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neat-crows · 3 months

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So I've been re-watching dr who for the first time ever rn, with a friend who's never seen it before, so I'm seeing all these episodes for the first time since I was 13 and picking up on a LOT that I never noticed before, and holy shit the tenth doctor is SO WEIRD to Martha Jones, and nothing exemplifies that more than the sontaran stratagem/the poison sky.... like..... he is SO weird the whole way down.

When they first see each other again their introduction directly mirrors Jack and The Doctor's in Utopia

"Doctor" "martha Jones" laugh and hug

"doctor" "captain Jack" laugh and hug

And then! they have a normal interaction!!! WIN he asks how her family is and how she is, and they're smiling and genuinely seem like friends very happy to see each other!

And then.... donna drops the fiance bomb.

He turns with a look of.... almost anger? disbelief? and asks WHAT MAN?? Then martha explains who he is and the doctor....

he looks? upset? and then like, resigned? AND THEN martha admits that her fiance is kind of similar to the doctor, and then donna asks "Is he skinny?" and his reactions

is to make a face like "yeahh" AND START NODDING????? like he's taken Martha's admission to mean she's with a man that's just like him, and honestly seems a bit smug over it, and then when Martha says no-

he looks so taken off guard and betrayed ??????????? BRO we are less than 5 minutes in..............

He then proceeds to be tetchy with her, and to be fair this is mostly because of her involvement with unit, and his discomfort with how militaristic she's gotten - which I think comes both from anger at himself for how he's changed her, and also discomfort that she's no longer "his" Martha, she's changed, and he doesn't know her as well anymore.

he tells her off, he's snide and judgmental, he won't even look at her until she tells him to, and he's honestly bitchy - Until she explains herself, and tells him off for being so judgmental, i also think his line "oh so it's my fault" is very telling because..... it literally is? like yes, you put her in situations where she had to become harder and more used to violence......... and he KNOWS it. He's doing what he did all through series 3, which is feel guilty or bad and then take it out on Martha (that's for another post though) until she stands up for herself (get his ass!!) and then when she's finished she looks at him

determined, but eyes darting back and forth waiting for his reaction, on some small level hoping for his approval

and only THEN does he start to smile, and he tells her "that sounds more like Martha Jones." she's back to feeling like she's still his (to him, Martha is acting incredibly normal and platonic). The doctor has always had a weird possessiveness with Martha, going all the way back to their first episode where he hand picked her, and in this second of her looking for his approval, he feels that again, and he IMMEDIATELY started flirting again - please go watch the scene it boggles my mind how fast he switches.

I also want to be clear, Martha isn't flirting back, she's acting extremely normally. She's clearly taken the time away from him to get over, not only romantic feelings, but any anger as well. She seems to have come to terms with how she feels with everything that happened, and she loves and cares about him, but she's not naive to his faults - I also don't think she even picks up on him being weird to her in this scene. She's no longer in tune with his every mood swing, she's not here to fix him, or cater to his needs, and so she no longer notices these small moments from him.

AND THEN.... the clone.

He never flirts with the clone. The ONLY time, is the very first time they interact, before he's realized something is wrong.

he calls her over to come with him, and his face is honestly way too close to hers. bro is a menace. but then, maybe 2 minutes later, he immediately clocks that this is not Martha.

he realizes there has to be a spy and only has to consider for half a second before he turns and asks about her family, he's already realized she's acting a little off, and the second she answers he's 100% certain.

and he gets MAD. he tells her Donna went home because she's not like her, she's not "a soldier" clearly a shot at the sontarans, but also another subtle test, the real Martha wouldn't let that slide, and he wouldn't say that to the real Martha. He continues saying Avanti, instead of Allonse-y, which is interesting, because he already knows. He's not doing this to confirm his suspicions, he's doing this as retaliation. To confirm to himself he knows Martha better than this fake, he's toying with her. BUT. He doesn't go to save Martha.

The next episode, the doctor's daughter, he refuses to accept the label of soldier, but Jenny rightfully points out that he strategizes like one And this is one such moment. He knows Martha is a clone, he's mad and upset, he could go save her right away, but he doesn't. He doesn't because it serves him best to allow her to keep shutting down the nuclear launch.

It reminds me a lot of when Cassandra possessed Rose in New Earth, he played a long for a little bit, but that was just to figure out what was happening. He IMMEDIATELY tried to fix it, I just wonder if it was any other companion if he would have done this. If it was Donna would he have left her for so long? even if it was strategic? it's this weird conflict the doctor has now that he's very very protective and a bit possessive, but he also treats her like an equal on the battlefield, and it's a weird... trust? he has in her to take care of herself.

I kind of don't want to call it trust because that sounds too positive, but I don't know another way to phrase it, but it's a forced independence and self sufficiency.

but then, he finally goes to save her

He goes and cradles her face gently, and NOTABLY says "good, still alive" MEANING HE DIDN'T KNOW??? and still left her for that long...

but he holds her gently, and fully ignores the clone. He has his back to her, and then proceeds to taunt her. He tells her he clocked her right away because of the pupil size, thin hair, and he says she smells. but we know this isn't true.

Sure maybe those physical traits are true, but that's not how he figured it out, we saw how he did it, he clocked on because he knows Martha so well, but he can't admit that. He can't admit that he knows her just as much as she knows him, just like he couldn't tell Rose he loved her.

He is so deeply angry at this clone, he makes fun of her, he yells at her, he looks at her likes she's nothing

This is his face when he kills her. He doesn't talk to her, or even TRY to save her. And we know she is alive, she has memories, and her own thoughts and feelings, and the doctor kills her while gloating because of his immense anger for hurting Martha. An anger that is also guilt.

he does not speak to her like a person (which directly leads into his treatment of Jenny in the next ep).

Parallel that to how Martha treats her, they talk about their family and she even calls the clone Martha. She really is a doctor in a way ten tried and often failed at.

And then at the end, Donna asks Martha to come with them, and she says no, and that she's happy at home, but she's better for having traveled and come back.

And the doctor looks at her

With an obvious sadness, but also acceptance. He clearly wants her here, with him, but I think he's finally come to accept that that'll never happen, and he needs to let her go.

Edit: I Like their dynamic(mostly) This is not an anti tenmartha post Him being a freak is compelling

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goosita · 5 months

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working as young!politician!coryo’s secretary is usually a fairly calm job, not too stress inducing.

most days, you greet people who come in for meetings with coriolanus, send out emails and faxes, make and take phone calls for his office, and keep a steady flow of fresh coffee at all hours. then, you tidy up your desk when the day is done and you wait for your best friend to come pick you up and drive you home from work.

today was going according to plan, having been an especially easy day. mr. snow had been out for most of the afternoon, only returning about an hour ago. the phones had been quiet as well, giving you time to finish all of your work on the computer you had put off. it was rounding out to be quite the easy day, until your best friend called 5 minutes before you were due to clock out for the evening.

“i’m sorry! the tire just exploded, literally. and now i’m stuck waiting here for god knows how long for a tow truck. i’m so sorry,” they babble, clearly feeling incredibly guilty.

“it’s fine, i promise. i can just call a taxi or something.”

out of the corner of your eye, you see coriolanus leave his office, turning to lock the door behind him. he glances at you curiously.

“are you sure? i don’t know how long it’ll take but—“

“yes, i’m sure,” you cut them off, sighing. “cab fair to my place is only a few dollars, i’ll survive. let me know when you make it home though, alright?”

your friend laments and agrees to send you a message when they’re home, hanging up. you barely hold in a heavy sigh, sliding your phone into your bag.

“need a ride?” coriolanus asks, tilting his head to the side just-so. it startles you for a moment, having forgotten he was standing right there.

“oh, no. thank you, mr. snow, but i’ll be okay. i can call a cab,” you tell him, cheeks warming.

“nonsense, can’t let a lovely young lady like you risk getting into some seedy cab,” he insists. he gives you that charming grin, the one that makes the smile line near his cheek deepen prettily. you hesitate for a moment longer before he steps closer, offering his arm.

you try not to let it show that your fingers tremble just slightly, slipping your arm through his and resting your hand in the cradle of his elbow. coriolanus smiles even wider, leading you outside to the parking garage reserved for the building.

“thank you, mr. snow,” you say quietly as you walk beside him. he shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.

“it’s past business hours. you can call me by my first name, you know.”

you don’t know what exactly to say to that, simply offering a hum in response. coriolanus leads you to a sleek black car where a man in an equally sleek black suit stands at the driver’s side door. coriolanus holds his hand out to the man, who gives a look of surprise but drops the car keys into his palm.

“i’d like to drive myself this evening, gerald. thank you.”

he leaves no room for questioning as he walks you to the passenger side, his driver quickly disappearing. coriolanus opens the door for you and gently holds your hand as you slide in, giving you a soft grin as he closes the door. when he walks around the front to the driver’s side door, you speak up.

“i live on pr—“

“i know,” he cuts you off. you swallow, watching him sit down and start the car. he must sense your confused before he sees it on your face, because he speaks again.

“i have a good memory. i saw it on your application last year and remembered you live on the same street as an old friend,” he explains. you nod, looking down at your hands in your lap.

coriolanus smoothly pulls out of the parking spot, resting his hand on your headrest as he turns to look out of the back window. it’s so hard not to stare, to look at the way his neck is exposed like this. his jaw is so sharp, skin smooth and pale. you can smell his scent lingering in the small space between you; that intoxicating mix of roses and spice and metal.

“it’s not polite to stare,” he teases, turning his body back to the front. his hands settle comfortably on the wheel, his icy stare focused on the road.

“i-i’m sorry, mr. snow. i didn’t mean to.”

“coriolanus,” he purrs. “coryo, if you prefer.”

coryo. not just his first name, but a nickname. your hands feel clammy.

“coryo,” you say softly, almost under your breath. he hums in acknowledgment, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

it goes silent in the car after that, your mind working overtime to try and figure him out. the last few weeks have been nothing short of dizzying, his lingering gazes and teasing quips, just shy of innuendos. you think back to the way he had watched you with the lollipop in his mouth, the way he had dragged his tongue over the red candy and the stain it had left on his plush lips. the way you’d been unable to stop thinking about what those lips would taste like against your own, sticky with cherry and sugar.

a warm hand settled on your thigh, breaking you out of your thoughts as you jump slightly, looking over at him. still, his eyes are glued to the road, as if he wasn’t doing anything at all besides driving.

“coriolanus…?” you murmur, glancing down at his hand. his fingers are long, spanning over your clothed thigh almost completely. his fingertips just barely brush the inseam of your trousers, but he’s still about it. he doesn’t move to stroke or caress, just rests there in your lap.

“yes, darling?” he says evenly. you don’t know why, but the petname makes your breath hitch. “everything alright?”

you breathe out slowly, slightly shakily. “yeah— yes.”

coriolanus smiles, eyes flickering to you just once before returning to the street. after a few more moments, he’s pulling onto your street and parking outside your apartment.

“here we are,” he says unceremoniously. like his palm isn’t burning through your pants on your leg, making you hold in a shudder. “home, safe and sound.”

it takes you a few moments to find your voice again, nodding. “thank you for the ride, mr. sn—….coryo.”

“you’re very welcome, my darling,” he says; and there it is again. that endearment. “i’ll see you in the morning.”

you nod and go to open the car door, letting his hand fall from your thigh. you grab your back and close the door behind you, turning and quickly hurrying up the sidewalk to the front steps of your building before you hear his voice call out again.

“miss y/n?”

you stop and turn, seeing that he rolled the window down.

“sweet dreams.”

#politician!coryo x secretary!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #coryo

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sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months

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heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))

But of course!!!

Wanting, Waiting

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.

Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

This page is mocking me.

The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.

Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?

'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.

I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.

Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.

For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.

Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.

A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-

"I thought we talked about this."

It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.

"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."

"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.

"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.

Except it makes me feel guilty.

"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.

Details. Fuck.

"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.

"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.

I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.

"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.

"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"

Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.

"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.

"I slept," I insist.

"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.

"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.

"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.

He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.

"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.

"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."

My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.

"It's not that serious, Mikey-"

"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.

There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.

"Michael-"

"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.

"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.

"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.

"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.

"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.

"We had a conversation," he starts.

"A conversation," I repeat.

"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.

"You ha-"

"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."

"Mike-"

"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."

Fine.

"It's fucking rude."

Not saying it's not.

"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.

I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.

"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.

"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."

Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.

"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."

Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"

Verbally, I'm fine.

"You're going to bed, that's final!"

"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"

"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.

"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.

"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.

"Just let me write one page," I try.

"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."

"That's not going to kill me," I argue.

"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.

One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.

"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.

"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.

"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"

"Michael-"

"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."

"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'

"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."

"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.

"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.

"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.

"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"

"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.

This breaks the tension.

His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.

"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.

"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.

"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, I don't want-"

"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.

"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.

Good.

When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.

I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.

He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.

"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.

There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.

But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.

I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.

So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.

It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.

The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.

Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.

"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."

I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.

"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.

If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.

"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."

In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.

"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.

Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.

"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.

"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.

"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.

"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.

"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."

He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.

"Mike-"

"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.

"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.

"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.

"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.

"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."

I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.

"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."

"I don't-"

"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"

"Mike-"

"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."

At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.

"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."

Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.

Just like us.

