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chlorinecake · 2 months ago

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☆ ☆ ☆ You’re All Skin n’ Bones, Baby

— ⊹ ⛓️ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ♯ Trouble Maker!N.RK x Good Girl!Reader 🍴

⛓️ 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 ♯ When your father, a.k.a the dean of your university, sets you on a quest to help the troubled transfer student from your art class rewrite the rebellious narrative staining his character, you two find yourselves falling for each other, discovering a new art of taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy...

⛓️ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦 ♯ Swearing, Awkward Situations, Riki Vandalizes Your University with Graffiti, Name-Calling (Flirting), Kissing (With Tongue), Hickeys (Kinda), Riki Has A Tattoo, Lingering Touches (Nothing Below The Belt), Suggestive Jokes, Reckless Behavior, Some Fluff and Angst if You Squint

⛓️ 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 ♯ 4.2k ──── 「生きがい」

Friday, The Dean's Office, 3:32 p.m.

“Simply put, Riki is a very misunderstood youth, and you, _____, so happen to be one of the few people who sincerely understand him.”

You stared back at your father, who sat in his leather chair at his desk, a dumbfounded expression upon your face as you crossed your arms. “And you're telling me all of this because of what again?”

“Because I need your help,” Riki butted in from where he sat beside where you stood on your feet, drawing your attention back to his casual disposition.

From the way his long legs extended lazily before him to the way his black combat boots hit the ground with loud thumps every time his foot bounced out of boredom, the poor kid was just as big as his behavioral problems...

That is, roughly 187 centimeters worth...

However, in spite of his large stature and occasional bouts of clumsiness, Riki Nishimura was lighter than a feather on his feet when it came to dancing, a.k.a., one of the few things in his life that he found joy in, aside from you, his family, and the comfort of his bed...

Looking back at your father, he gave you a pleading look, hoping that he would somehow soften your heart without the use of any more words.

And it’s not that you didn't want to help Riki...

I mean, he was one of your closest friends, and you otherwise would've leaped at any opportunity to spend more time with him, so long as it wasn't under such circumstances.

In the past, your father never really approved of your friendship with Riki, simply because he had a track record of rebellion according to the other universities he attended and ended up getting kicked out of.

'A homeschooled delinquent,' some would call him, but you preferred sweeter names for him—names that described the real him.

It's just that the whole idea of having you, the “perfect student,” coach a more troubled peer seemed like a poor excuse of a publicity stunt.

Riki was much more to you than that... he deserved better than to be scrutinized like some sort of criminal just for being his authentic self.

And the odd reality was that you and the other kids at your university with allegedly clean records were no different from Riki.

All misguided and all a little reckless here and there...

Taking risks was part of being young, last time you checked.

The only difference is that Riki wasn't as good at hiding those parts of him like the rest of the students at your university were...

They were either forced or pressured to hide behind a mask that resembled good grades, perfect attendance... stuck within a cookie-cutter framework, and exhibiting perpetual compliance to the ways of the academic world—

“Fine,” you sighed, straightening your posture to appear more obliging than you were actually feeling, “but only if you promise not to make this some sort of project, Dad... Riki's my friend, not some charity case to make you look good.”

Your father scoffed at your insulting words. “What do you take me as, some kind of crook? Such a thought never even crossed my mind, _____,” he corrected sternly before continuing, “My concerns for Riki come from a good place and have nothing to do with what I can gain from you agreeing to help us-”

“Fix him, right?” You interrupt, making a shy smirk tug at the corners of Riki's mouth at the awkward tension in the room now.

“Honey, you know that's not what this is about,” your father sighs, getting up from his seat and straightening out his suit. “Riki is not a broken lamp that he should be fixed... but a lost soul in need of positive redirecting.”

“And who better to help than a fellow peer?” Riki winks at you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Precisely,” the dean finishes, pushing his chair under the desk before making his way to the office door. “I expect you two to run into hurdles on this journey, but hopefully it's a process that helps you both grow... together...”

You shake your head, uncrossing your arms from over your chest as your father’s eyes flicker between you and Riki now.

“Oh, and one more thing, ____... this young man may be troubled to some degree, but he can certainly teach you a lesson or two on respect.”

Slam.

The office door closed slowly, but with its habitually loud locking sound, making your insides shake a bit.

You look back at Riki, who only had a shrug to offer you, though you knew your father was expecting you and Riki to see yourselves out of his office.

So y’all did, all the way to your separate homes, where you would dread the following Monday when Project: “Positively Redirect” Riki would commence!...

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Next Monday, ART Room 8080, 5:30 p.m.

The bottom of your ass was stinging given how long you had been sitting in the uncomfortable desk chair.

Your back had also started to burn with a similar pain, and the only thing that seemed to delight you amidst the lengthy "Elements of Art" lecture was once again the tall boy sitting beside you.

The voice of your instructor faded away in your ears as you observed Riki holding an ink pen, gliding its ball-tip against his skin in careful lines.

“You suck at drawing,” you whisper to him.

“And your mother’s a cow,” he retorts plainly, despite the smirk curling at his mouth.

From what you can tell, he was drawing a spiderweb in the shape of a heart on the inside of his wrist; The same romantic spiderweb design that was graffitied on your university's parking lot pavement a few days ago.

You always found it endearing how Riki's right wrist would be full of inky doodles by the end of each lecture, thanks to him being left-handed.

Though, other people found his habit to be odd… immature, even... and you never understood why those people even felt the need to speak—

“You’re really making an effort at this character development thing, aren’t you, babes?” You ask sarcastically, tilting your head at him now.

“Yup,” he answers matter-of-factly, eyes still trained on the inky design staining his pale skin.

You took in the expression on his face—the way his lips often poked out slightly like a duck whenever he focused on something.

It was a sight that always made you giggle inside… mostly because you found cute things to be humorous, but also because Riki had a way of making you feel all giddy for reasons you didn't fully understand—

“Wanna kiss ‘em or something?” He asked, looking you dead in the eye with his own piercing ones.

“E-excuse me?” You scoffed with both confusion and feigned disgust.

“I mean these,” he said, showing you the doodle of a skull on his wrist that had big, red lips to match the crimson bows at each pigtail. “Heard you like it juicy,” he continued, raising his eyebrows at you flirtatiously.

“Shut the fuck up,” you swear, shoving his shoulder slightly.

And with that, the class was concluded, and students were loading up their textbooks into their backpacks in every which direction—

“You’re really not that different from me, y’know that?” He said in a mocking tone, “Especially not with that raging potty mouth of yours...”

“I was provoked to use such language, you dick.”

“Then you have very poor emotional regulation skills for your age.”

...

“I’m leaving,” you say, getting up from the seat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, “have fun making out with your new dOodLe sKuLl giRLfriEnD... Heard you like ‘em skinny, anyways…”

“Pfft... Where’d you hear that crap?”

“Around,” you lied, knowing that Riki wasn't the type of guy to have weight preferences when it came to girls...

He only had personality preferences, and so far, you were his absolute favorite person yet, crumby attitude and all.

“Whatever,” he said, in between your brief voyage to the campus lockers where you put your things away. “Also,” Riki began again, leaning against his locker while looking at his reflection in the mirror, “should I... change?”

“What, your diaper?”

“No, my outfit, stupid. Unless you don’t mind being seen with a guy who looks like me these days...”

His words sting you for some reason, and you know exactly what he was trying to imply with that comment.

The other day, Riki heard your father complaining to an instructor in his office about student's not 'abiding by standards of clothing apparel,' and of course, the poor boy assumed the comment was specifically directed towards him-

“You look fineee, Riki,” you reassure him, closing your locker before caressing the side of his arm gently. “Besides, I'd never feel ashamed walking beside you... ripped jeans, piercings, and all...”

His mind paused for a second, focusing a little too hard on the way your touch somehow warmed him from both the outside and within.

“Hey,” you started, your voice pulling him back from his thoughts, “Earth to Riki...?”

“Y-yea, right... Earth,” he stammered, running a shy hand through his hair before adjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Let's get out of here, then,” you chuckled, walking down the hall now as he followed closely behind you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Later, On Some Unknown, Majestic Path, 6:17 p.m.

You two made it to a bridge—the crossing road where you and him expected to straighten out the crooked mess of rumors and past infamies plaguing Riki’s reputation.

“You got the letter, right?”

The letter, he heard your words replay in his mind...

The very letter in which Riki divulged a sincere handwritten apology to the Dean of your university discussing his declining academic performance, poor behavior, aptitudes to improve, and blah fucking blah...

Anyone with a good head on their shoulders could tell that Riki was a fantastic artist, but every rose had its thorn, with Riki's impulsive creative side often getting the best of him...

Aside from going against the dress code and skipping classes, Riki recently vandalized school property with a spontaneous mural of skulls, spiderwebs, and other edgy doodles on the parking lot pavement.

Nobody knew he was responsible for it aside from you, and you had no intention of ratting him out for it...

Yes, it was an unusual design to see every morning at the center of such a prestigious university, but regardless of all that, you figured the graffiti looked pretty cool, actually...

Besides, it was an art school for crying out loud; weren't students supposed to express themselves here?

Or perhaps you only felt that way because Riki was responsible for it, but I digress.

“Yeah, I double checked before we left,” he said plainly, looking down the brick road ahead. “Oh, and uh... I know I've never showed you, but my place is actually the small one right over there… with the candle-like furnace on top... you see it?”

“Yeah, I see it,” you smile softly, just as you catch on to him walking ahead of you and down the right path instead of the left one.

“Hey, the dean's office is this way, remember?”

“Uh huh... and it’s still gonna be there when we get back.”

“Bro, where’re you going?”

“Bro, nowhere,” he replied mockingly, still walking away from you, “I just need to clear my head before sending this stupid letter… just in case I run into the dean or something...”

“And would that really be so bad?” You pressed, “I swear, it’s like everyone views my dad like a scary monster just because he’s doing his job...”

Riki felt himself internally gag at the reminder that you were in fact the deans daughter.

“Since when do you, of all people, defend your dad?”

“Hey, I may be a disrespectful fart towards him at times, but that doesn't mean I can't stand up for him.”

“Uh huh,” Riki nods skeptically, “he must be giving you extra brownie points and allowance for that shit or something...”

“Yeah, actually, he is! And I don't plan on sharing any with you, either... not my brownies points NOR my petty cash...”

“Good,” he retorts playfully, mirroring your bratty behavior, “my piggy bank likes being empty, anyways... PLUS, I’m trying to cut back on sugar these days...”

“Well, good luck with that then... citrus helps, though… with the sugar cravings, I mean.”

“I know... that’s why I’m hanging out with you... duhhh!”

“Oh, so you’re implying that I'm sour, now?”

“If the shoe fits,” he shrugs, and a few moments pass before you’re walking through a front door, through his living room, and eventually onto a balcony.

The house was so dimly lit that you couldn’t make out much of anything while inside, other than the smell of tea and leather cleaner.

“What d’you think?” Riki asks, spreading his arms out to show off, “Gnarly landscape, am I right?”

“You’re so right,” you agree, walking over to the ledge and observing the large pasture that made up his backyard. “It’s beautiful here.”

The two of you look over the edge for a while, folding your arms over the stone balcony until you catch him looking off to the other side, something about him immediately catching your attention.

“Woah?” You exclaim, finding your hands in his hair as you turn his head, examining the thing that caught your eye.

“Woah what? Is there a bug on me or something?” Riki asks, bending his knees slightly so you can reach him better.

“No, it's a tattoo.” You clarify, “I didn't know you had any real ones...”

“Oh yeahhh… I uh... I got that one a while back when I was in high school... I have another one, too, but it's under my clothes, so I can't show you until we're marri-”

“What's it say?” You ask with a whisper, examining the fine textures of inky Japanese characters staining the ivory skin behind his ear.

The tattoo in itself was relatively simple, but you believe that's what made it all the more stunning...

“Ikigai...” He answers with a deep voice, looking in your eyes with his own piercing ones, which makes you retreat your touch from his hair, “it refers to something that gives us our sense of purpose... our reason to live...”

The silence is so loud after he says that that the sound of distant birds and wind-chimes fills your ears as if you were wearing headphones.

That's when you hear a door hinge creak in the distance—

“Riki?! I don’t have my glasses on, but your bedroom looked oddly tidy and you never tidy your room, so now I’m worried—”

“In a minute, Grams!” Riki called out in a deep voice, resting his hands at his sides as he looked back at you, the elderly woman having stayed outside, keeping to herself.

Despite her few wrinkles, she was a perfect shadow of Riki, from her similarly fierce eyes, the long legs she stood on, to her plump, duck-like lips—

“What’s the deal with your face right now?” Riki asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Oh, you mean my beauty?” You returned sarcastically.

“No, the other thing,” he corrected, “…made your eyes go all big and bright.”

“Oh… Possibly shock, then?”

“But from what cause?”

“Grams,” you repeated, looking over the balcony at the same shed-door the woman just came from. “I didn’t know you lived with anybody…”

“I don’t; she lives with me,” Riki continued, flicking a mosquito off his arm. “She’s kind of mental, so I gotta take care of her like she took care of me.”

“That’s sweet,” you murmur quietly to yourself, but he hears you anyway-

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing…”

“You definitely said something.”

“No I didn’t?”

“Haven’t I ever told you how terrible you are at lying?”

“No, actually,” you respond plainly, “But you have told me that you think I’m beautiful... well, indirectly, but it still counts.”

He furrows his brows at you. “When did I say that?”

“Literally a few seconds ago?”

“Seriously?”

“Damn… Now I'm starting to think you didn't mean it.”

“No no no, I meant it!” Riki says, raising his voice slightly, “P-probably...”

“Well, thanks anyway,” you return, looking back over the balcony at the sight of his grandmother roaming their garden.

“I think you're beautiful, too, Riki.”

A silence swarmed between you two now.

Not an awkward silence, but a silence nonetheless.

A pleasant peace…

Riki bit his lip to keep himself from smiling, but you had already noticed his expression by now, poking a finger at the apple of his slightly rosy cheek, making him swat your hand away playfully.

“Stop that or I'll bite you,” he threatens.

“But babyyy… you look so cute when you're blushing,” you teased, making the poor boy feel like he was just seconds from internally combusting because of you.

Riki never got worked up over compliments like this, but then again, you proved to have a stronger effect on his emotions… one that even you father could see.

“I seriously will bite you, ____,” he warns again through a contagious chuckles, grabbing a hold of your wrist at the same time your hand gripped his bicep, making him stop in his actions.

You two shyly meet each other's eyes now, faint smiles present on both your faces until you release your grip on his arm, his touch still remaining at your wrist.

“Riki.” You speak quietly, and for reasons you don’t understand at first… but that’s when he decides to speak up instead—

“I wanna show you one more thing,” he starts, still holding your wrist as he steps up with a strong lunge onto the balcony ledge, resting his foot on the wooden plank attached to it.

