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unequivocallyreid · 2 months ago

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Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #fic rec #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #friends to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic rec

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notlongtolove · 3 days ago

Text

joy sneaks in

you're chosen to host the BAU's annual christmas party at your apartment, where spencer's books line your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry. the days leading up to the party are a blur of stuffing his things into every drawer and cupboard you can find. it’s your mess. your life together. and it’s everything.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: domestic! and also a christmas party! less on the party and more on how spencer and bau!reader suck at lying though; which make for some humorous moments.

word count: 3.8k

note: i wrote this awhile back and felt like posting it too. honestly a tad bit dramatised for comedy's sake but whatever i love domesticity and nervous!spencer. and it was fun writing them flounder about.

a line: For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee - donna ashworth

It starts innocuously enough—a draw from Hotch's coffee mug, a simple slip of paper pulled out in front of the team, the scrawl of your name on it in black pen, and the pause before your name is announced in his unmistakably measured tone. “Looks like you’re hosting the Christmas party this year.”

Derek grins, his laugh a low rumble. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he drawls, shooting you a look that’s practically dripping with amusement.

You feel all the eyes on you, and the weight of it sinks into your chest. Your first instinct is to swallow it down, play it cool, try not to look at Spencer. Hosting a party means opening up your space— the space that’s been shared with Spencer for the last six months. Your apartment, which has slowly morphed into a mix of the two of you, a messy blend of both your lives—where his books spill off your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry, where his favourite mug has a place in your cupboard.

Derek leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his smirk a beacon for trouble. “Better start tidying up, huh?” You laugh it off, aiming for nonchalance but his teasing lands squarely in your chest. Your heart does that familiar flip when your gaze slips, unbidden, to Spencer who to your dismay, is standing there with his eyes ever so slightly widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You can feel the team’s teasing smiles from every corner of the room, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But beneath their teasing, there’s an edge. Suspicion. They’ve been suspecting for weeks, piecing together the small clues you’ve been desperately trying to keep under wraps.

And why wouldn’t they? The truth is, you’ve been dodging their invites lately, throwing out flimsy excuses about “errands” or “early mornings” that didn’t quite stick. At first, it was the occasional “I’ve got other plans”, but it became more frequent, more noticeable until even Derek had started to raise an eyebrow. He’d started poking at the seams of your alibis weeks ago, slouching against your desk with an eyebrow arched in pure disbelief. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he’d said. “What gives? You’ve gone full hermit mode on us.” You’d brushed it off, offering up a half-hearted excuse about how you’ll definitely join them next week, but Derek didn’t look convinced. And neither did the rest of the team. They weren’t blind, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something—or rather someone you weren’t telling them about.

Then there was Garcia, sidling up to you with that twinkle in her eye that only ever meant trouble. “Spill,” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Who is he? And when do I get to give him the Penelope Garcia Official Seal of Approval™?” You had laughed, and tried to deflect with a vague answer about how busy things had been. “Whoever he is, he better be worth it, because you”—she jabs a finger at you with exaggerated flair—“never skip a night out. Ever. We’re talking borderline-unbreakable attendance!”

You bite back a smile, your mind flickering to those wild nights—sweaty dance floors, drinks flowing, laughter that echoed until dawn. It’s still a little surreal to think you’ve turned into one of those girls—the kind who would happily trade a night out with friends for a quiet evening in with their boyfriend. That was never your style. It was always a point of contention with past boyfriends. They always wanted more of your time, wanted more of your presence, but the idea of slowing down for someone else always felt like a compromise.

But somehow, with Spencer, it doesn’t quite feel like you're giving up anything at all. The simple, quiet moments with him have a gravity you never expected. Cooking dinner together while music hums softly in the background, curling up on the couch with a movie you’ve both seen a dozen times, or just sitting in comfortable silence as he reads and you scroll through your phone. The domesticity, the softness, the ease of it all—it feels complete. With Spencer, those quiet evenings aren’t boring. They’re grounding. For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

Honestly, you don’t really know how the team hasn’t put two and two together yet. Maybe it’s because you and Spencer had always been close—it was easy for them to chalk it up to that. Since you’d joined a year ago, it just felt natural to click with him, the two of you always slipping into the same rhythm. You were closest in age, after all, and the team had seen you trading inside jokes over takeout on stakeouts, hunched over books in the quiet moments after cases. In their eyes, it was harmless, a friendship born of long hours and shared exhaustion—Not that that came without teasing.

The question was always there, floating just beneath the surface of their casual remarks. Words unspoken, a line uncrossed. That is, until a tense night in Texas where you had gotten far too close to an unsub. The team had gotten to you in time of course, they always do. But that didn't help shake off the lingering memories of the encounter as you stared out the window of the jet. It was so simple—a quiet look, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb gently tracing over your trembling fingers as you looked out the window trying to dispel the the thoughts of whatever had happened just hours ago—and suddenly, it was like every wall you’d both put up had just vanished. His touch held a weight that words couldn’t carry, and in that touch, something between you shifted, settling into a place neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before. Looking back, maybe you’d both felt it coming long before, but neither of you had dared to say it out loud.

You and Spencer had made the decision together—keep things quiet a little while longer. It wasn’t the right time. Not yet. You wanted to savour the privacy of your stolen moments: his hand brushing yours during late-night coffee runs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both tried to survive the tail-end of a grueling case. It was fragile, precious. You could already hear the laughter, the surprise, the “We knew it!” and the endless questions about how long it had been going on, how you kept it from them, how you didn’t tell them sooner. And you could already feel the weight of that—how you’d both be under a microscope in a way you just weren’t ready for. You liked the privacy, the simple, quiet moments that only the two of you shared. It was yours, together, something no one else needed to know about just yet.

The days leading up to the party are a blur of frantic cleaning, shoving Spencer’s belongings into anywhere they can fit. “Emily’s a hawk with this stuff,” Spencer mutters, half-buried in a pile of mismatched socks and paperbacks. It had started with a few quick attempts at tidying up, but soon it turned into a frenzy of stuffing things—his things—into every drawer and cupboard you can find trying to make your place look like you’re just you.

You hold up a pair of slippers with a dubious look. “Do these scream, ‘man secretly living here’?” You hesitate, then stuff them into your wardrobe anyway. “Hotch will see the shoes. He’s thorough.” At one point, Spencer just starts throwing random clothes into a duffel bag with a kind of desperate determination, muttering something about how “Derek knows way too much about my wardrobe”. Despite the chaos, there’s laughter—giddy, shared moments, like when Spencer hisses in horror at your attempt to cram his gift—an English copy of War and Peace—under the coffee table. “That’s sacrilege,” he whispers furiously, clutching the book to his chest as if shielding it from harm. You have to bite back a grin.

There’s a particular moment though, when you’re crouched beside the couch again, frantically trying to shove a few stray novels underneath the coffee table hoping they’ll blend in with the meticulously arranged stack of Architectural Digest magazines you’d placed there purely for ‘decorative purposes’. Spencer suddenly peeks out from the bedroom, his eyes wide with alarm, his expression a mix of disbelief and panic. “Hey, can you, uh, maybe not put those under the coffee table?” he whispers urgently.

You pause, halfway through your task, and blink up at him. “Why?”

“It’s just—” He looks around frantically as though an ominous presence has settled around you. “They will know. They’ll know,” he repeats, shaking his head, the weight of some unspeakable doom settling over him. It’s all you can do not to burst out laughing. You try to keep the situation light, but then you see the look in Spencer’s eyes. This is serious business.

And you nearly lose it, stifling a laugh so hard it hurts. The sheer absurdity of the situation. Yet, beneath the humour, there’s something grounding about it—in the middle of the chaos, the intimacy of it all hits you harder than you expected. This isn’t just a mess; it’s your mess. Your life together. And it’s everything.

By the time the day comes and the team arrives, the apartment looks borderline staged. You feel a little more prepared—almost confident even. You breathe a little easier, relieved that all the obvious signs have been concealed. You act casual, ushering them in with drinks and snacks, but the sharp-eyed profilers in the room are already picking up on things you’ve missed. Rossi’s gaze flickers to the second set of keys on the hook. JJ raises an eyebrow at the coffee machine by your counter. You don't drink coffee. And Derek? He’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary, leaning against the wall and watching it all unfold.

“Nice place,” he says smoothly, his tone loaded. Rossi’s eyes fall on the meticulously organized bookshelf, your heart stutters. “War and Peace,” he says, picking up the hefty copy with a raised brow. “Yours?”

You freeze, your stomach sinking, silently cursing yourself for giving in to Spencer’s insistence that it was too precious to be shoved under the dusty coffee table. It had seemed fine at the time, but you should’ve known better.

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Mine. I’m really, uh, passionate about Tolstoy.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Since when?

You flounder, trying to remember any of Spencer’s ramblings about the book that you may or may not tune out at times. Your mind races as you remember brief mentions about symbolism and war and societal constraints. “Since, um…well, you know, Tolstoy is…deep. About…symbolism. And…life.”

Spencer, bless him, is standing behind them in your kitchen, making desperate hand signals to help you out. He subtly taps his chest, mouthing “individualism,” then points at his head, clearly trying to convey something intellectual that’s just not coming through. His hands flutter around like he’s illustrating the grandness of Russian literature, and you do your best to follow his cues. You latch onto it like a life raft. “Individualism and thinking about—uh—society!” You nod vigorously, wishing you could disappear into the floor. Emily eyes you, smiling a little too knowingly. Spencer, meanwhile, is practically acting out War and Peace like a mime in the background, pretending to hold a musket, then making exaggerated ‘thinking’ gestures, trying to help you navigate this act.

“I just love Tolstoy’s exploration of, uh, individual identity within societal constraints…” you manage, brows furrowing as if trying to convince even yourself of the words spilling out. Rossi’s brow lifts, skepticism dancing in his eyes, but he says nothing, clearly amused as he watches you scramble, letting you dig yourself a little deeper. He’s David Rossi for a reason—The man’s silence is practically weaponized, making you ramble on and on, as if you’ll somehow stumble your way into a believable explanation. You’re nervous-rambling now and you can feel yourself grasping at threads, scrambling to remember something—anything—that sounds remotely convincing. You start stumbling over a vaguely remembered plot point and that’s when Spencer starts making his way towards you from the kitchen, grimacing as you butcher the story. He walks toward you almost as if to steady you, a silent plea for you to stop digging yourself a bigger hole than you already have. “Yeah, well… it’s, uh, definitely a classic,” he says, stepping in.

Spencer subtly coughs behind his hand, catching Derek’s attention for just a second—enough to let you scramble for closing line. But the team’s smirks only grow. “Well,” Emily says with a laugh, “if you’re such a big fan of this Tolstoy guy, why don't you tell us your favorite passage hm?” You try not to cast a desperate look Spencer’s way. Spencer opens his mouth like he’s about to cut in, but Derek catches his attention with a look that says, Don’t even think about it, Spence.

Their eyes dart between the two of you, waiting for something. You can feel the tension building. Spencer stands there looking on, probably trying to telepathically send you the correct Tolstoy quote—or any Tolstoy quote at this point, but you’re lost in a sea of flailing words and desperate thoughts.

“Uh, no, actually, I don’t have a favorite passage,” you finally stammer. “It’s just, you know, the themes are really profound.”

Emily crosses her arms and gives you a once-over, clearly reveling in whatever spectacle just unfolded. “Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, Rossi smoothly redirects the group’s attention to the kitchen, likely throwing you a lifeline to salvage what little dignity remains. You and Spencer exchange glances, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile. It’s a private little conspiracy you two have shared for half a year, but now, as the night wears on, it’s starting to feel like the universe has other plans.

It doesn’t help that your team is sharp—they catch everything, a roomful of profilers who thrive on details, and tonight, every small habit, every casual touch seems magnified. Garcia narrows her eyes when she spots Spencer absentmindedly reaching to fix the crooked frame on the shelf. “You know where that goes, huh, Boy Wonder?” she teases, winking, and Spencer mumbles something about “aesthetic consistency,” looking thoroughly flustered.

You try to brush it off, laughing along with her, but then there’s Hotch, eyeing the stack of board games in the corner, the ones you both picked out last month on a whim. “Didn’t know you were into game nights,” he comments. “Oh, yeah. Huge fan of… Scrabble,” you say, your voice a little too high, trying not to look at Spencer, who’s doing everything he can to stifle a laugh.

You can practically hear the thoughts running through his head, probably remembering the night you’d blown up at him after he beat you four times in a row with a ridiculously pretentious winning word—quixotic, no less. You’d been so mad, you’d tossed your tiles and stormed off like a petulant child. Now, judging from the way he's trying to hide his grin, the twitch at the corner of his lips, it's clear he hasn’t forgotten the fiery aftermath either. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile.

Your life with him has become this strange, endearing mix of shared routines and accidental collections. Where he’s meticulous, you’re spontaneous, always flying by the seat of your pants and, at times, leaving him with a resigned sigh when you’ve left your keys in places you never should. It’s a quiet chaos, but it works. And now, as you stumble through the evening, every little piece of your life— your lives are flashing under the team’s increasingly suspicious gaze.

JJ picks up a scarf lying casually on the floor, half-tucked beneath one of your jackets. She holds it up with a curious look. “Hey, Spence, this yours?” Spencer’s heart skips a beat, and he quickly tries to school his expression, but the wide-eyed panic is hard to hide. He looks at the scarf as if it’s just been resurrected from the depths of his lost belongings. “Oh thanks!” he says, dramatically, “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He reaches for the scarf with an eagerness that betrays his attempt at nonchalance, fumbling with it awkwardly. “I thought I’d lost it,” he adds, his words tumbling out in an over-explained rush as his fingers fuss with the fabric.

JJ doesn't buy it. Not for a second. “Funny, I thought you brought it with you today,” she says, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “Since, you know, it’s right here by the door.”

Spencer freezes again, scrambling for a response. “Right... yeah, that—that makes sense. Of course.” He forces out a laugh, the sound more nervous than casual, and wraps the scarf around his neck with an exaggerated flourish. “Good to have it back,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to look composed.

JJ just shakes her head, her grin widening. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.” She watches him for a moment longer, clearly amused by the whole thing, before finally turning away, letting him stew in his overdramatic act. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, but his cheeks are still tinged with pink, and he can’t help but glance nervously over at you hoping you’re doing a better job than him at keeping this increasingly bad act up.

By the time Garcia corners Spencer in the kitchen, her grin is practically predatory. “You guys are terrible at this, you know.” Spencer looks all too comfortable setting dishes away for someone who has only ever been to your place 'once or twice'. Spencer sighs, defeated, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you across the room. “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than to her. “We are.” Spencer, at least, seems resigned, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you across the room, fumbling as you desperately try (and fail) to explain away a forgotten pair of mismatched socks by the door—somehow "yours" now, despite them clearly being too big.

You can feel your cheeks burning as the night progresses, their eyes catching every little detail—his fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a drink, the way you absentmindedly drape your arm behind him on the couch as the night winds down after one too many said drinks. The team exchanges knowing glances, soft chuckles bubbling up around you as they take in every stray look and subtle movement between the two of you.

As you say your goodbyes and thank yous, it’s clear you’ve been thoroughly caught. Emily snickers, shaking her head as she slips on her coat. “You two are adorable,” she murmurs, grinning without trying to hide it. You clear your throat feigning innocence, trying to look casual. She turns back with a sly smirk, her voice laced with amusement. “So Spence," she asks, challenging, "You staying the night?”

The room falls silent. They all know. You both know they know. Spencer, ever the professional, tries to brush it off. “I’ll help clean up,” he says nonchalantly, but the team is already rolling their eyes, clearly seeing right through the act. They’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.

You try to come up with something clever but Spencer knows it’s game over. He steps in beside you and there’s that look on his face, that soft, earnest expression he gets when he’s about to confess something—whether it’s a fact about astrophysics or a half-hidden truth he’s been holding close. “Alright, alright” he says, glancing at you for reassurance. “You got us.”

Spencer slips his hand into yours, his fingers warm and steady, grounding you in this moment. A round of knowing laughter echoes through the room, with Derek clapping Spencer on the back, Garcia gasping dramatically, and Rossi chuckling, muttering something along the lines of “about time”.

Spencer squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

The team leaves you with a final round of cheers and teasing winks, and as the door clicks shut, you turn to Spencer, his smile mirroring your own. You hear the unmistakable whoops and cheers from outside. A laugh bubbles up inside you.

Once the house quiets and the last footsteps fade away, Spencer pulls you into his arms. The soft glow of the christmas lights he'd helped you put up yesterday creates a warm halo around him as he looks down at you, that adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

You shake your head, a little amused at how badly you’d tried to cover up something everyone already knew. “We really are terrible at this,” you admit.

“Well,” he replies in a low voice, “it could’ve gone worse.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “Think they bought it, even for a moment?”

“Not a chance sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But it was fun watching you try.”

You lean into him, the warmth of his touch, his presence grounding you in a way you never expected but now can't imagine living without. You look around the room, taking in the space you’ve shared together. Sure, most of his belongings are still hidden away, tucked somewhat haphazardly in the cupboards or behind closed doors, but there are traces of him everywhere. It’s in the small things—the little hints of Spencer imprinted into the fabric of your life.

There are hints of Spencer in the kitchen sink, the one he fixed when it started leaking a few months ago. You had been ready to call a plumber, but Spencer had insisted he could handle it. He always does.

There are hints of Spencer in how you've stopped arranging your plates a certain way just for aesthetics because he'd proven how much more convenient it was to stack them according to how often you used them.

There are hints of Spencer in the stain on the couch from pasta night three weeks ago, a mishap that still makes you both laugh whenever you catch sight of it.

There are things only the two of you can understand. A code only the two of you can decipher. Small, unnoticed details that no one else can see—No matter how observant they are, no matter how well they think they can read you.

And so maybe it's okay that the secret you’ve shared for months now belongs to the people who matter most. Because as you think of these little hints of Spencer—the way he’s subtly woven himself into your life and you into his—you realize that some things do get to stay your own little secret after all. And in that, there’s something beautiful, something that’s just yours.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 5 months ago

Note

the platonic little sister relationship aegon has to someone like reader 😭 i hope we can see more, but like without the darkness of house of the dragon nor gore of it, just aegon ii staring at his little sister and vowing the world and even the throne for her, relinquishing it the first chance that he gets to rhaenyra whilst in tears holding his littlest sister 😭 he wishes no throne, no treasures, no liquor, only her safety and nothing more. i can imagine him trying to escape with her to the free lands because she is the only good in his world and he’d be damned if he let otto try and spoil the only kindness that the gods have give him. i can also imagine him stowing away on his dragon and flying on dragonback to the blacks to proclaim his loyalty with little reader bundled up in his cloak. i can imagine him fiercely protective but also relenting when he knows she is happy, being by her side as her older brother and uncle to her children to whomever it may be 😭

(sorry for the long anon, i just wish to see more 😭)

- familial issues anon 😔

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Pt. 2 ]

author notes: I promise, I'm gonna write a fluffy part 3 after this.. pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Younger Sister! Reader ( Platonic ) prompt: When Blood and Cheese attack, the feeling of being safe in the Red Keep dies along with your sweet nephew and son. word count: 1, 000+ words

The night of Blood and Cheese, you had wandered into the children's bedchamber. Something pulled you from your dreams, telling you that the children needed you. You did not know a thing. The night was quiet and cool, the gentle pouring of rain filling the air. Everyone was safe and content. No harm could come to any of you with Vhagar in the City. But, as you got closer and closer, blissfully unaware.

You did not know the horrors that awaited you. Helaena held at knife point, her eyes so wide and full of silent horror. Your son cuddled up next to Jaehaera and Jaehaerys like he always did, all three of them dead asleep and unaware. Two men, one tall and imposing. The other thin and chuckling like a mad man. A debt they said, "A son for a son."

A son for a son. A son for a son. The world that that point is going silent and you think of was, why? Why? Why? Why?

You don't remember much of anything, no matter how much you tried to, just the muffled screams and sound of flesh being cut. You stumbled and wandered down the empty halls of the Red Keep, a dead look on your face. A thousand unspoken words on your tongue.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. Where the fuck were the guards? Where were the maids? Where was everyone? They liked to snoop, so why this time were they gone?

You did not know when Helaena had departed from your side. You just vaguely remembered bumping into one of Aegon's friends, the drunken smile on his face falling. His face went pale and a stuttered call for Aegon.

Staring dead at the man, you could not remember his name, just that he was kind and one of Aegon's friends. Feeling your bottom lip wobble, you tried to hold back the sobs, emotions bubbling up. Feeling familiar hands on your shoulder, you dreadfully become aware of the wetness in your nightgown, though it was not your monthly blood or rain that soaked the linen. The realization trickled in that it was blood sinking in. Blood. Jaehaerys blood. Your son's blood.

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me, not the blood. Tell me what's happened." A voice faintly orders, "Y/n, look at me. Look at me."

Blinking back the tears that bubbled up, your vision clears up, seeing Aegon standing right in front of you. He reeks of strongwine. But, the look on his face was deadly sober. Seeing his lips moving, you couldn't hear him, the haunting sound of Jaehaerys and your son slowly being beheaded still ringing in your ears. Son for a son. A son for a son. Jaehaerys was just a boy. He was barely six years old. A baby. Helaena's baby. Your boy was a year his younger, only five.

"You weren't there. Why weren't you there?" You hiccup, "You were always there. Why weren't you there?!"

"Y/n?"

"You said you'd be there if we were in trouble. That⎯That⎯That if we need you, you would be there. Why weren't you there? Why weren't you there?!" You scream out, your pained voice echoing loudly.

"Who's blood is that? Where is your son?" Aegon asks, his face and voice of panic.

Son for a son. A son for a son. Son for a son. A son for a son. Your son. Why him? He wasn't Aegon's heir. He wasn't Aegon's son in any way. He wasn't anyone's but your own. Your baby. Your sweet baby. Why did they pick him? He was no threat. He was just sleeping. He wasn't harming anyone.

"Gods damn it, Y/n! Where is your son?! Where is he?! Who's blood is that?" He demands, "Tell me, tell me."

"The...They took his head..The boy...My boy..Blood..He's in the bed...They came from the walls..Helaena.." You choke out, not able to properly string together a sentence.

Bursting into a fit of tears, the throne exploded into chaos the moment tears were spilled, orders and demands being spouted out to anyone in ear shot. Why? Why? Why? The Red Keep was safe. Aegon told you it was safe. It was supposed to be safe. That they would not dare to harm any of you. It was supposed to be safe.

'You will never have to marry again. You and your son are under my protection. No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.' He had said, tucking back a strand of hair from your face.

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.'

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister.

'No harm shall come to you...I swear upon it.'

When did your big brother become such a fucking liar?

Watching you collapse to the ground, Aegon swiftly follows you to the ground, cuddling you close to his chest. He may have been a little tipsy, but now he was dead sober. You stumbled in, looking more like a ghost than a person. Your hair down, you always loved to leave it down when going to bed. Your nightgown, white with little butterflies sewn into the hem, now stained in blood. Who's? He did not know and dreaded finding out.

Stroking your hair tenderly, he prayed, truly prayed for the first time since his youth. Not for your safe return home. Not for his Father's love or a fragment of his time. Not for the Seven to rid him of all the bad in him. He prayed that you were just spouting out about some nightmare. That this was just like all those times in your youth, when you'd sneak into his chambers. A whimpering mess, spouting about the monster under your bed.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream." Aegon tries to reassure, not sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"Aegon, what⎯what⎯what do we do?" One of his friends stutters out, a shell shocked look on his face.

"Get the fucking guards! Wake the fucking Keep up! Damn it!" Aegon bellows, his face flushing red from anger.

