#when you can’t find the sunshine; be the sunshine / musings
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oh, but you're good to me -s.r.
a/n: i continue to not know the word count- but here's pining!spencer x sunshine!reader!! very hozier coded <3
The team has gone out for drinks after a stressful week, and this is a moment where Spencer finds that his willpower does not so easily overpower his desire. They’d chosen a kind of kitsch place, the kind where there’s couches where waitresses could bring you your drink under dimmed lights and music with cozy acoustic music played. Emily and Morgan were comparing conquests at their trip to the club the week prior, Penelope chiming in with warm support on either end. On the opposite table, Hotch and Rossi were discussing criminology in serious, even tones.
And Spencer, well. He was well-occupied.
His best friend is on the team, and he does not say that lightly. She’s earned her place in his heart, as hopelessly romantic as that makes him sound. But she did. He remembers the day he met her, warm tone seeped in patience and understanding.
He remembers the sight of her like its engraved crystal, carved into the basis of his mind. Her delicate features distinct in their warm kindness. She’d offered her hand, shook it and giggled a sweet sound when he’d said it’d be safer to kiss. He’d blushed enough that his lack of flirtation in his intent was clear.
On the jet, that first case, she’d listened to him talk about Russian literature and other obscure topics he couldn’t remember now, because now, all he can recall is the color of her doe eyes meeting him in intention.
He’s pretty sure he’s in love with her.
Which, right now, feels a bit like a drug- both painful and exhilarating. She’s a cuddly drunk (only with him, it seems) and he’s got a lanky arm tugged over her shoulder. It’s lovely in a way words vex him, the weight of her against him.
“You look nice today, Spence,” she muses, looking up at him. His heart is going to stop.
“You do too,” he breathes out. This is nice. She’s touchy, and he likes when she touches him. It’s a pleasure, like sipping expensive wine or decadent chocolate, sweet and a little bit sad, because you know you can’t have it forever.
She plays with his scarf, and he is hopelessly endeared by the sight of the fabric in between her delicate fingers.
“This color is nice,” she muses, and god, he wants to kiss her. This a thought Spencer has often, oftentimes at inopportune times. On the jet, in the office, at her house, in the car- always, really.
Except now, no one’s looking at them. If loving her was enough to make her love him back, then he could.
But it isn’t.
He chokes back the emotion rich in his throat. He brushes her hair out of her face, a tender motion that betrays his intentions with her.
“You always look lovely,” Spencer says earnestly. I love looking at you, he thinks.
She smiles back earnestly and warmly.
“I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”
“I always do, when it’s you.”
He doesn’t know why this is what he’s allowed to have. She’s so close to him, pinned up against him and he can feel the curve of her waist against his side. He doesn’t get it, why he’s not her boyfriend but he still gets moments like these, where she’s pinned to him like velcro. He’s addicted to them, really- craves the moments where she falls asleep on his lap on the jet, where they’ll be walking together somewhere and she’ll lace their fingers and tug him along when she’s excited and the destination in sight.
Maybe this is just how she touches her best friends- he tries not to question it, because he doesn’t want to loosest.
But tonight, under the low-light of the bar, shadows of her lashes thrown across the slope of her cheek- he wants to ask her.
“Are you like this with everyone?” He muses. He immediately regrets it, sees her face harden and feels the shift away from him, and the space leaves a gap of cold air. There’s a swoop f nerves in his stomach.
“I don’t know, I think I just thought- you know, we’re like this. We’re touchy, you and me.”
He’s not touchy. Everyone knows this, but she’s the exception to a rule that has held true his entire life. But he loves this, loves the feeling of this.
“I like this,” he says, intentional eye contact trained on her shaking irises. He reaches out and laces their fingers in an act of bravery that rivals some of his most intense moments, “I’m wanting inf you want more of it. Because I do.”
“You do?”
She’s back close to him, now, and he’s so immensely grateful for it. She smells like lilies and her, and this might be the only time he’s brave enough to do something like this.
It turns out he doesn’t have to, because before he can answer, she kisses him. It happens fast, and his response is all instinct- pulling her into him closer, his hands around her waist and her soft sigh into his mouth that threatens to kill him. It’s better than his fantasies at night could have made him expect.
“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper when she pulls away. She looks a little adorably off-guard, in a way he’d like to create- like to instigate.
“Hi back,” he says, a beaming grin threatening to spread over his face. He tries to memorize the feeling of this, the weight of her in his arms in case this is not something he can keep- he wants to remember it, what it felt like for her to kiss him, to be wanted by her.
“Do you want to go out sometime?”
“Like out of here? It’s kind of cold outside-“
“On a date, Spencer.”
Instead of a response, Spencer kisses her again. It is absolutely the right choice.
#spencer reid#spencer Reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fanfic
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Had to be You
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (enemies to lovers ish)
Word Count: 2,270
Summary: You and Bucky have been going at each other for months. He's grumpy and defensive. You're sassy and frustrated. Steve's had enough. So when Steve steps in to do something will it work? Or will it makes things worse?
Author's Note: At this point all I want is for Bucky to kiss me senseless for the rest of my life (and do everything else) but really. Kisses. Yes please. Anyway. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: some light mead comsumption, angsty ex talk, tension but softness, happy ending
“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS! You get back here right now and open this door before I kick your ass!”
Steve’s chuckle only makes you angrier. “I’ll open it when you two make nice.”
“STEVE!” you screech.
His retreating footsteps have you banging your forehead into the thick metal of the door, muttering curses under your breath.
“Please tell me Stark has some hidden exit in here somewhere?” you sigh.
“I’m going to kill Steve.”
When Bucky’s speaks his first words since you got locked in the gym together you spin to face him, eyes hard.
“Get in line Barnes!”
“Hey, look at that kids, you’re agreeing already!” Steve’s voice rings out from down the hall.
With that last remark everything goes silent other than your frustrated huffs.
“Is this actually happening?” you whine. “Can’t you just break the door down?”
Bucky’s blue eyes stare blankly and you grow more agitated.
“Why the hell did he do this?”
You glare back in his direction, hands on your hips. “Because of your sunshine and rainbows attitude toward me!”
You spit out the words, letting them drip with sarcasm.
“MY attitude?” Bucky grits out as he sticks a finger in his chest. “Doll face. I’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman to you.” That same finger spins to point at you now.
You face him fully and take a step closer.
“Grunts do not equal a greeting and barely answering questions and barely making conversation definitely does not show your gentlemanly side!”
Bucky opens his mouth to retort but you continue on. “And what about avoiding me all together!? What the fuck is that about?”
He runs his large hand through his hair and squeezes the back of his neck, setting his lips in a hard line.
“Fuck. Please tell me there’s still some of Thor’s mead in here,” he mutters.
“Why the hell would he leave alcohol in the gym?” you ask, your brows nearly hitting your hairline.
With a shrug Bucky starts moving about and searching under things. “He likes to ‘get drunk’” and he makes air quotes as he says it, “and then show us how he can still lift heavier weights.”
You can’t help the laughter that boils up and over but you quickly cover your mouth when Bucky gives you an unamused look.
“Here it is!” he chimes, seeming far too relieved.
You move toward him as you watch him take a swig from the bottle, the muscles in his neck shifting with every swallow.
“Save some for me,” you say quietly and hold out your hand.
He smirks.
“Careful doll. Too much of this and I’ll have to carry you out of here.”
As more of the mead circulates through your body you start to relax marginally, thoughts of killing Steve slowly fading.
Bucky has been sure to keep your consumption under control and other than feeling less murderous and calmer you’re lucid.
“So,” you muse. “It doesn’t look like Steve is coming back any time soon. And we’ve been quiet. No yelling or fighting.”
Bucky simply grunts in agreement.
“SEE!” you nearly shout. “That’s exactly what I mean. I say something and your answer is a grunt…WHAT. THE. FUCK!”
While waiting for his explanation you notice a slight pink flush to his cheeks and you find it hard not to throw him a triumphant smile.
Deciding to let him off the hook for now, you ask, “how long have you known your best friend is insane?”
To your surprise, Bucky laughs. A real laugh that has his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching up.
You try not to stare too long but you find it difficult to look away.
“Are you drunk Barnes?”
His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth twitches with a boyish smile.
“You’re full of questions tonight doll. And for the record it takes a lot more than this to get me drunk,” he admits as his smile widens.
He shifts in his spot on the floor, his long legs now stretched out in front of him and you can’t help but focus on his thighs and the way his jeans pull tightly over the thick muscle.
“Who knew all we needed was a little alcohol to not fight.”
You chuckle and hold your hand out for the more.
He shakes his head no and places the bottle down on the floor before leaning forward.
“I don’t want to fight with you. Ever.”
At his admission, your expression hardens.
“Then why are you so….so… unfriendly?” you ask.
“Why are you always so sassy?” he shoots back. “Seems to me like you’re the one always looking for a fight.”
His answer makes you sigh.
“I don’t see you doing that to Barton or Steve…hell anyone else!” he adds.
He waits patiently, his eyes trained on you and his body straining forward.
With more nonchalance than you feel, you confess, “you’re kind of my type. And my dating track record sucks. So…you know…”
You motion to him. All of him. His long legs, broad shoulders, hard chest, sculpted arms and his perfectly handsome face.
Stunned, Bucky stares for a second too long and too fiercely.
Heat starts to tickle your skin as you feel your body react to his focused attention.
“Are you…” he starts, before clearing his throat. “Are you telling me that you’re attracted to me and that’s why you hate me?”
The tension is thick, stretching between you for many long seconds before you wrench your eyes away and look down at your hands.
“I don’t hate you.”
Your words are quiet and the next sentence that passes your lips is even softer. “I just have a hard time trusting men.”
When he doesn’t say anything you look up at him and see the hurt etched across his features.
“Are you sure it’s not just me you don’t trust?”
At his question, the realization of what he’s implying hits you and you immediately slide closer to him and reach your hands toward him.
“No Bucky. That’s not it at all. In fact I trust you with my life…just not necessarily my heart.”
When he continues to study you, his features softening, but doesn’t speak, you add. “It’s not your fault. Really.”
“I want to know why.”
“Why what?” you ask.
“Why you don’t trust men.”
His jaw is tight and his fists are clenched in his lap.
He’s clearly distraught over the fact that you’ve been hurt and you’re sure he’s thinking the worst. It melts you more and you want to reach out and trace the hard line of his jaw to reassure him.
“It’s not anything that bad. I’ve just been hurt. A lot. And not just in romantic relationships. Friendships too.”
He scowls. “In what ways?”
You shrug like it’s nothing.
“What is there to say? The first real relationship I was in ended when he found something better. He told me when we broke up, ‘why would I say with you when I can do better’.”
“That motherfucker,” Bucky fumes as he opens and closes his metal fist, the whirring metal sounds momentarily distracting you.
“Yeah. But that wasn’t the last. My boyfriend after that I found out was sleeping with my friend. Or I thought she was my friend.”
“Fucking hell. Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He stands slowly, visibly agitated.
“And we haven’t even gotten to my last boyfriend yet. Better sit back down.”
“I’m too fucking pissed off to sit,” he growls.
“Honestly, it’s more my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have dated him. He was just like the rest and when my friend sent me a video of the two of them fucking I was hardly surprised.”
You couldn’t look at Bucky anymore and you dropped your eyes.
“Guess I’m just not good enough to stick around for.”
“Fuck,” he exhaled. “Doll.”
He sat down in front of you, forcing your attention back to him.
“Please don’t tell me you really believe that.”
You give him an exasperated look. “After being dumped three times you kind of start to believe it.”
Suddenly, he kicks at one of the weight machines, making the metal creak and bend then he falls to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.
The smell of him surrounds you and you have no where to look but into his eyes.
“These men,” and he spits out the last word. “Fuck that, they aren’t men. These pieces of shit have no idea what a gift you are and they don’t deserve you. They deserve a fucking beating.”
“Bucky.”
You squeeze his hands. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he counters. “Tell you the truth? Tell you that you’re gorgeous, sexy, smart, and kind.”
His eyes drop to your mouth and he licks his lips.
“Hardly kind,” you scoff. “Look how poorly I treated you.”
He reluctantly drags his eyes from your mouth and determination hardens his gaze.
“Nah doll face. I get it now. And honestly, a lot of that is on me. I couldn’t understand why someone as perfect as you wanted anything to do with me. I put up my defensives the only way I know how.”
You whisper his name hoarsely and run your thumb along his jawline.
His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and he exhales.
Even if you wanted to you couldn’t stop the way your body moved closer to his and when he slides his hand up your arm and around the back of your neck your lips part in a gasp.
Just as you feel his warm breath tickle your skin the lock on the door turns and Steve calls your names.
You quickly pull away with wide eyes, shooting one last look at Bucky before you lift your eyes to Steve.
He stares between the two of you and then at the half empty bottle of mead.
“What…?”
“Nothing,” you and Bucky say at the same time.
Bucky jumps to his feet and holds his hand out for you.
You take it and let him pull you up and into his body. Your chest brushes his with your every breath and you’re right back where you were just seconds ago…under his spell.
It only takes a moment for your past hurt to flood back and wash away the desire you’re feeling and in the next breath you’re mumbling goodbyes and rushing off.
When Bucky finally finds you the next day the apology you’ve been wanting to give him spills out.
“I just want to say that I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.”
He takes a step closer to you, crowding you against the door of your room.
“I really appreciate that doll, but I should be the one apologizing to you. I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Thank you.”
It’s all you can manage to say with him so close to you.
You can feel your pulse jump and when you hear the moving metal plates in his arm you look down at his hands to see them clenched into fists at his sides.
“Bucky?” you ask.
“I’m having a really hard time not touching you,” he explains in a pained whisper.
“Oh,” you breathe out.
He closes the space between you and your back hits the door. He slowly lifts his hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb and then slowly sliding his fingers down to stroke your neck.
The gentle dominance in his touch sets you on fire and you lean into him.
“I’m scared of getting hurt Bucky.”
The words tumble out and you start to drop your gaze but he stops you with the press of his fingers under your chin.
His eyes harden and he doesn’t speak.
You whisper his name, your voice shaky.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just talking myself out of hunting every one of your exes down and skinning them alive.”
His voice grows with anger and you press a soft hand to his hard chest.
“They aren’t worth it.”
“You’re worth it.”
Taken aback by the intensity of his words you stare into his eyes, their blue color filled with longing and fierceness.
“Fuck doll. You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are, do you? I can hardly catch my breath.”
Your hand shoots to your mouth and you quietly inhale, nibbling your bottom lip to stop the smile that wants to break out across your face.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks.
You drop your hand from your lips and reach for him. “No.”
He tilts his head and inches closer, his mouth lightly brushing yours.
Your fists clench the front of his Henley and your eyes close at the light press of his lips. You stay like that, trying to remember to breathe.
He pulls away only enough to stare at your mouth and then traces his thumb across your upper lip.
“What is it?” you ask with a worried tone.
His thumb falls to your lower lip and he gives it the same attention, savoring the softness.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
He drops his hand from your lips and as his fingers fall they trace the outline of your neck before his hand wraps around the back of it and he brings you impossibly closer.
“I’m worried that once I start…” he breathes against your lips. “I won’t be able to stop.”
When he presses his lips to yours he groans low in the back of his throat, his hands desperate to get you closer.
The way you taste, the feel of your lips, your gasps and moans…he can’t stop.
He can’t stop.
@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @kmc1989 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @lizette50
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x reader#enemies to lovers#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan#bucky
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Part 9 of Charmed Slasher Simon
(CW: this is all basically noncon. Like, yeah they had a “deal” but it’s not like it was agreed on in good faith ya know? Stay safe while reading, please, and let me know if this warning needs to be more descriptive)
You shake as Simon trails his fingers absently along your tummy, amused by the way it twitches, tickling and frightened in equal measures. So much he wants to do to you, but only so much you’ll be able to take for this first little triste.
Besides, though not long for this world, there’s only so much he wants that little worm to see of you.
“You ever spend so long fantasizing about something that when the moment finally comes, you’re just spoiled for options?” he muses aloud, pinching your nipples through your thin shirt. He can hear the high pitched noises trapped in the back of your throat, tsks at the denial.
“I’m usually a decisive man, you know that, sunshine. But all the things I want to do to you…”
You squirm when he pinches a bit harder, adding a little twist. He shuffles his knee between your thighs and pulls you back, making you grind against his thigh with every involuntary twitch and shudder.
“Could bruise this pretty ass for running out into the snow like that, reckless thing.” You jolt when he palms the plush fat of one cheek. “Or I could just torture your tight little hole. Leave that pretty pussy aching…”
You make a noise like a sob as his thumb rubs through the layers of your pants and underwear. You try to lean away but he’s got such a tight grip on your wrists that all it does is arch your back.
He inches his fingers over the crest of your hip again, dips back to your swollen clit and soaked cunt. Hell, you’re even wetter than before, a sticky line running down your thigh, fabric clinging to overheated skin. He groans against your throat, has to see it for himself.
You try to protest as he yanks your waistbands down to mid thigh, but he quiets you with those same two fingers stuff in your mouth, teeth scraping his knuckles. You nearly gag as he pets the back of your tongue, imagines how it’ll feel against the fat head of his cock.
In the firelight, you’re gleaming, something out of a fever dream. He leans you back farther and forces your legs wider with his own, lets the heat caress at the insides of your thighs, the creamy slick webbing between your lips.
“Fuck, maybe I should just play with this, huh?” He rasps. “Watched you do it so many times. You don’t know how to edge yourself properly, luv. Always let yourself give in too soon.”
You make a startled noise, huge, watery eyes finding his. He chuckles at the mortified question in them, teases his fingertips over your slit.
