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writer-komaru · 1 year ago

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.♱ 𓆩𖤍𓆪 ♱. Moonlight Kisses ｡✧ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ﾟ｡⋆ 𖤐

✧Rating: Fluff + Smut

✧Characters: Edgar Allen Poe

✧Word Count: 3.9k

✧Summary: Headcanons about Poe and Karl because they’re precious.

Platonic + Romantic + Sexual + Karl

.𖤣 .𖥧 𖡼. ⚘.° :Platonic

✿ Poe’s main interest in life is to write. More specifically, write a mystery novel even the great detective Ranpo can’t crack to get his sweet, long-awaited revenge.

✿ He spends hours, long, grueling hours, slumped over his desk with adorable raccoon freind curled up on his lap, writing none stop. His feathered pen flutters through the air as its ink soaked tip etches Poe’s ideas into words. It’s almost beautiful.

✿ His sleep deprived eyes struggling to stay open, hyper focused on the air taking shape in front of him

✿ Just like a sculptor, he chisels away at the manila paper with the hopes of soon creating a magnificent statue to stand the test of time.

✿ That uplifting dream helps keep his head high and his pen working overtime

✿ But even a talented writer like him often has his off days. Days where he feels his river of rushing inspiration run dry; days where the negation of his health finally finds the opportunity to pounce.

✿ Usually when he finds himself stuck at the bottom of an ocean of despair, he hesitatingly leaves his room and takes a stroll around his mansion.

✿(btw I headcanon, I’m pretty sure it’s cannon but idk, he lives in a secluded mansion on the outside of town with a view of the ocean by his window and a lush garden of roses in his front yard. He usually doesn’t take very good care of it cuz he spends most of his time writing but sometimes he likes to stop by and admire the new buds)

✿(I also headcannon he has tons of shelves and climbing equipment set up up the wall and on the ceiling of his study so if Karl gets bored he can scamper up there and have some play time)

✿He takes note of anything that catches his eye; whether that be intricate designs of the wooden trim on the walls, the feeling of smooth tiles under his shoes, the sounds of leaves rustling against the windows, the faint scent of mahogany and spruce hanging in the air from the numerous candles he likes to light.

✿ Although these senses may sound boring, all it takes is a small spark of intrigue to set of an explosion of fireworks in his mind that leave him rushing back to his chamber to jot it all down, Karl scampering after him excitedly.

✿ But on days he doesn’t even have the will to get out of bed, it leaves Karl with the duty of getting him back on his feet.

✿ He’ll give him tons of fluffy cuddles and licks on the cheek, deliver him snacks leftover from Ranpo’s last visit, and eventually yank him out of bed by the sleeve of his pajama shirt when it’s time to get some sun.

✿ He’s perfectly content with this lifestyle and finds comfort in his solitude. Big crowds of loud, unfamiliar people make him uncomfortable and afraid. All he really needs is his writing, Karl, and Ranpo.

✿ There’s just one thing. The more he ventures outside of his sanctum, the more he begins to long for something.

✿ It’s a solemn feeling; Like the sad cry of a lost wolf pup, endlessly marching through a thick and dark forest, calling out for any signs of its pack. He can practically feel the cold biting at his torn paw pads and the thicket’s thorns scratching at his back.

✿ No matter how many sweet nuzzles Karl gives him, the feeling still persists.

✿ That was until he finally ran into you. In that moment where his eyes gazed into yours, his breathing stopped. The heavy, painful feeling of loneliness suddenly falters, like the metal cuffs weighing from his wrists and ankles unlock.

✿ Even though he has the conversation skills of both a theater kid and a wet rag, he does his best to keep up.

✿ His long, dark locks covering his eyes don’t do much to shield the slight red glow of embarrassment from his cheeks

✿ When he gets nervous, he likes to glide his fingers loosely through Karl’s dense fur. He makes sure to give him a nice brushing when it gets too tangled so it’s usually in pretty good condition. The quiet action helps steady his nerves, and Karl’s almost too willing to get some extra attention.

✿ After meeting you, he begins to leave the house more often.

✿ He loves to rant to you about the next chapter of his novel and how the newest twist will finally prove itself too difficult for Ranpo to deduce. He’ll go into detail, explaining each and every complexity, red herring, and hidden meaning of his writing which will probably go straight over your head. Following everything up with a villainous cackle.

✿ After noticing your lost expression, he apologies enthusiastically and laughs it off.

✿ When Ranpo learns of the new friend Poe made, he will invite both of you out with him to a local arcade. Even though he acts all cheerful and aloof as he urges you to play games with him, he secretly hides the fact he’s just using this as an excuse to scope you out.

✿ He can’t have some unworthy person try to come along and steal his close friend away from him, no matter how childish that sounds. He also just wants the best for Poe.

✿ If you pass his vibe check, you’re now added to the list of people Ranpo actually enjoys spending time with (good for you)

✿ Now that you’re officially a certified friend of Poe, you’ll have to take on some of the responsibilities Karl once did when Poe gets stuck in a stupor of blank pages.

✿ Make sure to get him some groceries (using his card ofc with his consent) and kind words.

✿ Sometimes all it takes to displace the dark, thunderous worries in his mind is a pat on the shoulder and a few words along the lines of “I’m proud of you.”

✿ He’ll look back at you with such a sickeningly sweet smile as tears gush from his shining, dark eyes.

✿ Expect a neatly folded envelope with a ruby red seal and a few jet black raven feathers decorated under it on your doorstep. In it contains a handwritten thank you letter from Poe. (He’s so extra I love him)

✿ But can you blame him? He’s just so glad to have another friend he can count on! <3

° .; ʚ❤︎ɞ ‘｡˚ :Romantic

➷ Having Poe as a boyfriend has to be one of the most exquisitely beautiful yet taxing experiences in the world of dating

➷ He’s a major hopeless romantic and would always find him mind drifting off to thoughts of you while trying to work on his novel.

➷ When he eventually realizes he got off draft he’s already covered the whole page in praises, poems, and hearts. He grumbles to himself for making such an embarrassing mistake and tears out the page.

➷ Right when he was about to crumble it, he stops himself and instead tucks it neatly into his desk, never to see the light of day again.

➷ He turns to a new page and takes a deep breath to calm his mind. Yet, his pen remains stationary. His eyebrows knit together as he tries desperately to push away the surplus thoughts of you and his love for you out of his mind.

➷ “Why can’t I just focus on what’s in front of me…?” He groans in defeat as he flops against his desk. Karl brushes his fluffy tail over his back, nudging his ear with his nose.

➷ “I’m fine, Karl. Just a bit distracted, it seems,” he mumbles, covering his growing blush with his arms.

➷ Is he really reduced to a complete flustered mess, just by the mere thoughts of you? He whimpers at the idea.

➷ Just give him some time to wallow in self pity and he’ll finally pull himself together.

➷ He decides to vent out his feelings into stacks upon stacks of love letters, poems, and sketches, all embodying his undying love for the beauty known as you.

➷ Now that his mind is free of clutter, he can begin work on his novel once more. But, out of the corner of his eye, he doesn’t quite catch the faint blur of gray fur that swipes one of the poems and speeds off to an unknown location.

➷ After around two hours, Poe wipes his brow and stands up from his desk, finally ready to take a needed break for some food and rest. When he reaches to his shoulder to pet Karl, the spot he usually rests while cuddling around Poe’s neck, he finds it worryingly empty.

➷ The adrenaline spike of a mother’s primal instincts shoots directly into his veins like a drug as he jumps up from his chair and scrambles all over the house in search of his beloved friend.

➷ Sooner or later he finds Karl curled up by the fireplace with nearly folded piece of paper in his mouth. Poe gently takes it from him and gasps as he reads it. It… it was a poem… with your name on it? Did Karl steal one of his love poems?!

➷ Without fully reading over the poem, he hurries back to his study and shoves it into his desk, along with the rest of the incriminating material of his love.

➷ “Not a soul shall hear of this, especially not t-them…” He murmurs to himself before preparing a cup of tea to calm down his racing heart.

➷ After a large quantity of time goes by and he warms up to being more open with his love, he’ll make it his duty to write one poem for you each day and have Karl deliver it to you. He could be swamped in work, suffering from a fever, or caught up in a fiasco with the guild and he would still find the time to jot down a few words for your eyes and heart only.

➷ Plus, he makes sure to give each letter a stamp of approval from Karl by dipping his paw pad in some animal safe ink.

➷ No matter how much time he spends with you it’s just not enough for his poor enthralled heart.

➷ Often, he’d find himself lying awake a night, thoughts and dreams of you echoing and spinning through his mind like a carousel.

➷ Just a light touch on the hand can turn his poor cheeks bright red. The picture of his blushing, flustered face barely concealed by his unkempt dark hair is enough to make anyone want to tease the life out of this man

➷ On days he’s not as busy and a little more confident than usual, he’ll take you out somewhere nice. And when I say nice, I mean NICEEE.

➷ We all know this guy is loaded and he’s 100% willing to spend every dime of it on you.

➷ Thousands of servings of food, luxury clothing brands, sparkling jewelry, spa trips every day, fuck it, even a private jet if you really wanted. Just remember to not be too demanding because he can get pretty reckless with money.

➷ One time you told him how much you loved bunnies and the next time you went into your living room it was completely full of bunny merch of all kinds. Plushies, blankets, clothes, I could go on for days.

➷ All and all, his love language is most definitely giving gifts or words of affirmations.

.༺ཐི♡ཋྀ��. :Sexual

ღ This guy is such a bottom in the kindest way I can put it. Everything about you sends currents of love streaming through his body, setting it ablaze. He’s completely at the mercy of this feeling, at the mercy of you.

ღ The only time he won’t be a bottom is when he’s going through a spout of confidence from either one upping Ranpo somehow or syncing himself up. But even then you won’t get anything more than a service dom.

ღ Let’s start of with his bottom side.

ღ He’s always pining for you, daydreaming about how lovely you are to him and how angelic you look. But his thoughts don’t always stay pure and fluffy.

ღ On days he’s especially pent up from working long days and nights on his writing, he can often find himself sucked into the honey trap of more… explicit fantasies of you.

ღ Sometimes it’s him tied up with you looming over him, sometimes you’re stroking him under the table during a guild meeting, sometimes you’re giving him head under his desk when he’s supposed to be finishing his novel, and sometimes you’re littering his pink tilted skin in hickies and lipstick stains.

ღ He whines in annoyance at the prominent bulge in his pants he now has to take care of.

ღ But maybe, if you’d be fine with it, you could make some of his fantasies come true…?

ღ He let’s put a yelp as he feels your hands slide up his thighs and your smirking face appear between them.

ღ his workaholic brain tries to resist the temptation in front of him in favor of working just a little bit more but… as soon as his fly is down and your intoxicatingly warm tongue laps against his head, he’s once again completely at your mercy.

ღ Even though he may have needy fantasies about you, I don’t see him having a very high libedo. You can expect to have sex maybe every week or so, adjusting around your needs instead of his.

ღ This brings me to discuss his service Dom side.

ღ When he’s in his confident mindset, you can find your back pressed against his mattress and his hands interlocked with his own as his lips trace against your jaw.

ღ You didn’t hear it from me, but his dirty talk is leagues ahead of most people in BSD.

ღ “What an alluring temptress I have below me, if I wasn’t the gentleman I am I would have taken you against every surface of my mansion until we’re both breathless and shaking~”

ღ “I can’t wait to bathe every inch and curve of your body in so much love and pleasure to the point your crying my name so loud even the angels in heaven will get jealous~”

ღ “Just like that, my beautiful goddess, I- Hahh I’m devoted to you and you only. I’ll pray and worship you every… se-second, hour, day of my life, I promise- Promise promise promise I’ll serve you! I’ll please you, I’ll make you feel an unending amount of ecstasy I swear to you!”

ღ “My angel, my love, my life, my everything, let your burning love out!! Nghhh~ Let it burst from your cunt, drip onto the mattress. I’ll clean it up later, I swear! J-just relax and cum for me, I-I Aghh!!! I just can’t hold on much longer! Please cum please cum please- Aghh!!~ I-I gonna cummmmm!!~”

ღ I totally see him as a virgin until he meets you. Either you’ll have to teach him or you’ll try to educate himself.

