he said he just met her over the internet and she hooked him up with the job.

"So, is she like your best friend or something?" Eddie asks as Steve opens the car door for him as if he's a prince out of a fairy tale.

"Oh, no. I mean, we're friends and we talk and I really like her company, but I don't think she likes me very much."

"Why not?"

Steve shrugs, but Eddie can tell it's a sore subject‌. Eddie gets it, though. For the little he knows Steve, he can already tell he cares a lot about people liking him or not. He also doesn't understand why someone wouldn't like Steve, but well, people are weird.

"Is she out?" Eddie asks as they get in the elevator and Steve nods.

"Yeah, she usually spends Friday nights at her girlfriend's place. That's why I normally get the Friday shift. I kind of hate being home alone and it's just a nice thing to do for her, I guess."

Eddie hums noncommittally. He's trying to piece Steve together, but it's hard because his looks and his posture sometimes say one thing and then he lets out this incredibly vulnerable information and it leaves Eddie confused.

They walk in together and the place is small, but cute. There's an old couch and Steve tells him to sit down, saying he's getting them some drinks. Eddie doesn't want to drink, he wants to just grab Steve by the face and kiss him dumb.

Steve doesn't take long and as he sits down, Eddie can't hold it anymore. He has no idea where all this bravado comes from, but he leans forward and pecks Steve on the mouth. Steve's eyes widen and Eddie is about to apologize when two hands cup his face and pull him forward.

And then they are kissing. Really kissing. With tongue and little huffs that come out of Steve's mouth and Eddie feels like he's died.

If he is, in fact, dead, then Eddie is going to make the best of it. He lets his hands move to Steve's waist and he pulls him in. He has no idea what he was trying to do, but Steve seems to be much more confident because he straddles Eddie's hips and then he's on top.

"Fuck," Eddie says. He's completely out of breath and Steve feels so good like this. He grips his waist harder and Steve thinks it's a go-ahead for him to roll his hips down and Eddie sees stars.

Steve kisses him like he's hungry for him, and it's a heady feeling. Eddie has kissed boys before, but no one that looked like Steve. No one that made his heart skip so many beats like he does.

No one that seemed to want Eddie as much as Steve does right now.

"Stevie," Eddie whispers. He's not even sure he managed to get the words out but Steve stops kissing his neck. His pupils are blown out and his mouth is red and swollen and Eddie did that.

"Yeah?" Steve is out of breath, too. His chest rises and falls in quick intervals.

"Can we slow down?" Eddie says when he catches his own breath. He's afraid of saying it because it makes him look pathetic, but he doesn't want to rush this.

They've been talking for a month before they even went out, but Eddie still feels too raw and insecure and-

"Of course, baby," Steve interrupts Eddie's train of thought and he has a soft smile, but he doesn't move away. He's not repelled by Eddie. He leans in and kisses him softly on the mouth.

The pet name wraps itself around Eddie's heart. He's desperate to believe all of this means more than just a casual hook up but he knows he can't. Not yet.

"Oh, wait! I saved a video I wanted to show you," Steve says as if they weren't eating each other a few short seconds ago. Eddie chuckles. He likes it. He likes how Steve can just roll with whatever Eddie throws his way.

"Yeah, let's see this video," Eddie smiles, takes a moment to just admire Steve, hair a complete mess thanks to him, face flushed a pretty shade of pink. He looks perfect and Eddie wants to keep him so bad.

"Wait, can you call my phone? I don't know where I put it."

Much to Eddie's disappointment, Steve gets out of his lap and pats his pockets, frowning. He starts moving around the house and Eddie fishes his phone, dialing Steve's number from his contact list.

He watches as Steve disappears back inside the kitchen and listens as his phone starts to ring right beside him, on the couch. Eddie can't see it, so he pushes his hand at the edges and pulls out Steve's phone.

They must've been making out pretty hard for the phone to go this deeper on the couch. Eddie chuckles and presses the red button at the same time Steve comes back into the living room.

"Found it! I left it at the kitchen counter when I grabbed us water," Steve says, waving a phone he has in his hands. Eddie frowns at him and holds out the phone he found.

"Me too."

It's Steve's turn to look confused. "What?"