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

•▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

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fourmoony · 3 months

Note

hi, I just wanted to let you know that reading your writing brings me so much comfort and joy. Today, I found out that the person I’ve liked for the longest time has a girlfriend, and it’s been hard to say the least. It also didn’t help that I read an unrequited love blurb featuring remus as soon as I got home 😭 I was just wondering if you’d be willing to write something where the reader assumes that remus doesn’t like her because he seems aloof, but is actually just nervous because he likes her so much. I am so appreciative of you and your beautiful work, as always 🤍

this made me tear up. your words are so kind, and are the push i needed this week to keep writing <3 never in a million years did i think anyone would think this about my writing. thank you.

i'm sorry to hear about your crush; unrequited love is a tricky and heavy feeling. i have no doubt you'll find your person, though. as someone who's had my fair share of heartache, i promise, it won't hurt forever. my friends think i'm crazy because my advice is always to just let it hurt. but one day you'll wake up and you'll have run out of hurt. and you won't even remember what you saw in them, anymore. sending love.

P.S. i suck at writing shy remus so this is more like silent, unreadable remus. idk i'm tired. hope this is okay!

---

remus lupin x f!reader - masterlist 1.2k words

cw - implied self esteem issues, smoking, drinking

Remus' thumping steps carry up the staircase only seconds after you call on him. You're facing the mirror when he arrives in the doorway, hair clasped to the side in one hand, and the other reaching aimlessly for the zip half way down the back of your dress. His eyes find yours over your shoulder in the reflection, a fond smile passing over his features when he steps through the threshold into your room.

"You look lovely." He comments, voice warm and smooth in the way that it always is.

Warm Remus, smooth Remus, so fond and kind, feels like home and everything familiar. His fingers are warm as he tugs gently at the zip, one hand placed on your shoulder for leverage. His touch is gentle, like he's afraid he might break you, and it lingers for only a moment when he's done. You swallow around the lump of want in your throat, the want for it to have lasted longer, the want for him to touch you and have it mean something. It doesn't do any good to want. Because you can't have, and you've had to deal with becoming okay with that fact.

"Thanks, Rem."

He nods, lips curled in on themselves like he wants to say something, a look in his eyes you've never been able to read. He says nothing, and he retreats with the promise to wait on you with the others in the living room. Remus does that a lot - refrains from the things he wants to say, stops himself short. You wish he wouldn't.

You're always wishing, wishing, wishing.

He keeps true to his word. Remus is waiting in the living room with Sirius, James, and a rather flustered looking Frank when you descend the staircase. It's only now you realise how lovely Remus looks in his suit. Partly because of how Sirius is wearing his - like he had a fight with it and lost. Remus stands when you appear, as if on instinct, and takes a step forwards. You smile, eyes catching on Frank who's looking at the clock like it's stealing time from before his very eyes. You suppose, in a way, it is.

"You okay?" You feel the need to ask, hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Frank looks alarmed by your question, a grimace on his face, "She's going to be there, isn't she? She's not going to, like, do a runner? Have you spoke to her today?"

James huffs a laugh, pats Frank on the shoulder rather heavily. The whiskey in his crystal tumbler splashes over the side and onto the rug. "Last I heard, Mary and Marlene had her pinned down in the make up chair, she tried, but they wouldn't let her."

Sirius barks a laugh. Frank scowls. He knows you're kidding. Alice Fortescue has been absolutely smitten for Frank Longbottom since she was thirteen. There's absolutely nothing that could stop her from walking down that aisle, today. Frank knows that as well as you do.

"Not helping." James decides, passes Frank a cigarette.

He mumbles something about not wanting to smoke inside and makes for the door. Remus gives James and Remus a pointed look, "Better make sure he doesn't do a runner, yeah?"

They're quick out the door like they actually believe Frank would ever do something like that. The only place he'd ever run to is Alice. And she'd have his balls for seeing her in her wedding dress before the ceremony. Remus gives you a familiar smile, a knowing smile, a smile he saves for you and you only. It feels like he's in on something you aren't when he smiles like that. Heat crawls up your neck, flowers wrap their way around you rib cage.

"You scrub up well, you know." Is all you manage to say, rather breathless.

Remus rolls his eyes, "I try."

A minute of amused silence, Remus passes you the glass of wine in his hand. The glass is warm from being in his clutch, but you drink from it anyway.

"I thought after the catering disaster this wedding wasn't going to happen." Remus admits, looking out of the living room window at where Frank paces the length of the front path, working his way through his second cigarette. Alice will have your head for allowing such a thing.

You hum a disagreement, eyes roaming Remus' face, it's so soft, so beautifully shaped. You've no idea why he hates his scars so much. They only outline his best qualities. The one over the bridge of his perfectly sloped nose, the one under his beautiful amber eyes, the one along his sharp cheekbones, and your favourite one: the one across his cupids bow, defining his soft, pink lips. It's a shame, really, that Remus Lupin thinks so little of himself. You'd give him the world should he only ask.

"I think nothing can stop a love like that," You murmur, soft and quiet, voice thick with something, "Not even a shoddy caterer."

Remus' eyes leave the front garden, meet with yours in a way that always makes heat explode in your chest. He's too much to look at, sometimes. It physically hurts.

"You always have such a positive outlook on life."

You laugh, shoulders shrugging, "Suppose it's habit."

"From?"

"Keeping you miserable lot from giving up all together?" You offer, smiling over the rim of your wine glass.

Remus laughs, genuine and unashamed. "Tell you what, at our wedding, I promise to be the one keeping everything together, how about that?"

He seems to flinch after that, like he's physically pained by the words coming out of his mouth. You flinch, too. The flowers around your rib cage wilt and pull tighter all in one go, a frown pulling at your lips.

"I wasn't aware we were getting married."

Remus smiles like he's in pain, "Yeah, well, step one would actually be asking you on a date, but I'm a right twat who's mucked all that up."

There's something self deprecating about him. You don't like it. Remus Lupin deserves the world. You'll give him the world. You didn't think he wanted that from you, though. But you smile, gentle and sweet in a way you hope he'll like. It feels like something shifts. Maybe the stars begin to write a story about you both. Maybe the sun stops it's rotation just for a second to watch you both.

The wedding car pulls up outside and Remus, seemingly eager to back away from the situation he's created, slams his own drink down on the table and makes for the door.

"Remus," You call after him, he turns, "I'd marry you."

You offer him a lopsided smile. His eyes search your face for any sign of a joke. He finds none. You hope he understands what you mean.

"How about a date first?" He asks.

You release a breath, a laugh, a smile. It feels like you're floating.

"Sure, yeah. That first."

The front door swings open and Sirius barges his way past Remus, panicked and disheveled, "I've lost the fucking rings!"

Remus sighs, hand in his pocket, hands Sirius the red velvet box, "Here."

You're laughing all the way down the path, shoulder brushing Remus', the start of something new.

#fourmoonys asks #marauders #marauders fic #marauders oneshot #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #james potter #james potter imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #frank longbottom #alice longbottom #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon

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tmpestuous · 2 years

Text

One Step at a Time

summary: when you get brutally injured on a mission with no way to contact anyone, bucky goes out to find you.

pairing: bucky x avenger!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: angst, slight protective!bucky, mentions of death and killing, mentions of torture, blood, injuries, trauma, injured!reader

a/n: here’s another avenger!reader one shot from the long list of ideas i have… i’m thinking of making them all connected so it’s the same reader from six days (: i promise my next fic won’t be so depressing i apologize

Trying to fight off the hand currently clasped over your mouth, you were only repeatedly unsuccessful. Steve hadn’t seen you get dragged off, turning around and panicking immediately.

You could hear his calls for your voice become increasingly faint as the men dragged you to a secluded room you assumed Steve wouldn’t be able to access.

“What do you mean you don’t know where she is, Steve?” Bucky sat, still in his disheveled state from being woken up abruptly by Sam for an emergency meeting.

“Buck, wake up man,” Sam said, clasping Bucky’s shoulder lightly and shaking him a bit.

Opening his eyes reluctantly, Bucky wondered what could possibly be so important this early in the morning. He never got much sleep when you went on your missions, feeling the bed to be a little too empty and thus, leaving him lonely with his thoughts.

Looking at the clock, it read 4:17AM.

Looking back at Sam, Bucky knew something wasn’t right. Sam’s usual, playful nature replaced with one that looked remorseful.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked hesitantly. “Everything okay?”

“It’s Y/n, Buck,” Sam responded, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. He looked nervous, almost as if it was his fault. “She’s missing. Steve wants to have a meeting with us.”

“What do you mean she’s missing?” Bucky said calmly, though he most certainly felt his heart drop from his chest.

Sam was just as distraught as Bucky in the meeting, bobbing his knee up and down in his seat. He had told you Steve was swapping with him for the mission, second guessing himself after taking it up in the first place. You were upset he wasn’t joining you, having been the only person you trusted enough to go on missions alone with besides Bucky since you recovered from the explosion. It made him feel guilty that it had resulted in your disappearance.

It had taken you a while to feel comfortable enough to start participating in any missions, and even when you did, you always made the effort to stay in the same room as someone else. You couldn’t bear to be alone again, more than just fearful to end up in another situation where you had no idea what to do with no immediate help.

Plunging the knife into the chest of the last man, you exhaled a few shaky breaths.

You had been fighting these men for what felt like hours. One of them had managed to stab you in the side while you weren’t looking, and to your eventual disadvantage, you pulled it out of your suit and used it to deal with about ten other men on your own.

Staring at the last man only pushed you to look at the vast amount of bodies around you, about twenty of them laying in pools of blood everywhere, most of which you barely recalled finishing off.

You had experienced your fair share of moments with blind rage before, most of which came from your time with Hydra. But you made the effort never to kill someone. A vow you made to yourself, which was now broken.

Choking on a sob you didn’t realize was coming, you stood up and placed pressure on your stab wound before searching through the room for medical supplies. It was clearly a doctor’s room, one that reminded you of the office you spent a lot of time in while captured by Hydra.

Finding a first aid kit, you did your best to stitch and patch the stab wound with so little supplies. Once you were finished, you put the jacket of your suit back on, knowing it was freezing outside and you had to find some sort of shelter.

If there were more men coming to the building, the last thing you wanted to do was try to fight more of them off in your current state. You had hoped Steve made it out, now doing everything you can to do the same for yourself.

Finding a nearby exit, you walked out into the cool air.

It was gonna be a long walk.

Steve was still in his suit, dirt covering his face though it did nothing to mask his solemn expression.

He wasn’t sure how the two of you got separated. He was keeping a close eye on you since the last time you were paired together, things went bad. Hell, you almost died. Steve was simply starting to think he gave you bad luck when you were around him.

“I– I’m not sure,” Steve choked out, and he wasn’t lying at all. “We had made it inside and were met with some resistance, but we didn’t split up. We got caught up fighting and when I had turned around, she was gone. I didn’t leave her, Buck, you have to believe me. I wouldn’t do that to her. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Bucky believed him, but he couldn’t help but overthink the fact that you’d been caught up in a bad place in the last two missions you’ve spent with Steve. It was his best friend and, of course, he knew he’d never have ill intentions with you.

He just hoped you were okay.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he reassured. “We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

God, you had hoped they’d somehow find you.

You swore you’d been walking in circles for ten hours, searching for the safe house Tony had informed you and Steve was near where your mission was taking place.

You were so tired. You had barely managed to fight off all of the maniacs who had tried to hold you captive in the old Hydra base you and Steve were assigned to get rid of. You recognized a few of them from your days in the organization, but it took you a lot longer to fight them on your own after getting stabbed in the side and a few hits to the head.

You had never done any killing with Hydra, seeing as they never got you to commit to it, but something had triggered you to kill almost all of them. The only ones who didn’t reap such consequences were the ones who had ambushed you and Steve when you both had found an entrance into the building.

You felt sick to your stomach because of it, along with all the energy being drained from you slowly but surely with every step you took towards nowhere at this point. You had lost your transponder somewhere in that god-forsaken building, so on top of losing Steve, it wasn’t like anyone back at the compound could track your location either.

Steve.

You assumed he’d started to look for you after you lost each other, but you had no idea if he was still in this general location. He might’ve stayed or gone back to the compound to tell the others you were missing.

It genuinely wasn’t his fault you got separated, and you’d only hoped he knew that. Someone who might not know that, on the other hand, is Bucky. You then hoped he wouldn’t give Steve a hard time, not wanting them to have any more tension than the last time you suffered while paired up with his best friend.

“She still has to go to the debrief, Bucky,” Steve pushed. “It’s been long enough and we’ve pushed past protocol longer than we ever have.”

“What if she doesn’t want to talk about it, Steve? We all went to debrief, why does she have to do it too?”

“She experienced what none of us did,” the blonde countered again. “No one knows what happened in that room but her. We need every detail.”

Reluctantly, Bucky gave in. But he regretted it the second things were rough in the meeting.

“You have to remember, Y/n,” Steve tried to encourage you, but it wasn’t really working.

“I told you I never found where it came from, I’m not making that up,” you defended.

“You said you didn’t remember if you found where it came from.”

“The last thing I remember was seeing one blink of a red light before the explosion. I don’t remember if it was actually the source or something else. I never found it, Steve,” you urged softly.

Bucky was getting irritated. You hadn’t talked much to him about what happened because you hated how you felt afterwards, and now you were sitting here getting interrogated by Steve who hadn’t been there every step of your recovery.