ღ How will he do that? Well, let’s just say there’s a certain shelf of his room no one, not even Karl, is allowed near. After exploring the world of more… erotic writing, that’s when he started to have fantasies about you.

ღ If you have a corruption kink, you better get to him before his private writing collection does~

ღ It’s pretty easy to make him lose his mind if I’m being honest.

ღ it can be done by giving him a sudden, deep kiss on the lips, a hug from behind where your hands wander further than his stomach, maybe even having him catch you in nothing but a bra and panties.

ღ Now that’s a great way to stay in his mind for hours~

ღ One of his guilty pleasures is marks. Hickies are his favorite because the pain that comes with scratches and bruises takes him out of his romantic mood. On days where he’s out and about with his dearest friend Ranpo and he catches the faint glimpse of a reddish bruise under the pearly white collar of his button up. Dread seeps into every corner of his body like a rock sinking to the bottom of a pond as a sinister smirk stretches across Ranpo’s face.

ღ “My my my, did someone have some fun last night?~ I never took you for the-“ Ranpo’s smirk widens as a hand quickly covers his mouth.

ღ “D-Don’t… allow me to keep at least some of my dignity…” Poe stammers out, using his other hand to cover his incriminating blush.

ღ But he could be caught in the act a million times before he ever even for a second regretted the nights of sinful passion you two spend together. Reaching a new level of nirvana with you proudly riding the life out of him makes him the happiest, most lucky man in all of the world. Even if you tease him, deny him, even degrade him, he’ll still love you more than anything.

ღ “Look at how desperate you are, cumming back to back like this is the best pussy you’ve ever gotten. Is it good? Do I make you feel good, my love?~” You coo to him, stroking his heated cheek.

ღ The lovesick expression on his face, drool dripping down his chin, a cherry red blush, his clumped locks sticking to the sweat of his forehead, it all says more than even a million, trillion love poems could ever hope of communicating.

ʕ(◕ᴥ◕)ʔ Karl

꩜ He absolutely ADORES both you and Poe

꩜ I'd like to think the story of how Poe met Karl is a long and detailed one, but I’ll try to keep it short

꩜ One day after being rejected by the 27th publisher, Poe began his sad walk home.

꩜ He knows he shouldn’t give up home and that soon enough someone would be interested in his stories, but the crushing despair of not being good enough ate away at him.

꩜ he keeps his head low and to the ground, to ashamed of himself to meet anyone’s eye. That was until he noticed the hard concrete sidewalk had now turned into a loamy, grassy mix.

꩜ When he looked back up, he found himself lost in a dark forest of looming trees, pointed thickets, and changing owls.

꩜ All around him was a never ending void, disturbed by only the chirping of small animals and the rustling of bushes.

꩜ He was completely lost.

꩜ After checking his phone to of course find it has no signal and the path he had just taken was now covered in thick bushes his blood went cold.

꩜ Was this his destiny? To get rejected from every publisher in his city and die alone and hungry in the forest at night?

꩜ He sank to the ground and hugged his knees to his chest.

꩜ Tears he has been fighting back for hours finally spilled down his cheeks, swamping the first floor in dirty, murky mud.

꩜ That was until he felt a strange tickling sensation against his back. His head whipped around to find an unexpected acquaintance.

꩜ It was a small, furry raccoon with large, black eyes. It cocked its head like Poe was a weirdly rock and chittered softly.

꩜ Poe backed away slightly. He knows the animals of the forest were never ones to be messed with, including a baby raccoon. Whenever there’s a baby, an angry mom is always nearby and ready to pounce.

꩜ But instead, the raccoon squeaked again and turned his back to him, shaking his tail side to side. Was it… trying to tell him something?

꩜ Suddenly, it began to march away, it’s tail swinging behind him. Did it want Poe to follow it?

꩜ Without any over ideas, the two began to make their way through the forest, weaving between thorny brambles and suspicious ivy. After only a few minutes the glowing lights of the city finally illuminated from the clearing of the forest.

꩜ “Little raccoon, you saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” Poe knealt down on the ground and gave the kind creature a sincere bow.

꩜ The raccoon chittered back at him and stood on its hind legs, reaching up to Poe. The writer’s poor heart is pierced with an arrow of affection for his new furry friend, scooping him up into his arms and carrying him back to civilization.

꩜ Karl was born into a little of cute, healthy raccoons, owned by an unknown russian author.

꩜ But one day after playing with his siblings, he suddenly found himself picked up by the author and sold off to a family looking for an unusual house pet.

꩜ After a series of events, Karl escaped and scurried off into the forest.

꩜ He may finally have freedom, but since he’s still so young, he doesn’t know how to find food or protect himself.

꩜ Just as he was about to curl up in a pile of leaves and sleep, he heard unusual sounds coming from deep in the forest.

꩜ That’s when he found Poe.

꩜ Back in present time, he spends all his time either resting on Poe’s shoulders, curled up by the fireplace, or nestled on your lap.

꩜ His favorite treats are nuts like cashews, acorns, and peanuts. He also likes blueberries, sunflower seeds, and grapes.

꩜ (don’t give him cotton candy he will cry and Poe will scold you)

꩜ Poe won’t let you feed Karl too many snacks in fear he might get even more chunky, but if Karl gives him some big, sad eyes and whimpers, Poe will eventually cave.

꩜ He loves to chase laser pointers and you may or may not have used that to lead him on a wild chase all over Poe’s study. (It was of course Ranpo’s idea)

꩜ You too giggle to yourself like little gremlins as Poe races around the room chasing Karl like a madman.

꩜ Poe makes him wear little boots when it rains and he hates them so much, always tries to pull em off so he can splash around in the mud.

꩜ Surprisingly love baths and will purr the entire time like the attention loving stinker he is.

꩜ Has been caught digging in Poe’s and your trash on occasion. When caught he stands on his hind legs and freezes, slowly backing away with an apple core in his mouth.

꩜ Cuz Poe’s so wealthy he often buys him tons of dog and cat toys, testing each out to find what he likes most.

꩜ Karl loves feathery cat toys to swat at, squeaker dog toys to chew on, and remote control mouses to chase. But his favorite toy has to be Poe’s long jacket and anything shiny or jingling on your outfit.

꩜ Always vies for pets and cuddles, hence why he’s always snoozing away on Poe’s shoulders or lap. He’s like a little baby you both raise together and he couldn’t have better parents <3

Reblog + Comment + Like if you want to see more Bungo Stray Dogs or Poe specific content!

(After taking a few days to recover from writers block I’ve FINALLY been able to finish this. Phewww!~ The schedule I’ve been experimenting with is still being worked on but I might be able to post it soon along with another question. Cya all then!~ <3)

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs poe #edgar allan poe #edgar allen poe bsd #poe x reader #edgar allen poe x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs fluff #poe smut #Poe fluff #gn reader #Karl #karl bsd #bungou stray dogs

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erosauriarts · 1 year ago

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#fan art #art #bsd #bungou gay dogs #bungo stray dogs #ranpoe #ranpoe fluff #ranpo edogawa #edgar allen poe bsd

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giggly-squiggily · 10 months ago

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The Great Escape (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Hehe, thought there wasn't gonna be a fic today, did ya? >:D This is a sequel to "A New Kind Of Mystery"; I won't lie- originally I wasn't planning on writing one (do I ever plan sequels? Not really jlkrejarjeajraejkrjka) but after being encouraged by the ever wonderful @intheticklecloset here we are! :D I hope y'all like it!

Taglist Peeps:

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart

Summary: Poe's getting ready for his and Ranpo's vacation and makes the bold decision to leave his notebook behind. Surely he'll be fine without it, right?....Right?

“Oh…which should I bring?”

Poe was once again at a crossroad, brows furrowing as he looked between too well loved hardcovers. Ranpo and his holiday was just around the corner, and while the important things for their trip were already packed- if not a bit messy on his boyfriend’s end- he now had to decide on reading material.

“Gggggr?” Karl was curled up on the nearest suitcase, watching Poe stress with lazy eyes.

“I know I won’t be reading the entire time, Karl- I just want a few things for when things settle down.” He flipped the books over, scanning their synopsis. Oh, they both sounded good! And then there were those new books he recently purchased…

“Poe!” Fingers jabbed his sides, making him squeal with a spasm. “Surprise! I’m here!”

“R-Ranpo!” The author turned to his boyfriend, or at least tried to. Those dastardly fingers were still prodding and poking at his sides, making him curl up and giggle. “Rannananapo, pleahahhahase! Iihihih’m trihihihihying to pahahhahack!”

“Still? I thought you had everything?” The detective looked over his boyfriend’s shoulder as he kept on tickling, humming at the books. “Didn’t you read both of these like- several hundred kajillion times?”

“Huhuhuhush! Thehehehy’re clahahhahahssics!”

“Just like you! Hehehe!”

Poe felt his cheeks burn- a combination of the tickles and Ranpo’s teasing compliment. “Ahehahahahha Rahahahn!”

“Hehe, okay okay.” The detective released him. Soon after he grabbed both books, tossing them in Poe’s remaining suitcase. “When you can’t decide, bring both! That’s how I go about my snacks.”

“Hehe..heheh..I suhuhpose thahaht’s fahahair…” Pushing his bangs back, Poe reached to zip up his bag, pausing when Ranpo quirked a brow. “Whahat is it?”

“You’re not bringing it?” The detective asked. Poe knew instantly what he was talking about.

His go-to notebook; what he used to scribble down outlines and ideas for his next big mystery. It was rare for Poe to let it out of his sight- even rarer for him not to bring it.

Poe raised his chin, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not bringing it. I promised you a holiday, and I intend to keep it.” Nodding, he finished zipping his bag, finalizing his decision. “No working for me. Nope, none at all.”

“Are you sure?” Ranpo raised a skeptical brow. Poe hoped the smile on his lips wasn’t too frozen.

“Absolutely.”

Ranpo watched him closely before shrugging, reaching out and poking Poe some more. “Okay! In that case, let’s get this vacay started!”

“Rahahhan!”

~~~

“Look at that! Oh, and that! And that!” Ranpo was lying half-on top of him, nose and hands pressed into the foggy glass of their train compartment as they watched the scenery go by. Their destination was a cozy little cottage not far from the main attractions in Yokohama. The owner of said cottage was none other than Fukuzawa himself- only mildly panicked upon hearing Ranpo’s plan to “Find a cheap motel and pray.” It was a joke of course, but he insisted upon them taking it.

If anything, it guaranteed their safety. Though Poe wouldn’t be against the idea of a haunted hotel room…

“Poe, look! Look! Are you looking?” Ranpo’s gentle but insistent prodding brought him back to current time, turning his gaze out towards the pamphlet in his boyfriend’s hands. “They’ve got a zoo around where we’re heading! And lots of gardens and-” Ranpo went silent, eyes glued to the paper.

“What?” Poe couldn’t take the anticipation any longer!

“They have a cup noodle museum!” Ranpo all but breathed, eyes lighting up like a child on christmas. “Poe, we have to go! We have to! Cup noodles are the ultimate snack! The staple of childhood- are you laughing at me?”

Poe was in fact giggling in his hands, barely hiding a smile. “I'm sohohorry! I’m sohohrry- just; you’re so cute!” The author giggled against his shoulder, shaking with barely repressed mirth. “I nehehever knew how excited you were abohohut noodles!”

“As the god of snacks, I am mildly offended.” Ranpo replied, his deadpan expression breaking into a smile when Poe snorted. “As punishment, you get tickles!”

“Ah! Ahhehahahhahaha! Whahahit, wahhahahit- Rahhahahan! Whehehe’re in puhuhuhblic!” Poe squeaked, sinking as much as he could in his chair as he tried muffling the sound. Ranpo had decided to take full residence in his lap however- making it near impossible.

“Don’t worry- no one’s looking!” Ranpo teased in his ear, keeping his tickles just light enough to keep Poe snickering. “Even if they were, you’re cute! They’d love you.”

“Shuhuuhuhush! Aheahhahaha, Raahhahahan!” He squeaked, clinging to the detective’s jacket with barely any strength. He didn’t feel eyes on him, so Ranpo was speaking the truth.

Even if they were being watched, part of him simply didn’t care. Let them witness their love on this train going nowhere.

Huh- that’d be a good idea for a horror story. Two lovers on an endless train in limbo. He should write this down-

…Ah, right.

At some point Ranpo must have stopped, for when he came back to the Detective was once again reading his pamphlet, leaning into his shoulder and getting comfortable. Poe smiled, pressing a hand against his boyfriends.

He pretended the small ache in his chest was something else.

