#I had more jokes walking around in my brain

[mochiwrites]

When Grian enters the doorway of Scar’s base, he finds the man digging around in his chests, mumbling to himself. It’s a sight he’s walked in on multiple times before in the past, a scene that settles in Grian’s chest and leaves a sense of domesticity blanketing him. He watches for a few moments, if only to exist in the same space as the man he’s so terribly missed. Everyone had been gathered at spawn for the grand reveal of the object that’d allow for them to keep their inventories, and Grian had been so focused on it that he didn’t have the opportunity to give Scar a proper hello.

Hence why when the group split off to prep themselves for what will most certainly be a grueling fight with the ender dragon, Grian’s first stop is Scar. He himself doesn’t need to do that much prepping, already loaded with food, a water bucket, and a bow. He’s got a few potions on hand as well.

So in the doorway he stands, watching Scar with a pleased smile. His wings twitch behind him, wanting to wrap the man up in warm feathers and drag him back to his nest for some long overdue snuggles. Later, he reminds his bird brain. Instead, he allows himself a soft trill, the sound instantly making Scar pause in his movements.

Lifting his head up and turning around, forest green meets chocolate brown, and Scar’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d get a little visit from my favorite bird,” he muses, prompting Grian to enter his base.

“Sorry for the wait then,” Grian returns, coming over to him. He checks Scar over, nodding in approval when he sees him fully decked out in diamond armor. If they had more time he might’ve been able to help Scar with enchantments, if only to keep him a bit more protected. But this is just as good—certainly an upgrade from the iron helmet.

Fully aware of Grian’s staring, Scar’s grin turns into a sly smirk. “Like what you see?” he hums, flexing an arm.

Grian laughs at him, moving to brush his hands over the shoulders of Scar’s chest plate. “It’s adequate.” It’s his turn to grin as he revives the old joke, earning a pout from Scar.

“Never gonna let me live that down, huh?” Scar murmurs, chuckling. “Should I shine it then? Make it really sparkle,” the vex hums in thought.

Pretending to think about it, Grian tilts his head. “Hm, it’s already plenty shiny. Any shinier and I might get distracted during the fight.” His hands drop down to Scar’s chest, remaining there.

Scar looks at him, still pouting. “You mean the handsome man wearing the armor won’t distract you?” There’s almost an edge of a whine in his voice as he replies, one that amuses Grian greatly.

“Oh he will,” he returns, wings curling around them, keeping them both in a feathery shield. “It’s been a while since he’s been around to distract me.” There’s a twinge of raw honesty in what Grian says, the ache of yearning sitting in his chest as he looks up at Scar.

A warm palm settles against Grian’s cheek, thumb running over his skin. Scar’s expression softens, eyes filling with the same yearning, the same depth of affection. “I guess we’ll be even then,” he speaks quietly, “because there’s a certain pretty bird that happens to be very distracting for me.”

Grian preens, a pleased coo sounding from him. He leans up to bump their noses together, pressing his forehead right against Scar’s. Scar chuckles, his other arm finding a place around his waist to pull Grian in closer. “We’re both going to end up being late to meet back up with the others,” Grian idly points out, although he makes no effort to pull away or move.

“I think making them wait an extra minute or two won’t hurt.” Scar smiles devilishly in that way of his that makes Grian huff. “Besides, you were the one who came to see me! Didn’t even give me the chance to pop in on you.” He’s teasing. “Did you miss me that much, G?”

Yes. “No,” Grian denies, “I wanted to make sure you had proper gear.”

Scar hums, though he doesn’t appear to believe Grian’s little fib a single bit. “‘course I do! I had a whole stack of diamonds just sitting around collecting dust.” He gives Grian’s waist a loving squeeze. “It’s a miracle I didn’t die while trying to make this armor.”

Grian laughs at that with a fond shake of his head. “There’s still time,” he jokes, earning a beautiful laugh from the man, one that makes his heart soar. His hand tangles itself in Scar’s hair to tug him down, and Scar is more than happy to follow through. Their lips press together in a warm kiss, one they’ve both been waiting for since Grian stood in his doorway. Grian’s body relaxes at the feeling of Scar’s lips on his own, moving in a rhythm that leaks with affection and longing. Scar is warm and soft but still so familiar and comforting; for a moment Grian thinks that all of the frustration of this world might’ve been worth it if he got to kiss Scar like this. It feels like waking up together, like crafting side by side, like falling against one another after a long exhausting day.

It feels like home.

A muffled bird noise spills from Grian’s throat, probably one of contentment that makes Scar laugh against his lips.

“I missed you too, G,” Scar sweetly confesses, pulling back just enough to look at him. Their breaths mix together, foreheads still touching.

Knowing that he never bothered to hide his true reason for coming to Scar, Grian looks up at him with a pout. “Next time you decide to take an extended mining trip, I’m coming with you,” he decides, because weeks without Scar while surrounded by endless sources of frustration was, simply put, hell. Having the rest of his flock nearby made it a little bit easier, but it did little to lessen the yearning. “The nest was too cold,” Grian quietly admits, voice just slightly above a whisper.

If possible, Scar’s expression only softens further, and he’s kissing Grian again. “Well we can’t have a cold nest, can we?” he hums, looking at Grian with a smile. “It’s against avian law, after all!”

Grian snorts with laughter, moving to pull Scar into a hug. “I don’t think the Poe Poe would be very happy about you breaking avian law.”

Scar tucks Grian against him, pressing his lips to the avian’s head. “A cold nest is more than enough to make me a wanted criminal!” he cries.

“Guess the only way to fix that is a warm nest and morning cuddles.”

“An amayzin’ idea there, G.”

“Oi!” Joel sticks his head into the doorway of Scar’s base. His sudden appearance startles the two, making Grian’s feathers fluff up when he looks over at Joel. “Quit your snogging and let’s go fight the dragon already!” he exclaims, impatience lacing his words. Turning around, he calls out, “You owe me five diamonds Jim!”

