#but if I say something that might even approach making her uncomfortable it’s time to move on quickly!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 5 months ago

Text

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far.

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism.

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently.

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism.

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare.

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin.

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this.

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does.

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened.

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically.

“You’ve probably got more than I have.”

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect.

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly.

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.”

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home.

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.

He can be good every now and then.

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees.

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more.

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick.

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity.

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through.

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work.

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same.

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though.

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.”

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do.

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone.

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine.

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate.

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing.

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you.

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain.

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water.

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long.

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer?

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage.

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening.

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.

You smile.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley/reader #simon riley x you

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aquaticmercy · 2 months ago

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Of Heroes and Heartstrings (Part One)

Summary : Bucky Barnes develops a crush on the researcher who interviewed him.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) (The reader works in academia and is writing about superheroes and how they perceive themselves in the 21st century)

Warnings/tags : Meet cute!!! Bucky crushing hard on you. Bucky's past. Sam being a little annoying.

Requested by : myself again

Word count : 2.4k

Note : I think I might turn this into a three-part series! I would love to write the about gang playing monopoly together. Let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2 or 3!

Series Masterlist

Requests are open!

Bucky wasn’t sure why he agreed to this. He wasn’t even sure why he was sitting in a tiny cafe off the beaten path, waiting for a complete stranger to interview him about… superheroes? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing at the door for the fifth time in two minutes.

It wasn’t like he had anything special to offer. Sure, people knew him as the Winter Soldier, but that wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. And superhero? That wasn’t a title he claimed. That was for people like Sam and Steve. They were the ones doing good things, saving people.

He was just trying to piece himself back together.

Yet, here he was, because Happy Hogan had sent him a message with a request that seemed harmless enough. He told him about you, how you were working on writing a paper on superheroes and how they perceive themselves for your big research project. Happy had mentioned that Sam and Yelena had already spoken with you, and they’d apparently walked away smiling.

That statement was enough to make Bucky curious.

He felt a small pang of nerves in his stomach. Maybe it wasn’t too late to just bail—

The cafe door chimed softly, and then he saw you.

Happy had shown him photos, and that sweet, determined smile of yours was unmistakable.

You stepped into the cafe with an air of calm but curious energy, eyes scanning the space before they landed on him. For a brief moment, he froze. You smiled. Not the kind of smile people gave him because they recognise him and didn’t know what to say. Your smile was genuine, bright and easy, like you were happy just to be here, ever so passionate about your research.

“Hi, Bucky, right?” you asked as you approached the table.

He nodded, feeling the slightest bit awkward but gestured toward the chair across from him. "Yeah. You’re, uh, the research… superhero… person?" He cringed inwardly at his inability to sound more intelligent.

You laughed, a soft, warm sound that pulled a smile from him before he even realized. "I guess that’s one way to put it. Thanks for meeting with me." You set your bag down and pulled out a small recorder, setting it between the two of you. He had been given the consent form beforehand, he had known that it was going to be recorded. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. He repeated it, liking the way it sounded on his lips.

"I know you probably don’t get a lot of requests like this,” you continued.

He snorted. "Yeah, not really the type that gets interviewed, but I figured Sam and Yelena didn’t give you too much grief, so…"

“They were great,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Sam was really thoughtful. He has some incredible insights about how the world perceives enhanced and enhanced-adjacent individuals. And Yelena…” You smiled, clearly holding back laughter. “She has a very direct way of answering questions.”

Bucky shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. That sounded exactly like Yelena.

There was a pause, not the awkward kind, but the kind where you looked at him in a way that made him feel like he was being truly seen. Like he was human. Not just as the guy with the metal arm or the assassin from his past, but as… more. It was disconcerting, but not in a bad way.

You finally broke the silence. “So, I was thinking we could start with a little bit of your history in World War II and move into what it’s been like for you since. Is that okay?”

He nodded, relaxing a little. “Yeah, sure.”

You hit the record button, and the interview began.

—

At first, Bucky gave the kind of answers he was used to giving. Short, factual. He explained his past, his ties to Hydra, his journey since. But as the interview went on, something shifted. You weren’t just asking questions to check a box—you were genuinely interested in him. You didn’t ask about the Winter Soldier like so many others had before. Instead, you asked about James Buchanan Barnes, the person. The man who fought alongside his best friend in the war, who now worked hard to make amends.

You had even done your research. You knew he was a YMCA welterweight champion back in the day, and though he was a teeny bit embarrassed, he answered your questions truthfully.

“What do you think people misunderstand the most about you?” you asked after a thoughtful pause.

That question caught him off guard. He blinked and sat back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the edge of the table. “I think people still see me as the Winter Soldier. They don’t see me as someone trying to move on from that.”

Your expression softened, your gaze holding a quiet understanding. “But you’re more than that, aren’t you?” you coaxed, careful not to put words in his mouth.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t know what to say. The way you said it—so gently, so assuredly—it was like you had seen past everything. All the damage, the guilt, the regrets… and still believed in who he was.

He glanced down, unsure how to respond. “I’d like to think so,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

“I think a lot of people do.” you said softly, your voice kind and warm.

His chest tightened. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him feel like he wasn’t defined by his past. You made him feel like he could be more.

Maybe that’s why, when the interview wrapped up and you turned off the recorder, he didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said, gathering your things but not quite standing yet. “You’ve been an open book, and I know it can’t be easy.”

“It’s not,” Bucky admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty. “But… you’re easy to talk to.” He winced at how desperately that must’ve sounded. Then, he saw the way your eyes lit up at the compliment, and for once, he didn’t regret his words.

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Well, I try to make my interviewees comfortable so they spill all their secrets.”

Bucky smirked, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “It worked.”

You laughed, standing up and sliding the recorder back into your bag. “I’ll try not to use my powers for evil.”

As you started to leave, something tugged at his heartstrings. He didn’t want you to walk out of his life like that. Not yet.

“Hey, uh,” he called out, rubbing the back of his neck, “if you ever need any more… info, or… whatever, for your research, feel free to, you know… stay in touch.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “I’d really like that.” You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. “Here, put your number in.”

He did as you asked, feeling strangely nervous as he handed the phone back to you. You smiled again, that warm, bright smile that calmed him down.

“I’ll be in touch,” you promised as you waved and walked out of the cafe.

For a long moment, Bucky sat there, staring at the door long after you’d left. He felt lighter, somehow. Like the weight of his sins didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

—

Over the next few weeks, Bucky found himself texting you far more than he expected. It started off simple—follow-up questions about his experience with the Avengers, a few casual remarks about Yelena’s boldness, Sam’s “Captain America speeches.”

He had been able to introduce you to Isaiah Bradley. He hesitated about that for a moment, but after the interview, Isaiah had called him, thanking the former assassin for introducing him to someone who truly cared. Someone who truly wanted to make a difference in the world.

You continued texting, but slowly, the texts turned more personal.

One evening, he was hanging out with Sam in his apartment, soda in hand, when he heard a familiar vibration of his phone. It was you.

You : What do you like to do in your free time, Bucky? Something other than saving the world, I mean.

Bucky : Well, I enjoy board games. I play monopoly with Sam and the others every other week on Saturdays.

You : Maybe I should join you guys sometime. I’ll warn you now—I’m competitive.

He had stared at that text longer than he’d admit, his heart doing strange somersaults in his chest.

Bucky : I don’t mind a challenge.

Bucky sat on the couch, phone in hand, staring at your latest text. He had been reading it over and over for the last five minutes, trying to muster the courage to respond. His stomach twisted with nerves.

Just then, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

“Why are you looking at your phone like you’re about to defuse a bomb?”

Bucky glanced up to see Sam back from the bathroom, standing in the doorway, a smirk already creeping across his face. He’d been too distracted to notice his return.

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered, quickly locking his phone and stuffing it into his pocket, as if he was naive enough to think that would stop Sam from prying.

“Let me guess,” Sam said, walking over with way too much interest. “She texted you.”

Bucky sighed, slumping in his seat. He knew there was no escape from Sam’s teasing. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam dropped onto the couch beside him, casually crossing his arms. “I’m not stupid. I can see you blushing every time she messages you.”

“I’m not blushing,” Bucky grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. Sam had been relentless—giving him a hard time ever since he’d found out about the texts that followed your interview. You had kept in contact with Sam when you interviewed him, too— you shared the odd how are you and clarifications for research, but not to the extent that Bucky had.

The second Bucky mentioned to him that you had been texting daily, he regretted it. He knew he never should have let him see even a hint of it.

Sam wasn’t letting it go. “What did she say this time? Oh, wait, let me guess—‘I had such a great time interviewing you, Bucky. Let’s hang out more, Bucky. You’re just so mysterious and handsome, Bucky,’” he teased, his voice high-pitched as he mimicked a lovesick version of you.

Bucky shot him a glare, rolling his eyes.

Sam just grinned. “Come on, man. Just tell me.”

Bucky hesitated, but then sighed in defeat, pulling his phone back out. “She might want to join our Monopoly night. She said she’s competitive.”

That got Sam’s attention. He raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Oh, so now she’s getting in on game night? Damn, Barnes, you're pulling all the stops.”

“It’s not like that,” Bucky repeated, but even he knew how weak, and untrue, it sounded this time.

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Oh, it’s exactly like that. She likes you, and you like her. I’ve been saying it for weeks now, but you’re still sitting here, all brooding and shy. Just ask her out!”

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “I don’t even know how.”

“You already talk to her all the time, right?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Just ask her if she wants to come to game night as your date.”

Bucky blinked. “A date?”

“You know, two people who like each other doing something fun together? It’s not complicated, Buck.”

He mulled over Sam’s words, the idea both exciting and terrifying. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but now that Sam had said it, it made sense. You had been texting him more often than seemed necessary for research, and there had definitely been a… connection. A spark.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look, man, I’ll help you out. We’ll frame it like she’s just coming to Monopoly night, We’ll invite Yelena and Happy, since she already knows them. and maybe Rhodey, Clint, and Scott, just to sweeten the deal. Make it less awkward. You’ll ask her to be your date. No pressure, just fun.”

Bucky frowned. “And if she says no?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She won’t. She’s already asking to hang out with you more. Besides, if she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t still be texting.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced, but Sam’s confidence was enough to give him the push he needed.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally, his voice a little rough. “But how do I ask?”

Sam grinned. “Easy. Call her, don’t just text. That way she knows you’re serious. Keep it casual, though. Say something like, ‘Hey, you still want to join Monopoly night? I was thinking… maybe we could make it a date?’”

Bucky stared at him, his expression blank. “You really think it’s that simple?”

“Yes,” Sam said with exasperation, pushing Bucky’s phone toward him. “Come on, man.”

With a deep breath, Bucky pulled up your contact details. Sam watched with a smug grin as Bucky hesitated for just a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. Then, with a sigh, Bucky pressed it, holding the phone to his ear as the line rang.

Sam gave him a thumbs-up, leaning back on the couch.

The line clicked, and your voice came through the speaker, light and warm.

“Hey, Bucky!”

Bucky felt his heart do that stupid flip again. He shot a glare at Sam, who was giving him a ridiculous “go on” motion, before speaking.

“Hey, I was just, uh, wondering if you still wanted to join us for Monopoly night? Sam, Yelena, and a few others are coming, but… I was thinking maybe you could, you know… come as my date?”

There was a pause on your end, and Bucky’s heart practically stopped. Maybe Sam had been wrong—maybe this was too soon. Then, your soft chuckle broke the silence.

“I’d love to,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “Are you sure you’re ready to lose?”

Bucky grinned, glancing at Sam, who was nodding with approval. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay,” you replied with a chuckle. “Saturday, right? I’ll bring snacks. What do you like?”

“Something sweet,” Bucky answered, feeling much more relaxed now that the hard part was over. “Sam loves cookies.”

“Got it,” you said, your tone light and playful. “See you Saturday, Bucky.”

He smiled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “See you then.”

As he hung up the phone, Sam slapped him on the back, his grin wide. “You’re welcome, Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe Sam had been right, after all.