“Yeah, sunshine. I watched you fuck this pretty pussy, cryin’ ‘n pleadin’ for me,” he purrs in your ear. “Took everythin’ in me to let you have your fun, to keep from showin’ you how it’s done…”
He circles a finger over your clit, a barely-there brush that makes your pretty wet lashes flutter. Over and over, watches that flush bloom steadily over your face, down your neck. The haze glossing over your eyes.
“How about that, hm? We’ll start from the beginning and work our way through my list.”
He slips his fingers from your mouth, watches you lick unconsciously at the taste of him lingering on your lips.
“Y-you’re not gonna…?”
He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. Fills in the blanks and can’t help growling.
“Oh, you want me to hurt you, is that it?” he asks. “You want - no, you need an excuse to hate me. You’re hoping I tear you up so that you have an easy out for all these confusing feelings.”
You try to babble out a denial but the shock in your eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He tamps down his anger by dragging his teeth along your neck, working a dark mark into the skin.
You don’t know any better, he reminds himself. But you will.
“Don’t you worry, luv, there will be plenty of punishment for you,” he rumbles. “But you’re going to beg me for it.”
You open your mouth, maybe to deny it, but he pinches your sensitive little clit between two fingers and revels in the way you squeal.
He instantly soothes the ache with gentle circles, trailing kisses along your jaw. Tastes fresh salt on your skin.
“Best save your tears, precious,” he warns, smirking. “You’ll need them.”
He parts your lips with two fingers, leaving you open and exposed, groaning through his teeth at the sight of you. Wet and swollen, so needy for him. You try to buck away when he rubs a finger over your clit, firm strokes up and down.
“If you don’t stay still and take it like a good girl, I’ll tie you down and make you be a good girl.”
You duck your chin, eyes squeezed miserably shut as you try to lock down your body. It’s ridiculously endearing, how you wiggle and then catch yourself, breath hitching as you wait for him to lose patience. He hums whenever you start getting to squirmy, delights in the way you shiver and sink your teeth into your lip. Settle down only for him to change the tempo or the pattern and ruin all your self control.
He amuses himself drawing patterns all over your pulsing clit - circles and stars. Hearts that make your eyes roll back in your head. Zig zags from your weeping hole up to the very top of your slit.
It takes a while for you to truly approach your orgasm with the way he denies you a proper rhythm to build on. But he notices the moment you finally start to reach that peak, not even his reminder to hold still can keep you from twitching and rocking, helpless little jolts of your hips.
He coos. “So desperate to finish. Is it because you think I’ll be done with you once you do?”
You don’t answer, too busy trying to get more friction, more pressure. He lets you rush right up to the edge and then stops, skipping down to circle your hole. Luxuriates in the fresh flood of wetness coating your thighs. It yanks you back like a dog on a leash, your orgasm right there but just out of reach.
You don’t even seem to realize what’s happened for a second, mouth hanging open and a cute little furrow between your brow. When he chuckles, teasing up to that sensitive bundle of nerves again, it seems to click. You shoot him a dismayed look, the most precious hint of betrayal lurking in your glassy irises.
“N-no…” you nearly beg.
He smirks, nips at your puffy bottom lip. “You can say no if you like. Or even stop. We had a deal, though, didn’t we?”
“R-Riley…”
You scream when he spanks your pussy. Not nearly as hard as he craves, but it sends pretty streamers of tears down your hot cheeks. Another, two fingers directly to your clit. You nearly crumple, only his hold on your wrists keeping you upright.
“My real name, sunshine, or I’ll give you a reason to say no,” he warns.
“S-Simon,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He shushes you, petting apologetically at your throbbing core.
“I know, luv, I know. But you’ll never learn if I don’t teach you right.”
The tears don’t stop as he drags you right up to the edge again, bullying through the lingering sting of getting spanked with overwhelming pleasure. When he pulls back a second time, you start up the “no’s” again, voice shattered into pathetic little pieces.
“That’s alright,” he murmurs, “say whatever you need to get you through, I won’t be mad.”
He gets you so so close once again, cock twitching against your ass as it grinds back against him. But he lightens his touch, not stopping but not letting you fall, easing the pressure up and up and up until even the slightest graze would break you.
Instead, he pulls away entirely to squeeze at the plush of your thighs and hips, cooing over the way they shake for him.
“Simon,” you sob, tucking into his chest. He slows his touches, watching you try to curl into him, chest burning with something bloodier than love. “Simon, please. It hurts.”
He hums, sliding his hand back up to your pussy, massaging your labia. Careful not to touch your needy clit.
“It hurts, hm?” he croons, unable to keep the mean pleasure from his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to. Where does it hurt?”
You hiccup, sniffle. “M-my… my…”
“Tell me, sunshine, or I can’t make it better.”
You fold a bit, bounce, almost like a tantrum. So out of control on sensation and emotion that you can’t keep it together as you form the words.
“M-my pussy. It — I need…”
He hums again, fingers trailing down to your hole. Teases his finger at your entrance and feels it spasming around nothing.
“So empty,” he breathes. “Is that it, luv? Your little cunt is aching to be filled?”
You shudder on a cry but nod, face hidden against his neck. He lets you, far too endeared by your attempts to find comfort from the man torturing you in the first place.
“Hurts,” you repeat.
“Do you hate me yet?” he mocks.
You keen softly. “Y-yes.”
A tap to your clit again. If you weren’t so strung out you’d probably even find it pleasurable but right now it makes you writhe and beg him to stop.
“Dont lie,” he warns, voice low, “where are my good girl’s manners?”
“‘M sorry,” you whine.
“One more time now - do you hate me yet?”
Your words seem to get caught up in your throat so you shake your head. Hes tempted - so, so tempted - to make you admit it aloud. But he doesn’t want to be too mean, not yet.
“Good girl,” he whispers, “that’s my girl. You want me to make you feel better now?”
You sniffle again, lean back into him a bit more. “Please.”
“There we go,” he praises, “nice and polite. I’ll take care of you, luv.”
Your body is so ready that it’s nothing for him to slide a finger into you, slick already running down his palm.
“N-no no,” you mumble.
“No what? I’m making you feel better.”
“‘S not — need more. Please, please, Simon.”
It’s hearing his real name in your small, reedy voice that finally appeals to what little mercy he has. He fits two fingers into your cunt and curves them to rub your silky walls.
“Fuck, you’re tight, sunshine,” he groans through his teeth. “You’re gonna choke my cock.”
You squeal as he starts rocking his hand, fucking you at an easy pace, getting you accustomed to the new stimulation. Starts building up your orgasm again, piece by moaning piece, finding every spot that makes your back bow with pleasure.
“Please, please, lemme cum this time Simon, I’ll be good, I promise.”
He huffs in amusement, caressing his thumb over your crossed wrists.
“Oh baby, you don’t have a choice.”
He flattens his palm against your core and pumps his fingers faster, harder. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit with each twitch of his wrist. You get tighter and tighter, voice pitching up and up, until your entire body goes taut, walls clamping down almost painfully.
He strokes you through it, brutal and relentless until you’re screaming at him to stop. That it’s too much. He releases your wrists to wrap his hand around your throat, obsessed with how delicate it feels in his palm. Just the slightest squeeze of his fingers and your eyes roll back. The second orgasm gushes from your abused cunt, all over his wrist and your thighs, dripping puddles onto the carpet.
He loosens his hold slowly, work you over through it, feeling you squeeze and pulse with aftershocks.
When he glances at your pretty, flushed, and tear-stained face, your eyes are shut. Out cold.
He chuckles and gently lays you out closer to the fire, grabs a pillow from a nearby chair to set under your head. Lingers for a moment, rubbing over your back, massaging gently at your shoulders. Your wrists are already bruising.
Then a muffled noise calls his attention.
Brandon.
“Now the second half of the deal.”
#thoughts™️#cod#my writing#fanfiction#dark fic#reader fic#charmed slasher ghost#final girl reader#non con#dub con
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bakugo and reader meeting again after a long time like maybe katsu has been away on a mission and he just misses us so much 🥹
anon this is literally such an adorable request!! This has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time cus i could never rlly figure out what i wanted to do with this, but as soon as i got the inspo i got to it !! im so so sososuuupperr sorry for making you wait so long and if you’re still sticking around, I LUB YOU !! anyways, i tried honoring this lovely sweet request as best i could, if you’re reading, i truly hope you enjoy (and all of you ofc!!) <33
fem reader, jus pure fluffy fluff ! katsuki n reader watch selling sunsets bc my mom does lmfaoo this ones for you momma, kissing, biting (lol will i ever stop), lemme know if i missed sum else !
katsuki regrets planning this surprise.
it’s been one month. exactly 31 days since he’s last seen you. one month he had to survive off of late night phone calls and good morning messages.
katsuki had slowly but surely started climbing up the ranks as a hero ever since he’d gone independent and this mission was a huge steppingstone to victory.
except it involved him going abroad for a month.
you’d congratulated him when he’d told you. you hugged him hard and offered him your brightest sunshine smile, you’d made him dance around your little living room with you, celebrating his ‘rise to stardom’ as you’d called it and he remembers chuckling about it. you’d even gone out of your way and made his favorite to celebrate. but now katsuki understand you were probably doing that so as not to worry him.
he's known you for a long while and he knows you know he can tell when you’re lying, so he was sure you were happy for him. (you can’t fake anything from him and especially not the way you smile, he’s committed that to memory). and you truly looked happy for him, but he knows youwell enough to know that you were also devastated to find out he was leaving for so long. he’d seen the way your eyes widened and your shoulders dropped. but knowing you, you probably powered through it so as not to make him worry.
so stupid. you’re stupid. and he misses you so much.
despite you being in different time zones you make it work. he made sure to be updated daily and called you every time it was time for you to go to bed to make sure you got some well needed sleep and not staying up late mindlessly scrolling through your feed.
you send him pictures of everything happening throughout your day and you’d hound him about his, asking him if he’d eaten well and if he’d beat up any bad guys. and no matter how minuscule his actions were you’d always praise him. as somewhat childish as he knew it was katsuki still walked with his head up high for the rest of the day. if it was to impress you and make you proud, he’d be on the clock 24/7. but, knowing you, you’d get mad at him for overworking himself.
he misses you so much.
he’s on the plane. making his way back home to you a day before he’d told you he would be, his surprise. you’d been so excited, your squeals ringing through the phone, katsuki just couldn’t wipe the smile of his face and goddamnit he tried.
“ou, i can’t wait ! i missed you sooo much, katsu !” you chirped, he couldn’t wait to hear your voice in real life again instead of through his phone.
“yeah, missed you too sweets” he hums, packing up the last of his stuff.
“you better be ready cus when you get back, m’not gonna let you go for a whole month.” you tease, giggling. katsuki huffs out a laugh, looking down at his luggage ready to go as he’d fully finished packing up while you were on the phone.
“uhuh~?” he muses “better be ready for me when i get back. yer not goin’ anywhere either. no bathroom breaks when we're cuddling.”
“ew,” you snort “what am i supposed to do if i have to pee ?”
“that sounds like a you problem, sweetheart.”
you laugh and laugh and katsuki smiles, he couldn’t wait to be able to hear and see it again. expect not one phone call away, like he’d told you he always would be when you’d accompanied him to the airport all teary eyed, but in real life.
except now he’s starting to regret not just coming home on time.
don’t get him wrong, the sooner he gets to you the better. he’d meant it when he told you he wouldn’t let you go and as somewhat embarrassing as it is to him that he had gotten so clingy, being away from you for so long really did a number on him. distance makes the heart grow fonder his ass, he was more than fond of you when he was laying next to you every night instead of all alone in his hotel bed.
but right now he’s way too antsy. he wants to tell you about how he’ll be home soon to hear you squeal and giggle, but he sucks it up in favor of surprising you.
it’ll be worth it. at least that’s what he tried to convince himself when he finished packing up. and on his way to the airport. and on the plane..
who even thought of this stupid surprise idea anyway ?!
he can’t sit still. he has to stop himself from tapping his foot against the floor and shuffling around in his seat. the guy in front of him keeps reclining his seat back but it doesn’t bother him that much, because all he needs is to remember your smile and remember he’s coming home to you, and he feels his nerves settle. recliner-seat-guy be damned.
it’s pitch black by the time he’s off the plane and finally back home. when he checks his phone he sees it’s 2:09 am and you’re no doubt dead asleep by now, he smiles at his phone screen when he sees you smiling back at him.
his limbs suddenly feel heavier the higher the numbers show on the screen inside the elevator to his floor. his body buzzes with excitement but for some reason he can’t help feeling nervous. katsuki knows it’s stupid because you tell him every day how much you miss him and how excited you are to see him. all he wants right now is to see you.
he fumbles around a bit when he fits his keys into the door to walk into your tiny shared apartment and when he finally walks back inside, katsuki is reminded why he does this. why he’s been gone for exactly 31 days.
he kicks his shoes off quietly and sees yours left right by the door like they always are. like he always wants them to be. he wants to come home to your shoes by the door and to you smiling at him brightly and greeting him, or beckoning him over to the couch because you’ve been waiting all day to watch your favorite show with him. (he’s forbidden you from watching any episode of selling sunsets without him, the last time you did he got cranky at you for a good 2 hours.)
katsuki sneaks over to your room, socked feet padding over to the door quietly cracking it open. he’d managed to convince you to move in with him a few months ago, claiming it’d lower costs and yapping about how you practically lived here anyway. it was barely anything to get used to, it felt natural, like this was everything his life was leading up to. but he wants to give you everything you deserve and this cramped little apartment is definitely not it.
he wants to give you a cosy little house, or a penthouse or even a fucking mansion if that was what you wanted, as long as he could be there with you he didn’t care. he’d do whatever he could to get you everything you dreamed of at the flick of a wrist. and that’s why, as annoying and lonely as it was to be without you for so long, he’d pushed through.
katsuki needs to save people, and he wants to. but everything he does, he does with you in a little corner of his mind.
you’re fast asleep like he’d expected, katsuki huffs out a laugh, brushing at your cheek with his finger. his heart almost explodes when you try to lean into the faint touch and he can’t help it anymore. he sits down by your side and kisses your cheek. once, two times, three times and a little one on your nose. if he wasn’t feeling all mushy he’d be an asshole and bite you, but you look so cute he’ll put that off for now.
your nose scrunches up and your eyebrows furrow at the wet kiss onto your skin, you instinctively go to rub at your face with a whine, katsuki chuckles to himself when you open your eyes and the lack of distance between you both meaning your quite literally face to face with him.
“katsu..?” you mumble sleepily “ ‘m i dreamin’ ?”
katsuki chuckles, eyes soft “glad to know ya dream about me, but nah, this isn't a dream.”
you blink sleepily, and katsuki recognize those bright eyes he so loves gleaming the more you wake up “katsuki !” you squeal, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him straight against your collarbone, since he was practically nose to nose with you before he knocks against your chin but you both don’t care.
katsuki crawls into bed and wraps his arms around you tightly, snickering into your neck and you into his hair. you squeeze and squeeze him so hard he thinks you’ll suffocate him but he couldn’t care less, squeezing you like he’s trying to mold you to him.
you breathe him in and he flips you both over with you giggling uncontrollably. you topple over and land straight into his chest. you lift your head up with stars in your eyes like he’d hung up the moon for you and katsuki smirks back softly. because he would. he’d hang up the moon and the stars and more.
all for you.
“you’re back !” you chirp, kissing all over his face. katsuki feels his cheeks hurt, this is the hardest and longest he’d smiled in a month.
“how’d you figure that one out ?” you roll your eyes at his sarcastic remark, blowing lip bubbles against his cheeks as punishment. he playfully pushes your face away from him and you laugh.
“i thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow..” you quickly reach over to your nightstand to check your phone then throw it back down.
“it is tomorrow.” katsuki quips, already getting back to being a smart ass, you roll your eyes but you can’t wipe off the happy look on your face.
“you know what i mean, asshole” you jokingly narrow your eyes at his smug face and press a finger against his cheek “later tomorrow i mean. was gonna surprise you and you….out-surprised, me” you pout at your ruined plans.
he turns his face so he can sink his teeth into your pointer finger and you quietly squeal in disapproval, he smirks “was gonna, but couldn’t wait anymore. needed to see you.” he pulls you closer to run his nose against your pulse point “felt like i was gonna go fucking crazy if i stayed with those other bastards for a second longer.”
you giggle, placing your hands against his shoulders as he kisses up and down your shoulder and neck haphazardly “ don’t be mean.” you scold.
he lifts his head up to raise a brow at you, hands running up and down your sides “you mean to tell me you wanted me to stay away? didn’t miss me ?” he jokes, squeezing your hips harshly.
“of course i did. missed you so much i felt my heart would tear up sometimes..” you smiles sadly, running your fingers through his blond strands, he frowns "but i'm glad you're back now."
"yeah, and m'not leaving again for a damn long while." he squeezes you so hard he lifts you up in his lap a little bit and a surprised noise leak out of you. he lifts his head up from your chest to smirk at you in challenge "you're gonna have to get used to me and my big mouth all over again."
your heart squeezes, you feel like it'll bursts from happiness and katsuki wonders if he' supposed to feel this happy, if it's okay to be this content with one person. but only for a moment, because he's greedy, so so greedy for you. and he doesn't care if it's wrong because he gets to make you happy, to make you smile and laugh, to have you.
and katsuki does everything for you, so he gives himself to you without a second thought.
you hum, placing your hands against his soft cheeks to press your lips to his "got a month worth of your big mouth i need to catch up on." you whisper before finally closing the distance. you both immediately sigh in relief at the contact, being able to feel each other like this again. you smile into the kiss and katsuki thinks he's never felt more at peace.
after a month, exactly 31 days, katsuki's finally back.
bonus :
"hey." katsuki ask, you snuggle into his side and hum.
"did you watch any episodes of selling sunsets without me ?"
you stiffen.