“Y/n–”

“I think that’s enough, Steve,” Bucky said before grabbing your hand and standing up. “We’re done here.”

Your recollection of the memory was short-lived when you felt your suit starting to feel a lot wetter than before, peeking down to see it staining with fresh blood which means your wound had reopened. Limping towards what looked like an empty house, seeming freshly abandoned, you winced at the pain in your side. Walking up to the front door, you quickly jammed it in, glad to feel warmth in contrast to the cold air from outside.

Looking around to see if anyone was inside, you found yourself alone. Settling on a first aid kit from the bathroom, you plopped yourself on the couch and ripped the jacket of your suit off, almost peeling it with the dried blood making it stick to your skin a bit.

You did your best to restitch and patch the stab wound, but you knew you’d certainly have to redo it in a few hours. You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, likely from the loss of blood and lack of nourishment. Trying your best to stay awake didn’t work as well as you hoped, but you held on for as long as you could.

Back at the compound, Bucky was packing everything he possibly needed. He didn’t know how long it was gonna take to find you, but he sure as hell knew he wouldn’t stop searching until he did. He had told Steve it was best for him to stay for this one, knowing he was feeling the guilt of having you go lost in the first place.

Bucky heard a knock at his door, turning around to see Sam in his doorway.

“Ready to go?” he asked, seeing Bucky zip his bags.

“Let’s find her.”

It had been less than five hours since Steve had broken the news that he lost you. First, he told Bucky and Sam, knowing it’d be of most importance to them. Then the rest of the team had joined in on the meeting, immediately making plans on how to find her.

Sam, Natasha, Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Thor had agreed to go with Bucky to help find you. Bucky had no problem going on his own, but Natasha assured that it’d be best for everyone to join in. They attributed your last known location to the last signal your transponder gave off, and thus decided to start there.

Steve waved them off as they left on the jet, but everyone was aware he’d be tracking from back at the compound.

Upon making it to the location of your mission and where they knew you had been at some point, they found your (now dead) transponder in the middle of a pool of blood. There were bodies everywhere, and Bucky had only grown anxious.

You had never enjoyed getting unnecessarily violent, and in that, you always reminded him of himself. He was aware Hydra hadn’t toyed with your head nearly to the extent they did with him, but it was enough to do some damage.

You’d confided in him with all of your stories, never going into extreme detail out of compassion for his own experiences and not wanting to trigger him into those thoughts. However, he knew that you’d never killed anyone. Beaten some people beyond a general healing point, definitely, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take a life. Hydra had their fair share of punishments for you because of that but it hadn’t broken you to the point of reaching that point.

Seeing all the dead bodies scattered across the room, there had to be about twenty of them. Bucky didn’t want to admit it, but it undoubtedly scared him. If you were in that much trouble to cause such damage, he was worried about what state he’d find you in.

Seeing everyone make their way out of the room, Bucky shook the negative thoughts from his head. He didn’t want to distract himself from his priority: finding you, regardless of what state you’d be in.

“If she’s injured, she couldn’t have made it far,” Natasha stated, staring around at the outside of the building from an open window. “She might still be around here somewhere, maybe hid–”

Lights from a series of vehicles appeared outside. About four dozen Hydra men made their way towards the entrance of the building, murmuring about how they needed to find you before the Avengers did.

“We’ve got company, boys,” Natasha stated instead of finishing her previous thought.

Bucky made his way to the window, seeing that horrid insignia his memory would never let him forget. “Hydra. There’s more of them still around than I thought.”

“Cut a head off, two more take its place, huh?” Natasha recalled the organization’s motto. “We need to do this quickly, we don’t know how much time Y/n’s got and we still don’t know where she is–”

“Go,” Bucky said. “Go find her, I’ll handle them.”

“Buck, is that really the best ch–” Sam started.

“I said, go.”

“I’m sticking with you, everyone else can go.”

Bucky sighed before nodding in agreement. Natasha made her way out with Tony, Thor, and Clint, finding a back entrance. Bruce was still in the jet, tracking nearby buildings you could possibly be in. Thor, Natasha, and Clint decided to split up and search each one, Tony trying to find heat signatures that could somehow match yours.

Bucky and Sam made their way to the ground floor, watching all of the men surge in. Bucky loaded his rifle, Sam releasing Redwing to count how many men there were.

“There’s 40 of them,” Sam whispered loud enough for only Bucky to hear him.

“20 for each of us, huh?” Bucky adjusted his hold on his rifle from around the corner of the hallway. “If Y/n can do it, so can we.” Feeling a boost in confidence, Bucky started to make his move, knocking out a few men right away as Sam did the same.

He knew he couldn’t let anyone get to you before anyone from the team did, even if it meant letting the others go ahead of him. He felt a lot more calculated than he usually did, knowing your life (or death) was in the gamble of the entire operation.

You, on the other hand, were about to give up. Staying awake has never been this difficult, but with your pulse going faster by the second and the sudden chills you were feeling, you had a feeling this was it.

Your wound hadn’t opened at all in the last two hours, but you attributed it to pure luck at this point. The way you were feeling could only be coming from the gaping hole on the side of your torso, even covered.

You still tried your best to keep your eyes open, knowing you weren’t going to let yourself die cold and alone in the middle of nowhere. You felt awful, a few tears shedding from your eyes from how sick you were starting to feel. You wanted to sleep, but you were scared to go under and then not wake up.

Not to mention, you couldn’t sleep knowing the nightmares that were inevitably going to come. Feeling physically awful was one thing, but watching all those lifeless bodies fall to the floor after you killed them only made you feel worse. You couldn’t get the memory out of your head, only sobbing slightly to yourself thinking about it.

The thought that lingered even more in your head was how you were gonna tell Bucky. He knew you’d never resort to such drastic measures and you were afraid he’d look at you different once he found out.

If he even found you alive at this point.

The team had searched about 40 houses in the last two hours, eventually teaming up with Bucky and Sam who had dealt with all forty men in the span of half an hour. They even checked the safe house in case you had made it and passed out before communicating with them, but you weren’t there either.

“There’s only one house left on this entire street,” Bruce spoke through comms.

Bucky’s anxiety was only going sky high with every second they hadn’t found you yet. They had no idea what your condition was like and he was doing his best not to think of the worst possible scenario. He’d hoped the tricks he taught you while on missions with him had helped somewhat, like knowing how to stitch a wound or finding a safe place from danger.

Bucky’s racing mind was interrupted by Tony’s voice on comms; he had gone to check the house and determine if there was anyone inside.

“Heat signature matches Y/l/n’s, and it’s not looking too good,” he said as he landed back on the ground.

The team rushed over, Bucky running faster than he’d ever run before. Opening the door in a rush, he saw you laying on the couch, taking staggered breaths with your eyes closed. Everyone had walked in behind him, Natasha alerting Bruce that they had found you and telling him to prep the jet.

Bucky’s only focus was you. He placed his hands on your cheek, startling you enough to push him back before your eyes landed on him.

“Bucky?” you said, definitely not believing your eyes as you looked around and saw everyone else in the room.

Bucky approached you again slowly, not wanting to scare you further since you were probably in shock.

“Hey, baby, it’s me,” he assured you as you stared him down frantically before you started to sob. “We came to take you home, alright? We’re going home.”

As the jet landed outside, Bucky picked you up in his arms. You instinctively curled up against him, hiding your cold face in the warmth of the crook of his neck. After everyone boarded, the jet made its way back to the compound.

Bucky had looked at your wound, replacing the dirty gauze for a clean one. You’d cried almost the entire ride, all of your emotions rushing in like a freight train.

It hurt Bucky to see you in such a state, knowing you were tired of all the losses in life. He knew exactly how it felt, but he’d also felt you deserved it much less than he did all those years. You didn’t kill anyone like he did, you didn’t ruin anyone’s life like he did, you didn’t make people scared of you. He tried to shake those thoughts from his head, knowing you’d scold him again for thinking so low of himself in comparison to you.

Running his hands through your hair, he stayed next to you the entire time, reassuring you that you were safe and soothing you as best as he could.

Once you all had arrived to the compound, it only got worse.

A gurney was waiting for you on the landing pad, which you didn’t want to be laid on, to begin with. Once they had strapped you down, your cries only got worse, screaming Bucky’s name out as they took you to the medical bay. Bucky wanted to follow, but Sam stopped him, saying it was best to do the debrief right away.

You refused to let anyone touch you unless Bucky was there, and the doctors in the medical bay were getting so frustrated, the only choice they had was to sedate you in the meantime. When they had finally patched up your wound properly, they left you to rest.

Rest was very much not in your cards, however, with your crying fits continuing and Bucky’s hearts breaking into about a million more pieces than before when he walked into your room to see you crying to yourself.

“Y/n…” he spoke softly, sliding into the bed with you carefully and pulling you into his arms, cautious enough not to hurt you further. Kissing the top of your head multiple times, he rubbed your arms up and down until your cries eventually stopped.

“Y-you’re gonna hate me, Bucky,” you said with a shaky voice. “I don’t want you to hate me when you find out what I did.”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” he looked down at you, but Bucky was well aware what you were thinking of. “I could never hate you. Ever. Not after everything we’ve been through together, okay? Don’t ever say something like that.”

Bucky heard you sniffle and saw a few tears fall down your cheeks, heart aching at the fact that you might start sobbing again. You slowly wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face from him in his chest.

The following days were still rough. Bucky felt lucky enough that you’d have your meals with him, but you didn’t feel like leaving your room. Steve had checked in with you and said you wouldn’t have to update anyone on what happened after you got separated. Not until you were ready to talk about it.

Bucky stayed with you more often, even after you pleaded with him to not tear up his schedule for you. He skipped out on a mission just so he could stay with you, which he assured you was okay because it meant his next mission would be with you.

The only way you got him to go back to his routine was to offer to train with him. He had asked you a million times if you were sure, knowing what most likely occurred back on your mission’s complication. Eventually, he gave in as he always did, but he knew he wasn’t going to rush you into anything.

Picking up your normal tools for your usual, more-intense sparring sessions you always had with Bucky, your hands started to shake. Bucky noticed and rubbed your shoulders smoothly.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he whispered lowly in your ear. “Just take it one step at a time, okay?”

You nodded up at him, putting your tools down. You thought it’d help to move slow, but the second you knocked Bucky down, you kneeled down next to him, anxiously asking if he was okay with tears in your eyes.

Bucky looked up at you quizzically, knowing you knew in the back of your mind somewhere that you couldn’t hurt him detrimentally from a normal sparring session.

He wiped your tears away as you stared at him with fear in your eyes, only making him feel even worse about you experiencing what you had experienced alone.

“Baby, hey,” he said as you shut your eyes and cried. “Look at me.”

Blinking a few times, you sniffled and looked down at him, completely uncaring of your tears that had fallen on his shirt.

“You could never hurt me, my love,” he rubbed your cheeks with his calloused thumbs, though it was the comfort you surely needed. “The only way you could hurt me is by breaking my heart and I know that’s not gonna happen anytime soon, right?”

You shook your head.

“Then don’t worry so much, baby,” he leaned up and kissed your lips softly. “I’m more than okay. You were just better than me. Let’s go shower and watch a movie.”

Standing up and lifting you up with a helping hand, you both walked back to Bucky’s room which was the closest. Stepping into the bathroom, Bucky let the water run from the showerhead so it could get warm. You stripped yourself of your clothes as he did the same, before getting into the shower.

After cleansing yourselves, Bucky rubbed your tense shoulders once again as you leaned into him.

“I killed them,” you muffled into his chest.

“Hm?” Bucky questioned, not quite hearing you over the running water and with your face down. Lifting your chin up to look at him, your eyes were puffy and red from all the crying you’d done all day. “You don’t have to talk about anything, Y/n. Okay? We can talk about it some other time.

Shaking your head, you sighed in faltered breaths. “I killed them, Bucky.”

Bucky looked at you with sorrow. He didn’t know how to tell you that he already knew, he didn’t even know if it was the right thing to tell you. All he did was brush your tears away and kiss your forehead, nose, then lips.

“You need to relax a bit, baby, okay?” he spoke in a soft tone. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Staring up at him in confusion, you shook your head again.

“You know already,” you confirmed to yourself, knowing Bucky too well to know he would usually ask if you wanted to talk further about something before putting it to bed. “You know I killed all those people.”

Bucky sighed, staring into your eyes before closing his and nodding slightly. “I do.”

“And you don’t look at me differently?” you asked, your voice a lot more calm and collected now. “I broke my promise, I didn’t even show them any mercy, Bucky—”

“Do you look at me differently knowing all the people I killed?” he interrupted, placing his flesh hand on your cheek and rubbing it slightly with his thumb. “You don’t, you never have. You knew who I was when you first got here and never looked at me differently. Why would I do that to you?”

“That’s different,” you countered. “You had no idea what you were doing, Bucky. I did.”

“You were defending yourself,” he retaliated, doing his best not to downplay your feelings. “If you hadn’t killed them, who knows what they would have done to you? It’s Hydra, they don’t care who they hurt or how they do it. If I were you, I would have done the same thing.”

He was right and you knew it. You laid your head back on his chest, scared to look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like I was broken,” you admitted. “I don’t know who I was when all of that happened and I just— it felt like I was trying to escape them all over again and I’ve never experienced that before. I was scared.”