-to be continued…

Part 2 is uploaded!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #Sebastian stan #Sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot

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lani-heart · 11 days ago

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|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> smut, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> Song Mingi x reader warning(s) -> smut, mdni. 18+ words -> 2.2k

abstract -> insecurties sometimes need to be faced

y/n’s perspective

Waking up in the middle of the night to Hongjoong’s screaming wasn’t what I expected to ever happen… Seonghwa and Yeosang? Maybe… but Hongjoong and Mingi? Not at all.

“Yah! Seriously you’ve woken everyone up” I heard Seonghwa say in a groggy voice. “You’ll wake up y/nnie if you continue… “ I heard Wooyoung say in a tired voice and saw him hug San… “Never mind you did wake her up,” Yeosang said as he approached me and kissed my forehead. “Ah- Sorry… Mingi is just acting different” he said and San laughed. “Are you scared of the overgrown wolf now?” San asked and Hongjoong growled at him.

“How difficult can he be? If anything you might’ve done something” Seonghwa said and he scoffed. “Mingi-ah!! Unlock–” “Go away!!” The wolf interrupted the tiger. “You’ve already woken–” “Shut up you stupid overgrown cat!!” he said and I was shocked at what was happening.

Yeosang laughed at the tiger’s expression of pure shock at the wolf hybrid’s behavior… and his comment towards him.

“Y/n, Mingi is being mean to the cats!” Wooyoung said as he sleepily wrapped his arms around me. “It’s unfair! It’s my room too!” Hongjoong yelled and kicked the door only to hear a growl shortly afterwards.

“Everyone just go to sleep… Hongjoong you can sleep in my room” I said, already tired and wanted to quickly go back to the warm bed. I was sleepy and didn’t pay attention to the other’s complaints. But luckily Seonghwa was left for damage control.

“Shut up all of you… Hongjoong will just have to take her bed tonight”

I woke up to a cuddly tiger. I smiled softly at how sweet he was. A major difference from when we first met.

I saw my door open slightly and saw familiar eyes. It suddenly swings open. “You’re awake!!” Wooyoung said loudly, waking up the tiger who groaned and hugged me tighter.

“Hey, let go of her!!” San said and the tiger scoffed. “I have breakfast all done so get up you lazy tiger!” Wooyoung said and I got the chance to brush my teeth and wash my face before going for breakfast.

“Did you sleep well?” Yeosang asked and I nodded. “I hope Hongjoong didn’t snore, '' Seonghwa said and Yeosang laughed. It was rare that the two got along outside of their room… instead, it's almost like they bully and tease each other to show how they care. It was weirdly toxic.

I noticed everyone here but Mingi.

“The wolf is still hogging up my room” Hongjoong angrily said while eating toast. “I’ll bring some food to him,” I said and Wooyoung didn’t let me.

“Whatever he’s dealing with is hybrid-related–” “He won’t hurt me” I cut him off and he looked away but I noticed the flushed cheeks he had.

“It might be his heat?”

mingi’s perspective

For some reason, Hongjoong’s presence annoyed me. I felt angry. No… needy? I didn’t know.

I heard a knock and I was about to yell at them before I recognized the sweet scent.

No… I can never be angry at her.

“Mingi are you okay?” she asked but I didn’t know what to say…

I unlocked the door silently when she realized and entered, only making her scent stronger. It made me… even more hungry for her.

“There's a suspicion you’re in heat,” she said and I groaned. I hated my heat… the she-devil would always trap me in the closet until it ended. The thing with hearts is that I couldn’t ever get off by myself… so when the time came that my heart or even Yunho’s came we’d admit each other to heat hotels. It was uncomfortable.

I nodded while looking away from her.

“You can go to a heat hotel or suppressants?” I asked and I wondered if I should go for the option most familiar to me.

Heat Hotels weren’t the worst… Most of the time it was actually helpful.

“You might wanna get advice from a hybrid though not me”

“Hongjoong is the only one to go to the hotel,” San told me while the rest seemed to agree. “Yeosang, did you go to one?” Seonghwa asked while the doberman scoffed. “No, I didn’t! I wouldn’t waste my time with some stupid run-down hotel” he growled out.

I highly doubt he went to one with his experience.

“It was only Hongjoong '' Seonghwa said while the orange tiger seemed uninterested in talking about his experience. “Oh and threatened his heat partner and almost had y/n under a lawsuit,” Yeosang said and I sighed. “Just ask her for help,” San noted and I was shocked they were allowing it so easy.

The tigers told me how the two canine hybrids completely shut them out until circumstances happened.

“You won’t be satisfied if you go to a hot hotel. Not with the boner you had when you left your room with y/n '' Yeosang teased and I growled softly.

“Have you ever even had sex Mingi?” Seonghwa asked and I nodded. “I’ve gone to heat hotels before” I confessed and they sighed.

“Even if you do decide on a heat hotel they’ll just comment on how you’re a pet. Hybrids seem to hate or pity ‘collectibles’ and just taunt you the entire time” Hongjoong said and I wondered if that's how it was.

Was it really that different now that I had a fancy collar?

“What if you just go there without a collar?” Wooyoung asked and they shook their heads. “They have a collar policy,” I said.

“I think if he doesn’t want to mate with y/n let him go and see if he survives longer than Hongjoong,” Seonghwa teased but I think it was the best idea.

She wouldn’t want me as a mate anyway. Who would?

“If you feel uncomfortable, have the staff call me okay?” she asked and I nodded.

They’re pairing me off with another dog hybrid. It wasn’t until I got into the room that I saw what breed… a golden retriever.

“Hi!” she said with a big smile and her tail wagging. The staff left me with her and I felt nothing but sadness. I missed Yunho.

“You’re a lot bigger than I thought when they told me you were a wolf-runt hybrid,” she said and I tried not to let that offend me. It was normal for hybrids to point out if they were runts.

“You smell like a lot of hybrids though,” she said and I nodded. “I live with five other hybrids,” I said and she looked shocked. “I’m the only one. My owner is nice but she wants to get another hybrid” she pouted and I sighed. Some owners may show favoritism if they do get multiple hybrids.

“What is it like?” she asked and I laughed. “Chaotic” I answered and she nodded. She looked up at me with big doe eyes that I almost mistook her for a deer hybrid.

“You wanna start?”

y/n’s perspective

“He’s been gone for four days” Wooyoung whined about missing the wolf hybrid. “I’m surprised how long he’s staying there for,” Hongjoong said and I had to agree.

Mingi was shy and sweet. I didn’t expect him to last long at a Hyatt hotel.

“Angel, there's a new perfume I want!” Yeosang said and I smiled. “Oh?” I said and he nodded. “It's only available for pick up in the store” he pouted and I nodded.

I was already ready and Wooyoung wanted to tag along.

The three of us went to pick up his perfume and a second one for Seonghwa who would probably steal Yeosang’s if we didn’t.

We were picking up some food when I got a call about the heat hotel.

“I don’t wanna go near there” “Me either!” the two hybrids said and I sighed. “Please it’ll be quick to pick up Mingi,” I said and they agreed eventually.

We got near the hotel when Yeosang was hugging my arm. “Hello, the hybrid paired up with Mingi was picked up early. We wanted to know if you would like a refund for the rest of the days you paid or pair him up with someone new?” she asked and I looked at Mingi who shook his head.

“I’ll take him now,” I said as she handed me the refund and a paper of the other hybrid’s information. She was a golden retriever hybrid, a purebred too.

“That's such a disgusting place,” Yeosang said and I noticed how quiet Mingi is. I was getting worried… was he okay? Hongjoong was quite like this too when he came to the heat-hotel but that's because of his hatred of how he was called a collectible… was Mingi okay?

We got home and he was still a bit off… was it something that happened?

I followed Mingi to his room when he must've noticed me. He didn’t say anything and waited for me.

“Are you okay?” I asked and he nodded. “Just… pent up?” he said in a low voice, almost not sure of himself… “Did something happen–” “She reminded me of Yunho… She was a golden retriever hybrid. I guess I was a little angry? I was too rough with her…” he confessed and I kneeled.

Lately, Kun has been telling me that he’s been a little off when mentioning Yunho. Almost territorial against the dog hybrid who he hasn't seen.

“Is your heat done?” I asked and he shook his head. “It's okay… I only have a few more days left” he said and I shook my head.

“I could help?” He looked at me confused. “If that makes you uncomfortable I have heat suppressant–” “Please help me”

no one’s perspective

Mingi almost didn’t know what he was doing. He had very little experience with his heats… he wasn't a virgin but he was also inexperienced… and it's not like you were any better.

“I don’t want to hurt you like I did her” he muttered… “You won’t… you must’ve been remembering Yunho huh?” you reassured and he nodded.

“This is my home… I finally have something of my own that I don’t share with him” he confessed his wish and you gave him a soft smile “We’ll always be your family,”

That must’ve comforted him… and probably gave him the courage to kiss you gently, almost too scared to go rough… It was an intimate and almost desperate kiss.

He then started kissing you on your jaw and neck feeling him suck on your skin making marks of his that will surely tick off the others. Especially Yeosang and Hongjoong…

Desperate for it to escalate you grabbed his hands to make him a little more comfortable and placed them on your chest as he started to massage your chest with each one getting rougher.

He then ripped the shirt you had on to start marking your skin lower now. Sucking and teasing your chest as he got more rough.

He looked at you with pleading eyes when his hands found your waist and softly tugged on the pants you were wearing. You nod silently and he takes them off along with your panties.

He circled your clit with his hands before thrusting his fingers into you. Mingi was very tall and his fingers were reaching places that fingers hadn't found before. It was all new territory as he would be the biggest one you’d take out of all your hybrids.

At some point the pleasure was too much you couldn’t hold in the whimpers and moans that you let out while he decided to now stretch you and prepare you for his size. “Give me one… just one before I go inside you please, pup,” he had pleaded as you felt your body snap and you listen to him cumming once now by his fingers. Coming off that high you didn’t notice the shuffling as he now lined himself up to your entrance even tapping your clit with his tip. He grabbed your thighs and looked at you silently seeing if I was okay. In which you’d give him a soft smile that would only fuel his head to get rough with you and corrupt you.

You couldn’t have suspected his size would hurt and stretched you open to the point that it would feel like San taking your virginity all over again.

“I’m sorry just a little more please?” he’d apologize and soon beg breathlessly as he bottomed out. He moved to kiss away the tears that fell down your cheeks even licking them up to taste the salty liquid.

“We can stop–” you shook my head and even gripped his arm tighter so he didn’t move. “You’re just so big… I need to get used to it” you whined out and he nodded as he kissed you in hopes to distract you from the burning sensation whilst he was inside you.

As he stayed still you began to grow frustrated wanting him to move. Whining out “Mingi” he chuckled softly. You were okay but it only irritated you and made you more impatient. He was going painfully slow… and you wanted more.

“Please Mingi, faster” you pleaded and he nodded as he started going faster. Hybrids were more sensitive during heats but especially now since Mingi has a few days with his heat he started getting desperate and you forgot a crucial detail.

Mingi was a canine hybrid.

“I’m sorry pup… you can handle it it’ll be okay” he said as he continued giving me sweet praises as he knotted me. Which gave you a delicious type pain as he grew in size.

“Shhh… you said you’d help me right? Just a little more”

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harrysfolklore · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! Can I have a little bit of a headcanon of piastri!sister in a super uncomfortable situation like in a club or something where a past fling probably starts irritating her and Carlos is like a knight in shining armour (but they’re not dating) and he teases her about it but also worried about her

KEEP THEM COMING !!!

read little bitch here

Carlos didn't want to be at this club. The music was too loud, the air too thick with sweat and perfume. But Lando had insisted, saying they needed to blow off steam after the race.His eyes scanned the crowded room, more out of habit than interest.

That's when he saw her.

YN was at the bar, alone, idly stirring a cocktail. Even in the chaotic atmosphere of the club, she stood out. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a sleek black dress that hugged her curves. Carlos felt his breath catch in his throat.

He'd always found YN attractive, of course. It was an objective fact, like acknowledging that the sky was blue. But he'd buried that awareness under layers of annoyance and rivalry. She was Oscar's sister, a constant annoyance in his side in the paddock. Their interactions were a mess of arguments and sarcastic jabs.

And yet, watching her now, Carlos felt a pull he couldn't quite explain.