Jimmy yells something in reply, but Grian doesn’t care to hear it. He looks back at Scar, who’s snickering. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Scar wildly grins, “Let’s go show this dragon who’s boss.”

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (11/?)

Little snapshot on vulnerability and such.

I have been kinda tired lately :,) In the meantime, I appreciate the Starscream asks that I will definitely get to!! I have been rotating them low-poly style in my brain because I have scenarios I'm thinking about, but words are not Wording :,) Thank you for your patience <3

------

You immediately knew you’d walked in on something not meant for your optics.

Three sets of wings spanned your field of vision - Thundercracker's flare of protective blue, Skywarp's agitated flutter of black and purple, and between them, Starscream sat hunched in on himself, his usually proud, white wings sagging in uncharacteristic defeat. If not for his trinemates, you'd not have recognized him based on his defeated frame, from the sheer anguish that emanated off his EM field. Your sensors slowly tried to process the scene before you as Thundercracker rubbed soothing circles over Starscream's back. The murmur of Vosian slowly reached your audials - Skywarp, cupping his faceplate, was trying to make him smile with silly jokes, the cadence of his higher voice overlapping with Thundercracker’s low, melodious tones of murmured comfort.

Starscream was trembling. You watched, frozen, as he scrubbed angrily at his faceplate and his servos came away stained with coolant. For a few kliks, you’re rooted to the spot, seized with panic. Starscream had never allowed himself to appear vulnerable in front of you - and it’s with immense guilt that you realize you’d been dependent on his show of confidence all along. It helped you stay grounded, reassured that as long as he was here, everything would be alright in the end.

Now, it was all too clear that that's all it was - a show.

You're a klik away from rushing to his side, unable to bear seeing him so distraught, when Thundercracker glances up, sees you, and shakes his helm.

You stop in your tracks, caught off guard. The question is clear on your faceplate, but Thundercracker shakes his helm again and lightly inclines it towards the door.

"Later," He mouths at you.

Hopelessness is the feeling that floods your sensors next. While you know that some matters are best dealt with by his trine, you can't help but feel that the real reason Thundercracker had gently shooed you out of the room was that... Starscream didn't want you to see him this way.

Not one to disobey orders, though, you glumly make yourself scarce. For now, it even might bring Starscream some peace of mind to think you weren't even on base to witness the true depths of his despair. So, in order to make the story more convincing, you reluctantly exile yourself in the direction of training.

When you return a few joors later, it's to the sounds of suspicious normalcy. You can hear the Elite Trine bickering over aerial strategies even before you set foot in the door. It slides open to reveal all three of them crammed on Starscream's berth, which is clearly too small to hold all three of them comfortably. Yet, despite the availability of empty chairs, neither of them makes any attempt to move. Starscream glances up when you let yourself in (you stop short. Are those glasses he's wearing?), taking a moment to appraise you from helm to pede, your chassis still heaving and plates hot with exertion. Wordlessly, he beckons you over, passing his datapad to Thundercracker before his servo curls gently around your arm to hold you in place, the other delicately picking out errant leaves that had wedged themselves into the seams of your plates.

You take the chance to study his faceplate (so he is wearing glasses!!!). Placid, save for the slight displeasure that pulls at the corners of his intake when he thumbs lightly over a couple of new scratches in your paint. In other words, he looks... disturbingly normal. Had you not walked in earlier, you would not have suspected a thing.

You're questioning whether or not you imagined the whole thing when he releases you with a curt nod, satisfied. "Washracks. Go."

You stumble back, unmoored by the sudden cold when his servos leave your frame.

"Yes, sir," You mutter, still trying to get your bearings even as you totter off on stiff pedes.

Are you meant to pretend that nothing had happened? Just go on as if you hadn't seen concrete proof that the war was slowly corroding Starscream from the inside? Accept that you were powerless to stop it, since he wouldn't let you in?

Your processor was still whirring even as solvent cascaded over your frame in the washracks.

Still whirring even as you settled gingerly beside Starscream that night to recharge.

He laid facing you, optics shuttered, the thrum of his spark even. In recharge, his faceplate is smoothed of worry. Gone is that normal pinched expression, scowl, exasperation, anger, concern. You wish he could be this relaxed all the time. You wonder what he was like, before all this responsibility, all these burdens. You wonder how long it's been since he's known peace. You wonder if you can be that for him -

"Your processor's going to combust if you keep thinking like that," Starscream grumbles, optics still shuttered.

Huh? Wasn't he in recharge?

You lay very, very still, but - "I know you're awake, cadet."

Pretense over before it had even begun, you ex-vent as Starscream slowly cycles his optics open. There's a moment of silence as you both stare at each other.

"I know you were there today," Starscream says quietly.

Deep down, you're not surprised. You hadn't made any effort to conceal your entrance into his habsuite that afternoon, not having anticipated the scene you'd stumbled upon. To someone like Starscream, your entrance may as well have been equivalent to that of an elephant crashing into the base. What surprises you, though, is his choice to bring it up first.

"Yes, I told Thundercracker to send you away. Why should you be burdened with unnecessary emotions? I, as your commander, failed you. Where I should have been a model of strength, I showed weakness. How are you supposed to rely on that?"

His voice is even, resigned. Tired, having already internalized the blame. You can't bear it.

"What if," you whisper fiercely, "you don't always have to be the strong one? What if you rely on me, instead?"

He doesn't say anything, faceplate not betraying any emotion. However, he's still listening.

"You must know that I care," you say, unable to keep the tremor from your voice - this time, almost imploring. Surely he doesn't think that your actions are out of mere duty to him. "You're important to me, and I... I don't know what I would do without you. Please, at least allow me worry about you, too."

Starscream's optics search yours. He must have noticed the tremble of your frame, because immediately, you feel the warmth of his servo descend upon yours, its weight reassuring as he gently rubs his thumb over the delicate joints of your fingers.