“And that’s okay,” Bucky reassured you the same way he always had, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “You’re not broken, you’re just healing. There’s nothing wrong with that, baby.”

You sniffled again before leaning into him more. “Can you just hold me for now?”

Bucky kissed your head again, squeezing his arms around you in all the warmth he could possibly transfer.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

—

I promise this is the last of my desire to write angst with injuring the reader… thank you for reading!

tags: @jessybarnes

#bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader

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seelie-buddy · 1 month

Text

Amidst glistening snowflakes

summary : just some wintery shenanigans

contains : relishing the warmth of tea with Zhongli ; enjoying the snowfall with Diluc ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 1.1k

The morning sunlight did little to warm you, but it was welcome nonetheless. The steaming teapot placed by the armchair you lounged in, and the blankets bundling you in a warm hug were plenty to keep you warm.

The tea in your hands clearly contrasted to the sight of the window you gazed out of, you mused to yourself.

White, flaky snow drifted down blissfully, the wind swaying them, bringing some snowflakes to land by the window sill. For but a moment, you could see their sparkle before they melted away.

The smile on your face melted as you noticed a figure amongst the snowy storm. Browns with accents of gold. It took you no time to recognise him.

An exasperated sigh slipped past your lips as you pulled away from the warm blankets, reaching your front door just as knocks echoed through the silence of your house.

A gust of frigid winds rushed past you as you pulled the door open, snowflakes getting swept in along with the wind.

"Zhongli," You invited him in quickly, shutting the door with even more speed, shivers running down your body. You would've shown your displeasure if you weren't worried for your dear visitor.

"I didn't think the snowfall would begin this early," Zhongli admits before you could question. "It was quick to start, even quicker to cover the ground in pure white."

Chuckles left your mouth as you took in the state he was in. Pure snowflakes glistened amongst his brown hair before it slowly faded, leaving behind bits of moisture.

"What tea will you have?" You ask to divert your amusement; the sheepish smile on his face was not something you were graced with often— this friend of yours was greatly wise, but he could be quite silly at times.

It was not unusual for him to show up at your door every now and then, whether it be due to a sudden downpour making him seek out shelter, or simply having bought something from the market while thinking of you.

Nor was it uncommon for him to forget his wallet while you strolled through the marketplace, or for minutes to turn into hours while he gazed upon the city's bustle that remains even after the sun fades and the moon shines.

"I smell oolong," he says, sagely for a man who conveniently managed to find himself amidst a snowstorm. "A cup for me as well, if it is not a hassle."

"Not a hassle if it's for you," you have your hand dismissively before an idea blooms in your mind.

Positioning your hands behind your back, you look up at him, his amber eyes picking up on your playful mood as he quirked an eyebrow your way.

"In the land of the God of contracts, it is only fair I receive for what I give, no?" You smile cheekily, much to his amusement.

"Indeed, then what is it that you wish for? I will give it to you," he replies, willing to play along.

"How about," you tap your index finger against your chin to mock pondering. "The tale left incomplete from last time?"

Warm laughter rings through the room, his eyes turning into honey toned crescents, his smile just as intoxicating as it is contagious.

"Then your wish I shall grant, for the cost of a cup of tea; a fair trade."

The world falls silent and still under the snow outside of your home, where warmth from the hearth and cups of tea is relished alongside laughter, companionship, and tales of the mighty and mythical of history.

Diluc noticed it quickly: the white dust floating with the wind and settling on his window sill.

Rays of sunshine filtering through grey clouds that stretched over the sky in a manner not dissimilar to a fuzzy blanket. The darkness felt strange when the clock ticking away on the wall indicated the hour of noon.

Snow was not new to Mondstadt, and this weather surely did not surprise, given all the warnings of snowfall Mondstadt had received; Diluc returned to his work without another thought.

His attention was diverted again, barely minutes after. Faint sounds fell on his ears as he moved to peer out the window. His eyes caught you, out in his meadows, and uncaring of the wintery weather.

Your mirthful laughter spilled into the air as you outstretched your hands to catch the glittery white flakes. The euphoria bubbling within you increasing with every blowing breeze that brought snowflakes to you.

Your heart soared as glittery flakes landed on your skin, only to disappear, almost like a figment of pure imagination; a little magic trick.

Your fingers began to numb against the chilled winds, and frozen snowflakes. Why had the sight needed to be so mesmerizing, so captivating, but frigid as such? To enchant you so, only for it to be too cold for you to enjoy? It was unfair.

"You'll fall sick," a voice called out to you as you turned, eyes catching Diluc's. A spare jacket in his hand, and a slight frown on his face— enough for you to know he wasn't a fan of your antics: freezing to admire the frosty weather was poor judgment on your behalf, you couldn't deny.

But could he really blame you? The serene sight of snowflakes was enough to make you all but rush away from the warmth of the fireplace, all other thoughts pushed aside so you could enjoy the weather you seldom got to enjoy.

He placed the jacket onto your shoulders, and you quickly put it on, sighing at the protection it gave you from the biting cold.

"Dress warm next time," Diluc scolded, his exasperation diluted by the softness of his tone.

"You're dressed as usual," you poked out your tongue at him, successfully earning an eye roll.

"I have a pyro vision, a few minutes like this won't do me harm. But you—"

"Okay, okay," you bounced in your heels, too much energy bubbling in you to listen through his scoldings. "I'll ask Adelinde to make me a hot drink and I'll be fine!"

Diluc sighed, his frown, slowly but surely, growing into a smile. He extended his hand towards you, ruffling your hair, making the snow that collected atop your hair scatter, the sight similar to blowing on a dandelion.

You scrunch your nose as snowflakes tickled your nose before melting away; a sneeze escaping you before you know it.

A beat of silence, the snow continued to drift around you in a flurry of soft coldness.

And then: laughter.

"Let's go inside," you say, rubbing your palms together, "I need that warm drink right now."

Diluc gave you a nod— and hey, you definitely saw that eye roll!

Feeling content with your little playtime in the snow, you chose to follow him back to the warmth of the burning hearth.

a/n : the city where I live had some snowfall over the last week thus inspiring this (ironic how I have a week off from school as 'spring break')

p/s : this was supposed to include Kazuha too but that idea wasn't getting formed into words, I might write and post it later, maybe, depends

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abowlofsourcream · 2 months

Text

⏳💫Congrats, everyone! You got “Memory of Regret”!💫⏳

You will never forget this!

…

Your experience will increase tenfold! Wow!!! So useful! Well, all except for you traveler. Oh, you all look so nervous! So cute! Don’t worry your little heads! They will be just fine! Trust me… You won’t even notice a thing. :)

v Aftermath v

“Isa… You’re crying”

*They look at you, worried.

*Oh Change, despite your best efforts, you can’t stop.

“I-I’m just worried… About beating the king and all.”

*Lair, it’s not the king you are worried about.

*Sif blinks, you can’t help but think about the stars when you look at them.

“Oh… That’s fair, I had a weird dream about beating the King…”

*You rub your eyes with your gloves and stop.

“Really?”

“Well, that and all of us having a picnic! Ha ha! Kind of silly dream huh?”

*They hide their face with their hat, with a sad smile.

*You stare at them. They really don’t remember it at all do they?

“I don’t think that sounds silly, Sif…”

* He look up at you…

“Hm?”

* You look at them in their eye, focused.

“You- You know we care about you, Siffrin… Don’t you?”

* They look at you, staying silent.

* It’s just now you see the dark circles under their eyes… Where they always that dark?

“… Uh, Yea… Sure.”

* They turn away from you, wait-

“Mira is having a sleepover at the clock tower! See ya, Isa!”

“Wait Sif-!”

“I’ll talk to you later! Don’t worry!”

* And just like, he’s gone…

* …

* You think back to when you and Sif were looking at the stars. It was a spur of the moment idea of an activity so that the other’s get the picnic ready!

* At first, you didn’t really knew what to say. You thought that they could tell you about the stars. But, that didn’t really went that far.

* However, somehow you started talking about how you were before you changed.

* You don’t know why, but you did. You never really told the others about your childhood, especially how smart you actually are! You even told them that you were thinking about changing again! You even tried to confess to them again. So embarrassing!

* But… They listened to you, smiled at you, comforted you. Oh, how he looked at you with that beautiful eye of his…

* Then, the others came with the picnic! Oh, how wonderfully happy he was at that moment.

* You didn’t think you could have fallen even more in love with them than you already have…

* …

* But, even that didn’t work…

* Not only did it not work, the look on their face.

* Oh Change-

* The

* Look

* On

* Siffrin’s

* FACE!

* …

* You don’t know what to do…

* Maybe, you could ask the others…

#in stars and time #isat #isat spoilers #isat fanart #isat au #switch a loop au #isat isabeau #isat siffrin #isafrin #man I love gay people :)#especially with yearning #tee hee #more to come #creamie's art

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audreyscribes · 3 months

Text

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🦉 ATHENA: Goddess of Wisdom & Reason, of Strategy & Warfare, Crafts & Arts 🧠

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you get claimed, it's after a moment of brilliance. You could be giving someone an insightful observation, successfully mediating two opposing forces, creating your own invention, or when you successfully performed a maneuver. You’ve shown your intellect and Athena claims you at that moment.

The Athena cabin cheers for you and welcomes you in.

You look in awe at the architectural structure of your cabin. You can tell the foundation and the base of the cabin was structured like the rest of the other cabins, but over the years, it was elevated.

You’re shown where you’ll be sleeping but as you set up, you immediately clock in how everything is placed. All the bunks are pushed to the side, row by row and then there are desks lining along the same way with dual tables, and there are the rows of books and a workshop further in the back. You see inventions being made, architectural models, and more.

Among the children of Athena, you slowly figure out which intellectual you lean more towards: Educated (developing theories and plans), Productive (philosophy, literary criticism, sociology, law, medicine, etc), or an Artistic (literature, music, painting, sculpture, etc). Whichever you are or of those you find yourself in, you’re in good company.

If you want to bounce off ideas of someone, there’s no shortage of siblings to have a sound board of.

Whatever craft you find yourself in, you’re immediately put into consultation and you find yourself either being asked to get an input on or seeking input from others.

Fortunately and unfortunately, since demigods aren’t allowed to use the internet, your cabin is the next best option for Google.

Spider repellents everywhere. There’s not a single dust bunny in sight, not even in the corners or behind the unseen books. Aside from the piling books, scrolls, and tools (and the few coffee cups), the Athena cabin is the cleanest cabin after the Apollo cabin.

When there was a spider somehow, you witness everyone scream and grab several torches before incinerating the arachnid into nothingness.

That or an overly complicated set up of a machine to destroy that one spider. Then you find out that there’s a lot of contraptions that they’ve built for one, very specific, function.

You just had pulled off an emergency strategy maneuver during the Capture the Flag. It was a close call with the new camper but you couldn’t mistake them for not being a child of Ares. They were a monster on the field and you had to make sure at least get some upper hand.

You managed to take out half of the other team’s numbers, using the layout of the forest and its terrain to your advantage, and your eyes noticing the body language of your opponent.

You still lost because the new camper, who has the undeniable glow of Ares on them, demolished through your forces, but it wasn’t half-bad since the casualty was the same on both sides.

“You’re fast on your feet. A bit foolish, but it was a nice maneuver.”

You jumped at the voice and turned to it, seeing a blonde girl with gray eyes. You knew her, Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena.

“Oh, uh, yeah” you said lamely, dusting yourself off as an attempt to keep your hands from shaking. “I figured at that point, we could at least make it fair or we just lose really badly.”

Annabeth nodded, as she smiled. “I guess, there’s plenty of time to hone your intelligence with us.”

“Wait what?”

Annabeth gestured up your head and you looked to see the glowing image of an owl over your head. You made a “oh” and looked owl-eyed at your new sister as she held out her hand.

“Welcome to the Athena cabin, I’m Annabeth Chase. Cabin Leader and your new half-sibling.”

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vibingpyro · 3 months

Text

Not today

(Warning: The following short story involves smut! Do not read if you feel uncomfortable with that topic!)

I begin to stir from my sleep at the sound of my alarm clock buzzing on the nightstand, moving to turn it off with a sluggish hand. But, I don't have the chance to since I feel Hobies arm slug over mine and his fist connects with it first.

I'm instantly awake at the feeling of small parts of the alarm clock pelting my face. "Babe!" I hiss, and Hobie merely hums and snuggles into my shoulder as if he didn't just smash the fifth alarm clock in a row.

"That was the fifth alarm clock." I deadpan.

"Yea? Thought it was the seventh..." Hobie murmurs into my shoulder, his eyes remaining closed as he attempts to go back to sleep. "I'll getcha 'nother one later."

I shuffle away from him, and lay on my side to glare at him much to Hobies distain as he scoots closer, trying to steal my body warmth underneath the covers.

"I can feel your glare, baby. Jus' go back to sleep wit me." The end of his voice turns into a slight whine as he opens his beautiful brown eyes to give me a small pout.

I continue to glare at him, before briefly rolling my eyes at him. "You're not winning this." I huff, "You can't keep breaking my alarm clocks." My glare moves towards Hobies hand that's creeping up my thigh.

"Course, love. I could make it up to you?" Hobie's sleep thick voice suggests, his eyes flickering down to rest where his hand is stroking the skin of my upper thigh, drifting very close to the leg opening of my loose pajama shorts.