"n-noooo..." the sheets shuffle and crinkle when katsuki looks down at you. you shrink into yourself.
"maybe one or two.." you squeak out meekly. immediately he's flipping you over and pouncing on you.
"fuckin' traitor." he growls.
"i'm sorry i couldn't help myself !" you wheeze when he starts tickling your sides, kicking at the sheets "it's been a month !" you screech trying to catch your breath.
"yeah i know that !" he exclaims, ignoring the way you're thrashing around as he mercilessly tickles you.
"i'm soooorryy !!"
#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo fluff#bakugou imagine#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou fluff#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you#bakugo x you#bakugo x female reader#katsuki bakugo fluff#bakugou drabble#bakugou x you#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x reader
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pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader
genre: fluff, pining, best friends to lovers
warnings: reader struggles growing her nails out, reader gets her nails done. vietnamese women are the best at doing nails i swear (also if you get the reference you win another kiss)
wc: 1.08k
Spencer thinks you deserve all the best things in life. There are various reasons for this but the one that sticks out to him the most is that fact that you have always been exceedingly kind to him. You have always listened to him when he talks and never once tried to belittle him for any of his interests. A part of him thinks that it’s because your ages are so similar. Another part of him thinks that you’re just pitying him. He truly hopes that isn’t the case.
He makes you your coffee in the mornings. He knows how you take it– which milk you prefer, the amount of sugar. He has even gone as far as to buy your favourite instant coffee brand– the kind that are unreasonably expensive and have to be bought through a weirdly sketchy website despite its raving reviews. He remembers the way your eyes lit up as you held the familiar box excitedly and he can’t help but preen at the memory.
“Thank you for coffee, Spence,” you chirp as you spy your unofficially assigned mug on your desk. You’re wet from the rain, the shoulders of your coat darkened from where your umbrella has dripped water onto it. “Hotch would’ve killed me if I had to spend another five minutes at the kitchen. It’s not my fault my train came fifteen minutes late.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, watching as you shake your hair away from your face before warming your hands with the mug. “I did tell him that there was a correlation between rainy weather and increased train delays which could have been a reason that you were late.”
You smile, clearly amused, asking, “how did he take it?”
“He pointed out that I’m still earlier than the rest of the team,” Spencer responds sheepishly, his cheeks growing pink. “I planned my train route for when the rain would be the least heavy.”
“I should follow in your footsteps,” you muse, sipping at your coffee and sighing in relief. “You always make this better than me.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs, his hand brushing against his scarf. “I was– um, I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together later?”
You laugh softly and he relishes in the sound. “I only just got here and you’re already asking about lunch?”
He feels his cheeks glow hotter as he scrambles to explain himself. “Well– usually– uh, JJ usually asks you so I guess I wanted to ask before she did. And you have lunch with Garcia a lot so I thought I should ask when you get here and– sorry, is that wrong?”
“No, of course not,” you assure, beaming. “I’m touched that you think that I’m so popular that you need to book an appointment with me.”
“You are popular?” He says it like a question because a part of him is genuinely baffled that you don’t realise how well liked you are. He has found that you always manage to command the attention in the room and he has seen first hand the way people would be instantly drawn to you. He finds that he is no different.
“I promise you that I am not as popular as you believe I am,” you say with another laugh. “I’m flattered though, truly. I’d love to have lunch with you.”
Spencer cannot stop smiling.
***
“You’re whipped.”
Spencer shoots JJ a look, his cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment. “I am not whipped.”
“You have been staring at her talking to Officer Deetmore for the past six minutes and twenty seven seconds,” she points out, her eyes narrowing.
“They’re probably just making small talk.”
Emily shrugs from her desk, mixing her cup noodles around. “I don’t know, I’m surprised that she can hold a conversation with someone so intellectually disinclined.”
JJ snickers. “You’re just mad that he mislabeled a file and spread the profile.”
“Intellectually disinclined.”
“Guys,” Spencer pleads, inconspicuously gesturing to you saying your farewells and already heading in their direction.
You’re smiling although it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your arms are folded over your chest, a classic sign of discomfort, and your hands are tucked into your armpits. “Hey. What’s going on?”
“Are you alright?” Spencer asks instead of answering, soft enough as not to call attention to your little group. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Oh. I broke a nail.” You show him briefly– your natural nail has split at the corner just where they’re gaining length. “I’m a little bummed. It caught on the zipper of my go-bag.”
“Do you want to get your nails done after the case?” He asks, brows furrowing. “I have a nail clipper and file in my bag.”
JJ can’t help but be amused at this new fact. “You have a nail care pack in your bag? What, do you just take it around with you everywhere?”
He shrugs, ignoring the slight jab, pulling out the little pack from his satchel and handing it to you. He is well aware that you take pride in what you look like, especially your nails. You’ve told him the reason before, that your school was so strict that they wouldn’t let anyone grow their nails long and if they did they would be cut short by the nurse. He thinks that it’s borderline abuse.
“Manicures are expensive,” you murmur, your eyes downcast as you focus on clipping each of your nails to an equal length. “Are we even allowed to have our nails done?”
“Federal Enforcement Resources states under grooming guidelines that ‘Makeup (including fingernail polish and artificial nails) may be worn by employees but must be professional and must not interfere with the proper use and handling of equipment necessary for their assigned duties’,” Spencer provides helpfully. “I can pay for your nails, too, if price is the issue. The bakery I buy my banh mi from has a nail place next door. I’m sure I can get a discount.”
You laugh as you file down your nails into a smooth edge. “You want to pay for my nails?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” He nods, cheeks suddenly hot and he wipes his palms on his slacks. “If you’d let me.”
“Gosh, well, at least take me out to dinner first, Spence.” You say it with jest, your eyes lighting up with mirth.
He doesn’t seem to catch your joking tone, nodding in earnest. “Alright. After the case, how does Saturday sound? I can pick you up at 6?”
Emily and JJ are all too pleased.
reblogs are always appreciated !!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x reader fluff#criminal minds fluff#matthew gray gubler#matthew gray gubler x reader#matthew gray gubler x reader fluff#matthew gray gubler fluff
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for your fall prompts! what about “why are your hands so cold?” with the love of my life, steve harrington?
autumn, my love! ty for requesting! i hope you like it!! — steve makes fun of your cold hands but only as an excuse to hold them (mutual pining, friends to lovers, 2k)
fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Family Video always smells like Robin’s morning coffee, crisp autumn air, and warm nostalgia this time of year. It’s quiet and homey and liminal — as orange as early autumn itself.
The empty store is filled with the sound of your rushed scribbling as you jot down a load of cursive nothingness in your journal. Your hand smears the wet ink across the page. It stains the paper as much as the side of your wrist.
Your other hand is curled into a fist to prop up your lolling head. Expelling your racing thoughts into the leather-back book is the only thing keeping you awake.
The stale air glows suddenly with a newfound life when a cozier, more familiar scent engulfs you — like pine, musk, and vanilla. You feel Steve’s visceral warmth surrounding you. Before you can blush about the unexpected proximity, he snatches your journal out from under you.
“Hey!” you shout before you mean to, perhaps the loudest he’s ever heard you.
“What’s this?” this beautiful boy muses, honey eyes sparkling. The dull store blooms with its radiance. You can’t believe he’s looking at you with it and with his rosy, lopsided grin.
“Give it back,” you demand, quieter now and smiling wider.
Steve meets your playfully arched brow with a sunny grin. He thumbs through your journal with golden hands from a leftover summer tan. His biceps are all but bursting from his vest and too-tight polo.
“Keith said you’re not allowed to write in your diary on the clock, you know?” he reminds with a feigned seriousness, scrunching his nose when his twinkling eyes flit back to yours.
Keith did actually say that. A few days ago now. He also said he’d dock your pay if he caught you doing it again, the absolute asshole.
“It’s not a diary!” you argue with a beam on your face.
You briefly wonder if you’re smiling a little too wide, and the fleeting thought makes the bright expression flicker.
You cross your arms over your chest and pretend to be more serious. Something about Steve stirs a deep sensuality in you, though — like a wolf innately drawn to a full moon. The corners of your lips quirk with an emotion you couldn’t conceal if you tried.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he singsongs with raised brows.
Strands of honey hair hang over his wrinkled forehead when he turns to the book in his hands. He swipes his fingers through them to push them back again, but they fall into place a second later.
You’re too enamored by the boy in front of you to stop him when he starts flipping through your notebook. You know he knows it isn’t a diary. You also know he wouldn’t be going through it if it were. He’s too nice for that. Too sweet on you, anyway.
He finds a random page and lingers there. His eyes flit over every inch of the ink you’ve scribbled inside — miscellaneous lists, doodles, and song lyrics. He figures it must be the music you’re humming all the time, tunes you can’t get out of your head.
Every time I see you, all the rays of the sun are streaming through the waves of your hair, the words read in clumsy cursive. And every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight. The beating of my heart is a drum, and it’s lost, and it’s looking for a rhythm like you—
Steve’s heart flutters. He feels like a kid again. His stomach swirls with the thought that you might’ve been thinking about him in between the lyrics. It’s as unlikely as it is childish. He knows this, so he frowns.
“Oh,” he monotones playfully, brows pinching and lips jutting. “That’s boring.”
“Exactly. So give it back—” You reach for the book, but Steve’s too quick. He jerks it out of your reach and leaves your hand grabbing at air.
“Ooh, sorry, sunshine,” Steve lilts. “Looks like you’re not tall enough for this ride.”
Your cheeks speckle with heat. You wonder if he’s flirting or if he’s just being friendly, and you’re too in love to know the difference. Your terribly hidden smile is wide and impossibly giddy, anyway.
“Steve,” you bite, though it comes out much happier than you intended it to. “Give it back.”
He purses his lips to the side and furrows his brows. “Hmm… No.”
Your smile broadens, and your eyes widen at his blatant defiance. You giggle like a child as you walk the short distance towards him. “Give it back,” you laugh and stand on the tips of your toes in front of him.
He chuckles boyishly in return and lifts it further out of your reach.
You jump slightly off the ground to grab it. You fail the first time and try harder the second. You just narrowly miss it. The tips of your fingers brush his wrist as your torso presses too intently against his ribcage.
Your chest scrapes his vest and jostles his Hi, I’m Steve name tag. You stumble back in mortification.
With a red-hot face and a gaping gaze, you try to stammer out an apology. Nothing comes out. Your mouth opens and shuts like a fish as you pull the hem of your sweater down from where it had ridden up.
Steve has his own look of bewilderment. His honey eyes are aglow with something short of amusement. You’re briefly worried he’s about to mock you until he starts to laugh. “Why are your hands so cold?” he wonders with squinted eyes.
Your stutter hasn’t quite left you. “I— I don’t know. My hands are always cold.”
You curl your fists into the sleeves of your sweater on instinct. If only to hide how they shake for him.
“But that’s like… ice cold,” Steve insists, crooked smile widening. “Like, we live in Antarctica cold.”
Less embarrassed and more playful, you roll your eyes and turn away from him. “Okay…” you mumble under your breath as you sit back down in your chair. Steve can’t stand you being too far away, so he follows you.
“Like, you just got done shoveling snow with your bare hands cold. Like—”
“I get it, Steve. I’m a freak of nature,” you concede, spinning in your swivel chair to face him again.
He’s much closer than you expect him to be. His long legs are all but inches from your knees as he stands before you. You flush but smirk up at him in attempts to keep cool about how fervently he makes you tremble.
“I’m just teasing,” he assures with a pretty laugh.
You already knew that, though. He’s too kind to be mean. He’s a dumbass sometimes, but he always means well.
“Here, look,” he starts, laying your journal back on the counter with a quiet thud. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?”
Your brows pinch. “What do you mean?”
You find out a second later when he turns back to you and takes your hands in his larger ones.
His fingers are long and golden as they curl around your knuckles. His palms aren’t soft, but they aren’t rough either — like they’ve been used, but not too ardently. And he’s warm. He’s oh, so warm.
You tense at the sudden action but relax a second later, melting into him like you’ve always been destined to.
“Oh…”
“Right?” Steve nods with raised brows and quirked lips. “I’m practically a space heater.”
Your heart’s fluttering too aggressively to stutter out an intelligible sentence, so you just nod back at him. “Yeah…”
It makes a little too much sense that the ray of sunlight that always calls you Sunshine feels so golden warm.
Steve gives your hands a squeeze. “See? You’re getting warmer already.”
He doesn’t know it’s because you’re blushing so intensely you feel like your entire body has been set on fire. You’re happy to let him keep on not knowing.
“Thanks, Stevie…” you murmur quietly, gaze trained on your entwined hands.
“Stevie?” he chuckles.
Your eyes dart up to his sparkling ones, and you freeze. You hadn’t meant to call him that. That nickname was usually reserved for your too-elaborate daydreams. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. It just— It just slipped. I’m sorry.”
“No. No, it’s okay,” Steve assures with the shake of his head, giving you another reassuring squeeze. “Seriously. I liked it.”
You exhale a nervous laugh through your nose, ducking your gaze away from his. “You always hate when Robin calls you that…”
“Well, yeah. ‘Cause she’s Robin.”
Your laugh is more genuine this time.
“And it sounds a lot prettier when you say it, anyway.”
He must notice how hard he’s making you blush with how warm your hands have gotten — from frozen solid to fiery hot. But he holds them, anyway. Even when they get all clammy. You want it to mean more than it probably does.
“Yeah?” you press, peering up at him through your lashes.
“Yeah,” he nods like it’s obvious, then gets as sheepish as you a moment later. He tries to act cool through his shyness, tilting his head and shrugging as he smirks. “How about you call me that tonight?”
Your eyes go wide at the unintended insinuation.
His gape matches your own when his own words dawn on him. “I meant at dinner!” he follows quickly. “At Enzo’s. Seven o’clock. You know, if— if you wanna go with me or whatever.”
You do. Most desperately so. In fact, you’re pretty sure you dreamt about it one time. Maybe you’ll tell him that if you’re brave enough — over pasta and breadsticks.
“I don’t have a car,” you confess with a forced laugh. “Or a pretty dress…”
“I can pick you up!” Steve assures immediately, then grows visibly shier. He shifts his weight on his feet but doesn’t try to let go of your hands. It feels too right to hold them. “And, you know, I’m sure you’ll look nice in whatever you decide to wear, sunshine.”
You purse your lips to the side as you nod, lest your beam blinds him and makes your cheeks burst.
“Okay… Enzo’s. Seven o’clock,” you repeat quietly.
“I pick you up,” he says, squeezing your hands.
You squeeze him back. “You pick me up.”
“And we spend an hour eating breadsticks and making fun of all the wine snobs.”
The imagery makes your stomach swirl, a dream so real you can taste it — red wine and garlic and cherry chapstick.
“Sounds like a plan,” you affirm with a sheepish giggle.
He nods, having no idea he’s grinning like a lovesick idiot down at you. “Cool.”
“Cool,” you repeat.
You watch his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. For a fleeting moment, you think he might kiss you. You want him to kiss you. You might melt at his feet if he did, but you need it like you need air.
Ding!
The door chimes at the front of the store.
Autumn air rushes in, leaving you bitterly cold all over again. Or maybe that’s just because Steve’s stepping away from you. Both of you know that Keith will have a fit if a customer complains about PDA.
“Hi! Welcome in! Can I help you find anything?” Steve greets as kindly as always, smiling just the same.
He only says it because he has to say it. He’s secretly hoping for a negative response, just so he can keep on talking to you.
The man in big work boots and a thick canvas jacket squints around the store. He rubs his scruffy face with a hardened hand and turns to Steve. “Yeah, actually,” he says in a gruff, gravely voice. “I was looking for this movie for my wife. It’s her birthday and…”
He rambles on about her favorite movie, a cartoon from her childhood he’s gone two towns over to find. It’s sweet enough to give you butterflies, though it doesn’t match the zoo that erupts in your stomach when Steve turns to look at you again.
He departs from you with a honey gaze. You smile back at him as he goes, watching him intently as he helps the customer with a pretty pink smile.
Your hands are cold again. So much that they ache with you curl them into fists.
You can’t wait for Steve to hold you again tonight. Over a white-clothed table, warm yellow candlelight, and wine-slicked lips.
Enzo’s. Seven o’clock.
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#stranger things x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#stranger things#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#stevie dabble#st drabbles#event: fictober!
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Thank youuuuu for going with my request, loved it soooo much.
Could you maybe do a Daniel x Sunshine set amid Scotty and Chloe’s wedding, and when Chloe throws the bouquet, sunshine catches it, and the entire room looks at Daniel while he blushes.
I saw a reel like this, and i can totally imagine Scotty running up to Daniel and saying “you’re next” lmao😭
So much love~💚
thank you!! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
.
You had never been to Venice before you joined Daniel as his date to his best friend’s wedding.
It was a beautiful city, one that you had seen countless times in videos and pictures and movies. You always imagined it would disappoint if you ever saw it in real life, maybe that was a reason you always held back from visiting in the free time you had between each half of the seasons.
But when Daniel asked you to join him for Scotty’s wedding—someone who you had become close to as well—you had no reason to deny the invitation. And you were glad you did because it was even better than any screen or camera could ever capture.
CLICK!
You turned your head, finding your boyfriend grinning behind his camera as he clicked another picture of your expression before setting it down on the table. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together before pressing a kiss to the back.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Daniel asked, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.
“Just thinking,” you murmured with a smile.
He raised his brows. “Oh, that can’t be good.”
You rolled your eyes but laughed. “It’s just…so romantic here,” you said to him with a shrug. “Like, I know people always go on about Paris but this…this is something else entirely.”
He had a deeply contemplative look on his face. “Would you wanna get married here?”
You blinked, almost like you weren’t expecting the question. “I don’t know, to be honest.”
