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theorist-fox · 3 months ago

Text

Takes practice

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposting from AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

In my feel-good romance era. Usually more of a slap me pull my hair touch me there, there, there - no more talking. But not today. No SIR.

The bit regarding the satellite phones and telemarketers was inspired by the first chapters of Shadowed by Tarajanee. Absolutely adore that work and I thought those scenes at the beginning were lovely!

Word count: 13k

Summary: Simon is deployed for the first time since the beginning of your relationship. Instead of finding purpose in keeping the world clean, he finds it in keeping himself alive, because he's never been this eager to come home.

18+

CW: smut!!! dry humping, mutual masturbation, thigh fucking, P in V. Fluff, this is very fluffy. Soft Simon Riley, Simon is absolutely fucking whipped. Self-deprecating thoughts, intrusive thoughts, angst if you squint so don't squint and you'll only get yearning and love making.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon doesn’t remember your eyes.

He’s been clawing at his face, both literally and metaphorically, because each time he closes his eyelids to succumb to exhaustion, he sees your face.

And you’re pretty. So much. He envisions the curve of your smile and how your lips part to give way to your teeth. The lines at the corners that scrunch your nose and how it flushes when it’s too cold out. He has memorized the shape of your brows for every expression. Knows the line of your cheekbones and how they swell under your eyes when you smile.

Your face is lovely, even when he conjures it in his head. But when your form breaks through the mist, he gets startled every time. Because he can’t see your eyes.

It's like a mock picture of you. A mimicry gone bad. You’re there, fresh and real, whispering sweet words to him, tossing a quip, or moaning breathlessly as he remembers the way he’s fucked you, but your eyes are carved out. Blank spots instead of the windows to your soul, like everyone always seems to chatter about.

Sure, he remembers the shape of your eyes, and if he takes deep breaths, cancels out Johnny’s blabber blaring from his cot, and enters a deep meditative state, he might be able to draw their outline.

But it’s the shade he misses. Are they sapphire, dark, and cryptic? Or frostbite blues. Emerald, maybe. He ponders, but he’s not sure. Brown, like his? Chocolate, with swirling hazels like golden speckles. Stormy grey. Charcoal black. Amber. Gold. Fucking crimson.

He doesn’t know.

But it's only been three months since he left.

And it’s been six months since Simon has taken you on his bed and fucked his name into you. Six months since he’s finally tasted your skin and imprinted your flavor on his tongue.

It’s your fault, he thinks, if now everything he eats tastes bland. Nothing sweeter than the salt of you. The dichotomy is not lost on him. He’s a rational man, and figures easily that skin can't be sweet, especially not after he made you sweat by pounding you into the mattress. Yet he might have lost a marble or two after that, because now not even honey can compare.

Which is why he’s moved his things in your room. Just because it’s bigger, he told you. No other reason, really.

Fucking liar.

But again, you’re as saccharine as you taste. And maybe not as naïve as he thinks. Because ever since that night, six months ago, your hands often intertwine with his own when you guide him to bed – your bed.

And that’s how he found a nightstand full of his things on the side closer to the doorway of the room. There’s the book you’ve lent him and a re-filled plastic bottle of water right next to it, one that he should probably throw away like you constantly tell him. Something about microplastics, but fuck if he knows. Because ever since that night, he’s lost a bit of his logic, a lot more of his sanity: you can speak for hours on end and he wouldn’t hear a damn thing if not for how your voice vibrates against his eardrums, sending tingles down his spine.

Surreptitiously, his things have started to appear in your room. He doesn’t have much, a phew photos of his family are shuffled with your trinkets. Plain, white frames stuffed in between your smiles on pictures you’ve taken with friends.

A frame of his medals, the ones you insisted he kept, nailed to the wall next to your PhD certificate.

Tidy, onyx wardrobe polluted with pinks and greens. Breathable cotton and faux furs. Fuzzy fabrics that leave a rainbow of synthetic hairs on his clothes. He doesn’t bother to pluck them off, it’s just another piece of you he’s lucky to carry around.

His old bedroom turns into a storage room. Filled with boxes of forgotten things and broken appliances you can’t be bothered to fix.

And he promises to tinker a little with the vacuum, so you won’t have to spend money on a new one and use your savings for your guilty pleasures. That book you saw when you went out together for groceries? Consider it yours. The cooking classes you wanted to attend at that restaurant you’re always raging about? He’s already bought you a pristine new apron.

And maybe he’ll take you there, too. Ask for a more secluded table where he can still spot the door, so he can also uncoil the muscles of his back and use his eyes only to look at you, instead of having them dart around for dangers.

But fuck, he can’t do any of that now.

It’s his first mission after that night, six months ago, and Simon is already feeling withdrawal symptoms. You’re worse than morphine on a dying man; you leave him aching for something he knows he can have because you're so obviously there, but he’s so stupidly far away.

And he can’t even tell you where he is. Can’t even give you some peace of mind. Can barely call you, because Johnny’s been hogging the satellite phone to talk to Lord-knows-who.

The Scot is not selfish, Simon knows he would only have to ask, and the bulky device would practically materialize in his hand. But Simon also knows that if he dared, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Because in the years spent in the task force, he’s never needed to call anyone.

Can’t call the dead, now, can you?

And now, popping a question like that would only raise suspicions. It would have his mates up his arse until his head would split in half.

But it’s been six months since that night. Three months since he left.

And that pocket of time he’s managed to spend with you, uninterrupted, almost made him accustomed to civilian life. To the lack of his mask and the AC of the flat breezing against his face. The taste of homecooked meals. The constant presence of another soul (a beautiful one at that) in his same space.

With you, he’s never parched – of anything. You feed him mind, heart and body, showering him with that innocent love you so easily dispense, allowing him to bathe in it.

He’d listen to your never-ending chat for days. His mind has always roared with sounds, yet the more noise you make the more you silence it. Baffling, really, how he’s spent his whole life looking for quiet and found it in the loudest person on earth.

He’s always sated with your kisses, your words, your quick mind and razor-sharp wit, your moans and your mewls, and God, anything you were willing to give. Your lips, your spit, the juices he makes you drip, and the ones he makes you spray. He dreams of cupping your clit with his mouth as he ravages your cunt with two thick fingers until you’re splashing on his tongue. He’d drink you dry, if you’d let him.

And oh, you have.

There’s the wonderful catch. These are not wishes; these are memories. Too real and fresh ones for them to be just another one of his daydreams.

Finally, after three months of pondering – or better, yearning – he realizes that every skin-prickling migraine his mates would induce is worth the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

He’s disgustingly sweaty. He tugs at the lip of his collar and grimaces when he feels the cotton unstick from the dampness on his chest.

Johnny's sitting idly, enjoying the few days of break from mayhem. Just a handful of hours allowed, really, enough to get them back on their feet – tactical planning, refill of their resources. Boring shite like that. But at least it’s a breather all right.

“Got the phone, Johnny?” He grumbles.

And Johnny would love to act as none the wiser, but his eyes peek from behind the sketchbook he holds in his hand. The smirk that curls at his lips has Simon roll his eyes.

He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers, giving him a pointed look. “Johnny.”

“L.T.” He responds in kind. “Callin’ the landlord?”

Simon levels him with a deadpan look that could freeze the desert they’re stuck in. “Sergeant.”

Bastard’s too cunning for his own good.

Johnny drops the sketchbook immediately, showing the lieutenant his palms in defense. The cheeky bastard that he is doesn’t manage to conceal the absolute fascination in his eyes. He’s studying his superior as if he’s staring at another species.

And Simon doesn’t blame him. He’s like a sock that’s been turned inside out, the negative image of himself. All that gloomy energy turned blinding light, ever since he’s had a taste of what life could be with you in it.

But alas, no one wants to have the Ghost up their arse, so Johnny looks around the messy area around his cot and plucks the girthy satellite phone out of it.

Simon picks it up by pinching the tiny antenna on its side. It prompts Johnny’s smirk to broaden.

“Haven’t done anythin’ with it.” He quips, letting it hang in the air for a second longer. “Or have I.”

Simon grunts a noise of disgust. “Spare me.”

He finds a secluded spot in the area they're occupying. There's nothing around them but the rubble of a city that has been torn by war and time. The sight is dour, and the silence echoes a dark past he hasn’t witnessed. Even so, the remains of the buildings are tall enough to offer their lot some cover.

He slides with his back against a wall, knees spread wide.

He knows your number by heart, his thumb presses each button with newfound resolve. Only when he brings the phone to his ear, does his determination falter. Because he hasn't contacted you in any way, shape, or form for three months. So, what if you’re livid, now? You’d have every right. He’d understand if you’d rip him a new one through the receiver. He just hopes you didn’t spend these days rethinking your choices.

God, you’ve infected him with this overthinking bullshit.

“Hello?” Your voice breaks through the fog in his brain, like a hand wiping mist from glass, and his own breath threatens to choke him. He’s speechless for a moment, forgetting how to function properly.

Just your voice has sent his mind into overdrive - burnt his synapses to ashes.

He reckons he’s completely fucked.

“Hello?” You repeat, sounding a little more annoyed.

You grumble something about telemarketers having lost the decency to call at a reasonable hour. And when he doesn't answer again, he hears you sigh. Your voice gets all clinical, then, as if you were trained to repeat the same script over and over. “Listen, if you’re trying to sell me somethin’, my husband’s not home – he takes care of that stuff.”

He snorts.

“Your husband?”

Silence.

There’s a sort of shifting sound, he gathers you might have removed the phone from your ear and checked for the number on the screen. He can practically see your eyes squinting at the phone.

He hears you gasp, and he hints at a smile. Fucking hell, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s done that.

“Simon?” You venture.

“Hello, love.”

You squeal, and he pulls the phone away from his ear with a grimace. But he’s tired of lying to himself – his heart is soaring.

"Christ. Made my ears ring," he deadpans.

You chuckle, sighing afterward, as if a weight has been lifted from your chest. God, you’re a dream to listen to. If only he could also look at your face right now, just bask in the way your smile would light up the room.

“Serves you right,” you chide him, as if that could ever be a punishment. “Could’ve called a little earlier than three months in. Was already looking for a new flatmate.”

He’s eternally thankful for the skull mask, even if it’s soddened with his sweat because if anyone were to walk by, they wouldn’t see how his face has softened.

“Yeah?” He sniffs, “Made a new flyer and all tha’?”

“Oh yeah,” You agree flippantly. There’s a shuffling sound that reminds him of bedsheets. “Made sure to add my boyfriend left me as a footnote.”

The corners of his lips twitch minutely.

“Thought it was your husband who wasn’t home.” He retorts. “Got a stash of ‘em, then?”

Your chuckle is a breath of fresh air. He wants to have it imprinted in his eardrums, replacing the aggravating tinnitus.

“Oh, y’know,” you sigh dramatically. “Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Keeps things interesting.”

“Gotta have a chat with the lad, then.” He taunts, “Set some rules.”

“Good luck with that. He rarely listens.”

He hums fondly. It’s all he can give you, right now.

He’s new to this, relationships have never been his forte. For the first time in his life, he’s having someone else guide him. It’s hard, he won’t deny it, having another set of hands grasp the wheel, instead of his own. But he’s letting you, however slowly. You’re understanding, and you’re allowing him to leave his foot on the brakes. You never push him, you go at his pace – even if it’s blatantly annoying, how sluggish his movements are. Yet you don’t seem to mind, and he’s eternally grateful for it.

“How…” You start. He can tell you’re unsure, whether or not you can ask these things. Whether or not he can answer them. “How are you?”

His eyes soften.

“Good,” he reassures you. “’S hot.”

You hum. “North Africa.”

He clicks his tongue. “No.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Middle East?”

Eh. “No.”

You gasp.

“You’re throwing me off guard, aren’t you? You said it’s hot, but it actually isn’t.” You say cleverly, even if you’re aware it’s most likely untrue. “North America, then. Like - Canada.”

“Drop it, maybe.” He offers gently. “Making a fool o’ yourself.”

“Alaska.”

“Love.” He warns, but his voice is kind. “Wastin’ time.”

“Mh, the script has changed, I see.” You tease him, and he can tell you’re smiling, by the way your voice comes. “Thought you were gonna hit me with the classified.”

“Like to keep you on your toes.”

“Been on my toes for three months.”

His heart clenches a little. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you to live on the line like that. He wonders if you’ve ever felt like this, in the four years he’s lived with you without having anything tethering each other, if not a casual friendship. Were you ever afraid when he left for his deployments? Or is this new to you, like it is for him?

“Fixed the vacuum, by the way.” You tell him lightly, as if sensing the tense air your comment has instilled.

He silently thanks you for breaking the silence when he couldn’t. A gentle huff of relief travels through the receiver.

“What was the problem?” He asks, even if not really fussed about the state of the thing.

“Fuck if I know.” You shrug. “Gave it a few whacks and it started working again.”

He fails to keep in a huff of laughter. “Fucking hell, ‘s tha’ what you’ve been doing, then? Hitting appliances?”

“Fixing appliances.” You correct him. “And stress baking. Lots of it.”

“Work’s botherin’ ya?”

“S’fine.” You sigh sweetly, as though that could give him some peace of mind. “Everything’s fine over here, you don’t have to worry.”

Selfless angel, you are. He would have to be daft not to realize that you’re probably leeching your heart dry at the thought that something might happen to him. He feels like a fool for not having contacted you sooner, even when he had only a minute to spare.

His pride be damned.

“’M sorry I didn’t call earlier.” He apologizes, because the least he can do is hope you forgive him for being like a baby deer on ice about all this.

“You called.” Your voice is soft. “’S what matters.”

He knows what you mean. He’s alive, that’s what matters. He’s faring good enough to chat with you, that’s what matters. He’s missing you as much as you’re longing for him, that’s what matters.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His offhand runs across his face and he has to rip his own head out of his arse before the thoughts overwhelm him.

How can he put you through this? He should’ve left three weeks in, four years ago; should’ve let you share your home with someone more reliable, one who didn’t have a blade oscillating above his neck.

And yet at the same time, he can't let go of you.

You’re so good to him, you’re the drop of water in a life that’s always felt arid. You made his barren heart flourish without even trying – he didn’t think anyone could, he thought he was bound to be frozen soil, not a garden. But here you fucking are, with your tiny watering can, nourishing the earth and causing it to sprout.

He’s selfish. He is. There is no karmic balance in his reasons. The scale tips in his favor through and through, because he’s sure you’re not gaining anything from this relationship, if not a spike in anxiety and its hand around your neck.

“How long?” You ask, seemingly unable to bear the silence.

"Few weeks." He croaks and clears his throat when he notices how cracked his voice sounds. “Be back in three. Could be two, if things go to plan.”

The silence on your end is deafening. Unwittingly giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Countdown starts, then.” You reply with that sunshine in your voice. Sunbeams through ominous clouds. “Gonna tally the days on the wall with one of your can openers.”

He snorts. “Lotta money to fix.”

“We can put ugly wallpaper over it,” you propose. “So the next person to rent the place will remove it and a whole kidnapping slash ghost story will spread around the neighborhood.”

You’re crazy, he thinks, but not unkindly. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Fucking numpty.”

“Fucking numpty, or fucking numpty, derogative?”

He smirks. “Former.”

“Wonderful.” You say with a pinch of a smile he can’t see, sounding all smug.

However, nothing nice can last forever, not in Simon Riley’s plane of existence. He spots his captain approaching him, fiddling with the boonie hat in his grasp while his other hand lazily dries droplets of sweat on his forehead.

“Gotta go.” He mutters. Waits a bit. Shuffles through his thoughts and decides to swallow his pride, because you deserve at least that much. “Missed you. Still do.”

You're silent for a moment longer before you give him a last glimpse of your voice. The one he'll hold onto like a lifeline for the next three – hopefully two – weeks.

“Miss you too.” You say gently. “Come home soon.”

And he’s back suddenly.

Earlier than expected, at that – one week only. Price was all business, a few days after he caught him sneaking a phone call. Telling him things like “Need you at HQ. Work with Laswell, make sure classified intel stays classified”. And when he questioned why would he send his sniper and lieutenant to do a job an analyst should do, Price answered with a curt “Because I can trust you”.

Honestly, what could he have said to that? Even if it smelled fishy from afar, his reasoning sounded mostly reliable. Because you would send your most trusted to deal with sensitive information, right? And if Simon were a bit more daft and a bit less intuitive, he would've shrugged it off.

But it was plain as day when his boot landed on British soil, duffel bag in hand. When his phone pinged after he turned off airplane mode, and a text popped up:

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off for the jet lag.

That he realized the ploy his teammates had concocted. To be honest, he wasn’t as resentful as he thought he was going to be. There was lingering thankfulness – somewhere, deep below layers and layers of stoicism.

[You]: Time zones aren’t that different.

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off to just rest, then.

[You]: Not that tired.

[Unknown number]: Never took you for one to question orders.

[You]: Never took you for one to put personal life before our job.

Simon waited patiently under the overhanging lip of the hangar. The Kevlar of his glove crinkled as his fingers curled around the hand of his duffle bag. The rain creates a gentle buzz against the metal.

It took a while for the other bubble to appear, as if the other person – most likely Price, judging by the vocabulary used in the texts – was thinking about the right thing to say.

And the right thing it was, when the words fluttered on Simon’s phone screen.

[Unknown number]: About time you put yours first, though.

Simon, for once, agreed.

────────────

The keys slide into the keyhole with familiarity. He turns it three times, content to see you’ve locked the door all the way. When he steps in, the flat is quiet, but he isn’t expecting otherwise. It’s late at night, the hands of the clock that’s hanging above the telly mark somewhere around three in the morning, but it’s too dark to be sure.

He's ever so gentle when he closes the door and gingerly sets the duffle bag at his feet.

The first thought popping in his head it’s you. You’re not expecting him to be back so soon, and he has this trepidation in him that wants to command his feet to the door of your bedroom only to see how you’d react to his unexpected presence.