He was about to look away when he noticed a guy approaching YN. Tall, handsome in a generic way, with an easy smile that spoke of confidence. Something twisted in Carlos's gut as he watched the man lean in close to YN, placing a hand on the small of her back.

Carlos told himself the feeling was just protectiveness. YN was part of the F1 family, after all. It was natural to feel concerned for her. It had nothing to do with the way his fists clenched when the guy's hand brushed YN's arm, or how his jaw tightened as he watched them talk.

He should look away. This wasn't any of his business. YN was more than capable of handling herself.

But as he continued to watch, Carlos noticed a change in YN's body language. Her smile became fixed, her shoulders tensing. She shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between herself and the man, but he just moved closer.

Carlos felt a surge of anger. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was moving through the crowd, his eyes fixed on YN. As he got closer, he could hear snippets of their conversation over the music.

"Come on, YN," the guy was saying, his hand now on the small of her back. "For old times' sake."

"I told you, Jake, I'm not interested," YN replied, trying to step away.

Carlos reached them just as Jake grabbed YN's wrist. Without thinking, acting purely on instinct, Carlos slipped his arm around YN's waist, pulling her close.

"There you are, hermosa," he said loudly, making sure Jake could hear him over the music. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

As YN's eyes met his, wide with surprise but also relief, Carlos felt a rush of emotions he wasn't prepared for. Protectiveness, yes, but also something warmer that felt dangerously close to affection. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the task at hand: getting YN away from this Jake character.

"Carlos! I was just... catching up with an old friend."

Carlos turned to Jake, fixing him with a cold stare. "And who might you be?"

Jake looked between them, confusion and annoyance warring on his face. "I'm Jake. YN and I used to date."

"Used to," Carlos emphasized, tightening his grip on YN's waist. "Past tense. Now, if you'll excuse us..."

He guided YN away from the bar, not stopping until they reached a quieter corner of the club. As soon as they were alone, Carlos dropped his arm from her waist, immediately missing the warmth of her body against his.

"You okay?" he asked, genuine concern coloring his voice.

YN nodded, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jake's just... persistent."

Carlos couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. "So, do you often need knights in shining armor to rescue you from clingy exes?"

YN rolled her eyes, but he could see the hint of a smile on her lips. "Shut up, Sainz. I had it under control."

"Of course you did," he teased. "That's why you looked so comfortable back there."

She punched his arm lightly. "I didn't ask for your help, you know."

"And yet, here I am, your fake boyfriend for the evening."

YN snorted. "Please. As if I'd ever date you for real."

Carlos clutched his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me, Piastri. I'll have you know I'm quite the catch."

"In your dreams, little bitch," she retorted, but there was no real heat in her words.

Carlos looked at her then, really looked at her. The club lights played across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the spark in her eyes. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like if he could pull her close and...

He shook his head, banishing the thought. This was YN, his rival's sister, the bane of his existence in the paddock. They argued more than they talked. It would never work.

"Well," Carlos said, forcing lightness into his tone, "since I've saved you from the big bad ex, I suppose my work here is done. Try not to get into any more trouble, okay? I can't always be around to play hero."

YN rolled her eyes again, but her smile was genuine this time. "I think I can manage. But... thanks, Carlos. Really."

He nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. "Anytime, YN. I mean, not anytime. This isn't going to be a regular thing. The fake boyfriend thing, I mean. Because that would be..."

"Ridiculous?" YN supplied.

"Exactly," Carlos agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Completely ridiculous."

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfiction #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz smau #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #cs55 x reader #carlos sainz imagine #little bitch #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz blurb

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incognit0slut · 5 months ago

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene II: The Dangerous Game)

An unexpected tension rises between you as Spencer dangerously blurs the line of your fake relationship.

Part warning: Sexual tension. Lots of it. And... body description? Basically Spencer gets a little handsy and has a boner😭 Words: 2.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You should’ve known this would happen. Deep down, given the lie you were maintaining, you had suspected that you'd end up sharing a room together. You were dragging your suitcase behind you—because a duffel bag wasn’t enough for all your stuff despite staying just one night—when Penelope pulled you away from the group.

“You and lover boy are staying in the room on the second floor, the one on the corner left.”

You frowned, your eyes darting between Penelope and Spencer, who was grabbing his bag from the car. “I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you reasoned, trying to come up with an excuse. “I mean… Reid and I just started dating, we haven’t… you know.”

Penelope flashed you a smile. "Then maybe it's the perfect time to… you know.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks. "Pen, no, we should probably—"

She cut you off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It’s just for one night. Besides, you know it’s the best room here—great view, lots of space. It would be a waste for it not to be enjoyed by the new couple."

You narrowed your eyes on her.

“It’s also the only room with a lock.”

You made a face. The thought of sharing a room with Spencer, especially one with a lock, sent a wave of anxiety through you. Memories of that night flooded your mind, making the situation feel even more daunting. You felt your cheeks flush again, your heart pounding faster. It took every ounce of your self-control to smooth your expression back into something neutral.

"Alright," you said, forcing a smile. “Fine.”

Penelope beamed, clearly pleased with herself. "Great!” She gushed, pulling her suitcase. “Because there are no available rooms left.”

You sighed inwardly, realizing there was no way out of this. You watched her enter the house, leaving you to gather your thoughts alone. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe sharing a room with Spencer would be manageable.

After all, it was just one night. You had handled more complicated scenarios in your line of work, hadn’t you? You had faced near-death experiences. If you could negotiate with armed suspects, how hard could one evening of pretend romance be?

Extremely hard, you realized, because when Spencer slowly approached you, all you wanted was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“What?” he asked, probably noticing the look of sheer panic on your face.

You tried to find the proper way to say it, searching for words that might soften the blow. But there was no other way than to tell it how it was.

“We’re... we’re sharing a room,” you finally managed to say.

There was a pause, and then there it was, the elephant in the room. But you both avoided acknowledging it directly, as you always did, so he simply cleared his throat and looked away.

“Okay,” Spencer said quietly, his eyes fixed on some distant point.

“Okay?” You echoed. “You’re really okay with this?”

He glanced back at you. “Look, weren’t you the one who wanted to make this convincing? Sharing a room might help with that.”

You sighed, knowing he was right but still feeling the weight of the situation. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just...”

“It’s just one night,” he snapped. “We’ll manage.”

Oh, wow, he was going to be a bitch about it.

His tone was sharp, dismissive, and it grated on your nerves. This whole situation was already uncomfortable, and his attitude was only making it worse. The last thing you needed was him to act like this was some minor inconvenience when it felt like so much more. You threw a glare at him.

“Fine,” you shot back. “But you’re taking the floor.”

He didn’t respond, he just kept looking at you with that same unreadable expression. His silence was infuriating. It was as if he couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge your frustration, and that only fueled your anger more. Without another word, you stormed away, seething, dragging your suitcase as you left him standing alone in the driveway.

Maybe he shouldn't have snapped at you. Spencer knew it wasn't fair to take his frustration out on you, especially when you were both stuck in the same awkward predicament. But it was hard to act as if everything was fine when the reality of your situation weighed so heavily on his mind.

Sometimes he wished he wasn’t wired like this. He knew he had the tendency to overthink, to let anxiety get the better of him, or to struggle with situations that required emotional skill. He could handle high-pressure situations in the field, but dealing with personal relationships was hard for him. It was never his intention to push people away when he felt overwhelmed, but it happened way too often, and today was no exception.

He also knew he needed to work on that. But to do so, it required him to confront his traumas, and that was the last thing he wanted to face. So instead, he pulled his sunglasses down and opened his book because nothing screams a good coping mechanism like reading fiction to avoid reality.

And his reality now was you.

“What are you doing?”

He peered over his glasses and saw Derek hovering above him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re brooding.”

“I’m reading.”

“I can see that,” Derek said as he settled on the lounge chair beside him. “What I meant was, what are you doing out here alone? Where’s your girlfriend?”

Spencer had asked himself the same question. You weren’t there when he dropped his bag in your shared room, you were also missing during lunch, and when he realized that you were avoiding him on purpose, he decided to change into more comfortable clothes and head out to the pool.

“She’s around,” Spencer replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Needed some alone time, I guess.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise already? You two just started dating.”

“It’s not that. We’re just…” He thought of a way to explain the situation without giving too much details. “We’re adjusting to the whole team knowing about us. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“You’re both overthinkers, that’s the problem. Just relax and enjoy the weekend,” Derek suggested, leaning back in his chair before giving him a pointed look. “And maybe try spending some time with her instead of hiding behind that book.”

“I’m not hiding,” Spencer shot back without looking up from the pages.

“Sure you’re not,” Derek replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just saying, kid, you’re here to have fun. Maybe try doing that with your girlfriend.”

He turned a page over, not saying a word. When Derek realized he was purposely ignoring him, he leaned closer.

"Let me give you some advice about women."

Spencer wrinkled his nose, already dreading what was coming. "I’m not sure I want to listen to this."

"Trust me, you do," Derek insisted. "First off, this," he said, pausing for emphasis before pointing his finger toward Spencer’s book. "Is not cute."

Spencer flipped over his book, revealing the cover with its title printed in bold letters. In Cold Blood. "Of course not. It's a detailed account of the 1959 murders in—hey!"

Before he could continue, Derek reached out and plucked the book from his hands. "Not this. You," he said, pointing the book at him. "No wonder she's off doing her own thing while you're glued to this."

Spencer furrowed his brow. "She's the one who—"

"No. No." Derek placed the thick paperback down on the small table between them. "Second piece of advice about women, they're always right. Or, at least, they think they are, and sometimes it's easier and wiser just to go along with that."

"That's hardly practical advice."

Derek laughed, leaning back comfortably. "You don't have to agree with everything, but showing that you value her perspective can go a long way."

"She’d be easier to deal with if she wasn’t so stubborn.”

"Reid, do you even hear yourself? You sound like you don't even like her."

Spencer paused, an uncomfortable realization dawning on him. He was supposed to be playing the part of a devoted boyfriend, not a grumpy one. He was supposed to keep up the act.

"Fine," he sighed reluctantly. "What should I do then?"

"Be present. Stop isolating yourself and go talk to her."

"I don't even know where she is."

“Then go find her," Derek said matter-of-factly, his eyes drifting across the pool. He nodded his head. "Speak of the devil.”

Spencer turned in the direction Derek pointed, pushing his sunglasses up with a finger as they slid down his nose.

Then he froze. His brain promptly shut down as if someone had flipped a switch. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, his jaw slacking open, his mind startlingly blank as he watched you step out of the house wearing what he assumed was a swimsuit. The top had straps that crisscrossed in a way that seemed overly complicated to him, and the bottoms were minimal, barely covering your skin.

Your swimsuit left very little to the imagination and he found himself momentarily stunned. He felt an unexpected tightness in his throat and a sudden warmth pooling in his chest. The heat surged through his body before it focused right between his legs, and he forced himself to clench his thighs together as he snapped his mouth shut.

Derek cleared his throat beside him.

"I guess you do like her," he teased, picking up the book from the table before dropping it onto Spencer's lap. "You might want to hide that."

Spencer’s face turned a deep shade of red as he quickly tried to adjust the book to cover himself better. His mortification grew as he noticed you standing close by, your attention directed towards Derek.

"Hey Morgan, can I steal my boyfriend for a sec?" you asked, smiling a little too sweet.

"He's all yours, pretty girl," Derek replied with a grin, standing up before he left you two alone. When he was out of earshot, you sat on the chair he had occupied.

"We've been away from each other far too long," you commented, your voice hushed. "It's not looking good for us."

Spencer nodded absently, trying to focus on your words. But his attention was too focused on the bottle of sunscreen in your hand.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He shook his head.

“You have," you pointed out, popping open the cap. "Well, maybe I have too, but that’s not the point."

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes following the movements of your hands as you squeezed some sunscreen onto your palm.

"We need to do something," you continued. Your palms rubbed the lotion together at the same time his tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously. "If we keep avoiding each other, they’ll start to suspect us."

He nodded again, his mind half on your words and half on the way the sunscreen glistened on your skin as you started applying it to your arms. "You're right," he admitted, forcing himself to concentrate. "We need to be more convincing."