“Where would you wanna get married?” Daniel asked before he flashed you a sheepish smile. “Hypothetically.”
“Jumping the gun a bit there, Ricciardo,” you mused but there was a smile on your face too.
He just shrugged. “I like envisioning our future. I just wanna know what your version looks like.”
“And it’s a wedding?” you asked.
“Our dream wedding,” he corrected as he placed another kiss along your knuckles. “It’s gonna be everything we want and more.”
“And more?” you teased. “You’re making big promises here.”
“And I intend to fulfil them all,” he retorted playfully, his eyes glancing down to your lips. You had forbidden him from kissing you before pictures in case it ruined your makeup. But those were over now and there was no reason he couldn’t—
“BOUQUET TOSS! C’MON UP, LADIES!”
You barely got a chance to say anything as you felt hands pull you off your seat, only having enough time to give your boyfriend an apologetic smile before you were tugged into the crowd of women in the middle of the dance floor.
You stayed back, happy to just observe as Chloe moved to the front, looking like a goddamn Disney princess as she grinned at the crowd before turning her back to everyone and tossing the bouquet of flowers over her head.
You were surprised when you found them heading straight towards you.
You could hear the cheers of the other wedding guests, clapping and laughing as you glanced down at the flowers in your hands, and then almost instantly your eyes went to Daniel.
He was already staring at you, a wide grin spread across his face. He wiggled his brows playfully which only made you laugh with him, despite the heated flush covering your body at all the attention.
Daniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as Scotty made his way towards him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and giving him a playful shove.
“Guess it’s you next, mate, eh?” Scotty teased.
Though it seems impossible, his grin widened. “Hopefully.”
.
#daniel ricciardo#formula one#f1#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo x y/n#daniel ricciardo fic#daniel ricciardo one shot#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one oneshot#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot
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Made For You
"I've been loved before, but right now in this moment, I feel more and more like I was made for you."
A oneshot based off the song Halley's Comet by Billie Eillish. Was inspired to write this back in February of 2023 thanks to @cillmequick's House Party Event. This has been stewing in my brain for nearly a YEAR and I'm finally writing it! Thank you for the muse and for introducing me to this song, Alex! <3
Pairing: Robert Capa x Reader
Fandom: Sunshine (2007)
Warnings: angst, lots of angst, some fluff?, childhood friends to lovers trope
WC: ~2620
Time always ran different here, beneath the blanket of shattered stars and hollow black sky.
You’d lost track of the hours you’d spent, lost in them, eyes tracing each constellation but mostly lingering in the gaps between them, the blackness that stretched endlessly into the sky. That spanned between you and the other half of your soul, the boy you’d loved and the man you’d lost.
Sixteen months ago, you’d said goodbye as he boarded his plane. Sixteen months ago, you’d watched the shuttle launch on national television, feeling as though a piece of you had been stripped, raw and bleeding, from your chest.
“Someday…” he’d said, when you were barely old enough to understand the concepts of space and time. “… I’ll be up there, and you’ll be down here, and I’ll bring you back one of those stars.”
You’d scoffed, and playfully hit him on the arm. “And just how are you gonna do that?” you’d said.
“I don’t know.” He’d smiled. “But I’ll find a way.”
Sixteen months ago, he’d been sent on a mission to renew the dying sun that plunged the world into a winter so cold, the green of summer turned to a white death, and the waters of the Caribbean nearly froze over.
Shards of ice prickled at the back of your hair, the slight gaps of flushed skin where your scarf and toque left you bare, crystals of snow kissing your cheeks and the cold seeping in past the dampness of your scalp and the down of your parka, but as you shut your eyes, you imagined the snow to be blades of grass. And your fingers, to be digging into the earth instead of the fleece of your mittens.
“You see that star, right next to the Big Dipper?” he said, pointing up at the diamonds in the sky. Propped up on one elbow, the warmth of his arm brushed yours in the cool air of the spring night, the sleeve of his shirt tickling your shoulder, his lashes limned like chalk outlines by the soft sheen of the moon.
You opened your eyes, the low rumble of his voice having practically lulled you to sleep. You didn’t get much sleep in those days, when he was in university obtaining his astrophysics degree and you were working early shifts at your dead-end job, when the innocence of childhood was lost to the bitter realities of the world but you had no idea just how empty you’d one day find yourself to be. You still saw glimpses of this innocence on his face, in the grin that stretched his lips across freckled cheeks and the glint of awe in bright blue eyes. You had no idea how lucky you were just to be able to reach out and touch him, to bear witness to these traces of happiness that were tangible and not hidden behind a screen.
You spent almost every night with him beneath the stars. Dreaming of greater things, of the day when you’d both break free of your cages and return to your innocence, when you’d become greater than your past and he’d change the world. When he’d bring you your star and you’d display it in your glass heart.
“Mhm.” Your eyes followed the tip of his finger to a star that gleamed particularly bright.
“That star died seven-thousand years ago,” he told you. “It’s so far away, we just can’t see it yet.”
You scrunched your face and narrowed your eyes, a smile quirking your lip. “Then how come it’s so bright?” you asked.
His grin softened into an almost sad smile, his hand lowering to the earth and his head turning on his shoulder to lock bright eyes with yours. Your breath hitched in your chest, and for one moment so fleeting you could’ve imagined it, you thought his gaze darted to the parting of your lips.
“Light does not always equate to life,” he told you. And each day onward, you would ponder the mysterious woe laced in a silk tone.
Your warm palm cupped your face, mitten cast aside, the brush of your cold fingers laying a kiss to your tear-streaked lips. Muffling the choked sobs that rose from a chest void of hope and full of shattered dreams and shattered glass.
Here you lay, in your cage, your tomb. Not knowing if you’d ever see him again, not knowing if you’d have the chance to tell him that you’d broken your promise.
“What is it?” His soft voice was laden with worry as you buried your face in the warmth of his chest, and his arms wrapped tentatively around your back.
“It was all a lie,” you sobbed weakly, his shirt damp with your tears. “He broke up with me.”
“Oh,” he said, his thumb tracing small circles along your spine.
You sank into his chest, weighing heavy against him, knees shaking beneath you. He kept you standing, allowing your tired body some respite. Thinking that when you were done crying, he might be able to tell you a story that would tempt you to sleep and you wouldn’t feel the crash of pain against your ribs anymore.
“I’m worthless,” you whispered. “He said so himself, he never wanted me…”
“What?” His reaction was so sudden, so sharp, you nearly flinched, sobs stilling as they rose to your chest. Damp threads of hair clung to his shirt, splintering the blurry visage of his freckled cheeks and dark, messy hair as he pushed you softly back to look him in bright, blue eyes. His palm cupped your jaw, thumbing at your cheekbone as he said,
“You’re not worthless. You’re – “
“No. No.” Shaking your head, your eyes gleamed with pain as you began to plead with your friend. “Promise me, Robbie, that you’ll never fall in love with me, and I promise the same. I hate this… this feeling in my chest, like I can’t breathe, like…” You chuffed out a nervous laugh. “… I don’t know. I just don’t wanna feel this again. I don’t wanna lose you, too.”
Robert had stared back at you, silent for a while, the bright of his eyes fading ever-so-slightly. You wondered, for a moment, what he’d been about to say before you'd cut him off, until he pulled you to his chest and murmured in your ear,
“I promise.”
And each day onward, he would keep his promise, watching through high school as you would try to date dumb boys and lend a shoulder to cry on when you’d denounce each one, and after graduation came and went and he’d break up with his own sweetheart, he’d tell you it was because he wanted to focus on his studies.
How had you been so blind, you thought to yourself. How had you not realised that each relationship you’d sabotaged hadn’t been because of your trust issues, or your self-esteem. It had been because the only guy you’d ever wanted had been right there, letting you sob into his shirt and stare up at the stars with you and tell you about all the things you’d both achieve when you were older.
And now that you were older and wiser, you cursed your foolish heart that bled like the stars across the hollowness of the black sky. Blinking away tears that clung, cold, to your flushed cheeks, you tried to chase away the sobs that echoed through the abyss that stretched from one rib to another.
What a fool you were, to fall in love with nothing but stardust.
You reached a hand up to the stars as if you could pull them down from the sky, let them spill over you in thousands of glittering lights, make a halo of them until they burned away the snow and brought forth a blue-eyed angel from the white fire.
His transmission came to you when the darkness was just beginning to peel away from the dying light over the horizon, when what was left of the sun began to usurp the night, snaking its tendrils of rose-gold through the black canvas sky.
You swore that his hair had grown longer since the last time he’d sent a message, darkly framing the sides of his pale neck. Those blue eyes stared back at you from the artificial light of your phone, stirring something within the hollowness of your chest. Something warm, like hope.
“I… don’t think there’s really any easy way to say this,” he said. Your hope seemed to sink to your stomach.
Robert cupped his hands over his mouth, as if in prayer, and those piercing blue eyes stared back at you for what must have been an eternity, something cruel and malignant weaving tightly in your gut. You longed for that gaze to rest on you again, to be able to reach out and run your fingers through his messy brown locks, to wipe away the tear that beaded on his lower lash. He scarcely cried, always so stoic. That was how you knew that something was truly, dreadfully wrong.
That you’d realised too little, too late, that you were made for him, and him for you.
“There are only a few of us left,” he said, clearing his throat as his hands came down from his chapped lips. “Some miscalculations were made, and at this point, we only have enough oxygen to deliver the payload. It takes exactly eight minutes for light to travel from the sun to the earth, and so… if one day you’re watching the stars and you see the sun rise with a little extra brightness, you’ll know we made it.” He swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat. “But you’ll know that I’m…” His words were breaking now, just like the sobs that wracked your chest.
“… I wish there was an easier way to say this, dear God…” his voice tapered into a mere whisper, and he ran a hand over his face. Blue irises were rimmed by red, fatigue and sadness showing through the cracks. “There’s no easy way to say this to you, of all people.”
Your heart stopped in your chest. You sucked in a breath of frozen air, tickling your burning lungs.
“You know that I’ll be gone,” he said at last. “Only stardust.” His lip quirked into a sad, almost ironic smile, and he said, “I did this for you, Y/N. So that someday, those things we talked about under the stars… someday you’d be able to achieve those things, in a world that isn’t dying.”
He paused again, his emotion clawing its way thick into his throat with the way his words came out so strangulated. “I wanted you to know, I’m sorry for breaking our promise… I’m sorry for falling in love with you, Y/N. But up here… with the stars and the blackness and this… impossibly bleak dread, this knowing for once that anything I do or say won’t matter because everything will be gone, including you… ” He shook his head, inhaling sharply, and your breath caught in your chest. “… I loved you since we were kids, and I never told you and I wish I had. Believe me, I wish I had.”
You wanted to reach out and comfort him, run a finger along his freckled cheek, to pull him into your arms as he had you countless times. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that you’d broken your promise, too, and it was all your fault, really, for not realising sooner that you were made for him. That he shouldn’t blame himself for any of it because it was you who should’ve said something, you who should’ve kissed him that night he boarded his plane.
“So, I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few years,” he said, swallowing hard against his throat as baby blue eyes looked at you with some unexplainable emptiness that you were unable to identify. It was the same look he’d given you so many times before, and yet, despite knowing him better than you knew yourself, you still couldn’t quite put your finger on what the mysterious emotion or reason behind it was.
“Soon,” you corrected him, fighting back tears. Sniffling, from the cold or your own emotions you could tell not. “I’ll be seeing you soon, okay?” You squeezed his arm, if only to ground yourself, to remind yourself in the years to come that he was tangible, that he existed not only in your mind.
He nodded, smile playing sadly at his mouth. “Soon,” he repeated.
You had drawn so close to him that his familiar scent engulfed you, took you away from the bustle of the airport and drowned out all the noise. Your tongue darted to wet your lips as you glanced down at his, a few threads of some strange yearning tugging at the empty of your chest in that moment. You were so close, yet, not enough. This feeling, of needing to be closer, of needing to express your affection in more than words and friendly touch, was foreign to you, and you weren’t sure what to do with it.
For one moment, you thought that you might’ve kissed him.
Cheeks flushing in embarrassment, you chastised yourself. The last thing he needed was for you to complicate things on the last day you’d see each other for so long, and so you pushed the childish notion from your brain and you smiled past your anguish and you bid him farewell.
And each day onward, you felt as though you had left things incomplete, this emptiness spanning wider between each rib, like a black hole that swept away all joy and feeling and semblance of being human.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered into your balled fist, fingers trembling from the cold. You blinked away your tears so you could see him better for the last time, capture his image in your mind before your angel burned his wings for flying too close to the sun.
That sad, ironic smile tugged at the corner of his lip again, and he said, “I always promised I’d bring you a star.”
Your shaking hand tucked your phone back in your pocket as the video ended, and you didn’t even silence your cries as you wept to the heavens, wanting them to hear of your anguish and your loss.
And slowly, after what must have been hours or perhaps minutes, in this plane of altered reality where time ran differently beneath your blanket of stars, your sobs came weaker from your chest, and a warm glow painted the backs of your dark eyelids. The harsh cold had frozen your lashes together, and you blinked, pulling them back to witness the sun’s conquest over the night, the tendrils of pink and orange turning to a fierce gold that you hadn’t seen in years.
You stood, slipping your mitten back over your damp, shaking hand, and trudged, weary and sleepless, through the snow. Your eyes burned, squinting against the swell of the sun, unaccustomed to the brilliance of its lost light. Your heart still clenched, bleeding, shatters of glass falling to the vacuous pit between your ribs, but you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and just look.
Warmth caressed your face, chasing away the bite of the cold, reminding you of spring, of slushy snowball fights with Robert and picking flowers by the local stream.
“Light does not always equate to life,” he'd told you, all those years ago as you'd laid beneath the stars.
And with this pain searing white-hot in your soul and your chest torn empty, and the burning warmth of his confessed love shattering your heart to cold glass, you finally understood.
But despite your pain, it was beautiful.
MASTERLIST • REQUEST
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#robert capa#robert capa x reader#robert capa x you#robert capa imagines#robert capa fanfic#robert capa fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#sunshine 2007#s: made for you
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This is only the first of what I hope will not be too many, but here we go! 🗝 Joel Miller + Country cowbow aesthetic. Because why not?! <3
⋆ 𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖
CountryCowboy!Joel Miller x f!Reader
word count: 1.1k
warnings: soft af, made my heart ache, playful flirting, literally such southern stereotypes written by an English Woman. Dry humping. 18+ ya nasties!
summary: Retired Rodeo-Cowboy Joel Miller settles down on his ranch with his number one fan.
joel masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask |I
“They’re more hassle than they’re worth, y’know?”
A smile pulls at the edges of your mouth the moment his complaints reach your ears. His gruff voice drips with sarcasm, but you keep your eyes on the horses that prance around the paddock. They lift their hooves with synchronised grace, performing a dance as they clopped across the dried soil.
“That may be,” you muse, brushing your palms over the planks of wood that contained the mares. They’re beautiful beasts, their coats shining beneath the sunshine that the rim of your Stetson shields your face from. “But they’re mighty fine.”
The mocking southern accent you respond with has Joel pushing his elbow into your side.
“Hey!” You burst into a fit of giggles, the laughter bubbling from your throat before you’re able to suppress it. When you look up, Joel’s face is flat, that typical ‘Clint Eastwood Stand-off’ vibe that he always emanates, but his eyes betray him. There’s amusement swirling in his deep tan-leather irises.
Joel rests his palms on the wood, too, casting his gaze over the field. He’s handsome like this, you think, the dying gilded sunshine painting his face golden. It’s clearly crawled under his skin, cheeks glowing a subtle pink with sunburn and making the greys of his beard starker amongst the brown. His matching salt and pepper hair is windswept from working all day in the summer breeze.
It’s ridiculous, you think. All these years together, travelling to rodeos and spending most of your time hiding behind your fingers when he wrestled steers, you still felt the butterflies erupt in your stomach when you looked at him. He’d since hung up his bulldogging boots, ‘far too old to be wrangling bullocks’, and had taken up a much quieter life breeding horses for racing.
“You know,” Joel smirks, not bothering to look at you when he teases you, “You’re always talkin’ ‘bout how pretty they are but spend all your time lookin’ at me.”
“Shut up,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away from him and folding your arms across your chest with an indignant huff. The rumbles of a chuckle reach your ears, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.
“It ain’t so bad, you know,” he speaks softly, trying to ease your embarrassment, “It’s nice to know an old man’s still got it.”
You can’t stay mad at him for very long. That southern charm that effortlessly and unknowingly bleeds through each word works its way between your ribs and lassoes your heart with such ease. Again, you find yourself smiling, turning to look at him again. He’s unable to smother the grin that’s threatening to stretch across his lips, the edges of his mouth twitching.
“You’re not an old man,” you promise, reaching your hand across the small space between you. You hook your finger under the metal of his belt buckle and pull him towards you with a grin. He arches a brow at you pointedly, and you shrug with a grin. “Mhm, okay, maybe you’re a little old.”
“Oh yeah?” He smirks, watching you smooth your hands over his hips and waist.
“The kind of old that makes a man even more handsome,” you promise him, unable to look him in the eyes and choosing instead to drag your eyes over the tanned skin that glistens with sweat just beyond the collar of his flannel, “You age like whiskey, Joel.”
“Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort?” He asks, and you can feel his gaze dancing across your face, burning into your mouth and tracing your lips.
“Mhmm…” you hum softly, finally braving his stare and looking up at him. His eyes are dark with a rich need, hungering for your lips on his. “Redbreast.”
He can’t stand it anymore, you think, leaning down suddenly to press his lips to yours. They’re slightly dry from the heat, and you can taste the salt of his sweat. His body heards you against the fence, his work-worn hands dragging over your thighs and hips with a delicious hum that pools arousal between your thighs.