But he takes a moment to digest this new feeling.

It's hard to realize that, finally, you're not dreading something. For the first time in an excruciatingly long while, Simon isn't afraid. While his brain is rigidly wired in a way that makes him refuse to acknowledge his vulnerabilities, the heart knows best.

And he is scared. He’s always been scared, ever since his mother granted him the possibility of walking this earth. Being excited to live has never been his strong suit, but he’s learning. He’s trying.

Takes practice, to accept you’re worth your happiness.

So, as a novice learner, it’s a little jarring to realize that when his feet land on the hardwood floors of this house, there's no need for fear. He can tuck the dread away, stuff it in a pocket, and close the flap, all the while being sure no harm will come his way. Certainty that with you there’s no need for all that, for vigilance – he can unravel the knots, and simply feel what comes, because it's not going to hurt him.

You could never.

Hooking a finger under the hem of the balaclava, he snatches it off his head and lays it on the shelf next to the doorway. It’s soaked in rain, but he’ll wash it tomorrow. And he’ll use your fabric softener, so it’ll smell like your sheets.

The flat looks awfully dull with the lights off. The bright colors are mere shades of grey, and while he’ll never admit it out loud, he truly thinks the orange of the eastern wall brightens the room as you've told him. The thought itself baffles him – Simon Riley now knows a thing or two about home design. You’ve changed him in ways he never expected.

However, the thing that shocks him even more than his newfound knowledge of home interior embellishments, is when the smell of baked goods bullies its way into his nose. His mouth waters in a Pavlovian response.

Right.

Stress baking.

He kneels to unlace his boots, before toeing them off gently, making sure they won’t thud against the floor and disturb your sleep. Then, he practically floats to the kitchen, still unbelieving at the idea that he gets to come home and find delicacies as such ready to eat. Sometimes, in the span of life he decides to call the “Before you”, he’d snatch a few MREs from the stash in base and eat them once back in his flat.

Easy, quick, and edible. Even if they taste like cardboard.

And now he gets to walk into a kitchen that smells like blueberries and buttercream and black tea. He gets to grab a lumpy muffin from the tray on the kitchen island and sink his teeth in its golden and blue fluff. The flavors erupt on his tongue, from the saccharine spongy cake to the sweet tang of the blueberry juice as the fruit bursts under his teeth.

He selfishly hopes your stress baking will last for a few more days.

Nevertheless, while he’d gladly eat the whole tray if it were up to him, there’s something he craves more than a full stomach. And you're currently waiting in the other room, probably tucked under the duvet because the British weather tonight is rigidly cold.

He shrugs off his wind jacket and drapes it over the backrest of a kitchen chair. He can’t afford to take any steps backward. The coat rack is just a few paces back from the kitchen, nailed to the wall near the entrance, but he really doesn’t care. That handful of seconds is too precious to waste.

The steps he takes through the dark hallway are measured and silent; years of special forces training have taught a man his size how to be what his callsign implies.

Discreetly, he turns the knob, trying to make sure he won’t wake you with a startle because the door has barged open. However, the one caught by surprise it’s him. Because you’re not asleep, even if it’s three in the morning.

Oh, he wants to give you a proper earful – sure, he's not your father, and if you're so keen on staying awake up until this hour on a weekday, then it's your funeral.

Does it help school the unruly necessity of keeping you as healthy as can be? Absolutely fucking not. You’re a heathen and he hates you for it.

But now you’re resting your back against the headboard, cross-legged on the bed. Satin blue navy camisole paired with matching shorts, big headphones on your ears, and your laptop on the mattress. You’re typing away. He’s sure you’ve pushed back an assignment from work and now you’re running out of time.

The room is dark, the only light being the screen of your computer casting your silhouette against the wall behind you. It’s silent aside from the patter of rain on the windowpane – you haven’t closed the blinds because Simon knows you love the moon flooding your room with gentle light. However, tonight the clouds are dominating the night sky, but the lampposts across the street are doing what the moon can’t, and you seem to favor that over complete darkness.

It’s clear you haven’t noticed him yet, music blaring in your ears and eyes focused on the monitor. But he’s seen you all right. And your eyes are cast downward, your lashes like annoying curtains depriving him of what he's been missing for the past three months.

In spite of how muffled his movements have been, you seem to notice a shift in the air. Something that makes your skin prickle, a pair of eyes that shouldn’t be in the same room, nor in the same flat – not now, at least, when he should be mummified in Kevlar and breathable cotton somewhere in the desert. He's secretly proud of how easily you seem to feel fluctuations in the environment. Makes him take a breath of relief, that your reflexes aren't dull even when your senses are already busy.

You lift your head swiftly, and he helps you focus on him by flicking up the light switch. The sudden brightness makes you squint, but you blink it away and finally clock him at the door.

And your eyes are the color of the sun, he thinks. How could he forget, that they’re the color of a bonfire when it's cold out. Of yellows, oranges, and those occasional sparkles of green when the wood is not dry, but still burns to keep him warm.

Realization paints your face with stunning colors: darkening cheeks, eyes shaped like crescent moons under the pressure of rising cheekbones. Mouth curving beautifully, and it seems to catch your teeth. The smile stretches your lips abruptly, morphing your face in spare seconds.

He sees it happen in slow motion. You rip your headphones and carelessly toss them on the bed, your laptop is skewed to the side so quickly that he instinctively reaches out a hand to prevent its fall. Thankfully, the stars are on your side tonight, and the balance tips it on the mattress, instead of the floor.

You’re a little hurricane, scurrying off the bed and kicking off the sheets. Getting on your feet and almost slipping in the attempt to reach him in as little time as possible. A tornado of limbs envelops him in the blink of an eye. He barely has time to react that you’re already coiled around him like ivy– arms, legs, and all.

Luckily, the doorway is right behind him, and he manages to tumble back and lean against it. Your arms are vines around his neck. Your legs are roots encircling his waist. You seem to grow on him, supplying his wretched heart with the sap of life you carry – symbiotic. He feels like he can breathe again and has been doing it wrong all this time.

He helps your balance by keeping a firm hold around your waist with his arms, encapsulating you in his warmth. Lean fingers spread on your back, yearning to touch as much as he can reach.

“Easy,” he rumbles. His voice is hoarse because whatever reaction he'd imagined, all this fussing surely wasn’t it.

Your fingers thread through his hair and tug lightly at his scalp. He’s silently apologetic because it must be wet with both rain and sweat, and he's sure the smell wafting from him isn't exactly cologne-worthy. But you don't seem to care, because after you've thoroughly inspected the crook of his neck, your face comes back into view.

Your eyes are the color of joy.

“Welcome back.” You whisper, as if it’s a secret between you two. And you kiss him because surely you must want it as much as he does. A flutter of lashes brushes his cheekbone when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Nails scrape at his scalp in the gentlest of ways.

Simon feels your smile before he sees it. “You taste like blueberries.”

And he exhales against your lips. “Found ‘em waiting for me in the kitchen. Baked for an army, y’ have.”

You peck his lips once more, as if you couldn’t fathom a second longer without having them on yours. “Figured you’d be hungry. MRIs can’t be that tasty.”

"MREs,” he corrects. “And you’re right. They ain’t.”

Simon is not sure he’s ever received such a warm welcome, or such warmth in general. He’s not going to complain, of course, but that doesn't mean it leaves him any less rattled each time.

He gently sets you down at the edge of the mattress, standing between your legs – which you’ve pliantly spread to make room for him.

You gesture with your hand from left to right, "Potato, Po-tah-to."

"One is food, the other is medical equipment," he deadpans.

You glare up at him, as if to ask what the hell he wants now – it's three in the morning. Can’t be arsed to correct vowels at three in the morning.

“Potato.” You enunciate it better now, and it steals a lazy grin from him. “Po-tah-to.”

After having flicked your forehead at your insistence, he reverently lays his hand on your cheek and spreads his fingers into your hair.

“Alright?” You ask him.

“Mhmh,” it’s his only reply.

If only to feel you more, he guides your face to his belly. You seem to appreciate the gesture because you're already nuzzling his shirt, fisting it at his back for good measure. Simon feels your back expand and deflate under his palm when you breathe. Feels the rhythmic thump thump of your heart at his fingertips.

You’re life in its purest form.

Face first into his abdomen, your voice is obviously muffled, but he hears it clearly anyway. "You smell like a sewer, mate."

He snorts, and lightly tugs at your hair, enough to make your head tilt back. He squints his eyes at you. “Cry ‘bout it, mate.”

Simon bends at the waist as you chuckle. Places a kiss on the crown of your head. Your eyes flutter closed and so do his.

For a moment, there’s nothing but you two. The world muffles its noise to favor the sound of your breaths. The rain patters against the windowpane. Your laptop has gone into standby mode so now the screen is dark. The mellow light on the ceiling, a pale yellow, is like your discreet personal spotlight.

Then, he reluctantly pulls away, and you chase him for more, pouting when he doesn’t seem to come back. But when he starts to undress, your scowl is easily replaced by a lazy grin. To increase the dramatics of the moment, you lean back on your elbows and wiggle your brows at him, “Well, well.”

You’re not subtle at all with the way your eyes follow a trail down his back, how the muscles fold when his hand reaches to the collar of his shirt and pulls it off his head. Curves and muscles and the indent of his spine. Skin freckled with scars you never ask a thing about because you're kind and you’re giving him time to open up on his own.

He’s put on some weight ever since your relationship has transitioned into something more meaningful, including feelings he still doesn’t have the guts to acknowledge. His abs are not as defined as before, they’re tucked under a layer of fat he’s not really accepting as of lately. The scar running across his stomach and its other companions only add to his self-deprecating streak.

He eyes you briefly as he unbuckles his belt, searching for what he’s sure is going to be a grimace, but he's met instead with the stupidest look he’s ever witnessed. Slow blinking at his form the more he undresses himself. Lips parted as if you’ve tried and failed to catch your jaw.

And that gives him the right to take those thoughts and shove them into the fear pocket. Sew it shut. No need to fear a thing, if you look at him that way.

You bite the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "Givin' me a show, lieutenant?"

The corner of Simon’s lips tugs upward and the sudden self-hatred sublimates under the warm adoration in your eyes.

“Cheeky little thing,” he rumbles, letting his khakis pool at his ankles. He steps out of them and shrugs them off when they catch his feet.

One last step, and he’s already hooking a finger under the hem of your blue camisole, slowly lifting it up. There's an impish gleam in your eyes that promises trouble and he would love nothing more than to drown in whatever disaster you're planning.

He stands between your legs only in his underwear and after you’ve shut the laptop and placed it on your nightstand, your hands immediately come to rest on his stomach. Simon sighs at the touch.

“You’re a menace,” he says gently when you drum your fingers up to his chest.

Honestly, he hopes you don’t care if he smells like a cocktail of grime and sweat and rain, because, as much as he wishes for a hot shower, the sight of you melts whatever need away.

Your eyes travel downward, taking a generous eyeful of him. However, he knows you’re not just ogling; you're searching him for wounds.

Bandages.

Sutures.

Anything that might tell you whether he's hurt or not.

Obviously, Simon knows you want to ask. But you’re sensible when it comes to his job. In spite of the jabs about all the “Classified” he’s given you as answers, he knows you don’t hold a grudge against him. He also doesn't like to bring work at home, taking pains to leave his safe space untainted by it – instead, he lets you do the detective work yourself.

A sweet sigh leaves your lips when you settle on the fact that he's unscathed, and you lift your arms up to help him take off your top.

"A menace?" You quip, feigning offense. "M’not the one looking naked and yummy."

“You’re about to.”

You don’t look away from his eyes when his fingers pull your top up and off. The camisole is gently removed past your head, the satin leaving your hair a little staticky.

“A menace,” he murmurs once more, his tone softer now as he tosses the garment in a vague direction.

You wrap your arms around his waist, propping your chin on the hollow between his ribs, taking in his face as the sight that it is to your eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to question why, and just basks in the adoring attention and in the well-deserved skin-to-skin contact.

"How was it this time?" You ask gently.

His arm drapes over your shoulders, slowly stroking at your skin. A tender kiss to your hairline has you automatically sighing. You do it every time he kisses your head. He's mentally taken note of how his lips press a button of sorts that makes it all wash away, like suds under the jet of water.

“Same as always,” he murmurs, keeping his tone low and soft for your ears only.

You hum in acknowledgment. "So?"

He smirks, a curve hidden in your hair. “Classified.”

You scoff and playfully slap his butt. He pulls back with a newfound glow in his eyes.

“Not Full Metal Jacket, if you’re wondering.”

You hum, deciding to play along. “Spies involved?”

He snorts and tucks a rogue lock behind your ear. “Sure.”

You poke his chest as you make your definitive guess. “Three days of the condor!”

His eye twitches when, amongst the myriads of films you’ve ever watched in your life, you quote the one with the CIA involved. He has to flatten his face into something more neutral. Surely yours was a clear shot in the dark that somehow hit the right spot – even a broken clock is right, twice a day. Still, your blind guess doesn’t leave him any less distressed.

“Sorta.” He offers through gritted teeth.

And you don’t push any further, sluggishly resting your cheek on his belly.

"Were you more Robert Redford?” You mumble with half-closed eyes, "Or Faye Dunaway?”

Relief washes over him and he can’t help but huff. Plops a hand on top of your head and smooths down to the ends of your locks, rolling them between the pads of his fingers.

“Faye Dunaway, love.” He rumbles. “No question.”

You playfully tighten the hold around his waist, and with a tug, he's pulled down onto the bed. Simon knows he could easily win whichever battle if you’re the opponent, but he’ll always pretend to struggle just to humor you. He’s careful though, so he props himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you with his bulk.

Gently, you kiss his nose but he doesn’t pull away, instead allowing the kiss to be reciprocated on your cheek. He reaches out for the switch next to the headboard and turns off the lights.

Your eyes are the color of a summer’s night.

They’re dark but twinkle with starlight. Pupils blown and the glowing halo of your irises around them like an eclipsed sun. The light coming from outside seems to favor you, creating shapes around your face able to turn you into a dream made reality.

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” You tell him, nose to nose.

“Won't bother anyone, will it?” He asks mindfully, although he cares very little if your co-workers might get a little miffed about your last-minute call.

You shake your head softly, causing your noses to brush. “Nope, they’ll understand.”

And so, he unfolds, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. Your head is guided by a big hand to rest on his chest. He fits you perfectly into his side, making sure every piece of you adheres like glue to his skin.

“Y’need a shower?” You murmur in his skin, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers are tracing mindless patterns on his chest, skimming over hair and the odd scar here and there.

“Tomorrow,” he replies quietly. “Sleep now.”

“Alright,” you whisper. “Wake me up when you do, yeah?”

“Sure.” He says, looking down at the top of your head. He leaves a kiss in its ruffled mess.

“G’night, love.” He breathes.

You murmur it back, and fall into your slumber.

────────────

Simon opens his eyes with his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t know why, and likely pegs it to mere habit. Three months stuck in hypervigilance will have your body unconsciously overreact at the most subtle of changes, even if there are none.

There’s too much light in the room for it to be night, and a single look at the window tells him the sun is just shy of rising.

During the night, you must’ve moved around and he must have followed you, because now he has your back to his chest. An arm slung around your waist, the other tucked beneath your neck.

He gently tugs the duvet a little higher, over your shoulder, and spends the next few minutes just looking at how peaceful you look.

Next to a killer.

His stomach churns wildly.

You’re home, his heart says. You’re not a killer here.

A shame, truly, that his brain doesn’t agree in the slightest. Two organs fighting like separate entities, and the whole brawl is happening inside of him, mercilessly tearing his flesh apart.

But it’s already broken, isn’t it? What else is there to shred.

Yet he’s home and you’re comfortable next to him. So how broken can he be, really?

Torn. Shredded. Lookin’ like you went through the grinder and barely came out of it alive.

He forces his eyes shut and buries his face in your hair, nuzzling your nape.

Pretty thing, she is. Who the fuck d’you think you are, mh?

A sharp inhale. Breathing you in. You smell sweet enough for the sounds in his head to buzz out. Not silent yet, but quiet enough for him to have a breather.

You don’t know how long it takes for his body to expel the exorbitant amount of adrenaline produced in three months of deployment. How his back cracks when it hits the comfortable mattress of yours and his bedroom, after having spent way too much time packed like a sardine on sordid cots or much-too-small sleeping bags.

How he fucking hates it, when you feel so soft and untouched, while he has more scars than bloody years on his back.

Not right. Ain’t fucking right to you.

His hand snakes from your waist to follow the curve of your arm. He follows the bulge it makes under the comforter. The rain has turned into a light drizzle, allowing the sound of his skin brushing over yours and the shuffle of the blanket to echo in his ears.

He scoots impossibly closer, pressing your back against his chest hoping your skin would mold with his. Nose buried in the crook of your shoulder; kisses light as breeze following the length of it.

You smell so good you disarm him. He sighs as if he’s been utterly defeated, lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting.

His mind hushes, finally. His heart unwinds itself – springs let loose, pulse calm.

There’s you. The way your breaths come. Your limbs stirring at the gooseflesh left by his kisses. The rising sun lapping at your skin. The rise and fall of your back.

It’s calm.

Your head turns slightly, looking over your shoulder. You must only see his eyes, lazily glancing at you through pale lashes.

Yours are a dawning sun.

They’re soft and gentle, pale yellows and blues, peeking above the sheer horizon of sleep you’re trying to overcome. Idle, slow, but most welcome.

“Hey,” you croak, blinking the drowsiness away. “You okay?”

He hums a quiet yeah in your skin. Hasn’t even noticed his hand returning to your stomach and pulling you in, angling you against his lap.

And fuck him, but he’s sporting the hard-on of a lifetime.

He knows you’ll understand that he’s been deprived of such pleasures for three months, but it doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. A hand in his pants, while he hid somewhere more private in the middle of nowhere was a temporary fix that fixed very fucking little. Especially not after having been spoiled by you.