My glare falters just for a moment at the touch of his hand but my stubborn streaks proves hardy as I keep up the glare, shaking my head. "You can't possibly make up for breaking that many alarm clocks." I quietly scoff, Hobie's eyebrows quirk up at that.

"You're sure?" Hobie says softly, scooting closer to me and with familiar ease, positions my leg over his sweatpants clothed hip, laying right beside me now and my eyes flutter briefly, but I shake my head. "Nope." Even going extra by popping the P on the word.

Hobie merely snickers, and nods in false agreement. "Such a brat." Hobie breathes before one hand moves up to my chin, tilting my head up and leaning his head down to my throat, pressing soft kisses and nibbles to the sensitive flesh.

"This isn't fair." I groan softly, but make no protest to move my chin from his gentle grip nor shuffle away from him and Hobie hums in agreement against my throat. "Life ain't fair, love." As he continues his kisses his other hand moves into the hem of my pajamas pants, slipping effectively past thin barriers, his fingers delving in between already slick folds yet not entering.

"Mmfh-" I bite my lip to not give in entirely to Hobie, not letting him hear how his kisses or touches affect me. Hobie chuckles at my attempt to quiet myself, leaning back to look at me, hair still wild from sleep and cheeks flushed as his finger expertly teases around my sensitive nub, yet never directly touching it.

"You're still sure I can't make it up to you?" He asks, tilting his head as a small cocky smile finds itself on his lips, and my eyes are practically glued onto his smile, wanting absolutely nothing more than to kiss them bruised and breathless.

"I can't, I have to go to a lecture-"

Hobie scoffs at my words,before nudging my leg open further with his own and flipping the position to hover above me with one arm above my head, fingers still teasing sensitive flesh. "Not today, you're not." He says, before leaning down and kissing me deeply, his tongue already swiping my bottom lip for access and at this moment, I've never agreed with Hobie more.

Not today.

#hobie brown #astv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv hobie #hobart brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut

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taegimood · 4 months

Note

Ahhh how come you be giving love to everyone but Kai? That's so not fair.

He's my biased, Soob being my wrecker.

Maybe one where Kai comes back from practice all sweaty comes back and finds you in the shower. And....well...joins...hehe 🫣

-🍰

hi there- i love kai just as much as each of the other members, please don’t assume; i don’t appreciate being accused of favoritism. the only reason i haven’t written much for him is simply because no one has requested it yet. you’re my first ask that’s specific to kai. i’ve written for him in every one of my ot5 posts, however, and last night posted a sookai thought that you can read if you’d like. i’m not being unfair to him. in fact, i’d love to get more kai asks from my readers! i’m glad to finally have one here. anyway.. just wanted to clear that up. i love kai very much. now for this shower thought, since my other readers will be looking forward to more of him.

──────────────────────

a/n: [wc 784] this ended up being more of a mini one-shot or something, oops.. i’ll add proper titling and stuff tomorrow..

you’d originally planned to wait up for your boyfriend, hanging out in his room until the boys were back from practice; but as the clock ticks later and later and you receive an apologetic text from kai explaining that their manager is keeping them there overtime, you decide to go ahead and make your way through your evening routine. it’s when you’re helping yourself to a warm shower that you hear the faint sounds of voices entering the dorm — confirmed by beomgyu singing at the top of his lungs as he passes through the hallway outside.

you chuckle to yourself before wondering if kai will be too tired to join you. you frown at the thought of your boyfriend, worried that he’s been feeling too overworked, and hoping that you’ll be able to help ease his stress, even if just a little. you almost don’t realize when the door opens slightly and he slips through the crack before locking it behind him, leaning forward against the sink for a moment with a tired sigh before straightening to glance over his shoulder at you. you meet each other’s eyes with small, matching smiles, not needing to say anything as he slides his sweaty clothes off and steps in to join you.

“hi baby,” he breathes quietly against the back of your neck as he nuzzles his face into it, arms immediately wrapping themselves around your waist. you hum in response, reaching a hand up over your shoulder to caress his damp hair. “hi,” you whisper back in a soft voice. “tired?”

“mhm...”

he’s gently turning you around, slowly walking you backwards with his hands on your hips until your back comes to rest against the wall. “need you,” he murmurs with sparkling eyes that flit between your own. you coo softly, reaching up again to tuck some hair behind his ear before placing a hand on his cheek to bring him down into a kiss. he doesn’t hesitate, lips moving languidly against your own as his hands wander your body, squeezing gently at every curve and valley until one slips around to rest on your lower back, pressing your hips closer as his other hand finds purchase on your thigh. he gives it a tap and you lift it into his grasp immediately, wrapping snugly around his waist.

when his hand slips down between your bodies, a smile graces his lips. “you already got yourself ready for me, huh?”

“just in case,” you smile back, coyly, and his eyes are lidded as he releases a contented sigh. “fuck, you’re always so good for me.”

he jerks himself a couple of times in preparation before aligning himself with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your slit for a few moments with his lip between his teeth before sliding inside of you — slowly, deliciously, both of your heads tipping back with parted lips and quiet moans as he steadily sheathes himself to the hilt. you take a few moments to adjust before he slips his hand back to its previous place on your lower back. “ready?” “mhm..”

the following minutes are a blissful haze, the drag of kai’s warm cock within your walls sending shivers through every inch of your body, his forehead resting on yours as he delivers deep, steady rolls of his hips — his eyes closed contentedly as he relishes in the feeling of you wrapped all around him.

you take your time with each other, the warm water cascading over sore muscles and aching limbs, your lips finding purchase with his as you lean up to claim them once again. soon you can tell that kai is close when his moans turn into soft whimpers against your wetted lips. you stroke a hand up and down his back soothingly, your other slipping down to massage circles over your throbbing clit; his hips are stuttering now, the light sound of slapping skin heard faintly through the falling water, his breaths growing labored as he pulls you closer, and it’s when you cum around him with a shudder that he’s filling you up, moaning into the crook of your neck as he bites down gently, rocking his hips against yours until you’ve ridden out both your highs.

the two of you are panting as he slowly eases out of your pussy, bringing your leg back down to the floor and holding onto your waist to make sure that you’re steadied. his forehead finds yours again, catching his breath. “thank you,” he murmurs. he presses a kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “i love you.”

you smile. “i love you too, hyuka. let’s get you some rest.”

#ask mj ♡#mj’s hard thoughts #txt #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt thoughts #txt oneshot #txt fluff #huening kai #huening kai x reader #huening kai smut #huening kai hard thoughts #huening kai thoughts #huening kai oneshot #huening kai fluff #taegimood #nonnie 🍰!

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solargojo · 24 days

Text

Months ago, you had carefully put Ace's vivre card inside a small globe made from glass and placed it on your wooden nightstand because you were afraid of loosing it— it would slip from your fingers or fly out of your pockets all the time. So, with this, you managed to rest easy for a while.

Then one day, you woke up to the sight of the globe filled with smoke and ashes. The very same day you found out that he was to be executed.

He's still alive, you think. His vivre card hasn't disintegrated completely, it's just burning up.

You want to run to him, but you know that's wishful thinking given that your father is a veteran of the Marine; he'll do something else than just disown you if you even mention you had met several times with a pirate. Even more so if you say that said pirate was Fire Fist Ace, too.

The moonlight makes you feel scared even when your body is filled with cold dread. You're helpless and you can't do anything more than hope, as if that isn't what you've been doing ever since he left, anyway.

"When will you be back?" You asked him all that time ago. Quiet and silently wishing.

He had laughed, pulling out his vivre card out of the little pouch on his leg, showing it to you with a smile on his face.

"Can't exactly say when," he hummed, putting his card into your hand. "But with this, you'll at least know how I'm fairing out. And if you ever get out of this island, maybe you can even come to me yourself."

There hasn't been a moment where you didn't want to go out after him. Even more now, when he's weeks away from being killed by the very same people your father taught you were good and righteous.

---

Days pass and no good news come back; you wish to read that whitebeard clashed into the Marine and rescued Ace, but there isn't anything that serves to console you.

You get off the chair in front of the window that allows you to look outside; walking to your bed with empty steps.

You look at the globe and see more ash and smoke.

How much time did the townspeople said there was until the execution? You've been too out of touch ever since you found out. Not listening, not talking and you also wouldn't have been eating if it wasn't for the maids coming into your room with meals every day.

Is it weeks that you have left? Ah, no, that's not it... you have hours, yes. You still have hours before he leaves you completely.

The clock on the wall ticks and you feel like you can't breathe anymore.

You have hours? Just hours before he's gone completely from your life? Before they take him from you?

No, no, no, no, no, nononononononono— you think you fall down the last steps of the stairs, not even registering the worried questions from your mother as she sees your bloody knees or your crying face. You rush out and run to the shore as fast as you can, not caring about the looks some people shoot at you.

You won't reach Marineford, of course not. What are you doing?

You only snap back into reality when you hear your mother screaming behind you. When the waves hit your hips and you look back to her with your heart hanging heavily on your throat.

You're trying to reach him; because he's drifting away too quickly and you'll be damned to let him go. Not like this, you plead. Please, God, Don't take him away from me.

The globe— she's standing with the globe! you can't reach Ace if you don't have his vivre card, stupid you.

Your vision is blurry with tears, and when you blink them away, you don't see more ash or smoke.

"He's gone," she breathes out, gulping for air. "He's gone, love. It's too late."

Oh.

Of course it's too late. Maybe if you would've ran faster, done something the moment you found out—

No... you wouldn't have reached him anyway.

You can't reach ash and smoke, the wind will take it away more quickly.

#portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece #one piece ace #one piece x reader #portgas ace x reader #marineford arc #one piece imagine #one piece headcanons #ace headcanons

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therosebunpost · 1 year

Text

Dynamic that I’d love to explore:

Steddie, but you’re dating Eddie first. You two are a Unit. You’re so deep in love with each other that literally EVERYONE can tell. It’s like you walk around with this invisible string wrapped around you two, binding you together. You love Eddie, he is your person. Your perceived one and only.

Eddie feels the same, he tells you every day. Shows it even more. But Eddie, is not a subtle man. Especially not to you. So, you clock his crush on Steve the second they hang out together. You knew he’s liked the man before you started dating, so it wasn’t surprising.

What is surprising, is just how okay you are with it. This was prime jealousy territory, but as you watch the two flirt with each other, you just feel..okay. Amused even. You tease Eddie subtly at first, just an acknowledgment whenever he gets all moon eyed over the former jock.

Eddie feels terrible about it, initially. He loves you, there’s no doubt about that. You’re the person he wants to marry one day. The person he wants to spend his life with. But Steve, Steve with his stupid pretty hair, and kind eyes, and deep understanding of what happened in the Upside Down…He just can’t shake the crush. The urge to have him closer.

You finally breach the topic with him one night, emboldened with weed and being curled up in his arms. “Y’ know, if you ever wanted to…go after Steve, I won’t mind.” It’s silent for a full moment before Eddie responds. “What?”

“Steve. If you wanted to date the both of us, I won’t have a problem with it. Trust me, he likes you a lot. I can tell.” You’d laugh at the look on Eddie’s face if you weren’t trying to convince him you were serious. “And..I want you to be happy, you know? So..you should go for it.” It prompts a deep conversation between the two of you, where Eddie’s not quite sure about it, but decides to try.

As a surprise to no one, Steve is more then happy to date Eddie. After being assured that you were perfectly fine with it, the two start dating. You spend time with Eddie the first half of the week, Steve gets the second. You switch every other week, or for special occasions. It’s nice, and you can’t help but feel pleased with the happy look on Eddie’s face.

There’s just one thing though, a problem you weren’t expecting. Steve’s interest in you. About a month into your new arrangement, Steve takes steps to hang out with you more. He asks about you, and even flirts occasionally. Usually with Eddie present, which you chalk up to him just being in the moment. It starts changing though, when Eddie has to bail on a date with Steve. You’re both used to his scattered mind, so it’s not a big deal. Still, Steve has tickets to the local fair and he doesn’t even hesitate to extend one to you.

Before all of this, you liked Steve well enough, but it didn’t go beyond friendly. You had always planned on dating Eddie without dating Steve, Simply wanting your other half to be happy. All this…budding up with Steve wasn’t in the plan, but you couldn’t say you hated it. Steve was nice, funny, and admittedly very handsome. (You couldn’t blame Eddie in the slightest for his crush.) He was a natural flirt, often getting you and Eddie flustered whenever you three hung out. Every kind thing he does for Eddie makes your heart swell. Every kind thing he does for you makes your heart skip a beat. Your conversations start out kinda stilted at first, but with time they flow with ease. First strictly being about Eddie until you find yourself telling him about you. Your life, your dreams. Steve does the same, and it’s not long before you really understand Eddie’s crush on the man.

The Fair is fun. You go in rides, Steve wins you one massive plushie, and another massive plushie for Eddie to surprise him with later. You end up winning Steve a plush as well, insisting that he deserved something too. The soft look he gives you is stunning, and you have to smother his face in the plush before the butterflies threaten to eat you alive. “I’m glad you said yes to coming with me.” He admits over some pizza, the fair lights dancing in his eyes and hair. “I’ve been wanting to hang out one on one for a while. Trust me, I wanted Eddie here with us too, but..yeah.”