"Oh, cadet," Starscream rasps. His optics are gentle. "How could I ask that of you?"

"You're not asking," you say stubbornly. "I'm offering. Like I don't worry about you already."

At that, Starscream laughs. "I suppose I can't stop you."

And despite the exhaustion in his voice, his optics are bright.

Previous /

[kisses4reid]

open up for once | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

synopsis - reader is used to doing things alone, working hard, never asking for help. the team gets worried when the behavior never changes, and few coincidences sets you off.

genre - angst w/ happy-ish ending, bau!reader x spencer,

warnings - crying, r hides emotions, works to hard, doesn’t ask for help. r has a tough childhood.

w/c - its short dw like barely 1k

a/n - sorry for my absence, graduating at the end of this year. i will write when i can!! thank u ❤️

Your eyes latched onto the man’s hands. Two files in his grip were angled towards Spencer.

“Here’s the basic case file. There’s boxes of evidence in interrogation room three, and more files can be found on our online system.” The man spoke to Spencer confidently and smiled, grabbing your attention. “If you need any help, give me a holler.” The peppered man grinned at Spencer like they had an inside joke, but Spencer didn’t react. He simply nodded, and started walking with you to the evidence filled room. A nerve ran down your spine.

“You okay?” Spencer glanced at you sideways and opened an oak door, revealing a room filled with boxes on boxes of labeled evidence. You shoulders sagged at the sight,

“Yeah, just tired.” You picked up the closest box and took it to the only free space on the table in the middle of the dim room. Spencer watched you from behind, eyes roaming your sage green blouse and the wrinkles that adjusted in your movements. He looked away.

You rolled your shoulders, thumbing through the files until you found one labeled with a victims surname. You leant on the desk and faced Spencer, ready to read out anything that stood out to you. But, something itched your brain.

“Do you want me to look at it?” He asked, moving towards you with one hand outstretched.

You clutched the file, the paper bending under your grasp. Seeing Spencer’s wider eyes, you cleared your throat and smiled, “No, it’s all good.”

You turned slightly, and ran a finger down the words in search for any connections. And for a minute you were focused, until Spencer took a file from the same box as you. You followed his hands with your sharp eyes and nearly rolled your eyes.

This was not like you, you did not roll your eyes. You don’t get angry, you didn’t get annoyed. Especially not at Spencer.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, “Sorry, Spencer. I need to go get some air.”

What was it? Was it Hotch sending Spencer to help you? Was it the officer assuming Spencer was in charge? Was it Spencer choosing to help you when there were plenty of other boxes that could be sorted?

You didn’t need help, you never did. All throughout school you hated group projects, you never asked teachers for clarification, never asked your parents for help with homework. Not that they would.

You walked through the halls, the very sound of your heels agitating you even more. You had never felt a wave of rage wash over you like you had then, you thought the saying was a lie.

Spencer watched you from the doorway, getting the hint that you needed space, but he couldn’t stop himself from speculating. The tension, the nerves, the fact that you had been on edge since last week. Well, come to think of it, when have you ever not been on edge? Spencer sighed, ran a hand down his face, and against his better judgement, followed you.

He found you 8 minutes later, slightly impressed by your distance travelled in such a short time, on a balcony looking down on the streets of New York City. Another murderer in the concrete jungle where dreams were made of. ‘Concrete jungle wet dream tomato’, as you liked to insist it was. You had your back to the door, arms wrapped around yourself in the chill, and your ponytail flew in the breeze. You looked ethereal to Spencer, like always. Something about your slightly red nose and the way you glanced back at him made you look even better.

You looked away nearly immediately, shutting your eyes closed and taking a deep breath. You didn’t expect to be out there alone for long, but 8 minutes?

“You okay?” Spencer asked, but you stayed silent. He met you on the edge of the balcony, his hands in his pockets and shoulder so close to yours it felt almost magnetic. You didn’t meet his gaze.

The fact that he had to ask, meant that you weren’t okay. It also meant that you had failed at concealing your emotions. He cleared his throat and followed your gaze down onto the busy streets.

“Did you know that over 800 languages are spoken in New York City? It’s the most linguistically diverse city in the world” He clenched his jaw, not exactly used to talking to someone he’s so used to hearing. You nodded.

He sighs.

And you both stand there for a bit.

Before the sun starts to set, and you finally speak up.

“Do you think I’m bad at my job?”

“What?”

“Do you think that, compared to the others in our team, I’m the least valuable. Or needed?” You finally looked up at him now, trying to read his reaction of you opening up - you barely have any conversations that could gain such a response.

“No not at all.”

“Then why do you, and the team, and everyone else, treat me like I’m less than?”

You faced him fully now, which he returned in extreme confusion. It seemed to come out of nowhere. His mouth was agape, but he had no answer.

“You were partnered with me because Hotch doesn’t trust me, the officer gave you the files because he thinks you’re more inclined to take charge, you started going through files I had already started going through.” Your voice raised slightly, arms flailing at your sides. You were so unfamiliar with this, opening up. So much so, that when you started, you couldn’t stop, “My parents never let me make decisions by myself, I was constantly ridiculed for asking for help, I’m constantly compared to others, and just when I thought I had found people that believed in me, everything switches!”

“I have never asked for help, I have never given the team my work, I’ve stayed behind every day to finish my work and I have never, ever, complained about working. So why?” Your voice started cracking, tears lining your lashes, “Why doesn’t anybody believe in me? Why am I so underestimated? I have proven to everyone, for my entire life, that I am capable. I don’t need help, I don’t need support. I- I- am fine- doing everything, everything!- by myself. So why now, does everyone seem to doubt me? What have I done, Spencer? Why don’t you trust me?” You took a deep breath and widened your eyes when you realise how close you had gotten to Spencer, how loud you had gotten, how many tears had fallen, and how much you had just revealed to a man you wanted to protect from your flaws the most.

Your chest rises and falls at a rapid pace as you take a few steps back, gripping one hand on the concrete railing. “Sorry, I… I haven’t been getting sleep lately. Sorry.”