Simon doesn’t necessarily want to fuck you, now. Sure, his dick might have a head of its own, and he wouldn’t complain against it were it to happen, but he still has control of his actions. And now he just wants to feel you, whether inside or out doesn’t matter – as long as it’s you.

Nevertheless, he isn’t expecting you to have much different plans. Naturally, he isn’t going to protest.

Your ass tentatively presses against his length, the satin of your shorts sliding easily along the cotton of his boxers. You’re still so sleepy – he sees you digging a knuckle in your eye, nostrils flaring as you let out a big yawn.

Were you aware of what you were doing, or were you being a goddamn minx?

“Well, good mornin’,” you murmur, a lick of a smile on your lips. “Brought me a souvenir from bumfuck nowhere?”

Minx it is.

He snuffs out a chuckle by harshly pressing his lips against your shoulder, sewing his lips shut. Unfortunately, his chest rumbles against your back and you catch it before he manages to catch himself.

Your hand goes to rest above his own on your stomach, fingers intertwining.

Soft skin on both sides: palm to your belly, knuckles to your hand. He’s sandwiched in bliss. Three months away, barely any contact, and all he apparently needed to alleviate some wounds was just a handful of hours spent asleep in your presence.

His lips part slightly. Kisses turn wetter and teeth bite at your neck, his tongue darting out to subsequently soothe the ache. Your hand has already guided his own to your breast, and your mouth is breathing sounds he’s missed.

And he tells you, because why should he hide a thing from you.

“Missed ya,” he croaks, voice a little shaky for reasons unknown. He could look in his head (or his heart) and find them – surely, they’re there. But he figures the present feels much better than the jumbled mess inside.

Reasons can wait.

“Let me feel you, yeah?”

Your head bending backward to his face is the answer you give him, back pressed flush against his chest. You guide his hand up and squeeze it around the fat of your breast to assert your approval.

But he’s not satisfied with that. Needs your voice to tell him it’s alright, that you’re not under some sleep-induced spell. That you’re fine with having him feel you, and you’re not just offering yourself because he’s been away for so long and you want to give him some sort of reward.

Simply, that you want him as much as he wants you.

His voice is raspy and low, “Words, love.”

"Please," you whisper and vigorously grind your ass against his groin. “Touch me.”

He hisses and presses forward too, meeting your movements.

He’s still a little out of it, senses overrun by the general fatigue clinging to his muscles as the aftermath of deployment, his bones weary and getting accustomed once more to the comfort of a bed instead of a cot.

Mind absolutely quiet.

He flicks his thumb over your nipple. Rolls it between thumb and forefinger. Your shuddering breath prompts him to pull at it, and it causes you to arch your back off of him, pressing further against his painfully hard cock.

He grunts against your shoulder, hand busy teasing your breasts and hips rutting against the plump flesh of your ass. You grind back against him, working in tandem to relieve at least some of that ache.

Each movement is a languid stroke of fabric that gives him enough pleasure to cause his resolve to falter. When he turns your head sideways, leaving your tits to grasp your jaw, he loses it. Your flushed cheeks, lower lip trapped between your teeth, the whites of your eyes still a little red from sleep.

Lips on lips, slotting together like magnets.

Too long.

Too damn long.

Sure, he kissed you when he came back, a bunch of hours before. But this is a whole other thing. The connection behind it, the pinch of your brows conveying the same desperation he has. Hands grabbing at flesh, bodies grinding against each other. Tongues dancing privately. Eyes closed to shut the world out. Moans and pants, dotted with the occasional curse slipping from his lips when the length of his cock catches the cleft of your ass.

His palm slides down and crosses the threshold marked by your shorts. He’s awfully delighted to find out you have nothing underneath them. Feels blessed when his middle finger slides down your cunt to find it impossibly wet.

“Oh - Simon,” He hears you whimper, and he almost comes in his briefs then and there because he has no right to hear you say his sullied name with such devotion behind it.

Seemingly feeling the need to respond in kind, your arm blindly reaches behind, and you slip it between your butt and his groin. Your hand is soft as it palms his cock, the cotton of his boxers an annoying barrier.

The tip is leaking tremendously, and he should be embarrassed about the obvious wet spot he must be sporting on his briefs. However, he can’t even manage to concoct the thought that your fingers are already fumbling with the elastic band of his underwear and finding their way in.

Simon shudders when your warm hand curls around his shaft.

You glide your hand up, collecting precum on your palm, before sliding back down again – velvet skin being pulled over the head to steer clear of overstimulation, and then down once more. Similarly, he crooks his finger to gather your wetness and uses it to roll idle circles around your clit.

And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. It’s slow and drawn out, both of you wanting to reach that high but at the same time don’t – cutting off pleasure doesn’t seem fitting, when both of you have been starved of one another.

He bends the arm beneath your neck to pull your head back, next to his own, cheek to cheek. Simon’s hips jerk to blatantly fuck your fist, yours flow with the movement of his fingers circling your clit, stroking yourself against his hand.

He starts getting antsy, however, when he notices that he can’t properly reach you. Can’t have you unravel on his fingers like he’s done so many times before. Simon wants – needs – to see you unfold and squirm under the pressure of his hand. Needs to have you cream on his fingers – as simple as it’s primal.

He murmurs against the shell of your ear, “Need to stretch you out, love.”

And – goddamn you, you whine. Your hand doesn’t stop its languid movements, but it further slows down, as if you needed all of yourself to cooperate and form a single thought.

“Jus’ do it, I missed you.” You whimper, breathy and high-pitched. “Won’t hurt much, I promise.”

Simon sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes because your voice has gone straight to his cock and he needs to disassociate for a second to recollect himself.

You’re a temptress, even in your loving, tender desperation. And how sweet it is to know that he isn’t the only one craving those intimate touches he can only give you. You’ve had your fair share of relationships and lovers, but has he? Some quick ones, enough to get rid of natural aches. Definitely not with a connection so deeply ingrained.

And he tastes, then, the beauty of mutuality. Of giving and receiving.

He retreats his hand and prompts you to do the same. Helps you take off your shorts and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He holds you still with one arm around your waist, palm flat against your lower belly to angle you better.

Gingerly, he guides the tip to your slit, dragging it upward until it catches your clit and you hiss, and then down to your hole. Back and forth, happily realizing that he has, in fact, made you wet enough to make it hurt less. And while he tends to be open to many requests made under the bedsheets, anything that causes you pain is a huge, firm no in his book.

Which is why he’s a bit hesitant now, pressing chaste kisses against your shoulder, trying to soften the ache that will inevitably come. A juxtaposition, really, to his cock dragging a raw, slow dance down your cunt.

It’s then that you turn your head in the pillow to groan against the fabric, and your legs clamp together and essentially choke him between the plush of your thighs.

The sensation is initially a sharp jolt that makes him spout a series of curses under his breath. But then the glisten of your cunt mixed with the precum you’ve diligently smeared all over him, with your folds and your plump thighs wrapped around him in a warm, wet hug – he sees the appeal.

And thrusts. Shamelessly – once, twice, thrice. Snapping harshly, only to draw back slowly. Grunting to your skin. Chest vibrating against your back.

“F – fuck,” he manages to choke out, wringing his eyes closed to regain some control over his actions and failing spectacularly.

Your moans don’t help. They perfectly align with the slap of his hips against your ass, with the wet noises of your sodden cunt against his cock. It’s as filthy as it’s fucking wonderful, and he’s terribly afraid he’ll finish before he can even fit the head inside of you.

The grip he has around your waist only tightens, leaving you breathless by the second. Simon has his mouth next to your ear, giving you the privilege of hearing even the smallest breaths he exhales.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he whispers, panting from the effort.

Curiously, he takes a peek over your shoulder as he fucks your thighs, catching the flushed head of his cock stroking your clit and appearing each time he thrusts in. It’s fucking debauched and he loves it to bits. So much that he groans and rolls his eyes, struggling not to paint your thighs with his spend.

“Need to fuck you,” he hurries, choking on the words. “Now, love.”

Rapidly (and reluctantly), he pulls out of the pillowy, snug space your thighs had inadvertently created for him, almost hissing when the cold air hits the sensitive skin of his cock, coated in yours and his arousal.

“On your back, swee’heart,” he gently guides you down, adding a brisk yet tender “C’mon.”

And you comply, feeling almost like a ragdoll in his hands. Lips parted and slick as they form small Yes’s to convey the same ache he feels. It takes him less than a breath to place his mouth over yours again.

As he hovers above you, thick arms on each side of your head and chapped lips crashing against your own, he slots his hips between your legs. The softer flesh of the inside of your thighs is still wet from when he’s buried his cock between them. He feels the fluids stick to the skin of his hips.

Taking his time, he lets a hand wander down your chest, flowing to your belly until his fingers reach your core – where you’re wet, and warm, and still pressing up against his cock, searching for friction.

He plunges a finger inside, making the movement of your hips stutter and your mouth gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Gotta stretch you out," he repeats languidly, because he cannot - for the life of him - put words into sentences without thinking about the structure beforehand.

He’s aware he’s big. It used to chub up his ego when he was younger and brash, but now he can’t be arsed about it. Big or small, he’s learned that it’s how you use it – and to be frank, he hasn’t used it much before you.

But he knows it’s going to hurt if he just puts it in with little to no preparation. He hasn’t seen you in three months, and you can trust him when he says he’s as ravenous as you are and can’t bloody wait to be inside you where he’s warm and blessed – but causing you pain? When it can be avoided so easily (and he can make it feel good, too)?

Absolutely not. Categorical.

He wants you to indulge in the blissful touches and the highs he can bring. Needs you to associate him to kindness and soft breaths and how much he hungers for you – he'll gladly eat you up, but only if you say so.

“’S not gonna hurt,” you mumble again, sounding a little drunk in the effort to convince him. “Please.”

Your eyes flutter to him, and they’re this dark pool he can’t seem to navigate. Lust overflowing like fat, miry tears that can’t fit in the space of your sockets, and then something even darker – longing. You’re looking at him as if it's the first time you’re seeing him.

He gets it, then, how good you’ve been at hiding it so he wouldn’t hurt at the thought of hurting you. He must've unconsciously taught you a thing or two, by wearing stoicism, neutrality, and more tangible skull masks.

You’ve missed him body and soul.

You’re there, eyes heavy and full, begging for him to come back to you.

How long have you been waiting for me like this?

“Oh, love,” he breathes and kisses you again.

A long finger inside, pushing against the place he knows makes your eyes water.

“M’sorry,” he whispers, thumb steadfast on your clit, as if he could apologize just by using his fingers because words tend to fail him when he needs them the most.

And so, he slides in his ring finger too, feeling the momentarily tight fit and the subsequent way you relax to welcome him. Your lips part to sharply breathe in, eyes scrunching close at the stretch. He can feel your hands stiffen against his back until they travel up his spine and tangle through shorn blond hair.

You’re keeping him close, with your forehead pressed to his almost to the point of pain. Your noses are in the way of the onslaught you’re causing on his mouth. Strained, heavy pants brush his lips when you part from him to breathe, before lavishing him with attention again.

You’re always good with words. You always know what to say, and yet you’re being extremely quiet – it worries him more than the look you have in your eyes.

“M’sorry.”

For being away.

For not telling you where I was.

For leaving you to wonder whether I’d come back, or not.

For not calling.

I’m sorry.

“M’so sorry.”

My girl.

His hand cradles the back of your head as if he could get you any closer, and he fucks you with his fingers.

“Don’t be,” you reply, your voice so faint and lost in the sounds of your bodies he has to perk his ears for it. “You’re home.”

My sweet, sweet girl.

And he buries his face in your neck, leaving wanton kisses that have very little erotic power to them. He’s just trying to taste you, really. Trying to commit you to memory again, conveying fierce apologies to your skin.

He can feel you clench around him, almost sucking him in, each time his fingers reach deep.

“Fuck, need to see you come.” He murmurs to the skin of your neck.

Thumb aching, he replaces it with the heel of his hand. A continuous and tortuous curl of his fingers inside of you, palm cupping your cunt and rolling against your clit. His cock aches when you whimper and stifle it by biting into his shoulder. A sharp exhale. Skin sweaty and pressed against his chest. Hands tugging at his hair.

“Don’t-” You croak. “Just- just fuck me, Si.”

He groans because stop being stubborn, will ya?

“I’ll cum the moment I get in, swee’heart.” He tries to reason and almost loses it at the raunchy, squelching sounds caused by his fingers between your legs. "Lemme take care of you before tha'."

But it's like talking to a wall.

"'s fine, love. I don't care, yeah?" Your hips move against his hand, but at this point, he gathers it's just a natural body response to pleasure. “You’ll take care of me tomorrow, and the days after that.”

Just when he’s about to rebut, you sandwich an arm between your bodies and curl soft fingers around his cock. The simple act makes him stop his motions, and he feels you pulse and clench around his fingers.

“Please.” You whisper, voice like silk.

He crumbles, then, at the sight of your eyes. Watery and glossy and wide – lust a long-forgotten thing.

He nods briefly when he surrenders. A jerky movement of his jaw as he swallows thickly. Doesn’t dare to avert his gaze from yours when he retrieves his hand and loves to catch how your brows pinch at the sudden emptiness inside. Sloppily, he coats his stiff cock with your wetness with a few weak pumps.

His eyes stay on you, as he goes in blindly, guided by touch only, and drives the tip to your hole. Tries to gauge your thoughts by the expressions on your face, and fails miserably, for once, at keeping his own concealed.

Barely aware and in control of what his face is conveying, he gathers you must appreciate it because you shift your palms to cradle his cheeks. He doesn’t know why you do it because there’s nothing on this godforsaken planet that could make his attention swerve to any thoughts but how beautiful you look when your lips stroke his own with featherlight pressure.

And he slides in, comfortably easy. Feels your puffy lips stretch to welcome him whole, inch by inch. Piece by piece of him, in every way you want to interpret it.

His jaw is locked tight because as soon as your walls envelop the head of his cock, he already feels himself shutting down. His eyes close – he can’t afford to look at how you morph for him. How your pussy swallows the first inches of his cock, puffy clit begging to be touched and lavished. How your mouth parts against his own to yield soft moans and breathy whispers that encourage him to please, please, please go deeper.

He can’t. Stubbornly thinking he must last long enough to give you some pleasure or it will all be worthless. And so, it’s a repetitive dance: an inch in, and a full pull out. Stop. Another inch, and pull out.

It’s driving him fucking mental.

“Let go,” you say, tearing his head out of the gutter. “Look at me, and let go.”

He can’t exactly decide whether you’re being the devil on his shoulder, or an angel sent from heaven – either way, the aim is to ruin him. Yet it doesn’t matter when he opens his eyes, and you look so beautiful his heart cracks, with a thin layer of sweat on your brow and the sheen of his spit on bitten lips.

You don't have to tell him twice at this point, because the way your hands force his face steady so he keeps his eyes on you does most of the trick. His resolve crumbles at breakneck speed.

He bottoms out, pushing his pelvis flush against yours. Your eyes roll back at the same time, legs going stiff and tight around his hips. He does a tentative roll that causes the coarse hair on his groin to press against your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," you breathe, your voice cracking at the edges. He echoes it right after you, or at the same time – he's not sure, but in his defense, he's not confident about a single thing right now.

If not how absurdly scorching you are, all wrapped around him.

With that, he hooks one arm around your waist and tucks his other hand behind your head. He holds you close like you might slip away, and he’s sure as hell not taking any chances.

He fucks you slowly, deep thrusts that fill you up all the way, and greedy love bites on your neck. Open-mouthed kisses at your throat, sliding up to your jaw and cheeks, all the way to your lips. Truthfully, he’s both trying to get his senses chock full of you, and keep his mouth shut so no words spoken while in ecstasy escape.

The slap of his hips against yours drowns the taps of the morning drizzle against the windowpane. He’s got your face buried in the crook of his neck, and your pants echo in his ears like a fucking promise that threatens to unravel him.

Each thrust has him fully sheathed inside of you. It fills him with primal pride and fuels his pleasure, because you take him so fucking well he can't help but think he's modeled you in his perfect image. He grunts against you and tugs at your hair out of sheer desperation to hold on – just a little longer.

But you’re swearing in his ear. Breathless fuck’s whispered like a curse and a vow at the same time. You shift your hips to change the angle and that makes him hit even deeper and he swears he hears you whimper in that telltale way he knows well.

He lifts your hips up and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

And he absolutely rams into you.

“Christ I missed you.” He rumbles and his voice cracks while your moans rise in pitch and your nails scratch his back. “Fuckin’ thought of you," Thrust. "Every bleedin’ day.”

He’s rambling now, intoxicated on the feeling of you. His words are slurred and strained and, deep down, there’s a more sober version of Simon Riley cursing at himself for speaking his heart out.

Luckily, it’s drowned by the slap of flesh against flesh and the wet sounds of your cunt milking him dry.

Finally, he thinks, he's using his strength not to wield a heavy M4 or to ram against hostiles, but to fuck you on his cock – knee-deep in the mattress for leverage.

He lets go, like you asked.

He murmurs in your ear (Fuckin’ beautiful), words alternated with heavy pants (An’ all mine) and the animalistic grunts of a man cocooned in bliss (All fuckin’ mine).

His hips stutter and he knows he’s close, but you’re not even nearby, in spite of how he can feel you clench around him, sucking him in. And God, the guilt that fills him almost makes him stop even if he has that sweet, sweet release just around the bend.

But you won’t have that, naturally.

Your fingers thread through his hair, clammy and sticking out weirdly because he’s sweaty and hot. He feels his head being shifted to the side, so you can look into his eyes.

And oh, how can you look at him like that? How is he even deserving of it – fuck you and your relentless ways to crawl under his skin and make him feel like he’s worth a damn, with your eyes glossy and hooded. A thick veil of admiration, fondness, and you.

You, you, you.

Where have you been all his life, with this color in your eyes?