~~~

“CANON BALL!” Sheets and pillows flew everywhere as Ranpo landed in the bed, sprawling out like an octopus as he wiggled about. “This is the BEST! I’m so glad we came- that cup noodle exhibit was amazing!”

“It was rather..unique. Who knew there was so much to learn about snacks?” Poe smiled as he sat down, resting his aching feet. Their vacation seemed to fly by- the day they got there to now has been nothing but exploration and adventure. “I also enjoyed those racoon dogs- they reminded me of Karl.”

Said racoon made an assortment of clicking noises as it curled up against Poe’s pillow, snoozing once more. Ranpo grinned as he stroked his fur, cooing gently.

It was all so fun, and Poe was having a great time. However…somewhere deep down, he felt like such a failure.

Wherever he went, wherever he turned- he couldn’t turn off his brain from work. The sights and sounds of Yokohama’s beautiful gardens and zoos made him imagine the perfect settings for his books. The secrets within the city gave him inspiration for mysteries, and Ranpo…

Oh being with Ranpo made him think of a genre he never thought he’d write. Romance.

A hide and seek tale, maybe? A man is trying to find his lover but they’re so far away. He searches high and low, following the sound of their voice as it calls out to him playfully. He crosses the oddest of people and the most breathtaking sights to find them-

Everytime it happened he reached for his notebook, only to not find it there. It caused a small panic until he realized he left it home.

Then that panic turned to shame at how disappointed he felt not having it.

It was like a betrayal, only he was holding the knife aimed at Ranpo’s back.

“Poe?” Ranpo was standing before him now, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

The author blinked, suddenly unsure. “I…erm..”

“Poe?” Ranpo’s eyes widened suddenly, his hands reaching out to the other’s shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Again, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until he blinked that he realized he was crying. “Ranpo…I’m failing you.”

“What? Come here, come here.” The detective pulled his boyfriend to his feet, leading him to the bed. Once there, he pulled him down, down, down some more until they were laying against the warm sheets, Ranpo’s arms around his torso as he pressed gentle kisses against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I made you a promise, and yet- here I am breaking it. I promised you I wouldn’t work but yet- here I am longing to write. I shouldn’t be thinking about all that- I should be spending time with you.” Poe blinked a few times, willing the tears to dry. He shouldn’t be crying- he didn’t deserve to. “I’m sorry, Ranpo.”

The detective was quiet against him, the arms around Poe strong as ever. Then he was sitting up, just enough to look down at Poe’s face. His expression…

“You know what I love the most about you?” He asked, eyes soft and lips curved in the gentlest of smiles. “It’s that you care so much about others. You want to give them your best self, even if it comes at sacrificing yourself.” He reached up, gently brushing Poe’s long bangs from his forehead so he could look him in the eye. “I know you, Poe. I know you’ll never quite turn off your brain even when on vacation. I know you’ll always be thinking about books and stories and writing- and you know what? That’s okay. It’s a core part of you, and another part about you I love with my entire heart.”

Poe wanted to argue, but Ranpo pressed the softest of kisses against his cheek, silencing him.

“I love how your mind is constantly running on creativity. I love how you find inspiration in things I wouldn’t even think about. I love how you’re so devoted to the craft it becomes real.” Each statement came with another kiss, stamping them into Poe’s heart permanently. “I love the fact you willingly came with me on vacation. I love you walked through an entire noodle exhibit you likely didn’t care for just to make me happy. I just- I love you. Even if you’re thinking about books and whatnot- you’re here with me. You’re with me right now. That’s all I want.”

Poe couldn’t find words. His throat was constricted with a lump the size of a baseball as he looked into his boyfriend’s eyes. Even if he could speak, how was he supposed to voice how much he loved him? Words aren’t enough.

Instead, he breathed out a small “May I kiss you?”

Ranpo grinned, nodding. Poe pulled him down into himself as he kissed him, putting everything he felt into it. Warmth spread across his body, curling his toes and setting into the deepest crevices of his heart for all eternity.

Beneath his hands, he could feel Ranpo’s heart racing just as fast, syncing up with his own and playing the same melody.

When they pulled away, they were both slightly flushed and breathless, Ranpo’s eyes bright against dark hair. Poe reached up, gently brushing it out of his face with a small smile.

“Hey..I love you.” Poe whispered, making Ranpo light up.

“I love you too.” He fell back into Poe’s chest, snuggling his face into his chest with a content sigh. “We should go on holiday more often.”

“Definitely.” Poe surprised himself by saying it. He surprised himself even further with how real the words felt.

“Oh?” Ranpo sat up with a grin, fingers scritting against Poe’s belly. “Did I hear you right? You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Aheheahahha! Oohohohof cohohohoure I ahahhaham! Ahehahaha- nohoohow you gehehehhet toohohoho!” With a boost of strength he didn’t realize he had, he managed to push Ranpo on his side, going for all the spots that he knew would have the detective squealing for mercy. “Tahhaek that!”

“AH! Aheahhahahhha, Pohohohohoohe! Ahehahhahhahaha!” Ranpo flopped like a fish against the sheets, sending them flailing off the bed. At some point Karl jumped for safety, landing on the nearby bed table as his humans wrestled about the bed, laughing all the way.

~~~

“Surprise!” Ranpo pulled out a small notebook from his snack bag, holding it out to Poe with warm yet nervous eyes. “I know it’s not your preferred notebook, but I saw it while snack shopping and thought of you.”

Poe stared, seemingly frozen at the gesture. For a moment, Ranpo was sure he messed up.

Then the author took it in his hands, tears misting his eyes as he held it close. “Thank you…it’s perfect.”

The detective grinned, jumping forward and kissing Poe’s with reckless abandon. “Do you love it? I know you love it, you love it don’t you?”

“Ahehaha! I do! I do!” Poe giggled, pulling the smaller man into his chest. “I do. Thank you Ranpo. In fact- I already know what I’m putting in it.”

“Oh?” The detective raised a brow but didn’t push, settling on snuggling against Poe’s chest instead. It wasn’t long before he was sleeping away.

~~~

Poe’s new notebook was not used for notetaking. Nor was it used for outlines.

Within the pages were an assortment of things- photos taken on a polaroid of them smiling, Ranpo giddily next to a giant cup of noodle, Karl staring at the Racoon dog- all various parts of their holiday.

Between photos were little blurbs- Poe’s sprawly handwriting detailing each event and his favorite moments from each activity. Some were softer- a secret photo taken of Ranpo snoring against his chest kept in the “Treasures” section. Wrappers of snacks his boyfriend insisted on him trying and he ended up liking were stashed inside as well- taped in with care and cute racoon washi they found. Pressed flowers from the garden trip were carefully added, a picture of Poe with a crown of them on his head nearby.

They only took so many pages- the rest of the notebook was far from full. Poe smiled as he pressed it closed, tucking it away in his desk.

He couldn’t wait for their next adventure.

Thanks for reading!

#BSD #tickle #tickle fic #ranpoe #ranpo edogawa #edgar allen poe #vacation time #a touch of hurt/comfort #but mostly fluff with these lovable dorks #hitting y'all with a fluff bomb before I go on a will i won't I writing vacation #post the candy heart dabbles of course #classes and all that #anywho #RANPOE BELOVED!

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queer-n-here · 8 months ago

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hi! It's me again from that Poe request :) I wanted to say thank you very much for doing my request! I loved it so much and you're an amazing writer, keep it up! but if you don't mind again, I have another :")) {you can ignore this by the way if u wanna I don't mind <3}

Same as before with Poe, but reader who very much is affectionate with Poe only than anyone else and only clings onto him and his attention (also reader likes to attach himself to hug Poe from behind when he's talking to someone)

your free to do my request anytime you like! (Keep up the good work!!)

Haiyah, thanks man! It's them compliments that always make my day! And y'all here on Tumblr are like, too nice. I do all the requests I receive y'know, unless they go explicitly against my 'morals' (I sound like Kunikida, hell)

It might take me some time, but if you've sent me a req and I've received it, I'll 100% do it!

Also, MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOW IS MY CHANCE TO WRITE FLUFF! YOU SHALL BOW BEFORE MY ABILITY; 'FLUFF ON TOP' MUAHAHAHA-

*Clears throat* Um, sorry. Anyways, here's the fic, hope you like it! It's a little short, though!

Contents: Jealous Clingy Reader x Edgar Allen Poe

Warnings: Fluff, slight (non-existent) mentions of sex.

Fluff HCs for Poe

Poe needs a clingy boyfriend, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

When he's overworking himself in his study, too caught up in his novel to keep track of time, he needs you, who'll go up to him and pick him up from his chair and carry him to the bed for cuddles, making him smile at you reluctantly.

When he's outside, maybe picking up some food for Karl, you go and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling his back up against your chest and putting your chin on his shoulder. He splutters and blushes, hissing that you two are in public, but you remind him what he was talking about before you intervened, and he gets distracted enough to let you enjoy him in your arms.

Sometimes you casually wrap your arms around Poe, even as he's talking to someone else, and bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, nuzzling his neck and planting soft kisses against his pale skin.

Poe acts like he doesn't like it, but even as he tries to pull away from your embrace at times, you can see how red the back of his neck and ears have gotten. It's cute, you think.

And then one day, while you're being even more clingy than usual (if that's even possible) during a date at a park, Poe suddenly raises a hand and waves at someone.

You looked up, squinting to search for the receiver of this greeting, and Poe starts walking away, towards whoever he'd been waving at. You follow, slightly sulking at his sudden shift of attention.

It turns out to be some detective. As Poe introduces you two, you faintly remember that this man, Ranpo, is the very same as the one Poe goes into long rants about.

How... Interesting.

You greet Ranpo with a nod, and Poe strikes up a conversation. Standing just a little behind Poe so that he can't see your expression, you glare down at Ranpo, your face full of black lines.

How dare he interrupt your date?

I mean, sure, it was Poe who reached out, but doesn't Ranpo know how to decline? Does he not have that function in his brain?

But Poe is smiling, talking excitedly and gesturing with his hands the way he does when he's having fun, so you lessen the intensity of your glare, and turn your head away to sulk instead.

It's Ranpo who breaks the conversation in the end, saying that he's out on some 'Agency business' and that he can't stay any longer.

You take Poe back to your shared house, and kiss him till he's aroused and wants to do it.

And that's how your day ends.

I mean, at this point, your clinginess is making Karl's life hell, too.

Whenever the poor raccoon tries to sit on Poe's shoulder, or just go up and get Poe's attention, you're standing right there in his way, arms wrapped around Poe's waist and eyes sharp as they glare at Karl.

How can you be jealous of a raccoon? Make it make sense.

And Poe, damn, he's obsessed with the feeling of your warmth around him, the way you hold him so close it gives him the butterflies. You're so gentle around him, you've got him convinced that he's breakable.

He knows he's the only one who receives this treatment from you. He's seen the way you look at other people, only half glances because they're just not important enough for you to care. He's seen you get angry, too, like that time you two were out to watch a movie and someone tried to cut in line before him. You look scary when you're angry, to put in simply.

And honestly? He loves every moment of it, even if he'd rather jump off a cliff than admit it.

What he doesn't know is that he doesn't need to. You see the way he leans into your touch, even while complaining about how clingy you are. You feel the way he nestles into you, no tension in his body as he can just relax. You perceive how he looks so assured whenever you're there, arms wrapped around him and peppering kisses on his face.

I mean, isn't that the sole reason you do it? Because he loves getting pampered and coddled even if doesn't want to admit it?