“Riki, get down from there!” You shout.

“Not until you join me first.” He reasons with a smirk.

Judging from the way he briefly peeks down at the ground beneath him, you can already tell that he wants you to jump with him.

“Riki… I’m not doing that... I-I can't… and I can’t let you do that, either.”

Funny thing is, you said all of this while doing a lunge yourself, joining the tall boy on the balcony ledge and holding his hand tightly as you let your feet find the wobbly plank next.

“Why not?…” He presses.

“Because… you’re all skin and bones, baby,” you sigh nervously, feeling your heart rate increase with every passing second. “I’m afraid that I’ll either hurt you or that you’ll hurt yourself.”

Riki gives you a shady look now. “You have no idea how insulting that is to me, do you?”

“Be careful, asshole!” You shriek, his strength having tugged at your hand, making you tread even further down the plank now.

“Geez, would you relax, drama queen? I’m doing fineee, see? We’re fine… Just don’t let go of my hand until I say so, okay?”

“H-how am I even supposed to trust you in a state like this?” Your voice comes out just as wobbly as you feel in your knees, being sure not to look down as that would only make things worse for you.

“Hmm… not sure,” he shrugs, “But maybe it would help if you stopped policing me for like... one fucking second?”

“Fine. A second has passed, now can we PLEASEE go back to the bridge—ahhh!”

Riki jumps first, but because you were holding hands, you fall with him, tumbling into the grassy pasture before landing on top of him.

“That was fun, right?” Riki asks while scanning your face, wind knocked out of him; he's panting slightly beneath you, chest rising and falling given the rush of adrenaline he just received.

“Are we even alive right now?” You ask back, seriously not being able to believe that you both survived such a fall... everything around you seemed light, and you weren't sure if that had something to do with your head spinning or something worse. “Please tell me this isn’t heaven.”

“Not unless you really think that’s what being on top of me feels like…”

You gave him the deadliest side-eye you could muster—

“Shut the fuck up,” you curse him, making a light chuckle rumble in his chest.

For a brief moment, you look up, just now realizing that Riki’s backpack was scattered among the grass with all of his school supplies decorating the landscape.

Sighing, you planted your palms on the ground before trying to get up, only for the strength of Riki’s arm to keeps you down, fusing your body’s together.

“Riki, the dean's office is gonna be closing soon, we gotta get going-”

“And my future can wait, ____,” he said, looking into your eyes, “just let me enjoy this moment in the present for a little longer, alright?”

You wait to answer before eventually nodding, watching his chest heave slower now, but still in a rising and falling manner.

“You're nervous about something,” you whisper, even though it was more like a question to him.

You felt your stomach flutter at the way his hand was secured at your waist now, trailing up to the side of your face with his other hand.

“I am,” he says plainly, voice deep and vulnerable, “so please, just... don't say anything or else you'll make this worse for me, okay?”

“You're not about to try and kiss me, are you!?” You ask, screwing your eyebrows at him.

“And just like that, you made it worse for me,” Riki sighs, not being brave enough to meet your eyes anymore.

His hands leave your body, falling beside him as if he were about to start making snow angels in the bed of grass.

“You think you deserve a kiss—of all things—after almost getting us killed just a few seconds ago?”

“I meannnn,” he starts, looking back at you now before repositioning his hands behind his head with latticed fingers, “one kiss wouldn't hurt, right?… Maybe even just a few…”

No words are exchanged from this point.

It just becomes a moment of you two looking at each other, your hands roaming up his torso now as you sit up to straddle him, keeping him pinned to the ground with your weight before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“You're a very odd boy, Riki Nishimura,” you say, watching a smile spread across his face as his skin still tingled where you kissed him.

Your hands find his that were tucked beneath his head and put them back around your body like they were before.

“I may be odd, but the least you can do is kiss me normally,” he whispers, taking hold of your face and crashing his lips into yours, eyes fluttering shut at the blissful contact.

And it feels too good to say it's your first time... It feels too right...

You tilt your head to deepen the contact, making him hum beneath you at the sudden way you took control again, feeling his hand gently cradle the nape of your neck.

“Please,” he says breathlessly in between, catching on to the way your body shuddered when his touch went under your shirt, resting at the dip of your waist, “Don't make me stop yet...”

And all you can do is pant in response, feeling your heart rate increase with the passion as his tongue just barely comes into contact with yours, making you melt into the warmth of his lips even more.

But his delicate fingers are cold as they touch you, not necessarily wandering, but inching their way up from your waist to the side of your ribs, only to pull you closer as your bodies meshed into a sprawl of flustered feelings.

“You just can't get close enough to me, can you?” You ask him through a quiet breath, making him chuckle slightly as your catty question.

“Don't rub it in, dweeb,” he replies with a raspy voice, just as a low groan slips past his pretty lips, and you're just now realizing that you were kissing along his jawline, his head thrown back against the grass as your soft lips kept peppering his skin, “I'm actually enjoying what you're doing to me for once...”

And his last sentence comes out so quietly, you otherwise would've missed it if you weren't right by his neck, humming with each kiss you placed against him, making his grip at your waist tighten slightly until you abruptly pulled away, looking back at him with your own fuzzy vision...

Despite that, you could still make out the lovesick expression taking over his gorgeous features, both his heart and mind in a haze as he looked back at you, purity dancing in his eyes.

“W-why'd you stop?” He stammers, almost pouting as a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth now, your own cheeks being dusted a rosy hue given the blood rushing to your face.

“Because,” you say plainly, crawling off of him now as he lets out an exaggerated sigh, sulking at the missing warmth of you straddling him, “that's all you deserve for the day.”

“And tomorrow?” He presses, eyes half-lidded.

“I'll tell you after we deliver this letter to the dean,” you say, looking up at the window to his house, “and when your grandma isn't watching us...”

“Wait, she's what?”

Riki sits up now, whipping his head almost instantly in the direction of his house to see what you were still blushing about, and it was none other than his grandmother, clapping in the distance at the sight of you and Riki laying beside each other on the grass.

“So that's why you've been tidying up recently; you've met a pretty girl,” she says in an old voice, making him hide his face with his hands while groaning with embarrassment. “Awww, don't be shy; she just had her lips all over you... Oh, and I'm his grandmother, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you,” you say while giggling, watching Riki practically crumble to pieces, knowing that his grandma had just seen everything.

"Well, make sure you two don't stay out too late... it's getting dark,” the woman warned, even though it was still relatively sunny outside.

Must be her vision, you thought to herself.

“Got it, Grams,” Riki sighed, sitting up now with a forced smile as he waved his grandma off, the door creaking behind her as the sound of her television program faded off with the melody of her laughter.

“You good?” You ask, catching on to the way Riki's sight pans off now, a certain thought rising to his mind as he took a few shaky breaths.

“Y-yea, I'm alright,” he answers, not meeting your eyes until he asks, “You didn't bite me, did you?”

His fingers find his neck now, grazing over the light pink spot where you had kissed him, but it was only that color because of your lip balm, not because you bit him.

“I might have nibbled, yes...” You start timidly, trying to hold back a smile at the way his eyes widened now, worried that you might mark him. “Don't blame me though when you started it.”

“No, I didn't, you blood thirsty vampire,” he scoffs with over-exaggerated offense. “There's a mark on me now, isn't there?”

"No, you idiot... Besides, I wouldn't want your grandma to have a hickey as her first impression of me,” you correct, getting up from the ground now to collect his scattered school supplies from around the yard.

Your words lingered in his mind for a bit.

A girl like you leaving a bad first impression? The thought seemed foreign to him, but at the same time, comforting...

He was finally starting to see things the way you saw them. You and him really weren't all that different—just two people from different walks of life, upholding varied reputations, but still and all with kindred spirits.

Spirits for fun and adventure... youth and romance...

“Wasn't even worth it,” you mumbled to yourself, picking up the envelope that was now stained with a bit of dirt given the fall.

“What wasn't worth it?” He repeated, looking over his shoulder to find you on your knees in the grass, hair slightly disheveled from all the action.

“Jumping, first of all... and second, kissing you...”

“Right,” he says while drawing out the syllable, side-eyeing you with his legs crossed, “Because I definitely told you to get on top of me and kiss all over my neck like a human mosquito.”

“Trust me, I regret doing that.” You tease, fake gagging, to which he chuckled at you, “Your lips tasted weird, anyway...”

“Pfft... weird how?”

“Sour,” you poke, making him look down in his lap, smiling at the memory of you two in the hallway earlier.

Eventually, he gets up to help you gather the rest of his textbooks, pencils, notes, and chocolate bars that fell from his backpack, holding it open as you loaded it up and set trail back up the hill you just jumped off of.

“And you're sure this whole letter thing is still a good idea?” He asks, adjusting the strap to his backpack over his shoulder as you two walked beside each other.

You take a second to glance at yourselves, taking in the light of your messy clothes, blushing faces.

"Oh, you’re definitely still sending that.”

“Cool… But should I revise it at all since we have extra time?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” is all you say, taking his hand in yours as y’all walk side by side...

⛓️‍💥 AUTHOR'S NOTE — I've had this fic collecting dust in my drafts since July of this year, but @microwvdstrawb3rri3s reminded me that my blog has been long overdue for a new Niki fic, so I decided to post it finally.... Also, I'm adding a special tag here for @bambangan because I REALLY feel like she‘ll enjoy this fic (considering how Niki's character is pretty similar to how I wrote for him in my Flirty TSA Series a while back 🤭)...

tysm for reading this quick lil fic !! ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆ and feel free to check out my masterlist for more !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @nishiimuranights @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

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libbyfandom · 11 months ago

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“In This Life, and the Next. I Swear.”

Happy Holidays, have a bittersweet reincarnation fic.

Summary: Mizu may not believe in reincarnation, but you do. You'll believe in it enough for both of you. You may not be strong, but your soul is. You'll carry her to a better lifetime.

Content Warnings: Did your really think no one would die in a reincarnation fic? Hmmm?

“Next lifetime, you have to court me,” you murmur into Mizu’s neck as her fingers trace along the bare skin of your back where you lie atop her. “None of this... stoic loner act where I have to wear you down into letting me love you. Yeah?”

Mizu snorts, her other hand resting over her eyes. “Not on your life.”

Making an offended noise, you bite her collarbone in retaliation, hearing her laughter fill the inn room.

“When we come back, I want our lives to be simple,” you say as Mizu helps you down from the horse you borrowed on your escape from the last town.

Resisting the urge to let a sigh slip at this fantasy coming back up again, she mutters, “Yeah? You’d prefer to have a boring life, after you basically attached yourself to me and Ringo to escape your home?”

“Well yeah, I’m getting all of my adventuring done in this life cycle.”

“And you don’t want that again?” Mizu starts to lead the horse toward the outer skirts of the city, hoping to find a stable to leave it without being spotted.

You walk alongside her, studying her passive expression. “I do." A beat. "But I want you to have peace more.”

Her eyes dart to you, genuinely caught off guard. The openness, the honesty in your face has a bubble of overwhelming emotion welling up in her chest.

Her head turns back to the road, retreating into her silence to avoid speaking and risking her voice betraying her.

But after a few minutes of her staring off into the distance, she quietly says with a softened brow, “That’s kind.”

‘Do you regret choosing this life, knowing how quickly it will all end? Or did you walk into it blindly, optimistic for some happier resolution?’

Mizu jerks you up into her arms, apologizing frantically over and over as you scream in pain when she applies pressure to the stab wound deep in your stomach. She tenses her grip as your body tries to seize and jerk away from the splitting, hot pain radiating through your nerves from pressure on the gash. You’re too scared to look down and see your own insides peeling away from each other.

Taigen and Ringo are fending off the last few bounty hunters, the clashing of swords and knives fading into the background as you dig your bloodied fingers into her haori. “Come find-find me again,” you say with frantic eyes, swallowing back another mouthful of metallic blood forcing its way up your burning throat.

“What?!” Mizu’s attention is torn between keeping an eye on her back and wrapping a torque around your middle from the fabric she torn off your kosode.

You grab her face, leaving a bloody streak on her cheek as you force her to look at you. Her widened blue eyes are forced to look into yours with no barrier, her glasses lost somewhere in the snow from the fight. You can feel how fast your body is losing warmth. The edges of your vision are blurring, and the draw to fall asleep is growing more powerful than the burning gap in your stomach. Mizu may not know how to die, but you-

‘I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.’

You need her to hear you before everything stops. So you grip her cheek and stare into her panic-stricken eyes. You’re scared too, but you’re more scared of coming back to this world and not seeing her again than you are of not coming back at all.

“Come find me again.”

Mizu hates the concept of promises, and the bigger and more impossible they sound the more she avoids them. But you nose is turning pink from the cold, or from your crying. Tears are trailing down the sides of your temples, cutting through any blood stains across your face.

And she hates promises.

Tears well in her own eyes as she clenches her teeth against a violent sob.

But she hates denying you proof that she loves you more. If you pass without it… if you die with the last words in your ears being 'I can't'…

Every whisper and cry of “Onryō” she’s ever heard echo louder and louder in her head until they're all scream chanting in unison. She blinks, and for a heart-freezing moment your terrified eyes turn her shade of blue.

“Onryō!”

“ONRYŌ!”

"𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬o҉𝔫r҉𝔶o҉𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬o҉𝔫r҉𝔶o҉𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬-"

Her hand lifts away from the rapidly growing stain of blood coming through the makeshift torque across your abdomen and settles on your cheek.

She forces the corners of her mouth up into a reassuring smile as her own body trembles.

“Okay,” her voice wavers as she blinks out tears. “I’ll come find you.” Her voice is like a child making their first vow. “I’ll, I’ll come find you again.”

You smile weakly, and despite her own forced one, her eyes fill with terror for just a moment at the blood staining your teeth.

You reach up and tug her hair out of its high bun, watching it tumble around her shoulders.

You need your soul to memorize what she looks like when she’s not hiding. For next time.

Your own smile wavers. “You have to. I won’t… I won’t forgive you if you don’t.”

The fragile look on her face crumples into despair. Mizu leans her temple against yours as the sobs overtake her, her long hair draping over both of your faces and blocking out the world. “I will. I will I will I will I will I-“

Her fractured voice fades away, and your vision swims.

But your soul is at peace.

‘It's your turn, Mizu.’

‘I ended up burying you with as many red spider lilies I could scavenge. They’ll help guide you to the next life. I made Ri( ) swear to bury me next to you with just as many. If he’s around to collect my corpse when I go. If anyone is. ( )I used to not care if anyone did, as long as I finished my mission. But now I’m terrified something happens and I can’t keep my promise.

I’m sorry. I miss you. I’m sorry I made a promise that’s out of my hands.