“Come inside.” You plead tenderly, breathless and raspy, as he pounds you into your own bed. Your fingers smooth back rogue strands that are sticking to his forehead. “Please come inside.”

And you crush his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. One that marks his demise. He’s falling hard into your embrace, figuratively and literally, too.

He uses whatever shreds of strength he has left to ram into you as if his life depended on it, punching gasp after heaving gasp out of your beautiful lips into his hungry mouth.

It works like a spell because he feels the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Syrupy hot warmth runs down his legs to the tips of his toes. Tingling. Tightening. Burning so good he thinks he's melting within you.

Suddenly, his head spins, and he groans in your parted lips as he ruts into you one last time – until he has you filled to the brim. His eyes slam shut as he spills inside of you – cock pulsating and hot.

His high takes its sweet time, canceling out all background noises and only leaving your sweet breaths to fill in his ears, and the pounding of his heart.

Simon unceremoniously drops on you like dead weight, allowing your legs to return around his waist. His lips slide off yours until his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He’s absolutely spent, but there isn’t enough fatigue in this world that could keep him away from you. You’re sweaty and he’s worse, but he doesn’t see why, in the haze of his orgasm, he shouldn’t have his lips reach every inch of skin he can.

His kisses are lazy – a stark contrast from the desperation he’s displayed until now.

He feels safe. He feels at home, still buried deep inside of you, feeling the come that couldn’t fit inside ooze out and onto the bedsheets. A bummer to clean, he’ll realize when he’ll get his sanity back.

And he wants to tell you so many things when he feels your hands skimming down his back in a soothing dance. Wants to tell you how you’ve flipped his life, with the ease of tossing a coin – heads and tails. Opposites so striking you should be deemed a witch.

He was in deep fucking shit before you offered your smile. Inching closer and closer to dead-ended alleys and dark, murky thoughts that could only lead to dreadful places.

You gave him something to yearn for, something to miss when he's away, and something to cherish when he's here.

There’s nothing he can do to return the favor but love you in equal measure.

It’s not the first time the word love has come up in his head when his mind was lost in memories of you. And while he’d rather not dwell on it now, while you hold him to your chest as he comes back to his senses, he knows the time will eventually come.

Yet he doesn’t dread it. Not one bit.

Fear pocket sewn shut. Finally.

He lifts his head to look up at you and finds you doing the same – he’s sure he’s thoroughly fucked in the best way imaginable.

“I’ll take care of everything later,” you say, reading his thoughts. “You okay?”

It takes him a while to respond. Mental gymnastics to reawaken the parts of his brain that are still tingling in the afterglow.

“Never better, love.”

“Sleep?” You offer, as if he isn’t still buried inside of you and effectively crushing you under his weight.

You don’t seem to mind, and so he trusts you and doesn’t either.

His eyes are half closed as he slides down to rest his head in the valley of your breasts. "Y' didn't cum," he mumbles, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the fat of your tits.

Your fingers brush through his hair to keep him close, and when your nails scrape at his scalp he feels gooseflesh rise along his arms.

"'S fine," you whisper gently, and he's struck by the earnestness in your tone. But then you quip, "I'll have ya on your knees tomorrow."

And he scoffs. "Makin' it sound like a punishment."

You purse your lips and land a kiss on the crown of his head. "Then stop complaining."

He grunts something he himself can't even discern.

“Y’need to piss first.” He grumbles mindlessly, as if the thought of you standing up annoys him but he knows a UTI is even more aggravating.

You snort. “Charming."

And he responds in kind. "Chivalry's dead anyway."

There's a few seconds of silence only broken by your quiet chuckle. "I’ll wait for you to fall asleep, then ‘m off to the loo. Deal?”

He grunts in agreement, liking the compromise you’re offering. “Deal.”

And his head stays quiet. Sleazy hands and raging voices cease, silenced under the thunder of your heartbeat.

“I missed you.” He thinks he hears you whisper, your voice thick and wet. He closes his eyes with his head on your chest. “’M so happy you’re home.”

────────────

Simon wakes up with shy sunbeams peeking through the blinds and brushing his brow. You must’ve closed them when you woke up, to shield him from the sun.

He blinks idly, momentarily lost in that phase between sleep and waking life, still unsure of where he is. His mouth is pasty, and his eyes struggle against sunlight. The duvet is up to his chin, and it smells of grapefruit-scented softener, and of you. The pillow is a little wet, and he embarrassingly notices that it’s because he’s drooled on it – he smacks his lips once, twice, but his tongue might as well be a dried-up cinderblock.

It has been a long time since he’s slept like this. Since his mind has shut down and left him alone. Since his night has gone smoothly, sleep comatose and dreamless – nightmare-less.

And you’re not there, but that’s okay.

Because he hears your music from the kitchen, kept at a low volume so you won’t wake him up. The clanking of utensils frames the beat, pans and pots being moved around as you hum to yourself following the melody. The smell of eggs, sausages, potatoes, and fresh veggies – a full English. Wafts of that disgusting coffee you drink in the morning intertwined with the softer notes of the tea you’re brewing for him.

You were right: he is home.

And he can’t see your eyes, but that’s okay too.

He guesses he’ll never remember their exact shade, Simon’s fine with it. No better thing than to discover you once more, each time he gets to come home.

They change with you, following the flow of whatever you allow to show, and of what he’s learned to read. They’re the color of that life he’s unwittingly always looked for. That life promising a pocket of peace for himself. Chock full of love and nice things he’s always been deprived of.

A balm to both his ancient and newest wounds.

He has never shared a single story about his past, never told you why his body is like a tattered book whose tale is as horrific as it looks. But you don’t mind, and he doesn’t know why because he’s firmly set on the idea that you must know someone inside out to be sure you care.

And it’s then that it hits him, that you do know him – better than anyone. You know the man he is. You want the man he is now, the man he will be one day – as mental as it sounds to him. His present, and his future. And sure, his past might have made this man you know, but he’s not the same Simon under his father's thumb or the one felled by Roba’s tortures.

Although he’s not sure he can reopen certain sutures without the wounds bleeding all over the floor, he'll try. He’ll clean up, if he must, knowing that you’ll help him have each injury scab over again.

What baffles him is that you’re not saying he has to. You’re saying he can. And this choice you’re giving him is a privilege he’s never had the chance to bear.

He can tell you everything, and you’ll listen. He can keep it to himself, and you’ll stay, accepting that there will be places of him you’ll never venture – and to you, that is fine.

As long as he stays, too.

There are no words he can use to express his gratitude. He can only love you – and it might take him a while to acknowledge that he’s capable, but he already does love you.

You appear at the door as he’s lost in his own head, still tucked under the duvet. Strips of sunlight cross your form, curving around the beautiful shape of you.

“Good morning, you.” You say, with a smile that reminds him of the sun.

Lazily, he offers one of his own to you. It’s lopsided and he thinks not quite as beautiful.

He hopes you forgive him for it: takes practice to be happy, and he’s still learning.

And so, he smiles, and looks at you like you're the most tangible form of joy he's ever witnessed.

His voice is raspy from sleep, and soft from you.

“Mornin’, love.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #soft simon riley #cod smut #smut

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ladycrimsonandblack · 2 months ago

Text

rating the white star's battles based on how embarrassing they were for him personally

because he deserves it.

his first appearance in the mogoru empire: 1/10 — by far his least embarrassing battle. he manages to come off as extremely powerful and menacing final boss. cryptic remarks about choi han and cale's situation make him look mysterious. our heroes put their everything into this battle and just barely manage to come out of it alive. cale faints for weeks afterward.

battle at the castle of light: 7/10 — starts out pretty well for him when he traps our heroes in the castle, but goes downhill from there. he just gets tricked so easily. cale and co. have a blast pretending to be weak to throw him off, ambushing him, and then chasing him off with rocks. embarrassingly, all of this is facilitated by the fact that the white star does not, in fact, know all the entrances to his home village.

battle at the north: 6/10 — the white star just keeps getting scammed. when will he learn? gets some points for his excellent showing against witira and the whale king. loses all of them because archie was allowed to talk.

battle at the dubori territory: 4/10 — the white star actually had a pretty good showing here. managed to trip cale with his illusionist. dealt pretty well with choi han and eruhaben, even if they managed to get out of danger. did some heavy damage to the territory itself. he did lose an arm (both metaphorical and physical one), so there's that.

battle of the underground city: 5/10 — immediately realizes the city is fake and that the whole thing is a trap, thus disrupting cale's plans. however, any points he might have gotten are immediately made void by the fact that he starts constructing an elaborate history between cale and himself to justify his previous losses. his ego can't take it anymore. he's retreating to the AU land.

the battle at the stan territory: 6/10 — this should have been a win for him. he's prepared for everything. the battle is going on at four fronts, and cale henituse can't react in time. unfortunately for him, his plans are shit and cale can, in fact, react in time. actually, he can react so fast that he manages to mitigate the situation in all four battles and reinforce the stan territory. the white star is, once again, forced to flee, but not before informing everyone around about his weird AU land belief, thus making cale's reputation soar. embarrassing.

the battle to steal cale's body: 7/10 — the white star is forced to contend with alberu, who brought a gun to a knife fight. it does not go well for him. also, they really shouldn't have underestimated mary.

the battle at puzzle city: 20/10 — there are literally no good points here. his disguise is seen through pretty easily. he gets trapped by the mana disturbance tools. cale hits him with a mental attack so devastating that his ego can't take it, and he gets himself sealed. the bitch-slap happens, and it's glorious. at least he gets sealed into a golden plaque, so at least he gets some dignity there.

the battle in the sealed temple: 10/10 — he gets killed by a stick. the only thing mitigating the embarrassment factor here is that cale had to stab himself in the heart first, and that adds a certain oomph the white star himself has never been able to accomplish.

+ special mention

the battle in the wrath test: 15/10 — he gets beaten by a rock. like. it's literally a pebble. sure, it's a magical pebble, but still. a pebble.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #you might notice that the average embarrassment factor is pretty high #that's because the white star is embarrassing

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idiotmf · 4 months ago

Note

omg please write a piece about reader getting fucked by a ghost i neeeeed it

Hey, anon! Fear not, I shall deliver. I wasn't sure whether you wanted afab or amab, so I went with the usual afab. I'm happy to rewrite it into amab, if anyone wants it!（＾ω＾）

Edit: Here is the amab version!

Feel free to send me asks and requests or little imagines, I'm always happy to expand upon it, it gets the creative juices flowing a little. ^-^

NSFW, Minors DNI, I can see you.

TW: dub-con

Anyway, enough talk. Here's Reader getting not-so-respectfully railed by a ghost:

When your grandma left you a house after she passed, you assumed your troubles would finally be over, and for a while, they were. When you moved in, things were amazing. You didn't have to worry about rent anymore, and the utilities were surprisingly cheap. It's like you hit the jackpot, finally able to live with a few less worries.

Obviously, when you weren't working or hanging out with the odd friend that came over, you spent your time at home, keeping yourself occupied, mostly by either watching something, playing something, or masturbating out of boredom.

Things continued like that for a while, until you found a rather cryptic note from your late grandma that explained in unnecessary detail how there was a ghost living in the house. She strictly referred to the ghost as "him" and mentioned he was fairly friendly, unless provoked, and even then he would only play pranks on you.

Being the rational person that you are, you chalked it up to grandma being senile and that she was just keeping herself entertained since she lived in the house all alone. It would have been fine if that's where it stopped.

One night, your old friend came over, and you did your usual routine of watching something, and then halfway through, you ended up fucking. That's where it really all began.

The next morning, things were on the ground, not like someone had ransacked the place, but it was noticeable enough, though of course you thought it must've been just your old friend who had knocked some stuff over while leaving in a hurry. When you went to bend over to pick some things up, you could feel something grabbing your ass, and without hesitation, you turned around, only to be faced with nothing. Maybe you were going crazy, you thought; it wasn't an awfully strong grip, so maybe it was something your body did.

This excuse became increasingly less effective as time went on. You felt hands everywhere and at the worst times. Caressing your arms and legs, tracing your stomach and back. Eventually it got to the point where you could feel a hand slipping into your pants, playing with your clit. Of course, you were scared at first. Something was clearly there, and it reminded you of the letter your grandma left you.

You began shouting at the ghost. Telling it to stop fucking around and leave you alone. However, the ghost didn't really care; you broke his one rule that he had agreed on with your grandma, and even if you didn't know, he was going to punish you. How dare you bring another man into his house and have the audacity to fuck him?

His touching escalated the more you allowed him. Eventually you noticed a mouth and a wet tongue licking your neck, tracing down to your breasts. It seemed strange, considering you were usually clothed when this happened, yet it felt like it was touching your skin directly. The licking felt nothing like what your old friend would do, although in truth the sex with him wasn't all that good and really just a way to get fucked every once in a while.

Before you knew it, multiple hands were all over you, joined by at least three tongues licking you. This made no sense; you wondered if there were multiple ghosts. It became increasingly difficult to even find the logic in this when you were constantly being groped and licked. One tongue had found its permanent place on your sensitive nub, flicking and sucking it with every move you made; one was carelessly sucking on one of your nipples, alternating with one hand that usually played with the other one. The third mouth seemed to like making out with you, its tongue constantly shoved in your mouth, wrestling yours.

Despite feeling all these ministrations as if they were real, when you looked at your reflection, there was nothing there. Your mouth was gaping, but nothing was in it; your panties were soaked beyond belief most of the time, yet nothing seemed to be there. But truly, the worst part about it all was that it wouldn't let you finish. Whenever you were just about to cum, the mouth disappeared before continuing its torture. It took about two days before you couldn't take it anymore, pleading with the ghost to let you cum. It didn't listen, though it did use more hands to restrict you when you went to touch yourself before shoving something inside of you.

It wasn't much of a sensation, and you felt it curl, so you naturally assumed it was the finger of another hand. “Please,” you began whimpering every other minute, your tone getting more needy with every ruined orgasm that he put you through as minutes began to feel like hours.

“I'll do anything,” you finally managed to choke out through tears as he played with your sodden pussy for what you could only register as an eternity again, bent over the kitchen counter, legs held apart, wrists gripped tightly by the ghost. For a moment, there was nothing but stillness; all the mouths stopped what they were doing, and most of the hands disappeared too, except the ones keeping you in place.

“Anything?” A shiver ran down your spine as you heard the noise that you assumed to be the ghost's voice. It sounded distant and more like the wind howling than a human voice, yet you knew immediately who it was. You nodded, the tears running down your face falling onto the kitchen counter, your twitching cunt trying to feel any sort of stimulation now that the mouths and hands were gone.

“Yes, anything.” The words came out before you could even attempt to stop them, accompanied by a howling sound, which made you wonder whether it was meant to be a laugh or not.

Another few moments passed before a loud noise forced itself out of your mouth at the sensation of something stretching you open. It was long and thick, covered in strange bumps, providing nothing but the most torturous pleasure as it thrust into your hungry cunt at a punishing pace.

Despite your mind still questioning whether this was okay and logical, your body was writhing against the kitchen counter, hands still held still by him, your legs forced apart as he fucked you from behind. No matter how much you attempted to stop it from happening, desperate, high-pitched mewling sounds escaped your lips at a rapid rate as you felt another orgasm approach, hoping this would be the one to finally let you cum after two days of torture.

“What a willing little slut,” the ghost taunted with his howling voice, making him sound distant yet all around you at once. The insults made you mewl louder; something about being used like this by a ghost made your pussy clench harder.

In a small moment of defiance, you glanced back at what might be behind you, but just as expected, there was nothing. Despite your pussy being stretched to an almost painful level, gaping around air, no figure was there to account for it.

Just as your orgasm threatened to spill over, something was shoved into your mouth, making your jaw hurt, before it found its way down your throat, drowning out your mewls and desperate groans.

“Be quiet, whore. I'm not done with you yet.” With those words, your eyes fluttered closed as you let this torture continue for another minute or two, pussy and throat both stuffed full with invisible cocks, bigger than any human's you've ever had. The thought alone was enough to trigger your orgasm, finally sending you over that sweet edge with a loud groan that only came out as a hum. Your body went limp from the impact, and you saw stars in front of your eyes, the ghost holding you up by your wrists as if it were nothing.

Without a word or even a moment to spare, he kept slamming into you, the bumps rubbing against your insides, making you feel like you were stuck in a never-ending orgasm for a moment before it did finally subside, though you could feel the cocks twitch, their movements becoming more erratic and aggressive. You tried to say something, but your throat was simply too stuffed to make any worthwhile noise.

Suddenly, you felt a hot sensation in both of your holes, almost making you gag and cry in pain, as the sheer amount of ectoplasmic seed forced its way into your womb and down your throat, spilling back into your mouth, even running down your chin. Before you could fully register what happened, you were dropped, the ghost probably leaving you to deal with the aftermath. As you lay there, the sheer amount of cum almost formed a small puddle on the ground, your fucked-out pussy leaking more as you desperately tried to swallow the remnants in your mouth.

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gemini-sensei · 5 months ago

Text

Secret's Out | Miguel Diaz x Lawrence!Reader

Req: please do Miguel and cryptic pregnancy trope!!! like the process of her giving birth and can this be lawrencereader?? if not that’s okay :) CW: cryptic pregnancy, secret relationship, giving birth, Johnny being Johnny. (unedited)

It was no surprise Reader and Miguel fell for each other. Living in the same apartment complex just across from each other, seeing one another everyday, not to mention he was her father's karate student. It was a recipe for love.

It was also a recipe for disaster, as both Miguel and Reader knew that her father was going to have his head if he ever found out about them.

Johnny Lawrence was old school. He wouldn't like the idea of his star student getting together with his daughter. He didn't even like the idea of her dating even though she was 19 years old and perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thanks to yours truly of course. He'd taught her everything she needed to know about defending herself, not letting anyone sell her bullshit, and being so assertively herself that no one could argue with her about anything. He prided himself in at least raising a daughter who was headstrong, though that sometimes came back to bite him in the ass.