Three seconds, it takes three seconds before it dawns on you. Steve wasn’t just wooing Eddie, but you too, and it’s working.

#thebunspeaks #fluffybunnycorner #steddie x reader #steve x reader x eddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x reader #eddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #I just love this idea ngl #Steve just shooting for the stars and seducing a couple?#absolute legend #Plus I love the contrast of being a fast burn and a slow burn all in one #you and Eddie are solid #Steve is an unexpected but wonderful surprise and he ends up fitting perfectly with you guys

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katyswrites · 1 year

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, allusions to sex

Wordcount: 6.1k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 3 | this path is reckless (and I like it)

Six o’clock finally came torturously slowly, the minutes on the clock passing like molasses. At five minutes-to, the bell above the door rang, and Steve strolled in. He caught your eye to where you stood behind the counter, and nodded. You shot him a small smile, but felt your stomach turn - whether it was excitement or anxiety, you couldn’t quite tell. But, you couldn’t deny that you were happy to see him. You felt stupid, considering that he had explicitly said he wasn’t planning on asking you out - but, what else could it be?

As soon as Steve saw you making your way over, he smiled briefly, before nodding to the chair across from him. He already had ordered two coffees - one for himself, which he was halfway through, and a cappuccino, right at your seat.

“Hey there,” you said, feigning a casual and friendly air as you sat down. “Oh, um, thanks - you really didn’t need to order me anything.”

He shrugged. “I figured you might be tired - I took a wild guess about what you liked, though. Don’t feel like you have to drink it if you don’t want -”

“No, it’s great,” you assured. “I could probably do with a pick-me-up, anyways. Long day.”

“Okay, good,” he said. It was silent again for a moment, both of you just pretending to be incredibly interested in your drinks instead of each other, waiting for the other to say something. You already knew that this wasn’t a date. But, even worse, it didn’t feel like one at all - it felt more like a business meeting, between two strangers. Then again, isn’t that what you were?

You could only stand the anticipation for so long - you were many things, but patient wasn’t one of them.

“So… what did you want to talk to me about?” you asked. “Is this about last night? Because, i was pretty drunk, so - if you didn’t want me to kiss you, I’m sorry, that was my fault… I might’ve misread things, but if you aren’t interested, that’s fine - you’ve been more than nice, and I didn’t want you to think that I -”

“Why are you living in Italy?” he asked.

Not what you expected. Still, it was fair enough - beyond tourists, you were probably the first American he had encountered here.

“Oh - well… that’s kind of a long story.”

He shrugged again. “I’d love to hear it, if you want to tell me, that is.”

You thought for a moment, placing your mug on the table as you decided exactly which details to disclose to him.

“Well… my home life… let’s just say, it wasn’t great. I grew up in a tiny town in upstate New York, and… I mean, I knew I always wanted to get out of there. So, I applied to colleges as far as possible - mostly big cities, like New York, Boston, Chicago, even out in California. I didn’t plan on leaving the States, necessarily - but I applied to the American University of Rome, just for kicks, since I knew they offered a U.S.-accredited degree. I didn’t think I’d get in, let alone actually go. But, they made a great offer - basically a full ride. And, it got me as far from home as possible. So I left, and never really looked back. And now, I only have one semester left, which is pretty crazy, but… I’m glad I did it.”

It felt nice, to actually get that off of your chest - Robin was one of the only people you really ever talked about this stuff with. There was a lot still left unmentioned, but it still made the man across from you seem less like a stranger, like someone you could maybe trust.

“Was it hard? Moving to a whole other country, I mean?”

He was asking sincerely, but you were still wary as you answered.

“Yes, and no,” you admitted. “There was definitely a culture shock - I had to learn a lot about the city, the people, and a whole new language. But, it really is great here. And, I’m glad I found Robin - someone from home, kind of. But, it’s been… a lot of work.”

He raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”

You sighed, measuring your words carefully.

“I’ve done pretty well in school, but I didn’t know that Rome was one of the most expensive cities in the world until after I moved here. I mean, I scraped together most of the money I had just to buy my plane ticket. And, campus housing was expensive, so I bounced between hostels and friends’ couches my first couple of years, until I was able to save up a little. That took a bit, too - turns out Italy doesn’t have a set minimum wage, either. Who knew right?”

You chuckled dryly at that last part, and winced inwardly - that was far too much information, and he didn’t need to know any of that. You thought again about the money he had sent, how he casually had a personal driver on hand, the clothes he wore - he probably pitied you, couldn’t even be bothered to consider you as a -

“Is that why you have two jobs?” he inquired. There’s only sincerity behind his question, like he was truly trying to understand.

You nodded slowly, meeting his eyes. It occurred to you then that this felt like some strange job interview - well, a job interview with a man you drunkenly kissed on the sidewalk the night before. You shivered at the memory.

“How old are you again?” he asked.

“Twenty,” you replied, recalling his age from his I.D. - he had just turned thirty, if your math was right.

“Jesus,” he whispered, mostly to himself. He leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. You noted how he was fidgeting a bit with his fingers, shifting in his seat - was he nervous? Why?

“Okay, I guess I’ll just get to it,” Steve conceded, leaning forward again. He folded his forearms on the table and leaned it, his gaze focused on yours. He was ramping up to something, but nothing could have prepared you for what.

“What if you didn’t have to worry about money anymore?” he posed, his voice low and steady.

You furrowed your brow, confused. You felt your stomach flip again, you mind racing to a million and one implications.

“I - what?”

He sighed, running one hand through his hair as he gathered himself.

“I - Jesus, okay, this is harder than I thought. I’ve never really done this before, so just, bear with me, yeah?”

You frowned, but nodded, giving him a moment to continue.

“First of all, don’t apologize for kissing me. I mean, I was really hoping you would,” he admitted.

You felt something flutter in your chest, and fought with everything you had to keep your face neutral.

“You - you were?”

He nodded.

“Yeah - I mean, not that I was expecting it, but - I wanted to. But - earlier, you said something about me not being interested in you… that’s not true.”

You wanted to jump up and down with glee, but you couldn’t help and feel that there was a big but coming.

“- but, I’m not exactly looking for anything right now. Well, anything serious. I just… a relationship can’t happen for me, not right now. And, I don’t know if that’s going to change anytime soon. I’m only in Italy until the end of the summer anyway.”

You felt your heart sink in your chest, like a balloon deflating. There it was - it explained a lot.

“Oh,” you said softly, doing your best to not let the disappointment bleed through. “That’s fine - I get it, really. Thanks for letting me know -”

“Wait, it’s not just that,” he explained. “I - fuck, okay, give me a second here. I was thinking of having an… arrangement, with you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, sitting up a bit straighter in your chair.

“An arrangement?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I - I want to keep seeing you. But, with an understanding - that there wouldn’t be personal feelings involved, it’d just be something fun, for you and me. And, maybe you could occasionally be my date to work events, galas, that sort of thing.”

You kept your face as stoic as possible, taking in what he was asking. But before you could formulate a thought, he continued:

“And, in exchange… I could help you out. I can give you a monthly allowance, conver all your major bills, student loans, if you have any… and, if there’s anything you want to buy yourself, like, new shoes or something?”

“What makes you think I want shoes?” you bristled, suddenly becoming defensive as you truly started to comprehend what he was proposing.

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, backtracking. “I’m just saying that… if there’s anything you want, I can take care of it. To thank you, for your… discretion.”

You felt your face heat, the blood rushing into your cheeks and roaring in your ears. Here he was, a man you were only just getting to know, asking if you wanted to be his… his -

“You wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course,” he added quickly, his own cheeks starting to twinge pink. “I mean, I’d never pressure you into anything - I wouldn’t do this if you didn’t consent, I mean.”

“And if I don’t consent?” you asked, your words coming out as more of a snap than you intended.

“Then I’d leave here, right now, and you’d never have to see me again,” he assured. “And, I’d send you another sum of money to at least cover your rent for the rest of the year, for even insulting you with the offer. But… I do think this could help both of us.”

You bit your lip, grabbing a paper napkin from the table and twisting it in your hand.

“Can it? I just… I feel like you’re not the kind of guy that needs to pay for sex. I mean, what’s in it for you?”

He hesitated for a second, and it occurred to you that he’s nervous, perhaps more than you.

“It’s not just sex,” he admitted. “I mean - it’d be nice, to have someone kind of consistent, and to know she wouldn’t expect anything. That’s the point of the agreement, I guess. But also… you saw who I work with. They’re always on me, about being ‘married to my work,’ all of that. So -”

“You want me to be your arm candy?” you finished bluntly. He turned just a bit more red at that.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but - yeah, basically. After that stunt at the restaurant… I think they’d respect me a lot more, to be honest.”

“And you think I’m pretty enough for that?” you asked dryly, mostly to yourself as you laughed inwardly at the idea.

“Yeah, I do,” he whispered.

You froze for a moment, caught off-guard by his response - and, you hated how it made something warm bubble inside your chest, especially in the given situation. You just nodded, tearing at the napkin in your hand.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” you posed.

“Sure, anything.”

“Why don’t you want a relationship?”

His eyes widened, like that was the last thing he ever expected. Something unreadable passed his features, and he thought for a moment before replying.

“Honestly? I’m really busy. HNL is working on expanding through Europe - or, in Brenner’s words, dominate. And, I’m trying to work my way up to CEO - I think I have a good shot, once he retires. Having someone… it’d distract me. And, I don’t think it’d be fair to her, either - I can’t fully commit the time, not right now.”

It was an honest answer, at least from what you could tell. Still, what he was proposing… It seemed crazy. Too good to be true. If he had taken you home last night, and just made it clear it was a one-time thing… you would have let it happen. You knew that with near-certainty. If Steve had just become a fun story to tell one day, that would’ve been fine by you. But this…

“Can I think about it?” you asked. He nodded vigorously.

“Yeah - yeah! Of course. Here -”

He handed you his phone, pulling up the blank contact form on the screen.

“- put your number in here. So you can get in touch, if you make a decision, or for… whatever.”

You took it from him, typing out your full name and phone number with shaky hands. Your palms were sweaty, the weight of what he wanted from you.

When you handed it back to him, he glanced down, and stuck the phone back in his pocket.

“Great - well, um, I’ve kept you long enough after work -”

“Oh, yeah - I should probably get home, anyways. I’m on dinner tonight, for me and Robs.”

He stood when you did, chairs scraping on the floor as you stepped away from the table, leaving two empty coffee mugs and a napkin torn to bits.

“Let me call my car, to drive you home -”

“No,” you said firmly. “I - I want to walk for a bit, actually. To clear my head, if that’s alright.”

He just nodded curtly, and you both just stared at each other for a moment. It was awkward now, like you were now leaving the job interview not knowing if you felt good about getting the job. Do you hug? Should you just leave?

You opted to shake his hand, extending your hand towards his until he took it. It felt strange to do that, but before you could dwell on it, you were mumbling a rushed talk to you soon, and running out the door.

As soon as you were out of sight of the coffee shop, you let out a deep exhale - this could not be your life. But somehow, it was.

As you walked down the cobblestone streets, you became convinced that the whole interaction was in your imagination - perhaps you were still dreaming, and your alarm clock would wake you up at any moment. That was, until, you heard your phone ding:

Maybe: Steve

Hey - this is Steve. Steve Harrington, in case you forgot - I realized you probably also need my number, right? Have a good night.

Jesus, he writes texts like a dad. A grandpa, even. You stared at the message for a moment, reading it a few times - yes, this was real. You took a moment to add the number to your contacts, typing out Steve Harrington slowly. Then, you stuck it in your bag, and continued on your walk, doing everything you could to not check it for the rest of the way.

Your walk home was nearly an hour - reasonably, you should’ve taken Steve’s offer, or at least the bus. But you charged ahead, breathing in the air as dusk started to overtake the day, the sky darkening to the telltale hues of pink and orange. Summer was beginning to show its face, the days stretching just a bit longer, the warmth just a bit more persistent, creeping in as spring met its final days.

It was your favorite time of year - just before the true heat of summer set in, the promise of bright days ahead and winter long-dead in its grave. And thankfully, it meant darkness was only truly settling in when you reached your apartment - you had arrived there on auto-pilot, spending your whole walk home thinking of Steve’s offer.

You were bouncing back and forth, between telling him to fuck himself, and jumping at the opportunity to take everything he had to offer you.

When you walked up to the third floor and jostled the door open with your keys, the apartment was dark - indicating that Robin had hardly left her room all day. But, you needed to talk to her. You needed someone else to tell you that this was insane, outlandish, unbelievable -

When you knocked on her door, you were met with a muffled hmmm, what?

You opened her bedroom door slowly, only to see Robin under her covers, her room still dark. She was only illuminated by the light of her phone’s screen, where she was no doubt doom scrolling for the last few hours, if not all day.

“Hey, you,” you whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned, sitting up in bed.

“Only marginally better. But, I think I’ve taken the legal limit of ibuprofen, so I have to wait the rest out.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.

“I would say I feel bad for you, but I’m not sure I do.”

She chucked a pillow in your direction, narrowly missing your head.

“Asshole,” she grumbled.

“Love you too,” you replied, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Robin rubbed her eyes, yawning.

“So, how was work?”

Jesus - how were you supposed to answer that question?

“Oh, uh - good, I guess. Well - okay, if I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out? Because like, I really need your advice here.”