“Joel,” you breathe into his mouth. It comes out a little more desperate than you’d like, a little needier, but Joel doesn’t complain. His hands are hoisting you up, settled just beneath your ass, so your legs wrap around him.
“These fuckin’ jeans,” he huffs, frustrated when he lightly slaps your ass. Again, you’re laughing, knowing he hates them. They hug your figure just right, too tricky to get off in a hurry. “Just gonna have to make do, aren’t I?”
You’re unable to question him, to ask what he means, because he’s immediately grinding his hips against your own in a way that adds just the right amount of pressure to your clit through the seam of your jeans. Fuck, he’s rock hard beneath you, clearly turned on by your ridiculous teasing and the way you melted at the sight of him.
He swallows your moans with heated kisses, tongue dragging against your own. Fuck, his hands are squeezing at the flesh of your ass through the denim, enjoying the handfuls he steals.
It’s deliberate. The slow, heavy arcs of his hips when he grinds into you, focusing all the pressure on your clit with expertise only he could offer. He’d mapped out your body after all these years, the peaks and troughs of your structure memorised like the landscape of his ranch. Joel knew every pleasure point of your body, how to work them to his advantage and to your detriment.
“Fuck,” you whine softly, feeling him smirk into your shared kiss. Leaning your head back, you sigh when he pulls his lips across your jugular, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your pulse.
“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Darlin’?” He questions you, and you answer with a pointed, open-palm slap against his shoulder. He chuckles again, but responds with another heavy drag of his hips.
“Ohfu-“ you choke out, tears welling in your eyes. He just ruins you, just picks you apart and puts you together again so that all you can think about is the throbbing arousal that shoots up your spine.
“You gonna give it to me, Darlin’? Come on, Sugar. Come on,” he whispers to you, that gravelly tone sparking something honey-sweet inside of you. It’s not the lighting crack that he usually produces. No, it pours through you like molasses, slow and rolling and dripping between your thighs. A soft, drawn-out moan of Joel’s name pushes its way from your lips, and he praises you as your thighs squeeze him tight.
“Mhmm, Good Girl,” he hums, planting kisses along your jaw with a grin. “Don’t think I’ll have to work hard to wrangle you into bed, will I?”
He doesn’t.
END
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller the last of us#joel miller one shot#joel miller imagine#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller oneshot#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#tlou smut#joel tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#the last of us fanfic#જ⁀➴ mail: received#✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩#1k+ club
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Detected
Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford
Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader
Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.
Rating: T. Fluff.
Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.
Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.
A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.
This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.
“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”
Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it.
That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.
But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.
So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.
It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.
You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.
Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.
And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.
So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.
When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall.
He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.
Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”
Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”
You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”
This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.
He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”
He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.
“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”
He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”
“You got it, Detective.”
—-
Your pager goes off two hours later.
Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.
You’ve been waiting for the call.
Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.
You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.
The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.
Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.
Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.
And an awed smile spreads across his face.
Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.
“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.
A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.
He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.
“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”
“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”
“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”
It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante.
“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”
“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”
It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.
If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.
He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.
_____
Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.
There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.
_____
Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.
Easy.
You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet.
Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.
Time to get moving while he’s distracted.
_____
Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.
It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.
Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311?
When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….
It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.
Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.
You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.
There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.
But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.
There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.
With five women’s rings on it.
Yahtzee.
You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.
But your instincts are very rarely wrong.
Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.
You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.
No need to panic, you’ve got this.
As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.
He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.
Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.
“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”
Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.
____
True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.
It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services.
They see nothing, and say less.
When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.
Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.
You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders.
But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–
“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.
“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”
“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”
“Where else would you be?”
“I have a home.”
“Do you ever go there?”
He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”
Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”
It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”
“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”
“You went into his house??”
His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”
“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”
“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”
“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”
He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.
You could choose to ignore it.
But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…
And you should back away when he approaches.
But you don't want to.
Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”
As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.
Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.
And you realize that you are.
When you finally don’t have to be.
When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.
“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.
Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”
He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”
There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink.
22C. His standard.
Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.
Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.
And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.
_____
In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.
Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.
There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.
Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.
On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities.
Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.
Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?
____
MASTERLIST
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Dripping in Gold | Chapter 10
synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.
pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader
themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, fluff, angst. kissing, mention of possible abuse. 18+, MDNI
word count: 3.6k
a/n: HERE IT IS!!!! LAST CHAPTER!!!!!! PLOT!!!!!!! thank you all for the support, this has been such a fun series to write <3 xoxoxo
previous chapter | series masterlist
Both of you awake from your fatigue-induced nap a few hours later, the morning sun now bright in the sky. Adjusting in bed, the soreness of your body hits you and you groan in discomfort. The sound is enough to rouse the man next to you as he groggily rubs his eyes.
“Good morning, again,” he laughs softly, reaching down to rub your back.
As his fingertips knead into your skin you lean into his touch, wrapping a leg around his waist under the covers.
“Sore?” he asks, intuitively reading the way you melt under the gentle pressure of his palms against your tight muscles.
“Mhm,” you hum against his chest.
He places a kiss on the top of your head, warm against the heat of your body. “Let me get you cleaned up, yeah? How’s a nice hot shower sound?” he muses idly.
You nod softly in response, not wanting to leave the cocoon of sheets that covers you both but knowing you should eventually get your day started, and having Satoru with you makes the idea much more palatable.
He shifts his weight off the bed, hooking one arm under your knees and the other behind your back to pick you up and bridal carry you to the bathroom. He takes care of everything, gingerly rubbing shampoo into your scalp, attentively rinsing suds off your body, following the trail of water with his lips as he leaves kisses over every inch of you he can find.
When he’s sufficiently cleaned off the physical remnants of the sinful experiences you two shared over the past day, he grabs one of the towels hanging on the back of your door and wraps it around your shoulders.
His tenderness makes your heart swell, the way he so kindly and gently takes care of you without you even having to ask. He knows how to love you silently, how to show his calm adoration towards you in these acts.
The two of you make your way back out to your bed as you sit next to him, leaning against his bare shoulder. He shakes his head, sending droplets flying from his damp hair across the room and onto your face.
A giggle erupts from your lips, the sound bright like windchimes to his ears. “‘Toruuuu,” you whine jokingly as the cold water splashes your skin.
“Sorry,” he blushes, shaking out one more time as you scream through a laugh.
You huff, moving to sit behind him as you pull the towel from your shoulders and place it on his head. Your hands rub it against his hair, Satoru tilting his head back as his eyes flutter closed. Through the warm sun filtering in through the blinds, you silently dry his hair, smiling to yourself at the pure, innocent intimacy of the moment.
When you finish you place a kiss to his forehead, his eyelashes flickering as a grin forms across his face.
Suddenly, a pit forms in your stomach. You’ve been ignoring it, dreading it, running from it for the past day, not wanting to ruin the joy you’ve felt with Satoru. But now it’s here: you have to talk to him.
A sigh leaves your lips, sadness forming across your features. Your eyebrows furrow as your thoughts threaten to spiral.
You can’t lose him again, you can’t. Maybe you shouldn’t talk to him. Maybe you should lie, say you didn’t have feelings for him; but how could you hide it? Things were bad when he was gone, like a dark cloud shadowing everything in your life until he came back, and now you’re supposed to just throw that sunshine away?
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, sensing the shift in your demeanor.
Desperately blinking away the tears that started forming in your eyes as you were lost in thought, you shake your head.
Satoru wraps his arms around you, pulling you next to him. “Hey, it’s okay, talk to me, pretty girl,” he hums.
“I…I can’t,” your voice waivers.
He places a kiss to your cheek, your skin hot in frustration and fear. “Can’t what?” he asks innocently, trying to piece together what could have you so distressed.
This morning had been perfect, he cherished every second he had spent with you back in his life. Had he somehow unknowingly done something wrong, something that hurt you? The idea pained him to think about, tightening his grasp around you as he tried to push it away.
“I can’t lose you again,” you whisper weakly.
“Sweetheart, you won’t-” he starts.
You cut him off before he can continue, knowing that if you don’t say it now you may never get your chance.
“Satoru, I still have feelings for you. You were all I could think about when we were apart, every morning felt heavier, every action more painful, I couldn’t do anything without you.” Tears start spilling over your lashes as you force your way through the words. “I want you back in my life, but…shit…I want it to be you. I want us to be together, and if you can’t do that, then I don’t think I can see you anymore.”
Pausing, you look up at him through glossy eyes, the sight of you making his heart nearly shatter all over again.
Fuck, how could he explain this to you? How could he tell you everything? More importantly, would you still want him if you knew?
His gaze shifts down to his hands in his lap, his knuckles had begun turning white as he clenched them together in stress.
The words he knows he needs to say echo in his mind as he struggles to will himself into saying them. Taking in an uneven breath, he starts, “I’m sorry, but you know that’s not how this works-”
“Bullshit,” you cut him off abruptly, the harshness of your tone making him flinch. “I know that’s what you said last time, but there’s no way you believe that.”
It can’t be true, right? He acts like he loves you, the way he takes care of you, the way he holds you, the way he glows when you’re around him, the way everything in him softens in your presence - that has to be love, right?
He sighs, shoving his hands together to hide the way they’re shaking.
Reaching over towards him, you place a hand on his cheek, tilting his head towards you. His eyes are low, unable to meet yours as they begin to cloud with sorrow.
“Please,” your voice waivers, “just tell me what’s going on. Tell me you love me, or that you don’t, I don’t care, I just need to know. Please, Satoru,” you plead, “please.”
His thoughts are fuzzy, conflicted with his responsibilities and his feelings. He knows you deserve clarity, answers, but is it worth the risk of losing everything? Losing you?
“Okay,” he whispers, unable to raise his voice any further. His gaze finally lifts to yours, his lashes blinking slowly over his glassy irises.
Nervousness builds in his chest as he struggles to find the words to begin.
“Um…I guess I should tell you about my family,” he begins.
–
Ever since Satoru Gojo was born he knew he was special.
His parents used to tell him he would inherit the world, that he can and will have everything he desires. He wanted a new toy? It was bought and delivered that night. A nanny upset him? She was gone the next day. He was hungry? A buffet was prepared with his favorites. Every person who worked at his estate learned to recognize the sounds of his shrill cries, any minor distress a sign that something must be done to please him.
Throughout his childhood all he did was learn, training for the day he would be allowed to take over the family business. Every day was spent with knowledge, his teachers allowing his self-directed nature to lead them through his studies. If he was curious about plants they would stroll through the gardens, showing him which ones were edible and which could be poisonous; if he saw a word he didn’t recognize they would read old texts, working through languages with ease; if he stayed up late enough he would inquire about the stars, learning the development of the universe and the physics of planetary motion.
By the time he was twelve, he fluently spoke ten languages, could easily solve graduate-level mathematics problems, and understood the human psyche in a way that afforded him incredible control of his, and other’s, emotions.
Yet, the one thing he couldn’t seem to shake was his empathy.
Growing up he was never allowed friends, always deemed a needless distraction by his parents. They needed him to be cruel, to take and take and take in order to get what was rightfully his; after all, that was how they had managed to get to where they were. Caring too much about what others thought or felt was an invitation for disaster, one that simply could not be permitted. Besides, there was no reason for Satoru to be near anyone who was so, undeniably, less than him.
But unfortunately, Satoru was kind.
One day, his parents observed him kneeling in the garden as he picked flowers for one of his many nannies, the thorns poking at his skin until small trails of blood ran down his fingers. He presented the bouquet to her with a smile on his face, knowing he had chosen her favorite colors.
The next morning he was called into their office, a room he was rarely allowed into. The high ceilings made the space feel cold, despite the fireplace crackling in the corner.
They told him he was foolish, stupid, for what he did: someone of his stature should never dare bend before anyone, nor present them with such an indecent show of affection. She had already been fired for her indiscretion, and they assured him that he would be punished more severely for the next infraction.
He wiped away the tears spilling down his cheeks, dirt still fresh under his fingernails, as he realized what he had done, that it was his fault. He swore to be better, he promised it to them. However, no matter what they did, his parents could not seem to train him out of this awful habit of caring for people. So, they simply continued firing anyone he seemed to grow close to.
As time went on he grew increasingly forlorn, spending hours wandering through the massive estate alone. His sadness eventually began affecting his studies, so his parents reached a compromise: he could have one peer.
Suguru Geto was introduced to him the next day, the boy from a nearby school who similarly showed intellectual promise, and the pair immediately became close. Satoru had never had someone to be around like this, someone his age with his interests, and he cherished the new relationship they formed. Eventually, he learned to call the boy his friend.
Although Satoru spent most of his time continuing his education, every free moment he had he would spend with Suguru. They grew up together, sharing in the experience of boyhood, one Satoru had long since forgotten.
When he turned 18, his parents informed him that he needed to gain further experience before he would be allowed to inherit the company; after all, he had spent his entire life at the estate, and while he had learned immeasurable knowledge from the library full of texts, he had not yet had the opportunity to see how the world truly functioned.
So, Satoru and Suguru moved out, into their apartment together. Of course it was no problem as his family owned the building, and nearly every building in the city, in addition to the power companies, the car companies, the manufacturing plants, and effectively every other corporation in the area.
While nothing explicitly had their name on it, the Gojo family owned the majority of capital across the country, and they truthfully preferred it that way as it allowed them to work in secrecy. Other, more selfish groups tried to overtake them, but their pride always cut their time short in their desperation to be known, to be recognized. The Gojo family instead valued privacy, security, and trust.
It was for this reason that Satoru was never allowed to marry.
Not only because his family wouldn’t dare to fragment their wealth, but also because no single person could ever be deserving of the being that is Satoru Gojo.
In being born special, he was forced to sacrifice normalcy.
–
These thoughts, these ideals, were ones he had to accept from an early age. Every ounce of affection he felt for anyone was a weakness, a flaw, something that he should rid himself of. As a result, he lived a lonely life, despite the material pleasures he was afforded. The only person who could ever understand him was Suguru, yet even he struggled to connect with Satoru in the way he craved.
So, he chose to fill his life with pleasure anywhere else he could find, the most direct route often leading to sex. He could easily separate his emotions from the actions, never daring to let the cracks of his heart show. He walled up his feelings with rules, assuring himself that so long as he followed his self-imposed commandments he would be okay.
Yet, when he met you, it’s like the foundation started to crumble.
He swore he only spent time with women to fuck them, yet you two didn’t even hook up after your first dinner; he swore that there would be no second dates, yet your car broke down, so of course he had to help you; he swore he wouldn’t get attached, yet he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you every moment you were apart.
He swore to never let things get personal, yet here he is, in your bed, telling you everything.
–
“Satoru?” Your soft voice tethers him back to reality.
His skin feels hot as you wipe away the tears he didn’t even notice were spilling down his cheeks.
“Mhm?” he croaks, his voice hoarse after talking non-stop for what felt like hours as he recounted his life, his struggles, his feelings, to you.
Placing a gentle kiss to his temple, you continue stroking his hair out of his eyes from where it had fallen as he spoke to you. His gaze is still downturned towards his lap, the only place he had been looking as he couldn’t bring himself to face you as he bared his soul.
You reach a hand out to his, holding his shaking palms as your fingers intertwine. “Thank you,” you whisper, “thank you for telling me.”
He nods weakly, trying to stop himself from spiraling: you hate him, you think he’s evil, awful, untrustworthy, unlovable, you never want to see him again, fuck, should he just leave now and save you the trouble of saying it? He ruined it, he ruined everything-
“I love you,” you quietly blurt out.
For a moment, everything in his mind goes quiet.
You…love him?
His eyes flit to your face, meeting your gaze for the first time since he started sharing the story of his life. His lips are parted slightly as he takes in uneven breaths, his cheeks still damp with tears. The sight almost breaks your heart, how fragile he looks, how afraid. You want to throw your arms over his shoulders and hold him but you’re worried the action might cause him to shatter before your eyes.
“Really?” is all he can bring himself to mutter.
“Yes, Satoru,” you hum, the way you say his name so sweetly making his heart race. “I love you.”
And then, his lips are on yours. One of his hands goes to the side of your face, holding you as if to prevent you from slipping away as he kisses you tenderly. You feel the cool wetness of his cheeks against your skin, his lips warm as he leans into you.
“I love you too,” he whispers into your mouth, not daring to separate for even a moment.
He loves you. You love him. For right now, that’s all you need.
–
As your relationship continues to blossom over the next few months, you and Satoru become more and more comfortable with the situation. Of course there are a few growing pains - he stops paying you, obviously, but he still manages to treat you every time you go out. You’ve come to terms with the fact that his family will never know about you, but you’re not sure you’d want to meet them anyways given how they treated Satoru, the emotional turmoil they caused him.
Eventually the two of you move in together, in the same building as his old apartment he shared with Suguru so he doesn’t have to be too far from his best friend, and of course he gets the penthouse unit. As you carry in the boxes of your belongings, you can’t help but realize just how little you own compared to him, but you don’t mind, especially because Satoru spends the next few weeks taking you to new stores everyday, letting you pick out any furniture or decorations that make the space feel like yours. In the back of his mind, he remembers the house where he spent his childhood, one that always made him feel like a guest, and he never wants that for you.
For the first time in your life, things are easy.
Since Satoru’s family owns the building, you don’t have to worry about paying rent (an irony that is not lost on either of you given how you met in the first place). He’s also able to use his money on anything his family deems ‘necessary for his survival,’ and to him the only thing he needs to survive is you, so of course your every wish is taken care of - nice meals, travel, clothes, anything he could think of to spoil you with.
Finally, he feels like he’s using his past, his family, his wealth, for good. Every time he sees you smile he feels like he’s doing good.
But deep down, in the corners of his mind, he knows he can’t continue like this forever, the knowledge of his family one he can’t suppress. Eventually they’ll find out, they’ll cut him off, or worse, they’ll make him cut you off. He can’t go back, he can’t work for them after he’s seen the life he could have with you; so, he starts planning.