It wasn't one of those days, thankfully, and he was able to work in peace as she helped out around the dojo. She was mostly in charge of helping in demonstrations and setting up dummies as needed, but for the most part, things were going well. It was with LaRusso that Johnny had any problems with as they still butt heads from time to time on how to teach their students.

Reader was talking to Anthony and Devon about something when she felt a pain shoot up her back and through her stomach. She was a tough young lady, so she didn't let it show very much, but as her eyebrows scrunched up, the two students gave her weird looks.

"Are you okay, Reader?" Devon asked, looking her over carefully.

The pain lingered but she nodded. "Yeah, must be a muscle spasm or something."

She rubbed her back, thinking it would pass quietly. Though she'd never felt pain like that before, she wasn't all that concerned with it and she dragged Anthony with her to grab the bo staffs for the next and final lesson. It wouldn't be long before she got to go home.

Halfway through the lesson, though, the same pain surfaced and she felt like she was cramping. It threw her off her drills with the bo and she groaned, waving off the concerned looks of those around her. She didn't need them gawking at her and staring. She didn't finish the lesson with everyone and it pissed her off to no end, but she decided not to dwell on it. The last thing she needed was unnecessary stress on top of whatever it was bothering her.

She walked into the bathroom of Miyagi-Do while the students called it a day. Her father and Daniel cleaned up the yard and patio while she splashed some water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt her face with the back of her hand, but nothing felt off and she didn't look like she was sick. She just looked like she was in pain, which she was, but she quickly shook that look off and decided to finish the day's work. Going home would be fine.

However, she could barely sweep the interior of the house because she kept cradling her belly and groaning. The pain was consistent and happening more often. When her dad and Mr. LaRusso came in to close up, hardly anything was done and they had to question why.

"Reader, you're usually done and gone by now," Daniel said.

She waved him off with a huff. "Cut me some slack, old man. I feel like shit."

"Ah, it's that time of the month," Johnny said, seeing the way his daughter held herself and was slightly slouched over. "You always pull through, you'll be fine."

"Fuck off," she said, knowing damn well he didn't understand a woman's period. She thought about slugging him in the gut and giving him a taste of what that felt like when the pain shot through her again, harder and worse than before. She cried out and almost fell to the floor, only barely leaning against the wall to save herself.

Tears pricked her eyes as the pain became unbearable. Her breathing quickened as it persisted for a moment, her father and Daniel on either side of her in an instant.

Daniel wiped her forehead of sweat she didn't even know about and looked at her father. "I think this is serious. You should take her to the hospital."

Johnny looked worried and fearful of what that could mean, but he didn't argue. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Reader, can you walk?"

"I don't know," she whined, head leaned back against the wall as she put her energy into not crying.

Keeping her eyes clothes, she felt her father pick her up and carry her outside. Daniel led the way, opening the doors in their way. She was placed in her father's van and he buckled her in. He held her face and said, "You're gonna be okay. Whatever this is, you'll get through it."

"Just get me outta here," she groaned.

He nodded and hurried to the other side of the car. He drove as fast and without a care, only thinking of his daughter as she screamed in pain with each shooting pain that came and went. In between those moments, she was moaning and groaning in misery.

Despite his speed, things weren't going fast enough for Reader. Things started to feel weird and hurt more as she sat there. She couldn't sit with her legs together, unable to close them for some reason. She couldn't think straight, her whole body sending signals to her brain about how much pain she was in, and it sucked. However, she began even more scared when she felt a rush of hot liquid gush from between her legs and she was too embarrassed to say anything to her father.

Then something inside of her moved and she didn't know what to make of it. She reached between her legs to feel something bulging from her cunt and she burst into tears, scaring her father.

It had been a long time since he'd seen her cry, especially out of fear or pain, so what the fuck was going on?

When they got to the hospital, Johnny rushed in with her in his arms and she was quickly taken away from the emergency room lobby, leaving both of them alone. No one had any idea of what they were getting into, getting rushed, half-informed explanations from Johnny and quick answers from Reader before she was screaming again. It all happened so fast, but to Johnny, it felt like forever. His mind conjured up the worst case scenarios and he didn't know what to do with himself.

Robby showed up not long after, having gotten word from Mr. LaRusso that his half-sister was rushed to the hospital. He immediately went to Johnny. "What happened?"

"I don't know. One minute, she was fine, and the next she's screaming and crying," he explained, shaking his head. The screams and cries of his only daughter are trapped in his head and it's shaken Johnny to his core. "That's the toughest girl I know. She doesn't cry easily, Robby."

Robby rubbed his father's back in an attempt to comfort him. "I know."

They sit there for an hour before someone can tell them anything.

Carmen Diaz comes out, being neighbors and knowing the family well, she wanted to be the one to give them the update on Reader. She thought Reader was such a nice, strong girl. She knew she and Miguel were close, but she didn't know just how close until about forty minutes ago when Reader made a shocking confession to her. Nevertheless, Carmen held Reader's hand as pushed through the pain.

"Johnny, Robby," she said softly as she approached. She offered a smile because while the situation was scary and unpredictable, it hadn't ended horribly. In fact, it was a joyous occasion. "Reader's going to be okay."

"Okay? You sure? She was screaming her head off all the way here," Johnny said, standing from his seat.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said. She took a deep breath. "She gave birth to a healthy little girl."

"Gave birth?" Robby repeated, a shockwave hitting him and his father. How was that possible?

"Like a real baby?" Johnny asked. "Where'd that come from? She wasn't pregnant. I would've known if she was pregnant."

Carmen nodded. "Well, it would appear that she didn't even know she was pregnant. It's called a cryptic or hidden pregnancy and, as the name suggests, it's like a secret. She showed little to no symptoms, got her period regularly, and didn't gain a noticeable amount of weight. It's not typical, but not unheard of."

Johnny and Robby had to sit with that for a minute, letting it sink in. Reader had just given birth to a secret baby that none of them, herself included, knew about. Johnny was still processing everything when Robby asked, "Can we see her?"

"She wants the baby's father to come in first."

"Who the Hell is the baby's father?" Johnny asked, getting protective and defensive. He just spent well over and hour worrying and pacing the hospital lobby only to get sidelined by some shmuck that wasn't there. From where he was standing, this guy better be good enough for his daughter to do something like that.

At that moment, Miguel came running into the lobby with pure panic rushing through his bloodstream and sweat pouring down his face.

"Where is she? Where's Reader?" he asked, looking between everyone there. At that moment, he didn't care about the fact that no one knew they were together. He only cared about her and the emergency that he had to be there for. He's gotten few details over the phone when his mom called, only knowing that he had to be there. "Is she okay? Was there some kind of accident?"

Robby stared at Miguel, fire in his eyes. "No, but I might cause one soon..."

Miguel looked at him weirdly, knowing that Robby was going to be protective of Reader, but now didn't seem like the time. He turned to his mom for answers.

"There wasn't an accident, Miggy, she's okay," she assured him, rubbing his arms to comfort him. "She's being moved to the maternity ward and once they've got her settled in a room over there, you can go see her."

"Maternity ward? Why would she need to be there?" Miguel asked.

He felt Johnny and Robby's eyes burning holes into his whole body as they stared him down. He looked at them questionably, as confused as they had been only minutes ago. Then it dawned on him. "She's pregnant?"

"Was," Johnny grunted, glaring at his star student. "She had the baby already."

"What? How? I mean- how is that possible?"

Carmen rubbed his back as she got a page on her beeper. She checked it before looking at him. "I'll explain it on the way over there. Why don't the three of you follow me?"

By the time they got to Reader's room, Miguel was up to date on the basics what cryptic pregnancies were and how they didn't show themselves. He also got an earful from Johnny about the situation, which sounded a lot like "I can't believe you would do this to me" and "that's my daughter, the one girl in the whole world you, my student, shouldn't have ever gotten with." Robby stayed quiet the whole way there.

Miguel walked right into the room to find an exhausted Reader sitting up on the bed with a baby blanket in her arms. She was just staring down at the little bundle, the smallest of smiles on her lips. When she heard him enter the room, thankfully alone because she wasn't ready to face her father (and she didn't even know Robby was there yet).

"Migs," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He walked over to her slowly, feeling as though he was in some sort of false reality. How was this possible? How could they not know? Even though he knew the answers now, he was still turning those questions, and more, over in his head. What did this mean for them? He was in college, how was he going to help her raise a baby? Pay for a baby? They didn't even have anything for a baby. They were so unprepared, so there was a part of his mind that thought this was some kind of weird dream he was having.

However, when he was close enough to see the little face of the baby - their baby - peeking out from the blankets, he knew it was real.

Despite her small size, their baby girl had a mop full of dark curls on her head. She had the smallest nose and tiniest lips he'd ever seen. She was fast sleep in Reader's arms, unbothered by anything else around them.

"She looks like you," Reader said, looking up at him with a small smile.

Miguel let out a little laugh. "You think so?"

"Yeah," she told him and giggled. She yawned but tried not to let it show. He put a hand on her shoulder, making her look up at him, and he saw how tired she truly was. She barley had any energy let, using what was left to admire their tiny little surprise. "I almost gave birth to her in my dad's van."

He laughed and leaned down to kiss her head. "Glad you made it here in time." He felt so bad that she had to go through that alone. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"Don't be. Seriously, I swear, if you start apologizing for that every day, I'll punch you in the throat," she told him, her brash attitude shining through. He smiled despite her threat. "I'm just happy I'm not dead. Besides, your mom was here and she's great."

"Yeah, she's pretty awesome," he said. He looked back at the baby in Reader's arms and reached out to her, touching her soft hair. "Do you have a name for her?"

Reader shook her head. "I can hardly think right now. I was hoping you'd know something."

"I... I don't know," he said and chuckled. He sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her. "We'll think of something, though."

As they sat in silence, from outside, Johnny and Robby were watching from the door. They peered in but didn't enter, letting the couple have their moment with their new daughter. Johnny still didn't know what to make of it, but as he watched the way Miguel interacted with Reader and their baby, he had a pretty alright feeling about it.

Robby put it into the best words, though; "I guess if it's gonna be anyone, Miguel's good enough."

#lawrence!reader #cryptic pregnancy #pregnancy #miguel diaz x chubby reader #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz #johnny lawrence #cobra kai #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #gemini sensei

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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hi!!! could i request pro hero!bakugo & pro hero!reader where bkgs doing an interview and they ask about relationships and his answer is “I thought you people already knew that im married”

i have no idea how to word things but i hope that was readable🙏🙏

keeping it in the family

wc: 1.6k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, established relationship, dialogue-driven

note: RAHHH I LOVE HUSBAND BAKUGO. anyways !!! i hope you like this, i did get a little carried away when writing it so hopefully it makes sense. thank you for your ask!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two…give ‘em hell.” The roar of excited applause jumbles together with the late-night show’s opening theme and the screams of excited fans can still be heard even as Kirishima flashes a blinding smile to the camera.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heroes on Heroes! We’re so glad you’re joining us tonight, seeing as this is the finale of season one!” The audience cheers with fiery passion and it makes the three heroes onstage chuckle nervously. This was going to be a long night, especially if the superfans were crying after every word they spoke. “I’m Red Riot,” he pauses while the cheering erupts once again, “and I’m joined by my fellow pros, Chargebolt and Dynamight.” You wince from your place at sidestage from the sheer wave of noise that slams into your eardrums when the latter is introduced.

“Thanks for having us tonight, man,” Denki grins. He eagerly drums the armrests of his chair, to the left of Kirishima. “I’ve been looking forward to doing one of these since I saw Deku’s a few weeks back.”

“It’s a great concept, really. I love being able to just chat with you guys and shoot the shit about hero stuff. It’s so manly.” Kirishima turns expectantly to the other hero sitting to his right, whose hot-headed nature was blatantly obvious by how he was slumped in his chair, squinting slightly at the burning spotlights and clicking cameras. You admire Kirishima’s confidence in forcing Katsuki to say something. “What about you, Bakugo? How’re you feeling tonight?”

“I’m alright,” he shrugs indifferently. Your breath catches in your throat and you can hear the Dynamight agency’s publicist put his head in his hands. “It’s been a while, so it’s good to see you guys,” he adds with unexpected fondness and you exhale in relief. His eyes meet yours for half a second and he shoots you a wink that makes your knees wobbly. “I saw that save at the bridge collapse last week, Shitty Hair. Pretty decent work.” Kirishima blinks once, twice, and then glances at Denki. Katuski’s blank look narrows into a scowl. “The hell are you looking like that for? I got shit in my teeth or something?”

“No, no. Sorry, man,” Kirishima laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting a compliment from you so early in the show.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d have to booze you up a little more to get you to be nicer,” Denki jokes and he recoils a bit when he’s struck with a molten hot glare from the hero across from him.

“Whatever you’re about to say, bro, don’t say it,” Kirishima warns and the crackles in Katsuki’s palms gradually dissipate. “But, I’m wondering too. What’s with the good mood?”

“I guess I feel like playing nice tonight,” he answers cryptically, his gaze flicking over to you again with amusement. You can almost sense the fainting girls falling over each other in the front row. Kirishima’s attention subtly darts over to you and a knowing smirk grows over his face. It was the first time you and Katsuki were at the same press event, since you both thought it was too dangerous to sneak around until now. “But, talk about that bridge save. I don’t think a lot of people know that the guy was wanted by several agencies.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Denki agrees with a quick sip of his drink. He swallows and sets the glass down with a light thud. “He’d been giving us hell for weeks. It's not really the best matchup for a sand villain to be going up against an electric hero.”

“It was the sand villain and his wife, wasn’t it? That chick with the melting Quirk?”

“Yep, they were a nasty couple to deal with,” Kirishima confirms. “I had to keep track of this guy’s damn sand spikes and his wife turning the floor to goop at the same time.”

“Goop is a weird-ass way to put it,” Katsuki points out with obvious distaste.

“Yeah, but he was a pretty goopy guy.” Chuckles ripple through the audience and you can’t help breaking a smile too at Kirishima’s joke.

“I think for me, at least,” Denki adds, “the biggest pain was the fact that they were married, and they had, like, marriage telepathy or something.”

“Bro, I thought that was just me! Here I was, thinking that I’d incapacitated one and split them from the other, when bam! Both of them appear in front of me like a damn genie.”

“You ever have to deal with villain couples, Bakubro?”

“Nah, not recently. We’ve been doing a lot of big raids on all the crime families downtown.” He flexes his right bicep and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to show a gnarly purple spot growing on his skin. “Got this little beauty three days ago from a neo-Hassaikai asshole.” You're not fazed by the ugly shade of the wound because you were the one who stitched up the...less visible results of the raid.

“Jeez, man,” Denki says in disbelieving awe at his friend’s injury. “If you ever need backup, we’d love to do a team up with you.”

“I think I’d rather die–”

“My agency would also love to team-up with you,” Kirishima interjects before Katsuki can finish his thought. The heart rate monitor of his publicist begins to rapidly beep behind you. “We can have a threeway team-up! That’d be pretty cool, don’t you guys think?”

“What if we all just merged into one big super agency? Like a big family?”

“That sounds like the stupidest shit–” Again, Kirishima cuts off Katsuki’s brash protests and saves them from being taken off the air.

"That would be so awesome."

“Would that mean we’d have to get pro-hero partners, too? Keep hero work in the family?”

“I think Salonpas would have heart palpitations if we said we were trying to keep hero work within the family,” Katsuki points out and his friends nod in agreement. “On another fuckin’ note, that Half-and-Half idiot keeps hogging the number two spot and it pisses me off.” Though you didn’t often encounter Todoroki while you were on patrol, you knew that he was adamant about keeping work life and family life separate. It made him even more of a dedicated hero and a recent bust of a notorious crime ring bumped him into the number two spot over Dynamight for that month. You didn’t hear the end of it from Katsuki.

“He and Deku just work really efficiently, Bakubro.”

“I can efficiently slam both their skulls into a–”

“You know what would solve that problem?” Denki butts in unceremoniously, covering up his harsh words for a third time. Katsuki grunts in response and the lightning-decorated hero gives him enthusiastic finger-guns. “Combining and making a family agency.”

“What are the chances that Sero would want to join too?”

“Probably pretty high,” Kirishima guesses. “He’s at my place every other week, anyway, so he’s basically my brother.”

“Alright, maybe this could actually work, then. I just need to find a smoking hot hero wife.”

“That’ll probably be the hardest part, buddy–”

“What about Bakugo?” You stiffen and the three guys turn their attention to a voice calling out from the audience. Speaking during the interviews was strictly prohibited until the question and answer section, but getting Katsuki’s attention was a surefire way to derail the entire episode.

“The fuck do you mean, what about Bakugo? Who the fuck said that?”

"Dude, just ignore them."

“Can’t be a family agency if Bakugo never gets into relationships,” the same nasally, irritating voice argues and your face feels like it’s been set on fire. Kirishima’s attention jumps to you for a moment and then back to his friend, whose palms are starting to spark like fireworks. “Do you just get no bitches, or something?” The audience gasps and security finally arrives to escort the disturbance out of the building. The director is ready to stop the cameras and jump to a commercial break, but Katsuki speaks before he can order the sound crew to cut the mics. To everyone’s surprise, his voice is nothing but amusement, like the insinuation didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“You think I don’t get into relationships?”

“Bakugo…”

“It’s alright, Pikachu. I really don’t give a shit about whatever that guy said,” Katsuki reassures his friend with a sly glint in his eye. His friends watch him warily, like a grenade on the verge of exploding. Once again, burning red eyes meet yours with a single question that you answer with a resolute nod. “I’m not gonna blow up, so stop looking like that. Really, I don’t care.”

“Why not?” A tense beat of silence passes, then–

“I thought you people knew that I’m married.” A shit-eating grin spreads across your husband’s face as gasps of shock burst from the audience. Kirishima and Denki both shake their heads in exasperation. They knew already, of course, but they didn’t expect him to reveal his relationship status as a result of a heckler. “Yep, going on a year and a half, now. Around five years together total coming this winter.” More collective cries of jealousy, surprise, and betrayal shake the building’s foundation. "If you don't believe me, ask these guys."