"Exactly," you pressed, unaware of his growing distraction. "We should start doing things that couples do. Spend time together, be seen together."

"Yeah," he echoed, his gaze drifting as you moved to apply sunscreen to your shoulders. “Together.”

"And we should show more affection," you added, and his breathing hitched slightly when your hands moved to apply sunscreen across your chest, fingers brushing subtly along the upper swell of your breasts. It was a casual motion for you, but for him, it was torture. His eyes followed the path of your hands, his mind struggling to stay focused on anything else.

"And I know you don’t like holding hands, or any type of PDA for the matter," you continued, turning slightly, giving him a clearer view of your chest. "But I think it's necessary. It makes this whole thing look real.”

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, his focus slipping again as your hand moved lower, smoothing lotion over your stomach and inching toward your hips. His throat felt dry, and he unconsciously pressed the book harder against his lap.

“Really? You’re okay with that?”

He blinked, forcibly pulling his eyes up to meet yours, hoping you were oblivious of where his gaze had lingered behind his shades.

“Yes." He winced when his voice came out high-pitched and strained. He cleared his throat, and repeated in a more controlled voice, “Yes.”

“Huh.”

He shifted nervously. “What?”

“Nothing.” You looked away, now focusing on your legs. “I just didn’t expect you to agree.”

He hadn’t planned to, but it was hard to think straight when he was too focused on the way you were leaning down, smoothing the lotion over your thighs. The angle gave him a clear view of your breasts peeking out from your top, the thin fabric barely containing them, and he had to bite his lip to suppress a moan.

“Great, they’re still staring at us,” you noted with a quick glance over your shoulder. You handed him the bottle of sunscreen. “Here, help me put it on my back.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t think—“

But you were already laying down on your stomach on the lounge chair, pushing your hair to the side. “Come on, it’ll look more natural if you help me.”

Maybe you were right, maybe this was necessary, but he couldn’t help recalling the last time he had his hands on you and how that night had turned out. But he convinced himself that this was different. You both were out in the open and surrounded by your friends, so nothing could go wrong.

Nothing serious, anyway.

He moved to your chair while keeping his book securely on his lap, and you caught sight of his awkward movements. “You know you could just put the book down.”

“No, I… I think I’ll keep it with me.”

“You must really like that book.”

He forced a small laugh, trying to appear casual. “Yeah, it’s, uh, a good read.”

You frowned, clearly not buying it but choosing not to push further. He then took a deep breath and poured some sunscreen into his hands. He moved closer, the book still awkwardly balanced on his lap, and slowly placed his hands on your back.

Your skin was warm, just like how he had imagined it. Soft and smooth under his fingertips. He started at your shoulders, working his way down with slow, careful motions. He could feel the tension in his body as he focused on you, acutely aware of every inch of skin under his fingers.

You had grown quiet, and Spencer noticed the subtle change in your breathing—how it had deepened and slowed. Your usual witty remarks were replaced by a tense silence that seemed to hum with something neither of you had expected to surface. He felt your muscles relax under his touch, and as he reached the lower part of your back, he paused, unsure.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “You can go lower... if you need to.”

He nodded slightly, though you couldn’t see it, and shifted his position. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the subtle shifts of your body as you adjusted to his touch. Then his hands slipped a bit further down, his fingers brushing the top of your swimsuit line.

“Let me know if I need to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and almost hesitant.

You didn’t respond immediately, and he took your silence as permission to continue. His pulse quickened as he realized the line he was crossing. This was already dangerous territory, but he couldn’t help it. Not when he was this close to feeling your soft flesh beneath his fingertips. Not when the rush of blood to his groin was making him lose all sense of control.

He carefully slipped his fingers just under your swimsuit. When you made no move to stop him, his fingers dipped dangerously lower, his gaze intently fixed on your face. He observed your mouth part slightly, eyes closed and brows knitted together in a mix of surprise and something else he couldn't quite place.

He was so focused on your expression, the way your body responded to his hands, that he nearly missed the soft, almost breathless sigh that escaped your lips. The sound was unmistakably intimate, downright sinful and he immediately stopped. His hands hovered just above your skin as you quickly opened your eyes, realization dawning on both of you.

"I-I'm sorry, I—" he started, pulling his hands back, the book almost falling from his lap.

"No, it's... it's okay," you said quickly, sitting up and adjusting your swimsuit, a flush creeping up your neck. “I… uh...”

You looked at each other, silent for a heartbeat. Then you both began to speak at the same time.

“I’m gonna—”

“I should probably—”

You cleared your throat, beginning to stand up. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Do you want anything?”

Spencer shook his head, a tight smile briefly crossing his face. “No, I, uh, I’m good. Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence before you finally snapped. You quickly turned and hurried away, leaving Spencer to himself as he sat there, his body betraying a level of sexual frustration that was both inconvenient and embarrassing. The bulge in his pants was almost painfully obvious at that point, forcing him to adjust the book on his lap with a grimace.

His eyes involuntarily flickered back to you, only to regret it instantly as he caught a glimpse of your ass peeking from the bottom of your swimsuit. He let out a sigh. He might actually need a cold drink after all, or better yet, a whole bucket of ice.

#much ado about nothing #gifwriting #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction

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ghostboneswrites2 · 5 months ago

Text

Crush

This one is for the sensitive girlies with emotional regulation issues that find themselves hopelessly attracted to emotionally unavailable men. (Aka me) Idk how I feel about it tbh. We’ll see.

Summary: While on a Rick-ordered fishing trip with Daryl, things are tense and uncomfortable. Emotions run high, things are said. (Prison Era)

Warnings: fem!reader / age gap (reader is in her early-mid 20s) / swearing / dramatic and angsty / mean!Daryl

Masterlist // Taglist

Seductive Summer - D.D. Fic Challenge

Dividers by sister-lucifer

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you licked your lips, mouth dry from the hot sun. You blinked, eyes fixated on rough hands and bulging muscles as the thin fabric of a black button-up struggled to contain their mass. He moved with precision, callouses delicately threading the line through the pretentiously small hole of the fishing hook.

“Ya gonna help or sit there lickin’ your lips like a bitch in heat?” Daryl finally snapped, growing tired of the sensation of lustful eyes boring into him. In a feeble attempt to mask your shame, you rolled your eyes and huffed, annoyedly picking up a hook to thread your own line through.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence. If anything, it was the norm. Daryl, the handsome but brooding archer, simply trying to complete whatever tasks had been delegated to him on any given day, while the young twenty-something years old Y/N gawks at his physique. It got under his skin, to say the least. He was a man of responsibility, and he found his inner workings far too complex for some little girl with a childish crush to ever understand.

He’d allow it for some time — the stares, the gnawing of your lips, the way you tended to linger around wherever he went — and then the flattery would wear off quickly, and he’d be sure to make it known. It wasn’t like it was a secret that you adored him. He knew it, you knew it, everyone did. You could barely keep your eyes off him from the moment you met him.

Still, despite the judgmental onlookers and his not-so-subtle lack of fondness for you, you just couldn’t help your thirst. To put it simply, you were down bad.

When Daryl had finished his half of the lines he moved on to fashioning small fish traps to place in the stream. He noticed you seemed lost in thought, attention set on the task at hand for once, instead of his big arms and broad chest, or the way his sweat always perfectly follows the framework of his—

“Ya draggin’ your ass on purpose?” He asked, breaking you free from your thoughts.

“I’ll finish when I finish.” You fired back.

That was another thing that irked him to his core. You were so childish. Any hint of criticism or expression of his discomfort always resulted in you sulking or catching an attitude. He didn’t have time to coddle your feelings.

He shrugged you off and focused on nestling the first trap strategically between some stones. As he worked his way down to the last trap, he wondered to himself why Rick always sent you out to fish with him. As previously mentioned, everyone knew how you felt about Daryl, including Rick. Most people also knew that the feeling was not mutual, and in fact, there might have even been some resentment on Daryl’s end.

Truth be told, Daryl didn’t exactly know why it was such an issue. Aside from your youth, which he felt he did not share, you were fairly pleasant in the beginning. Your sweet grin and generous nature weren’t exactly unwelcome at first. It wasn’t until your efforts became too blatant that he felt himself physically recoil at the sound of your voice. As soon as he noticed that people were catching on, watching in awe every time you’d approach him with some fresh water or a snack, a flip switched in his mind. You were no longer a lovely addition to his daily proceedings, but a nuisance to his inner peace.

That was when you changed, too. You noticed the contrast in behavior immediately. It was a talent of yours — or maybe a curse — to be so perceptive. You’d been that way your whole life. Always walking on eggshells, analyzing every word spoken or facial expression made.

When Daryl’s friendliness transformed into indifference, you found yourself trying harder and harder, only to feel more and more disappointment with each failed attempt at gaining his affections. You frequently scolded yourself for the pathetic behavior, which was what you were doing while you slowly threaded fishing lines through the hooks. Any woman with respect for herself would have abandoned ship at the first signs of angry seas, but you were the kind of captain that preferred to drown with her vessel.

Soon enough you’d finished with your hooks and Daryl had placed the last trap. With haste, you both worked to tie worms to the hooks and cast the lines, hoping by this time tomorrow to be returning to camp with a fish dinner. The stream was half a days hike east of the prison, so usually teams of two would take a two or three day ‘vacation’, as Glenn and Maggie would call it, and bring back as much fish as they could.

Once all eight lines were cast, you planted your makeshift rods in the dirt and got to work building a campfire while Daryl hurried to try and get a few squirrels to eat. At least, that was his excuse. In reality, Carol had packed enough food for the both of you. He just wanted to get away.

By nightfall, he was back, cleaning a raccoon and preparing it for the fire. You already had the tent pitched and water boiling to drink, so you were just relaxing with you feet in the cold creek.

Daryl was nice enough to let you know when the raccoon was ready, so you ate at the fire with him in silence.

“I’ll take watch tonight.” Daryl announced as he shoveled the last piece of meat into his mouth.

“You take watch every time.” You pointed out. It was true, he always kept watch on fishing trips.

“What, ya wanna stay up all night? Be my guest.” He retorted.

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying you don’t have to stay up every time.” You droned.

“Well it ain’t like ya ever volunteer.” He scoffed.

“Because you always do it first.”

“Yeah, ‘cause ya never speak up the whole day we’re workin’.” He argued.

“Okay well I’m volunteering now.”

“Well, forget it, ‘cause I already said I’d do it.”

“Fine.” You shrugged.

With a huff, you pushed yourself off the ground, swiping dry leaves from your jeans as you marched over to the tent to retrieve a sleeping bag for Daryl. You dropped it on the ground beside him. It landed with a soft thud.

“The hell’s that for?” He asked.

“Use it or don’t. I don’t care. Carol packed it for you.” You said bitterly.

You retired to the tent after that, working on taking your gun apart and putting it back together for practice. When you grew tired of that, you dug in your bag for a cigarette and stealthily unzipped your tent, scanning the coast for any signs of Daryl and his deep scowl that he seemingly reserved for you only. The fire had died down to smoky ember, but you could just barely make out the stillness in the dark. Nothing was moving, which meant Daryl had probably stalked off somewhere, and you could be alone.

You never really liked being alone, but at least you were free to be yourself, unperceived by others.

You found yourself a nice stump to sit on before you lit the cigarette, savoring the first drag before slowly exhaling.

“That best not be one of mine.” A husky voice startled you from the dark. Your attention snapped toward the trees as his looming figure emerged from the shadows. You rolled your eyes and turned away again.

“You mean the stale ones you lifted off a rotting body? No thanks.” You snarked.

“Whatever.” He tutted, twitching his neck to flip some hair out of his eyes. You could hear his footsteps fading away behind you as you tried to enjoy your smoke without his miserable aura around to cloud up the fresh air. To your surprise, he returned moments later with a cigarette of his own. He leaned back against a tree across from you, sliding down until his ass hit the ground. His face illuminated behind the flame as he flicked his zippo open. Subtly, you watched while the shadows danced across his chiseled features as he guided the tip of his cigarette into the flame with his lips.

With a metallic click, the lighter flipped shut and he was shrouded in darkness once more. Your eyes thoughtlessly followed the small red orb of his cherry as he pulled on his cigarette and dropped his hands back into his lap. He didn’t say anything, and it was a tad too dark to really be able to tell, but you knew he was watching you, just as you were watching him. The minutes ticked by as your cigarette faded to ash. Just as you leaned down to snuff the butt in the dirt, he cleared his throat.