On the one year anniversary of the day you officially started dating, the day he confessed everything to you, the day you decided you still love him in spite of his past, he decides it’s time to tell you.
Satoru finds you in your shared bedroom, leaping onto the mattress next to you and wrapping his arms around your body.
“‘Toru,” you giggle, the nickname never failing to make him blush.
“I have a surprise for you, sweetheart,” he smiles, peppering your face with kisses.
When he’s covered every inch of your skin in soft pecks, he rolls off the bed and grabs something from the back of the closet.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his back turned towards you. Covering your eyes with your palms, you patiently wait as he rummages through your shared belongings.
“Aaaaaand open!” he proclaims.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he holds out a piece of paper, a toothy smile plastered across his face.
“It’s…” you trail off, leaning forward and squinting at the small print, “an email?”
Confusion is evident on your face as Satoru waltzes toward the bed, grin never faltering. “It is,” he confirms. “Read it.”
Holding the paper out to you, your eyes quickly scan over the words.
‘New Hire: Satoru Gojo’
‘Welcome to the school!’
‘high school teacher’
‘starting next Monday’
“Satoru…are you…are you going to be a teacher?” you ask quizzically.
“Mhm,” he hums excitedly, now kneeling next to you on the bed.
“I’m happy for you babe, but why?”
“Because…” he trails off, “if I have a job, then…then we don’t need my parent’s money.”
The realization sets in as your eyes meet his.
You open your mouth to speak, but before you can, he continues.
"You’re my everything, and every day I’ve gotten to spend with you has been better than the last. I want to keep loving you, keep being with you, everyday for the rest of our lives. You and I both know that’s not possible with the threat of my family looming over us, so I…I did this.”
His eyes scan your face, desperate to see your response, his heart beating so fast it feels like it might burst out of his chest.
Without you even realizing it, he had wiped the skies clean of the cloud that had been shrouding you for the past year. The threat of his family was like an invisible weight on you, always there, wherever you went. A part of you knew he had to go back, had to return to the evil that tried to ruin him, to make him just like them. But now, he doesn’t - he doesn’t owe them anything, he doesn’t have to be anything or do anything - he just has to be yours.
When you smile up at him, he swears he feels the warmth of the sun.
“I love you,” you murmur, reaching your arms up around his neck before pulling him into a kiss.
“I love you too,” he whispers, “forever.”
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#q writes#dripping in gold#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#satoru x you#satoru x y/n#satoru x reader#jjk#jjk fanfiction#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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dolce vita
something old blurb (not the one yet) i just couldnt resist these pics
word count: 2k, warnings: bad italian translations
---
The lads make their way back into the villa, the loud laughter from the walk having petered out into a comfortable silence as they take in the sounds of the house, vegetables sautéing in the kitchen, conversations from the backyard carrying through the open windows. Harry smiles to himself as he toes his shoes off. A house filled with all the people he loves, how nice is that. He salutes the lads as they all taper off, tripping over his feet as he heads down the hallway too quickly, already on his way to find you.
He feels buoyant, light, free, the day with his mates and the bottles of vino they shared has him feeling warm all over. Conversation flowed amongst the group, reminiscing about their messier days when they were younger and celebrating where they are now, with all the highs and lows that come with it. Being able to be vulnerable with each other, openly expressing their emotions with no judgment and not just having lighthearted conversation for the bants…he can’t really explain what that means to him. It’s something he’s sought out in his male friendships all his life and to finally have it will make him cry if he thinks about it for too long.
He loves his life, he muses, as he ducks his head into random rooms before deciding to check the far office on the right, the Italian wine giving him a nice buzz, giving everything a rose colored hue, softening all its edges, smoothing its curves. He loves Italy, he loves wine, he loves sunshine and heat and - oh.
He stops in the doorway, staring at you lounging out on the office terrace, watching the way you’re hyper focused on your laptop, a furrow between your brows as you rest your knuckles against your lip, eyes moving rapidly on the screen.
He loves you.
He thinks about how earlier the lads were ragging on him, begging him to propose while everyone was still here so they could celebrate the one good decision he ever made. Their words, not his, but he’s inclined to agree. He’ll never know what he did to deserve you, thanking his lucky stars and the fates and all who are listening for whatever compelled him to walk onto the courtyard that night. But he had to respectfully decline his friends’ pleas, refusing to succumb to their peer pressure, needing that moment in a few weeks to be for the two of you and the two of you alone.
He slips into the room and quietly closes the door behind him, feeling like he’s walking on air as he makes his way over to you, leaning against the open terrace doors when he does. He softly clears his throat, a sound that makes your head pop up, eyes lighting up when they lock with his, a smile growing across your face, and his heart skips a beat. He can’t believe you’re looking at him like that. He’s the luckiest bastard alive.
“Good day?” you ask and he nods, taking a few steps towards you and lightly tapping you on the back, and you instantly slide forward on the lounge chair to make space for him, this silent shorthand you have communicated in all your lives, always somehow knowing what the other is thinking, something that just has grown stronger these last few years. He slides in behind you and pulls you back into him, his back against the chair with your back against his chest, his thighs bracketing yours. He leans back a bit, sliding his palms up your back to massage the tension in your shoulders as you type, the groan of appreciation you make causing goosebumps to erupt across his skin.
“That’s nice,” you say softly and he stays right where he is, his thumbs digging into your muscles, reveling in how they start to loosen under his touch, as he listens to your fingers against the keyboard, the sounds of your friends’ laughter out back, but out here, off to the side of the house, it’s just the two of you and the birds chirping in the nearby trees, the crickets starting to make their voices known in the late afternoon heat.
He squeezes your shoulders once more, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your neck, breathing you in, your combination of sunscreen and sweat and peaches, always a hint of peaches though you swear you never use anything scented and he swears it’s how you’ve always smelled, a reason the peach tree in the backyard thrilled him when he first purchased this house. A little piece of you wherever he is, something he knew he needed before he really understood how he felt about you.
“How’s it going?” he mumbles into your skin, planting a kiss on your neck, living for the way your breath catches.
“It’s alright. Had some bullshit to figure out because Suzanne got some deadlines mixed up and was blaming me for reading the applications wrong -”
“Fuck Suzanne.” he says, stomach swooping when you honk out a laugh. He’s always proud when he nails a good line delivery, but never more when he gets you to laugh like that.
“Exactly,” you say with a laugh. “But I think I solved it and I’m almost done.”
“Like the sound of that. My girl needs a break.”
“Well, someone in this house has to put food on the table,” you say and he snorts, quietly watching as you finish sending an email. “This lazy lot.”
“Heeey,” he says, laughing when he hears your giggle. “Y’ know what? For that -”
He leans over, using his free hand to start shutting your laptop before quickly stopping himself.
“Am I going to fuck everything up if I close this?” he asks.
You shake your head. “You may proceed.”
He snaps the laptop shut, waiting for you to place it on the table next to you before leaning back and pulling you with him.
“That’s more like it,” he murmurs into your hair as you relax back into him. He stays quiet after that, letting your work day wash over you as he presses a kiss to your head before settling back against the chair, looking up at the sky.
He slides one hand around your body and down to the hem of your shirt, snaking his palm underneath to lay on your skin, needing to feel you, your warmth, your softness, your smoothness, the feeling of your stomach rising and falling with each breath, feeling the most relaxed and settled that he has in ages.
He tilts his head slightly to look at you, getting mostly a view of your profile from this angle, watching you stare up at the clouds with a soft smile on your face. He could stay here forever, he thinks, your face his favorite thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. The face he always sought out at break when you weren’t put in the same class in year four, the face he turned to right before he got pulled towards the stage with Dermot when he was sixteen, the face he searched for that weekend three years ago, feeling off kilter and on edge, not fully understanding why until he found you. The first face he sees in the morning and the last one he sees before he closes his eyes, the greatest gift he’s ever been given, the greatest friend he’s ever had, the greatest love he’s ever known.
“You’re staring,” you murmur, a knowing smile tugging at your lips.
“Just taking in my favorite view,” he says, snorting when you roll your eyes. You twist in his hold so you're face to face, chest to chest, your hand sliding up his neck and into his hair, his arms wrapping around your waist.
He stares at you for a moment, lips quirking up as he takes you in, the soft smile on your lips, the way you’re looking back at him with such open affection it feels like his heart’s cracked open.
“‘M being serious, you know. I love this face.” he says, his hands coming up to frame your face, thumb slowly rubbing your cheekbone as he takes a deep breath. “‘nd these eyes, the way your right one crinkles more than the left when you’re laughing really hard. ‘nd this smile…’s my favorite smile, feels like it’s just for me.”
“It is,” you say softly and time freezes for a moment, butterflies flying in his stomach because he can wax poetic about you and his feelings for you for days, weeks, years and it still won’t feel like enough and you somehow manage to capture it in a few simple words, words that make him feel like he’s flying, the reminders that you love him, that you’ve always loved him for far longer than he ever deserved.
He knows he’s not subtle about his plans, as secret as he’s trying to keep them, knows you’re starting to see through his pattern of being unable to do anything but tell you things he loves about you whenever you’re alone, tongue practically tripping over his words as he tries to get them out, needs you to know, needs you to understand how much he’s going to mean it when he gets down on one knee, that there will never be anyone else for him, that there never was.
He leans in, nudging his nose against yours before kissing you, slowly, thoroughly, like he’s got all the time in the world, trying to express himself in every way possible. He revels in the way you sigh into his mouth when you open up for him, goosebumps on his neck when he gets a taste of your tongue, sweeter than all the wine he had before, his favorite taste, his favorite kiss, his favorite, his favorite, his favorite.
He slides his hand down your body, refusing to pull his lips from yours for even a second, one hand squeezing the back of your neck before sliding down your back, grabbing a handful of your arse before sliding back up, pushing up the hem of your t shirt to rest there, his other hand rubbing mindless patterns up and down your side, squeezing every so often to get a new sound out of you. He feels drunk on this day and this moment and you, caught up in how good you feel in his hands, how good you taste on his lips, he can’t help it when Italian starts flowing from his lips.
“Mi tesoro”, he mutters against your jaw, pressing kisses in a slow line down your neck, his tongue darting out to taste the skin, feeling you try to catch your breath against him. “Sono pazza di te.”
He hears your light gasp, knows those are phrases you understand, knows you both feel on the precipice of something more, the conversations you had around this time last year soon coming to fruition. He can’t stop mumbling against your skin, spurred on by the way you're squeezing his shoulder, your hand sliding down to rest on his chest, nails digging in when he bites down on your neck.
He makes his way back up your neck, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw before pulling back to look at you, the two of you catching your breath as you smile at each other. He’ll never get tired of seeing the effect he has on you, your slightly swollen lips, your cupid’s bow rubbed raw from his mustache, the way you’re looking back at him, something he wishes he could bottle up forever. He drags his knuckle down the side of your face, heart clenching when your eyes flutter shut at the touch, sliding his finger under your chin to tilt your mouth towards his once again, humming into the kiss. Your hand slides up to hold his face, your thumb occasionally dragging along his cheekbone, holding him so gently he just might melt.
He pulls away slowly, pressing a line of kisses up your cheek before pausing at your temple, arms tightening around you, holding you impossibly closer.
“Mi rendi felice, molto felice. Ti adoro.” he murmurs against your skin, throat clogging with emotion when he says: “Sei l’amore della mia vita.”
He can feel all the air leave you in a rush before you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close, his hand rubbing up and down your back, breathing each other in. You tilt your head to kiss slowly along his jawline, before you whisper in his ear: “And you’re mine.”
Your lips find each other’s once more, holding tight as your lips meet over and over, like you’ve got all the time in the world, the sweep of your tongue making him moan into your mouth, content to stay here forever, on this chair, wrapped up in you, snogging the life out of each other. He’s unable to stop himself from muttering against your mouth, a phrase he knows you won’t know, at least not yet.
“Ti voglio sposare, amore mio. Ti voglio sposare. Amore mio. Amore mio. Amore mio.”
---
rough italian translations:
mi tesoro - my treasure, Sono pazza di te - i'm crazy about you, Mi rendi felice, molto felice. Ti adoro - you make me happy, so happy. I adore you, Sei l’amore della mia vita - you are the love of my life, Ti voglio sposare, amore mio. Ti voglio sposare. Amore mio. Amore mio. Amore mio - i'm going to marry you, my love. I'm going to marry you. My love. My love. my love.
taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,
#something old#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles blurb#havent edited it at all but am posting anyway and logging offf#bye lmk what u think !!!
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Hi, I've been thinking about this today, Tsu'tey with a fem reader. dreamwalker where he has to teach the reader the ways of people, and he obviously hates that, he always teases her about how fragile she is and then she starts teasing him back saying the other warriors are better than him, so tsu'tey without realizing it starts trying to impress her every day :)
Sharp Edges
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a/n: let’s just pretend that tsu’tey and neytiri were never betrothed pls and thank you! also this is so off ask i’m sorry anon 😭 i hope you all enjoy!!
warnings: mentions of animal death, some sensual touching, mentions of bows and arrows, swearing, mentions of death, tell me if i missed anything!!
—-
The two of you were in an undesirable situation, yes? You had long since made your peace with it, and you knew you could be an adult about it.
Having Tsu’tey teach you the way of the people wasn’t the worst thing to happen, but it certainly had its downfalls.
But, you thought he would be mature about it.
You weren’t expecting sunshine and rainbows, but he was a knife. His edge was curved and jagged, and he seemed to point the tip right at your heart. Seemed intent on destroying you, but really he wanted to destroy the people behind you.
The humans, the Sky People, whatever they were.
He hated them, so as a dreamwalker, he hates you.
Each day, he seems intent on handing you a knife and telling you what to do with it, only to laugh when you fall on it.
“Wrong,” he grunts. It seems to be the only word he can say.
“Wrong how?”
“Your form. Raise your arm,” he says, and you follow, the string of the bow becoming taut as well. “Hm. Could be better. But, it would be a shame if that skinny arm of yours broke, yes?” he lets out a dry laugh, eyes drifting from you to the ground.
“Thank you, Tsu’tey. Everyday, you are so kind.”
His eyes meet yours and he smiles, unkindly, more so a sneer. But, regardless of what he thinks, you’ve grown used to his harshness. You may not have had his training, but your skin is steel to his insults and actions.
He seems a little startled when you don’t respond, always so used to you scowling or storming off. But, today, at least, you weren’t going to let him win.
“Let me demonstrate,” he says, and you pretend like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
He shoots the bow easily, makes it look natural. His form was perfect, his aim was perfect, and he turns to you with a cocky look, chin held high.
“I am good, no?”
“I’m not sure,” you feign, watch as his face drops. “What would a weak human like me know of all that?”
“You are funny, Y/N of the Sky People.”
“Besides,” you hum, and you know you’re striking low. Will he really even care what you think of him? But you still want to dig in, feel his flesh give in on your side, even if he feels nothing. “I saw Konve shoot the other day. He is good too, no?”
Tsu’tey scoffs. “Not better than me.”
“Of course,” you hum, but you can see the look in his eyes.
—-
The next morning, you follow the crowd to just outside of Hometree, seeing the crowd gather around something. Someone.
You push your way through the thick crowd, wondering what could possibly have everyone so engrossed?
Then, Tsu’tey sits in front of the crowd, high on his pal’i. He takes the world in one hand and carves it to what he likes. He rules it. Bow held in one hand, the other raised out like he is greeting the world- the universe.
Next to him lies the largest sturmbeest you have ever seen. Your eyes flick from him to the dead animal, until voices start to rise up.
“He hunted it! All alone! Killed it, all alone!”
You gasp and look towards him again, only to find his eyes on you. He smiles, smugly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, hide your smile. He is not as unaffected as he pretends to be.
—-
“Impressive,” you muse when you see him for your regular lesson.
“What?” he asks, but you can tell from by the way his head tilts, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. He just wants to hear you say it.
“Your kill,” you spit, annoyed that he’s playing you like this.
“Oh, nothing,” he says, standing tall with a smug smile.
“You sure?” you smile, like a hunter caught her prey, picking up a practice bow from where it hangs on the tree.
“Sure of what?” he huffs, weary of what you might say.
“Sure it’s not nothing? No reason why you did it? No special occasion, no… special girl?”
“I know no girls.”
“You know me.”
“You do not count.”
You sigh, with and smile, eyes bright as you turn and get into position, ready for him to berate you.
“Whatever you say, Tsu’tey.”
“Fine,” he mutters, before a slow smile creeps onto his face. You ignore it, thinking he has simply come up with a pleasing insult. Tsu’tey has sharp edges, yes, but you have strong walls.
“W-what are you doing?” you gasp, but he simply holds you in place, hands on your hips.
“Sloppy,” he mutters, lips by your ear. “Again.”
“What?” his chin is just above your shoulder, and if he wanted to, if his hands slipped, he could slide them around to press flat against your stomach, hook his chin over his shoulder.
“Your form,” he says, infuriatingly slow, in a low voice, “was sloppy. Again.”
You barely manage to muster up the strength to ignore his warm, big hands, his breath on your cheek, raising yourself back up into the proper form.
He hums, one of his hands splaying across your hip, your waist, the other coming up to run along your arm. Back to his chest, just millimeters away, so tantalizingly close. You won’t pretend to ignore it- Tsu’tey is attractive. A provider. He would be not only a good mate, but a strong father, a talented hunter.
“Better,” he says, hand wrapping around your own, fingers over yours on the bow. He leans back up to your ear, so close you can feel his breath, hear something in his voice. “Shoot,” he bids.
So, you do, let the arrow fly, let it fall and sink into target. Still off, by a few inches, but close enough to where he lets you go. While the arrow falls, maybe he sees you fall too.