Previous | Next

#steve harrington #Eddie Munson #Coffee Shop AU #AU #Alternate Universe #Stranger Things #Fanfic #Stranger Things fanfic #Steddie #Steddie Fanfic

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stabortega · 7 months

Text

NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Having to deal with the aftermath of that situation was definitely worse then finding out the truth.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. Mentions of sex, dirty talking and sexting. Knife play. Mentions of kinks, nothing explicit. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's Note: Still think my writing is trash but you guys seem to like it. 💜

MASTERLIST.

"What the actual fuck?!" Jasmine almost yelled as Jenna shoved her inside one of the dressing rooms in the set, while she tried to shut the other actress up. "Thank god someone's paying that poor girl's college."

"This is not fucking funny, Jasmine. I shouldn't have told you." Jenna locked the door behind her, looking at her apprehensively. She made a terrible mistake by telling Jasmine what went on last night. "And now they expect me to work with her? After I-"

"Seen her dick? Oh god, what will be of you?" The black girl laughed, while sitting down on the couch. "Chill, alright? She probably doesn't even know you donated. I mean, what was your username?"

Jenna gulped. "I don't wanna say it."

"Come on, was it that obvious??" Jasmine rolled her eyes, waiting for an answer.

"It was my first name then the first four digits of my birthday."

"I cannot fucking believe you."

Living in New York wasn't easy. Every apartment was obnoxiously expensive, so you had to resort to leave the city and start living in Brooklyn. It was a nice neighborhood, the best you could afford if we're being completely honest. Moving to the big city was by far the best and the worst decision you've ever made. Other than starting college, obviously.

I mean, you loved every second of it, but it started to fuck your financial life right up the ass.

"You should create an Only Fans or something." You almost spit the whiskey shot you were drinking right back to your cup, looking at your friend as if she just told you that she had killed three men with a needle. "I'm serious, (Y/N). Do you know how much money you can get just by posting out some feet pics, or whatever?"

"I'm not gonna sell pictures of my feet for cash, Liana." She shook her head no while taking a sip of her Appletini.

"Then don't. Sell your dick pics, or livestream. Come on, I know how much you're struggling and you know you're putting that body to waste. What's the worse thing can happen?"

And she was right. You started out with just an account on that website, posting some pictures here and there; until one of your followers suggested livestreaming and said she would pay some good money just to watch you cum on your stomach (which obviously, she did). It happened so fast that, when you realized it, you were able to get yourself a better place right downtown, pay off your college debts and buy a professional video camera to shoot some amateur movies. And no, not the pornographic kind.

You wanted to be a director someday, but you were also really good with a camera; which is why you got the opportunity to work in the upcoming Scream movie as an assistant videographer (and because Liana put in a good word for you). It was your first real gig in your area of interest, you couldn't be more excited.

The first day was just like any other. You got to meet a few people and get a hold of the equipments you were going to use.

"Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!" Your boss, Dave, called your name while you were looking at one of the IMAX cameras, which you've never got the opportunity to film with. You realized he wanted to introduce you to some people, which he did. You just didn't expect it would be one of the protagonists (and the newest it actress of Hollywood). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna."

You extended your hand for her to shake, which she did after looking at it for a couple of seconds, almost if she was analyzing you. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)."

And that was pretty much it, you guys didn't exchanged any other words besides that on that particular day. You even thought that she could be avoiding you, for whatever reason. All throughout the day, you felt her gaze on you multiple times, but everytime you looked at her, she just looked away.

"You're definitely not subtle." Jasmine whispered in Jenna's ear, while she watched you handle one of the camera films. "I'm pretty sure that she can physically feel your eyes on her butt as we speak."

"She's definitely gonna find out that I was on her stream last night." The Ortega took a deep breath, looking away when she realized you looked at her again.

"She's not, don't get paranoid. You have the most obvious and boring username ever? Yes. It would take just one Google search to figure out your identity? It would. But still!" Jenna got up from the chair she was sitting, realizing that all she wanted to do was to smoke this off.

"You're not helping, Jasmine." She took out her pack of Marlboro's and her lighter once she was outside. "I never even watched porn before, not even by myself."