“‘M gon’ tell Rick not to send ya out here with me no more.” He informed you.

“Why?” You asked defensively.

“‘Cause you’re too slow. I’ll get more done with someone else.” He explained.

“Like who?” You insisted.

“Like someone who ain’t so distracted.” He sighed with exasperation. He didn’t really even know why he told you that. He was considering telling Rick not to send you with him anymore, but he hadn’t really decided one way or another yet. He guessed he just had to cause tension to keep himself from staring at you too long.

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “That’s why.”

“Well, why the hell else would it be?” He snapped.

“You just don’t wanna be around me.” You mumbled.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind it if you’d act like a fuckin’ adult!” He raised his voice now, and you regretted saying anything. He could sense you shrinking back from his harsh tone, which only angered him more. “All ya do is stare at me all fuckin’ day and pout like a schoolgirl when ya don’t get your way!”

Tears welled at the rim of your eyes, sniffling as you swallowed a lump in your throat. You hated being yelled at, being cornered, being made to feel like a vulnerable child. You hated that he could affect you that way.

Quickly, the pain and anxiety melted away. You began to feel angry. Enraged, even, at the fact that he could treat you so harshly. What had you done to deserve that? Why did he think it was okay to be so cruel?

A rush of adrenaline washed over you as you abruptly stood to your feet, trembling as your emotions overcame you.

“Excuse me for trying! For being kind! For putting up with your piss-poor attitude and still thinking the fucking world of you! All I do is try to treat you the way I wish someone would treat me! No matter how fucking awful you are to me!” You shouted, bitter and full of resentment.

“So why the hell do ya still try?!” He shouted back, pushing himself off the ground and towering over you. In the dark, your most visible feature was your big wet eyes glistening in the natural light of the moon. His eyes flickered between them, somewhat intimidating by how expressive they were. A man like him spent his whole life perfecting his mask, hiding his true feelings from the world, protecting them beneath the surface of his hardened shell.

“Because I love, Daryl!” You shrieked, voice coarse from strain. “I love. I have so much love to give and nowhere to fucking put it! And — and I see you and I see a man who’s never felt love and I—“ You paused to let out a sob and catch your breath. “Because for whatever reason, I saw you and decided you were the one that I needed to love and that doing so would make everything else make sense.”

Daryl seemed taken aback by your confession. He didn’t know how to process any of it, so he instead decided to push you away even more.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ love, alright?” He spat, emphasizing the word love as if the word disgusted him. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

His words stung as they approached you from gritted teeth. The blow was harsh enough o knock you down from your rage-high.

“Well…” You croaked, sniffling as you wiped remnants of fresh tears from your cheeks. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself at a loss of words. Maybe there was nothing else to say. “Glad we cleared things up, then.”

You spent the night silent in the tent, tears spinning down your flushed cheeks as you stared blankly at the worn fabric above you. Eventually you fell asleep, but you got little rest. Daryl gathered all the fish the next morning while you tore down the campsite. The hike back home was spent feet apart, both of you ensuring to keep your distance. Your stoic expressions didn’t go unnoticed upon returning to the prison, but luckily nobody pried. Carol, Maggie, and Beth cooked up the fish and some fresh garden veggies while you snuck off to shower and Daryl disappeared to wherever.

You skipped dinner, hiding away in your cell with a sheet hung up for privacy. You actually fell asleep fairly quick, exhausted from the vast range of emotions you experienced in such a short amount of time the night before.

Daryl, on the other hand, laid awake on his cot for a majority of the night. His mind’s eye repeated the events of the night prior, peppered with correlated instances from times passed. Carol had told him once that he was too hard on you, that you were just searching for anything that would make you feel good in such a rotten world. She was right, he knew that, and yet he could not bring himself to allow it.

He didn’t see how nobody else saw it the way he did. Would it not have been easier keep things simple? It made more sense to him for things to remain above the surface level, where emotions and deep connections could not harm either of you. To grow attached in this world was surely a fools game. So why did everyone seem so hell-bent on making friends and falling in love? Why were they willing to take the risk?

He was exhausted the next morning. By the time he fell asleep the sun was creeping over the horizon. You were a bit better off after a full night of sleep. Your eyes were less puffy than the day before, and your stomach was aching for a bite to eat. Daryl had no appetite or energy. He stayed in bed well past noon.

You didn’t see him until dinner that night, not that you were looking. For the first time in a while, you decided to allow yourself some peace.

Since you’d slept so well the night before, you offered to take over watch for Carol, which she accepted gratefully. You brought yourself a cigarette and one of the books from the library to entertain yourself. Just as you settled in and got comfortable in the tower, the hatch opened and Daryl emerged with his own items for amusement.

You didn’t say anything as he lifted himself up. You just watched him quizzically. He paused when he noticed you sitting there.

“I got watch tonight. Told Rick.” He informed you.

“I took over for Carol.” You countered blandly.

“Well you’re relived.” He pushed.

“No thanks.” You brushed him off.

“Ain’t askin’.” He said.

“I was here first.” You shrugged, lighting your cigarette and flipping to the first chapter of your book.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere so ya might as well get on.” He urged.

“I’m sure the fence could use some relief from the walkers.” You suggested.

“So why don’t ya go and take care of ‘em?” He retorted.

“Because I’m on watch.” You countered.

Daryl sighed in defeat.

“Got an extra one o’ those?” He asked, gesturing toward the cigarette.

“Only brought the one.” You replied.

“Look,” he began, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “‘M sorry I was an asshole, but it can’t be the way ya want it to be.”

“And what way did I want it?” You quirked a brow.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make shit hard. Ya always do that.”

“So then the simple solution would be to leave me alone. I get it. You don’t want me.”

“It ain’t about wantin’ you, girl!” He groaned in exasperation. “It’s about protectin’ you! Protectin’ me! Protectin’ everyone!”

His chest rose and fell as his fists clenched at his sides. You stared up at him and fawned under his blazing eyes.

“We can’t… I can’t.” He insisted.

Silence consumed you both in the night. The tension was so palpable that it drowned out the nightly buzz of crickets and frogs in the trees. Daryl felt he had said too much already. He should have just let you hate him and left it be. He couldn’t, though. As much as he wanted to be cold, hard, and arrogant, he was very much a soft soul with a longing for genuine connection.

With a deep sigh and an expression of defeat, he retreated back to his cell without another word to you.

To be continued… Maybe??

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Note

Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh

Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)

Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG

Word count: 3.7 k

Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.

A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕

"I'm tired of using those things."

Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft.

You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.

You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.

And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex.

Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?

"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.

"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.

You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean…?"

The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.

"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"

Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.

"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea."

"They are."

The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked.

And Simon never said he didn't want children.

It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch.

He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.

Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…

It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable.

And it did. It more than just did.

He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.

Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.

You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late.

It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.

But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.

He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby.

That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours.

Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon.

But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.

Until this night…

This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar.

You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.

And this time, he won't even let you play.

"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration.

As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do.

He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight.

Serves the damn thing right…

You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.

You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.

The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.

His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.

And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.

You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.

The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.

"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.

"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.

You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world.

He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear.

You two worship each other; there’s no question about that.

"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?"

"Hell yeah."

The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that.

You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.

A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.

His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.

And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts.

His little helper, indeed…

"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"

His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.

He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…

"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."

He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.

"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."

Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.

"I'll manage," you whisper.

"I know you will."

The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.

He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.

"Wait–"

"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.

"The–the boys?"

He had been discussing this with his workmates…?

Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?

"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."

This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.

"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.

"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."

The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting.

"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"

He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.

"Right back at ya, darling."

"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.

"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave.

"Love… fuckin' hell."

He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal.

But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.

"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."

Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want.

The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.

A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.

"Luv. You trust me?"

You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing.

"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.

Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.

"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"

"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."

He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.

Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force.

You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.

"Faster, Simon, please…"

"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "

And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped.

"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.

"Yes–give it to me, please–"

Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…

You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes.

Simon–fuck…

There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come–

Fuck–!

…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.

"Oh–oh fucking god…!"

He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.

And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears.

It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.

If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.

He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.

"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.

"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."

He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.

"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."

His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.

"Got a fair point there, love."

Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.

"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.

"That was the best."

He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.

"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."

"You think that did it..?"

He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.

"No half-assing with my sweetheart."

One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.

"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.

"I wouldn't say no to that."

You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.

And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."

Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.

And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"

After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...

There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.

"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.

"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.

"What if ice cream won't help?"

"I'll bring you chocolate."

You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor.

"You're really not afraid…?"

"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."

"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."

"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.

"Simon... What made you change your mind?"

He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.

"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."

You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.

"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.

"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.

"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.

"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."

He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."

You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two.

There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #soft simon riley #soft ghost #fluff and smut #call of duty #mw2 fluff

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hrts4carmy · 5 months ago

Note

in tommy shelby’s words: “you belong to me, my property. no one touches my property,” please give us your take if this was carmy 🫢🫢🫢

omg friend. i so indulge in peaky blinders. obsessed!

ok tbh i feel like carmy would have trouble being so outright, but if u two already have a sort of developed relationship and he is confident (sexually too) with you then this is very him. thinking abt him having a lil jealous moment. (maybe ur fwb here, hmm)

thinking of you having an ex who shows up at the restaurant one day before open. playful laughter and innocent conversation turns into an uncomfortable situation fast. you don’t want things to escalate so you’re taking a gentle parenting approach and letting him down easy for the hundredth time. Richie sees all of this going down in front of house and can’t help himself but to stir the pot.

“Yo, Cousin. Some guy out here talking to your girl. Might wanna get on that.” He claps him on the shoulder.

Carmen looks up from his station, brows furrowing the slightest bit. “My- what? What’s going on?” He wipes his hands on a rag before his attention is taken entirely. He can’t focus on the dish anymore. What’s Richie talking about?

He peeks his head out the door to find none other than exactly what Richie said. You and some guy. Some skinny guy with shitty tattoos and brown hair. Some guy who is entirely too close to you, he thinks. As your voice starts to raise, said guy steps closer to you. Carmen watches as you take a step back, and he wonders when it’s appropriate to interrupt.

He makes the decision when the guy puts his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. Your hands fall to his chest and try to push him away, and Carmy can hear your voice all the way from the door of the kitchen.

“Jesse, get the fuck off of me.” You push harder, but to no avail. When you hear footsteps, you thank whatever God above. You almost curse yourself when you see who they belong to. Carmen’s face is cold, an expression only a little more intense than what you’ve all been on the receiving end of in the kitchen.

He pulls you back by your shoulder, positioning the two of you so he’s blocking your body. “We got a problem here or something?” The words come out of his mouth like venom, tilting his head as he asks. Your ex looks over Carmen’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of you, but is quickly intercepted by the broad shoulders covering you.

Jesse puts his hands up in surrender and shakes his head at the look on Carmen’s face. “Nah, man. You got that.” He nods. That almost makes him more mad. He balls his fists and presses his finger nails into his palms. A lame attempt to calm himself down. Don’t do anything stupid, you’re not even dating her. But the image floods his mind again, his hands on you where only Carmen’s should be.

“S’what I thought. Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” And he does, he makes quick work of it too. To say you’re thankful is an understatement, because Carmen really got him to go away without a fight. When he turns around, his face is slightly flushed. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. He almost looks more shaken up than you.

“Thanks for that. You good?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles. A real chuckle as he throws his head back, and you feel like an outsider. Were you missing something? But when Carmen composes himself, you realize nothing is really funny at all. His hands find your waist, squeezing the same spot that Jesse had moments ago. Tighter, though, almost bruising.

“Meet in my office. 5 minutes.” Is all he says before letting go, walking back in the kitchen like nothing happened. You feel the whole situations given you whiplash, but of course you do what he says. Why wouldn’t you?

The 5 minutes you wait feels like an hour. You pick at the skin of your nails before you make it to his office door, turning the handle and stepping in. Your arm is immediately pulled in, as Carmy slams the door and pushes you up against it. You gasp, but it’s quickly swallowed from his mouth on yours.