Struggling to figure out what to focus on, he couldn't keep up as the Red Keep seemingly exploded. Guards are everywhere. Orders being spouted out. He wasn't sure if his voice was one of them. It was all just a blur. This could not be real. This had to be a nightmare or a figment of his drunken mind. Soon enough he would awake. You'd come into his chamber's like you do every morning, warning him that your Mother was on her way. Yes, yes, that was it. He would wake up and everything would be good.

"Aegon. Aegon." Someone calls out for him, his grip tightening on you instinctively.

"Your grace, the Prince Jaehaerys and Prince⎯" A guard stops speaking, the look on his face enough to make his blood cold.

"No, they are alright. Tis' just a minor wound, no?" Aegon shakes his head, not wanting to think of the worse. "Just a bloody nose or.."

"Your grace.." The guard shakes his head, "I am afraid tis' more grave than a bloody nose."

Feeling tears bubbling up in his eyes, he shakes his head, laughing bitterly in disbelief. This could not be true. This had to be some jest. Some dream of his. There was no way that his son and your own were dead. The Red Keep was safe. Rhaenyra would be a fool to attack with Vhagar flying above. Hearing your wails grow louder and more heart wrenching, it felt like the world just fucking snapped. Tears of sadness morphing into red hot anger. His face hardening.

They killed your son. They killed his son, his heir. They fucking made you cry. They made you and Helaena watch. Fuck the peace treaty. Fuck being kind and being cordial. Fuck doing this the proper way. Fuck all of them. He'd killed them. He'd kill them all for this. He'd kill anyone who dared to do this. He'd fucking murder all of their bloodline for this. This was war. This was fucking war.

"I'll kill them! I'll kill them all! Traitor's and murderer's!"

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

#house of the dragon #house of dragons #house of dragons x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #aegon ii targaryen #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #king aegon #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon ii #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd

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buckets-and-trees · 6 months ago

Text

Devour: HEAT (4/4)

Collection: DEVOUR Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!James Buchanan Barnes x Chef Female!Reader Word Count: 7k Summary: James returns from business in another city with the intention of spending the morning with you, more than a few surprises up his sleeve, whether you're ready for them or not.

Content & Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT - somnophilia, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, vibrating dildo, anal plug, brief masturbation, unprotected vaginal intercourse, double penetration, creampie. Feelings, so many feelings.

Logistical Notes: Salt, fat, acid, and now heat - this is the long-awaited final chapter of their series. Happy Mob Boss Monday!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You were vaguely aware of feeling much cooler than you should as you registered your hip being nudged so you were lying flat against the mattress. You were still clinging to slumber, not fully roused to the world of the waking, so you didn’t move when you felt the flat edge of a knife slipped between your skin and the silk of your panties, and you didn’t react to the snick of the clean cut of fabric over your right hip and then the left. You weren’t interested as someone peeled away the exquisite and expensive piece of underwear.

Though your legs were slightly open after being shifted from your side to your back, there was another gentle push against your leg to open your thighs a little more. Distantly something stirred in you as fingers gently caressed up your thigh and to your pussy laid bare to the morning sun. Those fingers began to gently play with your folds, eliciting wetness at your entrance. One finger gave a whisper of a press into your vaginal opening a few times, drawing a soft, short, breathy moan from you, and you subconsciously parted your legs further.

For all of that you were drowsy and docile.

The warm fingers left you for a moment, and then there was a cool pressure against your cunt, the sudden temperature change prompting a small sleepy, “Oh,” from you. More of the cool, firm pressure was applied, and then the sudden vibration of the cool object against your clit jolted you awake, eyes flying open and torso contracting suddenly upwards from the bed.

That dark, deep chuckle that always flooded you with heat poured into your ears, and a strong, now-familiar, calloused hand smoothed over your stomach and forced you gently but firmly back onto the mattress.

“James,” you keened.

“I’m disappointed,” he tutted, then pressed a kiss just above your knee.

“What?”

You racked your brain – not an easy feat when you were only just coming into consciousness for the day and being accosted with teasing pleasure at your core – but you couldn’t think of anything he could be disappointed in. Not with that tone, not with you, but he seemed genuinely disappointed. You detected even a tenor of anger in his tone.

“You’ve left some of my gifts entirely untouched,” he explained, pressing the vibrator insistently against your clit.

You groaned, and the heat of embarrassment surged rampantly through your body along with the pleasure. Your hands flew to your face, and you tried to close your legs, but he held them firmly open to his ministrations.

You knew immediately what he was talking about and what exactly was between your legs.

A sleek, black dildo that you’d only looked at for a few seconds before slamming the box shut again – long enough to register that it was a size you’d bet dimes to dollars was close in size to the cock of the man who sent it to you. Were you having copious amount of sex with notorious mob boss James Buchanan Barnes? Yes. Were you wearing the high-end bras and underwear he spoiled you with, a constant reminder of the intimate place he was establishing in your life? Yes. But using the sex toys he had selected and sent to you was the line you’d drawn at too intimate.

And now instead of using it solo, the man had the audacity to torture you with it himself.

And the torture was exquisite.

Six weeks of this man, and your body knew when to yield and drip for him. He had prepared your pussy, coaxed enough wetness, to take the dildo with ease even through the intrusion of its size, lacing the discomfort with pleasure. You moaned as he finished driving it in to the hilt. He played with the angle, pushing it up and back, teasing you with different points of pressure that made you pant and cant your hips.

“Feel good?” He asked in a smug tone.

“Yes,” you huffed, knowing he knew how you felt and only wanted you to admit it out loud for his own satisfaction. But if you didn’t, he’d delay your satisfaction, and audacious bastard though he might be, you craved him now, and delighted in the indulgence of him. “More, James, more.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Chef.”

And he did. Immediately.

He twisted the dildo, then pulled it halfway out before pushing it back into your slick channel. You closed your eyes, but you knew he watched your face closely for what made you feel good, adjusting his pace until your breath hitched and you clutched the sheets. Then he kept that pace and only applied a bit of additional force in the thrusts.

He drove you on and on until he finally pushed you over the edge, and you gave a sharp cry of ecstasy.

He worked the toy in your cunt just a bit more, making you twitch in response, and then he crawled up your body and you pulled him in for a few heated kisses.

“What are you doing here, James Buchanan Barnes?”

Though you had spent increasingly more time with him, this was the first time he’d been to your apartment. It was small and modest, and you were in no way ashamed (since he had also started to regularly send either a housekeeper or cleaning staff of some kind to take care of you place, you also weren’t worried about any mess), but you were surprised.

“I know it’s your day off.”

You chewed lightly on your bottom lip.

“And I know that look,” he continued with a smirk. “You’re not quite happy with me. I’ve shown up unannounced when I know you have plans and certainly have intentions for your unplanned time, but I wanted to see you this morning. Give me breakfast and then I promise to let you send me away as soon as you want.”

He kissed you again.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Mmm, missed you, too.” You wrapped your arms around him, pleased that he’d stripped down to his boxer briefs before joining you in your bed. “Breakfast would be nice.”

He grinned and then continued the kiss. You encouraged him, eagerly wrapping your arms around his neck and chest. You hitched a leg up around his hip, and then groaned when he pressed his bulge into your core as it pushed against the dildo still lodged inside of you.

He chuckled again, then reached down and drew out the black silicone in one slow pull. There was no ignoring the sound it made, the shlick as it came out of your messy cunt.

Then he drew it up to your mouth.

“Lick it,” he said.

Eyes locked with his, you stuck out your tongue and he slid it slowly over it. Then he set it aside and resumed kissing you, purposely circling his tongue around yours, sharing the taste of your arousal in your mouth. He groaned his approval and plundered your mouth for long enough that both of your chests were heaving against each other when he pulled away. James slowly pressed hot kisses over your face – softly on each of your closed eyes, your cheeks, your nose, you chin, your forehead, then back down to your lips. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed in sleepy contentment. You twined your fingers with his at your hip. He rutted his hard cock insistently against your core, watching your face. And he kept at it until you were all but begging for him.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Good, I’m ready to fill you up.”

But you whimpered as his actions immediately indicated the opposite as he abruptly rolled off you and slid out of bed.

“What? What are you-“

“Breakfast.” He smirked down at you, already pulling on a pair of lounge pants. “Going to fill you up with breakfast. What did you think I meant?”

You groaned at the blatant mischief in his eyes and hurled a pillow at him. He caught it with ease, laughed, and tossed it back to your bed as he left your bedroom. “See you in the kitchen,” he called back.

“Handsome bastard,” you grumbled as you rolled out of bed and padded along after him. You grabbed the silk robe hanging off the back of your door on your way, knotting and trying it off around your waist.

The incredible smell of some kind of warm bread hit you as you stepped out of your room. You inhaled deeply and moved more quickly, drawn by the heavenly scent, but you paused on seeing him in the kitchen. You had expected to see him at most plating up something that he’d brought or had delivered.

That was not the case.

Instead, he stood behind the counter next to your stove, handling ingredients that had come from a small crate like he was on a Food Network show.

He glanced up. “Yes, I’m cooking for you. Sit and relax,” he said, gesturing at the stool on the other side of the counter.

“James Buchanan Barnes, did you actually bake something?”

You tried to sidle into the actual kitchen, but he quickly blocked you off with his broad body.

“I. Am. Cooking. For. You.” He paused between each word, his tone serious.

“Are you really barring me from my own kitchen?”

You tilted your head up and fixed him with a look half amusement, half incredulity.

He leaned in, cupped your face in both of his hands, and kissed you soundly until you melted against his chest. When he pulled back, your lips chased his.

“Let me take care of you,” his words were gentle but firm, spoken tenderly against your lips.

One last indulgent kiss, and then he turned you around by your shoulders, and you finally did as you were told and took the seat across the counter from him.

James reached for an English muffin out of a small basket on the counter, split it open easily with a knife, and then buttered it. The butter melted immediately, and you grinned.

“You made English muffins from scratch?”

“You never dreamed I could cook on top of everything else – too good to be true?” He winked and you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Try it,” he said and slid you a small plate with half the muffin on it, taking a bite out of the half he kept back.

You lifted the bread to your lips and gingerly took a bite. It was soft, warm, and beyond the smooth tang of the melted butter that bled through the crumb, the taste far surpassed any English muffin that you could buy at the store. You let out a content hum, and your shoulders relaxed, the delight from the simplicity of the rich flavors in your mouth flooding your body with serotonin.

James smiled, just a hint of his cocky confidence lacing it, and then he got to work, filling a saucepan with water and setting it on the stove to bring it up to a simmer. He pulled more supplies from his box as you watched. Butter, lemon, eggs.

Given that your life was devoted to food and cooking, this was a bold gesture - and one no one you had ever been involved with had attempted. They were either too lazy or too intimidated or too dim to realize that even though you could cook, someone taking care of you in this way was a beautiful and indulgent gift.

“When did you get back?” you asked. He’d been gone for three days, but you hadn’t expected him back in the city until tomorrow.

He looked over at the clock on the wall. “Two hours ago.”

You blinked.

“You come straight here?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed in the affirmative without looking up from the frying pan as he slapped a healthy amount of butter onto its surface and set that on the stove as well.

Your heart soared, beating happily, and you folded your arms and rested them on the counter, leaning forward on your stool. The corners of your mouth unable to do anything but smile. You saw his mouth had relaxed into a soft smile as well.

While the butter melted, he separated yolks from egg whites, and beat them together in a glass bowl. When the pot of water was steaming, he took the glass bowl with the egg yolks and set it over top of the saucepan and continued to whisk them.

Now you knew what he was making.

“Eggs Benedict?” you asked.

“It’s one of your favorites.”

“How did you know?”

“I know more about you than you give me credit for.”

You didn’t want to touch that yet, but perhaps later, you thought.

“You’ve ordered it a few times when we’ve been out for brunch. It’s also one of my specialties.”

“Homemade English muffins, whipping up a hollandaise without much effort… you can actually cook,” you remarked.

He kept his focus on incorporating the butter into the yolks properly, but still responded. “You somehow continue to underestimate me in many areas, Chef.”

That assertion nudged your conscience a little, but his tone was teasing, so you kept the level of banter going. “You still have to successfully poach the eggs and make sure your hollandaise doesn’t split. But if you manage to pull it off, I might have to take you back to bed after breakfast.”

He chuckled, and your core rumbled a little.

You sat with rapt attention and watched. You didn’t scrutinize, but it crossed your mind that there were probably very few men who would have had the self-assurance to cook in front of you without worrying or getting irritated, even though you knew you weren’t judging, only interested in observing someone else at your craft.

And as you sat, you did turn over his comment in your head – that you were underestimating him.

It had been seven weeks since everything started with this mob boss. He had insinuated himself into many aspects of your life, but as you navigated whatever it was that was developing between you two, most of the time his intrusions were welcome, if somewhat hesitantly by you at first - like fully exchanging your intimates, or hiring a housekeeper for your apartment (you had yet to see them, and you had to confess it felt nice to have some work eliminated from your plate). He had been incredibly aggressive about folding himself into many aspects in your life. Some of the evolution of this relationship had been thrilling, had you giddy, or quite simply stunned over the moments of softness or seeming adoration. Through any of the challenges, James had been open to any wants and needs you expressed when you brought them to his attention. What’s more, there hadn’t been many things to address with him – the time he spent with you wasn’t merely additional hours clocked, but as you looked back you had to confess it was time he spent truly getting to know you.

You craved him almost constantly, and in so many ways, but had you gotten caught up in trying to preserve yourself?

The morning after the first night you’d slept together and stayed the night at his penthouse, you had been able to dress out of the closet he had already stocked for you. While a little shocking, it had not ultimately been surprising. It had bordered on overwhelming. The novelty and spoiling had been fun and flattering. That he had been able to stock a closet so well-suited to your taste and needs had been the part that edged toward the overwhelming side, but you ignored the more serious parts of the grand gesture, classified it as yet another audacious choice, not a sign of his knowing you or the clear signal that he was ready to have you seriously embedded in his life – in his home. He hadn’t said anything or even insinuated that you should move in, he just let that closet of clothes exist for you. It was a statement, but not a demand.

Aside from the housekeeper he’d started to send around to your place, he also had enlisted some kind of laundry service to take care of more of your needs, and last week before he left for his business trip he personally slipped a black card into your wallet.

“There,” your mob boss declared, spinning the two plated masterpieces toward you. “These would certainly be approved for service, would they not, Chef?”

You were impressed. “They look stunning. Final judgement at the table.”

You started to reach for one of the plates, but James tutted at you and carried them both over to the table, seating you at the corner next to each other where place settings had already been laid out. He was thorough, including going back to the fridge to retrieve a carafe of juice.

“And did you press this by hand?” you asked as he poured a glass for each of you.

He laughed. “No, I didn’t have time to grow and harvest the fruit myself, so it felt like cheating. This is the one my home chef keeps on hand for me.”

“I do like your chef. Do you think I could steal them for my restaurant?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he took his seat next to you. “Enough. Eat.”

You took up your knife and fork and made the first, signature cut into the egg draped with its silky hollandaise sauce. The yolk oozed, slow and gorgeous. “That’s a top tier poach,” you shot the praise truthfully.

James smiled and watched as you lifted the first bite to your mouth.

“Mmm,” you hummed, your eyes closing momentarily. “Nothing beats a beautiful benedict.”

“Success,” he crooned, finally digging into his own dish. He didn’t ask if for further accolades, didn’t ply you for more praise, again speaking to his nature – confident, perhaps too confident at times, but sure of himself.

After your second bite, you still reaffirmed your assessment. “Really, James, the sauce is the perfect consistency, and that English muffin could have carried the whole dish on its own if the rest had been just okay.”

He squeezed your thigh under the table. “Thank you.”

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments before James spoke again. “Where’s your lovely head this morning? You went somewhere while I was cooking.”

You looked at him, tilting your head while you chewed. His blue eyes, strong, piercing, warm, captivating, looked directly into yours. He really did see you in more ways than you had been giving him credit for.

Being with this man for the past seven weeks had changed something in you. Over the years you had learned to be direct and go after what you want, but not in romantic endeavors. When you were younger, you didn’t have the skills, experience, or confidence. Over the past few years, you had been clear and direct in the rare forays into talking or dates, but there had been nothing long or meaningful enough to require directness and vulnerability from you. You had been able to be direct with James, but you had skirted around being exposed to some of the moments of vulnerability.

But there was not much more skirting that you could do.

James had shown he was willing to show up.

It was time for you to do the same.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said – that I’ve been underestimating you. I think… You might be right.”

James leaned forward, reached for your hand, and brought it to his lips. He murmured your name softly against the palm of your hand and then pressed a long kiss there. You took a breath to calm your suddenly racing heart. “I know who I am. I don’t blame you having certain ideas of who that is or putting on your own armor to keep yourself safe.”

He let your hands fall to the table but kept a tight hold on your fingers.

“I ate at Devour for the first time a few months ago. The food was immaculate. I was looking to invest in new ventures and diversify my portfolio, so I started looking into buying the restaurant. It had a good track record, its reputation had been steadily growing, the location was prime, the service impeccable. The only point of debate that came back in my team’s assessment of whether to buy the establishment was our discovery the head chef was retiring.

“You were the heir apparent and confirmed successor, so we researched you, too. Clean background, solid career building; I saw that you were pretty, but that was immaterial – merely a PR bonus if we wanted to generate more buzz for the restaurant at any point. We ordered out and dined in many times the month leading up to your takeover so that we could have a solid handle on the standard we expected and could gage if there would be any significant changes night one.

“A third of the dining room that night was filled with my people. You introduced a few new dishes to the menu, bit it was conclusive all around that the quality had been maintained, and nothing had fundamentally changed. I walked in that night planning to make my purchase as long as I was satisfied, and I was.

“The last thing I wanted was to see the new head chef face to face before making the deal so I could get a sense of who you were off the page and beyond your plates.”

“I remember being summoned to a table rather inconveniently on the biggest night of my career,” you interjected.

He chuckled. “And I could see that fire in your demeanor. It confirmed my purchasing decision, but it also made me want to devour you.”

And he had. He had temporarily dismissed your staff, told you he was tripling your salary, and then roughly sexed you up according to his pleasure – giving you some of the best sex you’d had, but not because you wanted it that night, only because he had.

“New business acquisition, new girl,” you teased. But it was defensive.

He grunted and shook his head. “No. You’ve invested so much of yourself into your career and the restaurant that you assume they’d be tied together, but they’re not. To me there was the restaurant and then there was you. I only played my hand to my advantage to keep you there. If you’d walked after that night, I would’ve gone looking for you.”

You frowned at him, but he continued before you could argue.

“You weren’t easy. There are so few people in my life who don’t bow or bend to me, I wanted more of that.”

“You wanted the challenge?”

“No, more than the challenge, I wanted you for your strength. I was the mob boss you thought I was that night, but then you turned me into a man – demanded I be a version of myself who was worthy of you if I wanted more, and I did want more of you. You stopped making time for men because they kept disappearing or disappointing, didn’t you?”

You sighed.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Neither of us are content with easy. You wanted someone to romance and adore you, but you also needed someone who would challenge you, meet you stride for stride.”

“Don’t be smug,” you said.

“I told you the first night we slept together, I’m not smug about you. After things started unfolding between us, you drew me in. I wanted more than just sex. I knew I could get that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head and put a finger to your lips. “We were both eager for it – those first encounters, and especially the first night together, now let me finish.”

You huffed, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. The sex had been heated and irresistible every time.

“I think you’ve worried more than you needed to over whether I want you, or if I knew what I was getting into.”

It was like he was reading pages of your most private thoughts. His eyes were impossibly intense now, and it made your chest ache.

“This has never been about someone to warm my bed. I’m too busy, and my life was just fine before. I want you, and, yes, glorious amounts of sex with you, but it’s your passion and your spirit I crave. You’ve seen me for more than who you thought I was in the beginning.”

“You’re remarkable, I couldn’t help being drawn to you,” you confessed. You’d called him audacious so many times, but that was only one facet of James Buchanan Barnes. He was passionate, intelligent, bold, calculating, and decisive.

“You’ve let down some of your guards around and let me in, and because you do, I let you see pieces no one else knows. We’re swimming in deeper waters with each other all the time.”

You brought your hand up to his cheek and kissed him fiercely but briefly, needing to feel his lips on yours for a moment. You wanted so much more, but you knew he wasn’t finished, so you drew back.

He drew both your hands into his, resting them on the table between you two.

“I knew that if I ever married, I wanted a partner, not another yes person. The more time I’m with you, the more my soul hungers for you to be that part of my life. I want your company, your opinions, your soft snores, your teasing, your ideas. I’m insatiable for you, in every way. The first night I knew I wanted you, but that second night I saw in you my wife.”

“Your wife?” you gasped, your jaw going slack with surprise. But you didn’t make another sound or even a movement as his words swirled every thought in your head.

He waited, eyes still locked on yours. It was more than a full minute of silence before he finally spoke again. “Eventually, yes. Does that scare you?”

“No,” you said, without hesitation.

His words had brought you back and seemingly brought your frenzied thoughts into alignment. The only potential barrier your brain identified was time. But he wasn’t asking you to marry him right now, he was only asking if you were scared of potentially being his wife.

And that didn’t scare you.

Truthfully you would have cut things off if there had been any moment you didn’t see a long way down the road with him – you’d done it plenty of times with men before. Like him, you were too busy to trifle with men just to be coupled. You’d fought not only to make something of yourself in your career, but to make something of yourself in your life so that you didn’t need to be in a relationship to be happy.

“It doesn’t scare me either,” he said.

Then he swept his napkin from his lap, laid it on the table, and, in no rush, pushed back his chair and stood up from the table. He tugged on your hand gently, invitingly, nodding toward the hall and back to your bedroom.

Your head and your heart were full – clear but full – so you let James take the lead.

His hands moved deftly and delicately as they untied the knot of your silk tie of your robe, then pushed it down off your shoulders, letting his fingers skim enticingly over your skin, and turned to hang it on the back of your bedroom door. Next his hand found the hem of your silk chemise and pulled it up you’re your hips, and you lifted your arms so he could sweep it clean up off your body. He set it gently on the end of your dresser before turning back to you. Then he stepped closer than he had been before, cupped your jaw in both hands, and lowered his face to capture your lips in another kiss. Slow, warmth and fire behind it, but still no rush. You slanted your mouth against his and darted your tongue out to tempt entrance, which he granted, licking into your mouth in kind.

From the very beginning, whether they were slow or frenzied, his kisses have always been so passionate they were intoxicating, and you never wanted that to end between the two of you.

You craved him almost constantly, and in so many ways. He had seeped into your bones and your veins and so many of your waking thoughts, like the thrumming undercurrent of your heartbeat.

James eased you back slowly until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he gently urged you back. “Get up there for me,” his voice husky and his pupils taking over his blue irises.

You scooted as smoothly as you could manage until you were most of the way up the bed, not wanting to put distance between you, but knowing it wouldn’t last long. You leaned back on your elbows, a slight shiver running down your spine as your eyes met James’ gaze, drinking in the full form of your naked body – far from the first time he’s seen it over the past few weeks, but the intensity still affected you, there was still vulnerability of newness in this relationship.

James pulled the soft t-shirt up and off his torso. Then, not looking away from you, he pushed down his lounge pants and stepped out of them. The sight of his thick, hard cock made your breath hitch, eager to feel the way he stretched and filled you up, but he remained rooted to his spot and began slowly pumping one hand up and down his length while he looked at you.

“Spread your legs for me, love,” he said.

You gasped because it was the first time either of you had vocalized the word to each other.

“I do,” he confirmed, “I love you.”

“James…”

He smiled. “Now, show me that pretty cunt, my love.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you let your legs drop open like a butterfly.

He moaned appreciatively and continued to slowly stroke his cock as he stepped forward. “Pretty and wet and mine.”