( )

I’m sorry.’

You stare down at the spread of papers and antique diaries written in kanji. You’re trying to organize them by chronological order based on context from the letters and diaries, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult as you go. Especially with words smudged and faded by centuries of time. You rub your eye behind your glasses.

‘She really is making this hard for me.’ You sigh through your nose as you bite down on the end of your pen.

“Excuse me?”

“Hm?” You glance to your side, surprised to be pulled from your work and come face to face with probably the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. “Hello?”

“Sorry,” she smiles, lowering her head to pull her tinted glasses off. “I just saw you over here and uh-“ her expression goes a little strained as she looks for the right words. “I just, uh-”

You glance between her and the spread of antique writing from the archives. “Are you the person that checked these out last? Do you need them back?”

“No. I just-" She makes a face. Whatever she planned to say when she came over was quickly unraveling. Her eyes dart away, and land on the diaries. Her eyebrows furrow slowly, something flickering in her blue eyes.

Very pretty eyes…

She jerks her chin down at the spread of papers. “What is that?”

A little thrown off at the changes in conversation, you pick up one of the diaries. “Um, this is work for my master thesis. I’m studying unknown woman and queer history of Edo Japan.” Your fingers drum over the cover. “Came across this treasure when going through the archives. It’s a bunch of writing from a rogue swordsman to his lover after her death. But in my review of it, I’m positive I can prove that he was actually a woman,” you grin a little with pride, shifting your weight side to side with delight at getting to discuss your research.

“Lesbian samurai,” she laughs lowly, eyes warm.

“Something like that,” the corners of your lips lift up.

“Well that’s really fascinating,” her fingers trail across the edge of the table as she steps closer. “I’d love to hear more about it. Maybe… over dinner?” The corner of her mouth grimaces for a moment, her eye twitching once with frustratation at herself with that cheesy delivery.

Your lips part, eyes widening with a breathless little “Oh.”

The woman gains confidence from how your eyes light up behind your glasses as you flush. Her hand squeezes her shoulder, a nervous tic. “I’m sorry. I saw your over here and had to give it a shot.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” you’re quick to reassure her. You look up at her with bright eyes as you dig through your backpack for notebook paper.

“I wouldn’t have forgiven you if you didn’t.”

A tilt of her lips, her hand outstretched. “Mizu.”

You introduce yourself.

You hold out the pen and paper to get her number, and she asks as she leans over to scribble it out on the table, “Anything good in those letters?”

“Most of it’s pretty grief heavy,” you smile sadly. “But in a poetic and romantic way? Like, even though her love was gone, probably pretty young, she kept her memory alive as she fought through life.”

Mizu glances up at you, and something tightens in your throat and sinks into your stomach. You don’t know why you admit quietly, “The first time I read them I started crying in the archive room.”

A beat, where you feel dread creep up your neck at suddenly tanking the mood.

Her face grows impassive, deadly quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

You quickly blink back tears that come on alarmingly fast. “What?”

Mizu blinks too, straightening up. “Just, sorry that it made you sad. I guess.” She smiles again, albeit a little smaller this time, and hands over the paper. “I guess I’ll see you? Hopefully soon?”

A soft laugh huffs out your nose as that melancholic moment passes. “Yeah,” your hand brushes against the inside of her palm as you take the paper. “Really soon.”

She leaves you with a satisfied grin, her nose scrunching up as she turns and walks off.

You watch her go, feeling something tighten in your stomach again at how relaxed she looks.

You look down at her number, and see that she slyly signed it with the kanji for “Promise”.

As you begin to organize the letters to skim through them again, your hesitate on the one you had just been reviewing. You hold it and the notebook paper up side by side.

The letter unfolds and a single, dried, book pressed red spider lily flutters to your feet.

Mizu perfectly copied the handwriting of the swordswoman’s kanji.

“Huh.”

#mizu x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #modern mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blueeyesamurai

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januaryembrs · 6 months ago

Text

YOU'RE ALL I EVER WANTED | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [bonus chapter]

Description: The one where you realise you like Spencer.

Length: 6.2k

Warnings: mention of when Penelope got shot, but other than that not much. Mentions of sex + body count though there is NO judgement OR SHAMING. Bugsy could be Bisexual/attracted to women if you choose to read it that way, but you don't have to!

authors note: this little bonus chapter is set the week before Emily 'dies' so right before the final second of Chapter Two. Or you can just read this if you'd like to see two morons dancing around their love for one another. Since I’m uploading today, I realised you needed to read part of this for the next big chapter so that is going to take an extra day or so but it is coming! I hope this satiates the bugspence cravings!!

‘You’re the one, you’re all I ever wanted,

I think I’ll regret this,’

It was warm considering it was one of the last days of Winter, one of the warmest Virginia had in years.

Caseload had been ramped up with the amount of children out on the streets with their friends where any nefarious hands could simply snatch them, or young adults got drunk, or worse, in preparation for Spring Break, their inhibitions lowered to zero making them prime prey. And yet, on a random Saturday at the end of February, the sun peeked out from the dishwater grey clouds, the wind died down, and their phones stayed quiet with the promise of a real day off.

And how better to spend a day away from their office than to meet their co-workers in the park for a game of soccer.

“Morgan, quit marking me,” Bugsy yelled, dribbling the ball down the small field they’d commandeered as a pitch, four water bottles stood upright on either end as goal points. But Derek’s laugh was menacing, and she heard his footsteps pounding behind her, advancing on her as if they were kids in a playground, and before long he had swooped in front of her, despite her hand waving out in his direction to shove him away.

Emily was about to call her out for contact, not that she expected her little sister to give a shit, but Derek was too fast for even her where she sat on the side lines with Penelope. The ball went careering away from her, Morgan’s quick feet keeping it under much better control than she’d been able to, even with her hot on his heels, and before long he was shooting to where Aaron stood as goalie, just about rolling it past Hotch’s muscled legs into their goal.

Derek whooped, Will jogged over from the other end of the pitch to fist bump his team mate as the younger woman huffed, her college jumper and shorts clinging to her sweaty body.

“Sucks to suck, baby Prentiss,” Morgan jeered, shoving her shoulder lightheartedly when she glared at him, “Guess you owe me that drink, which I will be redeeming at the next convenience-”

“It’s easy to win when you’re two hundred pounds of muscle and your opponent is a girl who hasn’t done sport since high school,” She snapped, her expression grumpy as she fingered the hem of her fleecy top. Derek chuckled, Will returning to sit with JJ as Henry climbed over her legs wanting to play with her long strands of honey blonde hair. He shoulder bumped the girl, hoping to perk up her mood, but she shoved him back as hard as she could, not that it did much since she’d said herself she was sort of out of shape compared to his rock hard abs.

“Oh, come on now, Bug, don’t be like that,” He said, unphased when she damn near threw her whole body against his, trying to even knock him in the slightest off his feet, her face screwed up in annoyance. “Bugsy.” Derek tried again, only for her to ignore him and try even harder. He didn’t so much as flinch, “Bugsy, you’re being unreasonable,”

She huffed, drawing away from him and glancing at him with a scathing glare. “Okay, terminator, you won this time but I swear one day I’m going to make you pay for taking advantage of such a fragile little woman like me,”

Emily scoffed, handing her sister a water bottle, “Didn’t you take down an unsub alone yesterday? I mean you didn’t even have cuffs until Spencer showed up-”

“Oh, whose side are you on?” Bugsy snarled, downing a gulp of water and walking back over to where Spencer and JJ were relaxing on a picnic blanket, the former laying on his back with a book spread open using only one of his spindle-like hands.

“Good game?” He mused, trying to hide his smirk when she groaned in response, throwing herself down on the grass beside him. She wrestled her sweater over her head which left her in a band tee, her chest still rising with panting breaths as she lay down to his right, glaring at the clear sky.

“Remind me to never play him in sport ever again. The man is a Spartan Warrior,” She huffed, barely glimpsing to where JJ chuckled at her defeated expression.

“Did you know that the Spartans were actually banned from the Olympics for some time for violating the peace treaty between Sparta and Athens? But one of their athletes entered a chariot race pretending to represent Thebes, a city above Athens in Boeotia, and only when he won did he announce his true identity,” Spencer asked, his nose still buried in his book like he was reciting the very same information off the page. Bugsy’s lips quirked in interest.

“That’s pretty cool,” She murmured, head flicking over to him where he glanced back at her, finally ripping his attention away from his novel. She blinked at him, his ‘boy band’ hair as so affectionately named by their unit chief, swooping over his forehead with a few soft, chocolate curls that she moved to fix almost immediately.

She missed the way his eyes rounded in puppy love as she did so, a camouflaged smile twitching at his lips, an onset reaction of the butterflies that swarmed his chest.

“I like your hair like this,” She said, even though she’d told him a dozen times already his new hair was dashing, as she’d put it, “It makes your eyes look really pretty,”

He cleared his throat, his cheeks heating up because he couldn’t handle his reactions when she was so forward, “Really? I always thought they were the colour of dirt,”

Her mouth dropped open, and she shuffled up onto her elbows so they were similar heights, “Spencer Reid, you take that back right now,”

“Wow, the government name. I must be in trouble,” He mused, gaze falling to the grass beneath them, dropping his book into his lap even though he felt her annoyance poking holes in his skull.

“They are not the colour of dirt, I’ve never heard something so ridiculous,” She scoffed, nudging him with the back of her hand in a soft chide and he snickered, looking back up to where she was staring him straight in the muddy hues of his very plain hazel eyes. “They’re like, they’re like-” She tried to come up with an answer, squinting in the soft sunlight that turned the brown shades into liquid honey running off a spoon, her face leaning towards his to catch a closer look at the exact pigment of them, “They’re like looking up at a forest on a Summer’s morning, you know? Like when you can see every single one of the leaves because of the light,”

He nodded wordlessly, because no one had ever said something quite so poetic about any part of him before. He fought the urge to look away, wasn’t sure he could even if he tried because for a second they were both in a trance, dissecting the other’s gaze like they were imprinting their colour palettes to memory.

“Buggy!” Her head whipped away from him as the blonde headed child came running over to her as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. He launched himself at her stomach, and her hands quickly caught him before he could wind her, his cheeks rosy behind his bumble bee pacifier. She giggled as he slid down her side, his knees staining with grass as he reached muddy hands out for her face.

“Woah, not so fast mister. Who knows where these grubby little paws have been,” She teased, and he laughed behind the plastic sucker, his bluebell eyes a near match of JJ’s blinking over at her.

Spencer watched her and his godson with besotted eyes, imagining for a split second what she might be like as a mother, if she ever chose to be. He knew she would be soft and yet not lose one drop of the Bugsy playfulness he cherished, just instead parting everything that made her extraordinary onto a mini her.

He saw it, like a flicker of a dream, like deja vu, a girl with her hair, her skin, her smile; the one that was impish and guilty like she had a secret, giggling behind a ladybug dummy the way Henry was doing when she forced his dirty hands together to clap; “Clap your hands if you smell like fairy farts- Henry!”

The child laughed harder, so hard his pacifier dropped out his mouth with a little dribble, his milk teeth pearly with and tiny in the sun. His chest seized with giggles, his face turning pink as he panted to catch his breath, “You’re so silly, Buggy,”

JJ swooped in to grab his dummy, giving his hands a quick once over with a baby wipe and packing the sucker back into his bag. Henry’s gaze quickly slid up his mother’s arm to where she lingered over his pack, and he was eager to make himself comfortable leaning against Bugsy’s stomach, legs stretching out onto the blankets, his shoes brushing against Spencer’s trouser leg.

“Juice, mama!” He shouted, his little voice sweet knowing just how to wrap everyone around his pinky finger, “Juice and Bi’kits!”

“What do we say, Henry?” Will reminded gently, holding the Ben 10 satchel open while his partner rooted around the bottom of it with a loving smile.

“Please, juice and bi’kits,” The boy replied politely, his feet knocking together out of excitement when JJ produced two red pouches and animal shaped cookies. Stepping over where Spence lay sprawled out, watching Bugsy idly stroking over the back of his godson’s white blonde curls, JJ handed the two of them a drink and snack each, Bugsy’s eyes flying up to the woman in interest.

“For me?” She asked dumbly, wondering if she was to give the second helping to the boy once he’d finished his first or if it really was hers.

JJ shrugged, moving back over to sit beside Will where he wrapped a lazy arm around her waist, squeezing her gently, “I always pack extra for the other kids,”

Bug’s face flattened into something unamused as Henry handed Spencer his juice pouch for him to push the straw in, “I’m twenty six, I’m not a kid,” She grouched, ripping open the packet of biscuits and shoving a lion in her mouth, “God, whoever invented these animal shaped pals is genius. Like, why does everything taste so much better when it looks like a monkey smiling up at me?”

The three of them chuckled at her, Emily and Penelope starting up a new game of soccer with Hotch and Derek, David reffing from the sideline. Penelope was ofcourse with Morgan, looking a little pale where she stood in goal, as Emily ran at her in full force with the ball skipping between her feet.

Spence handed the drink back to the boy, picking his book back up as the two of them crunched on their goodies happily.

“Story time, Uncle Spencer,” Henry demanded, pointing to the copy of War and Peace in between bites of a zebra cookie.

And instead of telling his godson that he would almost certainly hate the complex, adult writing of Leo Tolstoy, Spencer smiled down at him, feeling Bugsy’s eyes roving over his face.

“Yeah, storytime, Uncle Spencer,” She jeered, her elbow getting dirty where it dug into the grass as she rolled onto her side to watch him properly, “Never too early to teach the kids about French invasions,”

Flicking her a smirk, he cleared his throat theatrically, and pretended to read from his book, “Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White,”

“That’s a real magic book you got there, Spence,” The woman snickered, and he smiled into the pages, not daring himself to look at the devilish look she had on her face.

“Chapter One; Before Breakfast,” Spencer ‘read’ clearly, his memory still clear as a bell when his mother had read it to him when he was five, “‘Where’s papa going with that axe?’ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast,”

Bugsy felt Henry’s head slump against her hip, the boy slurping on his juice pouch happily as she punctured a hole in her own carton to take a sip, the two of them listening intently to Spencer recounting the children’s book to a scary degree of accuracy.

His slender arms looked good with his sleeves rolled to his elbow, she thought offhandedly, his right elbow taking the brunt of his weight as he leaned on it, the other flicking through the Tolstoy novel as if it were the real thing, his long fingers splayed out on the back of the book to keep it open. His eyes kept darting up over the top of the page to see if they were both still listening, which they were, though Bugsy suspected Henry was starting to get tired as his head felt heavy against her skin.