"And now you donated $1500 to a complete stranger just so she could cum while moaning your name. That's a character development." Jasmine stood beside Jenna, who had just started smoking so she could even try to forget that she wanted to sit on her coworker's dick less than 24 hours ago.

"I'm never doing that again, Jasmine. It's inhumane and gross. It was the first and the last time."

jenna2709: thought about you a lot today.

"Oh, did you? Good to hear that." She locked the door behind her and sat on her bed. That was Jenna's, at least, 10th day of watching your streams nonstop. And she had just "caught" you in the beginning of your livestream (which meant that she had the notifications of your page on and was too much of a chicken to admit it). So that meant that you weren't even undressed yet, you were just rubbing your dick over your sweatpants and chatting a litte bit with your followers before you started your actual show. "What exactly were you thinking of, huh?"

jenna2709: of me sucking your cock under this table while you tell me how much of a good girl i am.

Jenna realized what she said after she already sent the message. Where did that came from? She thought while looking intensely at the livestream, hoping you would just stop with the teasing and take your cock out of your pants for her to see (and drool). "Oh baby, I'm sure you're very good with your mouth. Wanted to cum right on your throat and make you swallow every drop."

jenna2709: i would be honored to be your cum dump.

"Okay, I crossed the line." She took a deep breath, not even recognizing who was that person inside of her, the person that would say the most obscene and erotic shit that she ever heard. It was almost if something awakened inside of her everytime she saw you. Every couple of days, at exactly 10PM, she would lock herself in her hotel bedroom and fuck her pussy so deep until she passed out from having like, five orgasms. And that was the easy part, obviously. The hardest part was definitely waking up in the morning and having to look at you as if she didn't saw your dick inside of a fleshlight the night before.

Jenna grew up christian. In a american dream type of household. But getting in touch with Hollywood and all of the film industry made her get out of her bubble and quite literally, discover the world. She drank, she smoked, she went to 2AM parties at some A-List celebrity's house that she never even met before. But sex? Never sex. She met a few people here and there, but nothing further. It made her think about that, the fact that she couldn't even be interested enough in someone to actually have some sort of contact with them; but with you, she would stay all night thinking about you fucking her raw and senseless until she couldn't remember who she was.

"Stop teasing, Jenna. We both know you were born to be my cum dump, and mine only." You were so horny imagining having that stranger on her knees while she had her mouth open, waiting for you to dump your cum inside of her pretty little throat. You took your cock out of your pants, a little bit earlier than you've expected, but you were getting so worked up that you didn't even thought about your stream routine. You started to stroke the member gently, feeling your dick pulsate right on the palm of your hand. "I know that you're the only one who can take care of this right, don't you think?"

jenna2709: if you were mine, i would make you cum on my pussy everyday.

Jenna started to get scared. Who was this person that was hiding inside of her? Was she really like that? Is she the female version of Christian Grey and doesn't know it yet? How the fuck she got so horny all of a sudden?

She knew that the reason you were playing that little game with her was merely money. But there was a part of her, a tiny part that hoped that you felt attracted to her as much as she felt to you. Even if you'd never seen her face, or her body. It didn't mattered if she had just met you a couple of days ago; she wanted you to want her, the same way she wanted you.

"And if you were mine, I would carve my name on your belly so everyone would know who you belong to." Oh yes, the knife play.

Jenna wasn't naive or innocent, she knew about fetishes and BDSM practices; and thankfully there was the option of marking your kinks on your own profile when you created your account. The actress spent an embarrassing amount of time researching some of your kinks that were listed on your profile (there was so many things she didn't even knew existed, to be completely honest). And the thought of you doing all of those things with her got her aroused in a matter of seconds.

jenna2709: you could carve your name on my face, for all i care.

jenna2709: i would definitely want people to know that i'm yours.

The rest of the livestream went as usual, you doing all of the things that your subs asked you to, Jenna being awarded as the number 1 tipper for the 5th time in a row, nothing out of the ordinary. You were just about to cum for the second time when Jenna tipped you again with a request.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $2000 with the message: i want you to cum for me, again.