He joined you on the bed, quickly slotting his large form in the cradle of your thighs. He pressed heated kisses along your collarbone, but you guided his head up to yours.

“I love you, too,” you murmured fervently against his lips.

His eyes flared with happiness and satisfaction - a look you had grown familiar with, and one you relished in knowing you caused.

As he kissed you again, he propped himself up on one arm by your head, but his other hand landed on your puffy and dripping folds to lavish languid attention, not designed to drive you to orgasm, but only to dole out pleasure while his expert fingers played with your body. As ever, you were simultaneously eager for more but ready to relish the experience.

While James had you pinned down with the weight of his body, eventually you began to squirm and rock your hips, seeking more. Soft mewls tumbled out of you, and you scratched your nails down his broad back.

“Need,” you gasped when he broke off the kiss.

He pecked your lips to cut you off. “I know what you need.”

He pushed himself up, grabbed a pillow, placed it down next to your hip. You hummed as he and rolled you over and onto the pillow, propping your hips up for him. Spreading your knees with his, he knelt behind you. You stretched your right arm up above your head, grasping at the sheets to steady yourself for whatever he had in store for you next, and reached your left hand back, silently seeking his hand to twine with your, which he complied with, settling your entwined fingers together at your hip. Meanwhile, his free hand passed soothingly up and down the length of your right side, from knee to ribs, down and up and down again. He planted kisses from the base of your spine up to your neck, and it was so soft and intimate your eyes welled with tears, nearly overwhelmed with just how adored this unhurried worshipful moment made you feel. You blinked back the moisture in your eyes and focused on breathing.

His kisses continued up the side of your neck, and when he suddenly nipped at your ear, you laughed and swatted playfully at him.

He rolled away from you, and a whine of protest escaped your throat.

James chuckled.

“Just a moment,” he reassured you as he reached for something on the bedside table. You heard a small click you couldn’t place, then some other soft sounds of movement. When he rolled back to face you, you looked down to see what he’d retrieved.

You gasped and then looked back up to his face immediately, heat rising in your neck and cheeks.

But it wasn’t embarrassment that you felt, it was the rush of trepidatious arousal, hesitant because this was an area you’d never ventured in the sexual realm.

In his hand was the smallest from a set of platinum anal plugs set with sapphires, and it was prepared with lube.

“Oh,” the soft syllable fell from your lips.

“Trust me?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

He squeezed your hand, and you squeezed back. Then he released your hand and settled back to his kneeling position between your splayed thighs again. He caressed the swell of your ass, first one cheek, then the other. His thumbs spread your crack open, and gently nudged at the tight ring of muscle at your entrance a few times before he placed the rounded metal end of the plug at the puckering.

“Relax, let me feel you breathe,” he said. You took a deep breath in. Out. And with your next breath in, he pushed the plug softly in. You held your breath as he slowly finished slotting it inside of you. Then he was up near your cheek, nuzzling you softly. “How does that feel?”

You took a beat to think before answering. “Full.” You breathed in and out again. “Good.”

You felt him grin against your skin. “Good.”

His thumb lightly tapped against the jeweled end, and your breath hitched slightly. He waited a moment, tapped again, and again your breath hitched. He chuckled. “So responsive, love.”

You huffed and burrowed your face into the sheets.

“But still good?” he checked in.

“Yes,” you groaned. The feeling of your tight hole being full was unbelievably intense because it was so foreign, so insistent, so much. The plug provided an ever-present push, and the more moments that passed, the more your body latched onto it the rush. It laced every thought. His light taps on the plug had jolted that pleasure, giving it sharp, blissful pulses.

Another laugh at your reluctant acknowledgement. “I’ll stop teasing,” he promised. “For now,” he added.

He lined up the tip of his cock at the entrance to your weeping channel, hunched down over your back, and then slowly, deliciously, pushed his thick length inside of you. You moaned openly through every second of it, then took a deep breath when he settled in at the hilt.

James waited there, chest pressed against your back, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled in both places at once. He peppered kisses along your shoulder.

“Mmm, ready for you to move,” you drawled through your haze.

One hand held the top of your hip, and he planted his arm at your side so he could get the right leverage to begin thrusting in and out of your cunt. He took a slow approach, but it still engulfed you immediately. His cock moving within your cunt while you were plugged, immovable fullness in one hole and a shifting fullness in the other, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The presence of the plug dialed up every other sensation you were experiencing as James started to speed up his thrusts.

You fought to acclimate to the overwhelming fullness, as he gradually increased the pace of his thrusting, but your orgasm crashed over you earlier than either of you expected. Your body seized up and then shook as you cried out in ecstasy beneath him. He groaned as you milked his cock, then growled as he sped up even more.

His hand circled your hip to dive beneath your pelvis, in search of your clit.

You keened when his expert fingers found your swollen bud.

“Have to give me another, need you to cum with me,” he demanded, chest rumbling against your back.

His fingers dealt out exquisite torture as he circled your clit.

Your second orgasm built and crested, drawn out in longer bliss this time, and as your walls clenched this time, they triggered the release of your mob boss as well. He gave a shout, muffled into your neck as he pumped you full of his cum. You could feel the heat of it as he emptied himself fully inside you, and you relished in it, arching your back and stretching your arms out satisfyingly in the bursts of pleasure that rolled through your body in the aftershocks.

You turned your head to kiss your lover, full and satiated. He indulged and returned the kiss in kind but broke it off much too soon for your liking, also withdrawing his cock from your well-used cunt. You gave a little moan of protest, but he kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he assured you.

Too blissed out and loathe to move yet, you stayed exactly where you were, listening to James’s footsteps moving away to the bathroom. The running tap signaled a quick clean up, and when he returned, he had a warm washcloth to tend to you as well. He carefully removed the plug, and murmured, “You did so good for me.”

A little something fluttered ever so slightly at his soft praise. After he wiped away the mess of your combined spend, he tossed the washcloth to your laundry hamper, removed the pillow from beneath your hips, then settled down on his side on your mattress and collected your boneless body in his arms. You sighed in contentment.

“You ready to send me away yet?” he asked.

“No, you’ve earned at least a few more minutes.”

“Good, because I have one more thing for you.”

You laughed. “I might need a little more recovery time, muscles don’t want to move.”

He reached over to your bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled something out, but your eyes were drifting closed. You thought maybe he would relent and leave you be for at least a short amount of recovery time if you fell into a light doze.

But of course, he would not.

No.

James Buchanan Barnes, endearing but audacious bastard that he was, couldn’t let you rest.

He withdrew your hand from his chest and deposited something into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it, before he kissed your knuckles.

As your fingers registered the size and shape of the object in your hands – small and square, smooth surfaces, but tied with a satin bow – you stopped breathing, and your eyes flew open.

His face held the softest smile you had ever seen on his features. His thumb brushed smooth, reassuring circles, over the inside of your wrist. “Marry me.”

Your eyes flickered between his piercing blue gaze and the Tiffany blue box in your hands, mouth agape. You had resumed breathing, but you were speechless – happiness tinged with hesitancy. Your eyes went back to him, searching his face, and you knew he was searching your again. “In the other room, you said eventually.”

“Marry me tomorrow, or marry me in five years, but I know what I want,” his tone underscoring his evident resolve. “I told you, I’ve known since very early on, and every moment only solidifies how certain I am I can’t see a future I want more than one that involves you.”

You leaned in to kiss him. He was clever, your mob boss. Strategic. But you also believed he was sincere.

You broke the kiss this time. “I won’t marry you tomorrow, but I don’t want to wait five years, either.”

“We can set the timeline later, but now I want to see my ring on your finger, Chef.”

He reached to start tugging the white bow loose, but you tsked at him and went to work, untying the satin. You opened the blue box, then let your fingers run over the smooth velvet of the smaller box within. Neither of you spoke, the moment charged with anticipation. You tilted back the top half of the ring box.

“Oh, James,” you marveled.

The ring he’d selected could not have been more perfect. The setting of the stones was stunning.

You let him withdraw the ring from its cushion and slip it onto your finger.

Already having proven his track record when it came to knowing things about you, you didn’t question how he had managed to get the perfect sizing for your engagement ring.

Hours later, after hours of kissing and numerous post-engagement orgasms, you did ask how long that ring box had been in your top drawer, but he laughed and assured you only that morning.

You were reasonably sure that was the case, but with him, there was no telling for sure.

And now you knew this mischievous man and mob boss would continue to surprise and challenge you for a lifetime.

THIS CONCLUDES THE ARC OF THEIR SERIES! I hope it provides a satisfying ending that you were able to devour! I have already written a few pieces for them that take place after this, and I imagine there will be drabbles here and there (there were two things I cut from this chapter already because of how things ended up flowing, and one of them I do at least still see as a conversation they will have in the midst of some smut), but we have at least gotten them from the beginning of their journey to where I wanted them to land in the original four parts I sketched out over a year ago.

Let me know what you think, now that you know how their story has been told! I can't believe we made it!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #mob boss bucky buarnes #bucky barnes fanfic #aspen wrote something #devour au #bucky barnes x female reader #female reader #mob boss au #mob au

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izvmimi · 4 months ago

Text

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing.

He couldn’t have, but he did.

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump.

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through.

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew.

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help.

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them.

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically.

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #pro hero izuku x reader #deku x reader #mimidoriya #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

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pin-k-ink · 3 months ago

Text

ROUTINE ⋆✦⋆ miya osamu

synopsis ➸ you thought things would be the same after six years away from Osamu, but surprise—turns out, distance really does make the heart grow fonder

tags ➸ kinda dub-con, best friends to lovers, sexual tension, making out, cunnilingus, blowjob, face-fucking, come-eating, dom!samu, unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, praise kink, dry humping, breeding kink,

wc ➸ 6.5k

"Damn, I was wondering when you'd finally roll up," you teased as Osamu's car pulled up to the curb outside arrivals. "I was about to have them page you over the intercom like a lost child or something."

He shot you a flat look as you chuckled, sliding into the passenger seat with a dramatic flourish. "Yeah, well, maybe I would've been here sooner if a certain someone hadn't decided to bring half her apartment along for the trip."

You gasped in mock outrage, playfully swatting his arm as Osamu pulled away from the curb. "My luggage is perfectly reasonable, Mr. Smart Mouth! Not all of us can be professional minimalists, you know."

Osamu snorted at that, lips twitching upwards ever so slightly in that subtle way you'd always adored. "Pretty sure there's minimalist and then there's whatever hoarding problem you've got going on back there."

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly before both of you dissolved into familiar laughter - any last remaining tension from the years apart melting away in an instant. This was simply how it always was between you and your oldest friend, trading playful jabs and insults like two unruly siblings. The ease of simply being yourselves around each other again filled you with profound comfort and nostalgia.

"God, I missed this so freakin' much," you admitted once the laughter subsided, reaching over to briefly squeeze his bicep affectionately. "The whole sarcastic smart-ass battle of wits, I mean. None of my other friends back home could keep up quite like you."

Osamu hummed, the barest hint of a smirk playing over his features as he merged onto the highway. "You say that like it's a good thing, dork. Pretty sure half the gray hairs I'm rocking now are from all the stress of dealing with your particular brand of chaos all those years."

You scoffed dramatically. "Pleaaaase, I single-handedly kept you from being an even bigger stick in the mud growing up. You're welcome for helping cultivate your sparkling personality, sir."

That earned you an eye roll, but you didn't miss the undeniable warmth flickering in the depths of Osamu's intense stare every time he snuck a glance your way. Like he was just as pleased at falling back into this familiar banter as you were.

The rest of the drive passed in a similar fashion - full of laughing recollections of old haunts long abandoned and inside jokes so deeply embedded you were the only two people left who understood them anymore. Whenever a lull arose, one of you would almost immediately find some new embarrassing anecdote to poke fun at the other over, dragging yourselves into another spiral of cackling wisecracks until you could scarcely breathe.

It was only as Osamu navigated his car through your new neighborhood's winding streets that the conversation lulled more naturally. A comfortable quiet blanketed over you both, replete with unspoken depths of affection and certainty built up over literal decades of steadfast camaraderie against all odds.

When he finally pulled up to the curb outside your new building, you felt a bizarre pang in your chest - a reluctance to break this tranquil cocoon of nostalgia and easy familiarity just yet despite the obvious need to collect your luggage waiting in the trunk.

Osamu must have sensed your hesitation because he shot you another one of those subtle sidelong looks, pewter irises inscrutable. You maintained the heavy silence for another suspended heartbeat before gesturing vaguely towards the car's rear.

"Well...I guess we should probably see about unstuffing the trunk before the neighbors start thinking we're accomplices in some robbery or something, huh?"

His low chuckle rumbled through the space between you, rich and effortlessly relaxing your tensed shoulders all over again. "Yeah, yeah...I got it. You just sit tight and I'll start hauling your mountain of crap inside before the old guy veins start bursting too much strain."

You grinned and stuck out your tongue as he unbuckled and moved to exit the vehicle. Typical Osamu - always keeping things low-key and pragmatic no matter the situation, even when it came to giving you grief over your travel habits.

Feeling lighter than you had since initially booking your return ticket, you pushed open your own door and stretched out your travel-weary limbs while waiting for your friend to join you. Over the still-running engine's idle rumble, you could hear Osamu's telltale grumbling and shuffling on the other side of the sedan as he rooted around the trunk area.

You couldn't resist tossing another teasing quip over your shoulder. "Need a hand over there with my 'mountain of crap', your highness? Or should I just leave you to suffer under the strain alone a bit longer as punishment for the snark?"

You'd barely gotten the words out before freezing dead in your tracks, one foot already hovering outside the car door to disembark as your heart lurched into your throat. Because rather than issuing some characteristically dry retort or scoffing rejoinder...Osamu had simply appeared beside you in one fluid, prowling motion - broad chest heaving slightly and intense eyes burning into yours with laser focus.

Before you could even suck down enough air for a startled yelp, his calloused palm curved around your nape with surprising reverence and urgency - tilting your head just enough to slot your parted lips together in a scorching, fevered collision. One that robbed what little oxygen remained in your lungs completely as Osamu sealed his mouth over yours in a heated glide of rasping demand.

You whimpered helplessly against the searing onslaught despite every rational cell screaming at the sudden freefall. And as Osamu growled in response, tongue delving deeper to chase the trembling surrender in your very marrow, you found yourself clutching his shirt in desperation - torn between shoving him away or clinging for dear life in the rapturous storm.

Just as quickly as the explosive fusion ignited, however, Osamu was tearing himself away with a harsh inhale. You stared at each other in twin states of dumbstruck bewilderment - both panting harshly and thoroughly awash in the lingering aftermath of whatever that was.

Before you could unstick your frozen tongue enough to articulate the maelstrom of shock and confusion ricocheting between your ears, Osamu leaned in once more and pressed a single, shuddering exhale against your damp lips.

"Bags...yeah, lemme get those inside for you first," he rasped out in a wrecked rumble that made your knees go weak all over again for an entirely different reason now.

You blinked at him owlishly for a beat, still reeling from the molten collision that had just blurred every line between you mere moments ago. But true to form, your oldest friend simply turned and began hauling your numerous suitcases from the car's trunk without further preamble.

Despite the electric tension still sparking over every nerve ending, you found yourself falling back into familiar patterns without conscious thought - gathering the smaller carry-ons and preceding him up the front walk towards your new apartment's entrance.

Neither of you spoke a word beyond the occasional directional murmur as you located the right door and disarmed the lock. An outside observer would find nothing remotely amiss about the scene unfolding between two people who'd known each other longer than most could fathom.

Yet the lack of acknowledgment regarding Osamu's heated outburst out by the curb only amplified the sense of dizzying unreality now draped over your shoulders. Had that happened at all? Or maybe it was simply the thrilling first flickers of an intoxicating dream bleeding into waking life for once?

You couldn't resist darting quick, sidelong glances at him from beneath your lashes as Osamu moved about depositing your luggage throughout the front room. He didn't seem disturbed in the slightest - features settled into those same stoic, carefully neutral lines you knew better than your own reflection.

Only the occasional flare of his nostrils or reflexive bob of his throat as he swallowed betrayed the lingering heat simmering just below the surface each time your gazes happened to intersect accidentally. It made you dizzy, this bizarre vacillation from unholy passion back to mundane patterns - like a vicious rubber band stretched taut before snapping loose without warning over and over.

Eventually, the final bag thudded into the pile and Osamu straightened to regard you head-on once more. Any sardonic quips about your inability to pack lightly died on your tongue as you took in the weight of that piercing steel-gray stare boring into you with renewed intensity.

Before you knew what was happening, Osamu stalked forward in three prowling strides that should've had your senses shrieking in instinctive retreat. But all you could manage was a trembling inhale as he backed you up against the nearest wall with purposeful possession - caging you in on both sides with those powerful forearms.

"'Samu, what—"

Whatever feeble protest your addled mind scrambled to summon withered entirely as Osamu dipped his head and sealed his mouth over yours in another explosive, wholly unexpected fusion. You moaned outright this time, relishing the smoky musk and cedar wood notes of his scent enveloping you in a rapturous shroud as his tongue swept inside.

Osamu groaned in answering delight, drinking down each needy little keen as he set about ravaging you with delirious single-minded intent. One broad palm cradled the nape of your neck to keep you angled vulnerably for his thorough possession - tilting and angling your parted lips to grant him deeper access.

You clutched at the firm muscles bracketing your waist mindlessly, nails raking with every desperate roll of your hips chasing more friction against his undulating form. Only when your ragged gasps pitched higher in the rapidly fogging air did Osamu finally tear away with a harsh inhale - though he made no move to disentangle from your helpless sprawl entirely.

The weight of his intense gaze as he studied your disheveled, panting state robbed you of any coherent protests still rattling in the disjointed remnants of your mind. Instead, you simply watched in transfixed awe as Osamu leaned in once more to ghost a revenant swipe of his tongue over your damp, kiss-swollen lips.

"Tomorrow, [Y/N]," he rumbled in a voice gone to gravel and sin made flesh against the vulnerable juncture of your throat. "First thing, or I'm not gonna be able to keep my hands off you much longer..."

You could only keen feebly as his teeth nipped at the slender column there in reprimand before Osamu withdrew entirely on another scalding exhale. He pinned you with one final, simmering look that promised so many more unholy delights to come in its depths before turning on his heel.

"I'll see you at the shop for sure," he tossed over his shoulder in that same careless drawl tinged with husky promise now. "Get some rest while you still can..."

And on that confounding parting note, Osamu slipped back out into the shadowed hallway beyond - pausing only briefly to toss you one final lingering look that made your thighs tremble instinctively. Before the echo of his footfalls faded from your consciousness entirely, you were pressed back against the wall with leaden limbs and breath still coming in sharp staccato bursts.

What had just happened? Or rather, what cosmic floodgates had finally been irrevocably pried open in one heated, unspoken downpour that threatened to shatter every known facet of your relationship with Osamu entirely?

You had no idea. But one glaring truth blazed forth in blinding clarity despite your spinning disorientation still:

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough...

You tried not to dwell too heavily on the loaded implications laced through Osamu's parting words as you dragged yourself through your nightly routine in a bit of a daze. But no matter how you tried distracting yourself with mundane tasks and unpacking, flashes of his smoldering stare kept creeping in - stoking the lingering butterflies still rioting in your belly.

Sleep eventually claimed you in fits and bursts, restless dreams threaded through with phantom caresses and rasping whispers that left you gasping awake more than once. By the time your alarm blared into wakefulness the next morning, you felt more drained yet feverishly buzzing with anticipation than ever.

Getting ready on autopilot, you hyper-focused on simply making it through the immediate challenge ahead - seeing Osamu at his little onigiri shop as promised, as if nothing earth-shattering had erupted between you both last night. The entire walk over felt charged, every breath filling your lungs with the same heady tension that had cloaked over you in his presence since the airport reunion.

Except this time, you couldn't shove aside the implications behind each lingering look or simmering flicker in those intense pewter irises quite so easily. Not after finally shattering that fragile line forever with a few stolen, heated kisses that should've set your entire world ablaze completely.

The familiar ring of the bell above the door sent a little thrill through you as you stepped into Osamu's onigiri shop. Despite the lingering tension and unspoken implications smoldering between you since last night's...encounter, you were determined to simply enjoy being back in your oldest friend's presence again.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. I-Can't-Be-Bothered-To-Call-First gracing us all with her presence," Osamu's rich baritone greeted you over the muted bustle of the small lunchtime rush.

You shot him a saucy grin, reveling in the familiar banter as you approached the counter. "Keep that sass up and I won't share the souvenirs I brought back for your ungrateful ass, mister."

Osamu's lips twitched upwards in that subtle yet utterly devastating half-smile you adored so much, eyes crinkling warmly even as he scoffed. "Like I'd want any of your weird knickknack junk cluttering up my shop anyway."

The two of you continued trading playful insults and jabs as you settled onto a stool, content to simply soak in Osamu's presence again after so long apart. Any residual tension from last night's explosive shared moment seemed to settle on the back burner as you fell back into the easy cadence that had anchored your connection for literal decades.

Osamu drifted back and forth behind the counter while simultaneously tending to orders, keeping up a steady stream of dry quips and smirks pitched just for your amusement all the while. You matched him step for step in turn, biting back laughter whenever his gruff one-liners proved too much. This was where you both thrived - bouncing off each other's sarcastic frequency with sublime ease and a profound intimacy that no years or distance between you could ever fracture.

At least, that was what you kept repeating like a mantra in the back of your mind whenever glimpses of that scorching intensity flickered through Osamu's gorgeous pewter gaze whenever it tracked over your features. A molten reminder of the unraveling tension you'd only just whetted the surface of the night before...

You tried valiantly to ignore the flutter of butterflies swooping through your belly each time without fail. Tossing out another sly rejoinder instead, just to reinforce the sense of normalcy and comfort this was all supposed to be about. Just old friends reuniting after too long apart, nothing more complicated than that.

Yet as the afternoon hours wound lazily by, you couldn't quite smother the rising anticipation prickling over your nerves anew. Osamu seemed utterly unruffled and focused on his work, but you felt his gaze lingering more often than not - studying you with an inscrutable heat dancing in those striking irises.

By the time evening rolled around and the last customers slowly trickled out, shouting their thanks and well-wishes over their shoulders, you felt strangely adrift despite the lingering warmth of reconnecting with Osamu again all day.

As your oldest friend waved them off with typical gruffness, you found yourself slipping back into the familiar comforting routines you'd fallen into while at his house a lifetime ago - gathering stray dishes, wiping down the countertops, straightening each of the comfy armchairs you both favored during quieter hours.

So absorbed were you in the mundane motions and reliving aged memories attached to every nook and cranny of the humble onigiri shop, you completely missed the distinct sound of the front door locking behind you. Nor did you notice the sudden weighted silence draped over the space like a physical presence until a solid wall of blazing heat pressed flush against your back.

You gasped sharply, frozen mid-motion before a large palm splayed over your abdomen - callused fingertips digging into the pliant give of your waist with delicious possession as your captor rumbled approval against your nape.

"There's my good girl," Osamu growled in a voice gone to scorching gravel that made you flush instantly. "All dolled up and playing at being the obedient little helper again for me...you know damn well that disguise won't fly anymore after last night, don't you baby?"

You trembled despite your best efforts, breath hitching as he nuzzled deeper into the fragrant tangle of your hair - lips skating over the thundering pulse at your throat in maddening prelude. Every powerful shift and roll of his taut muscle caged you between the iron brands of his arms deliciously.

"O-Osamu..." you somehow managed to whimper out, torn between protesting his sultry accusations or surrendering to the delirious current already pulling at your senses with dizzying force.

His low, dark chuckle reverberated straight through your attenuated nerves anew as one broad palm anchored itself over your belly, dragging you snug against the unforgiving planes of his chest in a slow, sinuous grind. You gasped at the unmistakable hardness of his cock etching against the supple curve of your ass - slick fabric doing nothing to conceal the virile intent radiating off your oldest friend in molten waves now.