Spencer’s quiet, lets you breathe, the fact that you haven’t run away is already a good sign. He searches your face for any more reason, and starts.

“We don’t underestimate you, especially not me.”

You raise your head.

“We aren’t… doubting you. Hotch has been worried about you.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Me?” Spencer’s heart nearly crumbles at your surprise that someone would be thinking about you.

“Yes. Like you said, you leave work late, you never ask for help, you’re the most closed off in the team. At first, we thought you were just nervous about being in a new team but it’s been… nearly two years.” He looks you up and down, “You haven’t opened up one bit. At least not to him… only, me. That’s why he partnered me with you, not because he doubted your intelligence or capabilities. He doubted your stability.”

Spencer watched your hair drag behind you as you avoided his eyes once again, pinning your attention on the street below. Your cheeks shone slightly from the unwiped tears.

“I chose to go through the same box as you because I wanted to stay close to you.” He admitted.

You blink, a wave of sadness, anger, and somewhat relief rolling over you. You took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to… open up. Opening up is weak- was weak. Crying, complaining, asking for help… everything was weak.” You met his eyes again and you swore he sighed from relief, “I’m sorry for crying, and yelling. I’m sorry for wasting your time. But…”

You closed your eyes, fighting your instincts and learnt avoidance.

“I’m not sorry, for telling you. You’re probably the best person this could’ve happened with. Thank you.”

Spencer nodded, and smiled slightly. He reached out, pushed a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“That’s what I’m here for. Always.”

perm taglist (open!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[amongemeraldclouds]

a valentine treat

After a long and stressful week, your boyfriend decides to surprise you.

Jess Mariano x Reader (established relationship, fluff)

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist | 1k words

It was the week from hell. Everything that could go wrong went wrong: a broken laptop, over time shifts at your part time job, and projects that all had the same looming deadline. Sleep was a forsaken luxury and you were on the verge of taping your eyelids open just to stay awake.

Never mind that it was also Valentine's week. It had always been one of your favorite celebrations, not just because of the romance, but because of the way love could also be celebrated with family and friends. You always planned something memorable, except for this year. Not even when you had your boyfriend, Jess Mariano, to celebrate with.

All you could do was roll your eyes at roses and heart shaped decorations you saw outdoors. This year, it seemed, your Valentine were textbooks and cheap coffee in your living room. In your darkest moments, you joked you'd rather be struck by an arrow to end this misery. Cupid be damned.

You sighed, re-reading another sentence, trying to make sense of letters and words that started dancing before you, mocking you, when a voice startled you.

"Baby, dinner's ready," Jess announced as he walked into the living room of your shared apartment. His eyebrows creased in concern at the sight of your unkempt hair, faded pyjamas, and deep frown. His beautiful mess, he thought, as he moved closer, throwing the kitchen towel over his shoulder.

"Come on," he said gently as if speaking to a child, taking the book out from your hand and onto the desk. "Your book will still be there for you after we eat."

You protest stubbornly, "my grades won't be if I-" you argued, but Jess knew better than to let you continue.

"Y/n l/n, if you say one more word," he warned, voice lowered in a tone he only reserved for you, "I will not hesitate to-"

You opened your mouth and he smirked. "Don't try me pretty girl, I warned you," he said just as he lowered himself to pick you up and throw you over his shoulders, one arm wrapped securely around your legs. Just like you were the kitchen towel.

You yelped in surprise as gravity shifted and you felt the blood rush to your brain. You hate to admit it, but it was better than all the cups of coffee that fried your nerves earlier. Not that you'd admit it, your boyfriend's ego was already inflated enough. If it gets any bigger, you'll have to start charging it rent.

"Jess Mariano," you grit through your teeth, "you better put me down right now or I swear I -" your words froze in your throat when you felt him smack your bottom with his free hand.

"Whatever you say babe," he said unfazed, voice laced with arrogance. He knew the effect he had on you, the way your heart raced and the heat that spread through your core.

You started pounding your fists on his back when he finally brought you back down, one arm wrapped around your back to steady you. "Surprise!" He exclaimed, using his free hand to gesture at the spread he prepared on the table.

You were speechless as your eyes took in the details. You had been so wrapped up in your studies that you didn't realize just how busy Jess had been at the kitchen. He had your favorite food spread out with little heart confetti adorning the table.

Candles were lit, flowers stood tall in a vase, and there was wine to top off the delectable meal set out in front of you. You looked between Jess and the dinner setup, stunned.

"What happened to all those words you wanted to say earlier? No more threats for me?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing.

"I -" you started, "you -"

His smirk grew to a wide grin, the kind that made his eyes sparkle, and you couldn't help but grin back. And just like that, the weight of the world was off your chest.

You were just a twentysomething about to have dinner with the love of your life. The man who made you dinner and lit candles for you, just because it's romantic.

"Happy Valentine's baby," Jess said, all the sarcasm and attitude melted from his voice. It always caught you off guard how sweet and sensitive he could be beneath all the snark and sarcasm. You were exactly like the candle then, melting into the sweetness of the moment. It was going to be a Valentine's as magical as the others, perhaps even more.

"You've been working so hard, you deserve a special treat,' he said, brushing your hair back, caressing your face as he leaned in to kiss you gently on your lips.

"It's me, of course, I'm the treat," he said as he looked back at you, his signature smirk back in place. "All this," he said, gesturing to the table, "is just secondary."

"Well I'm glad we've established that," you replied laughing. Pride bloomed in Jess' chest having made you laugh after witnessing the stressful week you had.

"Jess, I don't know how to thank you," tears suddenly welled up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the stress and sweetness. "Sorry I couldn't plan-"

"Hey hey," Jess pulled you in for a hug and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. "You deserve to be taken care of. I wanted to do this for you, there's nothing to apologize for," he said as he rubbed comforting circles on your back, letting you cry as much as you needed to, because he knew how cathartic it was for you.