"You know I never decline your requests, baby. But, let's be fair this time around?" You answered, a little bit breathless, masturbating your cock as hard as you could. "I'll give you a private livestream if you show me your face."

Oh, a private livestream?

Jenna had been following your for awhile now ever since her first time watching your stream. She knew that private livestreams weren't something you did. And yet, you were here, offering one for free, just to see Jenna's face in return. It was a really good offer, but Jenna couldn't accept. If you found out who she was, the shooting would be the most awkward work experience for both of them. It would be like, "Hey, (Y/N)? Can you get this camera ready for me? Also, I've already seen your dick and I'm having wet dreams with you fucking me like the slut I am." So, she took one last breath after she decided to stick with her original plan and decline.

jenna2709: it's a deal.

#scream #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #the fallout #you #scream movies #pwp

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theehoneeybee · 7 months

Text

Talking In Your Sleep. Chapter 1.

Talking in Your Sleep - Blue Monday

The new security hire doesn't realise he's in deep. There's more than just abandoned arcade games and dusty decorations at Freddy Fazbears Pizza.

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: I haven't written in like a year but the fnaf movie altered by brain chemistry. this series is cross posted on my ao3. lmk what you think!

series m.list

next part >

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The halogen lights flickered, lighting up the black grey room, it's peeling walls covered in fake-motivational posters. Dream Big! Work Hard! What bullshit. Mike bounced his leg anxiously. Yet another job gone because of his temper. That was the third one this month. At this point, he had spent more time at the career councillors office than at an actual job.

"Number 27," the receptionist called out drearily.

Mike grabbed his jacket and made his way to the councillors office, already dreading the outcome. This councillor wasn't one he had met before. He swivelled around in his chair, skimming through Mike's file with a less than pleased expression plastered on his face. Amongst his cluttered desk strewn with paperwork from the hundreds of others looking for work was a black and gold name tag. Steve Raglan.

"What is your deal Mike?" he asked, gaze not lifting from the manila folder. "What are you, some kind of headcase?"

Steve reads aloud the incident which landed Mike in his office. It was all a misunderstanding. Mike had seen a confused, lost young boy wandering through the shopping centre, so when a strange man dragged him away, he couldn't sit idle. Of course, he should have talked to the man first instead of immediately brutalising him and traumatising his poor son in the process. He knew that. But at the time, all he could think about was protecting the boy. The loss of Garrett eats away at him. Steve lists out his past jobs. One week. Terminated. Two weeks. Insubordination, terminated.

"It's like you're not even trying, yet you sit before me asking for help," Steve sounded almost amused. "I'm just trying to figure out who you are, Mr Michael Sch-"

Steve's expression changed. He rereads the last name printed on the page, glances up at Mike, staring at him with an unreadable expression. He gets up to pour himself a cup of coffee with shaky hands and a furrowed brow.

"I'm going to be brutally honest with you here Mike. Given your track record, your options are gonna be extremely limited."

"I'll take anything. Any job you've got," Mike bargains but Steve insists it's not that easy. Defeated, Mike gets up to leave before Steve quickly speaks again.

"I have a job for you." Mike sits back down. "It's a security gig. Full disclosure: it's not great. But you only have to worry about one thing, keeping people out. And well, keeping the place tidy but-"

"That's two things," Mike interrupts.

Steve shrugs. "Do you want the job or not?"

"How's the pay?"

"Not great, but the hours are worse," Steve explained with a smile.

Mike's expression fell, rubbing the back of his neck. He muttered out, "I can't do nights."

Steve chuckled. "That's such a shame." As Mike got up to leave, thanking him, Steve gave him his card.

"In case you change your mind."

The roads were always empty at this time of the night. Your car hummed quietly as you made your way to work. 11:48pm, the clock read. These night shifts had really messed up your sleep schedule. You yawned, pulling into the parking lot and stepping outside. The icy breeze ran straight through you, the cheap security vest doing little in the way of warmth. You hugged it tighter to yourself, eager to get inside and escape the cold. Immediately you were hit with the smell of dust and rot, something you had become familiar to over the past weeks. You navigated through the pizzeria, kicking broken glass from the many break-ins out of your way. Even with the curtains drawn shut, as you passed the animatronic show stage you could feel eyes burning into you. The whole place gave off an unsettling vibe. When you had gotten the job, they explained to you the owner was sentimental which is why he kept the place up, rather than demolishing it. You couldn't understand why. As you entered the security office, you grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. It had become routine. Doors would randomly open and more nights than not, footsteps could be heard down the hallway. Yet, you never saw anyone there. You sat down in the cracked leather chair, booting up the monitors to begin yet another long shift.