"Such a pretty show you put on all day long, hm?" Osamu purred in a tone dripping with raw masculine approval - the other hand palming the generous swell of your breast as if to emphasize the point. "Playing coy and innocent like you weren't creaming those pretty little panties at the very thought of me pinning you down and giving it to you proper..."

Another whimper slipped free as his clever fingers rolled and plucked at your taut nipple through the thin material - teasing sparks of electric pleasure arcing straight down to your thrumming core. You instinctively arched back into the furnace of his powerful frame, head lolling as he lavished open-mouthed kisses along your arched throat.

"And you know what the best part is, my sweet?" he growled out darkly between each searing caress and bruising nips. "You never even noticed… how much I’ve been thinking about you all these years, just like this..."

Before you could form a single coherent protest, Osamu spun you effortlessly to pin you facing him - sculpted chest heaving and pewter gaze blown wide with unfettered lust and blistering possession. You stared up at your oldest friend in wonder, utterly transfixed by the unholy intent simmering in his every smoldering look and dexterous touch now.

This was your Osamu - indelible anchor and source of joy turned singular rapture incarnate, trapping you within the scorching gravity well of his ravenous focus entirely. And you'd never felt so deliriously desirous of sinking into its cavernous depths without hope of reprieve or salvation beyond what he chose to impart through the profane benedictions of his lips and hands alone.

As if sensing your silent, wanton surrender in that suspended heartbeat, the smallest smirk curved those full lips you'd already been branded by in delicious perpetuity. Osamu dragged the seam of his mouth over yours in a featherlight tease - tongue flicking out to taste the trembling whimpers he'd already coaxed forth so expertly.

"So what do you say, pretty girl?" he growled in a tone that promised euphoria and rapture in equal measures. "Are you gonna be good and take what I've been dreaming of giving you for far too long now, hm?"

You could only whimper and nod shakily, already undone by the sheer virile promise simmering in his scorching stare as he captured your mouth in a searing, unraveling glide of possession that ignited every nerve ending instantaneously. As Osamu hoisted you up effortlessly, strong hands cradling the plush swell of your ass and squeezing with unrepentant glee as you twined your limbs around him instinctively, the last vestiges of restraint and hesitation were obliterated entirely.

And this time, neither of you had the slightest intention of looking back...

"Mmm, there we go, baby," Osamu purred against the tender flesh of your throat as he strode across the modest expanse of the onigiri shop. "God, the things I've wanted to do to you since we were stupid teenagers - you have no idea..."

You moaned feebly, utterly lost to the sensation of being carried effortlessly in those strong arms - cradled and claimed so effortlessly in turn. Every step sent sparks of electric arousal skittering along the hypersensitive pathways of your nerves as the rigid press of his cock strained the zipper of his jeans, rubbing torturous friction over the dampened apex of your thighs.

You'd always adored his size and stature, but the sheer virility thrumming off Osamu's powerful form as he pinned you against the nearest wall and devoured your mouth whole was an intoxicating revelation in and of itself.

Osamu growled in wordless appreciation as you arched your spine and rolled your hips - grinding and squirming desperately in pursuit of more. He tore away with a harsh curse, pewter irises glinting with the same ravenous desire still pulsing through you.

"You're not making this easy on me, sweet girl," he bit out roughly, though his tone was threaded through with that same possessive approval.

He punctuated the point by pinning you flat against the wall, his larger body caging yours effortlessly as the rock-hard length of his cock wedged right against the sopping seam of your panties. You mewled, helpless and aching as the first hint of his impressive size and girth registered in the foggy recesses of your mind.

"Naughty girl, making such a mess of those pretty panties already," he chided, rocking his hips once for emphasis as you keened and shuddered. "What am I gonna do with you, hm? Maybe I'll just have to get a taste, see what kind of honey my sweet little girl is dripping just for me..."

And before you could fully comprehend the implications of his husky taunts, Osamu was on his knees - dragging your panties down your thighs in one smooth motion as he nuzzled against the soft mound of your pussy. The first swipe of his clever tongue dragged a ragged cry from your lips as you fisted his silken hair desperately.

Osamu chuckled darkly, lapping and slurping in filthy, wet strokes that made you flush hot with utter wanton embarrassment. He was licking you clean, tongue laving over your soaked folds and sucking them greedily - drinking down the slick evidence of your needy desire and groaning in satisfaction.

"So fucking sweet," he growled, gripping the generous swell of your ass and dragging you closer. "Been waiting forever to find out what you taste like, sweet girl, and it's even better than I ever dreamed..."

"O-samu..."

You had no idea what was even trying to tumble out past your wrecked whimpers, but the sight of his dark head buried between your quivering thighs, devouring your pussy like a man starved was enough to send you reeling. Osamu's gaze snapped upwards, glittering and predatory - a lethal combination that made you throb and clench hungrily.

"Tell me how much you love it," he commanded silkily, even as he resumed his relentless oral assault - two thick digits sinking deep and curling in a come-hither motion that made your eyes roll back instantly.

"T-too much," you whimpered, writhing and grinding helplessly into his ministrations. "Too good, O-Osamu...I'm gonna..."

He tutted, pulling away abruptly to lap at the creamy rivulets dripping down the plump swell of your thigh. "Already, sweet girl? But we're just getting started...unless you'd rather just cum on my tongue first, hm? Get a few rounds out of the way before I really fuck you how you deserve..."

"Please," you sobbed, shaking your head and reaching out to tangle your fingers through the silky tresses of his hair. "Want you, O-samu...wanna cum on your cock..."

Osamu chuckled darkly, peppering a trail of nips and kisses as he dragged his mouth back over the swollen folds of your pussy - lapping and slurping noisily. You moaned, arching back into the delicious torture as the tension coiled tighter, ready to snap and send you crashing into bliss.

Just as your release hovered within tantalizing reach, Osamu pulled away completely - leaving you gasping and trembling against the wall as he rose to his feet. You whimpered, feeling the loss of his wicked mouth and the sudden emptiness that left you aching.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," he soothed, cradling your jaw in a palm that dwarfed your features and kissing you soundly. The taste of your own juices on his lips made you groan anew, clinging to his shoulders as his other hand stroked your spine in lazy, soothing circles. "You'll get your turn, my sweet girl, don't worry."

Somehow, his raspy purr managed to ground you and center you once more - bringing you back to the present moment and the promise of euphoric release still waiting in the wings. You blinked up at Osamu, dazed and needy as you nodded slowly.

His answering smirk sent a fresh wave of butterflies swarming in your belly as he scooped you into his arms and carried you off once more - this time, through the doorway at the end of the small hallway that led to the stairs up to his apartment.

By the time the door swung open, your heart was racing in anticipation. Osamu didn't bother turning the lights on, navigating the familiar space with ease. A lamp flickered to life a few moments later, casting the cozy bedroom in a warm glow as he deposited you onto the plush duvet.

You barely had a chance to glance around the room, soaking in the subtle changes that had been wrought in the intervening years, before he was looming over you again - gaze smoldering and a hungry smile tugging at his full lips.

"Now, where were we, my sweet?"

You were all too eager to pull him down on top of you - mouths crashing together in a wild clash of teeth and tongues that only made the desire pulsing between your thighs that much more urgent. You tugged impatiently at his shirt, desperate to feel his heated skin sliding against your own.

Osamu obliged readily, stripping out of the offending garment and tossing it aside. His hands roamed greedily over your body, dragging the hem of your dress up and off in one fluid motion - leaving you in nothing but the thin scrap of lace covering your breasts.

The sight of his broad palms skating over your naked torso made your breath hitch, arching and shivering in response. Osamu took his sweet time, palming and kneading the soft give of your flesh, his eyes never once straying from the sight.

"Always so perfect," he groaned, thumbing over your taut nipples and dragging another needy mewl free. "Gonna make such a perfect mama someday, sweet girl. Fuck, I can't wait to breed you properly..."

Your entire body flushed with heat at the lurid promise - the mental image of yourself, full and heavy with his child, too enticing for words. He smirked at the visible reaction, tweaking your sensitive nipples again as he ducked down to claim your mouth in a possessive kiss.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" he growled against the swollen plushness of your lips, his hips grinding down and dragging the rigid line of his cock over your sweat-slick tummy. "Want me to stuff you full and breed you good and proper, my sweet girl?"

You could only whimper, nodding shakily as you fumbled with the buckle of his belt. "Please, Osamu," you mewled, tugging impatiently at the waistband of his jeans and boxers until his cock sprang free - long and thick and heavy and oh, God...

A guttural groan ripped free from the depths of his chest, his grip tightening as he rutted his hips - cock dragging over the soft flesh of your tummy, slicking it with beads of pre-cum. You shuddered, already feeling the pulse and twitch of his length as it throbbed and ached.

"Gotta get you ready for me first," Osamu rasped, pressing a bruising kiss against the curve of your throat and shoulder before rolling off of you and onto his back. "Why don't you be a good girl and help me out a little, hm?"

He was already yanking his jeans down and shoving them off his hips - exposing the sculpted v-cut that dipped towards the impressive length jutting from the thatch of silky dark curls. You could only nod, already leaning over and reaching out for the molten shaft.

Osamu caught your wrist easily, giving a gentle squeeze as his gaze burned. "Nuh-uh, sweet girl. Mouth only, got it? I don't wanna make a mess just yet, and I know you're more than capable of swallowing me down..."

Another rush of heat surged through you, flushing your cheeks with humiliation and desire as you nodded eagerly. The salty tang of his precum made your mouth water as you licked a teasing swipe from root to tip, savoring the musky flavor and relishing in the way Osamu hissed sharply.

"Such a pretty thing, just as hungry for my cock as I am for that sweet cunt of yours, huh?" he purred, carding his fingers through the disheveled tangle of your hair with an unmistakable possessiveness. "I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, sweet girl. Dreaming of feeding you my cock until I stuff that pretty throat full..."

You couldn't help the needy mewl that escaped, tongue darting out to lave over the crown once more before swallowing the broad head and suckling gently. Osamu groaned, hips stuttering and grip tightening as he forced himself not to thrust upwards.

"F-fuck, just like that, sweet girl," he growled, his voice strained. "Wanna feel you choke on it a little, think you can take it?"

You whimpered in response, relaxing your jaw and sinking down further - inch by slow inch until you could feel him nudging against the back of your throat. Osamu cursed, hips flexing instinctively and sending his cock that much deeper as you choked and sputtered, drool slipping down his shaft and coating his balls.

"Oh, f-fuck, sweetheart, look at you...taking my cock so good, just like I knew you would," he groaned, hips rolling lazily as he fucked the tight channel of your throat. Your jaw ached, throat protesting as he slid in and out. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, and you fought the urge to cough and gag. It was overwhelming, a sensation bordering on too much, and yet you wanted nothing more than to feel the hot ropes of his cum sliding down your throat and filling your belly.

Osamu's breaths came in rough pants, the muscles of his abdomen clenching and releasing as he drove his cock deeper with every thrust. His gaze was fixed on the spot where your lips were stretched taut around his shaft, groaning in approval when he felt the press of your tongue along the underside of his cock.

"So good, baby, s-so fucking good," he grunted, his hips snapping a little faster, a little harder, chasing the inevitable release. You swallowed and choked around him, gagging and gasping for breath, but still you sucked him down greedily - determined to make him cum.

You were a vision, tears streaking down your flushed cheeks, mascara leaving streaks in their wake as Osamu used your throat. And it was everything he had ever imagined it would be and more. The sounds of your messy, desperate little gags and choked off whimpers sent fresh pulses of pleasure skittering along his nerves.

His balls tightened, a familiar ache thrumming through the shaft of his cock, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He fucked into the tight suction of your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat and forcing you to swallow reflexively.

"G-gonna cum," he gritted out, tugging roughly at the roots of your hair. "Want you to drink it all down, baby. Every last drop, just like the greedy girl you are. S-so fucking close..."

Your tongue darted out, lapping at the droplets of precum oozing from the tip and swallowing hungrily. Osamu groaned, eyes screwing shut and mouth falling open as his cock twitched and jerked - spilling rope after rope of hot, salty seed directly down the tight channel of your undulating throat.

You coughed and spluttered, fighting to swallow as much as you could, but Osamu held your head firmly in place, riding the aftershocks as he chased every ounce of pleasure. His eyes glinted when you finally pulled away, a mixture of triumph and lust making them glitter dangerously.

"Such a good girl," he crooned, cupping your cheek and tracing the swell of your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You mewled quietly, tongue darting out to catch the smear of milky white coating the digit.

"Mm, so good," he growled, his cock already beginning to harden again at the sight. "But we're not done yet, are we, sweet girl? That greedy little cunt of yours is still practically begging for my cock, isn't it? Gonna fill you up until there's no room left..."

You moaned, nodding eagerly and leaning forward to steal a hungry kiss, the lingering flavor of his cum still coating your tongue. Osamu returned the kiss greedily, one hand fisting in the tangled locks of your hair, while the other tugged at the scrap of fabric still covering your breasts.

With a growl, he tore the lace, the shredded fabric joining the growing pile on the floor as his lips dragged over the tender swell of your breasts. Osamu paused, sucking and nipping a path from one sensitive nipple to the other before closing his lips around the puckered bud.

You keened, writhing helplessly beneath him, but the hand gripping the back of your skull held you fast. The wet sounds of his mouth and the occasional scrape of teeth was almost enough to distract you from the fingers that had worked their way between your legs - slipping and sliding through the sloppy mess of your pussy with ease.

"Fuck, you really did make a mess of yourself," he muttered, sucking harder on the swollen bud as his fingers curled and sank deeper, searching and probing with single-minded intent. "Bet I could make you cum right now if I wanted, just like this, huh, sweet girl?"

"N-no," you whined, shaking your head even as the coil of pressure threatened to snap. "W-want your cock, 'Samu...need you to fuck me..."

He chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers and dragging the slick digits over the plump mound of your breast - coating the sensitive flesh with the evidence of your arousal. "Don't worry, sweet girl, I'm not gonna leave you empty. Gonna give you everything you need..."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was on top of you once more, pinning you against the mattress as he slotted between your trembling thighs. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your swollen, aching pussy, and you nearly sobbed with relief.

"Tell me," Osamu grunted, the first few inches of his length sinking into your welcoming heat. "Tell me you need me, sweet girl. Tell me who's gonna take care of you and fuck you so good."

"Y-you, Osamu," you sobbed, the sensation of being so completely filled already bringing the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes once more. "I n-need you...I've always needed you, Osamu, please, please, please..."

He groaned, the sound almost pained as he sank the final inch and buried himself to the hilt. You were stretched taut around him, a perfect fit for his cock and his cock alone, and it was so much better than he could have ever dreamed.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this, sweet girl," he gritted out, hips snapping roughly as he fucked into you. "How many nights I spent fucking my fist just thinking about you, wishing it was your perfect cunt squeezing the cum right outta me...and now I get to have you, fuck, I never wanna let you go..."

"Y-yours, Osamu," you moaned, clinging desperately to his shoulders as he set a punishing pace, the slap of his skin against yours echoing through the small bedroom. "Always been yours..."

He snarled, hips stuttering slightly at the confession. It had been far too easy to believe otherwise in the years apart, but with you clinging to him, begging and pleading for more, the truth was undeniable.

You were his.

Osamu was all too happy to remind you of that fact - his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he rutted into you with wild abandon. The bedframe creaked and groaned, the headboard thudding loudly against the wall as he drove into you with single-minded focus.

"F-fuck, 'm close," he panted, sweat beading along his brow. "G-gonna fill this pretty cunt with so much cum, baby, fuck, 'm gonna breed you just like I promised...get you all nice and heavy, m-make sure everyone knows you're mine."

Your own orgasm was barreling towards you, coiling tighter and tighter with every rough snap of his hips. His name was a breathless mantra falling from your lips, fingers clutching desperately at the muscles of his back, as if afraid that letting go meant he would vanish.

"That's it, baby, cum for me," Osamu grunted, a particularly sharp thrust striking the hidden bundle of nerves inside you that made you see stars. "Let me feel you cum on my cock, [Y/N]. Gotta fill this cunt up just right, wanna watch it drip out, oh, f-fuck, please...please, 'm so fucking close..."

It was as though his words had flipped a switch, pleasure pulsing through your veins as the coil snapped. You sobbed his name, clinging to him as your entire body shuddered and shook, muscles contracting and fluttering around the molten length stretching you so deliciously.

Osamu cursed, the tight, pulsating squeeze of your pussy proving too much as he thrust once, twice more, burying himself to the hilt as he came. Thick ropes of his cum painted your walls, coating them with a white-hot heat that had your eyes rolling back.

He collapsed on top of you, burying his face against the damp curve of your throat and muffling his own desperate cries as he emptied himself completely. The room fell silent, save for the ragged, hitching pants of your breaths as you clung to one another.

It took several long moments for your senses to return, and when they did, it was to the comforting weight of Osamu still sprawled across you, his arms wrapped around your torso and his lips pressed to the thundering pulse of your neck.

You sighed softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and let yourself enjoy the warmth and comfort for just a little while longer.

The rest would come soon enough.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #miya osamu smut #miya osamu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader smut #osamu smut #osamu x reader

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hotshotsxyz · 13 days ago

Text

love dresses up in many ways

(buddie)(8x07 spec)(881 words) how about a little not-evil spec? as a treat title from yet another bastille song

“Buck,” Eddie says flatly as soon as he opens the door.

Buck pastes on his most charming smile. “Eddie,” he replies.

“I’m one person.” He steps back to let Buck in anyway.

“One person that’s choosing joy!” Buck reminds him sunnily, kicking the door shut behind him.

Eddie grins and leans against the wall. “I am,” he acknowledges. “Pretty sure I don’t need to overdose on baked goods to achieve that.”

“Sure you do!” Buck exclaims. “Besides, this one’s focaccia. There’s like, a vegetable in it.”

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, well, if there’s a vegetable…”

“See, I knew you’d come around.” Buck makes his way into the kitchen to drop off the focaccia (and the pound cake and the brownies, but shh, who’s counting?).

“Grab a couple beers?” Eddie calls after him.

He opens the fridge and finds a six pack of a fruited wheat beer he’s never seen before and grins. It’s not that he’s actually all that excited to try You’re My Boy Blueberry Wheat Ale, but man, it’s hard to put into words just how much he likes seeing Eddie try news things just for the fun of them. There’re a few familiar sours in there, too, but fuck it. Buck grabs two of the blue-labeled bottles and heads back into the living room.

“I reserve the right to pour this out and get a new one if it’s weird,” Buck announces, popping the top off Eddie’s and handing it to him.

“Mm,” Eddie replies. He takes a tentative sip, then his face blooms into one of those easy smiles Buck’s seeing more and more of these days. “S’not weird,” he says. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks.

Eddie shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to try it for yourself.”

“Guess so,” Buck murmurs before taking a sip of his own.

To his genuine surprise, it is good. Better than he expected. Like maybe-his-new-favorite-beer better.

“Okay, yeah,” Buck says, dropping down onto the couch next to Eddie. “Not weird.”

Eddie grins at him, so bright that Buck kind of wants to look away, but also maybe never stop looking.

“So what inspired today’s round of baking?” Eddie asks, knocking his knee against Buck’s.

Unbidden, an image of Eddie’s bare thigh pops into Buck’s head. He brushes it away because—

Anyway, he brushes it away.

“I dunno, Eds,” Buck says with a sigh. “I just— I think I’m a little stuck. In—in my own head, I mean. About, you know, all of it.” He waves his beer around to emphasize his point and narrowly avoids spilling it. “It’s not even about him, you know? It’s what he represents.”

“Which is…” Eddie prompts.

Buck settles back into the couch and wraps his non-beer-holding arm around himself. “I don’t know. Finding whatever it is I’m missing, I guess.”

Eddie hums and takes a long sip of his beer. “What makes you think you’re missing something?” he asks finally.

Buck frowns, nonplussed. “I mean,” he says, gesturing vaguely.

“What, a couple of not-forever relationships and there’s something wrong with you?” Eddie asks and—

“Five,” Buck says dully. “Five not-forever relationships.” Yeah, he’s pretty sure there’s something wrong with him.

“Buck,” Eddie says softly. From anyone else, it would feel chastising. From Eddie, it’s just… comfortable.

“Well what do you think it is?” Buck asks.

“I think,” Eddie says slowly, “that I’m probably the least helpful person you could possibly ask for relationship advice.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “M’not asking you about relationships, I’m asking you about me.”

“Ah, well, in that case,” Eddie says teasingly.

Despite himself, Buck smiles. “Just—what is it that makes me so—” Easy to leave? Hard to love? He can’t quite bring himself to voice either thought.

Eddie frowns like he heard them anyway. “Whatever it is, I like it,” he says with a shrug.

Buck blinks. “You… like that I keep getting dumped?”

“No, obviously not, Buck,” Eddie says, turning to shoot him an exasperated look. “I like you,” he continues. “Whatever it is your exes were too stupid to love about you, I do.”

All the air seems to leave the room. It’s—one time, in high school, Buck was slammed into the ground so hard during a football game that for a few seconds, he was literally incapable of breathing. This feels a little—a lot—like that.

“Eddie,” he croaks.

He shrugs again, like he didn’t just say the most insane, incredible, intense thing Buck’s ever heard.

“I like you the way you are,” Eddie reiterates. “You don’t need to make yourself less to be loved. The right person will get that.”

Buck swallows. “You think?” he manages.

“I know,” Eddie says emphatically.

Buck opens his mouth and closes it again. It’s just—it isn’t something he hasn’t heard before. Hell, Eddie’s said it more that once before. He just feels—

It’s like there’s something in his chest that’s dying to break loose, some incredible revelation that’s just around the corner. But for all he pokes and prods at it, it won’t come any sooner. There’s something, though.

Maybe he does just need to let the universe do it’s thing. In the meantime, he’s sitting next to Eddie on the only couch he’s ever really felt completely comfortable on. It’s enough.

#911 #911 spec #buddie #buddiefic #buddie fic #911fic #911 fic #fic #abbie writes

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frostbitebakery · 8 months ago

Text

LOUD.

part one two three four five six seven eight nine

“You’ve got something there,” Quin says, gesturing vaguely at his own shoulder.

“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan signs. “It’s some sort of monkey lizard fungus.”

The monkey lizard fungus giggles into his shoulder.

Quin nods grimly. “I heard the only cure is to placate it with sweets and hope for the best.”

Anakin precariously leans over, heels accidentally digging into still bruised ribs.

Obi-Wan bites his lips behind the collar but of course Quin immediately detects his movements turning stiff.

Quin holds out an arm, flexing his bicep with wiggling eyebrows. It has the desired effect and Anakin jumps from Obi-Wan, swinging around the elbow before hooking his knees over Quin’s arm.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Quin strains out.

They walk to one of the mess halls that’s open around the clock and mainly offers food and beverages to those clinging with teeth to their sanity during exam season.

One of the cramming Padawans looks up from their dozen holo books displaying graphs, and squints at them. “Master Vos, there’s something growing out of your arm?”

“Monkey lizard fungus,” Obi-Wan signs, hiding a smile behind his collar at the Padawan nodding to themselves as if that makes perfect sense.

“What’s with them?” Anakin asks, looking at the sleep deprived tableau and hoisting himself up and swinging one leg over Quin’s shoulder.

“This is your future,” Quin says gravely and Obi-Wan is catapulted to melting stone fire Darkness “You were supposed to be my Master!” yellow familiar eyes from a smoking alive corpse and the grief is ripping him apart “—see once you take your first assignments. The only places you’ll be is either here or the Archives.”