"You must think I'm crazy," you sniffled when your tears ran dry. "One second I was laughing and the next I'm crying."

Jess released you, running his thumb along your cheeks to catch the last few tears. "Oh I know you're crazy, and that's exactly why I love you."

You laughed then, playfully hitting his shoulder. "And they say like attracts like," you remarked before leaning in closer for a quick kiss. "I love you too," you said as you looked into his eyes.

"Now let's get into this treat," you said, sliding into the dining chair.

Jess nodded, settling into his seat. "And afterwards, you can have this other treat," he gestured to himself.

"Oh get over yourself, Mariano," you rolled your eyes.

"I could, but you'd never get over me," he shot back.

"What makes you so sure?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Not after tonight's treat, you won't," he said, his voice low and mischievous, a vow he was sure to fulfill before the day ended.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, my loves! I myself had a busy week. I love the idea of a simple Valentine celebration that's still meaningful and sweet. Wrote and posted this on the 14th in case you were wondering what my plans were.

[bvrnesher]

Hi! I hope you day is going well, could you do headcanons for Leo Valdez? Like, if he was Spider-Man and he had a crush on the reader please?

sure thing, babe!

SPIDER-MAN ! LEO VALDEZ

cw: none.

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ🌙ㅤ˳ 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐳 ! 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

﹙𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆! ﹚ꪆ

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓-𝒎��𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔?

Leo Valdez as spider-man would be chaotic. Chaotic Neighborhood Hero – If anyone thought normal Spider-Man was chaotic, they clearly haven’t seen Leo in action. He’s web-swinging upside down, making fire-powered aerial flips, and cracking way too many jokes mid-fight. Villains either get mad or give up from sheer frustration.

Leo Valdez who Flirts While Crime-Fighting – If you happen to be around when he’s in costume, he’s ten times more dramatic.

“Don’t worry, citizen! Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man has got this.”

“I know I look cool right now, but please, try not to fall for me.” (He totally hopes you do fall for him.)

Leo Valdez is like... Leo vs. His Own Secret Identity – He wants to tell you he’s Spider-Man, but also, he definitely wants to impress you as himself, too.

He’ll do stuff like accidentally mention something Spider-Man did, then awkwardly try to cover it up.

“Oh yeah, Spidey totally took down three guys in an alley yesterday—uh, I mean, I heard about that. From a...news thing. Haha.”

Leo Valdez who swings past your window every single night, even when he has no reason to be there. He’ll make up some excuse like “Just doing my patrol!” but he’s really just hoping to see you.

Leo Valdez who saves you once and is so smug about it.

“No need to thank me, mi amor—wait, actually, do thank me. Maybe with a kiss?”

Leo Valdez who panics every time you mention thinking Spider-Man is cool. Like, “Cool how? Cool in a ‘wow, I wanna date him’ way? Or cool in a ‘he’s a neat guy’ way?” Please clarify. It’s for science.

Leo Valdez who tries to act smooth around you but trips over his own webbing. One second, he’s flirting. The next, he’s flat on the ground, groaning. “You saw nothing.”

Leo Valdez who builds his own web-shooters and casually adds a mini flamethrower just because he can.

Leo Valdez who absolutely shows off whenever you’re around. Swings upside down, does unnecessary flips, probably almost crashes into a building because he’s too busy flirting with you mid-swing.

Leo Valdez who “casually” webs your hand so you have to hold his, and when you call him out, he just grins, “Oops. Guess we’re stuck like this forever.”

Leo Valdez who leaves you dumb, flirty notes written in webbing. You wake up to see “Good morning, beautiful ;)” webbed to your wall, and you have no proof it was him.

Leo Valdez who gets jealous of… himself.

If you mention Spider-Man is cool, he plays it off like “Yeah, I mean, he’s alright.” Meanwhile, he’s internally screaming because yes, he is Spider-Man, but you don’t know that and it’s killing him.

Leo Valdez who literally forgets how to speak when you kiss him while he’s still in the mask.

His brain just short-circuits. Stands there, completely frozen, before finally stammering, “…Uh. Can you do that again?”

Leo Valdez and superhero Dates (Without You Knowing) – Since he’s not technically allowed to tell you, he still finds ways to protect and impress you as Spider-Man.

Walks you home while swinging overhead, just to make sure you’re safe.

If it’s raining, he accidentally webs an umbrella to you from above.

You keep getting “lucky” when bad guys show up, because Spidey just so happens to be nearby every time.

Leo Valdez who saves little bits of web fluid so he can make you cute, tiny web sculptures. (They don’t last forever, but he makes you new ones all the time—little hearts, flowers, or tiny robots just for you.)

Leo Valdez who literally melts when you tell him you already knew.

(“WAIT, YOU KNEW?! AND YOU LET ME EMBARRASS MYSELF FOR MONTHS?!”)

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒔.

[emily-mooon]

More 1980s Tumblr!

👩‍🎤starmanss follow

I’m never going to get over the fact that THE DAVID BOWIE and QUEEN made a song together like omg my two faves teaming up to make the ultimate song is awesome!!!!!!!

🔁👨🏻anotheronebitesfollow

OMG SAME BESTIE FREDDIE AND BOWIE STOOD IN THE SAME ROOM AND MADE MUSIC IS SOMETHING THAT ME A FEW YEARS AGO WOULDN’T HAVE BELIEVED LIKE AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

987k notes

💋robbiesmith follow

I’d like to think I’m a nice person

🔁🏜boysdocry follow

Didn’t you roast a smiths fan so hard they deactivated?

🔁💋robbiesmith follow

New year, new me

🔁🏜boysdocry follow

That was a month ago

🔁💋robbiesmith follow

NEW YEAR NEW ME!