You swivelled around in your chair, trying to entertain yourself. Every room in the pizzeria was decked head to toe in cheap Freddy Fazbear merchandise. It left a sour taste in your mouth. As a child, you had spent countless hours in the pizzeria against your will. Instead of paying for childcare, or taking time off work, your parents would just dump you at the pizzeria. After school, weekends, whenever. From open to close. On more than one occasion, you had tried running home only to find the house locked. It was only once you started getting older they gave up on the pizzeria, leaving you at home instead. It was almost ironic that you chose this job after all the time you had spent here, but money is money. On the plus side, you never had to deal with annoying co-workers or rude customers. One by one, the hours slowly ticked by. Tonight was quiet. No sounds of footsteps or random clanging. Everyone was right in their place. Some nights you could've swore you had seen Foxy move. The curtains to Pirate's Cove didn't close properly, allowing you to see inside. Maybe you were just sleep deprived, but one night, about a week ago, it looked like foxy had moved and was staring directly down the camera. It was like they knew you were there. But after you had rubbed your eyes, he was back to normal. The second the clock struck six you were out, avoiding staring at the show stage as you rushed out the door.

Mike stared at the phone, idly toying with the business card Steve had given him the day before. He couldn't work nights, that hadn't changed, but he was at a point were that was his only choice. Aunt Jane was trying to take custody of Abby, citing Mike's inability to care for his younger sister and lack of employment. As right as she was, Aunt Jane was a bitch, and there is no way Mike was letting her take custody of Abby. Mike turned around to look at Abby who was sat in front of the TV, drawing as always. Abby didn't talk to Mike much, too absorbed in her drawings and conversations with her imaginary friends. He sighed and dialled in the number, holding the phone up to his ear as he waited for Steve.

"Hello?" The crackled voice through the phone answered.

"Hi Mr Raglan, it's Mike."

"Mr 'I can't work nights'." Mike could hear Steve's smirk through the phone.

"Right. I was just wondering if that job is still available?"

"Oh, it absolutely is. Why? Have you had a change of heart?"

Mike turns around again to look at Abby. "How soon can I start?"

As you were getting ready for work, the phone rings. You answer it, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you struggled to lace up your shoes. "Hello?" you asked.

"Hi, it's Steve Raglan," the man replies. Shocked, you grab the phone properly and sit up.

"Oh, Mr Raglan. What can I do for you?" You prayed to every God in existence that he wasn't firing you. As little as the job paid, you needed every cent.

Almost like he was reading your mind, Steve replied, "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But, we are making some changes to the job." You listened anxiously. "We've hired another security guard. Given how big the place is we thought you could use an extra set of hands. He's starting tonight so you'll have to train him but I'm sure you guys are gonna have no problem." Before you could protest, Steve wishes you a good night and hands up. You groan, leaning back in the chair. The solitude was one of the very few things you enjoyed about this job and now that was taken away from you. You snatched your keys and left, slamming the door behind you.

As you drove the the pizzeria, you wonder what kind of person was desperate enough to take this job. Well, you, but who else? You arrived in the parking lot at the same time as your new co-worker. As soon as he stepped out of the car, you noticed how tired he looked. His dark hair was messy and bags hung heavy under his eyes. He definitely didn't want to be here. The two of you walked silently to the door. You glanced at him and introduced yourself as you unlocked the doors.

"I'm Mike," he replied, barely looking at you. Okay, rude.

You let him inside and began to give him a rundown of the job. "It's not that hard," you explained. "Ninety percent of the time you're just sitting around watching the monitors. Occasionally I'll clean stuff up or go investigate a noise, but there haven't been any break-ins so far."