It’s been years since he last had a vision. It’s staggering, his heart thumping in his chest like a clock ticking down the inevitable countdown. But it’s not.

He looks over to Anakin who’s already watching back with wide eyes, the fear in his hands gripping onto Quinlan. “I won’t let it come to that,” he promises, fingers thudding together heavily but he’s still shaking off the vision and Anakin’s fear is a taste in the air by now. He can’t not make promises he only hopes he can keep.

Quinlan is silent during their exchange, gloved hands keeping hold of Anakin. The calculating look in his eyes a guarantee Obi-Wan is going to get cornered later.

“Do you like Depa being your Master?”

Let it be said, paranoia is a common infliction amongst Shadows.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs, voice breaking with puberty and annoyance. “Depa is wizard. She’s amazing even though she’s signed me up to all these classes.”

Obi-Wan looks over all the models, plans, and concepts with added calculations. There’s a data pad displaying language modules and another proclaiming the joys of agriculture. “It’s almost all in the engineering field,” he signs.

“Which makes her so wizard. You’d never have me taking up gardening though,” Anakin adds sullenly.

Don’t yearn for things I cannot give you, Obi-Wan has thought a lot in the past few years as the Galaxy seems to slowly steep in Darkness.

“Knowing what can poison you is important,” he signs, feeling restless and helpless. The mission he’s finished two cycles ago may still reside in his bones.

“I’ll just bite back,” Anakin says, tongue sticking out as he connects wires to ports. He presses a button and the thing he’s been tinkering with since before Obi-Wan left starts to purr smoothly. “Now she can even juice cocadooms,” he says, satisfaction purring just as smoothly in his voice.

“Well done.”

“I know,” Anakin responds airily and swivels around to face Obi-Wan fully. “You’re lurking in the shadows again so let’s get this tradition over with: Depa is an awesome Master and maybe I sometimes wish you’d have chosen me but,” he adds loudly when Obi-Wan lifts his hands to protest, “I also sometimes daydream Master Tiin had chosen me because he’s got his own modded Delta-7.”

The paranoia settles down as Anakin waxes over how wicked the new wing box skins and sensor fusions are, no, truly, you should see them, Obi-Wan!

#loud au #jedi shadow!obi wan #mute!obi wan #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars au #my art #frostbitebakery art

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melrodrigo · 7 months ago

Text

music nerds

Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jenna stumbles upon a tiny vinyl shop, and thinks the employee is mighty cute.

A/n: here it is nerds, my first jenna fic. Was in a silly goofy mood, I miss my babygirl so.

It started at the vinyl shop. You, rearranging the different records into the correct sections, stood humming absentmindedly to the tune of the song playing.

“How’s my favorite employee of the month doing?” Your coworker (and best friend) Harry pipes up, leaning on the shelves opposite you.

“You can stop calling me that, we both know the only reason I got crowned this month was because you missed six days and I had to cover for your ass.” You mumble, slightly annoyed. It had been a long day, with customers shuffling in and out without ever buying anything. It didn’t help that the only customers Harry attended to were girls he thought were cute.

He nudges you a little, trying to prompt you away from rearranging the vinyls.

When you don’t answer, he huffs a little and then makes his way to the back—no doubt about to take a nap—where he’ll stay until closing time.

You sigh softly, shaking your head.

Even though you loved Harry to shreds, you hated being his coworker. He could be trusted with nothing.

You move over to the next section, swaying a little to the tune, losing yourself in the music.

You’re aware of the jingle of the bell that indicates someone has entered as you shuffle through the records.

They could take care of themselves for just a few minutes, you reckon.

Soft footsteps sound from behind you, and the sound of someone putting a stop to the music makes you frown. Then, there’s a tiny scratching noise before the melody of I am Controlled By Your Love by Helene Smith sounds through the tiny store.

You can’t help the tiny smile that envelops your face; and the surprise that echos through your mind. You’d just found out about this song, while scrolling through a playlist someone had made for your celebrity crush, Jenna Ortega.

Apparently she liked the song, if you remembered correctly from watching one of her interviews passingly.

“Great choice.” You tell whoever put it on, still not turning to face them.

“Thanks, I’m surprised this place has it. I’ve been looking for weeks.” A girl answers, and it sounds vaguely familiar.

“Well, we sure do. One of the best vinyl stores in the country if I do say so myself.” You smile, finally finishing tampering with the discs and turn to your customer.

It takes everything in you to not gasp out loud—standing in front of you was the Jenna Ortega.

You feel your hands grip the shelves just a little tighter, and you prayed to god that Jenna didn’t see the blush very quickly climbing up your neck.

“One of the best, huh?” She smiles, and you swear you could feel your heart physically melt.

She looks, if not better, exactly like in the pictures. It’s surreal, this person you see almost everyday on your phone, standing in front of you.

She’s wearing a black turtleneck sweater and some baggy jeans. There are sunglasses blocking her eyes, maybe to try to avert attention, but you could tell in an instant who she was.

You think she knows too, by the way she’s smirking a little.

“Yeah, and there are a ton of artists just like the one you just put on, at the back corner over there.” You point with shaky fingers, cursing yourself for looking so stupid.

She nods and disappears further into the store, and you breathe out in relief.

Holy shit! Jenna Ortega!

You place a hand over your heart, reminding yourself to be normal and check if you’re still breathing.

“Uh-I’m sorry. I couldn’t find it. Where did you say?” She pops her head out from one of the shelves, cocking her head to the side.

You grab your bearings, determined to not make a fool of yourself.

You were an employee. Just an employee helping out a confused customer.

“It’s hard to find, believe me I know.” You smile reassuringly, sauntering over to where she was standing.

“Here, just follow me.” You say, weaving through the maze that was this tiny vinyl store.

She bumps into you a few times, saying a soft sorry as she does. You placate her worries with soft it’s okays everytime she does.

“Ahah! Right here. My pride and joy.” You beam, getting used to having her so close and relaxing.

“What would you recommend?” She muses, flicking through the artists.

“Well, I’m a Beatles girl myself,” You tell her, looking over the records, “but I am a sucker for The Mamas & The Papas.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, and you hold your hands up in defeat.

“I know, I know! I’m a mainstream whore.” You say before you can stop yourself, something definitely inappropriate to say to a customer.

Jenna lets out a little giggle, fast like she can’t help herself.

You take the opportunity to keep talking, since she seems interested in the music over here.

“But, there is another artist somewhere here, I think you’ll like.” You wink, then mentally face palm yourself.

You turn back to the records in order to hide your expression, finally finding the guy you were looking for.

“Frank Zappa.” You explain as you hand it over to her. “An instrumental.”

She looks at it thoughtfully, inspecting the album art; then looks up at you and smiles. Her brown eyes make you want to cry and scream, but you keep your composure.

“You have nice eyes.” She murmurs, eyes flickering over your face. Then, just as fast, she turns away and walks back the way you came.

“What just happened.” You breathe once she’s out of earshot, carefully walking back to the cashier.

She’s waiting, texting someone on her phone.

When you slide up behind the counter, all flirty smiles, she tilts her head.

“Took you long enough.” She teases, scrunching her nose in embarrassment unconsciously.

You stutter endlessly, trying and failing to come up with an excuse. It all comes out in one jumbled poor excuse of a sentence that you try to cover up with a cough.

You slide her things over and scan them, not daring to look at her probably smug face.

“That’s all.” You say, somewhat bashfully, stealing a glance back at her.

Her eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place, but something you can certainly feel. Warmth envelops you whole, your knees turning into jelly.

You put her stuff into a plastic bag, hand them over, and bite back the hitch of breath when your hand grazes hers.

She bites her lip thoughtfully, shifting on her feet. The bag is in her hands now, she’s free to leave.

But still, she stands there, looking like she’s thinking very hard about something.

You try and prompt her out of her thoughts, murmur a quiet, “Anything else?” and watches as she takes out her phone and pushes it to your side of the desk.

“Yeah. Your number.” She squeaks, blushing a faint pink. She clears her throat and says it again, in a tone deeper than before.

It takes absolutely everything in you to keep your mouth shut. It desperately desperately wants to drop, not quite computing what is really happening.

You take it before she can change her mind, quickly jamming in your number and taking a quick photo for the profile.

She beams as you hand it back to her, not bothering to stop the cheeky satisfied smile that wants to take over her lips.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” She asks, and you nod adamantly, forgetting all pretense of chill.

“Right. Uh huh. Super!” You call out as she makes her way out the door, shaking her head at your dorkiness.

“Holy shit!” You yell this time, breathing out a huge sigh of relief you didn’t even know you were holding.

You’re rooted to the spot, afraid that if you move you’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.

“Wha-What happened?” Harry comes tumbling out the back door, plastic baseball bat in hand.

You lock eyes with him and let yourself fall down into the nearest chair, all wild eyes.

“I just got Jenna Ortega’s number!” You tell him, letting your hands run through your hair, happy and stressed.

His eyes narrow, then he shoots you a lopsided smirk.

“Sure you did.” He says, letting the baseball bat fall beside him, guard down.

“No Harry, she really came in here! And asked me for my number!” You yell, exasperated.

You can tell he doesn’t really believe you, but all it takes is one good look at your face, all white and red at the same time, and he’s widening his eyes comically wide.

“No fucking way.” He gushes, sliding over to sit beside you. He practically preens over you, all questioning eyes.

“Well what did you do?” He pushes, waiting for you to elaborate.

You tell him the whole story, slightly reveling in his reactions. He never fails to make you laugh at his comments.

“So…what now?” Harry asks after a minute, raising his eyebrows.

You sigh. “I don’t know, I guess I’m gonna have to wait for her to call me. Who knows how long that’s gonna take.”

“Well, you better be ready for her when she does. Oh my god we so need to do a makeover.” He rambles, turning on his phone to look at hairdressers nearby. You lean back into your chair, overwhelmed.

For now, you’re worry-less. Jenna Ortega just asked for your number, and you think you couldn’t be luckier. The only thing to do now was wait, and so you do.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader

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reidingandwriting · 1 month ago

Text

Dog Days Are Over > w.w. & l.h.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Pairing: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) x Reader x Logan Howlett (Worst!Wolverine)

Warnings/Contains: Alcohol, average language usage for Deadpool universe, suggestive reference, some referenced violence, allusions to murder, references to Logan's background, Logan's a little emotionally constipated and doesn't cope Well, nightmare, hurt/comfort, a little angst, reader gets a little sad in this one, Logan also gets sad in this one, but happy ending!

A/N: I swear this ending feels so conclusive but I Promise there will be more coming soon for the boys. Working on a NSFW chapter and I am. So So Normal (lies) about these guys so I want it to be Perfect, but I should have it up SOON.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

You’re not sure when exactly the dynamic between you, Logan, and Wade shifted. It was subtle at first and suddenly you realized. You realized just how much time you spent with the two men. Realized that you all of your free time was spent with at least one of them, and the times you weren’t with them? You missed them like crazy. You yearned to be around them.

They had recently gone on some work trip, and you could barely stand being without them. You texted the both of them frequently, even with their minimal responses due to… whatever work they were doing. You were vaguely aware of all they did when they were gone, knowing who they were, but they tried to keep you separated from their less than legal occupation.

It had been about a week since you had seen them (six days, twenty hours, and approximately thirty six minutes) and you were convinced you were going to lose your mind. And then finally, god fucking finally, when you were laying on the couch, you heard the familiar knock on your front door. You jumped up, almost tripping over the coffee table in your haste to open the door. “Shit!” You groaned, rubbing your shin before opening the door. There stood Wade and you were on him before he could say a word.

Wade picked you up, supporting you by your thighs as he held you. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. You started to tug his mask off, frowning when you saw him.

“Damn, did I get uglier out there?” Wade joked but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“You look upset.” You paused for a moment. “And you’re alone. Where’s Logan?” Wade tightened his grip on you before he sat down on your couch with a sigh.

“Drinking. It,” another sigh. “It was a hard week.” As Wade talked, he rubbed his hand up and down your back, a grounding method he often used. Needed to feel you, knew you were safe. If he was with you, he was safe. You were safe. “We almost had him. He was almost okay.” Wade dropped his head to your shoulder, and it was your turn to rub at his back, leaning your head against his. “Fuck knows I wanna be shitfaced right now, but you’ve domesticated me. Turned the stray into a pet. And no, readers, that is not foreshadowing any pet play from me in future smut. Not kink shaming, just kink asking why.”

“You sure you’re not drunk right now?” You asked and Wade pouted up at you. You brought your hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lips. Wade pressed a gentle kiss to your finger and you smiled, heat blossoming across your cheeks. “We should probably go get him, shouldn’t we?” You asked and Wade gave you an apologetic look. “Let’s give him a little longer before we start the wolf hunt.”

“While we wait, I demand spooning. Having depravations, actually. I think I could die.” With a soft laugh, you fell back against the couch with Wade, welcoming the way he immediately buried his face in your hair. One of your boys was home. Time to get the other one where he belonged.

You were grateful Logan was a creature of habit, when you found him quickly after walking into the bar you worked at. You walked towards the table he sat at, his back to the wall in a quiet corner and you scuffed your foot against the ground when you got close. You knew he didn’t need the warning, knowing he likely heard you and Wade speaking the second you walked in. But he looked so out of it, you were worried. You took a seat across from him, observing him.

You wanted to talk to him solo first. Hoping seeing you would be enough to get him home, at least. You could smell the whiskey in the air around him, noticed the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked like the version of himself that walked into the bar a couple months ago. Your heart clenched in your chest when he finally looked up, there being a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. He looked… distant. Detached from himself and everything around him.

“Yes?” You flinched at the tone of his voice, the roughness of it.

“Just wanted to come check on you. Wade made it home and you weren’t there. I’ve missed you.” You kept your voice soft and Logan sighed.

“‘m fine, bub. Just needed a moment alone.” Logan set his glass down, gaze shifting towards the table. “Just a minute.”

“You ready to come home? Or do you need a little longer?” You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You could see the gears turning, knew he still wasn’t quite there with you. Physically, sure, but mentally? He was gone, and you were unsure if he was trapped from a week ago or back even further. You hadn’t seen him this stuck before and you didn’t know how to proceed. You should’ve brought Wade over. As different as the two were, they understood each other. He’d know what to do.

“Yeah.” Logan exhaled as he stood up, startling you. “Let’s go home. ‘m pretty tired. Know Wade’s gotta be, too.” And that was that. Logan held his arm out, an invitation, and you tucked yourself into his side. Together, you walked to where Wade was watching, and you shot him a worried look. Wade nodded, a barely perceived motion. He fell into sync with the two of you, and all three of you headed home.

You woke up to mumbling. You continued to lay there, eyes closed, thinking it was Wade sleep talking again. Then you heard the rustling of the covers, felt the thrashing. You opened your eyes, blinking as you adjusted to the darkness- only a faint glow from the hallway nightlight (after a few too many late night face plants after tripping on something in the hallway)- lighting up the room. The mumbling grew louder and you looked over at Logan. His brows furrowed, his chest quickly rising and falling as his sleep talking became more urgent. Panicked.

“Logan?” You whispered. You glanced over to where Wade was out cold; wanting to wake him, but hesitating. “Logan.” You reached out. Your hand barely touched his arm before he woke up, grabbing your arm. “Lo-“ You were cut off by a gasp as he flipped you over, straddling you. The sound of his claws unsheathing as his fist landed just a couple of inches from you.

A few seconds later, you watched as recognition hit Logan, awareness taking over his hazel eyes. He looked less frantic, less like a cornered feral animal. The calm lasted all of three seconds until his gaze traveled to where his fist laid- claws buried in your pillow.

“Logan,” you whispered when you finally found your voice again, but it was too late. Logan was up and out of your room before you could even sit up, and you took a few deep breaths to settle yourself. It was a nightmare. He’d never, ever hurt you. You knew him, trusted him. This thought would’ve been reassuring, until you realized. While you knew him, knew he wasn’t a threat. You also knew him. You knew how he viewed himself. Knew that he’d blame himself.

“Ev’rythin’ okay?” Wade mumbled, the commotion starting to wake him. You leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Be right back. Nightmare.” Wade seemed to wake more at that and you gave him a sad smile. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, come on out. I need, need to talk to him for a minute.” Wade nodded and squeezed your hand once before you got up. You walked to the living room and frowned at the sight in front of you. Logan sat on the couch, leather jacket on and struggling to tie his boots on. His hands trembled as he cursed under his breath, muttering something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Lo.. where are you going?”

“Not sure. I need- need to get out of here. This was a mistake, all of it.” Logan’s words were jumbled, his breathing erratic. “I’ll have Wade get all my things.”

“Get your things? Why do you-“ Realization hit you like a bucket of ice water and your mind was screaming with panic, desperation, but most of all, hurt. “You’re leaving.”

“I am.” Logan’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours as he stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You, you can’t just leave. Talk to me, Logan. I can help-“

“No, you can’t! You don’t understand anything, and you never will.” Logan had never raised his voice at you, and you felt frozen in place. The room felt so much bigger, colder, and you felt small under his gaze. “How could you? How could I ever think this would be worth anything?”

“You don’t mean that. I, I know I don’t get it. I’ll never completely understand how your brain works, how Wade’s works. I’ll never understand everything you’ve been through and everything you still deal with every day. But I want to try. You’re worth it to try.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it, bub. It’s not worth it. This,” he gestured between the both of you, “isn’t worth it. I was deluded to think it was.” You couldn’t do anything but watch as he walked towards the door, opened it, and closed it with a quiet click without looking back.

“Sweetheart? I heard the door, is everything- hey, what happened?” You turned to Wade, cheeks wet with tears, and you slowly sat on the couch. “Where did Logan go?”

You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. A choked sob left you and you buried your head in your hands as sobs racked your body.

“Come ‘ere,” Wade said as he sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. “I gotcha, princess. I got you.”

Wade felt helpless and he fucking hated feeling helpless. You were miserable. You flipped between borderline manic- keeping yourself busy with work, picking up extra shifts, going on runs, baking like crazy- and catatonic. Wade would order in dinner, try to coax you into eating, and basically acted as your literal support system. Helping you shower, practically attached to your side as you walked.

It had been almost two weeks since Logan disappeared, the only communication he’d had with either you or Wade being a text to Wade with an address for him to drop his things off. And Wade waited. And waited. And waited for Logan to show up, katana in hand. Ready to turn the bitch into a kebab and drag him home, kicking and screaming all the way. He wanted an explanation, if nothing else.

But Logan didn’t show that night. Wade had waited hours, had almost fallen asleep waiting for the brunette to show up. Wade eventually went home and dropped by the next morning- all of Logan’s things gone. Al hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t been at your bar. The Wolverine had disappeared just as quickly as he had reappeared in this timeline, the only physical traces of him being the bottles of whiskey in your fridge and the now discarded (after Wade managed to pry it from you) pillow he had punctured. The mattress would have to be replaced later, Wade didn’t think you could handle parting with it yet.

It was the middle of the night, sometime in his third week of going MIA, when Wade caught a glimpse of him again. Logan lingered in a dark alley, ever the fucking lurker, and Wade stalked over to him.

“Hey, furry!” Wade called out. Logan barely had time to react, eyes flashing briefly with recognition before Wade’s fist collided with Logan’s nose, the crunch echoing.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed and Wade shoved him against the alley wall.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut your fucking head off and splatter your pretty little blood all over this wall,” Wade’s voice went rough, threatening. Wade’s mask was off in the safety of the alley, and Logan stood still as the blade of his katana pressed against his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under his eyes reappearing. He looked rough, and not in the hot and rugged way.

“How is she?” Logan rasped and Wade pressed the blade down further, a sliver of satisfaction hitting him when he saw the slight cut on Logan’s neck.

“How do you fucking think, dipshit? Miserable. Have to carry her to bed every night because she sits there. Staring at the front door, waiting for you to walk in the front door.” Wade dropped his weapon, kicking his boot against the wall as he tucked the katana back in its sheath. “She misses you. We miss you, peanut. Fucking furious with you. Worried about you, too. Mostly just want you home where you belong. Even if you’re in trouble with the missus.” Wade walked over and leaned back against the wall and let his head fall against Logan’s shoulder. Logan wrapped an arm around Wade’s shoulders and both men exhaled, a little shaky.

“Missed you, bub. Missed the both of you. Was at the house earlier,” Logan admitted. Wade, for once, stayed silent and let him talk. “I was just about to knock on the door, and I couldn’t. Not after how I left.”

“She may bitch slap you when you come in. Rightfully so.” Wade nudged his head against Logan’s shoulder. “But it’s not home without you. We’ve missed you so much.”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be back.” Logan tilted his head to look at Wade. Wade’s gaze turned soft and he leaned up, slowly, giving time for Logan to shove him off. He didn’t press his luck, kissing the corner of Logan’s lips, letting his own lips linger.

“Come on,” Wade whispered against his cheek, and Logan shivered. “Let’s go home.”

Well, that wasn’t the welcome Wade expected. He had walked inside first, leaving Logan outside as he greeted you with a quick kiss. He told you someone was waiting to see you outside, and you felt your stomach begin to twist. It couldn’t be…

But it was. Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, as you stared at the man you loved. The man who broke your heart. The man you wanted to slap the absolute shit of, but also the man you couldn’t wait to hold again and kiss the breath out of. After.

Your hand moved through the air faster than he could react, the contact echoing throughout the room. Your hand stung and you could see the red glow blossoming on his cheek. You looked between Wade and Logan once, twice, three times before you ran down the hallway and locked yourself in the bathroom. Was it a foolproof method to keep them out? In theory, no. Either one of them could bust the door down like it was nothing. In practice, however, you were a fucking genius. You sat with your back to the door, knowing they wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You had been in the bathroom for a while, your joints aching slightly at how long you’d been on the cold tile floor. You were growing tired and you wanted to lay in your bed, but doing that meant facing Wade and Logan. Fucking Logan, you thought and your head thudded back against the door. Moments later, you heard the sound of someone on the other side slide down the door.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I hope you’ll listen,” Logan said. “I’m not the good guy who gets to have a happy ending. And god, I feel so close to having one. With you and Wade. God, that felt weird to even think about.” Logan chuckled. “So I did what I did best and I ran. Like the dangerous guy I am.” You sat in silence, listening as he spoke. “You mean… so much to me, and that terrifies me. I would do anything for you, no matter what it cost me. And then I almost killed you that night.”

“I try so hard to keep you away from that part of me. I’ve always been a weapon, it’s what I know. It’s all I knew. They saw the animal I am, and they used me. I did horrible things, unredeemable things, and then suddenly I meet you. Someone who tries to help me see that maybe, just maybe, I’m more than the violent dog I was born to be. You’re showing me a new chapter of my life that I was too afraid to want. And in my attempts to avoid fucking it up, I hurt you. I fucked up.” Logan’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. Not asking to be welcomed back, or to get another chance. Just needed you to know it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you the way I did. I’m sorry.”

A long stretch of silence passed. Logan wasn’t sure if you heard him, if you had listened. The door opened, Logan bracing himself as he started to fall back, the door having supported most of his weight. A shuffling sound followed and suddenly, you were in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, your grip on him tight as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“You ever do that again, I’ll find a way to castrate you.” A huff of laughter left Logan and he hugged you close.

“I’d deserve it.”

“You would.” You looked up at him, hazel eyes finally meeting yours again. “Think I need one last thing before I can forgive you.” You looked down at his lips then back up at him. A silent question.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing against yours. A content sigh left you the moment your lips touched and you ran your hands up to his hair, gripping slightly. Logan groaned, a low noise, as your lips moved in tandem. He deepened the kiss, relishing in the whine you made as he explored your mouth, a needy little noise.

“If you two are fucking, I think I deserve to be a participant!” Wade called from the living room and you pulled apart, giggling as you looked up at Logan.