#dom male reader #top male reader #dom reader #bungou stray dogs #sub bsd #sub bsd x you #bsd x you #sub bungou stray dog x you #sub bungou stray dogs #sub character #sub character x you #sub poe x you #sub poe #sub edgar allen poe #sub edgar allen poe x you #fluff #bsd fluff

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wizardfrog69 · 11 months ago

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hii im so sorry if you dont take requests I just wanted to ask if you could write poe x chubby insecure reader? Or just insecure and anxious if youd like also could you add in Ranpo too if you write for him? I used google translate so sorry if my english is off have a nice day!

I do take requests, and I wrote for both. Thank you for your request!

'•.¸♡ Insecurities ♡¸.•'

Insecure/anxious/chubby reader

Fluff/comfort

Masterlist

Enjoy!

Feat. Poe, Ranpo

Edgar Allan Poe

Man is over here fan girling over you 24/7 and writing 200 poems to you every day.

When he learnt you were insecure, he would very shyly give you a hug and tell you everything is okay and you have nothing to be insecure about. He did stutter through most of it, but he tried.

Will make sure to make you feel as loved as he can make you feel, mostly through writing, because he could never tell you face to face as he will have a heart attack 20 times.

The letters he writes for you are filled with love and compliments!

If you feel bad about yourself, then he would do his best to distract you. This could be something like reading to you in front of a warm fire with Karl snuggled up between you two.

Ranpo Edogawa

Ranpo never really understands why you feel so insecure about yourself. Since he is so amazing he only dates amazing people too.

He can be mean and tease you in your insecurities, he means well though.

He does try and comfort you to the best of his ability on your worse days, telling you you are wonderful and so on.

He likes boasting about his ability, but that isn't the only thing he boasts about. Often he talks about you, especially in a setting where you can hear (or Yosano so she can gosip with you) so you can hear all the things he adores about you. He also tries to compliment you in private.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

i fixed it. I cannot edit these on my phone so if my posting wasn't irregular enough it's going to be more irregular and i may make more grammatical or spelling errors so sorry in advance.

have a wonderful day/night, and remember to drink something and do something thats makes you happy, you deserve it :)

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artofkhaos404 · 1 year ago

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"Dating Edgar Allen Poe"

Bungo Stray Dogs

🖤SFW🖤

Drop any headcannon requests in my ask box or the comments, I'd love to do them! My fandom masterlist can be found at the bottom of my top pinned post.

_________________________________________

× Poe is a certified workaholic; total perfectionist. When it comes to his writing, whether it's a novel or some obscure poetry, you can get his attention on nothing else until it's exactly as he first envisioned it.

× Thus, there would be days he's working on a project and can't seem to reach those impossibly high standards. On these difficult days, when he's moping around being hard on himself and declaring he will abandon his career, it's up to you to comfort him. Remind him that his work is amazing, and so is he.

× Because that's his love language: words of affirmation. This man EATS IT UP when you give him reassurance, compliments, anything. He's having a low self esteem day? Just read over his shoulder, praise the intricacy of the written words and flirt. He'll be beaming.

× Poe is just as sweet and considerate when you have low self esteem days, maybe even more so! He's not the most socially aware, since he daydreams so much, so you'll have to let him know if you're down. When you do his response is always "I cannot imagine what for! You are as the moon in the night sky, the flowers of the valley." Corny? ABSOLUTELY. He talks to you like an 18th century poet. You thought it was weird at first, but now it's totally endearing.

× His love style is flamboyant; a traditionally romantic lover. Late night strolls and candlelight dinners- but he always does it his way. His favorite walks with you are in the rain, when you both dress in heavy jackets, you curled against his arm, under the umbrella. The candlelight dinners are always lit by black candles.

× Obviously, he's goth. If you aren't, he doesn't mind... but if you are, he'll love you even more for it.

× Though romantic, he's shy about it. Not the dashing gentleman, sweep you off your feet type. He's more the type that, when you come home from work, he'll have a surprise candle light dinner laid out with some soft goth rock playing in the background, dressed in his very best. He won't address it as anything unusual, but hopes you will praise him. And when you do, he blushes and stammers like nuts.

× I'm sure this goes without saying, but he also writes you romantic poetry. That stuff is like reading "Song of Solomon." Once again, never addresses it, but he'll leave any poetry he wrote for you under your pillow or beside your toothbrush in the morning, get up and get to work before you awaken and find it.

× He's fairly quiet and shy most of the time, content to listen to and watch you rather than interacting. But if you want to hear him talk, ask about his newest novel. He'll go on for HOURS.

× One stress between the two of you is that he struggles to take care of himself. Mind almost always on his work, he lives perpetually in his own fantasy world; the world he's building on paper. That often causes him forget to shower, eat, etc. If you've been out of the house, it's almost certain you'll return to a hungry, frail grease ball of a boyfriend leaned intently over his manuscript.

× Since he's LOADED, he spends ridiculous amounts of money on you like it's nothing. All his gifts are atrociously expensive, often times for no reason. It's rather concerning.

× And lastly, since he's more traditionally minded, he wants to wait to ~do the deed~ until marriage. However, he'll kiss and cuddle you every day, and he is SUCH a good kisser.

#bsd poe #bsd #bungo sd #bungou sd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd headcanons #bsd fandom #edgar allen poe #boyfriend headcanons #bsd x reader #poe x reader #sfw headcanons #anime boyfriend #anime headcanons #weeb #the guild bsd #bungo stray dogs fluff #bsd fluff

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itsmeoculi · 1 year ago

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Poe dating hcs! SMUT AND FLUFF

Pairing(s):Poe x gn!reader

Tw: Smut hcs, nsfw content will be mentioned

Synopsis:None needed! Just dating Poe hcs

Let’s get a move on then!

Floof

-DEFINITELY LEAVES NOTES AROUND THE HOUSE!! He’s a writer for goodness sake, his notes are rlly cute. It’s like him telling you when he’s coming back home, if he’s making any additional stops, and where he mainly is headed for.

-Karl has had to at least sneak 1, if not, 2 thirsty love poems that Poe writes about you, when he’s alone. Ofc Poe is very shy AND WOULD PROBABLY DIE if you saw what he wrote. Karl being a smart as showed you by sneaking the papers. Poe could barely look at you in the eyes (as if they’re even visible) for like 2 weeks. Poor introvert :(

-Definitely a cuddle bug, a quite one tho. He doesn’t really ask for cuddles, he slides into them naturally, yk? like one night y’all are gonna sleep at a late hour, and he nudges your shoulder and sneaks his head under your arm. You guys then end up holding each other after

-LITTLE SPOON LITTLE SPOON LITTLE SPOOOOOOON!!!!!!!!

-Spoils you, but like unintentionally. Like man is so rich that $2,000 seems like a miracle to you, but to him? That’s a measly nickel, if not a cent to this guy 😦

-He would casually buy you new expensive stuff, like on a daily basis. No not “Here, darling it’s for Christmas.” And he gives you a new car (which this situation is still completely possible) but like you’ll see $20,000 purses on nightstands, DAILY, next to notes he leaves and the note would say “Just a small gift, love you always.” LIKE GODDAMNNNNN.

-you prob tell him at some point not to spend so much money on you, he apologizes (EVEN THOUGH HE DONT NEED TOOOO POOR BBY :((( ) BUT STILL KEEPS BUYING YOU STUFF just less frequently, cause he wants to listen to you. BUT HOW COULD HE NOT SPOIL YOU?

-loves rainy days because he would write stories, and ask for feedback from you, even if ur not a pro writer he just wants to hear your voice rlly (lil simp frfr)

-you babysit Karl when he’s REALLY BUSYYYY he trusts you <33

-writes letters sometimes. You two have phones and stuff, but he sometimes likes the feeling of paper and ink all dedicated to you. So he writes traditional letters instead of texts sometimes (he mainly does this for anniversaries or any special events)

-When y’all are about to have.. spichyyyy time, YOU GUYS HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE TO make sure that Karl doesn’t walk in. So y’all lock everything and make sure that Karl is in a whole separate FAR AWAY room from where y’all are, cause I have to say it, POE IS A LOUD MOANER

That brings us to smut hcs!

-He’s an automatic sub/bottom

-whimpers a lot, especially if you’re edging him FOR SOME REASON HE LOVES IT THOUGH

-He loves being at your mercy, he wants you to use him.

-Don’t deny that this man would be into wearing collars. HE WILL LITERALLY BUY ONE THAT SAYS “(Name’s)” (yk like you own him) ofc out of the bedroom you feel bad, but he likes being yours so uh.. yeah!

-give this guy a blowjob HE’LL DIEEE, of arousal of course.~~

-I’m scared but this guy has some junk, bc you know that all tall, shy, introverted men in these kinds of shows have BIG THONG-ALONG so he be packin’

-Loves hair tugging, but be gentle, he’s sensitive <33

-being sensitive, he’s also easy to arouse and satisfy.

-he’s a bit of a k!nky btch. Not as k!nky as Dazai tho but that’s a whole different can of worms.

-aftercare game isn’t bad. He pampers you with affection.

APOLOGIES IF THE SMUT SECTION WAS CRINGYY (I’m not used to writing stuff like that but I hope you at least enjoy) 😭

#poe bsd #edgar allen poe bsd #poe smut #poe x reader #poe bungou stray dogs #poe x y/n #smut #bsd fluff

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acornwinter · 1 year ago

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i will literally pay someone to write fluffy poe x reader fanfiction

sigh.

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sirhyst · 2 years ago

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Edgar Allan Poe (bsd) fluff alphabet (P - T)

————————————————————————-

Pets – Do they have pets? Do they want them?

If you also have pets, he’s worried at first that Karl wouldn’t get along with them. Of course he would love your pet(s) and Karl to be friends, so you both can try to introduce them. I think even though Karl is a wild animal, he’s chill for a raccoon so he makes friends with other animals easily.

Quiet – How are the calm, quiet moments with them?

He loves the comfortable silence between you two. Like in the morning if you two decide to rest longer than day. These mornings are important to him, especially if you’ve both had a trying week. If you’re sitting together doing separate tasks, he loves listening to your little mutters and noises. If you’re listening to music, he loves when you hum and sometimes hums along without realising it.

Romance – How romantic are they? What are their go-to ways of being romantic?

Poe is the embodiment of romantic, he may be a nervous person, but he loves you dearly and wants to show you that. Poe isn’t very good at things like doing breakfast in beds, but he’s pretty damn good at writing love letters. Sometimes he gives them to you directly or leave them in your bag. Sometimes he’ll actually place it in the mailbox and purposely ask you to fetch the mail so you can find it.

Safe – What makes them feel safe and comfortable around you?

By the time you both start dating, Poe definitely isn’t as nervous as he was when he first laid eyes on you. He’s rigid because he’s afraid you’ll leave him, but once he’s sure you’re not here to hurt him, he becomes more comfortable with you. He first felt safe with you when you frequently came to visit him when he fell into a depression. It wasn’t much, but he appreciated that you were there for him. Even if you’re not someone that’s necessarily good at comforting people, the fact that you came to see him made him feel, even if it were for a moment, that the world wasn’t out to get him. He also feels safe when you hold him gently while slowly kissing him. For him, it feels like the whole world disappears.

Tend – How do they act when you’re hurt or sick, and vice versa?

When you’re sick/hurt: he goes into protective lover mode. He gets you anything you need in order to maximise your comfort. If you need space, he’ll leave you alone for a few hours, but he’ll check upon you once in awhile to make sure you’re still comfortable. He’s not the greatest cook, but he’ll try to make soup and tea for you.

When he’s sick/hurt: he tries to hide it. As mentioned before, he gets overcome by the thoughts of him being a burden for you. It isn’t until you walk in and probably did him fast sleep at his desk, or if he’s in pain, quietly crying in his office. If you try and take him to his bedroom so can rest, he might fight you and act like he’s fine (even though you did just find him crying), but eventually he lets you lead him away from his work.

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reixtsu · 2 years ago

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Ranpoe Headcanons

Ranpo and Poe both have a deep love of mystery and detective work, and they often spend hours discussing different cases and trying to solve them together. Despite their differing personalities, they both appreciate the intellectual challenge that comes with solving a difficult case.