Propping her head on her hand, her eyes scanned over the profile of his face. She’d always known he was attractive, ever since she opened her dorm room door at John Hopkins and saw him and Morgan waiting for her. Her stomach twisted thinking about how long ago that seemed, that she couldn’t remember quite what her world had centred around when it had just been her at college; her mother and father were distant as ever, her sister was a stranger that had all but raised her, boys were just a passing face if she ever let them through her door. She’d had her books and maybe two friends, acquaintances would probably be the better term, and her coffee. And that seemed to have been enough, or at least it was enough that she couldn’t outright complain about how lonely she felt.

And then she met Spencer. And that feeling had disapparated entirely.

Her heart swelled when she looked at him, recounting the beginning of chapter two by now, his forest hues glancing up at Henry’s sleepy, round eyes that watched him in interest. She thought for a moment that whoever his kid was going to be was going to be the luckiest boy in the world. She let herself imagine a boy Henry’s age already devouring books twice his reading age, one with wild, almond curls he’d let grow around his neck like JJ did with Henry’s. She imagined how he would sit him on his lap and let him read the books for himself, so that if he got stuck his dad would be right there to help him behind a proud smile. Spencer; a father. She realised how out of field the thought was before she shook it out of her head, though it had planted itself right in her hypothalamus the second she’d seen the vision of it.

A small smile twitched at her lips, a warmth in the pit of her stomach flickering as she sipped the juice, giggling when Spencer changed his tone slightly so Henry knew someone new was speaking, seemingly enjoying the book almost as much as his audience was. His eyes snapped to her when he heard her, a devious little smile creeping up his lips like they shared the same thought. She wished she could do this every day, lay on picnic blankets and listen to him read, his voice was heavenly, and she thought she might never get tired of hearing him tell her things.

Every part of her was consumed when she thought of him like this. It had happened once or twice, like when she’d driven him home from the doctors after they’d cleared his MRI’s, when she’d held his head in her lap on his couch and stroked his scalp, a cold compress over his eyes because his head writhed with a pain he couldn’t squash out. When she’d heard his soft snores as he finally dropped off to sleep and she allowed herself to look at his resting face, perhaps even more angelic than usual, a small indent right between his brows where his expression had been scrunched in discomfort for weeks, one she smoothed over with the soft pad of her thumb. She’d felt something then, like her whole body was full to the brim of him, her chest spasming with a feeling like she was coming down with a cold but one that made her feel good, but she’d brushed it off as seeing him vulnerable and soft compared to the quick as a whip FBI agent she was used to these days. She’d do just about anything for him, anything to make him feel better, anything to just make him happy.

Or when they’d eat breakfast together at his desk, her chair rolled up beside his as they sat together, taking it in turns to do crossword puzzles together because they realised they got competitive when they were allowed to answer all of them at the same time, and Bugsy did not like losing. There had been one morning when they’d descended into madness because they were both trying to write the answers as fast as possible, their hands smashing together over the boxes, her hand shoving his lithe body away as he had called her a cheater through red cheeked laughter. Rossi had confiscated the paper when things had gotten too physical and she’d pulled the lever beneath his chair, lowering his seat quick enough he nearly slipped right out. His coffee spilled all over his desk as his arm flew out to grab his desk, and the sight alone made her laugh so hard she almost peed. He’d pretended to be annoyed at her for all of two minutes as they cleaned up the mess together, but he too had found himself laughing hard enough he was almost in tears because she could barely get two words out without creasing over and holding her stomach in aching barks of noise, the two of them leaning against one another for support. She thought then, if she had breakfast with him every day, whether it be with quizzes or coffee or even a plain bowl of oatmeal, she’d wake up every day happy.

And she thought it then, her heart swelling fat enough to burst as he looked up at her over the top of the leather binding again. Even in the split second he did so her skin had turned to gooseflesh, like he’d grabbed her at her soul and squeezed her whole being affectionately. And it was like she remembered every time he’d made her feel like that, times she thought of it as the fact a girl who received little to no attention growing up was of course going to revel under the gaze of an attractive man with a heart sweeter than cotton candy, it was just psychology. One big Freudian-slip of nonsense. At least that was what she shoved it off as.

But looking at him, his hands big enough to grab her face whole, his body long and lithe as he spread out on the blanket, his hair falling so delicately, his tone soft and pandering to the little boy who was dropping off to sleep against her stomach. His whole essence was so Spencer it made her feel at home, like this was what she was created to do, feeling so fulfilled sat with him sipping on a juice pouch as he read to her she could die tomorrow and feel accomplished for only twenty six years.

She knew in her gut that wasn’t what friends felt for each other; the thought creeping up her spine and over her shoulder like a virus that seized her brain as its own, her expression unwavering as she watched him with adoring eyes.

She knew it was wrong, but with him she felt worth something. She felt complete. Like she had everything she ever needed, everything she’d ever wanted on the nights loneliness had snuck in and she’d felt like no one would ever understand how the muddied water of her mind worked.

But he did. He always had.

And it was like she heard a screech in a track record as it came to a stop, her head working overtime with the thought of it.

She bit her lip in guilt, as he continued reading, hoping she wouldn’t ever ruin whatever it was that she’d felt, because she might not ever be able to forgive herself if she did.

–

“It’s over one and below a hundred, and that’s all you’re getting,” Bugsy said with a teasing smile, her fingers resting on the rim of a very sweet Cosmo, as Penelope and Derek sat opposite them, Spencer to her right with a beer on one of the few times she’d ever seen him drink. But it had been a good day, and what would be the harm in topping off the day with a cold beverage, “Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like they meant much,”

“We know it doesn’t matter, baby Prentiss, we’re just being nosey,” Derek chimed, his fingers wrapped around his own bottle of beer, courtesy of Bugsy which she had paid for with a grumble, a tipsy glint in his dark eyes.

It was just the four of them this evening. Will and JJ had taken a sleeping Henry home so they could spend some rare time together seeing as their son was entirely knocked out. Hotch had taken Emily home after David had given her a red card for trying to tackle both Aaron and Derek multiple times during their game, because apparently competitiveness ran in the family. He had tried to gently remind her Aaron was also on her team, but had received a glare that would make any agent cower, and Hotch had suggested maybe it would be best if they got her home rather than fill her with alcohol.

Rossi had excused himself home after hearing the colourful things the oldest Prentiss woman called him in Italian, likely contemplating if she meant any of the threats she was making.

“Any guy would be lucky to make it to your magic number, honey bee,” Penelope added, her pastel painted lipstick making a cute rim on the straw to her own Margarita, “Or girl! Any girl would be too,”

Bugsy shied away at that, blanking for perhaps the first time because the whole topic of her romantic endeavours was suddenly embarrassing when Spencer was sat right beside her. She had spoken to them before about her college days, and had never once made an effort to hide the fact she knew she had a charm about her that meant she usually could take someone home if she wanted them.

So why was it suddenly so difficult to admit in front of Spencer? She knew why, she knew why every single one of them suddenly felt miniscule in the grand scheme of things because they hadn’t meant much to her, not when he was sitting boring holes into the side of her head with an unusually tight expression.

“What does it matter if there were girls, none of them really meant much,” She brushed them off, her face heating up when she finally looked at Spencer, his long fingers picking at the label on his beer with a tight lipped smile.

“We’re just teasing, Bug, there’s nothing wrong with any number you could give us. Besides, I guarantee mine is higher than yours,” Derek reassured, squeezing her wrist gently, his eyes sliding to where Spencer seemed to be trying to avoid all eye contact like he wanted the seat to swallow him whole, “Same with you, Kid, there’s no judgement at this table, we’re all human,”

“I bet you were a real ladies man by that third doctorate,” Bugsy teased, nudging his shoulder with her own because she hated when he went quiet.

He looked at her like he was expecting her to be cruel, except she didn’t look it, not one bit, instead she seemed a little skittish, no doubt from having the spotlight on her. “What makes you say that?”

She bristled, “I mean, come on, Spence, you’re very good looking, you’re the smartest person I know, you’re funny and there’s like not a single bad bone in your entire body,” She said, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of her words the more she spoke. But it was like the cocktail had loosened her lips, had made it seem entirely normal to essentially tell him how lucky a girl would be to date him, how she had thought about all the reasons she would find him a worthy sexual partner. She watched him blush, granting her a flustered smile, and she looked to Penelope desperately for help, “Pen, would you tell him?”

“She has a point, Reid. You are the full package,” Penelope conceded, her smile illuminating the whole bar as she reached over to hold both their hands in hers, “It’s a shame you’re both strongly planted in the friend zone otherwise the four of us could have really been something beautiful,”

They all chuckled, Bugsy shaking her head and leaning against Spencer’s side when he seemed to ease up, just to remind him she had meant no harm by what she said. In fact, she’d meant entirely the opposite.

She felt his hand lean under the table to squeeze her knee, because he knew what she was thinking, and she felt herself relax at the feel of his touch.

“Alright, here’s a question; winner gets a free shot on the next round. What was your worst date?” Morgan poked, noticing how the two youngest agents seemed to scooch towards one another almost as if they hadn’t realised, as if they were working off their own orbit, until they were pressed right up against one another, their elbows brushing against one another, “Doesn’t have to be sexual, could just be bad table manners,”

“I haven’t really been on a date before,” Spencer tried to weasel his way out of the question, Bugsy’s head whipping to him in surprise, “There was that one time I met that girl Austin for coffee, but that was pretty great,”

She bit her cheek in annoyance. She’d forgotten about Austin, the bartender that she’d told Spencer to go after, because she was so sure that a good looking doctor like him deserved someone kind and attractive like Austin had been. She remembered how she’d seen her ocean blue eyes roving over her friend, how at the time it hadn’t meant much to her, because she couldn’t really blame her for thinking he was hot, how now it stirred something in her tummy that she feared felt like jealousy.

She dared herself to stop the bombarding thoughts of what ‘pretty great’ entailed exactly, and busied her face by looking to Morgan for his turn.

“My man,” Derek said with a wicked grin on his face, watching Spencer cower away from the attention though there was something guiltily proud in the smirk that grew on his face that said Spencer was somewhat pleased with his answer. In the scheme of things, he’d gotten lucky, pun intended. The only woman to ever say yes to a date with him had been sweet, even if he’d quickly made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything more with her, and even then she’d been understanding.

“Your turn, Morgan,” Bugsy reminded, trying to be as cool as possible despite the fact her stomach felt flipped upside down at the sound of a woman she hadn’t thought about in two whole years. She didn’t know what had gotten her so territorial in a matter of seconds, but she hated every moment of it.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know ladies, that someone has in fact put Derek Morgan in his place before,” Derek said, with a clap of his hands, and Bugsy and Penelope shared an amused eye roll.

“Who knows how big your ego might be if this goddess among women hadn’t acted when she did,” Bugsy drawled, Penelope giggling into her lime wedge as Derek laid a hand on his chest in faux hurt.

“I’m telling you, I’m a changed man. I tasted my own medicine, Sugar, and it was bitter,” He said melodramatically, and even Spencer shook his head with a laugh, because Derek was a diva when he’d had a few to drink. “We go out to a lovely restaurant, I pay ofcourse, being the gentleman I am, and then we decide to go for some drinks after to round the evening off,”

“Any girl's dream come true,” Penelope jumped in, giggling when Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder, like they were on a date themselves.

“That was exactly my thoughts, babygirl.” Derek flirted, taking a swig of his beer, “Anyway, I maybe have a little too much of the good stuff, nothing particularly worrying. We’re laughing, we’re vibing, and then we go back to my place,”

“Here we go, the real good stuff,” Bugsy chimed in, nudging Spencer with her elbow as the two of them snickered like tweedle dum and tweedle dee. “Fifty Shades of Morgan,”

“Pipe down, lover girl,” Derek barked through laughter, Penelope barely making it through a sip of her own drink without smiling, “So as I was saying, I’m feeling a little worse for wear, she’s a little drunk too, so we move past it, and then we get to my room,”

“Bow chick a wow wow,” Bugsy sang teasingly, to which Spencer chuckled and taking a sip of his own drink.

“Well, you would think, honey bee, since I am known to the women for my experiences in bed, some may call electric,” Derek slurred, holding her hand gently over the table to which she laughed even harder.

“Huh, I must have missed that email,” She teased back, taking a long final sip of the dregs of her drink.

“You wound me,” He replied, shaking his head, and turning to look at Penelope seriously, like he was sat in a confession booth, “So anyway, we’re in my room, about to get jiggy with it, only when I take my boxers off I find my soldier is sort of-” He paused, swallowing and looking at Spencer’s red face where he was trying desperately not to break, “You know. Unable to stand to attention,”

Bugsy spat her drink across the table, the action alone making Penelope laugh so hard tears sprang to her eyes, the younger girl coughing as she choked on her drink, and Spencer patted her on the back until she reclaimed some composure.

“Oh, god,” She gasped, her hand thumping her chest as she tried desperately to get a hold of herself in between the loud cries of glee and winding herself, “Derek-”

“Hey, laugh it up, Bug, it worked out alright in the end. Our second date really was electric,” He replied with a smug smile, as the girl finally caught a breath, her lash line watering with tears as she grabbed for some napkins on the table to clear up her mess.

“If you say so,” She said, her voice croaking as Spencer offered her a sip of his drink to wash her throat out. She took a small mouthful of beer, handing the bottle back to him with a grateful smile, and she tried no to think about the fact that germ wise, they had essentially just kissed.

“Your turn,” Spencer said, something amused in his eyes as she looked at him somewhat betrayed, “What’s been your worst date?”

She sighed, wiping beneath her eyes with her sleeve, “If you must know, and because I really do want that shot,” She started, clearing her throat one final time, “I was seeing this guy in New York over Spring break, Sean something,”

“Sean something?” Derek asked, “You didn’t know his last name?”

She shrugged, fighting the urge to crawl into a small ball of embarrassment because surely what Morgan said had set the bar for judgement high, “We didn’t exactly do much talking when we saw each other,”

Spencer hid his frustration in a fake smile, though one look at his furrowed brow would have given him away instantly. Luckily, they had their eyes on her long enough they didn’t catch a glimpse of his expression. It wasn’t that he would ever think less of her for being with someone else, who wouldn’t want her, but hearing about it made his inside boil with jealousy he didn’t even know he would have ever felt.

“Anyway. I felt like a change of scenery and my mother was bothering me for a lunch date since she was in New York for the month, so I took him and two of his friends out to Italy for a long weekend,” She went on, ripping up a napkin for something to do while she spoke, and she felt Penelope staring at her agog.

“You took a casual fling to Italy for a change of scenery?” The bubbly woman asked, her mouth dropped in shock, “Can I sleep with you?”

Derek laughed, and Spencer went bright red when he jumped to ask the same question though he knew it was entirely coarse. Maybe it was the beer loosening his tongue, or maybe it was the fact he wondered what the two of them sitting in a sunny vineyard like a rich old couple would look like, he wasn’t sure.