“Missed you,” you said after a minute. Logan tightened his grip on you before he stood, carrying you back to the living room.

“I missed you, too.” Logan took a seat beside Wade, you positioning yourself so you could sit with both of them. You stayed in Logan’s lap but stretched your legs out onto Wade’s. The three of you talked for what felt like hours, eventually moving to bed.

You weren’t sure when exactly the dynamic shifted. When you, Logan, and Wade became You, Logan, and Wade. When the casual flirting became more. When the not so secret longing turned to lingering touches, kisses and breathy laughter, and officially moving in. God, you’d always remember the look on Logan’s face when you gave him a house key the next morning.

Logan stared at the key, a million different emotions hitting him at once. He could feel yours and Wade’s watchful eyes on him, until he finally look up. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill as he choked out a ‘Thank you’ that had your eyes watering as well. He had a home. He belonged somewhere. Belonged to two people he’d destroy the world for, one of them being an obnoxious merc who would burn the world down for fun, and the other being a human who was just as stubborn as him, determined to make him see that maybe. Just maybe. He deserved the home he was given. He deserved the love he was getting.

And for once. Maybe he started to believe it.

Taglist: @flower-majesty-anon @scarlettsoldier @asdorlia

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ode2rin · 1 year ago

Text

US, AGAIN .ೃ

pairing. itoshi sae x gn!reader

genre. second chance (exes back to lovers!) | a bit of small town romance | a sprinkle of childhood friends to lovers (past) | angst with a happy ending

in which: itoshi sae returns to the only place on earth he vows to never set foot again.

💭 flashbacks are italicized and indented :>

Six years.

In those six long years of his absence, you couldn't deny that you rehearsed countless scenarios of encountering him upon his return.

If by chance he still wanted to see you, or even look at you, you imagined giving him a small smile, a carefully crafted facade of composure, before gracefully walking away, as if life had moved on effortlessly for both of you.

That’s what you imagined. Just walk away, like how life went on for the both of you.

But reality never seemed to align with your reveries. The sight of him wasn't remotely serene enough to prompt a composed exit. Seeing him made your throat tighten, and your heart danced in a rhythm only he could create.

Six damn years had passed since you last saw him on that balcony, and now, with him back in town, avoiding him seemed like the only right thing to do.

You don’t know how long he’ll be here, but it is now your life mission to avoid him at all cost. Today's encounter was just an unfortunate event—an inevitable twist of fate. Their house was literally right in front of your family's, making it hard to escape the nearness of the past.

“So, he’s back in town?”

Hari's voice, your co-worker and now a dear friend, snapped you back from the reverie of yesterday's memories. The sound of her voice broke through the nostalgic haze, pulling you back to the present.

“What?”

“I asked if your childhood friend who is also a superstar slash professional athlete slash your only ex is back,” she mischievously asked, even miming quotation marks to emphasize each title she created.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at her antics. Your gaze drifted to the freshly baked pastries, their delightful aroma greeting your senses like a warm embrace as you artfully displayed them on the shelves. The familiar scent of coffee and delightful confections used to calm you, but now it mingled with the storm of emotions inside.

“Yeah, it's basically the talk of the town. He's famous after all,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant and still focused on your work, using it as a shield to hide your vulnerability.

But in reality, the sight of him earlier had caught you off guard, and you had turned the other way to avoid him. Your heart was still racing from the almost encounter, and the comforting ambiance of your coffee shop provided little solace.

“Did he see you?”

“I pray to all saints that he didn’t,” you deadpanned, your facade of composure beginning to falter.

“What did he look like now?”

You hesitated, your mind flashing back to that fleeting glimpse of him earlier.

Far from what was once mine. “Good.”

“That’s it? Good?”

No. He looked gorgeous. He looked painfully gorgeous.

“What do you want me to say?” you countered, throwing a side glance to her persistence.

In that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of how much he had changed. He looked undeniably handsome, lean, and with a certain maturity that hadn't been there before.

He… looked different.

And that's good—for you and for him. It meant that life there treated him well, and it eased some of the lingering guilt you carried.

You and Hari fell into a consuming silence, your backs turned away from each other. Even with closed eyes, you sensed that she wanted to ask something. You didn't want to initiate the conversation, but this suffocating silence had to go.

As you stepped behind the counter, you were met with Hari's concerned eyes and a voice laden with hesitation. “What are you going to do then?” she carefully asked.

You pressed your lips together, momentarily at a loss for words.

So you did what you do best: mask hurting with laughter.

“Is there anything I should do?” you paused, the sound of your fake laughter ringing in your ears. “It's been years. We made a choice.”

But Hari wasn't ready to let the matter rest, and you don’t know how to tell her you’re close to calling it a day. “You made a choice for him,” she countered gently, her tone filled with empathy.

Stunned was an understatement. Caught off guard would be an apt description. But speechless was exactly how you felt.

That, you couldn't mask with anything.

So you did what you weren’t best at: admitting the truth.

“And I’ll do it again,” you whispered in return. It was faint, because it was more for you than more of a reply to her.

You were both young, and half oblivious to what it would be like outside, where the world wasn’t painted in golden hues and the gentle waves were replaced by blaring cars.

You were both seventeen, young and living for the hope of it all.

But you lived for days like those – days where both of you just had to be kids still. No worries, no voices of what might come.

“Tell me about your dreams, Sae.” “Tch. You already know about it.”

You did. All of it, you knew. Since you were kids, no one knew him like you did. You were his lover and confidant. You knew about it, all too well and all too much.

“Come on!” you persisted, giving him an enthusiastic look. “The sky looks so pretty in this sunset, I want it to know about us.” The setting sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the beach as you and Sae sat side by side in the sand. The sound of gentle waves caressed your ears, creating a serene backdrop for your beach date. He hesitated for a moment, looking out at the horizon. Then there it was, a glint of determination flashed in his usually reserved eyes. “To be the best striker in the world.” You couldn't help but be captivated by the sight. It was the first time you had seen such an unusual spark in his eyes. Sae's gaze was often cold and impersonal, but now it was as if stars were hanging in his eyes, reflecting the infinite possibilities of his dreams. Sae is handsome, mysteriously beautiful even. But this, nothing will beat how dreamy he looks when he speaks of his craft. You liked this look on him - so ambitious, so driven. It made your heart flutter with admiration. Seeing this glint in his eyes right now, you knew you wanted to do anything in your power to let it stay there.

And you did, you held on and held out. Until you turned nineteen, when you had let him go to the big cities where he rightfully belonged.

You smiled, a genuine, heartwarming smile, and leaned in to press a tender kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure you will be the best.”

Maybe you bit off more than what you could chew, but in the end, you’d do it all over again. Because what you did, the choice you made – it was for the best.

You were both nineteen, young and eager to grasp the world's offerings with hopeful hands.

But despite the certainty you tried to hold onto, there were nights when the memories tugged at your heartstrings like it did now. You knew it was the right choice, that you both needed to chase your dreams separately — especially his dreams. But it didn't erase the whispers of what-ifs that occasionally crept into your mind.

But life — life went on. Life never waits for anyone, anyway. And so, you worked diligently to craft a future that no longer had room for regrets.

But love leaves echoes, and his presence back in town stirred those dormant feelings. With him being in the same place, you felt like a stranger in your own town.

It was easier when he was thousands of miles away, an untouchable star on a different horizon. But now, with the universe conspiring to bring you close again, you couldn't help but feel like a wanderer in the galaxy of memories you built together.

After all, everything here in this town is about you and him.

Six years.

Was it that long? He couldn’t really tell. Maybe time really does pass fast when your life is falling apart.

It has been six years since Sae has sat on the balcony of his childhood home. And like the sick bastard fate was, he’s welcomed by the sight of your horrified yet still so damn fucking beautiful face.

Perhaps the saints you prayed to didn’t hear any of your pleas, because despite calling out to each one, Sae saw you.

There you were, a flicker in the periphery of his vision, desperately trying to avoid him. He was trained to be very aware of his field of vision, so there was no way he wasn’t able to notice your frantic leaving and the hurried closing of your house’s door as you noticed him.

He let you be, holding back the overwhelming desire to call out your name like he used to when both of you were running late to class. He let you be, because if you were to ask him, he wouldn’t know how to look you in the eye without a thousand words reflecting on his own.

[Attention, everyone. This is the final boarding call for passengers of flight 924 to Madrid, Spain. Again, this is the final –] “Sae, you’re going to miss your flight. They’re not coming.” No. “They’re not coming, Sae. You have to get on the plane.” No. No. Shut up.

He needed you there, more than anyone. A thousand people could cheer and show up for Itoshi Sae, but his eyes will always search the crowd for just one — just yours.

Yet, alas, you were nowhere to be found. And so, that very same day, Sae vowed to never come back to this place.

He hated this town and you, he’s convinced.

Sae had always been indifferent to a lot of people, everyone knew that. But never in a hundred years would anyone who knew you both think you’d be on that list. And deep down, he didn’t want to believe it either – until that day you decided not to show up when you promised you would.

He wasn't stupid. He had an inkling of why you did what you did. Yet, irrationality overpowered reason, and all he wanted that day was to run the distance between the airport and your house – to see your face, to remind you that he had plans, plans for both of you.

When Sae’s manager informed him that he needed to come home for a while to renew his passport, it was as if all of his suppressed recollections of this place – of you, came pouring out to his soul all at once.

Every street, every corner, every memory — they all threatened to consume him. His family, Rin, this town, and you – you were all the things he left behind for the dream.

Dream. Best Striker in the world. What did it even mean? Long ago, he thought he knew.

But it had to work. Everything had to work. He lost you for this dream. And if he loses it too, then what does that make him? A sore failure. And Sae was never known to be admissible to failing.

Whatever hell he encountered on the other side of the world, he swore he would never return home. Even when he was traversing across a path to ruin of being the person he thought he would be, he would never ever choose to come home.

Anywhere, but here. Anywhere, but home.

So there he was, the renowned glorious prodigy of japan. He was close to everything after countless mishaps.

He’s getting closer and closer to the new dream yet getting farther and farther away from home.

Home. What does it even mean? Lately, he doesn’t even know.

And after that day, no one ever mentioned your name to him. No one in his new world knew about you. No one knew how Itoshi Sae's world used to revolve around someone's soft smiles and easy eyes.

He never asked anyone not to mention you; he wasn't one to ask, after all. But for some reason, no one dared to. Not even Rin. It was as if one mention of you in his presence was a carefully crafted brick used to make his castles crumble to the ground.

He hated that, but maybe they were right. Because with just a second's worth of a glimpse of you from earlier, Sae indeed felt his castles crumbling, piece by piece.

He hates you, for making his resolve crumble. For being the one person who can make his vow to never look back fall apart.

He hates you, because everything in this forsaken place is about you and him. Memories of your shared youth are etched into the very walls and streets, haunting him like ghosts of a past he can't escape.

He hates you, for not trusting you two would work it out somehow, and for giving up before the game even began.

He hates you, because it was easier that way. Easier to pretend he didn't care, that you didn't matter, and that you were just another soul he knows a little too much of.

Sae could go on and on listing a hundred more, and yet he knows, only one of it was true – and that he hates you for making him convince himself that he does, just to cope with leaving half of his heart to the only place he vowed never to come back to.

It was a jinx to say that yesterday’s encounter was already an unfortunate event, because today, you literally learned a whole new degree of unfortunate and unlucky – by having Itoshi Sae as your first customer of the day.

“Welcome! How may I help you toda— S-Sae.”

And to even top it off, today was Hari’s day off. It meant that you’re currently alone in the same confined four-cornered room with the person you swore you would avoid like it’s your life mission.

Damn it, Hari. Of all days. Her day off really had to be today.

Itoshi Sae, in the goddamn flesh, is standing in your place two meters away from you, yet you’re having a hard time feeling your feet on the ground and your heart beating so damn loud.

He wasn’t looking at you (thank god), and had his eyes exploring the place with a neutral expression playing on his face. Suddenly, you feel like sixteen again back when he was looking at the first set of cookies you’ve ever baked and you were dying to hear what he thinks of your craft.

“It’s yours?”

You gulp.

You gulped down the urge to tear up with how much his voice changed. You gulped down the urge to cry because he assumed you had your dream turn into reality too.

“Yeah,” you replied in whisper, your eyes following where he was looking, trying to avoid any chance it will meet his, “it’s not much but —”

“It’s beautiful.” Even before Sae could hear your meek comment of yourself, he cut you off.

You were always like that —downplaying your hard work, belittling yourself even before someone does. He hated that about you.

He used to get mad at you for it, especially when someone made fun of you at school and you didn’t defend yourself. He always makes you cry whenever he points it out, so he stopped. Instead, he made it his role to rebuild your confidence. Sae wasn't known for being generous in compliments. It would probably take one hand to count all the instances that he genuinely called someone along the lines of not dumb, stupid, lukewarm.

But it was never the case with you. With you, to say beautiful was always a second nature to Sae's tongue.

And he wasn’t lying though. Your coffee shop was really charmingly cozy, and so like you. It’s so much alike to what you used to tell him how you envisioned it would be.

The coffee shop was a quaint haven nestled right at the edge of the sandy shore. Its exterior, adorned with weathered wooden panels and soft, warm hues, exuded a rustic charm that welcomed passersby with open arms. Sunlight spilled through large windows, casting gentle rays that danced upon the vintage, mosaic-tiled floor.

It’s beautiful, and it’s in front of our place. He wanted to say to you, but he stopped at beautiful not wanting to make things more awkward than it should.

The coffee shop, it’s right in front of the beach. It’s in front of that one spot you and him used to call ours.

It’s the first thing he noticed before coming inside, and it made him wonder whether you knew or he’s the only one who remembers it even now.

Bashful, you uttered a silent thank you to his remark, “What would you like to order?” you followed up, trying to maintain composure despite your heart racing in your chest.

Noticing that he’s been too silent for someone who’s about to order something, you looked up to your menu, and immediately, you understood his silence. If one were to point out, it is too immediate for someone who’s almost strangers to each other.

“We have non-caffeinated drinks too,” you hurriedly said to him, your voice quivering slightly as you tried to break the spell of awkward silence.

He gulps, his eyes locked with yours in a moment that felt like eternity.

He can’t drink coffee, it ruins his body clock, and you knew that. You still know that.

It appears that he's not the only one who remembers, after all.

A thousand emotions danced in his eyes, each one a testament to the love that once blossomed between you. The coffee shop, once a quaint haven, now felt like a crucible of emotions, and the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of what could have been.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you couldn't look away, despite the rush of memories and unspoken words flooding your mind. It was as if time had folded in on itself, and you were once again those young souls who found solace in each other's presence.

But this was different, much more complicated. The past was a turbulent sea, and even though you had both moved on with your lives, there was still a deep, lingering connection that couldn't be severed.

Yet, you knew better than to let those emotions take control. You made a choice, you have to stand by it.

You were no longer the naive teenagers who believed love could conquer all. Reality had taught you both harsh lessons, and the wounds of the past still lingered, threatening to reopen with each stolen glance.

“I’ll have your best seller of it then,” he finally broke the silence, his voice steady despite the tempest inside.

With a nod, you turned to prepare his order, your hands trying to steady themselves. You couldn't help but wonder if he noticed the tremor in your fingers or the way your heart seemed to echo in every beat.

As you handed him his drink, your fingertips brushed lightly against his hand, and for a brief moment, the world stood still.

He took the cup from you, and for a fleeting moment, you both lingered, almost as if neither of you wanted to let go. He could stay in this, playing pretend. Pretend none of it happened, pretend he never left, pretend it worked out in the end.

But he can’t, not when you stepped back first, breaking the contact between you and reminding him of the choice you made.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice softer now, filled with a hint of something even he couldn't quite decipher.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, the moment passed, slipping through your fingers like sand. He turned to leave, and you watched him walk away, every step taking him farther from the life you once shared.

Perhaps, in some parallel universe, there existed a version of you who chose differently, who stayed intertwined with him in a tale of love that defied all odds. But here, in this reality, both of you were no longer who you used to be.

In this universe, you're just some two ghosts standing in the place of you and him, haunted by the memories of what once was while trying to remember what it feels to have a heartbeat.

After Sae’s visit yesterday, saying that you weren’t doing fine would be a gross understatement.

Your emotions were all over the place, and you couldn't seem to find a stable ground for your thoughts. It didn't help when your parents casually mentioned that he was leaving town later today. Apparently, Mrs. Itoshi had a little gossip session with the neighbors, unknowingly revealing a piece of her oldest son's business.

He’s leaving, and that's good—for you and for him.

As you stood behind the counter of the coffee shop, you absentmindedly glanced out the window, your eyes drawn to the beach. The sight of the shore brought back a flood of memories.

Maybe in another life, the two of you could still dance along the sandy shore, playfully splashing water at each other. He would chase after you, catching hold of your waist as he sweeps you off your feet. And perhaps, just perhaps, you would have the chance to embrace him tightly once again, with your arms wrapped around his neck while you share a kiss as greedy and fiery as the sea’s yearning for the moon.

And maybe, in another life, your story wouldn’t end with both of you being strangers who know a little too much about each other.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the tears streaming down your cheeks until Hari whispered, “Y/N... you're crying.”

“Oh, I am,” you admitted, trying to regain your composure.

Your heart lurched as you tried to suppress the tears, but they kept flowing relentlessly. “Hari…” you whispered, shocked by your own emotional outpouring.

Hari's eyes reflected pity as she watched you, her voice soft and understanding. “Go,” she encouraged, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Get your man. I'll take care of everything here.”

The words hit you like a lifeline, a spark of hope igniting within you. You quickly removed your apron and grabbed your keys, determined to catch him before it was too late.

But before you could dash out, Hari's voice echoed through the shop, loud and clear, “Go! Be happy! And for the love of god, no more sacrifices as a love language!”

With one last glance at her and your coffee shop, you rushed out the door.

The airport seemed like a maze of bustling strangers as you frantically searched for the departure gates. Every passing second felt like an eternity, the fear of missing him consuming you.

Desperation and determination fueled your steps as you approached the flight attendant, your voice trembling, “Flight to Spain — I need to know about the flight to Spain for today.”

The attendant looked at you with sympathy, “I'm sorry, but all flights to Spain have already left. The last one left twenty minutes ago.”

Your heart sank, but you couldn't give up that easily. “Can you check again? Please. I-I need to see him. Please.”

The attendant double-checked, but the outcome remained unchanged.

Twenty damn minutes. You lost him in just that short amount of time.

Your heart shattered as you realized you had missed your chance. The desperation in your eyes was evident as you felt your world crumbling around you.

In the midst of the bustling airport, you allowed yourself to grieve for what could have been and for the chances you never took.

Six years ago, you were supposed to be here. And maybe if you did, you wouldn't find yourself six years after, wishing you did things differently.

The drive back felt like the longest journey of your life.

The sinking sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink as you approached the familiar place. As you got closer, you noticed that the shop was already closed, and you assumed Hari had taken care of everything.

But what caught you off guard was the sight of Sae standing there, in front of your place, with a suitcase by his side, as if he were meant to be on a flight rather than standing there.

“You're here,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest as you got closer.

“I’m here.”

“Why didn't you leave?” you asked.

Because I’m done convincing myself that I hate you, Sae hesitated to say. “Why did you go to the airport?” he countered instead, avoiding your question.

Because I’m done telling myself that I did the right thing.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but the words were caught in your throat. You bit your lip, not ready to answer his question just yet.

Impatient and desperate, Sae took his chances to ask you the only question that mattered to him at this point, “Tell me you don't love me anymore. I will go. I will do as you please. I just need to hear it from you.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden question, but Sae wasn’t done yet. “Answer me. It’s a yes or no question.”

Lost in a whirlwind of emotions, you couldn't hold back the torrent of words that poured from your heart.

“A yes or no question, you say? Every night, I think of you.”

With each word, your voice wavered, and you couldn't help but express the worries that had plagued you during his absence.

“Were you eating properly? Does the food there suit your liking? You’re a bit picky. Is it too hot there? Were you taking your supplements? Were you being hard on yourself again? Is... is there someone new? There must be, right?”

As the words left your lips, you realized just how much you had been consumed by thoughts of him, wondering about every aspect of his life, even when he was miles away from you.

His reaction to you holding forth seemed to intensify at your last question, but right now, you weren’t ready to listen to him. He needs to listen to you.

“Every single night of the past six years, I yearned for you. I yearned to have you close. I yearned to hold your face just once more. And fuck, I would’ve traded all my tomorrows for just one yesterday with you.”

With those words, the floodgates of emotion burst open, and tears streamed down your cheeks.

Fuck, six years. For six years, you held on and held out. Would it have been easier if both of you had tried, and along the way, lost? Would it have alleviated the pain of what-ifs and what could have been's if you had bargained, if you had gambled? Or would it all have led you right back to this moment, grappling with the same heartache and uncertainty?

Finally, meeting his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own emotions in his. But you weren’t done yet.

“And you dare ask me if I love you. Well, does that answer your fucking question, Itoshi?”

“Then, don’t cross it out. Don’t ever cross it out again.”

Cross what…out?

“I saw your letter,” Sae admitted, causing a momentary confusion to wash over you.

My letter… Bewildered, you couldn't form the right words, and he took it as a sign to continue, and to close the distance between you to hold your hands.

“Tell me, how could I leave after reading that, knowing the only soul who truly knew me was here? You own me, Y/N.”

“I told you countless times before, you own me,” Sae reaffirmed, his grip on your hand tightening as he drew it closer to his lips, planting tender kisses upon your skin.

“There was no one,” he continued, his words carrying a sense of reassurance. “And there's no other warmth comparable to yours that I'd ever let myself bask in. And if there's any, I'd be only fooling myself, pretending it was you instead.”

Sae's voice grew softer, yet resolute. “You own me, even when I'm on the other side of the world. You own me, Y/N. Even in the distance that separated us, even in the years that you claim I'm not."

He stepped closer, his eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. “No place can ever own me as much as you do. So, don't ever cross your I love you's to me. I want them – all. I don't want your sorry's.”

“But I’m sorry,” you whispered, for the last time. But Sae gently wiped away your tears.

“It's ‘I love you’ from now on.”

For a moment, you both stayed like that, trying to make up for the lost time. Sae, much like you, dreamed of the day he gets to hold you close once again. He dreamed of a day he gets to watch the sunset from the reflection of your eyes again.

Sae could go on and on listing a hundred more reasons why he shouldn't be standing here, and yet he knew, only one of it was true – and that he hated himself for convincing himself that he shouldn't be here – to you, in his hometown.

Sae may have vowed to never come back to this place, but it was always a lie, because for all he knew, it's the only place he truly belonged. Half of his heart was left here, with you.

“Come on,” Sae said, and you followed him, curiosity in your eyes.

“Where are we going?”

“There,” Sae pointed to the beach, your spot, specifically. “To our place. The sky looks pretty, and I want it to know about us, again.”

“Us... again?” you asked hesitantly.

“If you would take me back.” Sae answered, a hint of fear in his eyes, afraid that he might be assuming this second chance for the two of you.

You took his hand in response, and squeezed it three times. “I want nothing more than to be with you, again.”

Without any more words, Sae gently cupped your cheeks, his touch sending shivers down your spine. The touch of his fingers was both familiar and new.

In the fading light of the day, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The anticipation hung heavy in the air as you leaned closer to each other, your breath hitched as his warm breath mingled with yours.

His lips were soft against yours, and as they moved with a tenderness that mirrored the way he held you, it was as if he was trying to convey everything he had ever wanted to say to you in that one, passionate moment.

The kiss deepened, and you could feel the intensity of his emotions pouring into it. It was a kiss that spoke of all the words left unsaid, of all the nights spent missing each other, and of all the dreams of a future together.

Feeling the tears streaming down your cheeks, Sae pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. And in that moment, he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be – here.