“Uh, yeah, okay - that’s totally not ominous.”

“Well, you know Steve?”

“Our savior, you mean? Yeah. I mean, he did bring us back last night, right? I didn’t make that up?”

“No,” you confirmed. “You didn’t. But, before you found us last night… we kind of made out.”

That got Robin to sit up straight, looking more alive than she had all day.

“Oh? You made out with moneybags??? And didn’t tell me?”

“To be fair, you were incapacitated.”

Robin rolled her eyes playfully, then held up her hands defensively.

“Yeah, okay, whatever - well, did you get his number or something?”

You sighed, gathering yourself as you figured out how to answer that question.

“Well, kind of - not last night. But, he came to visit me at work today… I kind of told him where I worked last night while we were talking.”

Robin’s eyes widened, and she grinned.

“Wait, he showed up at work? Oh my God, he’s into you -”

“Not so fast,” you said. “I - he asked to meet with me after my shift. So, I did, and… well, he -”

“He what?” Robin asked, clearly impatient. “Did he ask you out? C’mon, you’re killing me here -”

“He offered to be my sugar daddy,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. It was the first time you had said it out loud, and it felt ridiculous to even put it that way. But, that’s what it was, no matter how you sliced it.

For maybe the first time in her life, Robin had no words. Her mouth hung open, and you could’ve sworn you saw her brain reboot as she comprehended exactly what you just said.

“I - I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, that’s basically what he offered. Maybe there’s maybe a better term for it, but -”

“No, no, you need to tell me exactly what he said,” Robin demanded, crossing her legs on the bed.

So you did. You explained every detail of Steve’s offer, as best as you could remember, watching how every version of disbelief and awe passed Robin’s face. It was only after you were done that she spoke:

“So, you’re doing it, right?”

You stared at her, eyes wide.

“What? I - I thought you’d tell me it’s a terrible idea -”

“Girl, no - I mean, think about it. He’s offering to pay you, enough that you don;t have to wear yourself down with work anymore, and you’ll get laid? It’s a win-win. Besides, I don’t even like men, and I can acknowledge that the guy is pretty easy on the eyes. I mean, we’ve established he’s not a murderer, right?”

You shrugged.

“I think so - he told me his full name, knows that I told you everything - if he’s a murderer, he’s one who's looking to get caught. But… this is crazy, right?”

Robin just shrugged, a mischievous look in her eye.

“Maybe. But, who ever said crazy was bad? I mean, if you really don’t want to do it, then don’t. But, do you have any reason not to?”

It was those words that rang through your head, all through your dinner (which ended up being a modge-podge of leftovers, after realizing that neither of you had done a proper grocery shop in a while), all while you and Robin watched a movie, and long after she went to bed.

It was nearly midnight when you pulled out your phone, staring once again at Steve’s text. You knew you should probably respond via text - there was a good chance he was already asleep. But, something else compelled you to tap on his contact and press call.

One ring. Two. On the third, a muffled click, and his voice, groggy and low.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you whispered. “It’s me.”

“Oh! Hello,” he replied, sounding considerably more awake.

“I’m sorry - were you asleep?”

“Hm? No, no - don’t worry about that. Are you okay?”

You nodded, before remembering that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah - yes. It’s just… I’ve thought a lot about your offer.”

Silence. Then, “...okay? And?”

He sounded cautious, and maybe even hopeful. You took a deep, shuddering breath before answering:

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

*******

You didn’t actually see Steve for a few days after that. You did receive a text the following morning from Steve, which only read:

Let me know what days and times you’re free. We can meet to set up the arrangements.

And that was what the next few days entailed. First, you had a Zoom meeting with Steve, which felt ridiculously formal. He explained that it was because he was at work, and it was easier this way - by the end of it, he had set you up with a personal separate checking account and a platinum credit card. You had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, afraid he’d get in trouble, but he had only waved off your concerns - don’t worry - you’d be surprised what some of my colleagues get up to. Besides, as far as my accountant is concerned, you’re a client.

A few days later, a car pulled up to your apartment - Steve’s car. Only, he wasn’t in it - his driver informed you that he was there to pick you up for your appointment. The appointment, it turned out, was with a seamstress named Valentina, a bombastic and impassioned woman who had once worked for Versace before leaving to open her own independent brand as a designer. As you stood on a raised block and she measured every inch of you, all she wanted to do was talk. She prattled on about her job, her wife, her annoying neighbor, the fact that she’s a week behind on tailoring a wedding gown for some politician’s daughter. You managed to ask how she knew Steve, and she explained how she’s tailored all of his work attire in the time he’s been in Europe - he’d even had his suit shipped to her during his winter in London. Her rambling was occasionally interjected with what lovely arms you have, or you’d look gorgeous in this color, don’t you think?

Eventually, you worked up the courage to ask, “So, uh, what exactly are you going to make for me? Like, a dress?”

Valentina stopped mid-measuring, glancing up from where she was kneeling in front of you.

“You don’t know?” she asked.

You just shook your head in response, and she laughed.

“Well, Signore Harrington was quite clear - I am to make you everything.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, everything?”

“He said that everything you want to wear is to be made by me. Or, if you buy something else you like, I’m meant to tailor it, too. That’s why I’m keeping your measurements on file - to make sure everything fits you just right.”

“Oh.”

That was all you could muster. You had seen all of the fine, beautiful piece at the front of Valentia’s shop when you arrived - you had assumed maybe she was making one dress for you, for a special occasion. Or, you’d be picking something from the shop, and that was it. But this… how much money did Steve have?

“Nothing but the best, for Signore Harrington,” Valentina continued, resuming her work. “Which means nothing but the best for his ragazza.”

Girlfriend. You didn’t know whether that was a cover story Steve told her, or just an assumption she’d drawn, but you just chose to not respond, even as the word and all of the falsehoods behind it swirled in your mind.

It wasn’t until nearly a week later that you actually heard from Steve again. It’s another text, and you don’t see it until your lunch break during a coffee shop shift. It reads:

Are you busy tonight?

You stared at the text for a few moments, pondering everything it implied. Was this it? The beginning of… whatever this was? You took a moment to think, then replied:

No, why? I work until 4 and then I’m free

You saw the three dots appear for a second, then disappear. Then, his reply:

You’re working?

Yea I always work 8-4 on Thursdays

You don’t need to do that, you know.

Are you saying I’m not allowed to?

Of course you are, but just know that you don’t need to. I’ll take care of you.

You read that last sentence a few more times than was probably necessary. Then, he texted again:

So, you are free tonight, yes?

You pause for a moment before sending yes.

Great - I’ll come pick you up at 7? Let’s do dinner.

Then, the bell above the door was ringing, and your manager was calling for you as the line of customers grew, your 15-minute break somehow already over.

Sounds good see you then

That was how you found yourself practically sprinting out the door when your shift ended, just barely catching the bus, internally wishing it would skip every other stop by some miracle and get you home as quickly as possible. That, of course, doesn’t happen, and you briefly wondered if you should’ve just used your credit card and called a taxi. The thought suddenly feels ridiculous - you hadn’t actually used any of Steve’s money yet. You knew he said you should, but it felt strange to just frivolously spend someone else’s money like that. So instead, you leaned your head against the bus window, and willed it to move faster.

When you finally arrived home, you were only in the door for a few seconds before Robin was running up to you, eyes wide with glee.

“There you are! Look at this shit - did you know this was coming?”

“Did I - what?” you asked, confused and still a bit out of breath from how briskly you trekked two blocks and up the stairs.

“Okay, clearly you didn’t - c’mere, some lady came and dropped this off earlier today -”

You followed her as she spoke, stopping in your tracks at your bedroom door.

“What the -”

Hanging in your doorway was a thick garment bag on a gold hanger, the door propped open with a dark, leather-bound trunk.

Before you could ask anything else, you were unzipping the bag with shaky hands, gasping as you saw the contents - inside were four dresses, probably nicer than anything you’d worn in your life, all adorned with Valentina’s sigil on the inside.

“Whoa,” Robin said from behind you. “Are those from -”

“Yeah,” you said, cutting her off. “I - I think they’re all custom-made.”

It was then that you noticed a small envelope tucked inside, with a now-familiar wax seal. You practically tore it open, and it read:

I had Valentina send over these first few garments - there’ll be more to come. I think the white one would look great on you for tonight, with the gold shoes. I’ll see you at 7.

S.H.

“Holy shit,” Robin whispered, followed by a low whistle. “He’s really taking this whole thing seriously, isn’t he?”

You nodded, running your thumb over Steve’s handwriting a few times.

“Okay, you’ve got to tell me - is he just like, really bad in bed or something? Like, is that why he’s doing all this -”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admitted. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Wait - you haven’t slept with him yet?”

You shook your head, pinching the fabric of the white dress hanging in front, feeling the soft satin between your fingers.

“No,” you said. “I’m seeing him tonight, though.”

“Holy shit,” Robin said. “How is this your life now?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“I have no clue.”

*******

Two hours later, after a long, contemplative shower, and fussing maybe a bit too much with your hair and makeup, you found yourself wearing the dress and heels from the trunk, as instructed. Well, it was more of a suggestion than instruction, but who were you to object?

The dress had slipped on with ease, and it was maybe the lightest, softest thing you had ever worn - it fit like a glove, enough that you didn’t think a single other person in the world could put this on if they tried. You understood now why Steve used Valentina - she was damn good at her job.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, not exactly recognizing yourself. It felt like you were going to some costume party, if the costume in question was a dress finer than anything you’d ever worn and shoes that probably cost more than you were willing to find out. The dress was light and flowy, hitting right above your knees. You did a quick 360, and took a deep breath - this was fine. It was great, actually - it was just dinner, that was all. Maybe. Probably.

When you emerged from the bedroom, Robin nearly fell off of the couch, jaw slack.

“Who are you, and what’ve you done with my roommate?”

You rolled your eyes, giving Robin a spin for the full effect. She just laughed, shaking her head incredulously.

“Seriously, though - you look great. Like, sophisticated, but in a hot way, I promise.”

“I don’t know if that’s a thing,” you said.

“‘Course it is, I’m looking at it!”

Before you could say anything else, you heard your buzzer ring - someone was downstairs.

You shared a look with Robin, and she bounced excitedly on the couch, urging you to answer. You went to the intercom, pressing the talk button and leaning in closely, remembering how notoriously bad the sound quality on this thing was.

“Um, hello?”

“Hey - it’s me,” Steve’s voice said, distorted a bit through the crackly speaker. “Are you ready to go?”

Oh, God. He actually came to the door.

“Yep! I’ll be down in a minute!”

“Are you sure? I can come up, if you want -”

“No!” you replied quickly - you glanced back at your tiny, and currently messy, apartment, and imagined he’d die if he ever saw it.

“It’s okay - it’s a third floor walkup… I’ll come down.”

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded.

You shot a glance back at Robin, who was giving you two thumbs-up.

“Wish me luck,” you said, suddenly feeling waves of anxiety rolling through you - this was suddenly so real, what the Hell are you even doing -

“Don’t do that,” Robin said firmly.

“Do what?”

“Freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out -”

“Yeah, you are,” she interjected. “It’s fine - in fact, it’s less pressure than a real date. And I’ve got your location, so if you go missing -”

“Ha, ha,” you replied, voice laced with sarcasm. “Goodnight, Robin.”

Before she could tease you or ask any more questions, you were out the door and heading down the stairs, heart fluttering as you descended each flight, knowing it’d bring you closer to him.

And, when you opened the door, there he was - much more formal than the last time you had seen him, wearing a slim-fitting suit and a friendly smile. When he saw you, he stepped back for a moment, eyes widening.

“I - wow. Look at you.”

You felt your heart flip, your face flushing.

“Well, I have you to thank for that. Or, Valentina, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed. “Mostly Valentina - I don’t really know anything about women’s fashion, so I told her to do what she thought was best for you.”

“And did she?” you asked.

He looked you up and down again, nodding.

“I’ll say - you really do look beautiful, you know,” he said, voice a little softer now.

You felt your face heat even more, and decided not to respond. After a moment, Steve stepped back and waved you ahead, following you down the steps towards the car parked on the curb. He opened the door for you, allowing you to slide in across the backseat before following.

As the car peeled away and onto the road, Steve cleared his throat.

“So - I got you a little something.”

Before you could ask or protest, he was handing you a small white box. You opened it slowly, gasping as you got a look inside - it was a necklace. A gold necklace, with a diamond pendant that glistened more than anything you’d ever seen. The whole thing must’ve been real - you were no expert, but it had to be. It was simple, but so clearly nicer that any of the plated stuff you had sitting on your dresser at home.

You just held the box in your hand, staring at it for a moment as you examined the contents. You slowly traced the chain with your finger, your thoughts only interrupted by Steve.

“If you don’t like it, we can return it, and you can pick out something you like better - I have the receipt, I just didn’t really know what you liked -”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. You realized he had taken your silence for rejection, and the idea was enough to make you sick.

“But - I can’t accept this. It must’ve been so expensive -”

“Don’t worry about that,” Steve interrupted. “I wanted to get you something nice, and I thought it’d look nice on you.”

You glanced to the front of the car to gauge how much the driver was paying attention, and leaned in closer to Steve with a whisper.

“You already wired me my rent, tuition, and my allowance - which was a crazy amount, by the way - and, the clothes, all of it… not that I’m not grateful. I am, I just… you’ve already spent so much, you’re going to end up spoiling me -”

“Maybe I want to spoil you,” he murmured.