"Yeah, we were at the wedding, too. It's hard to keep it a secret when all of your friends are also high-profile heroes."

“Can you guys believe that he fell in love during the winter?” Denki’s thumb juts out toward his friend, who frowns at the mere mention of cold weather.

“I fucking hate the winter,” he grumbles.

“We know, man,” Kirishima says sympathetically, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

“Yeah, and shit hasn’t changed,” Katsuki bites back with lighthearted indignance. “Look, they saved my ass when it was cold; how was I not supposed to fall in love with them?” To your delight, his complexion has turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Yeah, I love them. What about it, asshats?”

“Is this a bad time to bring up the family agency again?”

“Let’s go to commercial before I blow this fucking chair to pieces.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #ask iris!

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ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

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DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc crossover #dp crossover #danny phantom #long post #tim drake

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minimomoe · 3 months ago

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How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

Rule no. 9: Make Sure Instructions are Explicitly Clear

When you came back to the kitchen, Uraume was still there. In fact, upon further inspection of your kitchen, the place looked cleaner than before. Cleaner than the first time you moved in. You were grateful but felt strange. You didn’t ask them to tidy up but Uraume did it without your request. You came back before leaving to set the record straight because you didn’t need nor want a housekeeper.

You eyed the empty plate that laid in front of Sukuna with disdain. It was practically clean, the greasy streaks from the meaty meal painted the white porcelain.

“Uraume, you don’t need to do all of this,” you gestured around to the house. “You’re a guest here. Please, take it easy.” “You’ll confuse them,” Sukuna said gruffly. “But as of today, Uraume will not be confined in the house.”

You cocked your eyebrow at Sukuna who stood up from his chair. You already sensed that whatever today’s agenda held would get under your already itchy skin.

“You will take Uraume with you to work.”

Ah there it is. The start of a headache right behind your eyes because of his overbearing protection. “There wasn’t a question mark in that statement.”

“I was not asking,” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest with a heavy finality. “Uraume will go with you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you gritted out. “If anything, it would be better for you for Uraume to stay with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get to.”

On your way out of the door, you found Uraume holding your work bag along with your tumbler cup filled with your favorite drink. You awkwardly took it out of their hands while muttering thanks. “And you do not have to come to work with me. Take a break,” you added before you left the house to your coworker waiting for you in her car.

“Finally. I thought I was gonna have to drag you out of there myself,” Jess joked when you buckled yourself up in the passenger seat.

“Sorry about that,” you laughed weakly. You eyed your house, your face barely able to hide your forehead scrunching up in a wince.

“Is something wrong? Is Cleo still sick?”

“What? No, she’s fine… just fine…”

Jess nodded but did not believe you. “Okay. Let’s try this again but this time don’t be as cryptic. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

You were unsure of how much of your situation you should reveal to your coworker. You were close enough to call her a friend, she’s the one who even offered to take you to work for as long as you needed until your foot healed, but you didn’t know just how deep that friendship was. You decided to test the waters with a very generic situation.

“I’m just having… relationship issues.”

“Shut up, since when?!” Her eyes lit up even as she kept them on the road. “You know after Toji I didn’t think that you would be interested in men anymore. Are you still dating guys? Or are we talking about a lucky woman this time around?”

“Worse,” you snorted under your breath.

“Huh? I can’t really hear you.”

“I said it’s still a man. I just– I think I’m in over my head here. He wants to get… married.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “He proposed to you?”

“God no,” you quickly corrected. That was technically true. No proposal but apparently soulmates. “He keeps on bringing marriage up. He’s very serious about it.”

Jess tilted her head side to side, carefully preparing her next set of words. “Getting married is a serious matter. I mean, it’s not permanent. It’s messy, but you could always get a divorce if he switches up on you.” Jess gave you a quick glance from the corner of her eye. “But you never mentioned wanting to be a wife before. Don’t let him rush you.”

“I’m not,” you promised. “I never thought about it, but…”

“But what?” Jess prompted. The car was stopped at a redlight so she could fully look at you. You sat with your hands in your laps, palm up, tracing the lifelines over and over again.

“I don’t know. I don’t hate it? He gets on my nerves like no other. He’s old fashioned, bossy as hell, kinda sticks out like a sore thumb,” you listed off with knitted eyebrows.

“So what do you like about him?” Jess snorted. Your face uncharastically softened. Jess wondered if you knew how much affection for this mystery man you held in your body.

“He’s not ugly, for one. I happen to like his face a lot,” you admitted. “There’s also a sense of understanding that comes with him. And, we have… history with each other. Don’t worry, I’m not getting caught up in the nostalgia, but it does make things complicated.”

You hadn’t realized it but you and Jess made it to the library already. She parked the car and shut off the engine, plunging the car in silence. You both stared out the windshield, watching your other coworkers mill into the building.

“How long have you known him?”

You shook your head. “If I told you that you’d think that I’m crazy. I’m talking straight jacket and padded walls crazy.”

“Alright then. Keep your secrets. I’m not telling you this because I want to be a bridesmaid for your wedding, but I do hope you guys work it out. Fully commit yourself like you are a married couple and see how it feels. I mean, you’re only dating right now, so you can always back out.”

If only it was that easy, you thought to yourself. Still, you appreciated her help. “You’re right. Thanks, Jess. I really needed to get that off of my chest.”

Jess beamed at you and you couldn’t help but to smile back. “I can’t wait to meet him once you feel comfortable. And if he does break your heart, I will break his legs.”

The thought of Jess, who was smaller than you, taking a crowbar to Sukuna’s knees tickled you deeply. The image made you laugh loudly and Jess was happy to see you back in high spirits. You both climbed out of the car hand in hand, giggling all the way to your work stations. You separated, leaving you to hobble over to the front desk for your shift and you prepared the desk. Suguru would not come in until a few more hours, but you watched the door like a hawk for the return of the book Sukuna came from or Suguru. You were only interrupted from your task when a small voice coming from the other side of your desk called out your name. You peered over to find one of your favorite patrons with multiple books teetering in his hands already.

“Yuuji,” you crooned. “You’re here early.”

“Good morning! We’re going on a road trip so Dad said we have to run ear-rands! I chose the liberry first!”

The pink haired boy grinned up at you with a smile full of missing teeth that warmed your heart.

“A road trip right before school starts. Lucky you,” you nodded. You reached over to take the load out of his arms and began to scan them. “Do you think you have enough books to keep you busy?”

Yuuji nodded furiously. “I really like this series.”

You inspected the book you checked out and saw that it was a fantasy book about dragons that was the latest craze with kids. It had amazing illustrations along with a simple but captivating plot. You gave Yuuji a thumbs up. “This is a good choice. You gotta tell me how it ends when you come back.”

Once again you were given a bright flash of teeth from the young boy. For a second you had a bout of deja-vu. You’ve known Yuuji since he was in diapers, but you had a strange feeling that you have seen his face somewhere else before. The thought was gone as quickly as it came by when Kento Nanami came up with his own set of books to check out.

“Good morning,” he greeted in his velvety voice that slid in the air like jazz. He gently placed his stack on the desk and lifted Yuuji from the floor to rest on his hip.

“It’s always a good one when you stop by,” you winked. You spied Jess shelving books from across the floor but her gaze was firmly stuck on the blond man. You bit back a giggle from the way she was missing the shelf multiple times from staring too hard.

“You know, since Yuuji likes fantasy so much, I would recommend a knight story over there where Jess is standing. It would be right up his alley,” you offered. Nanami craned his neck to your point and Jess ducked below the shelves to hide in record time. “Well, she was standing over there,” you scoffed. “Yuuji said you’re taking a trip?”

“Yes, it’s last minute,” Nanami mused. He looked almost disappointed that he didn’t see your friend in the section you directed him to before he turned to face you with a soft smile. “I’ve been so busy. I want him to have at least one fun memory besides the activities held here.”

“I hope you two enjoy yourselves,” you said earnestly. Just as you were printing out the receipt for the books you saw a familiar swish of white hair disappear behind the nonfiction section. You have only seen it once but you were sure of who it belonged to.

“Thank you. We will,” Nanami promised. You helped him pack the books in his tote bag without putting Yuuji down and fixed it on his other shoulder. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Of course,” you waved, but your attention was already drawn elsewhere. You had enough patience to make sure there was nobody else in line that you needed to help before stomping wobbly over to where you saw Uraume. They were not-so-subtly stuffing their face in a book larger than their head to hide their identity.

“Uraume,” you said in a low warning tone. They slowly dropped the book and looked at you head on. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought I told you to stay at home.”

Uraume skillfully only responded to your last statement.

“Lord Sukuna insisted that I come and watch over you. He’s worried over your condition.”

“He should be worried about his condition when I get my hands on–”

“Did Kento say anything about me?” Jess said behind you, scaring you out of your body. You put your hand over your chest to calm your frantic heart and Jess apologized.

“Oh I didn’t know you were talking to somebody. I love your hair,” Jess complimented Uraume and they blushed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool or whatever,” you grumbled, pulling her away from Uaraume before she got a better look. You would have to deal with him later. As you were walking Jess back to the front desk she repeated her question.

“He would’ve, if you didn’t do that little disappearing act.”

“I just didn’t expect to see him,” she groaned. “Nobody should look that fine so early in the morning.”

You found Uraume moving from section to section, seemingly not concerned with your whereabouts but you knew better. You were very annoyed, practically seething internally from Sukuna’s blatantly sending Uraume even though you had said not to. There was no getting through to him.

“Aw man,” Jess sighed, looking down at her phone. You looked at her expectantly and she turned her phone to you. “Suguru’s not coming in today. One of his daughters is sick.”

Fucking fantastic. “Poor girl,” you said instead.

“Yeah, he said she got a nasty fever. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

You already zoned out from the conversation, trying to come up with ways to work around his absence in relation to your demon issue. You slumped down into the nearest empty chair and spun around despondently.

Jess poked your shoulder. “Lighten up. You don’t have to take on his shift, somebody else already took care of that.”

“That’s great,” you mumbled without any real conviction.

All you could do is hope that the universe was still on your side and you could get the journal back with or without Suguru being around.

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

#minimoe #x black reader #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #soulmates #red string of fate #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #kid yuji

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snowysosturn · 3 months ago

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Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 20

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start to mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : THESE WARNINGS WILL GIVE SPOILERS!!!! We're going back and forth with POV's too...sorry in advance.... MDNI, angst, tension, anxiety, mentions of car accident/reader in accident, betrayal, drinking, being shitfaced, slight mentions of cheating, andddddd i think thats it

I woke up the next morning with this sense of freedom. The apartment felt different, almost lighter without Alex’s presence weighing it down. I had spent the entire day engrossed in thoughts of how to make this space truly my own, a place where I could start fresh. Each little change I made seemed to breathe new life into the place, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of control and peace.

But as the hours ticked by, a small bout of loneliness began to creep in. I found myself checking my phone obsessively, hoping for some sort of contact from Matt. Despite the joy of having my own space, the lack of communication from Matt was unsettling. I had hoped he’d reach out, maybe offer some words of reassurance or simply check in. The absence of his messages made me second guess everything, stirring up a mix of doubt and anxiety within me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to talk to him. I was now very aware of my own emotions, and I knew they had grown deeper than I initially admitted. I was in love with him. There was no other way to describe it. And I needed him to know. I wanted to be able to call him more than half mine.

Just as I was about to give in to my growing anxiety, my phone pinged. I leaped out of my seat, racing to grab it. The message was from Nick, asking where I was and telling me to get ready and come over. His tone was oddly cryptic, he was never one to be so discreet, and it made me feel like something was up. It made me hope that Matt had something surprising up his sleeve that was about to unfold.

Quickly, I threw on an outfit that made me feel like the baddest bitch on the planet. I styled my hair and made sure my makeup was flawless. One Size setting spray to lock it all in place, I needed it to stay put. I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was going to be a turning point, and I wanted to be prepared for whatever it might bring.

Arriving at the triplets house, I parked outside, assuming that Matt’s car was in the garage. My heart skipped a beat, hoping that tonight might be the night I finally get to share my actual feelings with him. As I approached the front door, it swung open, and Nick greeted me with his usual enthusiasm.

“Oooo, look at this baaaad biiiiiitch!!” Nick exclaimed, his eyes widening with appreciation. I couldn’t help but blush at his compliment.

“We’re going to a party by the way. You’re dressed and ready, so there’s no way you can back out now.” Nick said with a smug grin.

“That’s fine, I won’t argue” I replied, trying to sound casual. “I’m a single woman now, so it’s time to let my hair down.”

“WHAAAAAT? Motherfucker, and you didn’t even tell meee?!” Nick’s reaction was a mixture of shock and excitement.

“It only happened last night.. I haven’t had the chance to tell anyone yet.” I said, trying to downplay the situation. “ Who else is coming?” I decided to add, trying to figure out Matt’s whereabouts.

“Madi’s coming with us, she’s going to Uber here and we’ll all go together. Chris and Matt are already there” Nick said, his tone hinting that he knew I was eager to find out where Matt was.

I was surprised that Matt was already at the party, but I was excited to see him. “There’s vodka on the counter” Nick continued. “We’re pregaming hard for this party. It’s in some massive house in the hills, so I need to be shitfaced by the time I get there if I want to talk to anyone.”

I decided to move my car into the garage, now knowing that Matt was playing Uber driver for the night, and he was out in his car. I walked back into the house and joined Nick at the counter, pouring ourselves vodka lemonades and indulging in a couple one too many drinks. As the evening went on, we laughed and chatted about everything under the sun, including boys. I couldn’t help but let my feelings for Matt slip as the alcohol started to take effect. Nick was so far gone that he probably didn’t register half of what I said, but I felt a tiny bit of relief in finally being able to express my feelings, even if only partially.

Madi arrived an hour later, and we all piled into an Uber to head to the party. The anticipation of seeing Matt and the excitement of the night ahead had me buzzing with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was the start of a new chapter for me, and I was ready to embrace whatever came next.

As soon as we arrived at the party, the sheer size of the house struck me. It was a massive three story mansion perched on a winding street in the hills, barely able to see around each corner. The house had a balcony that wrapped around the entire third floor. The view from up there must be breathtaking, but tonight, the party was centered around the lively chaos inside. The music pumped through the house onto the street, “Still Think About You” by A Boogie Wit da Hoodie muffled in the background.

Nick, Madi, and I walked through the front door and made our way through the crowd, our hands linked together. The house was dark, making it easy to get lost in the sea of people. I was so drunk that I felt like I was floating, the alcohol warming me from the inside out. I hadn’t been this shit faced in a long time, and it was both exhilarating and slightly disorienting.

The house was alive with energy. The living room and lower floors were packed with people holding drinks, dancing, and laughing. The dim lighting cast an almost magical glow over everything, making it feel like we had stepped into a different world.

Nick expertly navigated us through the crowd of influencers and Youtubers, his movements confident for sure. Madi and I followed, our steps less steady as the alcohol continued to affect us. We made our way to the bar area, where a wide selection of drinks awaited us. I grabbed another vodka lemonade, eager to keep the buzz alive.

“Let’s find Matt and Chris!” Nick shouted over the music, his voice barely cutting through the noise. I nodded enthusiastically, but I couldn't help feeling that my excitement was being challenged by a strange flutter of nerves.

As we made our way through the crowd, we finally spotted Chris, who greeted us with a wide grin. My heart pounded when I realized Matt was nowhere in sight. The alcohol had given me a false sense of confidence, but now I felt a strong force of anxiety.

“Where’s Matt?” I asked Chris, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, he’s outside in the garden with Emily” Chris said, pointing towards the glass doors leading out onto the garden.

Emily. The name hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like the music in the room had slowed down in speed, feeling a wave of panic rise within, and I hoped it wouldn’t drown me. I had hoped to avoid any confrontation tonight. But Matt and Emily? Together? The last thing I wanted was to face them both, especially with the knowledge that hung over us like a dark cloud.

“Emily?” I repeated, my voice trembling slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah they’re sat over here, cmon, we’ll go over and say hi” Chris said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the doors.

“No no it’s fine Chris, I-I’ll talk to him later” I tried to protest, planting my heels in the hardwood floor, attempting to pull my hand free from Chris’s grip. But Chris wasn’t letting go, and the more I struggled, the more I felt trapped.

In the midst of trying to lose Chris’ grip, I caught Matt’s eye through the glass doors. He sat on a bench with Emily to the left of him, his arm placed around the back of her, her head slightly leaning on his shoulder. Panic surged through me, and I felt a desperate need to escape. I had to get out of there before I did something I’d regret.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” I said urgently, my voice a mix of heartbreak and desperation. “I don’t feel the best.”

“Oh, shoot, are you okay?” Chris called after me, his concern evident.

But I didn’t give him a response. I turned on my heel and made a beeline for anywhere in the house that would get me far away from here, my heart pounding as I hurried toward the stairs. I could hear Chris shouting that the bathroom was on the second floor, to the left, but I barely registered his words. My only focus was to get away, to find a quiet place where I could collect my thoughts and try to make sense of everything.

I stumbled up the stairs, my mind racing with a mix of confusion, anger, and hurt. I needed a moment to clear my head, to process the reality of the situation, and to figure out what to do next.

Matt’s POV

I sat on a bench in the garden, surrounded by some of my friends through YouTube. Emily was next to me, talking to the group around us, but I barely heard her. All I could think about was leaving. I felt completely out of place. Parties were never really my thing, I was only here because Emily wanted me to be. The sight of Chris coming back through the glass doors caught my eye. He was holding someone. My heart stopped when I realised it was Y/n.

But before I could react, she was gone. Disappearing into the house. I had no idea what she was doing here, and my immediate urge was to find her, to set things straight.

Emily’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Matt, are you okay?”