Carmy kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it. Teeth scraping against eachother as his tongue slips in your mouth. Your hands come to his face as you pull him off to take a breath. You manage to speak between gasps of air. “Fuck is this for?”

He brings you in for another searing kiss before answering, foot knocking your knees apart. He brings his thigh between your legs, pressing it against you. You bite your lip to stifle a moan. “Fuckin’ idiot comes into my place and thinks he can just put his hands on you?” He scoffs, jolting his thigh between your legs again. “You’re mine, no one should touch you but me.” You find yourself deliriously nodding against him. Carmy coos at you, tone full of condescension.

“It’s okay. I’ll show you who you belong to. Remind you why he’s your ex and why I’m the one who fucks you.”

#i have work early tomorrow good night #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x female reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto x you #the bear smut #blurb

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

Text

they don't see it, because it is around them like air. to them, it would have to be through movies, through magazines. they think it happens outside of life, like it must be selected to be interacted with.

but you discovered in the fifth grade that you couldn't wear shirts with words on them, it was an excuse for someone to look at your chest. you were catcalled before you were in middle school. sometimes you look at that memory and deny it - surely that can't be right, you were young. but you were in a skirt, so maybe that was a natural byproduct. it was a skirt from that place "justice by limited too" - a store literally for kids. it was popular around then. you wore that skirt twice and then never again.

you can't wear headphones, because what if a man wants to talk to you? there's a guy on the internet who complains that women shut themselves off from being approached. at night, you often keep the headphones positioned but with the sound off, just in case you need to hear something behind you.

you learned at 12 that you can't make eye contact, don't acknowledge the aggression. just walk faster and hope he picks on somebody else. don't wear your hair like that. do not park next to that kind of car, park an entire cityblock away if you must.

you can't go to the museum, you're sitting and tying your shoe when he approaches you and mentions that nobody understands art anymore. that in the whole world, it's just you-two. you have no recourse for eating a meal (it's rabbit food if it's salad, and someone will roll their eyes, eat a sandwich. it's pick-me behavior if it's a burger, we get it you're a cool girl). if you like mushrooms you are cottagecore, which is cheesy. if you like video games you're an egirl (similar to a pick-me). boys do not get categories, but if you point out the categories are sexist, you are told okay but these girls really exist.

it is somehow developing, a little undercurrent that you've been uncomfortable with. the nickname "karen" went from being "a white woman that uses her whiteness as a weapon, particularly against people of color," to now mean "any woman raising her voice or being even a little upset." the reappropriation of a term used specifically to call out white women for their racism has set your skin on edge. now it is just another version of "bitch," one that can be said on television. recently you saw a woman get called a karen because a drunk driver sideswiped her, and she screamed when it happened. the comments on the dashcam video all say "why do women always scream about everything." "when has the world ever been bettered by women screaming." "this fucking karen. she deserved to get hit."

in the sitcom, it's a joke that the wife is furious; slamming her hands down into the sink. i do everything around here, might as well do this too. in your house, your father is always in-his-office. before you know better, your first boyfriend is the type to say it's just easier for you. you used to beg him to take you on dates. he used to make a big deal about it, about the sacrifice of effort, even if you were the one who did most of the planning.

someone on the internet makes a "POV: the most boring person you've ever met" where he puts a towel on his head and just talks like a normal person. his impression of a boring woman is just a woman that is talking about her pretty-average life without exaggeration.

you are sometimes actually sad in the reverse, because actually you did used to struggle to pay attention in conversations. you were also easily bored of normal things, your adhd pinging off of every radio tower in the vacinity. it took time and therapy and patience, and now you delight in the small things about your friends. you like having them show you their organizational systems and talk about their taylor swift tickets. you are entertained by them because you learned to be, even though your brain is structured to only be excited by novelty. you kind of hate the idea that the reason your father will never actually pay attention to you is that you're no longer interesting. eventually the shine wore off, and you were just a person, not a spaceship. he never learned how to just, like, form an actual intimate friendship. it was always at a distance, this sense - emotional closeness was too much. (and yes. he's homophobic).

you're already tired of whatever the fuck is happening with the words "divine feminine", a rancid take that is basically just a rebranding of the patriarchy in action. what the fuck do they mean "being small and delicate and needing protection" is feminine. the words they are looking for are that they want a partner, not that their desire for equivalent support is relegated to gender. the human desire for community is not actually gendered at all. also, what fucking wolves are these "divine masculine" men even battling. fuckken taxes? shouldn't their "desire to protect" also mean "protect you from emotional neglect", or are all emotions off-limits (and how sad would that be. that's a horrible bar to set.)

and they tell you it's really not bad actually, because it's just there. they suggest you get off the internet or you stop reading that book or you stop thinking so hard about the movie or you stop just-being-a-feminist because honestly it's a killjoy sort of thing and then you tilt your head to the side and there's that little siren in the back of your head. if things were actually fine, being a feminist wouldn't put a stop to anything, it would go completely unnoticed, because you wouldn't have any comment to make about any of this

but you are ruining your own life, they tell you. also, girls don't sit like that. also, all girls are catty. also, all girls are bad drivers. also, all girls just need a cute bracelet and an iced coffee.

you do like iced coffee, is the thing. when you close your eyes, the world around you has this strange note to it. and once you hear it, it never stops ringing.

#writeblr #this is far too long #sjw bullshit #idk i MEANT to write about somethng else completely and if i have time i will #about like . how if ur gay this is even more obvious #bc they like. hi ur 3 now where is ur boyfriend #and ur like. :) good news mother i have activated the lasers in my plush dog and he is dancing in the guts of my barbie

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iamgonnagetyouback · 2 months ago

Text

𝟷.𝟹𝚔 || 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You somehow end up on a date with Remus and realize his true feelings towards you.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Angst if you squint, Self-deprecating thoughts, comfort

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

The chilly air of Hogsmeade was festive, alive with the sounds of holiday cheer. You wrapped your scarf tightly around your neck as you stepped into the Three Broomsticks, your heart thudding harder than it should. You had taken extra time getting ready today—perhaps more than was reasonable—choosing your outfit carefully, doing your hair just right. Not that anyone else would notice, but you hoped one particular person would.

Remus Lupin.

You couldn't deny it any longer—your feelings for Remus were no longer a simple crush. It had grown into something much bigger, something you couldn’t ignore.

You had harboured feelings for him for longer than you cared to admit. He was always kind, always steady, but recently, something had shifted between you. Maybe it was your feelings bubbling too close to the surface, or maybe it was the way he seemed to be avoiding you when you wanted to spend time alone with him. It gnawed at you, a constant anxiety that tonight might bring some clarity—though whether it would soothe or crush you, you weren’t sure.

As you approached the back of the pub, you saw him sitting alone at the table. Your heart leaped at the sight of him—his warm brown sweater bringing out the golden tones in his hair, his eyes focused on the table, fingers tracing invisible lines along the wood. He looked so good that it made your chest ache.

But before you could call out to him, you overheard a snippet of conversation, his voice low but unmistakable.

“…Padfoot, you know I can’t be alone with her. It’s too—”

You froze, a sharp pang of hurt slicing through you. Remus didn’t know you were there. His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, making your stomach twist. He didn’t want to be alone with you? Why? Was it because he knew? Did he figure out your feelings and… and couldn’t stand the thought of it?

But before the hurt could swallow you whole, you forced a smile onto your face. You weren’t going to let it ruin the evening. You weren’t.

Clearing your throat, you stepped forward, catching his attention. His head snapped up, his eyes widening in mild surprise as if he hadn’t expected you to show up just yet.

“Hey, Remus,” you greeted him, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest. You flashed him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You look great.”

And he did. He always did. The way the dim light flickered over his face made him look softer, almost ethereal. You waited, hoping for a compliment in return, your heart fluttering in anticipation.

You hoped that he’d notice the effort you’d made for him. But there was nothing. No smile, no remark about how you looked, not even a flicker of recognition for the time you had spent getting ready.

Remus didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked away from you, tension pulling his features taut, as if being in your presence made him uncomfortable. You shifted nervously, your smile faltering.

“So,” you said, desperate to fill the awkward silence, “where are the others?”

Remus’s jaw tightened, his voice coming out more annoyed than you expected. “Sirius bailed,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “He had an argument with Regulus and needed some space. Peter’s with Mary, and James—” He let out a dry laugh. “—is actually being tutored by Lily.”

You blinked, processing the sudden emptiness of your group plans. “So… I guess it’s just us, then?”

He nodded, but you caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It stung worse than it should have.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

You forced a small laugh, trying to ease the tension. “Well, it’s a good thing I like Butterbeer. I’ll just have to drink enough for everyone,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

Remus glanced up at you, and for the first time that night, his gaze softened. He looked almost regretful, but he still didn’t say anything. The silence returned, and you bit your lip, wondering what to do next. Should you just leave? Was he waiting for you to go?

The silence stretched on, heavy and thick, like neither of you knew how to handle it. You tried to make conversation, but every attempt seemed to fizzle out the moment it left your lips. Remus barely responded, giving short, clipped answers as if he wanted to be anywhere but here, with you.

The knot in your chest tightened, your earlier excitement draining away with every passing second. The thought struck you suddenly, an unwelcome idea slithering its way into your mind—

Did he know? Had he figured out your feelings and was trying to avoid hurting you?

Or worse… was he disgusted by the idea of being with you?

That would explain the avoidance, the discomfort.

And if that was the case… you needed to say something.

You cleared your throat again, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. “Remus,” you began softly, “if you… if you know—about how I feel—then it’s okay. I-I can handle it if you don’t… feel the same way. I just… I thought…” Your voice cracked, your bravado crumbling under the weight of the fear gnawing at you. “I just thought maybe…”

You hoped, desperately, that he would stop you, that he’d say something to reassure you. But Remus’s expression didn’t change, the same distant, almost pained look clouding his eyes.

“It’s just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. “It’s better if we stay friends.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t expected them, not really, and yet they were your worst fear realized. You felt your heart crack, the pieces splintering inside your chest, but you nodded anyway, forcing yourself to act like it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Right,” you whispered, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay. “I understand.”

Remus shifted in his seat, looking away from you. “It’s not that I don’t… care about you. I do. But… I’m not the kind of guy you need. I’m not… I’m not good for you.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion swirling with the pain that now sat heavily in your chest. “What are you talking about? Remus, you’re one of the best people I know.”

He shook his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as if he was holding on to some invisible anchor. “You deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t have… baggage. Someone who can give you everything you want, everything you need.”

The frustration bubbled up inside you, pushing past the sadness. “Who says you can’t give me that?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Who gets to decide what I need? Because last I checked, I get to decide that.”

Remus flinched slightly, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m a mess,” he admitted quietly. “The full moons, the scars, the… the danger. I can’t put you through that.”

You blinked, the weight of his words settling in. He wasn’t rejecting you because he didn’t like you—he was rejecting you because he thought he wasn’t good enough.

“Remus,” you said, your voice trembling, “you don’t get to make that choice for me. I care about you. I—” You hesitated, your heart pounding in your ears. “I want you. All of you. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”

His eyes widened, the flicker of hope you’d been waiting for finally breaking through. “You… you do?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped closer, the warmth between you growing in the cold air. “I do.”

For a moment, Remus just stared at you, his expression unreadable. But then, finally, he smiled—a small, tentative smile, as if he wasn’t quite sure this was real. His hand reached for yours, his fingers brushing against yours lightly, testing the waters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I was… scared. Scared of losing you.”

You smiled through the tears that threatened to spill over, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re not going to lose me, Remus.”

He pulled you closer, his other hand coming up to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. His gaze held yours, his eyes filled with something you’d been longing to see for so long—affection, care… love.

And then, finally, he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, but then it deepened, his hand tightening on yours as if he was afraid to let go. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, but you were smiling, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Remus murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “I should’ve told you that earlier.”

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Took you long enough.”

#remus lupin hurt/comfort #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin

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starless-nightz · 2 months ago

Note

Could you maybe do Wednesday, Enid and Bianca (seperate) with a S/O who is uncomfortable with physical affection, at least at first??

Wednesday, Enid and Bianca with a S/O whos uncomfortable with physical affection

note -> MY FAVORITE GIRLS AHHHH, I absolutely love the Wednesday girls like they are all so beautiful and silly, I need to write something about Yoko and Divina.