“Play your cards right, Princess,” Bugsy teased, clearing her throat to continue, “Anyway. We’re there for two days and the final evening Sean and I get into a bit of a disagreement over something dumb; I think him and his friends were being too loud and we were getting complaints. Anyway, we kiss and make up for the evening, we go out to a club. We go back to the hotel, get jiggy with it as you put it, and when I woke up the next day, the bastard had taken the bag with all our boarding passes and came back to America with his friends without even waking me up.”

Their mouths fell open, Spencer’s brows shooting into his hairline in worry, “That sounds awful, Bug,”

She shrugged again, messing with the pile of ripped up paper she’d created, “It’s nothing. I spoke the language so I got by okay, and luckily I kept all my cash in my purse so I hitched a ride to the airport and got on the next plane, except the only available one landed me in California so I had to wait for a transfer over to Baltimore. By the time I got back, his roommate said he was with some other girl,”

“What an asshole,” Derek said, shaking his head as he said so, but Bugsy raised her shoulders again.

“I really know how to pick them,” She said, swirling her lime piece around the bottom of her glass, “Anyway, the hotel staff felt bad for me and gave me a free bottle of Pinot Noir on them so it didn’t work out all bad,”

Sensing it was somewhat of a sticky subject, Penelope jumped in with her usual wit, “As much as I would love to give you the shot, buttercup, this gal took a bullet on her last bad date so I will be collecting that prize if it’s all the same to you,” She said, her bubbly attitude quickly throwing metaphorical glitter over the subject, collecting Bugsy's empty glass and her own together as her and Morgan moved to shuffle out of the table for another round.

Bugsy’s eyes widened, “What?” She stopped, and she looked at Spencer to see if they were playing some sort of joke on her only to see him unsurprised, “What!?”

“I’ll tell you about it some other time, sweet cheeks. Right now I have a tequila, salt and lime with my name written all over it,” Penelope chirped, waltzing up to the bar with her muscle two paces behind her as he drew out his wallet to put down for the next round of drinks.

“Well, I suddenly feel like an asshole for complaining about being left in a nice hotel alone,” Bugsy said, her head resting on her hand as she looked over at Spencer who ran his finger over the emerald green bottle.

He snorted, “Tell me about it, I said that my last date went wonderfully,”

They met eyes in the dark lowlights of the bar and shared an amused grin, like they knew it was cynical for them to laugh except they really did feel like morons for complaining about how bad they had it when Penelope had all but joked about her situation.

“I am sorry that happened to you, though,” Spencer said, his hand creeping over the leather seat to where hers sat on her thigh, “That must have been really scary. Why didn’t you call Emily?”

Bugsy’s face tensed, “We weren’t really speaking then, and I knew if I told her or my mother I’d get the same lecture about being irresponsible and careless. I think I thought I’d rather do it alone,”

Spencer pouted, braving enough to move his hand up to take hers in his own. Maybe it was the second bottle of low percent beer, or maybe it was because she’d flickered with something genuinely saddened when she’d said it, and Spencer thought that in every instance of her story she’d had little to no one to turn to for help.

She had been alone, and the thought of it crushed him.

He grabbed her hand, her head snapping to him and praying she didn’t find pity there because she hated that. Except she just saw him, those mossy eyes looking rounder and more lovely than ever when she regarded him.

“You don’t have to feel alone ever again, you know that right?” He asked earnestly, giving her fingers a little squeeze, and she felt her tummy do that stupid turn all over again. It was like she had an upset stomach except that was a complete antonym of what it was, like her stomach was so unbelievably overjoyed that she could barely even hold it together without wanting to ask him what it was he had done to suddenly turn her into some sort of feral creature for every little movement he made.

Except there wasn’t just one thing, it was everything about him. Everything.

She smiled at him, more bashful than she had ever felt for him, and against her own instincts she slipped her fingers in between his own so they had their every digit laced together, and it was suddenly so much bigger than two friends chatting in a bar.

She knew it then, felt it realer than ever, like a stop sign slapping her clean across the face and shattering every bone in her skull.

She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3

@rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover r @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @amortencjja @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @greenvita @busy-buzzing @kitty-kei @universallyblizzardlove @suckstobrlaurie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @splatteredpurplepaint @pieceuvmind

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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lueurjun · 2 months ago

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━━━━ celestial vows. h. hyunjin

underground boxer!hyunjin x reader. written on pure sleep deprived vibes at 5 am after one too many hyunjin edits and a sudden rush of motivation to write.

“i’m going to give you a big house one day.”

delicate, lingering kisses brush against your skin, hidden beneath the veil of night. they scatter softly along your arm, trailing over your shoulder and up the curve of your neck, until they reach your lips. each kiss is a silent vow, a promise sealed by hyunjin’s lips, unbreakable as always. but this is more than a promise—it’s an oath. an oath to be better, to give you not just what you want, but what he believes you need.

“i’m going to get it all for you. the big house in the countryside, the dream car, the dogs. all of it—right now, it’s just a promise, a glimpse of the dream. but when the chance comes, i’ll make it real. i’m all in, baby, and it’s all for you."

another promise, sealed with a kiss—this time on your lips. firm yet soft, it leaves you sinking into him like velvet, every sense overwhelmed. as he draws back, his lips brush your nose, a whisper of a kiss, before he rests his head on your chest. he listens for your heartbeat, the rhythm he knows like the back of his hand, as if it were his favorite song, a melody he never tires of, woven into the fabric of his soul.

your hand slips into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, sending shivers rippling through his body. with your free hand, you gently trace the fresh scar on his cheek—a reminder of the price he's paying for the dream he’s hellbent on building for you. a life funded by something far from lawful—a job that tears at your heart, as if it endures the blows meant for him

"i don’t need any of that. not as long as i have you here with me, breathing and safe." the one-bedroom apartment is far from perfect; it’s cold, damp, and mold clings to the walls. it doesn’t feel like home; it’s just a place to exist. but you don’t need a nice house when your real sanctuary is found in two arms and a heartbeat—one you want to keep strong and steady.

“tell me what you envision for our future house.”

“hyunjin-”

he catches your hand, cradling it gently to his lips. “humour me, just this once.” though the darkness of the bedroom shields his eyes, you can feel the warmth of his gaze knowing that a lazy smile accompanies the usual shimmer in the brown.

“i picture being surrounded by plenty of land so our dogs can roam freely, enjoying life as they please. i’d love to have my own little garden, where i can plant pretty flowers and grow fresh produce for dinner. And i dream of a big bedroom with a bed that takes up the entire space—just so you’d stop hogging the mattress—” a yelp slips out before you realize it, surprised by his finger poking your side in warning, and you chuckle lightly. “but most of all, i want you. i want to come home every day and find you in that garden, playing with the dogs. i want to slow dance in our big kitchen, illuminated only by the moonlight… i just want you, hyunjin."

emotion sweeps over you like a gentle tide, and you lower your head, burying your face in his hair, inhaling the scent that feels like home, enveloping you in its warmth. he’s here, he’s safe—untouched and unbroken. he’s still your hyunjin, a steadfast light in the shadows, grounding you with his presence.

“you have me.” a promise tenderly bounded with a soft kiss upon your chest. “you will always have me, and i’ll give you everything and more. you deserve the world, and i swear it will be within your reach… just—” he exhales softly, vulnerability lingering in the air like a delicate thread. “just don’t leave me, okay? even when the fear rises and threatens to tear us apart… i know it’s selfish, but i can’t handle this without you. just hold on for me, will you?”

you nod, fully aware that leaving is not an option, even if you wished for it. your heart is intricately bound to his, a connection no one could sever—not even the dangerous path he insists on walking. whether you like it or not, you’re in this for the long haul; for the quiet moments spent cleaning up after his fights, for the anxious hours spent waiting for his safe return… for the life he has sketched in his mind. you’re in it for everything. for him.

“i won’t. but don’t leave me either, okay? keep that heart beating for me, yeah?”

he smiles against your chest, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. In the dim light, his silhouette blurs, yet you find him effortlessly, pressing your forehead against his. “Yeah. always.”

he seals his most crucial promise with a kiss to your lips. he can’t guarantee a safe return, but he’ll fight with every ounce of his strength. and as fear grips you, his words and actions provide a soothing comfort, allowing you to drift into a peaceful sleep with him wrapped around you, safe and sound.

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joostcafe · 6 months ago

Text

So kiss me. | joost klein x fem!reader

Summary: Getting ready for a Halloween party with Joost is not easy, especially when he can’t stop kissing you.

Warnings: Pure fluff, kissing, a couple swear words.

A/N: I just really miss Halloween… requests are very much open!!!!

— now playing! ♫ kiss me | sixpence none the richer —

“Stop fussing.” You said, spreading white face paint onto joost’s cheeks.

His eyes squeezed shut, as he held onto your thighs for dear life. “It’s cold.”

“I’m almost done, promise.” You reassure him, gently patting his chest with your other hand.

His mouth drops before letting out a soft laugh, “You just started, leugenaar!” — and liar you were.

He attempted to lay down onto his bed before you snatched him back up, giving him a peck on the lips.

The smug look on his face made you believe it would make him sit still.

He smiled once more, the smile you loved so dearly. The way his eyes disappeared beneath his cheeks, showing all of his teeth.

You continued, carefully applying the paint to the rest of his face as he sat there, staring up at you with gleaming puppy eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled.

You can’t help but look away after locking eyes with him. He still made you nervous, even after sitting on his lap for a while.

He hugged your waist, now pulling you towards him. You grabbed his face with one hand and made your way up to his hair.

Not even a second later he leaned to kiss you once more, and you could feel him smile once again.

“We’re going to be late Joost.” You said, pulling away and fixing his hair — which you previously ruined.

He sighed and wiped some white paint off from your face. “I can’t kiss my beautiful girlfriend? You know, we can just stay home and watch scary movies.”

You and him loved home dates better than going out to parties, since you both got overwhelmed very fast in big crowds. So that actually sounded pretty fucking amazing.

You lingered for a moment before grabbing another color beside you. “Your friends will get mad, you know how they are.”

“Fuck my friends.” He replied, which he didn’t actually mean of course. “They can survive the night without us.”

You smiled and kissed him yet again, this time a little deeper.

“Sweetheart.” He managed to get out, “I don’t want your talents to go to waste.”

You laughed, grabbing the nearest makeup brush. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

Holding onto his neck, you painted the remaining clown features onto his face.

Your focus and determination was cute to him, the way you would slightly stick out your tongue when it came to drawing a sharp line. When you would stop to admire him and plant a few kisses on his neck to avoid making a mess. It was too much for him in fact, he was so in love with you.

“I think i’m done.” You said, giving him a small hand mirror.

“Wowww.” He dragged on with an exaggerated voice, “I really love it.”

You try to fix his hair once more as he grabbed a red lipstick from your bag, “May I?”

You grin slightly, getting closer to him.

He opens the tube before inspecting it. Then he swipes it gently on your lips, making sure he’s not messing it up.

“There.” He whispered.

You carefully rub your lips together before looking at yourself. “I’m impressed.”

He then points to his cheek, asking for a kiss.

You obviously weren’t gonna deny him, even if you thought he had enough for tonight — he never had enough of your kisses.

You kissed him once.

Then twice on the other cheek.

One on his forehead just because.

And a million more all around his face.

“You’re too good to me my love.” He replied.

You wrapped your arms around him, “Hey, i’m the lucky one here.”

— And after many long kisses, you spent the rest of the night cuddled up with each other, watching horror movies and eating halloween candy.

#joost klein #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fluff #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joostice

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banj0possum · 8 months ago

Note

Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

#yandere #yandere x gn reader #male yandere #yandere oc #oc yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #tw yandere #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #king x reader #yandere king #evil king #platonic #platonic reader

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osamucide · 2 months ago

Text

FLAVOR PROFILE—afab+gn!reader, angst and comfort??? smoking, alcohol, established friendship, feelings, f!masturbation, loss of virginity, body worship, biting, scratching, tiniest hint of corruption (there should've been more I’m sorry) and possessive aku, praise, fingering, penetration, creampie

ABV—6.1k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

"Really?"

He can't believe you're laughing at him. You swear you're not—you've sworn twice now. He just sighs and snatches your cigarette from you.

"I just kind of can't believe it, Ryuu," you rationalize, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm not, I promise. I'm not laughing because it's funny. Just surprised, that's all."

Surprised, sure, alright. Look at me, he wants to spit at you, but he's hacking from holding the smoke in his lungs just a moment too long and so you work the dart from his fingers and tuck it back between your lips as he rights himself.

Akutagawa crosses his arms, not unlike a pouting child, and fixes his eyes on the brick wall across from you both and the one you lean back on as you're sat atop some wooden crate, one long discarded after a weapons shipment or whatever else. He can't help but feel a little small beneath your reaction, but you resume issuing soft kicks to the gravel beneath your feet like it was nothing—like you hadn't just drawn probably one of the most humiliating confessions out of him. He never really gave a second thought to all that before you came around, but now that he's beside you, elbows crossed over his knees as he draws them closer to himself, he suddenly feels like he should've before.

You finish your cigarette in silence, pointedly not moving away from him.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, sincerely as you chuck the butt to the ground in front of you. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." But he still doesn't look at you. Akutagawa's dealing with more than one predicament at the present moment and he needs to sort them before he can turn his attention back to you.

One—he doesn't know if it would've been more or less attractive, or maybe repulsive, if he could've said, yeah, I've fucked plenty of people before, or at least I've fucked someone, and Akutagawa's aware he's a lot of filthy things, but apparently he's neither a liar nor a whore, and it leads him right to his second predicament, which is this: why does he care whether you find him attractive or repulsive?

How long has he care what you think of him at all? And last: what does it mean, that he does?

It's that last one that his thoughts get snagged on.

You tap your foot beneath you. This alleyway is where you always drag him off to when you feel like getting away from work. He can hardly remember the last time he said no to you when it came to escaping Mori's iron rule for an hour or so. But he wishes he would've today, kind of like he wishes he would've skipped the only other time he can recall wishing to have skipped—the day you let him smoke one of your cigarettes.

It's funny how your conversation from that day parallels the exchange from minutes ago. It sticks in his mind right now. You, at least two years younger and having known him on a much more superficial level than you do now, had laughed a little; it makes him feel only marginally better about you laughing now. Even then you were reassuring him, not because it's funny, but just because—I don't know, that's what I do when I’m surprised, I guess. He's always envied your ability to find joy in small things like that, after all.

You didn't make him feel small just now. He finds ways to do that all on his own; he knows that. He must've been weak back then because he'd inhaled less tar than you, and he hated that, so he did it when you offered. But now, here he was. You know he's never even kissed anyone, let alone fucked. The sensical pattern, thinking back to that day when you tapped a cigarette out of your pack for him, lit it off your own, good-naturedly patted his back as the coughs raged out of him because he inhaled it all down way too fast for someone with clean lungs—

Where exactly would that lead now, logically?