1.8m notes

🌃iancurtisss

OMG WAKE UP JOY DIVISON/NEW ORDER GIRLIES NEW ALBUM JUST DROPPED

ALSO NEW MUSIC VIDEO FOR ATMOSPHERE LIKE IM NOT GOING TO SPOIL ANYTHING BUT IT MADE ME CRY JUST KNOW THAT

🔁🎸hookysbass

FUCK YEAH BABY!!!!!!!!!

GONNA GO WATCH IT NOW AND ILL LET YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL AFTERWARDS

🔁🎸hookysbass

Update: I cried. Like full on sobs. Haven’t done that in years since

🔁💐new-bernie

Same guys same. I’m a mess

🔁🛤stephmorriss

I’m still crying at that last bit

🔁🌃iancurtisss

DONT REMIND ME STEPH😭😭😭😭😭

🔁🧛🏻belalugosifucks follow

Do you all want a hug? Especially @hookysbass cause girl what happened

🔁🎸hookysbass

Ian’s death happened

9k notes

🪨combatrocks follow

CLASHIES! REMEMBER WHEN JOE WENT MISSING BEFORE THEIR UK TOUR IN 82? YEAH GUESS WHAT THAT WAS THREE YEARS AGO TODAY

🔁📻thisisradioclash follow

YOU ARE TELLING ME THAT THOSE LONG AND GRUELLING THREE WEEKS HAPPENED THAT LONG AGO

YOU ARE TELLING ME THAT THE TWEET THAT BROKE US IS THREE YEARS OLD NOW?!

i think I’m going to throw up

🔁🥊ifoughtthelaw follow

Show a Clash Stan this and they will tell you their deepest darkest secret

🔁🪨combatrocks follow

STOP PLEASE NO MORE

🔁 🔥londonsburning follow

Hey guys guess how long it’s been now:

6 FUCKING YEARS!!!!!

967k notes

💋robbiesmith follow

I want this man to kiss me passionately on the mouth:

🔁🕸 spellbndgrrl follow

Well I want her to step on me:

Yeah break my back with those black leather heeled boots 😍😍😍😍😍

91.5k notes

🌕killingmoon follow

It’s always Robert Smith this and George Michael that, but where is the respect for the incredibly strange boys?

🔁🐶campervanlassie follow

THIS OMG WHERES THE LOVE FOR MY BOYS? CAMPER😤VAN😤BEETHOVEN!!!!!!!!!

🔁🐁talking-rats

It’s been years since I last heard the name David Byrne spoken on these hallowed grounds. He was once the king for us weridos but now he’s not and it makes me sad. Miss seeing that loser in his big suit everywhere on my dash

25 notes

(Prev fake dash)

[relicsongmel]

Your honor my client simply wanted to fuck around and find out

[nuclearspring-a]

i know there's a little bit of info on him currently included in my roster but ! i wanted to cobble together a more detailed rundown of my courier (the sixth one) + his verses. he is a bit of an unreliable narrator, so i'm leaving gaps in this - thing is he doesn't know what's up, so neither shall we.

(that said, if anyone has ncr muses who could maybe piece some things together, hit me up. he can't keep getting away with this).

rough bio under the cut. trigger warnings for death, violence, drug use, the military, addiction + memory issues.

name & aliases: sasha dubrovhsky / boris medvedev / courier six. tag skills: unarmed, survival, guns. (note: given his backstory, he's proficient in these, and in stealth). age: late twenties / early thirties during the events of fallout new vegas. moving into his late thirties if in the tv show era. sexuality: bisexual. you know, for the extra damage. alignment: chaotic something. personality types: estp. enneagram 8. physical appearance: 6'3", buzzcut, brown eyes, cheekbones, numerous tattoos. imagine a large russian man who has clearly broken his nose more than once. he is russian jewish & roma ft. general slavic aura. always clean shaven if he can help it, but stubble happens to him frequently. if in the verse in which he's courier six, he will have two scars on his forehead courtesy of benny. notable features: speaking to six, one may get the sense that english isn't his first language. he doesn't really have much of a russian accent, but his cadence (especially when he is particularly tired), as well as his word choices can sometimes give him away.

he is also autistic, and may have adhd. both are undiagnosed. the latter may have something to do with six's mentat habit.

his face is rarely shown - he tends to wear full combat armour, helmet included.

the man who eventually becomes courier six is born in ncr territory to a family who are descended from vault 13, if a tad distantly (nobody in the family can track the exact lineage, nor have they tried).

six is born alexander dubrovhsky. his branch of the family are loyal to the ncr in some ways, though their primary ideology is born not of the ncr, but of memories of their heritage. sasha receives more of an education than he feels he needs, but he is a curious soul and enjoys picking apart the way of things. devours books when he can get them. is in trouble more than once in his childhood for taking things apart to see what makes them tick.

he is not yet of age when he enlists. he's tall and broad enough to pass for it, and nobody in ncr recruitment looks too deeply into the issue. even before taking two bullets to the forehead, he is an improviser - there's no real plan tied to his enlistment. he makes it through basic easily enough - can remember that fine. can remember being passed up for first recon so as not to waste his hand to hand abilities - he is, in a word, large. can remember being filtered into the rangers instead. can remember later leaving his dog tags on a corpse about his size. tossing the tags that had originally been on the corpse in question into the colorado river.

the why of it is unclear. but he remembers the bloodless panic, and in hindsight is certain he had something to do with that death. can't say for certain whether or not this is unlike him, but the potential will keep him watching himself out of the corner of his eye, waiting for some similar slip up.

he knows he picked his new name out of the past. boris was the name of some relative, he thinks. perhaps a distant cousin, perhaps not. medvedev, on the other hand, is born of the bear tattoo adorning his ribs. (two-headed, stick and poke, slightly weathered, scar cutting through it).

recalls a time, too, when he burns his armour and weighs his options. he knows how to kill things, and is the sort of person with at least a chance at surviving the wasteland. so far so good, anyway. he passes a town with a mojave express office, and volunteers himself for a job. from that point on, he is a courier.

post gunshots to the head, he'll wonder if the memory issues are new. thinks they must be. things improve with time, but some things, he thinks, will never come back to him.