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, all three are very respectful.

Wednesday Addams

Wednesday immediately picks up on how uncomfortable you are with touch; she's observant, and she finds it rather fascinating how you will stiffen or pull away whenever someone gets a little too close. Most people would prod or push, but she does none of those things—she keeps her distance.

She's not the type to demand constant physical affection herself, so the dynamic doesn't faze her. As a matter of fact, she enjoys being with a partner who knows not all affection needs to be loud and physical for it to be honest.

Instead of hugs or kisses, she'll give you silences shared, a book she thinks you'd like, or even a especially macabre location for a date. The way she looks at you-sharp, attentive, as if you're the only thing worth focusing on—is her own unique way of expressing her feelings.

Words are where she'll get a bit softer. She's not above giving you a small, dry compliment when the two of you are alone. They might sound weird, but from her, it's practically a declaration of love.

If you ever feel bad about not being able to offer more physical affection Wednesday will shut that thought down fast. "It's not a problem," she'll say without inflection, "It's just who you are. And if anyone has a problem with it, I'll deal with them accordingly." There's that slightly threatening glint in her eye and you know she means it.

Enid Sinclair

Enid adores being extremely affectionate—naturally so—hugs, cuddles, and holding hands. But once that clicked in that it makes you uncomfortable, she readjusts. The initial instinct might be to feel concern, she doing something wrong? Once she gets it, she is all for your boundaries.

She's really patient and soft about it all, she will talk with you about making sure that she's not crossing any boundaries, and always be open to work out what's best for both of you. Enid might feel a little sad that she can't show her love physically the way that she is used to, but she'd rather you be comfortable than anything else.

She masters all the non-physical touches: baking your favorite treats, sending you cute texts throughout the day, and leaving little notes or doodles in your locker. She will go out of her way to make sure you feel loved in a way that doesn't involve touch.

You'll often catch her bouncing in place with excitement when you have been away for some time. Rather than running up for a hug, she will flash a brilliant smile and wave until you're ready to approach—at your own pace.

On days when you feel all right with physical contact, Enid is quite happy to accommodate, though she'll always ask. "Can I give you a high-five?" she says with a grin, as though the question were a small celebration between the two of you.

She's your biggest cheerleader, always making sure you know you are perfect just the way you are. "You don't have to change anything for me," she'll say with a ring of sincerity in her voice. "I love you just as you are."

Bianca Barclay

Bianca has an instinct for observation, and she will easily notice that something is bothering you about displays of physical affection. She may start trying to test these boundaries with light touches or hands on the shoulder but instantly retreats the moment she perceives flinching or pulling away.

She's confideng enough in herself and in your relationship that she doesn't take it personally. If you ever try to explain or apologize, she'll cut you off with a gentle but firm, "You don't have to explain yourself. I get it.".

Bianca seeks other ways to connect with you, and the conversation often drifts into intellectual discourses and deep discussions. She loves to debate and hear your viewpoint; thus, those nocturnal talks become a form of closeness that she values just as much as physical closeness.

She'll often act very loving with acts of service. Someone's got to help you study for a test? She's there, with a set of notes perfectly organized. Got a tough situation you're trying to work through? Bianca will take care of it, no questions asked.

This is her way of trying to ensure you are safe, secure, and will never feel smothered; watching from a distance whenever she feels you are overwhelmed but never stepping in unless you need her.

Of course, when you do initiate even the tiniest of physical gestures—brushing your hand against hers, say—Bianca never overreacts. She will flash a slight smile on her lips, seeming to acknowledge it but not making it larger than it need be, for your discomfort. The smile does stay with her all day, though.

#wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #enid #enid x reader #enid sinclair x reader #enid sinclair #bianca #bianca x reader #bianca barclay x reader #bianca barclay #wednesday netflix #wednesday show

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cyberpunkgyu · 9 months ago

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SERIES: The Sun and the Sunflower / P. Sunghoon

genre: fluff, romance

introduction: these series include random one shots of tsundere! sunghoon and bubbly! reader’s relationship, more chapters/parts will follow in the future! this part shows the softer side of sunghoon but next chapters/parts will show his more “tsundere” side

a/n: i decided to make it one shots because i realized i suck at making long stories so hopefully this turns out alright! let me know what you think :D

warnings: suggestive, and not proofread cause i’m lazy

I. Jealousy *ੈ✩‧₊˚ — when you get jealous

Sunghoon is someone who doesn’t show a lot of affection when there are other people around you both. If a stranger saw the two of you, they might not even think you both are in a relationship because of how casual he is around you in public. You didn’t mind, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in anyway, and you respected that (though there were times where he would peck your lips when no one is looking).

But there were times you wish you could just kiss him to show others that he is yours. Like right now.

You always thought you weren’t a jealousy person. What’s there to be jealous about? You know Sunghoon is a loyal person and would never do anything to hurt you. He is a whole green flag, a green forest even.

But you can’t help it when you see girls flirting with him out in the open.

He has asked you out for a night out in a nearby art museum that just opened. Of course you agreed, making sure you were free and don’t have anything else planned, you definitely wouldn’t pass any opportunity to spend time with him.

The night has been going well so far. You two went around to see different exhibitions, taking photos of one another (you even secretly took photos of him when he wasn’t looking because he looked so dreamy).

He was wearing a suit and tie with his glasses on, which you have always told him how handsome he looks with it on. Sunghoon is very handsome in general, but when he wears his glasses on, it just hits different. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach flutter ten times more.

You have also dressed up quite nicely, wearing the dress Sunghoon gifted you for your birthday which wasn’t too long ago. It was a pretty long white dress, and you felt very confident in it. Spending almost two hours doing your hair and makeup, your craft not going unnoticed by your boyfriend.

He is quick to notice your appearance, staring at you in awe when he picked you up from your apartment. He had literal heart eyes for you, a soft smile on his face.

For a quick moment you have left him outside to use the bathroom, to freshen up and all that. Once you got out, you didn’t expect to see him talk to someone, and a woman. And he was smiling?

What caught you off guard is when the girl placed her hand by his bicep, though Sunghoon didn’t seem bothered by it, just nodding to what she was saying. Does she really have to be touchy?

You pouted to yourself, watching the scene in front of you, not knowing if you should let them be or approach them. Before you could even decide, Sunghoon has already spotted you, excusing himself.

“You ready to go and see more exhibits? There’s more upstairs.”

“Hmm, sure.”

Your voice came out soft and quiet, something out of the ordinary as you often talked with such excitement. His thick brows furrowed, but he pushed it off, nodding at you. Maybe you were just getting tired? He thought.

Crossing your arms, you began to walk to the escalator, Sunghoon following by your side. Who was that girl? Is that someone he knows? Or did they just met? Why were they smiling? They looked so happy together. Is that his ex? He never told you about an ex…

You shook your head to yourself, feeling yourself overthink. Stop it, yn.

“Hey… you alright? I can take you home if you’re feeling tired.” Sunghoon looked at you with such concern, both of you getting off the escalator as you got to the next floor up.

You looked up at him, quickly shaking your head. “No! Uh, I’m alright. Don’t worry. I want to see more of the exhibits.” You forced a grin, though it came out so fake that Sunghoon can sense something was definitely wrong.

You got startled when he took your hand, pulling you to the side. Your back was suddenly pressed on a wall, gasping softly as his hand found your hips, looking at him with wide eyes. Your cheeks reddened so quickly, heart beating hastily.

“Is something wrong? You can tell me.”

His eyes stayed on you, waiting for your response, though you felt your throat dry during to how close the two of you are. When you opened your lips, nothing came out.

“Nothing! I just- I…”

“You can tell me what’s wrong. I don’t like seeing you so quiet. It’s weird.”

That made your heart flutter, blinking up at him. He was so close that you could smell his sweet scent, making you feel fuzzy inside.

"I would rather hear you talk non-stop than be quiet. I like hearing you," he whispered softly, feeling his fingers run through your hair, making you feel giddy.

"It's just... it's nothing. It's stupid." you felt yourself pout softly, looking away from him, but you felt his hand grip your chin gently, making you look up at him. "Well it's not stupid if it's bothering you right?"

"The woman earlier. You know her? Is she-"

"She's a childhood friend during my ice skating years. We just quickly catched up, that's all."

Ah, right. You nodded, feeling yourself embarrassed.

"Were you… jealous?"

"What? Why would you ask that." you huffed, suddenly getting defensive. He found it cute how pouty you got, feeling himself smile down at you. Gosh, you're cute.

"You can be friends with anyone you want, I don't care. It's the same with me, I can be friends with whoever, talk to whoever I want. And also, why did she have to be touchy-"

Sunghoon looks at you with adoration, his eyes flickering between your eyes down to your lips. He loves it when you ramble, pouting your lips whenever you do. Your voice was going in from one of his ear to the other, everything in the background becoming a blur.

You were suddenly cut off by Sunghoon's soft lips, your eyes widening before they fluttered shut, putting your hands into a fist as you didn’t know what to do with it.

His lips were hot and plump, his hands going up to your waist, pulling you slightly up, causing you to go on your tippy toes.

You wish you could kiss him for longer, though he definitely took your breath away, pulling away from to the kiss to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed, as well as your lips, and definitely swollen.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it… you were talking too much.”

A giggle escaped your lips, looking up at him shyly. “I thought you weren’t a fan of PDA.” you teased, smiling shyly up at him.

“I could do much more if we weren’t in public.”

“Hoon!”

He grinned cheekily, his fangs on display, chuckling lowly. “Cute…”

Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. He really knew how to make you fold, huh? His eyes never left yours, caressing your waist ever so gently, eyes full of love.

“Why don’t we just go back to my apartment?”

“Hm, are you tired?”

“No.”

“Then why? Aren’t we going to see more exhibits?”

“I did. But now all I want is to able to kiss my pretty girlfriend longer.”

#SERIES: The Sunshine and the Sunflower ✧˚#sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon drabbles #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon enhypen #park sunghoon

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peach-the-owl · 10 months ago

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I make my grand return! But I also wanted to try something different from what I normally do and expand my horizons (so to speak), I hope you all enjoy 😁

Meeting Each Other

Hazbin Hotel & Child!Reader

WARNING: Themes of abuse are present in Angel Dust’s scenario, also swearing in his, I did my best to keep the characters in character but there may be some OOC moments, (if there’s any warnings I miss but should add please let me know)

(Set before the events of the show)

Hazbin Hotel:

Charlie and Vaggie

You peek out from the flaming wreckage you used as cover to hide, seeing the coast is clear you carefully step out of where you’re hiding and roam the corpse riddled streets. It reeked of death, not exactly an unfamiliar scent but not a pleasant one either. You hear something shuffle, or maybe someone? You quickly turn around but don’t see anything, now paranoia starts to creep in making you wonder if you may have exposed yourself too soon and any moment an exorcist will swoop down and finish you off. To your utter surprise that’s actually not the case when you see to woman conversing as they strolled down the street, it was so odd to you how casual they looked doing it or maybe you were just getting too used to all the violence that happened on the daily that it struck you as odd. Either way your curiosity gets the better of you and you try to sneak closer without being noticed to see what they were talking about.

“… idea… to work.” You just barely catch the one in the suit say. An idea? Wonder what it could be? You sneak closer.

“…I know… rlie, but try not... aren’t exactly going to…” You hear the one with the X over her eye say, less enthusiastic then the one in the suit. Who’s going to what? You needed to get just a little closer and… you slip and fall. The girl with the X over her eye immediately wipes around, pulling out an angelic spear, with the fire still burning around you she, for just a brief moment, looked like an exorcist ready to strike you. That was enough motivation for you to shuffle back fearfully, as you do her angered expression drops to one of guilt?

“Hello.” You jump a little at the voice, not noticing the lady in the suit had approached you. “Are you lost my little friend?” She asks. You don’t say anything, you’re not sure what to say so you just kinda stare her down. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m Charlie, it’s nice to meet you.” Charlie gives you the warmest smile you’ve ever seen as she holds her hand out to you. You weren’t sure you could trust this supposedly kind gesture of hers so instead you pick yourself up off the ground and give a small nod of acknowledgment, which she still seemed extremely happy about.