As you walk past the show stage, Mike peeks behind the curtains. You smirk and decide to give him a fright. You press the big, red Showtime! button next to the stage. Immediately, colourful lights illuminate the room and loud 80's music plays as the curtains draw back. Mike steps back in shock, watching as the animatronics on stage start to sing and move about. He shoots you a look of annoyance for scaring him. The show is cut short by the fuse box tripping, the lights flicker off and the curtain draws.

"Amazing, right?" you say sarcastically. "The power here is pretty shitty. If it goes off, there's a breaker. Just flip it off and on and it should work again."

Mike stayed silent as he followed you to the security office. He watched you curiously as you wedged a chair under the door.

"It's just for safe measure," you explain. He gives you a half-hearted nod and investigates the office. You sighed. It was going to be a long night if this is what he was like.

You turned on the monitors and showed Mike how to use them. The technology was old and half of the buttons were jammed and caked in dust. It didn't take Mike long to figure out how it worked.

"I'm gonna do a check of all the rooms. Just keep and eye on the cameras and give me call if you see anything," you said. Mike gave you a quite okay, keeping his eyes on the screens. You left and wandered through the abandoned pizzeria. As bad as it sounded, you didn't think he would last. Why was he so unfriendly? Nothing you had said or done was mean yet he was so standoff-ish. The building groaned and the old lights flickered. From down the hallway, you heard a hum. It sounded like someone singing. You stopped in your tracks, pointing the flashlight down the hall. You never heard anyone come in, but something about the song didn't sound human. It was familiar, something you had heard before. You slowly walked away and snuck back into the security room.

"You okay?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, yeah..." you trailed off. "Yeah I'm fine. Did you see anything on the cameras?"

Mike shook his head. You sighed and slumped down into the chair. You must just be tired.

It was only 3am. You looked over to Mike who was barely awake. "You can sleep," you offered. "You look really tired."

"I'm fine," Mike insisted but you narrowed your eyes.

"These shifts will ruin your sleep schedule. Try get some while you can."

Mike chuckled. "It's ruined enough thanks."

Your eyes caught onto the book on the table. Dream Theory. Curious, you picked it up and skimmed through the pages. You looked up at Mike with a slight smile. "I didn't expect you to be into this stuff." Mike looked embarrassed.

"Apparently, everything you ever hear or see is stored somewhere in your mind," Mike began to explain. "You can access them through your dreams when you use familiar sights and sounds," he paused. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

That was the most Mike has said all night. You shook your head. "I think it's cool. I don't really get it, but it's cool." He looked surprised by your response.

Slowly, your shift came to an end. The sun was slowly starting to rise. You were ready to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Mike looked like he felt the same. He intrigued you. yes, he was closed off and honestly a bit rude, but there was definitely more to him than he lets on. The metal of the gate was freezing against your hands as you locked up the pizzeria, your breath visible the the cold morning air. Mike tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, squinting as the bright morning sun beams into his eyes. As your make your way to your car, you give Mike a small wave.

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

He nods and you think you almost see him smile. "See you tomorrow."

#mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #william afton

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chrollo-lucilfers-chains · 11 months

Text

Homelander x gn!reader

A really bad day.

Warnings: crying, Homelander (he's not the one crying tho)

He'd just been sitting on the couch reviewing some documents for Vought, when his ears had picked up on your presence entering the building. His focus immediately shifts completely to you, about fifteen floors down, as you enter the elevator to his suite.

Reason for his piqued attention are the tiny sniffles his super hearing has picked up. They mean that you either have a cold or that you are crying.

Either of those would be an immediate call for high alert for Homelander. Humans are so very fragile...

You can't be sick, he reasons. You hadn't been sick in the morning, when you'd left for work.

So you're crying.

And yes, the sound is muffled, like you're trying to hold it together and not quite getting the hang of it, but it's still notably the sound of tears.

Homelander's eyebrows furrow. Somehow, that's worse than you being sick.

From his current position, he listens intently to the sound of the elevator moving upwards until there's a telltale ring and you shuffle inside his apartment complex.

He hears you take off your shoes while he's drifting towards the hallway.

You see the movement in the corner of your eye and look up at him, eyes meeting his. When you realize that he's really here, your eyes begin to water again.