he remembers just enough to feel like helping the ncr is the most deranged thing he's ever done. he does it anyway. that said, six saunters vaguely in the direction of socialism whenever possible.

he identifies a chem habit, but can't be sure he had it before he was shot. can remember snippets of things he used to know, and understands that a great deal of the information is barred now. one hobby of his is gathering it again.

choices in game:

these will be updated in time (i'm going to play again to refresh my memory on him), but he can either pick the independent or ncr route depending. if we're writing post game, his default is independent, though that was a difficult decision for him and he still feels two ways about it. he isn't a blind ncr loyalist by any stretch, and is aware that there are some in the ncr who'd string him up if they knew he'd deserted, but he is not immune to propaganda.

alternate depictions:

i have written him before as an ncr ranger spy who is only moonlighting as a courier, never properly deserted (because the desertion catalyst wasn't there; he made it through the battle of hoover dam in 2077 just fine in this verse), and didn't end up shot in the head in goodsprings. in that verse, he can be recruited as a companion - for anyone who's into that.

this version of him isn't as fleshed out right now (read: i don't remember most of the development i did when i was writing him this way) but i'll update this later, and i'm happy to plot things out on a character by character basis. he is generally motivated to fight the legion, and will in time become somewhat disillusioned with the ncr.

[freakwiththeknifecollection]

Years of reading and writing disapproving parent fic have come back to haunt me, as I'M now the one committing faux pas in front of my partner's uptight parents 🫠✌️

[anothermonikan]

Have I told you guys about the fucked up dreams I've been having recently? I've been having some fucked up dreams lately. yeah <3

[egg2k16]

This may be the depression speaking + the earliest trauma I've ever gone thru (completely accidental as well), but I think it's kinda pointless to give me gifts. I have clothes that still fit me and are in excellent condition. I have shoes. I have a sizeable movie collection (that tbf I can always add to), and all the books I'd want. I don't paint anymore so it's useless giving me art supplies. And unfortunately even giving me money is hilariously pointless bcus I'm not even gonna spend it on anything, I'm just gonna put it into my savings account and keep living day by day as I do: doing nothing...interesting

[keeps-ache]

my computer wants to update so bad. which is a real shame,

[acourtofquestions]

No. No, it couldn't have been a dream The escape, Rowan, the ship to Terrasen—

A dream. An illusion. Her escape from him, from Maeve, had been another illusion.

Had she said it? Had she said where the Keys were hidden?

Then a cool, cultured voice purred, "All that training, and this is what becomes of you?" Not real. Arobynn, standing on the other side of the altar, was not real.

"Even Sam held out better than this."

Fenrys snarled.

You could get out of these chains, if you really wanted," Arobynn said, frowning with distaste. "If you really tried."

No, she couldn't, and everything had been a dream, a lie.

"You let yourself remain captive. Because the moment you are free..." Arobynn chuckled. "Then you must offer yourself up, a lamb to slaughter."

Only hearing the King of the Assassins, unseen and unnoted beside her.

"Deep down, you're hoping you'll be here long enough that the young King of Adarlan will pay the price. Deep down, you know you're hiding here, waiting for him to clear the path." Arobynn leaned against the side of the altar, cleaning his nails with a dagger. "Deep down, you know it's not really fair, that those gods picked you. That Elena picked you instead of him. She bought you time to live, yes, but you were still chosen to pay the price. Her price And the gods'?"

Arobynn ran a long-fingered hand down the side of her face. "Do you see what I tried to spare you from all these years? What you might have avoided had you remained Celaena, remained with me?" He smiled. "Do you see, Aelin?"

She could not answer. Had no voice. Cairn hit bone, and—

Aelin lunged upward, hands grasping for her thigh. No chains weighed her. No mask smothered her. No dagger had been twisted into her body. Breathing hard, the scent of musty sheets clinging to her nose, the sounds of her screaming replaced by the drowsy chirping of birds, Aelin scrubbed at her face.

The prince who'd fallen asleep beside her was already running a hand down her back in silent, soothing strokes.

A dream. Just a dream.

She twisted, setting her feet to the threadbare carpet on the uneven wood floor.

"Dawn isn't for another hour," Rowan said.

Yet Aelin reached for her shirt. "I'll get warmed up, then." Maybe run, as she had not been able to do in weeks and weeks.

Rowan sat up, missing nothing. "Training can wait, Aelin." They'd been doing it for weeks now, as thorough and grueling as it had been at Mistward.

She shoved her legs into her pants, then buckled on her sword belt.

"No, it can't."

A gathering storm to the north had forced their ship to find harbor last night—and after weeks at sea, none of them had hesitated to spend a few hours on land. To learn what in hell had happened while they'd been gone.

The answer: war.

Everywhere, war raged. But where the fighting occurred, the aging innkeeper didn't know. Boats didn't stop at the port anymore— and the great warships just sailed past. Whether they were enemy or friendly, he also didn't know.

Aelin scowled. "What." It wasn't so much of a question as demand.

His gaze was unfaltering. As it had been when she'd returned from her run through the misty fields beyond the inn and found him leaning against the apple tree. "That's enough for today."

"We've hardly started." She lifted her blade.

Rowan kept his own lowered. "You barely slept last night."

Aelin tensed. "Bad dreams." An understatement. She lifted her chin and threw him a grin. "Perhaps I'm starting to wear you down a bit."

His canines gleamed. "You need to eat."

"I need to train."

She couldn't stop it-that need to do something. To be in motion.

No matter how many times she swung her blade, she could feel them. The shackles. And whenever she paused to rest, she could feel it, too—her magic. Waiting.

Indeed, it seemed to open an eye and yawn.

She clenched her jaw, and attacked again Rowan met each blow, and she knew her maneuvers were descending into sloppiness.

Knew he let her continue rather than seizing the many openings to end it.

She couldn't stop. War raged around them People were dying. And she had been locked in that damned box, had been taken apart again and again, unable to do anything.