To you, in his hometown.

💭 thank you for the request saetorinrin! (i owe you a lot for your patience i guess..)

note. hi. if you’ve been here before, you might know that i hate this trope with a burning passion, i just can’t write it for the life of me. i started this in may (and only had the guts to finish it this month lmao), i was so tempted to delete everything and start from scratch (for the nth time) but i think i owe it to myself to retain most of what i wrote when i was stranded on an island xd this isn’t my best, that, i know for sure. but i hope you’ll still like it !

💌 if you reached this part, and you want to know about reader’s letter that sae’s was referencing, here it is. you may or may not read this, it won’t really matter. but if you want to, click until the end :>

💭 back to: milestone event

#☁️ my ode to you #first milestone event!#writing: 003 #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #itoshi sae fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae angst #blue lock angst

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alchemistc · 4 months ago

Note

for the intimacy prompts, it's buck & tommy so of course gotta go with #7 kissing scars or #50 patching up a wound or whichever other prompt sparks joy for u <3

Buck's late. Holy shit he is so late. He'd promised Maddie he'd be at the house like, half an hour ago, but he'd gotten caught up in a conversation with Jana from B shift on his way out the door and it'd been just enough time to cause an extra half hour backup on the highway that had clogged up all his usual back road routes, too.

With this in mind, he's rushing as he parks the Jeep, barely paying any attention as he shoves his door closed and practically sprints up the walkway.

And of course, of course, he's jittery, rushing, so it takes him three tries to get the key in the lock, and by the time he swings the door open with apologies on his lips, he sort of wants the floor to just swallow him up.

There's no Maddie. There's no Maddie or Chim, who would definitely be standing in the entryway giving him shit for somehow ending their shifts at the same time and still managing to be late.

All there is is the faint sound of voices coming from down the hallway, so he follows those until he catches the light leaking out from the open door of the bathroom.

As he nears, the voices become a little clearer. Jee says something, too soft for Buck to catch, a little strain in her voice he's vaguely concerned about until the other voice responds, in a familiar cadence that has Buck stopping dead in his tracks for half a heartbeat before he remembers - crap, he'd invited Tommy over, too, when it became clear it was the only 'free' night they'd have for like, six days, and now not only is he late to babysit his own niece but he's left Tommy the task of sending Maddie and Chim off on their date.

Buck ignores the little skip of his heartbeat at the idea that Maddie and Chim had felt comfortable just ... leaving Jee in Tommy's hands. That's a dumb train of thought - Chim knows Tommy, and Maddie hasn't made a secret of how much she likes Tommy, too, there's no reason to get gooey about it.

"...and viola!" comes Tommy's exclamation, and in the bathroom, Jee giggles. He must be making a face, or doing some gesturing. Jee's a little obsessed with Tommy, still, just as enchanted as Buck by the way his focus is always so intent when she's telling him something, by the way he's always got a follow up question, by the way he's not remotely afraid to dissolve into giggles with her.

"Now you!" Jee exclaims, and Buck knocks on the doorframe, tilts his head in to get the scope of things. Jee's up on the counter, legs kicking, a bright orange bandage on her knee and the box in her hand being brandished in Tommy's face where he's kneeling on the bathroom floor. There's a tube of Neosporin open next to her, and some bloody paper towels in the trash, but Tommy and Jee both glance up at him with smiles on their faces.

"Hi Jee," Buck says, and Jee waves, in that weird age where she'll be talking a mile a minute and then go completely mute for like twenty minutes until she's had time to process something. She kicks at the cabinet below her and shakes the box of Band-Aids at Tommy's head, and Buck gets the message. "Hi, Tommy."

Something soft and quiet passes between them. Buck's trying to be cool about this relationship, but there are times where the comparisons start to rattle around in his brain, a bit, and he's - it's never felt like this. He can't imagine Chim and Maddie even feeling comfortable enough to leave Jee alone with Natalia or Taylor, let alone actually asking them to join him for an evening of Bluey and hotdog Mac and Cheese. And it's - maybe he's just older, more settled in his bones. Maybe the secret sauce is those relationships not working out, so that Buck knew exactly what he was looking for, and what he wasn't. He's grateful for that, but mostly he thinks it's just Tommy - how steady he is, how grounded, how one look from Tommy can ease a days worth of worries crawling under Buck's skin.

"Sixty words a minute for the last forty-five and suddenly you don't wanna talk to your Uncle Buck?" Tommy teases, massive hand curling around the bottom of Jee's foot to shake her leg, and Jee giggles and ducks, arms crossing and head shaking 'no' as she presses her heel into Tommy's palm and nearly launches herself into the mirror behind her. Buck slides a hand behind her head to steady her - clearly she's a little accident prone today, and he's not particularly in the mood for a visit to the hospital this evening.

The movement brings him close enough for Tommy to touch, and he wraps his free hand around Buck's calf, squeezing for a moment before he uses it as leverage to lift himself off the bathroom floor. This bathroom isn't nearly large enough for two grown ass men standing shoulder to shoulder, they barely fit toe to toe.

"Hi," Buck says, when Tommy comes level with him, chests brushing and a familiar fond look in his eye.

"Hi," he repeats, grin going wide, and next to them Jee squirms and grabs at both their arms.

"No kiss!"

Buck tilts his head, and Tommy mirrors it, brow raised. "You heard the lady," he admonishes in a wry tone when Buck's gaze darts immediately for his lips.

This doesn't seem to satisfy Jee-Yun, who leans forward to smack at Tommy's wrist. "No, kiss!"

The change in tone is enough for both of them to glance down at her. She's pointing at her bandaged knee, which makes a lot more sense. Shed spent the last 118 barbeque demanding every couple in her immediate eyeline kiss for her entertainment, like an extremely cute fork against a champagne glass.

Buck's not thinking about weddings, though. He's not.

(He absolutely is, but at least he and Tommy have, like, talked about it. In vague hypotheticals, but... still.)

Jee slaps her knee for emphasis.

Clearly whatever she did hadn't injured her too badly, but there is a rule. You bandage something, you gotta kiss it better.

Tommy eyes the distance back to the floor like he's eighty years old, not a fit forty, so Buck makes it easier on all of them by squeezing in and swinging Jee over his shoulders, her legs fucking pinwheeling enough to force Tommy to duck as her breathless giggles fill the echoing tiles of the bathroom. Settled onto Buck's shoulders, Jee digs her fingers into Buck's hair, and Tommy leans in and makes an exaggerated smacking noise as he presses his lips to her bandage.

She shifts her weight, pleased, and tugs hard on Buck's ear. "Okay, now kiss," she demands, and Tommy snorts with laughter as he leans in.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #inbox games #tevan fic

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l8dyvenus · 1 year ago

Text

PAC - what are peoples first impression of you?

NOTE: this is a general read, take what resonates and leave what does not. if you would like to book a personal reading, my prices are on my page. if you would like a free reading, I do exchanges. thank you for taking the time to read this pac, enjoy loves. 👾

PILE ONE

reading:

< five of pents, ten of cups, nine of cups >

peoples first impressions of you consist of thinking you have a wall. you’re the type of person where someone can look into your eyes or talk to you for five minutes and can tell you’ve been through something. but this is something that you don’t dwell on. if anything they think you don’t want them to pity you. you want them to see you as confident, committed, and stern. that whatever has happened to you didn’t break you, nothing can. you’re like the phoenix. instead of falling you rise up even bigger and better. you turn your weakness into strengths and inspire others with this energy. they think upon first meeting that you have a cold demeanor, you’re nonchalant and take no bullshit, but when they actually get to know you they understand you’re just picky with who you open up to. you’re in the midst of healing, and everyone who comes across you, you bring them down that road too. something about you just first being around people makes them want to open up to you as well. you feel familiar to others, as everything is okay for them to let down that fragile wall and be vague. If you’re a woman, with guys, they think you play hard to get when you in reality you don’t like superficial things. people think you are the entire package, the IT girl/guy. THAT girl/guy. sophisticated, smart, humbled, and only interested in making money and bettering yourself. they think you have a great life ahead and that you’re going far. you could be very spiritual or religious. either way, you like sharing your knowledge and deep intellectual debates with others. people often feel insecure and intimidated by you upon first meeting you, but also can’t help but to be attracted to your pure dark energy. im getting Pisces/8th energy. you could be very ethereal looking or may come of enigmatic to others. people don’t know why they are so heavily drawn to you, but they are. could be to the point of subtle obsession.

PILE TWO

reading:

< three of swords, eight of swords, king of pents >

peoples first impression of you is that they think you are a heart breaker. that you give off good energy that you are a free spirit and carry a lot of spunk. you are on the road to building your success so you don’t spend much time wondering about other people and their business. I’m hearing you don’t stay around in anybodys life for long or it’s hard to keep up with you. you could know a lot of people, have a lot of friends but you could be a very distant person. the type where every one will know you on some social level, but you only pop out to events when you want. people think you’re pretty chill, cool, and detached but also the life of the party. very much into the belief of YOLO. you could be a an Aquarius or have 11th H placements. they think you are very unique and not afraid to express yourself or stand up for people who others think are below them. you could’ve met a lot of people at a social humanitarian event or a lot of your relationships that you built could have started from something you truly believe in or value in the physical world. people think you have a good head on your shoulders and that you’re a very mature person. you may be young but when others speak with you the first time you give them a physical example of how age doesn’t coincide with wisdom. you come off as elegant and classy or speak with a open ethical mind. there’s an airy aura surrounding you and you make people feel like they can speak to you about anything.

PILE THREE

reading:

< seven of wands, six of pents, two of wands >

people think you have a lot of sex appeal. you’re someone feisty and knows how to defend yourself by having a nasty come back when someone try’s to challenge you. but just like you could have a ruthless side, you are a very generous person. your personality could fluctuate or you could just come off very moody. people think you have a lot of energy and is not afraid to stand up and go against something that doesn’t sit right with you. you like to fight for what you believe in and you don’t take no for an answer. you could speak or carry yourself with great authority. your voice may be very loud and clear, or maybe even deep. people think you can control your facial expressions or keep your emotions in check. you come off very passionately about the justice of others and especially your beliefs. upon people first meeting you, you may treat them as if they have already been your friend. asking if they are okay, making sure they don’t feel left out or helping them out if they don’t have something.

PILE FOUR

reading:

< seven of cups, four of wands, three of pents >

other peoples first impression of you is that you may be an idealist, goal oriented, and all over the place. I’m seeing the page of cups even though I didn’t get that card. when I say “all over the place” though, I don’t exactly mean like moody. all over the place as in you have a lot of dreams you want to accomplish, and you are making sure you are putting in your efforts to insure victory. you seem like a party person or someone who likes to socialize. you have connections everywhere or you tend to make friends with people right off of the bat. everybody knows you or wants to be friends with you. you’re more like a leader rather than a follower. you’re funny and outgoing and anybody can just vibe with you. I’m getting heavily “crazy, sexy, cool” type chick/guy. you look hot to a lot of people. sometimes, off first glance, people may only think about that and project their thoughts of you being superficial, but you’re not and when people start talking to you they see you have a lot more to offer than just looks. they think you have a mouth on you too. that you can retort back to any dismissive comments someone throws at you. If you’re a woman, the first thing guys notice about you are either your boobs or curly hair. some people think you give off milf vibes. either way, peoples first impressions of you are that you’re like the cool mom friend or just that one boujee OCD vibrant person.

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 4 months ago

Text

A Fierce Dillema

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): None, just some introspective fluff and controlled chaos with everyone's favorite deity <3

Masterlist

“(Y/n).”

You awoke to the gentle calling of your name and a firm hand on your shoulder. A groan left you as you tried to turn away, to hide in the downy pillows and scattered sheets of your bed, but the voice was too persistent to ignore. A quick glance at your nightstand revealed that it was four in the morning, which was only cemented by the fact that the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

“(Y/n),” the voice, oddly familiar, continued to press. “Wake up.”

Wake up, he said. You already had an inkling of who would dare disturb your slumber, and it only became clear when you saw the Fierce Deity’s silver-haired reflection on the glossy surface of your alarm clock. He was wearing his armor and that blade of his was secured to his back, which undoubtedly meant something significant had occurred since you bid him and the other boys goodnight six-ish hours ago. “Oh my god, what happened?”

There was a slight pause. You could practically feel the tension through the calloused hand on your bare shoulder and sincerely hoped he hadn’t gone out and killed someone… or set the kitchen on fire. Again. You weren’t sure which was worse, because at least a body was easy enough to hide when you had nine heroes at your disposal.

“Can humans consume deer meat?”

What?

You had to physically turn around to convey the bafflement you were currently feeling. Ever the gentleman, he removed his hand and took a respectful step backward. Now facing each other, you looked him straight in the eye and asked: “Is there a deer in my kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“...Is it for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

…Okay. You were an adult, so you would handle it as such. It was a minor miracle that he had the foresight to talk to you before attempting to use your stove (you hoped). Besides, you did say that you were going to teach the boys about your world until another portal showed up to dump them somewhere else, and Fierce would be no exception. “I’ll be down in five. Do I need to watch meat-cleaning videos or did you put that sword to use?”

The Fierce Deity, destroyer of gods and civilizations alike, looked almost offended by your assumption of his sword usage. You watched, amused, as his voice took on a scolding tone. “I would never, it is much too large for such a task.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” you slid out of bed with the grace of a waterlogged snail, arranging the blankets in some haphazard semblance of a made bed. Fierce quickly made himself scarce, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your relationship with the deity was an… unusual one. You had been cleaning when you accidentally knocked over Time’s precariously placed traveling pack, only for a vaguely-humanoid mask to fall out. You proceeded to snatch it up and the shit that followed was wild enough to be the star of a bestselling novel on Booktok, because there was no other way to describe it when a seven-foot, fully-armored man materialized two feet away wielding a sword that was as long as you were tall. Chaos had ensued and a fight nearly broke out between the newcomer and Sky, of all people, in your kitchen until Time managed to calm everyone down. From then on, he had simply coexisted in your home, though there were occasionally spats between him and the other boys. Traditionally, Time was the one to break it up when it happened, but you also discovered you yourself had some sway to him when you screamed loud enough.

Recently, however, Fierce had become unusually devoted to helping out around the house, going so far as to attempt to duel Wild for the right to cook dinner. It had taken a full minute of scolding to get him to pipe down and watch Family Feud with the others, though you got the vague sense that he was pouting as he watched you from the couch. His behavior only ramped up when your boss blessed (cursed) you with more hours at work and you returned home to learn that, in the span of five hours, he had managed to not only break your vacuum cleaner, but nearly maim the mailman for “invading your territory”, to which you informed him that things were drastically different in your world and promptly bought a “guard dog on duty” sign to hang on your mailbox.

A quiet creak of the floorboards outside reminded you of who you were keeping waiting. With a muffled curse, you threw on a half-decent shirt, leaving your axalotle pj pants right where they were, and dashed outside to meet the deity. He was leaning against your wall, arms crossed over that mouthwateringly muscled chest (you had eyes), but seemed to snap to attention when you barreled into the hallway. “Let’s cook this bitch!”

And so you did. While the gorey mess practically dripping from your island wasn’t particularly enthusing, you sucked it up and retrieved a pan, turning the stove to the max. A bit of oil later and you had a butchered flank roasting on the front burner, while a large pot filled with bones boiled away. Fierce was very considerate of your lack of knowledge on this sort of thing, quietly handing you the finished cuts when you requested them. He hardly spoke, choosing to listen as you prattled on about nothing in particular. Within the hour, you had an entire pile of roasted meat on a serving plate, and several members of the chain had begun to trickle in, likely drawn by the delicious scent of food. It was only when everyone was downstairs did you notice that he had disappeared. Despite the minor fuss the younger boys raised, you grabbed some food and went to find him.

It was on the woodpile in the very corner of your property where you tracked him to. Even with his impressive bulk, there was still space to sit on the stacked logs, so you plopped down happily. Fierce looked at you with a surprised expression, but said nothing. So you did instead, offering him the plate. “I hope you know I’m not going to let you run off without eating after all you did.”

He took the plate. “It is nothing.”

You shrugged and began peeling the orange you snagged earlier. “Maybe to you, but not to me. You gave us a break and I’m grateful.”

“I stole sleep from you.”

“And?” You honestly had no idea why he thought you cared about that. Sure, waking up early sucked sometimes, but you weren’t made of glass. You popped an orange slice into your mouth. “I’m an adult.”

There was silence, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as one would think. The sun had long since risen, bathing you in warm golden hues that not even the gentle breeze could chill. It didn’t even dawn on you how strange you must have looked–sitting next to an actual deity while dressed in a stained t-shirt and printed animal pants–or how unusual your life had become.

“I have a question,” said the deity. You listened intently before answering–it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation and you didn’t want to spoil it.

“...I have an answer.”

If you had looked closely, you would have seen the subtle quirk of his usually flat mouth before his expression reformed to something more solemn. You wondered if you should have mentally prepared for this conversation. “You do not fear me… why?”

You blinked, trying to process what had just been said to you. “Excuse me?”

As if sensing your bafflement, the Fierce Deity elaborated: “I could end your existence with a sweep of my sword. Thousands have recognized this, but you either deny or remain oblivious to it.”

Ouch? You knew little of his backstory beyond being imprisoned in a mask for countless years by someone named Hylia for–... well, you don’t think he had informed you, but it was far from warranting fear. If he had wanted to hurt you he would have done so already. You were honestly a bit offended he thought so little of you. “Is that all you think there is to it? I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: you’ve done nothing to warrant my fear, so I don’t know where you’re getting this from,” you paused, realizing how harsh you sounded. “...Sorry, I just… I don’t see you that way.”

“Then how do you see me?” asked the deity, and you were caught off guard by the genuine curiosity in his pupil-less eyes. Was he… self conscious? It was a laughable thought, that the Fierce Deity was capable of such an emotion, but it was the only one that made sense in this dance of conversation.

That begs the question… how did you see him? ‘A person’ was your first thought, but it was what anyone would say. An acquaintance? Yes, but then it made your relationship seem almost transactional, which was not what you were aiming to convey. He was clearly looking for reassurance beneath that stoic facade and you knew an opportunity like this wouldn’t come again.

“A friend,” the words rolled off your tongue before you could stop them, but what could you do besides continue? “You’re my friend.”

It was simple, really, though that didn’t stop him from looking completely and utterly baffled. “You consider me… a friend?”

Why did it sound like such an affront when he said it like that? Your orange was long gone, but it didn’t stop you from fiddling with the peel in your hands. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you responded honestly, because, really, you wouldn’t have. “You don’t sound like you have many friends.”

There was a sort of bitter melancholy in his tone that you knew all too well. “I have none.”

You grinned and reached up to pat his shoulder, emboldened by the rising light and your own sense of duty. “Until now.”

For the first time in forever, The Fierce Deity, vanquisher of worlds and gods alike, smiled. Truly smiled. You could have sworn his porcelain cheeks seemed a little less stark when he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of it like in the fantasy novels you read as a child. Then, before you could choke out a flustered response, he leaned close and said. “I vow to not disappoint you.”

It was almost impressive how quickly you recovered from the shock of his actions. With a small laugh, you laid your hand on his shoulder, warm as an inferno, and whispered. “You could never.”

Is this the same AU as Knightmare In Toronto? Who knows!

#fierce deity x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #legend of zelda

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kaylopolis · 5 months ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Eight

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest, and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, I give you my favorite chapter :)

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Eight - The Headliner

Content Warning: Obsession, Blood, Minors DNI!!!

Fuck.

Everything hurt.

Was that music?

You blinked. Hard. Forcing the world into view. The shapes were fuzzy until they formed the ceiling of a canopy bed.

You vaguely registered Nat King Cole’s “Too Young” playing from the radio on the side table.

God, everything hurt. Did you already mention that?

With limbs of concrete, you attempted to sit up, but a burning pain shot through your core making the world blur into darkness once again.

You couldn’t have been out long; “Too Young” had entered its final stanza when you came to. Again, you were met with the red of the bed’s canopy top.

🎶And yet we're not too young to know🎶

Little movements this time. You turned your head, noting the red silk sheets beneath you. Okay, now the fingers and toes - good they were still intact. The legs? Both still present and working. Arms? Yeah, them too. So was it just your torso? You rolled up, but were just met with more pain.

Okay, let’s try rolling to the side. You rolled onto your shoulder and slowly pushed yourself into a seated position. The effort and pain made you see stars, but at least you hadn’t passed out.

Okay, where to begin. Instead of your cloak and leather gear, you found yourself in shorts and a white button-down shirt two sizes too big. The fabric was slightly askew, revealing the bandages crossing your chest underneath. You peeked down the shirt and followed the stained cotton to your belly button.

Fuck, Velvette practically gutted you from your right hip to your left chest.

Bitch.

🎶This love will last though years may go🎶

Your arms and legs had been washed, and your other wounds had healed into scars. A poultice soaked through the cotton wrapped around your feet. Whoever took care of your wound also addressed the blisters still plaguing your toes.

How nice.

Your silver hair had been braided into a long ponytail that reached your lower back. And the shirt you were wearing... Images of deep woods after a rainstorm swam in your vision as you breathed in the fabric - it felt almost familiar.

Slowly pushing yourself to your feet, you wandered over to the glass doors leading to a balcony. Pentagram City waited twenty floors below. You held your arms around your body as you walked, afraid the stitches would burst and your insides would fall out. Shallow breaths only. Deep breaths hurt.

🎶And then some day they may recall🎶

It was late, City lights illuminated the night. On the balcony sat two chairs, a single table between them. It finally clicked where you were the exact moment the static prickled the back of your neck.

🎶We were not too young at all🎶

“Alastor…” you spun meeting the demon face to face, but the view took your breath away.

The Radio Demon stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his weight on one hip. He looked disheveled, his hair a ruffled mess, his monocle missing. His suit jacket was probably hanging in a closet somewhere, revealing a white button-down rolled to the elbows. No bow tie, suspenders hanging around his hips, and no shoes. For feet, he had… hooves.

It was the most skin you had ever seen from the demon and it felt oddly intimate. Maybe you should look away and give him some privacy but part of you didn’t want to stop looking. His shirt top was missing a few buttons, revealing his collarbone and upper part of his chest. From what you could tell he was very… defined.

His arms were stronger than expected, with a layer of muscle that was obvious in the low light. Scars, grey and faded, criss crossed his forearms like battle wounds. His arms ended in a shade of black much like your own - but his hands.

Alastor wasn’t wearing gloves.

That got the butterflies stirring in your belly. Why did that make you so excited?

The Overlord stared at you with a soft smile on his face but a gaze so intense it could knock you over where you stood. You felt trapped. You felt possessed. And you liked it.

“What happened to ‘Mr. Alastor’?” He purred.

You pulled your arms in close, trying to hide the shiver his voice sent down your spine. It was deeper than you remembered.

Keep your guard up, Thestral, be prepared for anything.

“I think we’re past formalities, don’t you?” You gestured to the clothing. “Didn’t know you even owned a pair of shorts. Didn’t take you for the sort.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

He tipped his head back and laughed, a deep rumble from his chest. “I saved your life, and your first concern is my wardrobe?”

You fell silent. He took that as a sign to change the subject.

“Come, I just finished dinner.”

You stifled a gasp as Alastor turned on his heels. A tail, the Radio Demon had a tail. The black tuft of hair sat at the crest of his hips, a red undercoat where a white tail deer’s white stripe should be.

“You have a tail,” you whispered, desperately trying to hide the smile fighting to breakthrough.

Be prepared for anything.... You snorted into your palm. Anything but that!

Alastor froze, his tail shooting up, ramrod straight. He tipped his head back, his eyes nonchalantly finding yours. “I am a dear demon, darling.”