Poe is fascinated by Ranpo's brilliant mind, and is constantly amazed by how quickly he is able to solve even the most complex of cases. Ranpo, on the other hand, is drawn to Poe's creativity and imagination, and admires his ability to come up with unique and unconventional solutions to problems.

Despite their different approaches to detective work, Ranpo and Poe have a deep respect for each other's abilities. They often work together on cases, each bringing their own unique strengths to the table and collaborating to create a comprehensive solution.

Ranpo is known for being a bit of a recluse, but he always seems to open up around Poe. He finds Poe's cheerful demeanor and quick wit to be a refreshing change from the often grim world of detective work, and he appreciates how Poe always knows just what to say to make him laugh.

Poe, in turn, is constantly amazed by Ranpo's intelligence and deductive skills. He sees Ranpo as a sort of intellectual hero, and is always eager to learn from him and soak up his knowledge.

Despite their deep friendship, Ranpo and Poe have never been romantically involved. They are content to simply enjoy each other's company and work together on cases, with the knowledge that they have a deep and unbreakable bond that goes beyond any romantic entanglements.

When they're not working on cases, Ranpo and Poe can often be found relaxing at home, with Ranpo stretched out on the couch reading a book and Poe curled up next to him with a sketchpad in hand. For them, there's nothing more comforting than simply being in each other's presence, content to bask in the warmth of their friendship.

#Bsd #bsd Ranpo #ranpoe #Bungo gay dogs #Bungo stray dogs #ranpo edogawa #poe #bsd Poe #edgar allen poe bsd #Edgar Allen poe #bsd ranpoe #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungo stray dogs headcanons #ranpo x poe #poe x ranpo #Bungou gay dogs #bsd au

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kyojimi · 1 year ago

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This was a little bit rushed due to my interesting ‘writing timetable’ which is whenever I feel like writing brainrot and random things even if it may not make sense but that's the fun of it right?

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅──

Nope. Nah ah, he refused to leave the comfort of his bed. Something about today already felt off, he had the annoying constant itch that is telling him to change to a cat. But whenever he's on his daily catwalks something usually goes wrong! He wanted to live peacefully not be thrown around by strangers and other cats that dislike him! Like come on, he's one of them but they– they disowned him like he was nothing! No, he isn't upset about cats disliking him. Why would he? That would just be so silly right? Yeah, yeah... Oh, who is he kidding? He wants cat friends too.

“Moomoo?” Poe calls out from the other side of the door. He used that ridiculous nickname that Ranpo came up with because apparently saying his name was too much effort, too much of a mouth full. Mushitaro almost strangled him for that one but the little shit got away with a smug grin. Ugh, he's going to grow grey hair due to his partner's shenanigans.

“Moo, are you awake?” He called once more. Mushitaro had almost forgotten to respond to him, “Yeah, I suppose so.” He replied as clearly as possible since the blankets and pillows surrounding him would make his voice appear more muffled. “Do you want something?“

The door creeks open enough for Poe to poke his head in. Scanning the room, “Uhm... N-Not really but.. You've been locking yourself away in your room. Don't you... Do you think it's come to come out now? I made some muffins. Ranpo didn't eat all of them either- this time.” Well isn't that a surprise? Ranpo, the sweet addicted detective left muffins? He could just imagine Poe shooing the small man out of the house to go to work. Of course, the detective would never go down without a fight. It's always quite entertaining to watch.

The cat-shifter sighed, he really didn't want to get up but he was hungry at the mention of food. He also wants to have some fun and get rid of the annoying trapped feeling that claws at him, begging for him to change to his other form. He lifts his head from the pile he's tangled in, locking eyes with Poe. He wouldn't have this issue if it weren't for the author but can he really blame Poe? He could never, it was an accident, something that went wrong causing him to become a cat-shifter. "If I asked to eat them in here would you say no?"

"W-Well I would prefer for you to eat with me. But I would never force you..." The man trailed off with a nervous tone. It's clear that Poe wants him to join, to leave the room. How could he deny that? He doesn't like the sad expressions Poe would make, it made him feel upset. He pushes the covers back, covering his mouth as he yawned. "Fine, Fine. You win, let's eat some muffins together okay?" His heart melted at the sight of Poe's eyes brightening up and a soft smile appearing on his face. That made agreeing completely worth it.

Getting out of bed, the man dressed in his sleepwear stumbles over to the tall, anxious male. Wrapping his arms around his torso with a soft sigh, feeling comforted by the gentle, physical contact. Poe seemed happy with it too, seeing as the author returned the embrace, resting his head against Mushitaro’s. Well isn't he a lucky man? He’s got two wonderful partners that he managed to snatch. He never thought he would, the two (Ranpo & Mushitaro) were already together when he came into the picture. Then he ended up moving into Poe’s house due to needing a place to stay, Ranpo comes over often too. That lead to all three of them spending a lot of time together, getting to know each other and slowly morphing into a relationship between all three of them. Mushitaro isn't complaining either, he loves them both and that won't change.

“You know, I thought of a better idea. I suppose it doesn't remove me from my bedroom but it's something I may need as of right now. Or well, for a while.” Mushitaro spoke up, the author perked up and tilted his head with a curious expression. Urging him to continue speaking, “Can we cuddle? Together, Ranpo can join us once he's home but we haven't cuddled much have we? I know I'm not the cuddling type– I just get nervous. I don't want to be judged but then again why would you guys ever–” Poe planted a kiss on his cheek, distracting him immediately. It shut down his thoughts too as he short-circuits.

The author grinned, “We really don't mind. Both me and Ranpo, we can wait. Whenever you are ready, you can cuddle. Ranpo will always jump at the chance for cuddles. However, I will remind you, we will never, ever judge you for who you are or your habits. It's okay to be nervous,“ He explained and lord did Mushitaro become red in the cheeks, he's so embarrassed! But melting at the same time. Turning away from Poe, he pouted. “Can, Can we hurry up and cuddle? But.. Thanks.”

The two hopped into the bed, Mushitaro walking like a robot due to being flustered while Poe plopped down onto the bed, glancing around curiously. Noticing that a few new art works were displayed on the other man's walls. “Did you make those?” He asked while laying down next to the other.

“Mhm. I've taken interest in art besides writing of course. Art helps me take my mind off things, it's also very stress reliving.” The cat-shifter commented back, curling up against Poe's side, it's funny how Mushitaro was supposed to be going downstairs with him to have some muffins because he needed to leave his room. He will tomorrow, or whenever they decide to get up but he wished to lay like this with Poe for much longer. “You certainly have talent my dear Mushie.” He hummed as he felt the author's fingers brushing through his hair, his eyes fluttering shut at such relaxing sensations.

#bungou stray dogs #mushiranpoe #mushipoe #edgar allen poe bsd #bsd mushitaro #fluff #cuddles

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

platform ten – spencer reid

summary: two months after he embarrassingly got caught ogling at the pretty girl on the train, Spencer’s team begins to suspect something.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!), reader wears lipgloss, excessive mentions of Edgar Allen Poe (one of my favourite Gothic authors), not proof read

wc: 3.4k

part one: carriage six

“So, I’ve been reading Poe’s works,” you begin, your headphones around your neck and you pull out ‘The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe’, flipping to ‘Annabel Lee’.

Spencer watches as you flick to the page, his heart soaring at the sight of the annotations that litter the page. There are different colours and highlighters across the words and from what he could tell pink talked about language and that was the colour that stood out to him most. You bring the book closer so that he can read your annotations too and his heart stutters in his chest at the close proximity. He can smell the strawberry and honey shampoo in your hair and the heat rises up to his cheeks. It’s intoxicating.

“I really don’t think the narrator is a crazy psychopath,” you say, glancing at him. “It just sounds like he’s really, seriously in love with her which just makes a bunch of people jealous.”

He watches the way you point to a certain line, ‘But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee.’

“Does that not sound like something you would say when you’re in love?” You ask, swooning a little. “It’s romantic, don’t you think? And their love is so brilliant and pure that the angels stole her away from him. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s kind of a picture of how amazing their love is.”

He nods along, his cheeks flushed because that’s what he thinks when he thinks of you. But he’ll never tell you that. How could he even dream of you feeling the same? The idea in itself is just so bizarre that he doesn’t even dare to entertain the thought. Not even when it’s late at night and he’s by himself, thinking through every single interaction you’ve had with him since he finally talked to you two months ago.

“And I mean, think about it,” you continue, gesticulating with every word, eyes wide with excitement. “The last stanza. He’s still in love with her even after she’s passed away. How romantic is that?”

“Very romantic,” Spencer agrees, and he wonders if that’s how he looks when he rambles. “Alright, it’s definitely a love poem.”

He relishes in the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, the way you grin up at him and he wants to make you smile this way every day. His eyes wander to your lips and he swallows thickly. You’re wearing that lipgloss again, a cool berry tone that makes your lips shine and–

“Spencer? Are you okay?”

He all but jolts out of his trance and he coughs awkwardly, his cheeks flushed. “Yes!” He squeaks, before clearing his throat and repeating the word. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

He watches as an amused smile quirks at your lips as you ask, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he manages to croak, his ears red.

He can’t even look at you. His eyes turn back to the book you’re holding, reading through the annotations you’ve made on the page for the nth time over. This is an example of one of the instances he doesn’t want to remember and prays that his stop would miraculously be next.

“I’ve been reading The Tell-Tale Heart,” you say, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Spencer forces himself to maintain eye contact with you and he manages a small, “really?”

You laugh and nod. “Yep! It’s really good. Kinda creepy.”

“It is a little creepy,” he admits, his gaze flicking to your lips again. He’s kicking himself internally, asking, ‘who’s the creepy one now, weirdo?!’

He figures that you’re either incredibly gracious or incredibly used to it because you don’t mention the way his attention wavers.

“You don’t seem okay.”

Or so he thought.

“What— um— what makes you say that?” He asks, clearing his throat.

You shoot him a smile. “You’re not going on about the text like you usually do.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his brain short circuiting. He can imagine Derek snickering and Emily commenting her usual, ‘IQ of 187, slashed to 60’.

“Spencer?” You look amused, a smile on his face and a mischievous glimmer in your eye. “Are you—“

“I’m fine!” Spencer says quickly, ears burning. “I’m just— thinking? Yes, thinking.”

You laugh. “Dangerous pastime.”

“What?”

“I— never mind,” you shake your head, continuing to laugh. “But I do want to hear your thoughts on ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ at some point.”

“Totally!” He jolts, and he’s kicking himself internally for being so eager. “Yes. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

The train lurches to a stop and Spencer gets up from his seat.

“Bye, Spencer,” you say, smiling brilliantly at him, and it takes every ounce of self control in him to not just grab your face and kiss you.

“Bye,” he says, saying your name, before getting off the train.

***

Spencer has been acting weird. That is the conclusion Derek has come to as he watches the youngest member of their team enter the bullpen with the widest grin on the planet for the fourth time that week. He watches as Spencer sits down at his desk, looking like a literal teenager, and gets down to work. He has his earphones plugged in, the kind you would get at a dollar store, or the complementary ones you get from airports that never fit your ears right and leave you with headaches because of the horrible audio quality. Derek supposes he’s just listening to Beethoven or Bach or another dead classical musician. But as he passes Spencer’s desk, he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks. Spencer is humming. No, not just humming. He’s muttering lyrics under his breath. Since when did classical music have lyrics?

“What the hell…?” Derek asks under his breath to no one in particular.

“You talking about Reid?” Emily asks, an amused grin on her face. “He’s acting weird.”

“Thank God, I thought I was the only one.” JJ seemingly appears out of nowhere, standing beside them with her arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Rossi enters the bullpen, nodding towards Spencer who was sitting at his desk, blissfully unaware. “We talking about the kid?”

“He’s been acting weird all week,” Derek insists, his brows furrowing. “What do you think it is?”

“Maybe he won a chess tournament,” JJ says with a soft laugh.

Emily rolls her eyes at the idea. “Please, Reid’s probably the winner of every single chess tournament in the state.”