Rowan struck, so fast she couldn't track it. But it was the foot he slid before her own that doomed her, sending her careening into the dirt.

"I win," he panted. "Let's eat."

Aelin glared up at him. "Another round."

Rowan just sheathed his sword. "After breakfast."

She growled. He growled right back.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "You'll lose all that muscle if you don't feed your body. So eat. And if you still want to train afterward, I'll train with you." He offered her a tattooed hand.

But Aelin said, "People are dying. In Terrasen. In-everywhere. People are dying, Rowan."

"Your eating breakfast isn't going to change that." Her lips curled in a snarl, but he cut her off. "I know people are dying. We are going to help them. But you need to have some strength left, or you won't be able to."

Truth. Her mate spoke truth. And yet she could see them, hear them. Those dying, frightened people. Whose screams so often sounded like her own.

Rowan wriggled his fingers in silent reminder. Shall we?

Aelin scowled and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet. So pushy.

Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders. That's the most polite thing you've ever said about me.

Elide's eyes widened. Widened further as he opened his mouth, and took a bite. His swallow was audible. His cringe barely contained. Elide reined in her smile at the pure misery that entered the Lion's tawny stare. Aelin and Rowan had been finishing up a similar battle when she'd entered the taproom minutes ago, the queen wishing her luck before striding back into the courtyard.

Elide hadn't seen her sit still for longer than it took to eat a meal. Or during the hours when she'd instructed them in Wyrdmarks, after Rowan had requested she teach them.

It had gotten her out of the chains, the prince had explained. And if the ilken were resistant to their magic, then learning the ancient marks would come in handy with all they faced ahead. The battles both physical and magic.

Gavriel met her stare, and Elide again restrained her laugh.

She felt, rather than saw, Lorcan enter. The innkeeper instantly found somewhere else to be. The man hadn't been surprised to see five Fae enter his inn last night, so his vanishing whenever Lorcan appeared was certainly due to the glower the male had perfected.

Indeed, Lorcan took one look at Elide and Gavriel and left the dining room.

They'd barely spoken these weeks. Elide hadn't known what to even say. A member of this court. Her court. Forever.

He and Aelin certainly hadn't warmed toward each other. No, only Rowan and Gavriel really spoke to him. Fenrys, despite his promise to Aelin not to fight with Lorcan, ignored him most of the time. And Elide ... She'd made herself scarce often enough that Lorcan hadn't bothered to approach her.

Good. It was good. Even if she sometimes found herself opening her mouth to speak to him. Watching him as he listened to Aelin's lessons on the Wyrdmarks. Or while he trained with the queen, the rare moments when the two of them weren't at each other's throats.

Aelin had been returned to them. Was recovering as best she could.

Elide didn't taste her next bite of porridge. Gavriel, thankfully, said nothing. And Anneith didn't speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance. It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.

Whether the others knew what propelled her, they hadn't said a word. Aelin sheathed Goldryn and loosed a long breath. Deep down, her power grumbled. She flexed her fingers. Maeve's cold, pale face flashed before her eyes. Her magic went silent.

Fenrys sat in wolf form at the edge of the nearest field, staring out across the expanse.

Precisely where he'd been before dawn.

She let him hear her steps, his ears twitching. He shifted as she approached, and leaned against the half-rotted fence surrounding the field.

"Who'd you piss off to get the graveyard shift?" Aelin asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Fenrys snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you believe I volunteered for it?" She arched a brow. He shrugged, watching the field again, the mists still clinging to its farthest reaches. "I don't sleep well these days." He cut her a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I'm the only one."

She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. "We could start a secret society-for people who don't sleep well."

"As long as Lorcan isn't invited, I'm in."

Aelin huffed a laugh. "Let it go."

His face turned stony. "I said I would."

"You clearly haven't."

"I'll let it go when you stop running yourself ragged at dawn."

"I'm not running myself ragged. Rowan is overseeing it."

"Rowan is the only reason you're not limping everywhere."

Truth. Aelin curled her aching hands into fists and slid them into her pockets. Fenrys said nothing didn't ask why she didn't warm her fingers. Or the air around them. He just turned to her and blinked three times. Are you all right?

A gull's cry pierced the gray world, and Aelin blinked back twice. No. It was as much as she'd admit. She blinked again, thrice now. Are you all right?

Two blinks from him, too. No,

They were not alright.

They might never be. If the others knew, if they saw past the swagger and temper, they didn't let on.

None of them commented that Fenrys hadn't once used his magic to leap between places. Not that there was anywhere to go in the middle of the sea. But even when they sparred, he didn't wield it. Perhaps it had died with Connall. Perhaps it had been a gift they had both shared, and touching it was unbearable.

She didn't dare peer inward, to the churning sea inside her. Couldn't.

Aelin and Fenrys stood by the field as the sun arced higher, burning off the mists.

Aelin shook her head. Another dream, or hallucination. "If she's on our heels with this army, I'm just ... trying to understand it. Her, I mean."

"You plan to kill her." The gruel in her stomach turned over, but Aelin shrugged. Even as she tasted ash on her tongue.

"Would you prefer to do it?"

"I'm not sure I'd survive it," he said through his teeth. "And you have more of a reason to claim it than I do."

"I'd say we have an equal claim."

His dark eyes roved over her face. "Connall was a better male than—than how you saw him that time. Than what he was in the end."

She gripped his hand and squeezed. "I know."

The last of the mists vanished. Fenrys asked quietly, "Do you want me to tell you about it?" He didn't mean his brother.

She shook her head. "I know enough." She surveyed her cold, blistered hands. "I know enough," she repeated.

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[chuluoyi]

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre/warnings: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

[withahappyrefrain]

Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 

This was bad. 

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 

“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 

Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 

 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 

For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 

The words hit Bob like a freight train. 

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 

Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart. 

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” 

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you were wet. 

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 

Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 

“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.” 

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton. 

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.