“Yeah” I said, forcing a smile. I stood up abruptly, grabbing her red solo cup. “I’ll get you another drink.” I said while walked away, not waiting for a response.

As I walked through the doors, I walked over to Chris. “Hey, where did Y/n go?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Chris looked confused for a moment. “Said she needed to use the bathroom. Why?”

I didn’t answer right away, my mind racing. “Thanks” I said, before heading toward the bathroom.

Y/n’s POV

I stood over the sink, splashing water on my face, trying to sober up a bit. My mind was racing, unable to process what was happening.

Why is Matt with Emily right now?

Was he playing me this whole time?

Was this all for his own personal gain?

The thoughts swirled around in my head, and I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

An intense knock on the door snapped me out of my daze. "Just a minute" I called out, trying to steady my breathing. I walked toward the door, realizing I hadn’t even locked it behind me when I ran in here. But before I could reach it, the door swung open, and Matt rushed in, closing it behind him. I stood there in shock.

"Y/n." Matt said, his voice urgent, but there was something else there. Something that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Why are you here with Emily, Matt?" I asked, confusion and hurt lacing my words.

"Because Emily’s my girlfriend." he replied, his tone blunt.

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Girlfriend?" I blinked, the air rushing out of my lungs as if I’d been punched. "You haven’t ended it yet? Are you - are you okay? What's going on?"

"I’m not ending it, Y/n."

The room started to spin, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the words that just left his mouth.

"What? Why? Matt after everything she-”

"She hasn’t done anything." he said, his expression cold.

"What? What the fuck? Matt.. I-I ended it with Alex last night, he.. he basically admitted to it all." I said, my heart pounding in my chest.

"She told me the way things actually happened, Y/n. Alex was trying to come on to her this whole time, and she wasn’t feeding into it."

"Matt, that’s not true! You know its not! You know she’s lying to you!" I said, desperation creeping into my voice.

"I believe her, Y/n. And I need to respect her wants for us to not be around each other anymore." His eyes were empty, like he wasn’t even there, like the Matt I knew had vanished.

"No, no, Matt please. You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. You know what she’s like!" tears welled up, blurring my vision as I pleaded with him, trying to reach the person I thought I knew.

"I do mean it." His words were ice, freezing me in place. "Whatever happened between us... it was a mistake. It’s over, Y/n. You should go back to him, and I’ll go back to her."

I wasn’t sure if I was going to vomit right there in the bathroom or pass out. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could he say that after everything he knew about Alex? After everything we went through together? Skating, the kiss, the walks on the beach, fucking hell we’ve even slept together. My heart shattered into a million pieces as I realized I needed to leave. Now.

“I need to leave.” I managed to choke out, my voice breaking with tears burning down the sides of my face. Without waiting for a response, I turned and stumbled toward the door, my heart aching with every step, the weight of Matt’s words and the turmoil inside me making it impossible to think clearly.

Matt’s POV

The look on Y/n's face taking in my words was like a dagger to my heart. The hurt and confusion in her eyes were almost unbearable. I had been too blunt, too harsh. The guilt of what I’d just said weighed heavily on me, and I knew I needed to make things better.

I rushed out of the bathroom, my heart pounding. I needed to find her and apologize, but she was already gone. The party was still in full swing, and the crowds were too dense for me to spot her easily. Panic surged through me as I realized just how alone I was in this moment.

I sprinted up to the third floor, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to spot her from a height. Bursting out onto the balcony at the back of the house, I took in the view of the garden. The night was dark, and the lights from the city below flickered in the distance, but there was no sign of Y/n on this side of the house.

I walked along the edge of the balcony to get to the front, my mind racing. I had to find her. I had to make things right. I looked out at the winding roads and tried to calm my racing thoughts.

Y/n’s POV

I needed to get out of that house and away from everything and everyone. I pushed through the crowds of people, feeling overwhelmed by the noise and the stifling energy of the party. My heart was pounding, my breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as I navigated through the crowd.

Once I finally reached the front door, I pulled out my phone, desperate to order an Uber to get as far away from this place as possible. My hands were shaking, my eyes a blur from the mixture of tears and alcohol in my system, making it difficult to navigate the app. My fingers fumbling across my screen as I selected my location and requested a ride. I instantly got confirmation from a driver for my trip. I left the house and stood outside, trying to steady my breathing as I waited for the car to arrive. The cold air helped clear my head a bit, but the ache in my chest was still raw. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had spiraled out of control so quickly.

I paced back and forth on the road, replaying the conversation with Matt in my mind. His words stung, and the reality of his decision hit me harder than I’d expected. I’d been so sure that he and I had something special, but now it seemed like everything was falling apart.

Matt’s POV

As I stood on the balcony, scanning the winding roads below, I saw a figure running out of the house. My heart sank as I realized it was Y/n. She was pacing back and forth on the road, her movements frantic and erratic. It was clear she was struggling to calm herself, and the sight of her broke my heart.

I wanted to go to her, but I was afraid she’d be gone by the time I reached her. I was momentarily distracted by the headlights of approaching cars, the bright lights and the noise of engines roared through the night, adding to the chaos of the moment. I felt a surge of panic as I saw her standing so far into the road, I needed to get her attention.

Y/n’s POV

"Y/N!!!!" I hear my name being shouted in the distance, and I turn to see Matt standing on the third floor balcony.

"Speeding car" he yells, his voice urgent and full of panic.

It wasn't the time, but I couldn't help but let my feelings spill out. "Matt, I don’t know why you’re doing this now. I wanted to tell you I loved you because I thought you did too bu-"

"NO!! Y/n, get off the road!!" Matt interrupts me, his voice tinged with desperation. But it was too late.

Matt’s shouts seem distant, almost swallowed by the roar of the engine behind me and the rush of wind. The world feels like it's closing in on me, the reality of every situation hitting me all at once. In that split second, everything slowed down - the deafening screech of tyres, the blinding lights, the realization that it was too late, that I couldn’t move, couldn’t save myself.

And then,

Nothing.

a/n: sorry

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#snowy speaks #speeding car #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader

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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

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(Set right before season 4)

Steve rushes over to the Henderson house after an ominous call from Dustin saying, "Come over as soon as you can, it's an emergency," before hanging up dramatically.

He can hear his nail bat rolling around in his trunk every turn he takes as he gets there in record time. He grabs the bat out of the trunk and rushes to the door, not bothering to knock before he barges in.

He's met with the sight of Eddie Munson staring at him with wide eyes as Dustin yells, "No! No! Don't swing! Not a code red!"

Steve sets down the bat and lets out a deep breath. "What the hell, Henderson?! I could've seriously taken you out with this thing!" He hears Dustin give him a half-assed apology as he tries to get his heartbeat to slow down. "Next time, don't leave such a cryptic message, okay?"

"Okay," Dustin says, holding his hands up.

"What the fuck is that?" Munson asks, staring at the bat.

Steve points at him and says, "Language," before turning to Dustin and asking, "What's he doing here?"

Dustin sighs and gestures them toward his couch. Steve shoots Eddie a look before taking a seat right against the arm of the couch. It's not that he hates him, hell, he's pretty sure he's gotten weed from him before. It's just that he doesn't like sharing this older brother role with another guy - especially one who likes to make dramatic speeches on top of lunch tables.

Based on the way Eddie is similarly leaning away from him and uncomfortably fidgeting with his rings, he can tell there's a mutual tension between them. Dustin doesn't pick up on it as he sits across from them, acting like he's about to deliver the worst news ever.

Steve leans forward a little trying to get Dustin to finally spill and tries not to lean back immediately when he sees that Eddie is doing the same thing.

"Okay, Suzie and I were talking, and her family is considering visiting Hawkins."

Steve smiles. "That's great, but why-"

"Why are you acting like that's bad news?" Eddie asks, finishing Steve's sentence. The two glance at each other, and Steve tries not to size him up.

Dustin groans, "Because I need to take her on a proper date! We weren't able to go on dates during science camp, so I want this to be special. Of course, this is all contingent on whether she can convince her dad to give us alone time..."

"I could be your chaperone, but I'd ditch you once you got to the movie theater," Steve offers.

Eddie scoffs, "Yeah, a date with Suzie will not be at a movie theater."

Steve crosses his legs and turns toward Eddie. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you knew something about dating. Wait a minute." He directs his attention back to Dustin, utterly horrified. "You asked me and Munson for girl help?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Eddie says, but Steve ignores him.

"Yes," Dustin states simply. He sighs and gestures between the two of them. "Steve, you're a lady's man and you know exactly what to say and where the best date spots are, but you pick up the worst girls. Except Robin who you refuse to date." Steve doesn't have time to argue before Dustin points at Eddie, "And Eddie understands all the cool nerd stuff that Suzie and I like, and he's super charismatic. So, I thought we could combine your abilities to create the most epic date in the history of dates."

"No," Steve and Eddie both say at once.

"Guys-"

Steve turns to Eddie and raises an eyebrow. "Why are you protesting my help?"

"Because try as he might, Dustin can't convince me that you aren't an asshole that has never actually wooed a girl. You get by with your pretty looks and think that's enough."

Steve's mind lingers a bit on the "pretty looks" for some reason, but he pushes past it to say, "Please, you're telling me you know a single thing about wooing a girl?"

Eddie leans in with a bright smile. "You heard it from Henderson, I'm charming."

"Charismatic," Steve corrects him, "But I haven't seen a shred of that yet."

Eddie tosses an arm over the back of the couch and scoots in until Steve is trapped against the arm of the couch. Steve tries not to show Eddie how much the sudden closeness is affecting him.

"I could easily charm your pants off, big boy," Eddie says with a wink.

Steve's eyes betray him and flicker down to Eddie's lips. "Please, I'd easily beat you to it."

Eddie tilts his head and looks at him through his lashes. "Are you saying you want to charm my pants off, Harrington? I'm flattered, but I'm not that kind of girl."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Is that a bet?"

"Do you want it to be? Because it kind of sounds like it."

Steve blames his series of bad dates, the meaningless sex with girls with no substance, and the weird tension between them for his response. "It's a date, Munson."

"So, I'm going to assume that was the weirdest way of you two agreeing to help me," Dustin says, startling Steve away from Eddie who he was definitely not just about to kiss.

"Jesus H. Christ," Eddie mumbles under his breath as he moves away, seeming to have also forgotten where they were.

"Sure, we'll create a date for you two and trial-run it for issues," Steve says.

Dustin smiles wide and giggles, "See, I knew you two would help if you just put your dumb differences aside!"

"Something like that," Eddie mutters. "But hey, what does your gut say? Where do you want to take her?"

Dustin shrugs. "I like the idea of the movies."

Steve slowly looks over at Eddie and gives him a cocky smile. Eddie's mouth twitches momentarily into a frown, but he ignores him. "I'll think of something special to do after, but Harrington can fill you in on a movie date."

"I thought you were the expert on wooing," Steve snarkily replies.

Eddie huffs, "Movie dates just aren't my thing."

If they're actually trial-running this, Steve will make it a point to make movie dates Eddie's thing.

"That sounds great. Thank you both!" Dustin says, still ignoring the obvious tension.

"Well, I've got to head out, but it was good seeing you," Eddie says with a genuine smile that Steve thinks he would like to see more often.

"I do, too. Hey, I'm glad I could help. Next time maybe don't make it sound like a nail-bat emergency though," Steve says lowering his voice before grabbing the bat.

He follows Eddie toward the front, but they both stop and turn to mess up Dustin's hair simultaneously. Steve pulls his hand back when Eddie's hand runs on top of his. He looks at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

"I told you you guys are similar."

Steve thinks that Dustin's right, but maybe they're only similar in the way they both obviously care for him.

They finish their goodbyes and head out into the cold January weather. Steve clutches his jacket tighter around himself - he had forgotten to grab a heavier coat in his rush over. He turns to Eddie and says, "Hey."

Eddie turns to him and raises his eyebrows.

"Want to trial-run that date tonight?"

Eddie frowns at him. "I thought you were joking."

With that, Steve should take the clear out given to him and agree. Yes, it was just a joke. Instead, he says, "It doesn't have to be."

It's a long few seconds of Eddie staring at him before he gets a quiet response of, "Yeah, sure. Uh, let's go to my place though. I don't want your reputation to be tainted if you're seen in public with me."

"I wouldn't mind," Steve says sincerely. He's not sure why he's so adamant about this date, but maybe he just wants to see where that moment on the couch could truly lead. "But hey, your reputation would also be tainted if you're associating with me."

"And we wouldn't want that," Eddie says with a small smile. "The freak and the king. What would people say?"

This surprises a laugh out of Steve before he says, "I think your place would probably be a little more intimate than a movie theater."

He can't tell if Eddie's cheeks suddenly flush a little pinker from the cold or a blush. "I told you, I'm not that kind of guy."

"More intimate doesn't always mean sex. You know this."

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. "Why don't we continue this conversation at my place so you don't freeze to death?"

"I like the sound of that," Steve says, making his way to his car and trying to hide the huge smile that's trying to split across his face all because of Eddie Munson.

He rushes to shove his bat into the trunk, hoping that he won't have to further explain that to Eddie. But based on the way his eyes linger on it, he's thinking he won't get away from questioning too easily.

Luckily, he has prepared his Harrington charm for this moment. And boy, he's going to be using it as often as he can to prove Eddie wrong.

Part Two (aka the final part)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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wizard-finix · 9 months ago

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LU Star Wars AU: Part 5

LAST BUT NOT LEAST ITS TIME AND SKY LETS GO

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Time

Time is a direct survivor of Order 66. He was a child living in one of the more remote temples when everything happened, and was able to escape alive by fleeing into the dense forests of the planet.

Time spent many years after that traveling on his own and not getting close to anyone out of fear of being found out, or worse, left behind. He holds a certain bitterness towards everything that's happened, and when he was a teenager, he was involved in a major incident on the planet Termina. Time finally decided to bury his saber on a remote planet after that, unwilling to take on the responsibility that comes with it.

Time actually ended up meeting Sheik and donning Mandalorian armor some time after that in his teenage years. He doesnt always gel with Mandalorian warrior ideaology, but he doesn’t truly fit the Jedi way of his childhood anymore either, after all the war and death he’s seen. He's determined to be strong enough to protect those he cares about, like Malon.

Time doesn't entirely get along with the Chain at first. (Especially Warriors and Twilight; Warriors reminds him of his old Jedi master, who wore a red scarf, and Twilight's saber looks suspiciously familiar.) The boys eventually grew on him anyway, and he counts them among the people he cares about.

Sky

Sky comes from a gaseous planet in the Outer Rim with settlements that float in the clouds, constructed far above its surface.

Sky's planet is a bit of a cosmic mystery, since it should be impossible for islands of solid rock to float; some theorize that it was constructed instead of naturally occurring, or that there is a unique combination of magnetic fields and orbits that make it possible, but no one knows for certain. Loftwings are part of the planet's ecosystem of impossible floating islands, and are an important part of the culture there.

Being so remote, the Empire didn't show much interest in Sky's home planet until Ghirahim showed up. The Empire hasn’t taken over his home yet, and he is determined to keep it that way, along with the rest of the Knights of Skyloft (including Sun). Ghirahim's interest in the planet involved rumors that there was an old Jedi temple hidden on its surface, and the secrets that were hidden within it.

Those rumors turned out to be true; there was an ancient abandoned temple on one of the floating islands, and Sky and Sun ended up discovering it before Ghirahim did. Sky also found a protocol droid named F1, and with Fi's help he and Sun managed to forge their own sabers with the only remaining kyber crystals there.

Sky's connection to the Force manifests mostly as visions, and he occasionally experiences strange, cryptic dreams as a result.

Linked Universe AU belongs to @ linkeduniverse!

#lu time #lu sky #lu star wars au #star wars au #linked universe #star wars #my art #mandalorian time my beloved #in case it isnt clear Saria and the forest kids were kids he grew up with at the temple #I left their fates ambiguous on purpose but point is he doesn’t really see them again after that #saria and the kokiri are FINE in my HEART #also I really like the worldbuilding for skyloft ooof #celestials and potenitally constructed systems exist in the lore and im abusing it to fit skyloft into star wars!!!!#god I wanna design sith ghirahim I think a saber battle between him and sky would be cool as hell to draw

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puhmpken · 9 months ago

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Author’s Note: This one is a filler since I am still working on “Dairy of the Obsessed” ..this one was spontaneous lmfaoo! Also requests are open feel free to give me story ideas

This has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Warning ⚠️-> If you’re under the age of 18+ DONT interact with this post, this is your only & final warning! I do not & will not take responsibility for anything further!

You have been warned

Title: A Shape-Shifter’s Dilemma

Alastor x Reader Oneshot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 5.1K 😀 oops maybe too much lol my imagination got the better of me but please enjoy!

You always questioned where Alastor your husband would go. Most of the time you would brush it off and not think of it—Overlord stuff.

But one night while Al and you slept in the same bed he tossed and turned in his sleep you could assume he was having a nightmare

“honey..?” You said in a low ruff voice as you gently placed a hand on Alastor who stops his moving before the word he mutters out was

“charlie..”

...Now that is odd. Why would a overlord like Alastor be saying the princess of hells name in the middle of his sleep?

It made you raise a eyebrow, and questioned him.

The day following did not seem to ease your nerves one bit, he again in rather ..a rush to leave the manor

Standing next to the front doors door you watched as he moved back and forth through the living room looking for whatever he was desiring

“What's rushing for darling? This is rather out of character” You said as your eyes watched him move throughout the room

“Oh nothing to concern yourself with dearie!~ Just overlord business”

You hummed back at his bland cryptic response not wanting to pick it apart–you just decided not to question it and save yourself the energy

“Right. Just don’t go get yourself in trouble” You said smiling at Alastor standing infront of you, slightly towering over you as you fixed and cleaned off any dirt or lent that got caught on his suit as he was in your words rushing around

Moving your hands away from him, your eyes locked with his as Alastor’s reddish brown eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing within them. His lips curved from a small smile into a sly smirk, revealing his pointy teeth.