It's not like he's never thought about it. But you don't need to know that.

Akutagawa turns his his head away from you, chin on his arms. He can feel his face burn. He won't let you see.

But he knows you now, and you know him. And he knows you'll offer anyway.

You sit in silence, maybe ten minutes more, kicking the ground and letting your eyes flutter open and shut, before you pull another smoke out of your pack and stick it in your mouth.

“Well,” you mumble as your lighter flicks, “If you wanna change that…”

He doesn’t move. He can still feel the crate trembling from how you tap your foot, which is good, because he’s a little restless himself. You draw off your cigarette; he sees the smoke dissipate in his peripheral as your head falls back to rest on the brick. What he doesn’t see is your little half-smirk, but he knows it’s there.

It’s not that Akutagawa doesn’t like you. Anyone that knows him well can probably see he likes you, or at least tolerates you—he lets you drag him here week after week, shift after shift, after all. He gives you grace, even if it’s small, when you fuck up on jobs—something he never gives to anyone else, hardly even Chuuya. He doesn’t flinch or swat you away when you absentmindedly pull him in some direction by his elbow or his wrist; he doesn’t scoff at you when you lean up against him, like you are right now, and shift away from you or push you off like he might even with Gin. To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks indifferent to you at worst, and indifference and tolerance, and maybe even liking, tend to go hand-in-hand when it comes to the wielder of Rashoumon. He’s not outright evil to you, and that’s enough—if for no one else, for you. But you know him by now.

And because you know him, you know what he’ll say next.

“No.”

And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, which is why you’ll do what you do next, and he knows you will because he knows you, too, by now—enough to maybe like you—you’ll press him.

“Aw, why not?” It drawls out of you lightheartedly, almost jokingly.

It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never looked at him with fear, disgust, or hatred in your eyes—not even before you knew one another so well and he would regularly, in response to your antics, threaten to beat you to a pulp with his black beast. It might have something to do with how you seem to look right through him like that, and then inadvertently boost his ego by telling him you think he totally has the capacity to be cool, or even normal, doing things like fucking and smoking cigarettes. He wants to laugh at how silly it all sounds to him. Akutagawa’s never been good at letting himself understand why you make him feel the way you do. Why he deserves your kindness or companionship. Why you can’t see him for what he is: a war machine, configured from birth, far beyond—or maybe beneath—any sort of semblance of a normal destiny that includes indulgence. Love. It would make him respect you less, hate you, maybe, if it wasn’t so secretly pleasant, the fact that you don’t look at him like that. The fact that you seem to think he does deserve something more than misery.

I have a feeling this is gonna be a long partnership, so it’d be a lot more fun if you smoked! You said that the day you were assigned to each other, before you knew about his lung condition, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever accepted your offer that day in this very alleyway because he ended up liking the head high cigarettes gave him, even if it was horrible for him.

The same way he likes you, and it makes him unbearably soft. The same way he’d probably like kissing you. Fucking you. Another thing that’ll kill him one day, one way or another. He knows if he gets any closer than he is, and then for some reason you leave—die, run away, decide your relationship is awkward now and he’s horrible and you hate him, whatever—it’d kill him, undoubtedly. Better not to smoke the cigarette. Better not to fuck the only real friend he thinks he’s had since he was watching his back every moment he lived in the slums. Anything that felt good was almost certainly a trap laid to hurt him.

“Because,” he huffs.

If for sole annoyance or disgust, he would’ve bitched you out. But he doesn’t. You note this. So, you let it go. Because you know him.

“Alright,” you sigh. Not disappointed, not dismissive. Just affirming and understanding. It blows his mind all over again. He doesn't move, doesn't look at you. "Well, I suppose we should get back." Your eyes flick to your wristwatch. "Kouyou wanted us for something in about a half hour."

Some silly meeting in some bar. Chuuya's not there to keep her from getting off topic, so Akutagawa sits beneath the low light (on the edge of the booth, thank god), you next to him, while your superior's ordering another round of whisky sodas for the table.

When Kouyou distributes the drinks, Akutagawa slides his toward you, which you then slide to the man on your other side. His name's Shota—one of Chuuya's subordinates—and he takes it off your hands happily. You nestle your own between your hands on the tabletop.

"But as I was saying," the scarlet-haired woman continues, "it's going to have to happen over the weekend. I don't think it's wise to do anything until Nakahara's back from Tokyo, which will be Friday at the earliest, and the tracking number for the Makarov shipment on its way in got thrown in the trash so Hirotsu's going to have to..."

Akutagawa's gaze trains steadily on your hands; his own are busy, one propping his chin up, the other circling rings over the rim of his first and only glass, now empty. It's not out of the ordinary for him to tune out of Kouyou's tipsy ramblings, especially when Chuuya will be back in a few days to explain the game plan concisely and soberly. What is out of the ordinary is that he's still stiff, thinking about your conversation from the alleyway and the tone in which you so nonchalantly cooed aw, why not? Almost as if you'd been a little disappointed when he said no, he wouldn't take you up on your offer. Were you? He has to doubt it. You've always been a little too eager to get him fucked up on Chuuya's wine, drag him out of work, pull him out of his comfort zone—he'd seen the unmistakable excitement on your face the first time you'd jammed a cigarette between his lips. But that is way too far out of his wheelhouse, and he's pretty sure you both know it.

Even if he does keep thinking about it.

You, well—you sip your second whisky and take note of his fidgeting. Although your drink’s only half gone, you tap your foot against his, glancing between him and the door; he looks at you, then back down at his empty glass, clears his throat and nods ever so subtly. Code exhcange for I'm bored, wanna leave? Of course. So when the conversation lulls, you both stand.

"Kazuha has us at eight-thirty," you explain, bidding everyone good evening and seeing yourselves out the door before anyone has the chance to ask what for.

"Kazuha? That was the best lie you could come up with?"

"Are we still sitting in there or not?" you refute, cigarette dangling from your mouth as you walk with your hands behind your head in the direction of headquarters. "Can't wait to get home."

"Yeah, after your hard day," Akutagawa mutters.

"Hey, watch it," you poke. "I moved shit all morning. Need a shower bad."

Which is exactly what you do after you depart from your partner and scamper up to your apartment. But first you take the liberty of lighting a few candles, cracking your bathroom window for a breeze, dancing around to a little music as a bath full of lavender salts warms, and rubbing out your sore knees with that pain relief oil Higuchi recommended to you. It's true, you did spend all morning getting shipments from the port; the less luxurious side of the life and work of a mafioso moving their way up the ladder isn't something you're unfamiliar with, although you do it less now.

You settle in, sighing. Maybe it's wrong to still be thinking about it, but you had sort of hoped Akutagawa would take to your little quip earlier with at least a hint of curiosity, or bring it up on your walk home even if just to tell you how absurd it was that you'd even think such a thing; perhaps you should've been more deliberate, you think. Or maybe it's a good thing that you weren't. He's one of the last people you'd want to make things weird with—outside of being the (rather oblivious) object of your affection, he's still your coworker and, as of recent years, very best friend. Somewhat of a literal partner in crime. You snicker at that as your shoulders dip below the water. You momentarily debate trying to dismiss your little feelings for the night, and you will, for the most part—but while you're relieving physical tension under the soft flicker of your candles and the hum of the city below you, you figure you might as well dispel your disappointment, too, and you trace your fingers down the curve of your hip to find yourself wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

Meanwhile, Akutagawa is pacing his living quarters. He's already taken a cold shower to stave off what has only become more difficult not to think about now that you're gone—he doesn't have to hold it together for you or anyone, and he finds himself trying to sit still on the edge of his bed as his phone sits a few feet away on the nightstand. Should he text you about it? Call you? Fuck that—you do a fine job of flustering him when you're barely trying, but if he let you know—god, if he let you know, he'd never hear the end of it. Text or call you to talk about anything else, even if just to hear your voice and have your presence? No, he has a feeling that would drive him even further up the tree he's chased himself up; he's sitting, tapping his foot like you were earlier when he should've been able to answer you normally, his apartment is dead silent, his dick's half-hard in his sweatpants and he doesn't know what to do.

You probably weren't even serious. If he was smart, he would've jacked off in the shower and called it a night.

But he likes you. More than you realize—more than you can realize, because he's always stone-faced, no-bullshit, hard-ass Akutagawa and he doesn't know how to be anything else, even when you're around and ecouraging him to loosen up. You can't possibly realize how much you've done for him in terms of easing his anxiety over always being good enough, in terms of helping him understand his humanity, in terms of making him feel like a real person.

He suddenly feels like he's on a tightrope of keeping you close and messing it all up, and whichever way he decides to fall will inevitably bring unending frustration that he could've done something different, something better.

And maybe this is an opening. Or a pinnacle that his relationship with you was doomed to come to. Either way, he can't sit in his apartment. Marching forward, like he always does—no matter how hesitantly—he slips his jacket on and shoves his keys in his pocket before he's heading for the elevator.

It's not until he's staring at the interface of buttons that he decides between launching himself to the ground for a long walk along the port or punching in your floor.

And you're so close—your back's arching, your jaw hangs slack, you're spilling water down the side of the tub that pools on the floor, but you'll worry about it later—when you hear manic pounding coming from your hallway. Maybe it's not yours, you think, screwing your eyes shut and working your fingers back and forth in tight circles around your clit because you want it, damn it, but your apartment's so damn big that it's almost impossible to conceive of it being for anyone else.

"One minute!" you shout, rising out of the water with grumbling breath to wrap yourself in a towel and blow all your candles out in one swipe. But whoever it is doesn't hear you, or doesn't care—the harsh knocking pattern booms again, and you almost trip over your pile of discarded work clothes as you fumble out of the bathroom wondering what could possibly be so important, and on account of who, that they had to interrupt your first hour of alone time all day, not to mention when you were so deliciously close to an orgasm you'd been working yourself up to with painstaking care. You'd even edged yourself a little, just because you figured you had time; you would've gotten it over with if you'd have known you were on call, but here you are, unsatisfied and stomping to your door, about to crack it open and take whatever orders were about to be unloaded onto you with a smile and can-do attitude.

You fling the door open.

“What?”

Akutagawa’s fist is still raised to knock. You watch his eyes behind his sunglasses as they flit down to you—you in nothing but a towel—and his face breaks out in a blush you’ve never seen on him before.

If you were any less annoyed, you would’ve smirked.

“Ryuu, what?” you snap again as his hand falls to his side. Whatever it is, if someone needs backup, if it’s urgent, you wish he’d tell you already—it’s so unlike him to stand speechless that you almost want to ask if something else is going on. “Can you spit it out so I know if I should get dressed, please?”

No, he wants to croak out, but you’ll just keep barraging him with questions—all he does is fumble his way inside your apartment with please don’t get dressed on the back of his tongue and that really strange, dazed look behind his glasses. He can't even blame the alcohol from earlier—he only had one, and it's had ample time to wear off.

“Ryuunosuke—”

He freezes where he is, steely eyes locking onto yours, and his voice leaves him, hoarse. “Say that again, please.”

You look at him incredulously, scrunching your towel up beneath your fist that holds it up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Akutagawa feels small again. This was the wrong decision. He should’ve gone for that walk. He should’ve jerked off in the shower and then went to bed and tossed and turned until he finally fell into an erratic sleep and he should not be here, he should wake up tomorrow morning, sleep-deprived and full of regret but knowing he’s safe because he didn’t go to your apartment to find you in nothing but a towel and he spared your relationship, he didn’t make it weird, and he’d look at you longingly for the rest of however long, only when you weren’t looking just so you’d never know how much agony your stupid little joke from earlier today put him in.

But you’re expecting an answer, and out of all the filthy things Akutagawa is convinced he is, he is not a liar.

His eyes fly to the ground. Your legs, knocking together from the chill of the water droplets that still cling to them.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about earlier,” he forces out. “What you said.”

You hesitate. “What I said…?” Had you said something wrong?

Great, he thinks, mouth falling open. So you weren’t serious.

“You know what, nevermind.” He shouldn’t be here. He goes to push past you, toward your still-open door, but you stop him, shutting the door and pushing a palm against his chest.

“Tell me,” you mean to say, but it sounds more like a question; his pale face flushes again, and you search him with your gaze. He seems to shrink a little more before he sighs and looks to you once more.

“If I wanted to change that I’ve never…”

You wait.

“Kissed.”

You blink, cock your head.

“Or fucked anyone.”

Your hand lets up on his chest, and you find yourself taking a step back—little, but it sends your partner reeling into self-doubt all over again.

“You want…” You speak, quietly, with less urgency than you have thus far. “You wanna fuck me?”

And Akutagawa’s nodding, more frantically than his pride would prefer. But he’s nodding. Not looking at you. Waiting for you to laugh and clap him on the shoulder with a yeah, as if and tell him to go home.

But your fingers slide up to curl along the side of his neck. When his eyes are still downcast, you cup his jaw in your palm.

“Ryuu, look at me.”

Here it comes. The big rejection. He’s ready. He’ll go home and punch a hole in his wall, but he’s ready to hold it together right now.

His eyes drift to yours again, still cold and nervous, like a dog’s when it’s about to bite.

But you smile, trace your thumb along his bottom lip, and whisper.

He has no idea how much you mean what you're saying next.

“I wish you would’ve just led with that.”

It’s like bombs are about to detonate in his brain. He knows what he should do next—he should kiss you, he should throw himself at you and let your tongue between his lips, but part of the reason why he’s here is because he never has, and he trusts you to show him—just what kind of weak has he become, trusting someone with their teeth so close to his throat? It doesn’t matter because he wants it, he just wants you to—

“Show me, please.”

To his displeasure, you don't latch onto him like a hungry animal. Instead, your fingers drift down to his and wind between them; you lead him past the couch to your bedroom, sit him down, and pull your towel a little tighter around you. He wants it off, he wants to see you—even if the thought of sitting naked himself, in front of you, makes his stomach flip, he wants nothing more than to tear the towel away, get to exploring the ways you like to be touched, hear sounds from you he's never heard before.

"Ryuu," you say, one hand on his shoulder. "Be sure you want this."

"I do," he squeaks out, hardly ever having heard his own voice so meek.

"Tell me. Say it."

"I want it," his words follow yours seamlessly, without another thought. He's already established in his mind that he trusts you. But he's still sort of waiting for you to start chuckling and tell him this is a big joke; his hands tremble as you stare, digging for uncertainty, but you don't find any. So as you hold your towel against you, you crawl carefully onto his lap, astride his waist.