—-
Falling for Tsu’tey is an exhausting thing. You think about him too much, not enough- he overwhelms you.
You try your best to tease him like teases you, but while he gets more bold, hands wandering more, you shrink up. Your insults are barely insults. They hold no fire behind them, no emotion other than your flustering.
You feel stupid and foolish, like a teenager with a crush, and he seems only to enjoy. Tsu’tey seems to only enjoy sinking his sharp edges into your skin.
You barely bite back a sigh, cursing yourself for thinking you could have one nice night. It was a hunt festival- you thought he would give it up. At least for one night.
But, no, he had instead inserted himself into your conversation, pulling everyone’s in the groups attention, all while he would smirk at you occasionally.
He is like the eye of your storm, the bane of your existence.
Finally, you manage to slink away from the conversation, into the corner, waiting for the night to be over. You watch as Tsu’tey arm wrestles with some other warriors, staring at you after he wins.
One night, you think to yourself, could I not be free for one night?
Finally, after the fourth round he wins, you give up. You need air. You need space.
The woods provides the perfect cover, a place to hide and gather your thoughts, slink away for just a moment. Maybe you can even rip your foolish crush out of your chest. But then you might have to rip out your entire heart, and you don’t want to die.
Just as you manage to take a seat on a fallen tree trunk, take one, two, three deep breaths, a twig snaps from behind you.
“Fuck!” you shout, whipping around with no weapon in sight, only to see a worse fate.
He looks amused at your fear, your embarrassment, and anger rises in you.
“You will get hurt out here all by yourself, dreamwalker.”
“Then I get hurt,” you mumble, complacent and bored, turning away from him. He stops in his tracks, the sounds of leaves crunching stopping.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? I mean leave me alone, Tsu’tey. I will be fine. And if not, then why do you care?”
He scoffs, and confusion rises in your chest, but you ignore it. You can’t even see his face right now, too scared everything will all come down, and you’ll let him kill you with his sharp edges.
“I put so much effort into courting you the human way, and all you can do is scorn me?”
You swear your heart stops, hope bubbling in your chest like a volcano, threatening to spill over and burn you. That what it feels like, when you’re with him. Like you’re burning from the inside out.
“What?” you breathe, looking of your shoulder. He has no sharp edges right now. Only softness, like sea glass.
“The humans. This is how they court? The- the teasing?” you can tell the word is odd for him, but in this moment, why would you even care about that? Not when the world is in front of you, when Tsu’tey is telling you he was courting you. “I wanted to impress you, the Na’vi way. But- the humans- I did it their way, too.”
You let yourself sink, let yourself stand and fall into him. You only come a step closer, but his hands fly to your waist like he’s scared you’ll run. Like he has to keep you there. Has to keep you with him. You let him. You like it.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
He frowns, fingers twitching into your sides. “Is that not what the humans do?”
“I-” you gasp, overwhelmed by everything, by him, by the feeling of air in your lungs. “No,” you choke out. “That’s not- I thought you hated me?”
“I did,” he hums, unbothered by it. “But then… you spoke about Konve, about how he was better and I- I did not like it. I didn’t even realize I wanted you until I realized I wanted to impress you. I- I would like for more, Y/N. I want more of you.”
It’s odd, to hear so many words come out of his mouth at once, especially so heartfelt, but it makes you sing and burn on the inside and feel like the most precious piece of treasure.
“I want more of you too, Tsu’tey,” you breathe.
And you’ve learned that Tsu’tey will have what he wants, so he places his lips on yours, let’s you fall into him, and you let his sharp edges sink into you.
You let him sink into you, and it hurts, it burns, buts it’s good.
—-
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can I request a grumpy x sunshine trope with tom bennett, where reader is the sunshine one and tom is the grumpy one? thank you so much! I adore your work to death ❤️
midnight rain
Summary: She was sunshine, he was midnight rain.
Where the grumpy flirt next door meets sunshine who knows just how to deal with him.
A/N: Immediately went into the works! I love this trope! The way I immediately jumped right into this and finished it so quickly. The ideas write themselves xx
Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! Reader
Tom noticed her from the first glance. He recognised the lost look in her eyes as she scanned the street with confusion twisting her delicate features. He appreciated the beauty for a second, then his better judgement escaped him and he waved a hand to grab her attention.
“Lost?”
Her head flickered upward and he withheld a chuckle at the doe-eyed look. “What?”
“You lost? You’re wandering about, is all.” Tom noted with a hand, waving the cigarette in his hand as he leaned against the wall.
She felt her face flush, stepping toward the blonde. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find the post office?”
“You’re about a block down.” he gestured to the right far end of the street. His right, that is.
“Thanks.” she smiled, shying away from his upturned smile.
“You new in town?”
“What gave me away?”
His lips turned upward, “Well you don’t talk like you’re from here, for one.”
She mustered a sheepish smile at that, nodding her head.
“Town’s pretty small. Everyone knows everyone. Besides, I’d remember you.”
A laugh escaped her mouth as she titled her head at the remark. “Should’ve seen that coming. Yeah, I’m actually looking for a place. New job, and all.”
“Where at?”
“St Mary’s hospital. I’m a nurse.”
He hummed, “Ah, so I know where to go if I ever get into trouble.”
“Is that a frequent thing?”
“Trouble follows me, it seems.” he mused, a puff of smoke falling from his lips. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“That’s not very nice.” she stated, catching as he raised his eyebrows at her. “Of people. To talk about you like that.”
He shrugged, a knowing look behind his eyes. “What if it’s true?”
“I like to think everyone has a reason for their actions. You can’t make assumptions about a person based on gossip.”
A puff released from his mouth as he regarded the curious woman, intrigued by her optimistic persona. “I suppose. And what do you think?”
“Far too early to assume anything.” she concluded, flickering to meet his eyes. Y/N raised her eyebrows. “What do they call you?”
“Well, I’ve been called many things.” he huffed, extending his hand.
She blinked before accepting the hand, her smaller one engulfed by his. His touch was warm and gentle as he grasped her hand and shook it. “Tom is what I prefer.”
And she smiled, giving her name in return as they forgot to let go.
***
It was a few weeks later when Y/N finally settled into the flat she was able to rent at an affordable price. On her day off, she decided to bake and share the sweets with her new neighbours next door, having seen the young woman living in the house. Making friends in a new place was always difficult, but the young lady looked around her age so it would hopefully be easier with a gesture.
She turned up to their doorstep, gift in hand and knocked gently on the door. Y/N teetered on her feet, anxiously awaiting an answer before the door opened. She wore a smile, expecting the young lady to open the door. To her better surprise, she met a pair of blue eye and that golden blonde hair. Her eyes widened slightly, heart skipping a beat at the proximity of her standing so close to the gentleman. She felt herself pause for a moment before she finally registered that he spoke.
“Hi.” she managed.
“Hello.” he wore that distinct smirk, his eyes creasing slightly. “Back again.”
“Yeah. I-I actually just moved in.” she gestured to the flat next door.
Tom leaned against the doorway. “We’re neighbours, are we? Was that intentional or?”
“No-coincidence. In fact, my uncle recommended it. He used to live ‘round here before he moved for work.”
Tom nodded, glancing at her hands. “What’s that?”
“Oh, I thought you and your family would appreciate some sweets.” she smiled, handing him the plate.
He glanced between her and the plate, inhaling the scent of the chocolate. “You didn’t need an excuse to drop by. You could’ve asked.”
“It wasn’t.” she replied. “I enjoy baking. Besides, I can’t eat it all myself anyway.”
He nodded, “What other sweet things do you do?”
“What do you mean?”
Tom chuckled, “I mean the whole sunshine act. You smile all the time, your nice, and you bake. Is that all the time or are you just sweet with me?”
Y/N furrowed her brows, staring at him. “I guess I’ve always been like this.”
She leaned closer, “And no, it’s not for you. I try to be kind to everyone. To treat people with kindness and receive it back.”
From the huff that escaped his mouth, she studied Tom closer. “What? You don’t believe that?”
“No, because people will screw you over. Every chance. Unless they want something, of course.”
“Not everything is fake. Some people are actually genuine.” she retorted. “Like how you helped me the other day, right?”
“Sure, but that’s not generally how people are.”
“Like how you try to act all suave and closed off?”
“I’m don’t try to put on anything.”
Y/N hummed, “Telling. What do you even do for fun around here?”
“There’s lots to do. I can show you.” he leaned closer.
“And there it is again.” she mused, a smile on her face. She flushed under his stare, flickering away from his handsome smirk. “Do you ever smile or is that smirk permanent?”
His eyes softened, flickering from her eyes to her lips. “You're always blushing all the time...it's almost cute."
"And are you really this smug 24/7?"
"Smug?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm not smug.”
She smiled up at him, “No. You’re just grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy. Not everyone can smile that much. Well, maybe except for you."
She shrugged, "Guess not."
***
Tom had told her he was trouble from the first moment, and while she agreed to some degree that he was mischief incarnate. He had tendencies that meant he lived on impulsive decisions which got him into trouble sometimes, but he mostly meant well. He was a good person with certainly some misguided intentions when it came to priorities.
Although, when it came to her, Tom was a grumpy blessing in disguise. He was a welcome sight at her doorstep after a long shift at the hospital, offering company and relief from her stress. He was always quick witted, managing to bring a smile to her tired self on any occasion, to which she was grateful.
Over coming months, Tom and the Bennett family became a regular part of her life as she became accustomed to their own household. Douglas and Lois came to know her through her regular visits which turned into dinners- not to forget the drop in visits before or after work. While Tom didn’t have regular work, he certainly found himself busy with capturing Y/N’s attention when she wasn’t working at the hospital. Both his dad and sister were fine with the idea, given the young lady managed to keep him out of certain trouble with her around. She was always there with a kind smile that contrasted to Tom’s smug smirk and mischief. His dad had remarked that one morning, they were a sight together.
She was anxiously pacing their doorstep that morning when she had received no answer from the Bennett’s house. Of course, she supposed they could be out, but the entire family rarely left. Tom usually was round this time, and they had agreed last week to meet at the time. The figures in the distance brought her attention to the Bennetts, Tom leading the group. Relief filled her until she saw the grievance evident on Mr Bennett’s face. He and Lois greeted her politely, ushering inside, leaving her and Tom outside.
“What happened?” her hands rested on her waist.
“Police came round yesterday.” he replied, “Sorry ‘bout missing our plan.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. What did you do?”
“What makes you think it was my fault?”
“I can easily ask your dad. He’s just inside.” she tilted her head to the door.
He blinked at her, glancing away as he sighed. “Fine. Something about the other night. I got into somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.”
She shook her head. “Couldn’t find anything else to do while I’m at work?”
“Well, you take all the fun with you, I’m not left with many options.”
“You’ve got to stop this.” she met his blue eyes, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “How’d you get out anyway?”
A smirk grew on his lips and he shrugged as if it were nothing. “Said I’d join up and they were quick to let me out.”
“You what?” she gasped, her voice dropping. “You said you’d join?”
“I’m not actually going to join up, love.” he stared down at her.
She ignored the flush of her face at that nickname from his lips. “Don’t you think they’ll find out?”
“Not if I’m a conscientious objector. They won’t do anything.” Tom stated, as though he had it all thought out.
“Since when have you been a pacifist?” she asked.
“Bout half hour ago.” his nose scrunched, the smirk floating to his lips.
Y/N shook her head, sighing deeply. “What do I do with you?”
His eyes widened slightly, “Well, I hope you keep me ‘round.”
“So long as you stop this. Gonna give me a heart attack if the police catch you again. Alright? No more visits, otherwise.”
Tom raised his hands, floating closer to her. His warm breath hit her face as he hovered over her, whispering sweetly. "I'll do that just because you asked."
***
The next morning, she hurried out of her flat to head to the Bennetts for the day when Tom greeted her on her doorstep. She caught him as his hand let the front door, surprised at his appearance.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I was just-” he stuttered uncharacteristically, “I-uh need to talk to you. Is that alright?”
She blinked at him, nodding. “Of course. Come inside.”
Y/N noticed the tension in the air. Not the comfortable air that usually surrounded them. The content feeling was replaced by an air of the unknown as she awaited Tom’s explanation.
“Is everything alright?” she glanced over his face, recognising the tension between his furrowed brows. His lips formed a tight line, his blue eyes not meeting her’s until- she held her breath, her eyes burning at the realisation hitting her. The guilty expression reflected in his stare as he opened his mouth. She knew within a moment what would fall from his lips before he spoke.
Please don’t
She begged in her mind, repeating it over again.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Y/N felt gutted all the same, hearing it spoken aloud. A ringing sounded in her ears as she stared at him, studying and memorising every part of his face. She still asked him all the same, not wanting to believe it despite the truth of it.
“What?”
"I have to join up."
For once, he was met with silence, which was somehow more unsettling than the barrage of words his dad had for him.
"What changed?" she asked, her quiet voice loud in the silent flat.
Tom looked at her sadly, clasping his hands. "I don't have a choice. Dad won't put me up with them, and I can't stay. Otherwise..."
Tears welled in her eyes at the realisation, pursing her lips in a tight line. "Do you know how long you'll be gone?"
"No."
Y/N nodded, blinking away the tears as her heart beated faster in her chest. Tom clenched his jaw, pulling her into his arms as a sigh escaped his mouth. "You'd better come back."
“I will. I'll try my best. Can't promise you anything, but-"
"I won't accept anything less than a promise." She met his eyes. "People die every day, but you do whatever you need to get back here."
"I can never say no to you, can I?" he smiled, ducking his head to press against her forehead. "I'll do my best not to break it then."
***
News arrived, but it wasn’t what she was expecting that day. It began with word of the HMS Exeter being attacked. 61 soldiers were killed, 24 were injured and the ship was pulling up back to the shore. A knock sounded at her door, shaking her from the trance she was in.
“You hear?” Lois asked, seeing the pallor of the woman’s face.
Y/N nodded, “He’ll be fine, right? It’s Tom.”
“He’s too stubborn. They’ll have to do worse to stop him from comin’ back.”
Two days later, on her walk home from work, her heart skipped a beat at the familiar blonde standing at her door. He smirked upon seeing her widened eyes.
"I brought you a canary." he held up the cage, placing it on the ledge.
She shook her head and leapt into his arms, clutching onto him as a lifeline. Her eyes fell shut as she withheld those tears.
“Don’t do that to me.” she breathed.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered, caressing her head.
Soon enough, she ushered him inside and he discussed all that had happened on the tour. There was a sombre mood that caused her to trip up, recognising the slight change in his demeanour.
“What else happened?”
He flickered to meet her eyes, playing his fingers as they sat on the bed. Tom pursed his lips, shaking off the nerves. “I saw a few mates...they got caught in an explosion. I was the only one to get out unscathed.”
Tom looked up at her from his lowered position on the bed, leaning up on an arm. Her hand darted out to him. “I just-I feel this...guilt.”
“You shouldn’t.” she stated, despite the scoff that he restrained. “You survived. It’s terrible and I’m sorry about your friend. It just means that you need to make the most of what you’ve got.”
His eyes darted down, his voice shaking. “I'm afraid.”
Something shattered in her chest at the fear in his voice. Her hand darted out to push his hair back from his beautiful features, comforting him as he tucked away.
“Dad wants me to go back.”
Her eyes widened, “What’d you tell him?”
“Exactly that...I don’t wanna go back to that. I can’t watch people die. I won’t kill anyone.”
She nodded, listening intently to his words as she felt a part of herself shattering. “Try again. Your dad’s understanding, first. I’ll be here, no matter what you choose. I know you’ll do what’s best.”
"How do you always do that?" he pondered.
She tilted her head, “Do what?"
"Make it easier." Tom sighed, "Everything is...quiet when I'm around you. It's easier with you."
"I'm glad. You could smile more." she chuckled as he tickled her neck.
"Please don't look sad. I can't handle it." Tom pleaded, “Smile for me, so I can remember that image each and every day.”
There is another heartfelt goodbye that evening, and she is left with those same butterflies in her stomach as his touch left.
Two days later on her doorstep is the answer to her question. She held him tighter that day, a whisper of a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. She memorises the corners of his face, the warmth of his touch on her skin. The blue of his eyes and the feeling of his soft hair beneath her fingertips. The goodbye brings tears to her eyes that fall, only to meet his soft caresses as her brushed them away.
She bit her lip, mustering a wistful smile for him. A promise fell from her mouth. "I'll be waiting for you."
***
In the end, she hoped that the pain of the previous occasion would be a once off. Listening to the radio each and every morning was a norm in her flat, however, it became a nerve-wrecking moment when the news arrived. The HMS Exeter had, in fact, been performing a rescue mission of British soldiers from the beach at Dunkirk when an attack killed and injured many.
They were awaiting numbers from the Allied forces in France. Tallies of survivors would be relayed when available. At the moment, they were left with only the question of whether their loved ones would be on the lists of the missing, or the deceased. Over the coming weeks, Lois had watched the spiral in her. The dimming light as she failed to bring that smile to her face with the essence of her light gone.
He was the light to reignite that spark in her. And when Tom Bennett returned on her doorstep, her swept Y/N off her feet. The man refused to prolong the moment any further as he pressed his lips to her’s.
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#tom bennett#tom bennett x reader#ewan mitchell#world on fire#aemond#aemond x reader#tom bennett x you
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LISA YOU DID NOT GIVE ME TIME TO PREPARE FOR THIS!!! However, I already had a few ideas in mind for the next time you opened requests, so:
May I pretty please request a Thorin Oakenshield + gender-neutral reader where the reader is a fairy who comes along on the journey to Erabor because Gandalf thought they needed another magic-user? Reader is a very sweet sunshine who gets along great with all the other party members, but because Thorin doesn’t trust fairies the same way he doesn’t trust elves (because they didn’t assist the dwarves after Erabor fell the first time) he refuses to let them get close to him. However, he does start to get closer to them and develop feelings for them as time goes on, but after the Battle of the Five Armies (where everyone lives, obviously) they can’t find the reader for a while and Thorin is terrified they might be dead. And when they finally find them relatively unharmed Thorin freaks out and confesses his love because he doesn’t want to lose them, and then there’s a very nice fluffy ending??