Yeah, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world! Is that why he always wore the jacket, to hide his tail? Did he not like others knowing or just assumed that they assumed? God, you didn’t know why he would be ashamed of it, it was adorable!

The demon scoffed before disappearing, you following after him, trying your best not to flat-out stare at the thing the entire time you walked. Alastor led you down a hallway and into a kitchen where a pot was steaming on the stove. Pulling a chair out for you, he sat you on the corner to himself. Silently, you waited for him to ladle a bowl of food.

Why did the silence feel so... weird?

“Be careful, darling, it’s still hot.” He sat in the chair next to you and just stared.

Your eyes locked on his, you tried searching them, tried to figure out what was happening in this moment, but your mind felt so… distracted by the image of him in an unbuttoned shirt.

“Eat.” He commanded.

And you obeyed.

“God, this is amazing.”

He smirked. “I assure you, he had nothing to do with it.” His shoulders relaxed when you ate another spoonful, finally allowing himself to join in with his own bowl. Alastor’s tail wiggled as if it was... happy? You reread the demon’s face - neutral disinterest. Hmmm… Interesting.

“What is this?”

“Jambalaya.”

“Ugh, I’m devastated I hadn’t discovered this sooner,” you smiled, taking another mouthful. Swallowing hurt, but in little amounts, it was manageable.

As the excitement of the dinner waned, a deep sadness began to settle into your heart. “Is Angel okay?” You practically whispered the question.

Alastor didn’t skip a beat, continuing to eat as he talked. “It took the spider a few days to get back on his feet, but he is doing well, thanks to you. Don’t fret, the Hotel has not been touched in your absence.”

You nodded, taking more small bites. “How long have I been out?”

Alastor pulled a newspaper from the Void and handed it to you. The headline read “Shadow Presumed Dead. V Tower To Be Rebuilt.” The date was a week later than you remembered, seven days - damn.

“I missed my headline.” Mimzy is going to be furious.

“Darling, you are the headline,” Alastor chuckled, his soup spoon collecting the bottom remnants of his bowl. He got up, taking yours as well as his despite it not being totally empty yet. He filled both to the brim and rejoined you at the table, his tail wagging away.

Page two had a huge photo of Velvette and Vox grieving and some article filled with bullshit designed to garner sympathy. The story, of course, pointed the blame on you as the aggressor - accurate. Yet no mention of Valentino and his cruel ways. Vox controlled the media, so it made sense.

Folding the newspaper and tucking it away, you started on your second bowl. “So, how long have you known?”

His tail froze, his half-lidded eyes finding your own. “That you’re the infamous masked Overlord or a Fallen Angel playing Human Sinner?”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“Darling, I had you picked the moment you stepped foot off the elevator at Carmine’s office.”

You clenched your jaw to prevent it from falling open. “How?”

He paused for a moment, not looking you in the face as he said, “Jasmine.”

What had the egg bois said to you before you walked into the elevator? They said you smelled like Jasmine.

“It’s…” you start but wait for the rest of the pieces to click into place.

“… your favorite tea.” Alastor finished for you.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Rosie might have mentioned it in passing.”

Of course, Rosie did. The Overlord hated it but only ever got it for you.

Oh my God, everything makes so much sense now! He served wine during your midnight meeting, a cabernet - your favorite - as opposed to his usual rye. He gave you the radio not because he cared about your sleep but because he needed an ally at the top of their game. The way he felt threatened by you even as a Hotelian and not an Overlord - why he always had his shadow following you. It explains his heightened irritation with Vox and the attention the media demon gave you. It explains the unprompted kidnapping to the bayou! He was going to confront you about it! Alastor knew from the fucking beginning because, of course, he fucking did.

That's why he's been so interested in you.

“The second mystery was solved as you bled to death all over my bed sheets.”

My bed sheets. My bed. His bed. Not a guest room bed but his room. His sheets. His pillows. His clothes.

Oh my God, you were in his clothes!

You felt a blush creep up your neck. “You…” You dropped your spoon with a clunk into the bowl as the realization hit you. “Did you see me naked!?”

Alastor laughed, his tail wagging yet again, “No. No. As soon as I got you here, I had Rolf summon Rosie. She let me help with the less… intimate parts of your injury before kicking me out. She cleaned you up and dressed you after.”

He didn't see your back. He didn't see your tattoo.

Oh, thank the stars for that woman. She was a gift from above. Heaven really fucked up on that one. Oh, Rosie. She was going to kill you the next time she saw you.

Wait…

“Rolf?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t think my shadow had a name?” He smirked his iconic lopsided grin.

You looked down at the darkness swirling about his feet, which snickered in response.

No, actually, you hadn’t really thought of it as something sentient enough to need one.

You turned back to the bowl, forcing yourself to eat more. You were full, but damn, was this good.

Having gone a week without food your stomach had shrunk - only enough room for three-quarters of a serving, but that didn’t stop Alastor from refilling your bowl again and again.

“I’ll summon Rosie in the morning. Have her bring by some of your things. Satan knows she will scold me for not summoning her sooner, but it is late.”

You checked the time on the stove. It was three in the morning.

“Why are you still awake?”

He looked away from you, “I don’t need sleep to function - correction, I need some, but the number is inconsequential compared to others.”

So his bed was barely used? If at all? Why was it so grand then? Maybe he used it for other… activities. What had Angel said the other day? The Radio Demon has never been seen with anyone. Rumor has it that he was a virgin - well, that was coming from Vox.

“I’m not a virgin,” Alastor’s words purred in your memory. Your mind drifted off to pondering the number of other people whom he had shared his bed with before you realized what you were doing.

Wait, what were you doing?

You were sitting half-dressed in Alastor’s clothes, sharing a home-cooked meal at his apartment.

ALONE.

What…

The Radio Demon brought his spoon to his mouth and licked it, sapping up the juices at the bottom of the bowl. His tongue was black and forked.

Your face heated with the ideas swimming in your mind of what that tongue could…

No!

You jumped to your feet abruptly, knocking the chair back and causing the plates to jump on the table.

A searing burn shot through your core causing you to bend over in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor bent to meet your eyeline, his arms grasping your shoulders.

Butterflies and bubbles. Butterflies and bubbles. Butterflies and bubbles. You didn’t know what they meant anymore, and it terrified you.

“I just…” You stepped out of his grip, not daring to meet his gaze. “I can’t…” You turned and exited the kitchen searching for the door.

Alastor followed with hurried steps on your heels. You tried a few doors, but none of them were an exit.

Was it getting hot in here? It was definitely getting harder to breathe, but you didn’t know if that was from the injury or something else.

“Stop,” Alastor commanded, but you ignored him, turning down another hallway. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the slaps of your bare feet on hardwood.

Another door, this one open, leading to a small library.

Fuck, this place was a maze.

“Stop!” Alastor’s tone turned dark. As did the hallway. Were you starting to black out or was that his doing?

“I need to leave…” You breathed, now in a full panic.

Another turn… There, an elevator!

You sprinted for it, but Alastor wrapped his fingers around your wrist and spun you around. He gently backed you into the cement wall. Cupping your cheeks, he tilted your head, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“I said stop.” His tone was soft. “You’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down, or you’re going to pass out. Just breathe, Thestral. Breathe.”

You did as he said, squeezing your eyes shut. Focusing on your inhales and exhales, you willed the beating of your heart to slow. You stood there and just breathed, trying to match his own pattern of breath before you.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

And you obeyed.

His irises were a deep crimson, his pupils blown wide in the low light. You felt some sort of veil lift between the two of you, his magic reaching out for your own. It caressed your form, willing your heart to slow, cooling the burn of your blood in your veins. Alastor was somehow calming you down using the connection you had formed between you.

God, why was he being so nice to you? The last time the two of you were alone together, he was actively hunting you.

“Why did you save me?” You ask, but it comes out as a whisper.

“We had a deal,” he answers too fast.

You didn’t buy it. There had to be more to this - more to why Alastor needed you and your power. Technically, your death benefitted him in the long run, didn't it? Killing you eliminated you as a rival, as an Overlord vying for souls, as a Sinner scheming for Charlie's power - whether he actually knew that or not, but Alastor wasn't stupid. He's had an entire week to think about every move you've made, every word you've said. He's had time to piece things together, enough to know that you weren't at the Hotel to be redeemed.

“Why did you save me?” You ask again, a bite in your voice, tears of frustration forming at the corner of your eyes.

He exhaled deeply, contemplating his words carefully, before finally leaning in and placing his forehead against yours.

“I had the pleasure of arriving just after you shattered the top floor of V Tower. The way you incinerated Valentino from within... By Satan, you were a vision…”

You went still.

“I was sure you were going to kill Velvette and Vox as well until Velvette pulled the Angelic blade and sunk it deep into your chest.” His breathing quickened, his voice deepening to a smokey edge.

“And that’s when I decided that she was not worthy of owning your death.” Alastor’s grip on your cheeks hardened till he had to let go. He placed one arm against the wall, his forearm and elbow flush with the cool concrete, entrapping you in place. His other found your chin, forefinger and thumb gently caressing your skin. “No one was.” He closed his eyes, guiding his nose to yours. The bridge of it rested against your own.

You couldn’t think anymore. All manner of logic left your brain the second Alastor's forehead found yours.

“If anyone was going to draw your last breath from these lips,” His thumb finds your bottom lip, and you gasp, drawing a growl deep from the demon’s chest.

Your lips parted even though you begged them not to. Even though you told them you didn’t want this. Even though they disobeyed and you found yourself okay with it anyway. Even though you wanted more…

His claw traced the curve of your lip oh-so-gently, before wrapping under your chin once more and pulling you closer.

He whispered onto your lips, “It was going to be me…”

DING-DONG!

“Ow!” You head-butted the Overlord as a loud chime deafened your left ear.

Tension broken, the demon rubbed his face as he leaned over and pushed a button on a com. “I told you two to go home!”

“Ay, listen here ya’ ol’ timey prick! We tried! Vaggie won’t let us until we have a fuckin’ update! You don’t have a fuckin’ phone for us to call, like a normal person. So, how the Hell do we know what’s goin’ on!?”

Angel?

“Give me that.” You heard what you thought was a shove before a different voice echoed through the machine. “Look Boss, Charlie’s been worried sick. She hasn’t been sleeping. She hasn’t been eating. She’s making the rest of us miserable. Angel took her out and got her drunk, and now she’s an emotional wreck. Just give us an update, and we’ll go home.”

“Husk?” You gasped.

“At least tell us she’s breathin’ ya’ strawberry pimp…”

You didn’t hear the rest of what Angel had to say as you slid out from where Alastor had cocooned you against the wall and headed for the elevator doors. You managed to hit the button before Alastor reappeared from a puddle of shadows, blocking the exit.

“What are you doing?”

“You are not going down there.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at you with cold eyes.

“What!?” You practically screamed, a burn ran up your throat with the effort. Fuck it hurt.

Alastor didn’t elaborate further.

You scoffed. “It’s Husk and Angel, Alastor. They’re friends! If Velvette wanted me dead I doubt she’d send them to finish me off!”

“You are not going down there,” he repeated, cold malice slithered through his voice.

You stood for a moment, searching his hard eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

DING!

The doors slid open.

“Oh, yeah,” you drew yourself to your full height - well, almost full height. Your posture pulled on the stitches if you stretched too far. “Stop me, then.” Your gaze met his, hardening to steel.

A challenge, Radio Demon.

“You know what I am now, right? Go ahead Alastor, stop me.” Arms out to your sides, you waited for the demon to say something. But he was hard as stone.

You considered summoning blue flame to make your point, to remind him of how easily you had eviscerated Valentino, but you didn’t have to. The demon yielded. Stepping into the elevator, he waited for you to join.

The ride down was far longer than you expected. Or maybe it was the silence that drove you crazy. No elevator music? Or maybe you had ticked the Radio Demon off to the point he shut it all off. Either way, you didn’t care because when those doors opened and Husk and Angel finally laid their eyes upon you, a wave of relief flooded through you so strong you collapsed into their arms.

It hurt but you didn’t care.

“Holy, fuckin’ shit balls,” Angel breathed into your hair, making you giggle. His sclera were both white. No more black to be seen. His soul contract was over...

“Hey, kid,” Husk grabbed each of your hands, holding them in his paws.

“Hey, Husky,” you smiled back.

“You have a lotta fuckin’ explainin’ to do, Hair clip.” Angel crossed his arms, turning on his overprotective big brother mode. “And yous!” He took a step towards Alastor, finger pointed at his chest. “You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve keepin' her locked up this week! We was worried sick! Husk and I thought we watched her die on television, and the next thing we know, she’s locked up 'ere in your ivory tower! No calls! No updates! No nothin’! You…”

Wait, what did he say?

“Angel!” You stepped between the two of them, cutting off the spider demon’s protests. “Did you say television?”

“Yeah! Vox was filming the whole thang! Well, minus you burnin' Valentino to a crisp. He wanted your death broadcasted so he could claim the stakes of finally unmaskin' the infamous Overlord. Until, he…” He juts his finger back at Alastor. “Shut down the whole grid! All of Pentagram City was plunged into fuckin' darkness”

Your eyes find Alastor’s but again are met with a wall of cold steel.

The blood. Did they see?

No. His eyes seemed to say.

You pulled the collared shirt closer around you, buttoning an extra level to hide the gold-soaked cotton bandages underneath.

Rosie had taught you how to magick your blood, to have it appear red as opposed to its usual gold. You’d bleed red unless met with an Angelic blade, unless met with a blow promising death, unless you were too weak for the magic to hold.

Husk and Angel knew who you were but not what. Not yet. But Velvette and Vox? Velvette still has the blade, which means she saw the blood that stuck to it after she cut. Which meant the remainder of the Vees knew what you were - but not who.

They knew how to kill you.

Fuck.

“We searched for you for hours!” Angel hung his head, his voice cracking. “And he had you the whole fuckin’ time.”

“We thought you died,” Husk added, his eyes shooting daggers at Alastor.

We thought you died. Died. You never thought about death. Angels never did because Angels can’t die. Even when Velvette pulled the blade, you didn’t think she would kill you. Maime you horribly, yes, but not kill you because Angels don’t die.

But couldn’t they?

Your mind flashed back to the last extermination. The Overlords always disappeared in the hours before the Extermination. It was policy. Yes, souls came begging for protection - as they always did - but what protection could be offered? You couldn’t fight the Exorcists and even if you tried to hide the souls you owned, it just made for easier pickings when they eventually found you. Groups were targets.

So the Overlords “left.” Technically, human Sinners couldn’t leave the Pride Ring, so you found other ways to disappear.

You and Rosie always went to Mimzy’s. The three of you sat in the basement and played cards. Mimzy didn’t know who you were; she thought of you more so as Rosie’s adopted daughter before she eventually brought you on as her club’s piano player.

You were in the middle of a scandalous game of Belot when you felt a familiar tug behind your navel. Someone was using a card to summon you. And that someone was Carmilla. Orange and mint flooded your mouth - fear. Whatever was happening, it was bad.

You excused yourself to the restroom and slid out the back door.

Following the call, you found them at the edge of the Doomsday District. The Overlords kept their hiding places secret even from each other. You didn’t know where they were headed, and they didn’t know where you had come from. Your own hiding spot wasn’t in your territory, so why should theirs be?

Carmilla and Odette were in the middle of the plaza, Clara in a heap of blood and broken bones between them.

Exorcists flew in a flurry about your head. Sinners were screaming,

It was a tornado of blood and death. A massacre of the defenseless. You hadn’t seen anything like it since… well, the time of the Old Testament.

And a beheaded Exorcist lay ten feet from you...

Oh, Carmilla. What had you gotten yourself into?

“Please, I didn’t know who else to call…” Carmilla grabbed you by the collar of your cloak and dragged you down to the cement.

Odette sobbed, curling into her sister’s dying form.

“I can’t…” You breathed. The feeling of her soul fading was like a whisper against your skin. She was fading fast.

“Please!?” Carmilla begged.

“I… I…” There wasn’t anything you could…

And then Carmilla screamed.

She screamed your name.

Not Thestral.

Your name.

Your God-given name.

She grabbed your arm and ran it against the silver in her leggings. Golden liquid bubbled from your skin and dripped onto the pavement before she thrust the wound into her daughter’s mouth.

She knew. She knew you weren’t just any Angel.

Not like a low-level Exorcist. Low-level Exorcists can't heal the dying. Low-level Exorcists can't summon Holy Fire.

You weren't a low-level Exorcist. You were special.

The three of you held your breath as Clara’s wounds began to restitch themselves, as the blood finally stopped flowing.

There was a gasp as Clara’s eyes fluttered open. Carmilla collapsed into a heap of sobs, holding her daughter close and whispering in Spanish into her ear. Odette pulled you in, thanking you before joining her mother.

You were numb to the world until you got to your feet and locked eyes with a Sinner.

At some point, your hood had fallen down.

He had seen your face.

He had heard your name.

And so had about fifteen others now standing awestruck around you.

Fifteen people who had to die.

Fifteen innocent Sinners who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Fifteen people you turned to ash.

“We didn’t tell the others what happened.” Angel’s voice brought you back to the room. “They think you were caught in the crossfire.”

“They don't know about Angel either,” Husk added.

Fuck.

Alastor must have seen the blood drain from your face because he took one step between you and the boys. “This meeting is over.”

“What?” The boys gawked.

He was right. The pain in your torso was throbbing, bringing a sting to your eyes.

You reached out, hesitating before fingering the edge of his rolled sleeve. The demon turned to you in surprise, a look of… we’ll you didn’t know what sprawled across his face. You waited for the flinch, for the smack, for the scowl, but, to your surprise, he didn’t shove you off. “Twenty more minutes?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please?”

Something in his steel gaze softened. He wanted to say no. He wanted to drag you back upstairs and lock you away - but he didn’t. Instead, he locked the front door, pulled a chair from the Void for you to sit, and trudged back into the elevator.

“Twenty, not a second more. Rolf will keep an eye on you.”

The shadow detached itself from Alastor’s form and wrapped itself around your torso. For once, you found its coldness soothing.

“Where are you going?”

DING! The doors shut.

“Okay,” Angel started, a pair of arms on your shoulders. “First question, who the Hell is Rolf?”

____________________________________________

It was like a bomb going off.

You hit the penthouse first, knowing the Overlords enjoyed a nightcap before turning in. Your weeks of spying had paid off and, luckily, Voxtek’s Angelic Security still wasn’t online.

Valentino, Velvette, and Vox were spread out along their giant three-piece couch, looking absolutely dumbfounded when you crashed through the window in a blaze of blue flames.

You went for the moth demon’s throat before he had a chance to react. Wrapping your claws around his neck, you jumped back into the night. You fell, summoning your wings to beat harder, garnering as much speed as possible.

When you hit the pavement, Val first, an explosion ripped through the Entertainment District, taking out half a block of storefronts, cars, and anyone caught in the crossfire.

You pulled a broken Valentino to his feet in a crater fifty feet deep. The pimp was barely breathing, his eyes unable to focus on anything. The demon was dead, and he knew it; unable to put up a fight, he just watched you and breathed.

“This is for Angel,” your deep voice spewed.

And then the burning began. You made it slow and torturous, starting with his feet and the tips of his wings and moving upwards until it consumed him completely. He screamed - his last moments filled with the stench of orange and mint - with fear.

You had killed so many times before, but never had it felt this good.

And then he was a pile of ash.

“No!” Velvette screamed. The brat demon and Vox were huddled over the edge of the concave abyss, watching the ash of their fallen partner blow away in the wind.

“You fucking arsehole,” she screamed. “You’re going to die for this!”

She lept, her claws sharpened to talons. Behind her Vox transformed into his demon form. Nearly three stories tall, the demon was a mass of electrokinetic energy, his claws digging into the cement of the street as sparks of blue scattered across the street.

Now this was a fight!

Velvette didn’t have a chance to land, for you back slapped her so hard she went flying into the wall of the crater, cracking cement beneath her body.

Vox was next, but you were faster. A surge of electrical wiring launched at you like a cobra striking its prey. You spun, easily dodging, and blasted through his screen like a missile. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but you were merely aiming to temporarily blind him while you dealt with the Bitch Queen herself.

Velvette climbed out from the crater, calling you every swear word in the book and then some.

She pulled a silver dagger from her jacket - a Carmilla Carmine blade. “I’m going to gut you like a fish!”

And then she attacked.

Eventually, Vox recovered, using any opening Velvette gave him to compliment her onslaught. And you were holding your own for a while, attempting to find various ways to stall Vox so you could get to Velvette, until...

You sent a wall of flame at the female Vee before turning to Vox and...

“Unknown.” A familiar female voice chimed. “Unknown. Unknown. Unknown.”

“What the fuck!?” Vox screamed, shaking his phone before slamming it against the ground.

The Soul Scanner. He was trying to get a read on who you are, but the technology couldn’t register your soul.

The media demon paused before his eyes met yours, the gears behind his irises turning in his head. And then something like recognition flashed in his eyes. Before you had a chance to think, a cackle echoed behind you.

Vox’s distraction left an opening, and as you spun, the female Vee ran that blade diagonally across your body.

You collapsed, your back to them, golden liquid pouring onto the pavement.

Velvette cackled, “Fucking, finally! Now I’m…” Velvette screamed, her sentence cut off abruptly.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to flee, but before you could summon your wings, a wave of darkness swam over you.

In one blink, you were in the Entertainment District; the next, you were outside Pentagram City in the Nothing. The outskirts of the City dropped off to nothing but endless black dirt and red sky going on for what everyone assumed was forever. Natives called it the "Nothing" because that was what was here: nothing.

A pair of red and white dress shoes appeared at the edge of your vision before everything went black.

____________________________________________

“And then I woke up here,” you finish - you left out the part about bleeding golden Angelic blood, of course.

The boys were silent until Angel leaned in and wiggled his eyebrows at you. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Seriously?” Husk shot him an exasperated look.

“What I wanna see 'er wings! Can I see ya' wings? I mean where the Hell do you put ‘em, anyway? I don’t see you carryin’ a purse or nothin'."

You giggled, the action burning through your chest. “Uhm,” God, your body hurts. “I can try, but I’ll rip the shirt.”

“So? Smiles probably has like fifty more up in his castle.” Angel waved it off.

You looked to Rolf for permission but the shadow was oddly still. “Okay.”

You stood and summoned your wings, but the wave of pain that came because of it manifested as dizziness and nausea. Luckily, Husk caught you before you fell.

“Get her upstairs, Rolf,” he passed you off to the shadow who somehow was able to hold you up despite being incorporeal.

Your vision blurred with the movement as he loaded you into the elevator.

“Ah, shit! I’m sorry I didn’t know!” Angel?

DING! The doors closed, and you ascended. Shivers wracked through your body, drowning you in sweat. Suddenly, the lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and the world began to blur.

DING!

Alastor was there, his face full of worry, his usual smile replaced with straight-lipped concern. With elbows under your knees and hands behind your shoulders, he carried you back to his room, your dark wings scraping the floor as he walked.

His face was so foreign in this moment, like seeing him without a smile somehow made him a completely different person. It almost felt like he was sharing a secret with you, one only you knew about and one only he let you hear.

The demon pushed open his bedroom door with his foot, the lights of Pentagram City illuminating the air about him. Alastor was glowing, his form ethereal as golden hues danced about his ashen skin. He was almost angelic...

And that made the lack of his smile all the more disconcerting.

“Huh,” you slurred as he set you on the bed, the world beginning to blur. “I always wondered what you looked like without a smile.”

Darkness took you.

Al - "I will kill you!" You - *actively starts dying* Al- "No, wait!"

The Vox blowup is coming, Hoteliers, don't you worry ;)

-> Chapter Nine

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added): @sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @its-a-dam-blue-brick @sillywormtrixareforkids @cloverresin20

#alastor #alastor shadow #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #smut #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #Spotify

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