And now, he has you. Between his fingers. They find the curve of your waist as you curl an arm around the back of his neck after you work the jacket off from around his shoulders, tear his glasses off, push his soft bangs from his face. Akutagawa looks at you with so much wonder, so much need; you set your weight on him, and you feel him, and his nails grip your ass through the towel.

"Please, don't be gentle," he whispers when your lips hover immediately over his. He can feel your breath, warm and inviting, as the tip of your nose brushes past his.

You smile into his mouth and wrap your other arm around him.

You let the towel fall as you kiss him.

Hot, slow.

And the bombs go off all at once. Before the towel can pool over his hands he's batting it to the floor, scooting back onto your mattress to accomodate you; he wants to shut his eyes but you grind down against him through his pants as your lips mold against his and he’s probably never felt so alert in his life. Akutagawa gasps in a certain way, another sound he's never heard himself make; when your fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, he groans, grips your waist, and his eyes melt shut, finally.

You kiss him until he's putty, and he follows your lead; you grab his wrists and guide his hands to your chest, which has his eyes flying open all over again as he feels his fingerpads twitch over your nipples. You work him onto his back, easing him down with your tongue against his, so warm, so wet; your teeth, harsh in his bottom lip, where your thumb stroked so tenderly before, force his hips in a circle, and, oh, god, you have him losing it already, completely helpless, completely breathless.

You pull back, grinning, before grabbing for the buttons on his shirt.

"This okay?"

It's not okay, it's insane. His pants are too tight. He's never needed someone like this. And you look so angelic above him waiting for him to nod, give you a small yes, before you work him out of his shirt next, taking care to trace every ridge and valley of his ribs and abdomen as you do. He shivers when it's gone, discarded with his jacket and glasses; his arms come to cover himself but you trace those, too, the dips in his lean muscle and severities of his shoulders, collarbones, elbows, wrists. Just as he thinks he might feel too vulnerable, you start mapping him out with a softness he's never felt before; he wants to sink into it, keep it forever. If he wasn't so painfully hard, he might not even need to fuck you; just laying, relaxing into the sheets beneath him as you look at him like he's beautiful, is a heaven of its own.

"You're so pretty, Ryuu," you mutter. You hunch to bite the juncture of his throat and shoulder, then soothe it with a kiss. "So, so fucking pretty. You know that?"

Akutagawa shudders again. "I told you not to be gentle."

You bite him once more, grinding your bare cunt along his clothed cock, and a groan throttles from his chest. After doing the same to the opposite side of his neck, your lips meet his again, and he forgets about shielding himself in favor of letting his hands rock you back and forth against him.

You feel him twitch below you as you work him into nothing but impatient breath and swollen lips; your irritation from not reaching your climax earlier doubles back on you in a wave of arousal, and you’re guiding him out of his pants and boxers at the same time, and thank god that’s all that’s left and that you’re so turned on already because when the tip of his pale cock hits his abs, all you can think about is sinking down onto it, feeling it fill you up and pulse inside you.

But you wait, looking at him low-lidded and asking him, “You want me on top, or you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses, twisting a leg into the bend of your knee at his side; you’re not weak by any means, but in one smooth movement he’s got you on your back, pinned down by your wrists. “If you’re going to be gentle, then I won’t.”

Wasting no time. You almost giggle but you’re gasping, his eagerness streamlining into a searing kiss to your mouth and one of his rough hands snaking down to collect the wetness pooling between your thighs.

He knows he should touch you. He knows that much. He wants to know—

“Where? Tell me where,” he growls into your mouth, and you guide him by his wrist and fingers once again to draw tight circles over your clit—ones that make you arch, and after feeling how you do it he burns it into his brain, the movement you’re guiding him through that sends your head lolling onto the pillow. Akutagawa’s eyes widen. He could watch your expression replay for hours.

“That’s it,” you encourage him, breathy, letting him go as he memorizes your rhythm. “Feels so good.”

You bring your two wet fingers up to his mouth, which he accepts without hesitance; his tongue swirls around them and you realize how serious he is—he doesn’t want it slow and you’re losing your resolve against him and you think you need him in you, right now.

He stills when you reach for his cock, dark hair swaying as his gaze trails your hand; he sits back, heaving, as he rubs you, as you stroke him and smear a pathetically large bead of precum across his tip and down his length. Trying desperately not to stop, to keep making you feel good, he throws his head back when you squeeze just beneath the head of his cock and pull him back toward you by his shoulder.

“Wan’ you to fuck me, Ryuu,” you whine, lining him up with your weeping hole. He’s pushing in with hardly a second thought, and, oh—he’s groaning in yet another way he’s never heard before, watching himself disappear into you, bracing himself on your forearms until he fills you up to hilt. So wet, so warm. He hardly realizes how ragged his breath is until he hears your own.

You squirm, and after he presses another series of messy kisses to your lips to stifle the noises of pleasure leaving him that would be so humiliating if he wasn’t so drunk on you, you hold him by his chin and look so deeply into his eyes that he’s afraid for a second you’re doing that thing where you look right through him into his very soul, but your mouth is forming around words that he must hear, he must hang onto, you have to tell him what to do, and you do—

“Don’t be gentle.”

So he isn’t. He moves, on nothing but your words and intuition and the way you clench around him; there’s virtually no resistance when he pulls out, slams back in, pulls out, slams back in—and he loses himself in it so quickly, so noisily.

“Unh—fuck—” Your name leaves his lips like a song that has you linking your ankles behind his back as he writhes, pounds into you—and you understand all over again, he wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t want it slow. And neither do you, you realize, now that he’s dragging his perfect cock along your insides so deliciously.

He realizes something too, as he falls to his elbows and buries his open mouth into your neck; that he never wants anyone else to hear the sounds either of you are making ever again. He doesn't care that you're more experienced than him, or that your relationship is irrevocably changed now that this is happening; you're going to be the first and last person that ever hears him moaning like this, that ever has him blushing from face to chest at the lewd sounds that your bodies emit where they meet and then part each time he pistons in and out of you. You’re clawing at him, raking tracks down his back and biceps that spur him to a pace he didn’t know he was capable of—he can’t wait to see them in the mirror tomorrow when the rawness has left and they’re angry red, a testament to how quickly he’s learning you, how quickly you’re both falling apart, how much he thinks he loves you.

Yeah, he thinks he loves you—it’s muffled by your skin, but he’s saying it, he can’t help it, he can’t keep it in his lungs if he’s going to keep this pace up.

“Love you, Ryuu,” you echo, and he echoes you right back like he didn’t start it.

“Love you.” Thrust. “Love you.” Thrust. “Love you—mmh!”

"My good boy," you croon when he reaches down to touch you, to feel you squeezing him down on him. Your good boy. You could turn him into a whore if you kept saying that.

"My name, please," he breathes, high-pitched, almost wheezing; you hold him as close to your body as you can, shortening his unstoppable thrusts against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, pushes rhythmic moans from your throat, and his hands are all over you, begging for it in his rough grips that undulate into soft caresses back to harsh nails back to gentle strokes.

"Ryuunosuke—" you choke out, "Don't—" Gasp. "—fucking—" Gasp. "—stop!"

The most gorgeous strand of strained moans, gasps, and growls leave him as his head batters insatiably against your cervix; he’s falling off that tightrope, and you’re catching him, all his shaking fingers and trembling thighs that still momentarily before he can warn you, before he can tell you—

"Cum in me," you sigh as you feel him, feel yourself breaking, coming undone as he forces his sounds down your throat; you swallow them all, crying out against his lips as he bites you, furrows his brow, pulls back to bore into your clouded gaze—he's sure he looks the same if not worse, more unraveled, mouth open, lips wet, when you arch back and pull him flush against you and he's cumming, taking you for every last bit you'll give him until you're hypersensitive, fluttering around him, helping him make a sticky mess beneath the both of you as his head falls forward again, into your shoulder, restless, groaning with aftershock, until his lips meet yours and he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you, neither of you ready to come down yet.

But soon enough you're reduced to exhausted writhing, slow bites, fingers through his hair and he's spent—pleasantly so. Weak, not in the way he feels after he's been brought to his knees by a formidable foe but in a way he will not be content to part with; a comfortable resignation that he could make a home in.

Akutagawa wraps himself around you, and you kick the blanket at your feet up until you can pull it over his shoulders and tuck your nose into his forehead.

"Still kind of don't believe you've never done that before," you think out loud, voice a little absent from how you’ve been sobbing for him.

And Akutagawa finds himself smiling into your skin. He sounds just as much of a wreck. "Never. Not until now."

It was good. Not only was it good, but you can feel him softening inside you, and you want him to stay.

"Meant it, by the way."

Then he looks up at you, quizzically. That strange, dazed look is in his eyes again.

But you just look back at him. Push his bangs back, mirror his tired smile. Wipe the drying sheen of sweat from across his brow.

When it clicks, he's buried in your neck again. Grumbling. "I meant it, too."

You hug yourself impossibly tighter around him, muttering his name, rolling you both to your sides where you cup his face once more, pressing smooches all over him, less heated and more playful, and Akutagawa scrunches his nose as you pepper him and start mumbling in between—

"Love you. Love you. Love you."

He catches you in your tirade and kisses you like you first kissed him—slow, deep. His own love you whispered, almost imperceptible. He'll stay. "Thank you. Love you."

Like he never knew he was capable of loving. He’s not uncomfortable. For once. For real. You caught him when he was falling. He hopes you’ll keep doing it.

But right now, he only has one more question.

"Do you have any cigarettes?"

You reach across him, over to your nightstand. “Who do you think I am?”

My angel, he thinks in response as you nudge the filter between his lips to light it. You, in control, let him puff before you steal it for yourself.

And he’s yours. The Port Mafia’s ferocious Hellhound is your good boy, your angel.

You’ll love him until he believes it.

#csm reference #kinktober? you thought.#vanillatober.#couldn’t help it with him i need to love him til he loves himself #i should’ve picked someone else if i wanted it to be nasty that’s my b you guys #akutagawa smut #akutagawa x reader #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #nnnsfw.ᐟ #kinktober 2024 #with love—reid #mdni

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tinylilacbun · 7 days ago

Note

hii first i wanna say i love love love your writings and could read them for days!! im wondering if you could write a fic where rafe upsets toddler!reader so she turns to ward or rose for comfort, please?

You giggle as you toddle your way to Rafe's room, holding two drawings in your hand that you just can't wait to show him, you spent all morning to make them perfect.

As you reach his bedroom door you can hear his muffled voice through it and strain your arm for the handle, almost stumbling when it opens.

Rafe is pacing in front of his bed, phone held up to his ear and nibbling on the nail of his thumb. "I swear, I'll get you your money, you just-"

Not realizing that he's stressed you rush over to him, tugging on his shirt. "Rafey! Rafey, look!"

"I- hold on..." He sighs into the phone, holding it away from his ear for a moment. "Not now, kid."

You pout, determined to show him what you made for him, not taking no as an answer and hold the drawings up. "But look! I mades this!"

He ignores you, continuing his conversation with the person on the other line.

The frown on your face grows and you whine, stomping your foot on the ground you tug once more on his shirt, wanting your brother's attention. "Rafey-"

Suddenly he grabs your wrist and detangles your hand from the fabric. "I said not now!" He snaps at you, glaring at you momentarily until his eyes widen in realization at what he just did, his mouth opening and closing again.

Without thinking twice he ends the call, letting go of you he crouches down to console you but before he could say anything you dash out of his room again with tears tears welling up in your eyes.

Rafe curses at himself, he promised that he would never let his frustrations out on you, doesn't matter in what situation, you're his baby sister and the only person in this house to love him unconditionally and to see him as a role model.

After quickly gathering his thoughts he goes after you. As he goes down the stairs he stops in his tracks when he finds the two drawings you made specifically for him, picking them up his heart aches at the sight.

Descending the stairs he can hear your sobs coming from the living room, peering inside he sees you in his father's arms who's sitting on an arm chair and rubbing a hand up and down your back while shushing you.

Rafe's face falls at that, usually you go to him anytime you're upset but now he's the reason you are and is mad at himself for letting his temper get the better of him, again.

Since you were born he wanted and tried to do better, to make up for everything he did wrong in the past and taking you as his last chance to be a better person and he failed.

Ward locks eyes with him and Rafe gulps when he beckons him closer, not being able to read his expression.

As you hear his footsteps approach you open your eyes but turn your head away, not wanting to look at him right now and Rafe feels even worse than he already does.

He sits down on the sofa near you both, the drawings still held in his hands as he looks at them with a small yet sad smile he speaks up. "I'm- um...those drawings you made, they are really good."

You don't answer, still sniffling and fidgeting with one loose seam of your father's shirt.

Rafe sighs but continues talking, not giving up on getting on your good side again. "They're gonna look amazing next to all the others I have on my wall."

Finally you turn your head back to face him, still upset but giving him a glimpse of hope. "You keepin' 'em?"

"What, of course I am. I keep everything you make for me." He says honestly, glancing at you before back down at the paper sheets. "I think those are the best ones yet."

You lift your head a little and let Ward wipe away the remaining tears from your face, handing you over to Rafe when you reach your arms out for him.

The boy doesn't even hesitate to envelope you in his embrace, rocking you in his arms as you wrap your short arms around his neck.

Ward watches the scenes unfold before deciding to get up to leave you both alone, exiting the room with one last nod at Rafe.

When he's sure that his father is gone he kisses your head, whispering softly. "I'm sorry, for snapping at you...I really am."

You tighten your arms around him slightly. "Lub you Rafey."

He smiles at that, his hold on you not relenting. "I love you more, kid."

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

#sister!reader #sister reader #rafe cameron x sister!reader #rafe cameron x sister reader #brother!rafe cameron

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venusacrossthestars · 8 months ago

Text

sharp or dull

pairing- Lando Norris x fem!reader

summary- Lando has begged you to stream with him, you will on one condition- it has to be an ASMR stream

wc- 1.7k

a/n: I wrote this in one sitting bc I cooked this up as a nighttime scenario, because I am an ASMR hoe, hope you enjoy! I also tried something a little new, I added the 'chat' section of the stream, you'll see what I mean. idk if I'm a fan of it or not.

f1 masterlist

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, or better yet known as ASMR, had taken TikTok, YouTube, and nearly every other social media platform by storm. To you, ASMR was a calming and relaxing way to unwind after a long day. And as an ASMR-artist you were constantly trying to find new ways to bring that experience to your viewers

Lando, however, could never understand the appeal of ASMR. He didn’t find it relaxing, calming, or anything of the sorts. He much preferred to fall asleep in pure silence, maybe the sound of a fan once in a while. While he didn’t understand it that didn’t mean he didn’t support you and your ‘art’.

“Babeeee,” Lando whined.

“What?”