Immediately he is by your side, holding your shoulders and checking your body for any injuries.

He finds nothing physically wrong with you but before he can ask, you fling yourself into his arms and start sobbing uncontrollably.

Your hands find his back and then he feels the muscles of your arms squeeze him with all your non-powered-regular-human-strength might.

He freezes. This is new.

Homelander listens intently to any new sounds but thankfully the crying seems to be the only noise of distress you let out. Or at least he can't make out any whimpers of pain or something of the sort.

Slowly, afraid to startle you, he relaxes his body. Strong ams wind around your form and pull you closer.

He's honestly scared he might spook you with moving too much, as if he were handling a small animal.

Homelander doesn't like dealing with crying from others, unless it's tears of happiness. People he saves often cry out of relief or from the shock but most of the time he leaves those to the paramedics or other heroes around as soon as possible.

You're his partner. He can't do that here.

This is the first time he's seen you cry, now that he thinks about it. It would make sense for you to cry sometimes, as it is in the normal range of human emotions but the two of you have only been dating for about two months now and known each other for four. So this display of emotions from you is entirely new to him.

'Come on, Homelander', he thinks, 'get your act together'.

He's not going to hand his crying partner to somebody else just because he doesn't know how to deal with human emotions very well...

So he tries to remember his training. What did they tell him to do in these situations?

Oh dear, your hands must hurt with all this clenching going on at his back. He just knows your muscles must be tired at this point.

Not for the first time, he curses his upbringing. Dealing with emotions had come rather short in his education. The focus had always been on how to destroy, never how to comfort.

But that one time they'd given him a lesson on how to deal with people in distress for of his public image.

However, that doesn't really apply here, he reasons. It might even be impersonal. You're not some random fan he can pat on the back and leave!

So when he picks you up, arms draped over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, he's operating purely on instinct. He's seen a man do this in a movie once and it had worked there, so he takes the gamble.

To his relief, you tighten your grip on him and cling to his body like a little koala, tears still wetting the material of his suit.

The mental image is quite cute, he will admit. Then again, so are you.

Walking back to the couch, he settles the two of you into the soft pillows for a little comfortability. You can't just keep standing in the hallway forever.

Noticing the fuzzy blanket he'd bought for you few weeks ago because his place is always cold, he shifts you around and clumsily wraps you in the soft, red fabric, until you're sitting in a cocoon on his lap.

You've stopped crying at this point as well. There's still the occasional sob or sniffle but for the most part you're just clinging onto him and hiding your face in his neck.

He pats your head awkwardly and you let out a tiny laugh that gets muffled in his neck.

It's quite nice like this, he notices. Not the crying, of course. But have you this close, needing physical comfort which nicely feeds his own cravings for your touch.

He'd actually quite like you like this, all vulnerable, if it weren't for your upset state and the crying... He doesn't like those...

After a while, he experimentally places a soft kiss on your head and you pull away slightly to look at him.

Your eyes and cheeks are red from crying and your face is a little puffy but it's kinda cute in his eyes.

"Do you feel better?" He asks, continuing to stroke your hair.

You nod and take a deep breath.

"Better," you sniffle. "Thanks for being here. I- I needed that hug and I just really felt like seing you. Sorry, I had-... I had a really shitty day..."

His brain stops at that, having just had a revelation.

Constellations in his mind shift just the tiniest bit.

You trust him.

You came to him for comfort.

Not because there was nobody else either but because you genuinely wanted to see him and thought his being there would bring you calm! You felt like seeing him would make you feel better!

The most dangerous person in the world (not that you realize that) and you came to him for comfort.

Deep in his chest, pride and satisfaction begin to swell, along with a new kind of warmth he's never felt before. He doesn't even try to fight the broad smile that sneaks onto his face.

"It's fine! You can always come to me for comfort. I don't mind!" He reassures you, cheerfully,

"I really don't mind."

His arms tighten around you just the tiniest bit. Well, there's no way around it. Seems like he'll just have to protect you from now on.

#mine #my writing #gender neutral reader #gn reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the homelander #homelander #the boys tv show #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys #the boys series

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nariism · 9 months

Text

come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him— hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow?

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help.

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you.

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

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