“Maybe his mother is doing better?” Rossi suggests.

“Doesn’t explain why he’s listening to, I don’t know, not Mozart,” Derek points out.

There’s a silence that pulls over the group as they stare at the back of Reid’s head. It isn’t long before he turns around to face his coworkers, raising an eyebrow.

“… Why are you staring at me?” Spencer asks, giving them all pointed looks.

“You’re acting weird,” Morgan says, cutting straight to the chase. “Care to share with the class?”

Spencer offers them all confused looks. “I’m… not acting weird? If anything, you guys are the ones acting weird.”

“Ohh, no, don’t turn this around on us.” Emily grins, walking over to him. “What’s going on?”

“What— guys, what happened to ‘no profiling each other’?” Spencer spluttered, shooting accusatory looks towards his coworkers.

“We’re just worried, that’s all,” JJ says with maternal sympathy, but Spencer can tell that she’s hiding a smile.

He groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I’m fine guys. I’m not acting ‘weird’ or anything.”

“Who are you listening to, Reid?” Rossi asks quickly, nodding towards the ear phones.

“What?” Spencer’s head snaps up, redness crawling up to his ears.

Emily smirks. “Yeah Reid. Who are you listening to?”

“No one,” he answers, avoiding their gaze. “I’m uh— I’m going back to work.”

He quickly turns his chair around, busting himself with his files. His co-workers all exchange glances, mischievous grins on their faces.

“You know, I could just ask Garcia to dig into your phone,” Derek says with a shrug. “Or you could tell us yourself.”

Spencer shoots him a light hearted glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to die of mortification. He spent that entire week downloading all of the released songs by Taylor Swift, dutifully listening to each song and reporting back to you on his opinions. He has since come to a conclusion: Taylor Swift is a lyrical genius. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience with other branches of music that involves lyrics, but he figures it’s pretty similar to poetry. Regardless, he’s one hundred percent sure that he’s in for a world of teasing and tasteful jabs towards his sudden shift in music taste.

He’s also been doing this thing called texting, and he even went as far as getting a new phone and email address just so that he could properly contact you. He’s been in contact with you for the past eight weeks, going as far as messaging and calling you during break times and hiding in the bathroom to have an ounce of privacy. He feels like a changed person, all because of a tiny handheld device that fits in his back pocket. And you. Mostly you. The worst thing about this entire situation is the fact that Morgan did in fact manage to convince Garcia to snoop into his phone.

“Alright, Reid, quit hiding. Who’s the girl?” Derek demands, slapping a piece of paper onto Spencer’s desk. It’s a log of calls and downloads. In other words, it’s a log of all the times he’s called the same number and all the Taylor Swift songs he’s downloaded.

“Girl? What— what girl?” Spencer asks, playing dumb and willing himself to look Derek in the eye. His mind is spinning. ‘Blink evenly. Maintain eye contact. Don’t stutter. Answer his questions evenly. Play dumb. There is no girl, there is no girl there is no—‘

“Reid? Reid? Spencer!” Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him out of his trance.

“Huh?” Spencer jolts, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

Derek snorts at his reaction. “Look, kid. This person calls your cell every day at 12:30, which just so happens to be in two minutes. So, either you tell me and I let you have your fun, or she calls you and she’ll be hearing my voice instead of yours.”

Spencer scoffs, holding his phone firmly in the palm of his hand. “There is no girl, Morgan.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious!” Spencer says, his voice going up and octave and he cringes internally. Smooth. “There is no girl.”

“Totally believe you.”

He groans, wiping a hand over his face to calm himself down. Before he could respond, the phone in his hand begins to ring. A smirk tugs at Derek’s lips and he immediately lunges for the phone, eliciting a yelp from Spencer who leaps from his seat.

“Morgan— Morgan no—“

“C’mon kid, it’ll be a lot easier if you just give in!”

“No! Nope, nope, Morgan I swear to-“

In seconds, Derek snatches Spencer’s phone out of his hand, a triumphant look on his face. He keeps Spencer at arm’s length as he picks up the phone.

“Hey Spence!” A voice rings through the phone.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not Spencer,” Derek responds, his voice smug.

“… that’s concerning,” The voice responds slowly, cautiously. “Who is this?”

Spencer grabs the phone out of Derek’s hand, running out of the bullpen as quickly as his long legs could carry him, flipping his coworker the finger before he leaves.

“Hello?” He asks into the phone. “I’m so sorry, that was Derek, my co-worker.”

“Oh, the bald one!” You say quickly, recalling his name from the photos Spencer had shown you beforehand. “I thought it was like… a bad guy or something.”

He laughs softly into the phone, his cheeks warm and wearing a smile that could split his face in two. “Don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy. A pain in the ass, maybe, but not a bad guy.”

He hears you chuckle from the other side of the line. “Yeah, he seems like a nice person. Your entire team sounds really cool.”

“Maybe you could meet them at some point,” Spencer says quietly, his heart thundering in his chest. “I mean, they kind of already know you exist.”

“That would be fun,” You muse, and he hears the soft ruffling of cling wrap in the background.

“Lunch?”

He hears you hum in response, and he can’t help but chuckle. There’s a silence for a few seconds, and he assumes you were eating, before your voice picks up again.

“I’d love to meet your team at some point, Spence. They seem like really amazing people.”

He can’t help but smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. They are. You’d love them, and I’m sure they’d love you just as much.”

Before long, lunch break is over and Spencer begrudgingly hangs up and returns to the bullpen, his team all wearing frustratingly smug faces. He rolls his eyes, not paying them any kind as he returns to his desk. He ignores the very blatant whistle Derek does in his direction and the snort Emily fails to hide.

“So…” JJ begins, dragging her words out. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

Spencer chokes on air and bites his tongue, grimacing at the taste of blood. “I do not have a girlfriend.” It’s not a lie.

“But you want her to be,” Emily says, smirking.

“No! Yes. I don’t know, maybe?” Spencer feels like a teenage boy being lectured by his parents. Not that he knows what that feels like.

“Alright, well, have you asked her on a date?” Derek asks as he raises an eyebrow.

Spencer coughs, reaching for his mug of stale coffee. That’s all he needs to do to answer Derek’s question, because in moments Derek is screaming in his ear.

“Why haven’t you asked her out yet?!”

“We talk loads of times,” Spencer insists, hiding behind his disgustingly old coffee. “We just never… we’re just friends.”

Rossi bites back a chuckle. “Yes, because friends call each other every day during their lunch breaks.”

Spencer feels his face grow impossibly hotter and he chugs the last of his coffee. He cringes before turning his attention back to his files in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t work.

“How did you meet her?” JJ asks, gentler this time.

Spencer flushes and plays with his watch. “On the train.”

“That’s very you,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “She seems really nice, Spencer.”

He preens at the compliment, his mind drifting to your pretty hair and glossy lips. He sports a grin and he nods. “She’s really, really nice.”

***

Spencer sits next to you on the train as usual. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is combed to be a little neater, only for his efforts to be destroyed when a strong gust of wind hits his face the moment he left his apartment. He reminds himself to put a comb into his bag after work. You’re talking about another one of Poe’s works, this time ‘The Raven’, another love poem. Your eyes are bright with excitement as you go on and on about the writing style and whatever else.

Spencer is far from religious but your existence alone is enough to have him thanking the heaven’s that he is alive. He can’t help but smile every time you do, his gaze perpetually on your lips. He feels a little guilty about it, about how he can’t even control himself when he’s around you but you’re just so beautiful that he can’t help himself. He feels even guiltier when he realises he hasn’t processed a word you’ve said.

“... and that’s why I think Edgar Allen Poe is really just a huge softie who wants to be loved,” you finish, snapping the book closed. “What do you think, Doctor Genius?”

“Totally,” Spencer agrees quickly, almost biting his tongue. “Absolutely.”

You laugh and Spencer thinks he’s going to faint.

“Where are you up to in your Taylor Swift project?” You ask teasingly, nudging his arm. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have grimaced and shrugged them off but you aren’t just ‘anyone’. You’re the most amazing person in the world.

“I’m up to 1989 track 9, Wildest Dreams,” Spencer recites, pulling out his notebook from his inner jacket pocket. It’s a small leatherbound notebook that he’s been writing all his thoughts in regards to the Taylor Swift songs, all in chronological order. He’s actually quite proud of it as he flicks to the latest page. “I really like this one. I did some research and I found out that the bass sound in the background is actually her heartbeat. That’s pretty interesting.”

You almost scream in excitement, leaning closer to him to read his notes. “I love this song! It’s my favourite Taylor Swift song ever and it’s just so pretty, you know?”

He nods in agreement, his cheeks flushed at the close proximity and he finds that he can no longer feel his tongue. He should get that checked out.

“It reminds me of you sometimes,” you say, completely unabashed. Spencer thinks you’re trying to kill him.

“What?” He asks meekly, recalling every lyric from the song.

You freeze, flustered and you pull away from him. Spencer frowns at the sudden space but he watches as you stammer and stumble over your words.

“I just meant– you know, it’s a good song! That’s all.” You laugh anxiously, fiddling with the book in your hand. “Never mind, just ignore me. Tell me more about what you like about the song.”

In an almost uncharacteristic bout of confidence, Spencer reaches out to take your hand in his. At first, he thought his head was going to explode. It felt heavy and light all at the same time and he was almost about to pull his hand away when you squeezed his fingers. Just like that, all doubts are gone. You’re smiling at him and Spencer knows that he would do absolutely anything to make sure to keep it there.

When the train lurches to a stop at Quantico, Spencer doesn’t make any effort to move. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Isn’t this your stop?” You ask gently, loosening your hold on his hand.

He shrugs, holding onto your hand tighter. “I’m always early. I can be late for once.”

Besides, he thinks to himself, inching closer to you, this is so worth it.

Pride bubbles in his heart when he hears you laugh again and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“We’re almost at my stop,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. “We should go out. You know, instead of just meeting on the train.”

Spencer nods immediately at the suggestion. “I’d like that. Are you free on Saturday?”

“I’m definitely free on Saturday,” you respond, squeezing his hand again.

Spencer sits there with you until you make it to your stop. The corners of his eyes are crinkled and he feels happy, so goddamn happy, and he wonders how he’s lived without you. Before you get off the train, he calls your name. He relishes in the way you turn around, the confusion palpable in your eyes.

“Yeah?”

He takes a step closer to you, his face in front of yours. His heartbeat is in his ears but at the same time he feels an incredibly ironic sense of calm. In seconds, he presses his lips to yours in a short kiss. He grins at you as you stumble out of the train dazed, waving goodbye. From the window he could see you press your cold hands to your cheeks before reaching for your phone.

The smile that grows on his face when he sees your face light up his phone is embarrassing. It’s goofy and silly and he is so grateful that the carriage is empty.

“Hello?”

“You cannot–” your voice comes through the speaker and he grins again– “you cannot just kiss me randomly and then leave.”

“Technically the train left, not me,” Spencer says with a small laugh.

You’re quiet on the other end before replying, “We need a re-do on Saturday.”

Spencer has no complaints.

reblogs are always appreciated!

taglist: @sunshineyottie @cerulean-turtle @tortelliniturtle7 @bucxkysdoll @awitadecoca

strikethrough means couldn't be tagged

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler x reader fluff #mgg #mgg x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!�� Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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alltheirdamn · 7 months ago

Text

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 5 Nevermore

Chp. 5 Summary: It's hard to understand why everything feels so right. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, heavy kissing, unprotected piv sex, semi-rough sex, creampie, praise kink, (kinda) size kink, aftercare, fluff and a LOT of angst, light banter, lots of emotions, mentions of past trauma, brief flashback of trauma, another cliffhanger (sorry) A/N: Well, if you're here, I hope you're prepared for what's coming. A HUGE shoutout to @loonmartell for helping co-conspire the trajectory of this story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it as always <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in—

“Miss Smith?”

Your head jerked up at the sound, and the pencil you were drawing circles with fell against your desk. Bradley, one of your students, was standing at the edge of your desk with his test in hand.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” you smiled, extending a hand. “Thank you.”