“Stream with me, pleaseeeee.”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. Lando had been begging you for days to with him. Why? Well, when you asked him his exact words were, “Because I get lonely.” And while you loved Lando, sitting there while he played whatever random game he could find just to keep him company, did not sound appealing.

“Landoooo,” you draw out in response to his whining.

“Baby please,” he begs again, “I’ll even let you choose what we do, I swear.”

A lightbulb goes off in your head. “Anything?”

“Yes?” He replies, curious to your response.

Your face breaks out into a grin, “And you promise you’ll do it.”

Lando takes a big gulp, “What are you planning woman?”

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky and shake it at him, awaiting his answer.

He takes your pinky in his, “Promise.”

Its a week later when Lando is finally able to stream and you couldn’t be more excited. You still haven’t told your boyfriend of your plans.

“Babe, what are we doing? I need to know so I can set up.”

“Don’t worry about setting any of your games up. We are going to be doing something else,” You tell him.

Lando shoots you a confused look, “Care to let me in that pretty head of yours.”

You giggle, “Well since you said we can do anything of my choosing we will being doing an ASMR stream!” You throw out your hands excitedly.

Lando looks less than thrilled, “No.” He says flatly. “I meant like you could pick out the game or a challenge. I am not doing ASMR.”

“You should’ve specified the terms then Norris. And if I am remembering correctly you pinky promised on ‘anything’, can’t go back on that.”

“Babe I'm not doing ASMR.”

“Fine then you can stream by yourself.” You cross your arms across your chest and give Lando a pointed look, you were not backing down.

“No.”

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything! I would be doing all of it!”

“No.”

“Not even a head massage?”

“No.”

“Not even sharp or dull?”

This is when you know you have him hooked. Lando can tell everyone that he doesn’t care for ASMR, that he doesn’t find it relaxing, all that jazz. But you know something they don’t. You know that this man is a sucker for the ‘sharp or dull’ genre of ASMR, and since Lando has sworn you to secrecy you were unable to share this juicy piece of information with the world.

“... fine, I am only doing this because I love you.”

As Lando was setting up the stream you were busy gathering your supplies that were spewed about Lando’s streaming room, which at times doubled as your recording studio when you filmed for your YouTube channel.

Lando went live, muting his mic while being black-screened. You could see the comments flooding the chat:

landonorizzzzzzz- LANDO STREAMMMMMMM pizzaparty124003- about time!! we were in a drought! carlando4lifeeee- HE”S BACK FROM WARRRRR justaninchident- WE CAN”T SEE YOU papayaboyzzz- LANDOOOOOOOOO

Lando unmutes his mic, “I know you can’t see me chat.”

You whack his arm, “Lando, be nice.”

carlando4lifeeee- IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS???? landoandy/naremyparents- MOTHER IS HERE justaninchident- DEFEND ME MOTHER PLEASEEEEE sofishdicatedaf- OMG WE ARE GETTING A Y/N AND LANDO STREAM??

Lando finally turns on the camera and chat continues to lose their mind, “Yes chat, Y/N is here.”

You wave at the camera, “Hiiiiiii!”

“Do you want to tell them what we are doing today or do want me?”

“I can tell them. Chat, today we are doing something I am a literal professional at.” Lando rolls his eyes, “Don’t roll your eyes at me mister, you begged me for a literal week to stream with you.”

landoandy/naremyparents- HE BEGGED HER TO STREAM WITH HIM?!?!! y/nismymotherfrfr- RELATIONSHIP GOALS papayaboyzzz- lol simppppppp

You glance at chat, laughing at their reaction, “Yes, he’s been begging for me to do this for a long time! I only agreed once he pinky promised that we could do whatever I want. And I chose,” you pause in suspense, “to do ASMR on my lovely boyfriend.”

“Yay,” Lando says enthusiastically.

“Stop. You are going to love it.”

“If you insist.”

You launch into explanation, “So as some of you know I run an ASMR account on YouTube and TikTok and today I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ on Lando.”

“A couple? I only agreed to one,” he interrupts you. You shoot Lando a pleading look and it takes only a few seconds before he is admitting defeat. “Fine, only a couple though.” He glances at the screen where the chat is displayed, “Call me a simp all you want, at least I have a girlfriend to simp over.”

“Chat, don’t mind him, he only found out what I wanted to do like 20 minutes ago. But as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted is that I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ that are pretty popular amongst my audience such as- sharp or dull, head massage, hair brushing.”

After your explanation you get up from your seat and gather your supplies as Lando messes with the camera and mic.

“Lan, can you scooch back just a tad?”

“Hmm? Oh, of course baby.”

“Thank you,” you give him a small kiss on the crown of his head.

“So I am going to start of with the head massage and hair brushing first,” you explain to chat, moving to speak in your softer, slower tone that you use while filming, “Then for the grand finale I’ll do the sharp or dull.”

Lando always turned to putty when you played with his hair, you weren’t expecting this to be any different, well minus the fact that a bunch of fans were watching. At first you weren’t sure if the mic was even picking up on any of noise but one quick glance at chat seemed that they were all enjoying it. For multiple reasons, you were sure of it.

After five-or-so minutes of head scratching you decide to check in on your completely silent boyfriend. “Still doing okay baby?” You ask, voice nearly a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m doing great,” Lando response at full Lando volume.

papayaboyzzz- MY EARSSSSSS sofishdicatedaf- tell me why I had my volume all the way up and this man decided to talk FULL VOLUME WHAT THE HELL LANDO ass-mr- this man has no idea how to asmr asmrismycrack- no bc why? his gf is literally an asmr PRO

You chuckle at the comments, “Baby you have to be quiet.”

“What? Why?” He turns around, looking at you confused.

“Because having people talk loudly, or practically screaming in your case, isn’t really relaxing to listen to.”

“Oh, sorry,” Lando drops his voice to a much quieter tone, giving you a sheepish smile.

“That’s okay baby.”

You go move through a couple other triggers, and around the 20-minute mark you decided to wrap things up, “Ok, since I don’t want to bore all of you we are going to move onto the sharp or dull. Then, I don’t know, maybe a Q and A or something.”

Once again you explain the sharp or dull concept to Lando and the chat, “By the way chat this is Lando’s favorite genre.”

“Lies, I don’t watch ASMR.”

“You’re the only one telling lies. You love sharp or dull ASMR, it’s the only one you watch.”

“Babeeee,” Lando whines, “You were sworn to secrecy.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Whoops.”

“Now no one will think I’m cool.”

“I don’t think you needed any help with that.” Lando looks at you offend that you would say such a thing, you grab his head and turn his face back to the camera. “Okay close your eyes and tell me if this is sharp or dull,”

You alternate between poking Lando's face with the Q-tip or the toothpick that you have in your hand. Lando gets every guess correct but as you go on you can tell by how his voice gets quieter that he is getting more and more tired. Maybe doing this stream late at night wasn't the best idea.

“Ok, I think that’s enough.”

Lando groans at his cut off, “Chat I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

You giggle at his sleepiness, “Next time we can do something you want, but for now I think it’s time for bed.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Goodnight everyone! Thanks for tunning in!”

You wave at the camera, “Goodnight!!”

Lando shuts down the stream along with his PC and slumps in his chair, “What did you do to me. I’m ready to pass out.”

“It’s the magic of ASMR.”

“Fine, I guess it was the magic of ASMR,” Lando sighs out.

“Does that mean you like it now?” You ask, pulling him out of his chair.

Lando collapses against you, his arms wrap around you as the two of you waddle towards the bathroom. “I only like it when you do it. That’s it.”

“I’ll take it.”

The two of you brush your teeth in silence, you watch as Lando can barely keep his eyes open. His sleepiness at your ASMR was a compliment in the highest regards. Lando reattaches himself to your back as you make your way into your shared bedroom.

As you climb under the covers and reposition yourself in Lando’s arms you can feel his breathing steady out.

“Babe?” He whispers.

“Lan?”

“You meant what you said?”

“Meant what?”

“That we could do whatever I want next time you come and stream with me?”

“Well, anything within reason.”

“Promise,” Lando wiggles his pinky.

“Promise,” you whisper back, interlocking his pinky with yours.

taglist- (crosses out names mean I couldn't tag you)

@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @xfuckoffx @motkanykodas @emi0358 @ab-127 @alrightysyaphrodite @sya-skies @liacoresstuff @leathersuitrry @travelingece1995 @kageyamas-milk @ugfuchvvvz @jupooo @alex0808 @caleysblog @jess-wither @cassymendezz164445 @rattiefattie69 @sadisticfries @lou-larcher5 @harrietstylinson7 @inlovewithdeadboys @rickyrivera11 @cleverpeachheropersona @loveyatopluto @elysyannemimi @arayofsunshineme @lilyevanswhore @slaygirlbossworld @jupooo @heyheyheyggg @eringaitskill

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 #mclaren

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targaryenluvs · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, how are you? Could you make a request for Anthony Bridgerton 🙈 please.

I was thinking something along the lines of Penelope and Colin. When Colin says he would never court Penelope. But in this case Anthony tells Benedict that he would never court reader. And Benedict tells him that he will be the one to woo her. Sad ending or happy ending. I leave it in your hands 🤗✨.

Have a good week ✨ thank you.

i love this, and benedict bridgerton <3

nothing better

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: benedict has loved you for so long, but he always assumed you’d want anthony and he wanted you. but when the opportunity presents itself to be with you he dives headfirst.

warnings: swearing, kisses??

a/n: hope you like itttt, it might be a little short but quality over quantity???: i love benedict ugh can’t wait for his season

the party was insufferable.

benedict wanted nothing more than to be at home, drawing, you specifically.

the day you learned of his talent you’d praised him every day for it. and you’d been pestering him for oh so long to draw your portrait but he always politely declined. believing a professional to be more accurate than himself but he honestly believed that he, nor any other, could incorporate all of your beauty in one sketch.

and he was scared of messing it up, and he also wondered what his brother would think.

anthony. smart, handsome, eligible, viscount anthony bridgerton.

the one you’d marry.

or so it seemed to everyone as the two of you danced hand in hand. everyone’s eyes were on the two of you as you practically glided across the floor. as the music slowed and the couples dispersed he found himself holding his breath as you came towards him.

“anthony is terrible to dance with, he keeps blaming me for stepping on his feet but he moves so slow at times, he’s always looking off into the distance.” you laughed as benedict smiled, “i promise you y/n, a dance with me will leave you more than well satisfied.” benedict teased as you gasped, “benedict bridgerton! the scandalous man you are.” as you laughed he couldn’t help but admire you. your hair was up with only two strands in the front, curled. a sweet tiara in the middle of your head, a gorgeous baby pink dress and and equally gorgeous owner.

“you look-”

“like a cake? a biscuit? a rose perhaps?” you joked.

“i was going to say breathtaking. you look, breathtaking, y/n. no one else here can compare.” he spoke in awe.

your eyes flickered to his, god he looked amazing. but he was probably only saying this to be nice right? his sisters friend, daphnes other half. nothing more, he grew up with you, saw you as a sister.

he wondered if you’d return the compliment, or thank him, or just smile and nod. god he said wanted more than a nod. you looked untouchable. and the way you looked at him, benedict was lost. not only in your eyes but in his head and heart. he sees you dance and talk to numerous respectable men every day. you smile and laugh, completely polite. but then you look at him, with those beautiful brown eyes and he looses all trains of thought. and as respectful as those other men are, he could never put himself in the same category as them.

because the thoughts that he didn’t loose, were truly inappropriate.

the heavy footsteps from behind you snapped the two of you out of the trance as anthony approached. “brother, lady y/n.” he smiled as you smiled back. “i’ll leave you two be.”

“are you alright brother?”

he didn’t mean to snap. the words just spilled out.

“are you going to court her or not?”

anthony’s brows furrowed as he was taken aback by his brothers direct manner, all sense of the usual playfulness was lost. “who? y/n? no of course not. i would never dream of courting y/n l/n. she’s like a sister to me.”

“then why do you dance with her so? take her out so often, promenade with her? for what? my god everyone thinks the two you are courting.” anthony released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

he’d only been having fun with a friend. it was so refreshing to be able to talk to someone who didn’t wonder what the viscount was up to, who he was with, when he was going to marry. y/n eased his tensions and she the best friend he’d never had, she made him feel like a young boy again, which anthony had all but forgotten the feeling of.

“benedict, it was not my intention this i promise you brother. i know how much you love and if i led you or anyone else to believe our relationship was anything besides familial love and companionship than i truly apologise. you need to let her know before it’s too late.”

benedict felt his heart lurch at the idea of finally being with you. and with anthony’s blessing and urging him along he was off to find you.

the air was cold, but anything was better than that stuffy ballroom inside. gods you couldn’t wait for the season to be over. it was only your first, same as the diamond of the season, also known as your best friend daphne bridgerton but all the cakes, gossip, drama and fake smiles? you’d had enough to last forever. the only problem with the season being over was that you’d most likely be travelling to your country estate. which meant that you’d be spending time with your extended family rather than the family besides your own that you wanted to be with.

the person you wanted to be with.

“y/n! there you are.” benedict shouted as he bent over, catching his breath. even slightly sweaty and disheveled benedict was a god in your eyes, no one inside could even come close.

“ben, come sit!” you patted the swing next to you as he gladly sat down, the air was a refreshing after the long night he’d had, and your smiling face was enough for his heart to race again.

“y/n, as much as i’d like to sit and swing with you i have to tell you something, it’s urgent.” he spoke softly. the moon was bright, the air cold and benedict had a soft glow of light on his right side. his voice could so easily lull you to sleep out here as it had done so many times before but his eyes were alert, so you smiled again and nodded, “continue.”

“y/n, i’ve known you for so long. and i’ve- i’ve never been able to tell you how i truly feel about you. i always thought anthony had your eye and”

“anthony?!” you screeched as benedict hushed you with a hand over your mouth. “sweetheart you can’t be so loud out here, wouldn’t want someone to come across us now would we?” he joked as his eyes crinkled at the edges, now there’s the benedict you knew. “ben, i’ve never had romantic feelings for anthony, hes always been a brother to me. besides i’ve had my eye on another bridgerton for a long time.”

“oh? and who could that be?” benedict was praying to every god he could conjure in his head. me. me. me. let it be me please.

“you.”

he couldn’t help himself as he kissed you, he’d waited far too long for it.

and it was so worth it.

everything he couldn’t even begin to express with words, he put into the kiss, your first of many. “i love you. i love you y/n l/n and i can only pray you love me a quarter as much. you are everything i’ve ever wanted, and i have you now. you were family before but now? youre officially a bridgerton, we should throw a parade.” benedict laughed as you smacked his arm, “finally! my plan to marry daphne has been thrown into motion!”

“excuse me?” daphne shouted as yourself and benedict leaned into eachother, laughing up a storm.

there was nothing that could compare to the man infront of you.

nothing better.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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