“Maybe we should go, you know before their parent? Parents? Whoever might be looking for them comes along. Besides, the kid doesn’t look like they’re much for conversation.” The X eyed one says rather bluntly.

“Or… this could be the perfect opportunity to find our first attendants!” Charlie bounces excitedly before turning back to you. “So you know me. And this amazing person is my girlfriend Vaggie.” She introduces, to which Vaggie gives a bit of an awkward wave.

“I don’t.” You finally find your voice to speak. Vaggie raises a slightly confused eyebrow while Charlie looked at you curiously.

“Don’t what?” She now kneels down to your level.

“She said something about a parent coming to look for me.” You point to Vaggie. “But I don’t have anyone looking after me, even when I was alive no one really did.” You say, crossing your arms uncomfortably. Charlie looked like she was about to cry after hearing that and the next thing you know you’re being scooped up in her arms, surprising you.

“Oh Vaggie! Can we keep them! Please?” She asks, giving big puppy dog eyes.

“Charlie…” Vaggie starts looking at your confused self. “I don’t know… maybe they should decide that for themselves.” She reasons. Charlie holds you out at arms length a less enthused and more gentle smile on her face this time.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Umm…” You stare a bit stunned by all this, not entirely sure how to process everything. You’ve been alone for so long, barely trusting people for your own safety and while part of you wanted to run here and now another was telling you to just give this a chance. “I… I wouldn’t mind… I guess.” You mumble out sheepishly. Charlie bounces around happily with you still in her arms, something you realize you’re probably going to have to get used to, while you catch a faint smile on Vaggie’s face.

“Alright. Well, if you’re staying with us, can we at least get your name kid?” She asks.

“Oh, ummm, the name’s (y/n).” You tell her, she gives you a nod and with some convincing to finally get Charlie to put you down the three of you head off to this hotel Charlie won’t stop talking about.

Angel Dust

“Get back here you little shit!!” You dash away from the Sinners chasing you, mentally slapping yourself for being a little too reckless. You couldn’t help it, the items they had looked so shiny. Having been able to manage some distance between them you quickly skid into a rather empty alleyway to hide. Taking a moment to catch your breath beside a dumpster when a side door slams open, you press yourself against said dumpster and blend in with the shadows around you. You watch as someone is literally thrown out the door another figure peering down at them.

“You think this is some fucking joke! Am I a fucking joke to you Anthony!?” The one peering out the doorway hisses.

“No, no I-I never… I would never-” The other figure sounded panicked, quickly being cut off again by the first.

“Enough! We’ll discuss this later, once we get this mess cleaned up.” With that they slam the door. You sneak a bit closer getting a good look at whoever had been left in the alley with you, their spidery features struck you as familiar, remembering some of those posters you’d see around the city promoting some adult film with a one Angel Dust. And if that’s the case and if he was so popular then he must have some cash on him, ripe for your sticky fingers to grab. This motivation in mind gets you shuffling closer staying as close to the shadows as possible to avoid detection, now all you had to do was reach over and…

“Who the fuck!!” You’re suddenly grabbed by the arm and flung to the ground, now staring up at the angry spider. “The hell? What’s a kid like you doing here?” He still looks mad just with some confusion added to the mix.

“You mean in hell, or just in general?” You question back shoving him back a bit so you could sit up.

“Don’t play cheeky with me kid, you was trying to steal from me, weren’t ya?” He narrows his eyes accusingly at you.

“Trying would imply I didn’t get anything.” You say slyly, holding up a bag of drugs. He immediately snatches it back from you.

“How the fuck did you do that!?” He seemed genuinely surprised you took something without his noticing. You shrug casually in response.

“Oi! Is someone there?!” You freeze when you realize your little stunt cost you time to get away from the Sinners you were running from. Without much time, or thought you scramble into the dumpster just hoping they didn’t see you. The footsteps thump closer and closer, halting right by your hiding spot.

“Well well, if it ain’t the beauty of the Angel Dust themselves.” Shit, you forgot Angel Dust was right there, stupid!

“It is, and what can I do for such strong capable folk like yourselves?” You’re gonna be ratted out for sure.

“Uhh- *ahem* Right, we’s looking for a kid, about yay big and kind of stupid. Like a real piece of shit.” Rude much, if anything they’re the stupid ones.

“Is that so? And what exactly are ya gonna do when you catch them?”

“Oh nothing really, we’s just gonna teach them a lesson, right boys.” A small cheer of “yeah’s” ring from the group. This was it, you were doomed and all because you just-

“I think I saw ‘em run that way and turned left.” You sit there stunned as the footsteps disappear into the distance, unsure if what just happened really just happened. “Coast is clear kid, you can come out of there, hehe cum.” He chuckles at his own unintentional joke. Slowly you peek out from the dumpster looking around to be extra sure that gang was gone before crawling out entirely.

“You… you didn’t rat me out?” You look at him genuinely puzzled, he just shrugs. “Why?” He’s quiet for a long moment before answering.

“Well… why don’t we just say you owe me now.” He says, crossing his arms and looking away from you.

“Oh, so you want my soul for something.” You huff.

“As nice as that would be, I was thinkin’ more a fair trade.”

“Like what?” You we’re getting very confused and curious as to what was on his mind.

“I use my ravishingly good looks and smooth talk to get you out of trouble, and you use those little skills of yours to snag me some of that good nose candy.” You think on this for a second, letting his words sink in and it wasn’t the worst situation to be in, all things considered.

“Alright! You got yourself a deal.” You shake each other’s hands, a thread like a spiders web wraps around your hand while a wispy one wraps around his, sealing your deal together. You both blink in surprise at this. “Did you that was gonna happen?” You ask him as you pull away.

“Nope… eh, I’m sure it’s fine.” He brushes off nonchalantly. His calm demeanour quickly shifts to to fear when the door open once more.

“Angel I’m so sorry for how I yelled at you earlier. I didn’t mean it, honest, it’s just been so stressful today. You understand, don’t you?” The pimp says in a sickly sweet voice.

“I uhh…” Angel takes a small look over his shoulder a second to see his own shadow give him a quick wink then disappear into the darkness of the alleyway. “Of course…” He shakes himself off and with a small second of hesitance, re-enters the studio.

Alastor

The streets were quiet and the sky was darker then normal as you kept a decent pace behind the odd man with the strange static noise coming off of him. He’d appeared not too long ago seemingly minding his own business, no one bothering to look twice at him but you found him interesting. After all he basically just got here and already he’s strolling around with the confidence like he owned the place. He turns and without thinking you follow, only to end up staring down the dead end street at nothing. The static sound fills your ears loudly, you quickly cover them and tilt your head up to see the looming figure grinning back at you.

“You seem lost my little friend! T̷͈̜̑o̶͈͊̌ ̸͔͂̎w̵̫̠̕ḣ̴̗̋a̵̐͜ţ̵̗̊́ ̴̣̯̈́d̷̛̪ȍ̷̘ ̷͉͚̍̓Ǐ̶̬ ̴̠̦̉̄o̸͉̍̔w̶̧̟̃é̸͎̻̆ ̸͉̎t̸͇̀̂ͅh̷̥͝ê̶͕̞ ̷̠̍̅p̴̢̓l̴̨̹̑͒ẻ̷̮̅a̷͔͛͊ş̸̾ȕ̷̩͍r̶̹̔e̸̮̬̓ ̵̱̼͌͗ó̴̧͉̈́f̷̡̬̓̓ ̷̰̝͒̀y̴͚̪͘͝o̵̙͋ǔ̵͙ ̶̙̇̂͜f̵̧̪̓ö̶͉́ͅl̶̢̮̅̌l̶̝͂͘ͅo̵̗̳͌̂ŵ̷͓͓̽i̷̧̛̼̾n̶̹̝̔̈g̷̡̡̿ ̴̤͝m̶̩̊̓è̷̹̭?̷̩̻͂͠” The grin never falters as his tone lowers leaving an uneasy feeling in your gut.

“Umm… c-curiosity?” You say shakily.

“Well why didn’t you just say so! If I’d known I already be paraded by fans I’d have given a better welcome!” He laughs jovially. “Though…” He leans down to get a closer look at you. “You don’t appear as someone who’s well versed in the art of radio.” He raises an amused eyebrow at you.

“Oh… umm… I…” You struggle to think of a good excuse, still new to the whole radio stuff. “I am aware of them.” He straightens himself up, still holding a look of amusement on you, then a look of realization crosses his ever smiling face.

“Oh ho! Where have my manners gone? The name’s Alastor, my fine little friend. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” He introduces himself.

“Uhhh, my name’s (y/n).” You greet back.

“Hmmm, so tell me. What really pulled you to follow me?” Alastor hums in thought, being slightly less threatening then earlier.

“You walk with a lot of confidence for someone who’s only been here for about a week. I was curious for why.” You confess.

“Is that all? Haha! Why it’s very simple my little friend. With confidence you hold the upper hand against your opponent no matter the situation.” He proclaims proudly. “Now then, I for one couldn’t help but notice you’re… unique attributes about you.” You look away from him nervously. “Now now, no need to feel shameful. In fact I believe you should embrace it! And I can help.”

“You can help me? How?” You knew exactly where he was going with this but played along.

“Isn’t it obvious? By giving you reason to put those skills of yours to use! And there’s no better person then I to help give you that reason.” He gleefully remarks.

“I mean… I guess.” You draw out the words as an idea forms in your head.

“So… ĭ̸̍̚͜t̴̝̫̆̊’̸̲̺̈́̚s̸̗̓͆͂͆̀̚ ̶̥̖͋͆̾̆̅̏̓ą̴̢̳̤̋̋̉̽̍͌͠ ̸͓̜̲̭̳̦̠̅͗̋̅d̶̙̾̉͗̒e̴̛̙̿͐a̴̟͗́̂̆̎ĺ̴̠̻̒ ̶̧̺̺̳̕t̵̢̰̍̿̍̈́̓͒͌h̵̢̼̰̠͕̀̔̽ę̵͖͚͕̲̓̋͠n̷̢̫̻̆͐͆ͅͅ?̵̲͗͗͒” Alastor holds out his hand to you a green aura around it as a small gust of wind whips around the two of you.

“Only if you promise me that I don’t get in trouble or harmed by anything or anyone.” You quickly say.

“Is that all?” He tilts his head curiously at you. You nod in response, he narrows his eyes at you a second or two before answering. “Cross my heart.” He says to which you then accept his handshake sealing the deal between the two of you.

There it was, a deal was made and the two of you left that dead end street. You weren’t sure what Alastor had planned but that didn’t really matter to you, all you wanted was protection and that’s exactly what you got.

As for Alastor, while not exactly looking to be someone’s “bodyguard” the pros of this deal heavily outweighed the cons so he let slide…

J̶̡̡̣͈͚͓̱̬̳͇̬̻̲̍̈́́͒̐͒u̵̟̞̞̜̲̖̹̳̇̍͊̀̽͂͜͠s̷̥͖̭̣̞͍̑̄̆̈́ţ̴͎̥̰̲͓̖̓̀͗̄̒̂̒̍̏̽͊̕͝ ̶͔̬̹͚̝̯͖̟̭̹̤̇͋͐͑̉͐t̴̡̜͕͕̠͖̗̺͓̣̫̔̓̑̍́̈̇̚͠͝ḧ̴̰͚̯̯̤͓͍̤͚͒̇̈́̆̌̉̑̚͝i̸̘̬̻̐̊̇̎̚ś̴͇̮͕̐̐̓͆̒̓̍̂͝ ̸̡̡̛̩̩̥̰͈̝͔͓̤̖́͒͛͑̆̎̓̈́̚͘͝ö̴̜̭́̀͑̾̑̕͘̕͝ṉ̸̲̥͌̀̽́̓͋̆̒͝c̷̨̨̘̱̲̰̝̟̠̏̍e̸͈̹̒̆̌̒̆…̵̡̭̙͉̱̣̄̐̈́̀̋̂. I

I hope you all enjoyed! Let me know if you want me to continue this or add any characters. (Side note: I have a separate WIP for Helluva Boss characters coming soon (hopefully))😁

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #charlie x reader #vaggie #vaggie x reader #angel dust #angel dust x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #nothing romantic here

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