Bradley eyed you curiously before turning and skipping back to his desk. You dragged a hand over your face, wanting to crawl into the furthest corner of the world and never be seen again. Beth’s words had been plaguing you for days since you called her. Over and over again, they annihilated your thoughts, a constant broken record that you couldn’t shut off. You still had your nightly calls with Joel, talking past midnight and falling asleep together, but you kept making excuses not to see him.

“I’ve got lesson plans to make,” you lied.

“I’ll help,” Joel had offered.

“You’re a distraction.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he huffed.

The next night, you lied and said you were going out with Maria, which was an even worse lie since you were avoiding her at all costs. Telling Beth the news was one thing, but telling Maria was another matter. She was nosey and a bit too loud-mouthed to trust. The last thing you wanted was for the entire faculty to know your dirty secrets. Joel had to remain a secret—at least for now.

It’s not like you wanted to avoid Joel; you were just scared. You were not ready for this new territory, and if Beth was anywhere near correct in her assumptions, it only made you want to shy away more. The only problem was parent-teacher conferences this week, meaning you’d have to see Joel and Sarah…together.

The class bell rang, and your free period between classes began. You dropped your head on the desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrangle some semblance of calm back into your body. The final class of the day would be Sarah’s, and you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to see her. The blaring reminder that her dad had fucked you sore over the weekend still hung over your head, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for it. How was your fall break, Sarah? Oh yeah, mine was great. Your dad fucked me so hard I ended up having a complete breakdown.

Fuck.

You wanted the day to be over.

The free period went by much faster than you wanted, and as you watched the next slew of kids take their seats, you made a conscious effort not to stare at Sarah as she walked in. She wore her usual smile, the impression of her dimples digging into her cheeks. Some wild thought popped into your head that you had no time to recover from: if you and Joel went any further, God help you, you’d be Sarah’s step-mom one day. Your stomach rolled with nausea as you tried to will those thoughts away. Joel wouldn’t stick around that long; you were a lost cause. There was no chance that would happen. Right?

Clearing your throat, you rose from your desk and made your way over to the projector to set up the lesson for the day. Since the school year was nearing Halloween, you decided it would be fun to teach Edgar Allen Poe, completely forgetting you had chosen “The Raven”—which was about losing someone. This would have a bite to it that you weren’t ready for.

“Okay, everyone,” you announced. “Did we all finish the reading assignment this week?”

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement, and you quickly shifted to the first few slides of your presentation.

“Alright, so who can tell me the overall theme for Poe’s ‘The Raven’?”

Georgia, one of your top students, shot her hand up without a beat.

“Yes, Georgia?”

“It’s about his grief for losing Lenore,” she answered.

“Good,” you smiled. “Can anyone tell me what other theme the poem contains?”

“Madness!” Another student chimed in, causing an uproar of laughter amongst the students.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Very good, you guys.”

You switched to the next slide, staring blankly at the words typed out. Lenore is gone forever. Something struck you as you silently read it, realizing you weren’t too far off from Poe in his grief. Although Bennett wasn’t dead, he wasn’t coming back. That fact hadn’t hurt as deeply throughout the last few weeks, especially with Joel around, but it still threw salt in the open wounds still scattered over your heart.

“In stanza two,” you cleared your throat. “In stanza two, Poe refers to Lenore as ‘nameless,’ which can imply that she has died, and he’s now consumed with grief. Where else did you guys find his grief prominent?”

Georgia quickly raised her hand again, and you motioned for her to speak.

“In stanza four, he talks about his dreams, which I think he means he’s dreaming of her to return to him. But if she’s dead, there’s no way she’s going to come back,” Georgia said.

Fuck. You felt the sting of tears rim your eyes and briefly paused to gather your bearings. Bennett left. He left, and you had spent years dreaming he would return.

“Good,” you choked out.

You glanced around the room, your eyes connecting with Sarah’s. It took all your strength not to break down and cry as she studied you with the same concerned furrow in her brows as her dad would do.

Clicking to the next slide, you exhaled, focusing on the following theme to discuss. Madness.

“Now, with the theme of madness, where do we see this begin? Obviously, the dreams can be interpreted as his descent into madness, but what else do we find?” You asked.

To your detriment, Sarah was the one to raise her hand.

“Sarah,” you sighed, nodding.

“It’s the raven,” she said plainly. “The raven is what drives him mad.”

“What does he do to drive Poe mad?” You questioned.

“The raven only says one word,” she explained. “And that word drives him mad until the end of the poem.

“And why does it drive him mad?”

Sarah shifted in her seat, looking around at her classmates before responding.

“Because it’s the answer Poe doesn’t want to hear. Poe doesn’t want to be reminded that Lenore is dead, but that’s the only response the raven will give.”

You were swaying in place, trying to hold yourself together as the memories started ricocheting back into your mind. Now wasn’t the time to collapse, not in front of twenty students staring at you, confused and concerned. You only responded with a nod and flipped the projector off.

“Good job, you guys. Now, does anyone have any questions on this unit? Any questions about the stanza format or the themes?”

Sarah raised her hand again.

“Did his madness kill him?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Poe.”

“Oh, um, no. Well, it’s a mystery, really. Some people say he died of delirium, so, I guess, madness. But other people speculate he drank himself to death.”

The class grew morbidly quiet, which made it harder for you to continue. No one else spoke up after Sarah, so you resorted to handing out the quiz and sinking back into your desk chair.

One by one, the students came up to turn in their quiz, and you averted your gaze each time with a nonchalant ‘thank you.’ When the final bell finally sounded through the room, you hardly had the energy to wave goodbye.

Sarah was the last to leave, and that same concerned look lingered on her face as she shuffled out.

That night, you didn’t pick up the phone when Joel called. You stared as it rang repeatedly, watching the light fade from the screen when the ringing stopped. You buried your head under the covers and tried to sleep, but then the nightmares started.

You woke up to your alarm, hyperventilating and drenched in sweat. Squinting at the morning sun streaming through the blinds, you grabbed your phone to check the time. Your fingers froze as you read the screen.

Seven missed calls from Joel

Two voicemails from Joel

With shaky fingers, you pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Hey baby, it’s me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m hopin’ you’re just asleep, but if you’re up, please call me.”

Then you played the next.

“Baby, it’s me again. I miss you, and I’m worried ‘bout you. Please don’t shut me out, okay? I just wanna hear your voice and hear ‘bout your day. If you don’t wanna talk, that's okay. I understand. Just please lemme know you’re alright. I’ll drive my ass out to you if I need to just to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you get this. G’night, baby.”

You dug your knuckles into your eyes to try and force the tears back. Last night, you had the worst of the nightmares: the memory of something you tried to forget. You hadn’t touched that memory in so long. It was just the brutal realization you were truly at fault for everything with Bennett. No matter how badly you wanted to blame him, it was always your fault.

Glancing back at your phone, you rechecked the time: 7:35. Fuck, you were running late, and you really didn’t want to call Joel back right now. At least not right now. You’d muster the energy and strength to do it later, but you needed to gather yourself and get ready for work right now. Tossing off the sweat-slick sheets, you rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. You couldn’t bother to put makeup on, so you opted to go without it and found a simple dress to wear. It was still in the high eighties in Austin, and a dress was the easiest option for the day.

Scrambling for your purse and keys, you ran to the garage to start your car and head to the school.

It wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot that you realized you left your phone on the nightstand.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Maria questioned, sipping her lukewarm coffee.

She had nagged you into spending your free period in her classroom, demanding that you tell her everything that you had been withholding. You sat on the edge of her desk, your dress flowing over your knees as you stared out her class windows.

“Nothing, Maria,” you lied.

She said your name sternly, forcing your eyes to snap to hers. Her usual chipper demeanor was replaced with that ‘mother’ look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“Something is going on,” she pressed. “Could have something to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“You did it, huh?” She raised a brow.

You exhaled heavily, nodding your head—no point in lying now.

“We talked on the phone the entire break, and when I got home, he insisted on taking me on a date. Then one thing led to another… and yeah, we had sex.”

Maria squealed, clapping her hands and grinning wide. You stared at her blankly, unamused by her reaction to your words.

“This isn’t a good thing, Maria,” you said pointedly.

“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re finally putting yourself out there! Oh my god, was it good?”

“It was,” you sighed. “It was good—really good. He’s so sweet and caring.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” she interjected.

“But I can’t let it go any further,” you finished.

Maria leaned forward and placed her hand on your knee.

“Does he make you happy?” She asked softly.

“So fucking happy, Maria. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. That’s all I’ve been saying for years, and now you have it! Don’t force it to fail before it even begins. I saw the way he looked at you at the father-daughter dance. You can’t fake that.”

“I know. I know. I just—ugh,” you slid off the desk with a groan. “He’s too good for me. I’m still trying to get over Bennett and everything that happened. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all my misery. That’s not fair to him.”

You were pacing around the room, your eyes darting between the science posters hanging along the walls of Maria’s classroom. You heard her desk chair scrape against the floor as she approached you. She gripped you by the shoulders and leveled you with a heavy stare, but her eyes remained soft.

“He’s still around, right? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sweetie. If anything, I think he’s in it for the long haul.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned into her, letting her wrap you up in a motherly embrace. She rubbed circles against your back, hushing you as you wept quietly.

The rest of the day passed by in a numbing blur. You packed your things quietly and headed to your car, ready to drown yourself in a glass of wine.

Joel’s truck was parked in front of your house as you turned the corner onto your street. His tall figure was leaning against the driver’s door; his eyes focused on your car as you pulled into the driveway. You inhaled sharply before putting your car in park, mentally preparing yourself for whatever anger he might unleash.

You barely shut the car door before Joel had his arms around you, tugging you into a warm embrace. You couldn’t make sense of it; why wasn’t he mad? He should be angry at you.

“Joel?” you whispered, your fingers twisting into his shirt. He smelt of cedarwood and smoke, the lingering scent of the workday still on his clothes.

“I was so fuckin’ worried ‘bout you,” he muttered into your hair. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of you all day.”

“I left my phone at home this morning,” you explained. “I listened to your voicemails from last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was just running late this morning.”

“Why didn’t you pick up last night?’ He asked, pulling away.

“I needed some space. I’m just trying to figure this all out. I want you—I want this. I just don’t know how to be fully vulnerable. I know that’s silly to say since I’ve cried every time I’ve seen you.” You laughed at the thought of it.

“You coulda just told me that, baby. I would’ve understood,” Joel sighed.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not,” he smiled softly. “Had me worryin’ like crazy, but I ain’t mad. I know this is all new, and you’re scared. Just don’t shut me out, ‘kay? I wanna talk to you and understand what’s goin’ on with you. I told you I wanna work on it with you.”

“I’m s—.”

Joel was pressing his lips against yours before you could say those two words. The kiss was all-consuming and tender, strong enough to erase every thought in your mind. Your mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwined and exploring. It was dizzying to be kissed this fervently; the first kiss couldn’t hold a torch to this moment. You tangled your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, slanting your lips to open yourself even more to him. Joel’s hands twisted into the fabric of your dress that hugged your hips and pulled you tighter against his body. You whimpered at the feeling of his cock straining in his jeans, and he hauled you upwards until you were wrapping your legs around his waist.

Spinning you around, he pinned you to the metal of your car door, breaking away from your mouth to kiss down your neck. Was it possible to be branded by a dozen kisses? He left a trail of sweltering kisses over every exposed part of your upper body, and all you could do was pant and moan helplessly. To hell with the neighborhood and their lingering eyes; the world around you could collapse, and you’d still be clinging to his body.

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear those apologies,” Joel muttered against the hollow of your neck.

“What are you gonna do about it, Joel?” You moaned, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

“All I want right now is to hear you screamin’ my name, so you better invite me inside before I fuck you right here.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered.

“Wrong name, baby.”

With one strong arm braced around your back and a firm hand on your ass, Joel carried you out of the driveway and through the open garage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the bare patches in his beard. Joel stumbled into the living room and sat you on the edge of the couch. You clung to him, refusing to lay back, too afraid to disconnect from his body. There was something so addicting, so right about being in his arms—almost familiar.