Of course, if you don’t want to write this, that’s totally cool!! Thanks and I hope you’re doing well!! <3 <3
YESSSS i am ascending to a higher plane thank you for this SUBLIME request
masterlist
The water is wide, the mountains high; no journey worth taking was ever meant to be easy, so you may assume from the first few treacherous days of your travels towards the Lonely Mountain that this quest of yours will be quite worthy indeed. It is not in your nature to spend much time musing on the unhappiness of a time, only to find its merits, but, well, there are far more sources of unhappiness than happiness on this particular journey.
It would not be too much of a leap for even your optimism to be brought down a notch or two, to say the least. Already, your smiles are lacking a little at the seams; your jokes, not among your finest work. Patience is stretched thin amongst the company, and the shadow of Erebor is no closer to the tips of your boots than the Shire far behind you.
The Shire was not your home, though, only the starting point. The last member of the company was Bilbo Baggins, your burglar, and he took quite a bit of convincing before he was willing to set a single foot beyond the familiar confines of his home. You’re not sure he was wrong to question the idea of the quest, though, nor if he regrets it already or not. Danger dogs your heels like a bloodhound, plus the rest of the company is nothing like any of the hobbits Bilbo has ever met.
Bilbo Baggins would not be the only one confused by his company, however. As a faerie, you’ve had the opportunity to travel far past the bounds of your city, to meet characters both kind and cruel. The Fae cluster in settlements like elves, but they disperse themselves to the winds, too. Most of you end up tossed to the whims of Fate soon enough, anyway. This was your chance to get to know the world you inhabit, and it appears you’ll get far more of a tasting of it than you ever expected.
It’s not terrible. That should go without saying. You are not unhappy that you are here, nor bitter that you signed the contract to join the company of Thorin Oakenshield when you could have stayed at home to rot. It is a good cause, this, and it will bring you both glory and treasure, should you want it.
The biggest problem, if you were going to be completely honest with yourself, would be that dwarf tasked with managing all of you, Thorin. You get along splendidly with all of the other dwarves, and Gandalf has been a friend of yours ever since you wowed him with a particularly ingenious magic trick when you were small, but for some reason you have never been able to win over Thorin himself.
That is not for lack of trying, not in the slightest. Gandalf was the one who requested that you join the company, certain that having another magic user on their side would not be the worst thing in the world as you passed through dangerous territory and had to take on a dragon later on. You showed up to meet the company with the best and purest of intentions, but Thorin seemed unable to accept the fact that you really wanted to help.
In truth, you don’t think he wanted to accept it. Thorin is displeased with the faeries the same way he’ll never forgive the elves, for the same reasons he’ll glare icily at humans. When Thorin’s kin fell along with Erebor, the faeries didn’t help. Thorin begged for aid, but the faeries did not respond. You’ll never fully know why, nor were you personally responsible for the betrayal, but that does not stop Thorin from treating as if you were the linchpin keeping support from his people.
It doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t have to matter. Thorin’s personal feelings are not why you signed onto this quest. You joined because an old friend asked, and because the idea of helping to liberate the dwarves’ homeland from a dragon seemed like a good thing to do and a fascinating way to pass the time. Faeries don’t take things seriously. They never have.
So, you let your caution with Thorin fly away from you on an eagle’s strong wings, and you throw yourself into helping whenever you can. Gandalf is pulled away from the company soon enough for a myriad of causes, and even Thorin can admit that your magical skills come in handy soon enough. You save all of their lives dozens of times over, and you find real friendship in the company while you’re at it. Nothing a little optimism can’t handle.
Some of the nights get long, though, and the warmth of a covert campfire can only keep your tired frame from shivering for so many hours. They say the bones of the Fae are hewn from diamonds, your blood, the eternal nectar of the gods, but at this moment, you want only the mysticism and riches of a good meal and clothes that actually protect you against the chill. The mountains only get colder as you travel through them, and you don’t think you’ll be able to shake the prick of gooseflesh for decades if not centuries.
You’re on watch at the moment, scanning the dark horizon around you for monsters or orcs while the rest of the company rests. You’ll have another hour or two before you have to wake the next guardian– Bilbo, actually, who’s still snoring with the rest– so you should have plenty of time to yourself until then.
You should, at least. You don’t, because someone here is still awake. You had cast a spell on yourself to amplify sound and sight at the start of your watch so you could spot intruders that much more quickly, which is why you’re aware of one heartbeat other than your own that isn’t in the lull of sleep. When you tilt your head to the side just enough, you can make out someone staring in your peripheral vision.
Thorin. Who else? At first, you feel a rush of indignation bubble through your veins. There’s no reason for him to be awake on a night like this. Everyone is exhausted from weeks of hard travel, but he’s forced himself to forgo rest so he can make sure you are actually doing your job. After all this time, he still doesn’t trust you to do watch properly. It’s infuriating.
Sick of pretending like you don’t notice, you turn abruptly to stare him dead in the eyes. You expect Thorin to do something: address you, maybe, or do something to acknowledge that he’s been caught, but instead he just holds your gaze coolly for a moment longer before turning on his other side. Half an hour later, he’s asleep.
Heroes. You’ll never understand them. The Fae are not the stuff of legends; your people prefer to linger in shadows and sunlight both, existing for themselves and for the glory of magic. Heroes, quest-leaders, warriors, they were never someone you grew up with. They have different motives, ones you don’t understand. They think they need to watch your back just because it’s the right thing to do. It confuses you, makes you believe things that might not be true. You don’t need someone like Thorin messing with your head right now, but he seems perfectly content to do it anyway.
The rest of the night passes without issue. You finish your watch shift without anything impactful, and rouse a deeply annoyed Bilbo to take over after you. Thorin doesn’t trouble you again, and indeed, the next day he seems perfectly content to act as if nothing had ever happened.
No self-respecting faerie would ever let themselves drop a grudge, though, so you manufacture a way of bringing it up before long. The company disperses in a long line, the slower ones trailing behind while Thorin keeps up the charge at the front. You make your way up to him, waiting until everyone else behind you is sufficiently far away so as to not hear a word of the inevitable quarrel, then cast Thorin one sidelong glance.
“Would you like to tell me why you’ve been watching me?”
Thorin actually stumbles while he’s walking, but manages to right himself just in time. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
You weren’t expecting him to outright deny it. This past night hasn’t been the only time you’ve caught his eyes on you. It has happened from the very start of the quest, actually. At first, his gaze was pinned to you like a wanted poster, full of judgment and suspicion. Recently, the hostility has gone down, but that doesn’t make him any less willing to look away. His gaze chases your heels as you clamber over rocks, lingers on your fingers as you fight. All this, and he still wants to act as if nothing has happened.
You scoff. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Let’s discuss last night, then. You keep staying awake during my watch. Why? Do you really trust me that little?”
Thorin shakes his head, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the horizon. “I do trust you.”
This does actually come as a surprise. He hasn’t been able to admit it aloud, likely because that would contradict his whole idea that faeries are selfish creatures who left his people to die in the fall of Erebor, but apparently he’s made an exception for you.
“Then why not let me conduct my watch in peace?” You pry.
Thorin jerks a shoulder up and down once, a taut and tense version of a shrug. “I don’t want any lapse in judgment to injure the people I care about.”
You feel your relatively good mood drop. Thorin lashes out often, most frequently when he’s sure he’s only leading his company towards their imminent destruction, so you shouldn’t take it personally. Kind of hard not to, though.
“So you think I’m blind to attackers and I’ll get everyone killed, is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I’m just worried that there are things out there worse than one of your spells,” Thorin argues, but he doesn’t sound too convincing anymore.
You shove your hands into the pockets on your coat. “You know, I just don’t get it. If you’re this opposed to faeries, why did you ever let Gandalf convince you to let me join your company?”
“I didn’t want to at the start,” Thorin begrudgingly admits, “but that was at the start, like I said. Things are different now.” He pauses, voice heavy with secrets as of yet left unsaid, then adds, “We’re different.”
You think this might be the most honest thing he’s ever shared with you. It makes you feel– a lot, actually. It makes you feel things you have not considered until now. Thorin does trust you and he does have reasons he wants to keep you around. In fact, he might even be counting you among the people he cares about and wants to protect.
You don’t have much time to think about it, not on the road and not even after you reach Erebor and immediately have to contend with an infuriated dragon. Thorin shows you the place after you have a moment of relative peace, pointing out the details his ancestors built into a home that has not been his in quite some time. It is as if he wants you to remember all of it. It is as if he wants it to be yours as well.
Peace does not last forever, it never does. One day, you’re exploring every room and corridor of Thorin’s home beneath the Lonely Mountain, the next, you’re watching army after army pour over the surrounding hills. No one likes power when it isn’t theirs. The thought that Thorin might finally have claim to his ancestral land wasn’t well favored by anyone in the vicinity, apparently.
That only means that you’ll have to fight twice as hard to keep Erebor in the hands of your friends. Even when the elves ride up to your doorstep with the humans, even when the orcs arrive out of nowhere, you stay and fight. Always. That’s what you do for the people you care about.
Thorin had asked once if you were going to leave. He’d posed the question slowly, hesitantly, eyes on any other object in the room except you, but you’d still had the perfect view of the relief on his face when you told him you would stay until it was done. There was still an open question of what you would do when it was over, but surviving a battle of this magnitude was the first crisis to deal with. Anything else could happen later, once everyone made it through alive.
That alone seemed like an impossible task, and by all accounts, it should have been. Never before in your life have you cast so many spells of such strength, saving the lives of your friends and ending those of your enemies all in turn. When it is over, you are covered in blood and ash, utterly exhausted, and injured, but your heart beats, at least, and that is enough.
You were separated from the rest of Thorin’s company during the progress of the battle, drawn out to find the best vantage point from which you could cast your spells. At first, you were going for long distance attacks, lobbing fireballs and extensive charges from a crumbling rooftop, but orcs quickly descended upon you and you were forced to resort to closer quarter magic instead.
Perhaps that is why they thought you were dead. When they could no longer see your spells from across the battlefield, there was no way to tell for sure if you were still alive. You were far away from them, fighting off the last of the enemy, and you didn’t find them for a while.
More specifically, they didn’t find you for a while. Later, you hear that Thorin had been in a sort of frantic haze, going over every rock and stone in his path in an all consuming quest to find you. You weren’t with Fili and Kili, who were immediately folded into the search party, nor were you alongside the other dwarfs. Bard had not seen you. Neither had some of the elves. By all accounts, you were gone. Vanished from sight.
That was the one thing Thorin wanted to hear the least. A body is something you can handle, a final decision. If he could not see you, he assumed you were either dead or about to be, and only his actions could save you. He would run himself ragged trying to find you and stop your death before it happened. He would have forced all the orcs in the land back to the fiery hellhole they came from, fought every monster and defeated every enemy, if it would have stopped a sword from piercing your heart.
And so, when he finally stumbled over a rocky outcropping and saw you calmly casting a spell of healing on one of his cousin’s soldiers. You had turned upon hearing him approach, and the last of Thorin’s terrors left him in one fell swoop. You were alright. He was alright. Everything, although damaged and broken and wholly consumed with ash and blood, would somehow end up okay.
Not much was said. Both of you lacked the words. Too many friends had been lost, not enough saved. Erebor would be protected, though. You swore that oath at the start, back when you joined the company for the first time, and you promise it again now. The Fae will have to wait a little longer to welcome you back. You would like to stick around a for a while.
requested by @starlit-epiphany, i hope you enjoy!
tolkien taglist: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes, @crazyhearttragedy
#thorin oakenshield#thorin oakenshield imagines#thorin oakenshield x reader#thorin oakenshield oneshot#the hobbit#the hobbit imagines#the hobbit x reader#the hobbit oneshot#tolkien#tolkien imagines#tolkien oneshot#the hobbit thorin#the hobbit thorin imagines#the hobbit thorin x reader#the hobbit thorin oneshot#thorin#thorin imagines#thorin x reader#thorin oneshot
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𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Hi!! So I've seen your account recently and I really would like you to write jatp luke Patterson x reader, when the Reader is always so goofy and childish. So they are sick like they have a very bad fever, and they are very weak and Luke takes care of them, and maybe sings a lullaby to help them sleep by singing to them and rocking them please.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): um cussing mostly, and fluff
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 985
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Luke Patterson x fem!Reader
𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! This is my shortest story omg. I am fully recovered from having the flu this past week, so I’m trying to get back into my writing, but it’s still a slow process for me, because I was really drained of energy for a week, so be patience with me lovelies. ♡
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
“Y/n, I know you’re in there!” Rapid thuds against your window can be heard. The loudness that vibrates through the window shook through your body. You pull the duvet over your head to hopefully muffle the sounds of your annoying friend.
“Come on, let me in!”
“Goaway.” You muffle yelled. Though to your annoyance, it simply slipped your mind that Luke has the ability to poof in and out of places. Perks of being a ghost. “No. I wanna be at peace!” You whine as you sense his presence before you.
“Hello to you too, sunshine.”
“Goaway.” Your voice muffled under your blanket.
“Can’t do that. Julie specifically told me to come and help you around the house since she’s at school.”
“Why!” You kick out the duvet off you. Moving around frantically, part tantrum. “I don’t need a ghost. I need a goddamn miracle-“ You stop feeling clogged up air in your chest causing you to cough. “God I hate being sick.”
“Do you need anything?” Luke walked over, pressing the back of his hand against your warm tempered forehead. “No fever.”
“I just wanna sleep honestly.” You sigh heavily. Turning your head to meet his eyes. “I have this massive migraine that I’ve been trying to cure with ibuprofen for the last couple days, but I stopped because I’m scared of growing an addiction.” You muster a grin, finding the bit hilarious. “Then there’s my congested nose, trying to breathe has been a bitch. I keep waking up in the middle of the night in coughing fits because my lungs can’t get any air.”
“You gotta tell your lungs to work man!”
“I’m trying!” You laugh, heaving a slight bit then feeling the urge to cough again. “This sucks. I don’t even know how I got sick. It’s like all my energy just got drained right out of me. It’s ruined my whole week.” You let your arms fall in defeat by your sides. “I’m sorry, Luke. I know I said I’d be there for the band’s rehearsals but— I barely have the energy to get out of bed these days.” A faint smile paints your face.
“Hey, don’t sweat it okay. Rehearsals will still be there for you to watch after you get better alright? Besides, we can always record what you’ve missed.” Luke sat on the edge next to you. His comfort dissolves the aches and pain that run through your entire system. The mere thought of knowing someone wanting to look after you, gave you hope for a full recovery sooner rather than later. “Though you’re not missing much honestly.”
“Only my social life.” You dismissed passively. “Can’t believe I’m stuck here and you guys are making music. Unfair.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better-” He pointed at your side, activating your flight or fight response. You laughed moving away from his hands, never one to enjoy being tickled. “We’re not really having much luck with coming up with new songs.”
“Now that I found it hard to believe.”
“No seriously, it’s like we ran out of inspiration.”
“Oh come on! You guys seriously haven’t written anything while I’ve been at home sick?”
Luke shrugged. “We’re all missing our muse…” He reached forward to boop you on the nose.
“Please, I’m no muse.” You half heartedly laugh.
“Maybe not the guys, but definitely mine.” He nodded surely.
“Well then, I’m honored.” You reach forward and take a hold of his hand. Twiddling with his fingers. Intertwining and untwining your hand with his. “Any chance I can hear something?” You batted your eyes playfully. A pout full on display. “Would you sing for a poor sick girl?” You force a cough out of your mouth. “A sneak peek of what’s to come?”
“You sure know how to persuade a guy.” Luke smirked.
“What can I say–“ You cough again. “I’m pretty convincing.” Your eyes crinkle, a sleepy haze falls over your tired form.
“Alright sleepy head, I’ll give you something.” He brought his hand up to lightly brush away some flyaway hairs from your eyes. His touch softly lingering. Soothing the slight ache that didn’t want to go away.
“What’s it–“ You yawn big. “called?”
“Well, Julie, the guys, and I haven’t really settled on a name yet, but I think we’re inching closer with Those Eyes.”
“It sounds nice…” You adjust yourself into the bed. Bring the covers up to your chest. The thing about having the flu was that you had the tendency to get shivers here and there, other times hot spells causing you to kick off the covers. A continuous back and forth situation. Right now you were just simply feeling cold.
“It does. It’s a little slower than any of our other songs, but I think it’ll be a nice touch to the album.”
“Let’s hear it, rockstar.” You hummed. Placing your hands flat over your covered stomach.
“Give me a second.” Luke scoffed humorously. He began making a rhythmic beat on his jean clad thigh, head slowly bobbing as he tried to find his pitch. He took a deep breath and began singing.
“Cause all of the small…things that you do…are what remind me why I fell for you...” His smile grew seeing you start to slip into a deep slumber. Your breathing evening out and becoming slower. He leaned forward, letting his hands caress the side of your cheek gently. His heart fluttering as you subconsciously leaned into his touch. “and when we're apart, and I'm missing you. I close my eyes and all I see is you...and the small things you do.” He leaned back and watched you sleep. His favorite pastime, knowing you were getting rest, and at peace in the comfort of your bedroom. “Sweet dreams, peaches.” Then he was gone in a poof. Silence filling the space, and your sleep unbothered.
#luke patterson#luke patterson imagines#luke patterson x reader#luke patterson imagine#luke patterson x fem!reader#jatp luke patterson#my gif#writings by juls
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