Whatever you were planning on saying next vanished, the words dying in your throat. So you just went quiet, looking down at the necklace in your lap again.

“Can I?” he asked.

Knowing what he was asking, you nodded, gathering your hair to the side as he extracted the necklace from its box. He unlatched it and pulled it up around the exposed slope of your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he closed it again. You felt your breath hitched, the feeling of his fingers ever-so-lightly touching you lighting your skin on fire.

“I do have a question,” you asked, fixing your hair as you gazed down as where the pendant rested on your sternum.

“Mm hm?”

“If - if I suddenly changed my mind about this - this whole arrangement… do I need to pay you back?”

He shook his head fervently.

“No - definitely not. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do - if you ever want to stop, let me know, and you can keep whatever I’ve given you. No need to pay me back, I promise. You’re allowed to change your mind, I - I don’t own you.”

“Right,” you said, biting your lip. Then you managed to finally meet his gaze, and he was looking at you so sincerely it made you want to cry. And his face was close - so, so close.

Then, you were leaning across the seat and bringing your hand to cup his jaw, pressing your lips to his. He tensed for a second, then leaned into the kiss. You pulled back after a moment, and he just stared at you, bewildered.

“What was that for?” he asked softly.

“To say thank you,” you replied, hand still brushing his face.

“And,” you added, “I’ve actually changed my mind about one thing.”

His brow furrowed, and you realized that you accidentally sent him into panic mode.

“About what?”

“Let’s skip dinner,” you whispered. “I want to go to your place instead.”

Author's note: thanks everyone for all the enthusiasm for the story so far! Just a warning, there's a lot of smut ahead, so get ready for that! As always, shoutout to Em, who's basically my co-author. Your replies, comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Reply if you'd like to be added to the series' taglist

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#steve harrington #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #don't call me baby #dcmb #dcmb fic #sugardaddy!steve harrington #modern steve harrington #stranger things fanfic

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starlingflight · 2 months

Text

Ginniversary Drabble 9

Prompt: B1 - You sort of start to believe anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.

AO3 or read below:

It had been an exceptionally long morning. Not, as Harry would have preferred, because of any threat posed by a dark wizard, but because of the sheer amount of tremendously boring meetings he was expected to attend in his new position as the Deputy Head of the Auror Office.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the far wall of the stuffy meeting room he'd been sequestered in for the past hour. They were now two minutes over the allotted time to discuss the thrilling topic of the proper layout of risk assessments, and still there was no end in sight.

Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand. Across the table, Hermione was still scrawling furiously across her parchment; it was almost like being back in History of Magic.

Except he had never been rescued from History of Magic by a very sheepish looking trainee popping their head into the room and declaring, “sorry to interrupt, Mr Potter, but your wife is here, and she says she needs to speak to you.”

Hermione looked up sharply from her parchment, throwing him a questioning look across the table. Harry shrugged wordlessly, torn between utter delight at being saved from the drudgery of the meeting by an alternative as pleasant as Ginny, and concern that she'd apparently shown up, unplanned, in the middle of the day.

He wasted no further time excusing himself from the table and slipping out the door, where he immediately found Ginny awaiting him in the corridor beyond.

“Sorry,” Jenkins, the trainee, said. “I told her I'd fetch you, but she wouldn't wait at your desk.”

Ginny shook her head. “And I told you, I'd find him myself, if you'd just tell me where he was.”

In fairness to Jenkins, he only shrunk slightly under the weight of Ginny's accusatory glare. “I'm sorry, Mrs Potter, but as I said, I can't allow you to go wandering around the Ministry unescorted–”

“Well, I'm escorted now,” Ginny said sharply. Her hand slipped into Harry's, and he couldn't help but notice it was trembling slightly. “Consider the Ministry safe from the threat of an unsupervised Quidditch player.”

“Thanks, Jenkins,” Harry said in a slightly more amiable tone. “I've got it from here.”

A look of relief washed over Jenkins’ round face. He nodded his head sharply in acknowledgement of the dismissal, and then quickly took off down the corridor in the direction of the lifts.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, now able to focus all of his attention on Ginny. Her hand was gripping his tightly, and her foot was tapping impatiently against the polished wood floor. “I think you might have made Jenkins cry.”

Only one side of her mouth curved into a smile, and even that quickly fell again. “Surely he's got to have more fortitude than that if he wants to be an Auror.”

“We usually start them off with something a little bit less intimidating than your temper.”

Her laugh was short; Harry suspected she'd given it over reluctantly. “Is there somewhere private nearby?” She asked. “I don't know this floor.”

They were on one of the lower levels, a rarely visited section of the Ministry that was, in Harry's opinion, a fitting location for the pointless meeting he'd just escaped.

He could take her back to the Auror Office, it was almost lunchtime; no doubt he'd be able to find a spare meeting room now, but he could feel nervous energy radiating off Ginny in waves, and he doubted she had the patience for the journey.

Moreover, Harry doubted he had the patience for the journey when every moment he spent in Ginny's mysteriously agitated presence was causing trepidation to rise more strongly within him.

“Come here,” he said decisively, pulling her a few steps down the hallway until he reached an innocuous wooden door. It opened to reveal a small, tidy broom closet.

Ginny hesitated for only a moment, casting him a doubtful look, before ultimately stepping inside. Harry followed her in, letting the door fall shut behind them with a soft click.

“Lumos.”

The light from his wand cast an ethereal glow over the tiny space, illuminating the stacked boxes of Magical Mess Remover, several ancient sweeping brooms, and Ginny's tense face.

Her hand tightened in Harry's; she drew a deep breath. “This is really not the appropriate place to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” Her nervousness was infectious in the tiny broom cupboard; his stomach began to tie itself in knots.

“I probably should have thought of some clever way of doing it.”

His nerves seemed to tense beneath his skin. “Doing what?”

“I was going to tell you at home, but I couldn't wait that long, it was torture–”

“Gin, you're torturing me.”

“Right. Sorry.” She slid her free hand into the pocket of her robes with agonising slowness. When she removed it, she held a small glass bottle out to Harry.

He placed his wand on the stack of Mess Remover boxes, angling the ignited tip at the vial and illuminating the vibrant purple potion within.

“Purple for positive,” Ginny said, her voice unnaturally high.

“You're–” Harry didn't manage more than a single word; his mind was reeling, his brain had ceased functioning, and the only thing his instincts told him to do was pull Ginny closer.

He felt her breathe a sigh of relief against his lips, and then he was kissing her with such ferocity that neither of them could catch their breath.

The knots in Harry's stomach unwound, replaced by soaring elation that set his head spinning faster, and made clinging onto Ginny even more necessary than it usually was.

His elbow knocked into the stacked boxes beside him, sending them tumbling. His wand clattered across the floor.

Ginny broke apart from him. They were both laughing breathlessly.

“You're happy then?” She asked, her grin visible even in the dimness of the cupboard.

“Yeah,” Harry tried to frown, but his smile seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. “Did you think I wouldn't be?”

“I thought you might be a bit anxious,” she admitted, still smiling widely. “It's a bit of a daunting prospect… y'know, raising a child… making sure you don't mess it up.”

“True,” Harry agreed, though the scope of the task did not seem capable of penetrating his europhoria at the current moment. “But, you see, the thing about being married to Ginny Potter, is you sort of start to believe anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.”

#hinny #harry x ginny #ginniversary bingo #i'm so close to catching up on these gd prompts

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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hii!! idk if you’ve already talked about this but how did simon and soap meet darling?

p.s. dead disco has me in such a chokehold i reread it literally all the time💞

Hi! I'm so glad you like Dead Disco, I have loved writing it too and am really enjoying exploring their relationship. I love an opportunity to talk about my pairings and explore them a bit so I wrote something as an answer to your Q. Thank you so much!

How did the guys meeting darling? Ghost x Soap x female reader 1.2k words - no warnings/tags - takes place before Dead Disco This was not edited, just a brain to typing ramble. Sorry for any mistakes.

It was at a bar. Not the dive kind, that you were particularly fond of now, but an upscale, too fancy for you type place. The kind where they serve cocktails in thin rimmed glassware with crystal clear ice cubes and two ounce pours of whiskey that cost triple digits.

You were there for a party, a bridal shower, of all things. Zipped into an uncomfortable dress, feet already crying from the too tall heels that you chose. The champagne soured your stomach, the fake smile you had plastered to your face slipping more and more as the minutes ticked on, the pressure of too many eyes, too many people, too many questions finally starting to wear you down. The bride-to-be was beautiful, and you were miserable.

Not because she was getting married, of course. You were thrilled for her, proud of her for actually pulling the trigger on happily ever after even if it was something you’re not sure you believed in. She was happy and that’s all that matters. You’re a supportive friend, after all. But, you were tired, the social aspect of a gathering like that quickly overwhelming you, forcing you to slink to a table in the back where you could hide your bare feet under the pristine tablecloth and slump over in your chair, fixing your eyes on your phone so you could escape, if only for a moment.

Your reprieve didn’t last long before a gaggle of aunts and well-meaning middle-aged women swarmed you, endless questions spouting from their mouths, inquiries about how you were, how your job was, if you were dating anyone being passed around between them like you were some science fair exhibit to be analyzed and dissected.

You slipped away when they were distracted, fleeing the table out the side door of the banquet room and down the back stairs to where the brick patio of the street level bar was, which was open for regular business and customers, seeing as it was a Saturday afternoon.

You met Johnny first, that day. You had turned the corner of the stairwell and nearly stumbled into him, your body skidding to a stop when you felt the cold brick on your bare feet and realized you had left your god damn shoes upstairs. He had been leaning against the wall with an almost empty beer in his hand, mohawk slightly grown out, t shirt accentuating his arms, soft shadow of stubble lining his jaw. You clocked him right away because he was beautiful, gorgeously handsome in the way that made you want to sidle right up next to him and take a closer look. There was something in his eyes, when he registered your presence at the bottom of the steps, something… hot, a heat that curved around your neck and across your throat, down to the very center of your stomach, the feeling of it awaking something desirous, something needy inside you. When he gave you a sweet smile, your knees felt light, and then he gestured to you, a sweeping hand motion that felt like an invitation to come over.

So, you did.

His name was Johnny. He was brilliantly charming and utterly funny, while also being extremely intelligent and cordial. He was easy to talk to, and the two of you struck up a conversation without hinderance, the flow of the back and forth actually enjoyable and not a drag like most interactions you had with men lately. He was interesting, and sweet, and sexy and you were trying really hard not to drool as he asked you questions about yourself, what you did, where you were from, who you were. You were so engrossed in him that you didn’t even see the other man, the one in the mask that had arrived to stand opposite him, until he was practically casting a shadow over you.

He was huge. The width of his body, his neck, even his palms had your eyes subtly widening and your gaze tracing him from head to toe out in wonder, and confusion. Even though he was wearing a black cloth mask over his nose and mouth, you could make out his bone structure, the angles of his face and cheeks telling you that he certainly was beautiful underneath it, and he had a crop of sandy brown-blonde hair that contrasted his eyes, their copper brown hue refracting in the light and nearly startling you with how stunning they were. He pinned you with them, your body frozen where it stood like you were an animal, unable to flee, or speak, or formulate a sentence. You just stood there, blinking at him like you had suddenly gone dumb. Throat dry. Lips parted.

And then, he handed Johnny one of the beers he was holding. Their fingers grazed, and Johnny’s thumb lifted, stroking along the back of masked man’s hand, an affectionate, soothing gesture that you couldn’t look away from. Something so small, so simple, communicated a million words between them within a second.

There was something about them, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on that drew you in, pulling you closer and closer into their orbit, until the man in the mask looked down and said:

“Yer not wearin’ any shoes.” The deep, rough timbre of his voice scratched something in the back of your mind, and you felt butterflies thrash in your belly. Your body grew warm, embarrassment snaking up your spine and you took a step backwards, a hand nervously rising to find a piece of your hair to fidget with while you tried to manage a smile and explain.

“I uh, left them upstairs. At the shower. I was at a bridal shower.” Masked man cocks his head like he’s considering your words.

“Hurt your feet?” You nodded immediately, a tinge of relief cooling the heat of your embarrassment, and Johnny gave you a sympathetic smile before he turned to man in the mask and gave your name, the Scottish accent shifting the pronunciation so that it sounded all that more attractive. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just regarded you silently, like he was processing you, x-raying you, seeing you inside and out, trying to decide what to say next, before his voice softened and he said, “I’m Ghost.” Johnny tsked aloud and Ghost shifted, his shoulders tensing and relaxing, eyes narrowing above the mask before his chest deflated with a sigh. “Johnny.” He warned, to which Johnny rolled his eyes, and slung his arm around your shoulder affectionately.

“What do you say you get your shoes, and we go find another bar?” You nodded your agreement immediately, not caring if these two were going to throw you over their shoulders and hide you away forever, or not. You already knew, you’d be going wherever they went. “Atta girl.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze, and you high tailed it up the stairs, pausing to look back for just a second to see him placing his hand on Ghost’s ribs, the gesture reciprocated by Ghost stepping closer and lowering his forehead to Johnny’s, an intimate glimpse that had your heart rattling in your chest.

You were a goner.

#dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost x soap #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #peaches writes

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