“Y’look so beautiful in this dress, baby,” Joel breathed. “Turn around.”

You unattached yourself from him, spinning until your thighs pushed against the leather of the couch. Joel’s hands roamed over your calves, dragging your dress up until it piled against your lower back. You gasped as his fingers tore apart your underwear, the scraps falling down your legs and piling at your feet. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, your slick coating your inner thighs.

“Joel,” you whined as he swiped a finger through your wet folds.

“Use your words,” he hummed, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“I need you, Joel.” He curled his fingers against the spot that left you breathless, coaxing you to speak more. “Need it rough—please.”

You needed to feel how bad he needed you; you needed to show him you wanted him, even if it meant doing it without saying it aloud.

“Y’want it rough, baby? I can do that. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you exhaled.

Joel pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to your mouth and smearing your arousal over your parted lips. You hummed as you tasted yourself, pushing your ass back into him. You heard the clang of his belt and the soft sound of his jeans hitting the floor before he swiped his cock across your slick entrance.

“Don’t be gentle,” you moaned.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.”

That was all he said before splitting you open, the fullness of his cock inside you robbing you of all the breath in your lungs. Joel kept his hips flush with yours, his fingertips drifting down the fabric of your dress covering your spine.

“Joel,” you whined.

You shifted yourself onto the tips of your toes, nudging yourself back until the tip of his cock rubbed against the right spot inside you. You mewled at the sensation, wiggling your hips to find some sort of relief from the pleasure churning inside your stomach.

“Impatient, baby?” Joel teased.

He moved against you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You had been in such a haze last time you hadn’t realized how big he actually was, but now you felt every glorious inch of him inside you. You let out another frustrated whimper, and Joel responded with an onslaught of forceful thrusts. Your body shoved further into the couch, your midsection rubbing against the edge every time Joel snapped his hips against yours.

Joel’s hand snaked around your neck, drawing you back into his chest, the angle of his cock spearing deeper inside you. Your wails turned to sobs as you listened to Joel grunting harder behind you, his fingers squeezing rhythmically around your throat.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel crooned. “That’s it. Doin’ so well for me.”

You gasped for air as the desire coiling within your core became agonizing and all-consuming. Your fingers wrapped around his hand holding you up, clawing at his skin as his thrusts became erratic and determined. You were teetering on the edge of euphoria, your body buzzing with pleasure.

“Touch yourself, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear.

You fought against your dress to find your clit, the instant connection of your fingers causing you to cry out. Joel’s mouth ravaged your neck, sucking marks into the skin as you drew tantalizing circles over the sensitive bud. It was right there— that explosive pleasure bubbling under the surface.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice strained under his grip. “Don’t—right there. Right there, Joel!”

Joel quickened the pace, your eyes blurring as your orgasm raced through your veins and set your nerves ablaze. Your sex clenched around his cock, forcing him to slow his thrusts as he groaned into your ear.

“S’fuckin’ good, baby,” he punched out, releasing your neck.

“More,” you heaved.

“Think y’can take it?” He asked, pinning you down onto the couch cushions.

“Just want you, Joel,” you said. Your words were muffled into the couch as you exhaled, “Want everything with you.”

You didn’t know if Joel heard you, and you prayed he didn’t. Your brain was lost in some euphoric haze, dizzying you and your ability to control your emotions. Joel knew every part of your body, like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed and what you wanted, and it was so confusing.

But all your thoughts grew quiet as the lewd sounds of your arousal and his ragged breathing echoed around the house. Joel’s hand pressed into your hair as he pushed you further into the couch. Bent over this way, you were entirely at his mercy, putty in his hands, and helpless.

“Swear y’were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” Joel grunted. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“Yours,” you cried. “I’m—.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as Joel seized up, choking out your name as he spilled into you. His body slumped over yours, the weight of his chest heavy against your back. The hammering of his heart matched yours as you both recovered in silence, the house growing quiet aside from your labored breathing.

“Too rough?” Joel muttered into your hair.

You shifted your face to the side, rewarded by his lips pressing into your cheek.

“Perfect,” you sighed. “It was perfect.”

“You weren’t lyin’ when you said you weren’t a fan of vanilla, huh?” Joel chuckled, pulling out of you.

You slumped further into the couch, laughing softly.

“I was talking about cake, Joel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure you were, baby. Stay right there, okay?”

You heard his footsteps disappear toward your bedroom, the distant sound of water turning on and off floating down the hallway. A second later, Joel was behind you again, the cool touch of a towel making you jerk away in shock. He gently rubbed the cloth over your inner thighs, taking extra caution of your sore entrance. You’d feel him everywhere tomorrow, and you didn’t hate that for some reason—you wanted the reminder of him.

“C’mere,” Joel urged, helping you stand.

He pulled you over to the couch, curling you into his arms and bracing you against his chest. Joel intertwined his fingers with yours, his breathing evening out as you shimmed further into his embrace. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was just being around him, but all your doubts and worries seemed to fade away. It was just this moment; you and him with limbs entangled together.

“Tell me somethin’ no one knows about you,” Joel whispered.

“Only if you tell me something in return.”

“Of course, baby.”

You paused, considering all the possibilities of what you could share. You had forgotten pieces of yourself over the years, the layers of heartbreak and trauma suffocating the person you once were. You still weren’t sure if that girl you had once been was still inside you.

“I hate pancakes,” you said.

Joel laughed, his body shaking behind you as you buried your head into the couch.

“Pancakes? Really?” He teased.

“I just don’t like them!” You defended.

“Y’gonna tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled. “They’re just too sweet.”

“So y’don’t like sugar in your coffee, and y’think pancakes are too sweet,” Joel mused. “What do you like?”

“Don’t tease me, Joel.”

His fingers prodded your sides, forcing you to shriek at the contact. You hated to be tickled and hated it even more when he kept you pinned to your chest with nowhere to go. You rolled toward him, squirming against his touch. Joel leaned in to kiss you softly, muffling your protests as you settled into his arms.

“Your turn,” you sighed.

“Hmm, well, I like pancakes.”

“Be serious, Joel,” you frowned.

“Okay, okay. I love watchin’ cartoons.”

You giggled, watching that grin stretch across his face.

“Been watchin’ them with Sarah since she was a kid,” he chuckled. “I still do sometimes, even if she ain’t home.”

“That’s cute,” you smiled.

You brought your fingers to his face, scratching at the stubble covering his chin and jaw. Joel’s eyes shut as your touch drifted over the patchy spots, your fingertips drawing circles in the places his beard disconnected.

“Tell me somethin’ else,” he said.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

It was a quick response—almost too fast—but you couldn’t swallow back the words. You glanced up at him, peeking through your lashes to see his brown eyes soften.

“Handsome, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you cute,” you scrunched your nose. “It doesn’t fit you. I like handsome more.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Call me handsome all y’want.”

You dragged him to your mouth, saying everything you couldn’t form into words. Joel moved with you, his head tilting and mouth molding to yours. He made everything feel so simple; maybe that’s what scared you. It was too easy with him—falling into this idyllic routine. Joel mumbled your name, pulling himself reluctantly from your lips. You chased one more kiss and settled back into his chest.

“Did you know it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day?” You thought out loud.

Joel tensed up, his arms flexing around you.

“Superstition says it means your marriage will last,” you continued. “I’ve always thought it was funny, you know? I used to believe in that before my wedding, but after that, I figured everyone had lied to me.”

“Baby,” Joel whispered.

“No, it’s okay. There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I think the rain was good luck. Maybe not in the way people think, but I don’t think Bennett and I were meant to get married. My sister hated me for going through with it. We didn’t really talk once Bennett and I got engaged. Everyone warned me about him; they told me he wasn’t who I should be with. I was so stubborn to make things work. He—he was there for me during a really awful time in my life. I thought I owed it to him to stay.

“But then here you are, and it makes me re-think everything. The rain? It’s still good luck, just in a different way. I wasn’t meant to be with him because maybe… maybe I was meant to be with you.”

Joel was painfully quiet, his eyebrows furrowing together as he closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. You had rambled out everything you were scared to say, and now it was biting you in the ass. This was why you were too afraid to acknowledge your feelings: the rejection. Joel didn’t see it the same way; he didn’t think of you in the same way, and you just made a complete idiot of yourself.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to pry yourself out of his grip. You kept the tears at bay, trying not to let yourself succumb to the heartbreak shattering inside you.

Joel’s hands wrangled you back to his chest, his eyes leveling with yours. You inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks.

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind y’were meant for me, baby. I’m thankin’ God every day for bringin’ you into my life,” Joel confessed. “I know this is all new, but I promise to keep provin’ myself because whatever this is between us, it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you echoed.

“Don’t run away from me,” Joel pleaded. “Gimmie all the good and bad stuff. I swear I can handle it.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if I’m not enough?” You rambled.

“I could never get tired of you, baby. If anythin’, I keep wantin’ more.”

You snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his scent as you pressed your nose into his chest. Joel ran a hand through your hair, his fingers catching on a few knots left from earlier.

“What’d you mean when you said he was there for you durin’ somethin’ awful?” Joel asked after a beat of silence.

Flashes of the crash came back into your mind, or at least the ones you could recall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your nightmares began to see the light of day. It was a memory you never liked to revisit.

“Easy,” your mom whispered. “Easy, honey. Don’t move too much, okay? Take it slow.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh lights above you burning into your retinas as you tried to adjust to the room fading into the forefront. You were tucked into a hospital bed, IVs and tubes sticking out of both arms. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. That’s all you could focus on. Everything hurt so fucking bad.

“Bennett?” You croaked, searching the room.

Your mom, dad, Beth, and Stella were all grouped around the foot of the bed, their eyes glassy with tears. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Beth’s fear-stricken eyes shifted from your mom to your dad before she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” your mom announced, turning and leaving the room.

Stella shifted uncomfortably and promptly followed, leaving your dad alone at the foot of your bed.

“How’re you feeling, peanut?” He asked, rounding to the side of your bed.

“Pain,” you cried softly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Baby?” Joel said cautiously.

“S–sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

Joel’s brows scrunched together, his eyes staring at you with concern. You turned away from him, lifting yourself from the couch. Pacing the living room, you stared blankly at your bookshelf beside your entertainment center, still collecting dust after two years. You heard Joel shift against the couch behind you and glanced back to see him staring at you intensely. Anxiety was thrumming in your chest the longer you stood in front of him, too many thoughts reeling inside your mind. You never talked about the accident; you didn’t want to be reminded of what had been the catalyst in your relationship's failure. Because that’s what it was. You owed everything to Bennett for sticking by your side through it all, and in the end, you weren’t enough. Nothing you did was enough to salvage what had been your life with him before it all.

“Hey,” Joel exhaled. “C’mere.”

“I—I need a minute,” you cried.

You bolted from the living room and went down the hall, gasping for air when you reached the edge of your bed. The room was spinning as you dropped your head in your hands, the nausea surging up inside you the longer you stayed stuck in the memory. You needed out of it; you needed out. You needed—.

Joel rushed into the room, falling to his knees in front of you as he said your name over and over to coax you out of the trance. Nothing was working. Your head was throbbing in pain, and you couldn’t work around it.

“Breathe with me, baby,” Joel whispered. “Breathe.”

You heaved in a lung full of air, only to choke on it and gag back the nausea crawling up your throat. Joel rubbed his hands over your thighs, the sensation of his touch jarring you enough to make you cringe.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he crooned, a distant echo of your dad's words. “It’s okay.”

The shrilling sound of your phone ringing pulled you both from the moment, and you crawled over the bed to grab it.

Beth

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I can’t—I can’t answer it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll do it,” Joel offered with an outstretched hand.

You practically tossed it at him while you crumpled into the sheets with your hands clutching your head.

“Hello?” He answered with a brief pause before he said, “This is Joel.”

Silence.

“Fuck, okay. Gimmie a second,” he replied.

“Baby, she needs to talk to you,” Joel said.

You stifled your cries before taking your phone from his hand, already hearing Beth’s frantic voice on the other end of the receiver.

“Beth, what is it?” You asked, your body shaking.

“It’s dad, sis. You’ve got to come home, okay?”

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