“Trouble?,” he questioned, making his one of his eyebrows raise in a cocky way , “Why..thats my middle name, my dear.” He said clasping and holding both your hands as he stared at you, before shrugging “But perhaps maybe I’ll make an exception—for you.”

You rolled your eyes to your husband's playful antics, before giving Alastor his goodbye kiss and waving him bye as he sinks into his shadow disappearing leaving you alone in the manor.

A moment of silent filling the air before

“Now, let me figure out WHAT’S actually happening.”

And that’s how this whole shenanigan began with you.

You see, while Alastor might have been expected to marry some ordinary demon, you in your case, were far from ordinary. As a shape-shifting demon, you possessed the ability to transform your identity at will, becoming a whole new demon or a manifestation of whatever your imagination desired.

The only limitations were those of your own imagination or..if Alastor was able to sniff you out, thanks to his keen sense of smell. HOWEVER, avoiding detection was usually easy enough… for the most part.

Weeks to months you’ve been keeping up on this “routine” of cat and mouse but all was paying off.

You found out Al has been to much of your dismay harboring rather a couple of secrets hidden and tucked from you. Other than your known overlord stuff he was a suppose helper at a hotel called the “Hazbin Hotel” that princess charlie owns and works at with a couple of other people almost made you drop with laughter when you first seen Alastor helping out with the hotel, you had to tell Rosie about this later.

It was easy to stay undercover and even easier to get close to him without him realizing and knowing it was you.

You made up your mind weeks ago that his territory would be fine, if you step away here and there to follow Alastor to the hotel

And that’s how you end up to the present day you.

You weren’t satisfied with knowing Alastor helps at a hotel. Yes indeed it was a shocker but that’s all? You were still puzzled on why Al said Charile name to began with

Alastor hasn’t suspected a thing yet due to him kinda being busy at the hotel or up in his office.

On the rare times you would see him, he was up in the upper balcony with nifty laughing with her, you couldn’t hear what they were talking about but knowing the both of them.. it was rather something strange or gruesome

As another shifted ended, the day ended with you back at the manor seating in your comfortable loveseat, reading a book before mere minutes Al got back, making it seem as normal as possible to not raise suspicions

The next day as things moved along you wished Alastor a goodbye as you watched him shift into the shadows and disappear off.

Waiting a few minutes after he left you then began to get ready for your shift at the hotel, that first started with showering to rid yourself of your natural scents–you didn’t want to be tackled down by your husband as soon as you walk in through the door.

Finishing up with your shower you stepped out spraying some random cheap perfume you had bought to scramble Al scents.

As you began styling yourself from being a lady of the 1920s with elegant beauty and designer dresses to a ripped petite coat, old bleach stained black skirt with a hole at the bottom with a finish messy down hairstyle

You laughed at your reflection

Seeing what you looked like in your normal form made you laugh. Alastor would probably gasp and dropped to his knees at the things you wore.

You walked out the house being sure to not be seen

Successfully making it past the fenced gates and out of the woods you came to the main roads of hell shifting yourself into a hell creature you have been using for this whole little “spying game”

A lengthy white fur being that stood, 6ft having two red stripes covering both arms and legs. Your (h/c) just reached the middle of your back and on your head sat two cream colored pointy horns, you kept your sharp teeth to still be able to scare off unwanted demons if the occasion was to rise

Checking yourself out in the reflection of the glass windows, you made sure everything was correct: your look, your attire and your scent.

You started to walk to the hotel, the sidewalk you have taken at least more than ten times.

As you inched closer to the hotel you for safe measures stopped and sprayed yourself down one more time in cheap perfume emptying the bottle before tossing it off in the distances and kept walking

Getting inside the hotel was an easy task,

You said hello to everyone vaggie, angeldust, sir pentious and his eggo children, huskier and nifty.

‘Everyone is down here practically–well almost everyone’ looking around furrowing your eyebrows together

“Where Charlie? She's usually with you, Vag?” You said to Vaggie who was sitting on the couch next to Angel looking at the TV

“She should be in her office right now Lucy. I think she also wanted to talk to you” Vaggie said kinda nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders towards the end as she looked up from the tv to you as you nodded your head

Making a hum noise you turned on your heel and began walking to Charlie office

Knocking before you entered, Charlie sat at her desk looking at papers

“Helluva morning Charlie. Vaggie was telling me you were looking for me, I just wanted to speak to you about what you wanted” You said as you walked towards her desk and seating down in one of the chairs across from it

Charlie still having her go lucky smile on her face nodded putting down a couple of papers “Yes Vaggie was right! I was looking for you Lucy!” She said pausing as she slide over a little stack of paperwork, “It’s nothing serious promise! I just wanted you to run these up to Al~!”

You nodded silently thanking hell for the opportunity to be closer to Al

“Yeah of course I can do that” You said standing up taking the paperwork in your black gloved hands “Consider it done Charlie!” You said walking out of her office as she screamed a thank you from behind a closed office door

You hummed quietly to yourself as you walked up the flights of stairs to get to Alastor’s door

Minutes passed before you got to the door that read in bold letter

“Alastor, Radio Demon”

Knocking lightly on the door, ‘he should be in there?’

“…”

‘No response..hm that weird’ You thought as you looked over both your shoulders before you placed a gloved hand on your door handle twisting the knob before it opened slowly

!!!CREAAAK!!!

Your body mentally cringed at the noise as you pushed the door more open glancing around one more time you slipped in the crack of his door, gently shutting it closed once you entered

‘Wow’ Was the first word that escaped your mouth looking into his room now, it's his office yes, but what was beyond it that made it almost feel like you were..alive it was the bayou swamp/forest it was just how you remembered before you died all those years ago..breathtaking

Scanning the dimly lit area with the only light being a moonless night and the few fireflies that infested the air, you didn’t see Alastor anywhere in sight, just a table with a chair on it in the middle of the grassy forest.

You bite your lip gently as you looked between the paper work and the forest before groaning knowing your mind was made up, as soon as you laid your eyes on the bayou. Leaving the paperwork for Alastor sitting on his wooden desk before you walked passed it and too the bayou landscape filling as it was almost a dream

Walking slowly into the grassy area with a smile as you breathed in the smell of forest closing your eyes and taking in the sound

It was a wonderful moment of quiet before the light noise of static in the forest made you snap your eyes open,.. that’s Alastor getting closer into range of where you were standing.

Being lucky and hopeful you HOPE he didn’t see you in the clearing just standing their with your eyes closed

You ran and hide behind some bushes and trees that were away from the table and chair you were standing near–and just in the nick of time

You could hear and see him from where you were hiding the full static sound of a certain radio demon as he hummed a tune with a deer slumped dead over on his shoulder, carrying it with ease as he slammed it down on the table, you examined as he sat down making a fork appear out of thin air as he leaned his staff against his chair, before disappearing into air as he began to eat the deer raw pulling at its meat–made you want to gag in disgust

‘He could’ve cooked it’ you thought watching him munch down on his hunt you can assume. Licking his lips after a couple of bites he wiped his mouth with a napkin like a true unhinged gentleman

Before he cleared his throat his eyes shutting but his smile spreading wider, causing you to get goosebumps

“I know your there” He said making you do a double take ‘he knows i am here?’ you thought blinking as you didn’t buy his bluff

“I can sense your presence,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a sinister charm.

“You can’t hide from me.” He opened his crimson eyes as they began scanning the area. You kept your movement still as he scanned over the area you were hiding. You saw how he squinted his eyes almost immediately at the bush you were in

“Come out, come out wherever you are” He sang out in a haunting tone

“You do know as a predator.”He started in a cheery tone before his voice dropped to a dual and deep one “ I can smell you out.” His voice ringing of no radio filter

Your heart began to sped up

‘fffuck’ Is what you thought before you seen Alastor disappear into thin air—it wasn’t a surprise you were accustomed to that but you couldn’t help your heart starting to speed up as he vanished into the air

“Run,” a disembodied whisper breathed against your nape

Took you no time of convincing as you ran not looking behind you as you kept your eyes forward only hearing the sound of something chasing behind,

You hit left and right, hoping to get Alastor off of you

As you take another right you ran behind a tree, hiding behind its figure as you heard and felt Alastor run pass you

You have never done something like this, it was rather fun but dangering

Peaking your head from behind the tree after what felt like entirety you didn’t see Alastor for safe measures you transformed yourself to a small forest animal, just in case Alastor wants to sneak behind you..again

Following near your foot trail from the tree branches, you jumped from branch to branch with ease as you stopped once more hearing static noise come from nowhere, you smirked in your creature form as Alastor wouldn’t suspect a thing

Watching from above, his form essentially appeared from thin air as he had a wide smirk and a look of hunger in his eyes as he looked at the spot you were suppose to be standing

“Where are you~?” He said

“…”

After a moment of looking in all the places he would expect and assume for someone to hide, he stood in the middle of the forest arms crossed as his ears flickered now and then

“Now where did they go? I was rather hungrier for something other than deer” He said you can tell by his voice he was almost dumb struck how could he still be able to smell you but your nowhere near..weird?

You slowly shifted yourself backwards away from Alastor as you didn’t want to alarm him nor give away your hiding, you were almost clear before a vibration was felt throughout the branch and in one second the branch snapped as you land ontop of Alastor head

“...”

It was quiet not either one of you dared to move before you felt your body being picked up fully by his hand and now..the jig was up

“What do we have here..” He said looking at you “A small diversion from the person thats in here?”Alastor’s gaze bore into you, dissecting your very essence.

A wicked glint in his eyes began to take place, “Well I guess since I couldn't catch my actual food, I shall eat you little one” Pausing to smug smile before continuing “Bad luck for you?~” He said as he lifted you above his mouth

You squirmed in his hands, heart racing.

‘This can’t be how (y/n)'s story ends’, you thought desperately.

Just as he was about to drop you into his abyssal maw, you shifted—your disguise falling away

You landed on top of Alastor, who staggered back, utterly unprepared.

“Don’t eat me,” you blurted out, adrenaline surging. Alastor stood, bemusement etching his features.

“Lucy?!” Alastor’s voice crackled through the air, a radio filter distorting his words. The static hummed, raising the hairs on your arms.

“Why are you in here?” His step was deliberate, menacing. You retreated, heart pounding.

“How did you make yourself appear small? Then big?” His eyes narrowed, dissecting you. Each step he took, you mirrored, until your back pressed against a tree—literally.

Your mind raced for a lie, an escape. But then it happened—the slip up, the unraveling.

You shifted into your true form, the one Alastor would recognized.

“(Y/N)?!” His voice lost the radio filter, and you met his gaze. Confusion etched his features. You bit your bottom lip, a awkward laugh escaping.

“Erm, surprise…?” You said as you watched him back up a little from you a smile now spreading wider by the minute as the static was the buzz in the air

As it was overtook by the applause he started to emitted as he turned the other way starting to laugh

“A surprise indeed dearie who would’ve know my wife could pull such a thing off” He started.. you didn’t like how this was sounding as you moved away from the tree watching him as he created slight distances between him and yourself

You watched as a nagging feeling was telling you to start running but ignoring that you spoke up “Alastor I-” He cut you off with his words

As he appeared behind you—the Radio Demon, with crimson eyes and a dangerous smile. His arm encircled your waist, pulling you closer. “You had the entire hotel convinced of this Lucy woman,” he murmured, his voice devoid of filters. “Bravo, dearie. Truly bravo.”

You didn’t like how he was taking the situation as what he said to you in a flare voice on confirmed how much you actually DID piss off Alastor with this little disguise

“You should run now.”

Those four words holding a threat of the unknown and you wanting to at least talk for yourself turned to face Alastor his crimson eyes only reflecting the pure chaos he was about to inflict on this game of catch with you, as you shook your head

“Please let me explain” You urged, desperation coloring your voice.

“5” Alastor your dear husband replied, holding out his hand. The air crackled with tension

“Al please—…”

“4..” He sung out as he closed his eyes, standing tall. One hand rested behind his back, the other poised like a pendulum. The smile of him showing his sharp teeth made you swallow harshly

“3” He warned out to you knowing your still there as he opened one eye to look at you breathing out short “Hmm..a shame your going to let me catch you so easy” He said shutting his open eye closed

“2 dearie” He warned out now holding two fingers as he began to shift in his stances his neck elongated he was slowly shifting into his demon form, and that’s when you finally decide to run

You huffed and panted as you switched your form a couple of times to give you longer distances away from Alastor as you made it deeper into the Bayou the ground under you turning slightly squishy as you kept running not interested to turn around

You ran for what felt like hours before you stopped down near a swamp bank hunched on you knees as you gain your second wind, taking a few more breathes you stood up, the air was quiet you couldn’t hear the static of Al, so you have to be far from him? or he just turned off that noise so he could stalk and pounce on you

Whatever the case maybe you took a breathe in and out as you looked ahead of the lake, nothing but more forest—

You thought different ideas like turning into a winged creature and flying back towards the rooms door to get out of here, but you didn’t know how high you could fly and since Alastor can’t fly nor has wings, you doubt that celling is high enough to get high enough where he couldn’t hit you out of air

Best option was to keep running or go into the swamp water, it would give you better opportunity, reflecting your options about it you heard the ground beneath you move with vibrations ‘fuck he already found me’ you thought coming to the defeat you were going to let yourself be caught but that was until you seen that fucken demon form mere seconds before he seen you, you bailed out dipping yourself slowly in the cold water taking a big breathe before dunking yourself under

Seconds stretched into eternity as you held your breath, your lungs screaming for release. The vibrations in the ground intensified, and you knew he was near. What was Alastor going to do when he catched you? He wouldn’t actually hurt his wife? You thought of as your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wondered if you should be actually concerned

Alastor scanned the area, seeking his dear wife. You pressed deeper into the water, your head submerged further, only the top part of your head concealed by a stray lilypad.

Minutes passed—or perhaps it was mere seconds—before you surfaced. Gasping for air, you wiped water from your eyes. Alastor wasn’t in sight.

You continued walk towards the edge of the pond before crawling out of the pond, lying down on the edge of it your knees still submerged as you sighed out in relief, shutting your eyes for what felt like a second

Before you heard, the clearing of a throat—a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Opening your eyes standing above you was the oh-so-familiar radio demon. You smiled, but before you could vanish into the water, Alastor’s grip closed around your arms. His purr was a velvet blade against your skin.

“Come now, darling,” he drawled, his tone deceiving. “We don’t want you to get wet. Let me assist you in this rather…exchange.” His strength pulled you back, and you squirmed, defiance flaring. But Alastor was stronger, and you found yourself pressed against his chest, dripping and caught.

“Let go,” you demanded, but he only laughed—a predator savoring its prey

“Now, dear, this is part of the game.” His eyes bore into yours, crimson flames dancing. “I’ve caught you, and now you’ll be the prize I win.” His tongue flicked across his lips

As Alastor carried you through the forest he hummed a simple tone, making you more on edge

You both arrived at another clearing?

“This isn’t where we started Al” You said as he set you down, gently helping you get up, as your eyes shifted from the scenery to him

Alastor’s gaze was going up and down on you, as you caught little symbols manifesting themselves around him as he was now a step or two away from you

“Come here” He said in a commanding tone, a chain manifesting around your neck as your eyes widen to metal chain outline with the color of green. Your hands immediately shot to your neck trying to grip and claw at it. You felt a tug come towards Al before you leaned your body away from it trying to keep space, digging your feet lightly in the ground

One real yank got you to move forward unprepared, the earth meant your face very quick and you instantly felt blood in your mouth

“Ah, be good for me, Y/N, and just obey,” he murmured, his grip unyielding. You crawled on your knees and hands, inching closer to him. The chain around your neck tightened, lifting you off the ground. Alastor’s crimson eyes bore into yours.

“My dear sweet little wife, Y/N,” he drawled, his voice devoid of filters. Each word carried weight, punctuated by his southern accent. “You, dearie, violated our little agreement.” His fingers traced the chain. “We had an understanding, did we not?”

Your breaths came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t mean to Al” you whispered

His chuckle echoed through the clearing as he lowered you gently to the ground, ensuring the fall didn’t harm you.

“So, my doe,” he began, his voice a velvet blade, “please give me an explanation. Why has my wife been running around disguised as a Lucy person, working—” His fingers closed around your hands, the chain that had bound you vanishing into thin air. “Her dear, softly delicate hands at a hotel that deserves none of her attention?” His words hung in the air, a question wrapped in menace. “Rather than be in a manor that belongs to her and her husband? Have I done something wrong?”

You sighed out as you nodded taking your hands out of his, to his displeasure “All this started because i heard you mumble in your sleep rather a month or so ago..princess name Charlie” You said with embarrassment flaming your checks as you looked away from Alastor not wanting to know what expression he held

The air was quiet between the both of you, not a word was spoken—You felt like you were holding your breathe with the tension in the air before you felt the touch of your husband on your hands again

“Mon cher~” He purred out making you look at him, his face of course held a wide smile but the look in his eyes held anger with something else glimmering around it “Nothing could replace you”

“No hotel” He said his hand holding out your arm as he kissed at the palm before saying, “No demon” Alastor continued raising his head kissing you at the center of your arm, looking at you in the eyes before kissing more up your arm while saying “And certainly no Lucifer daughter could take my eye off of something as ravishing as you my doe~” Al kissing up you between each pause as he at your neck slowly peaking at it having you basically in his lap with your back towards him, as you moved your head to side to let him continue as he only chuckle at the gesture

Al with his free hand grabbing at your chin to make you look at him as he stared into your (e/c) “But my dear mon cher, you agree at my words as if you understand, but it seems as though you forgotten who I belong too” He said letting go of your chin as both of his hands traveled down to your hips resting there “You forget who's name causes thrill of different emotions within me, so let me remind you~”

Alastor leaned into you, as you meant him half way kissing him

A passionate kiss with some underline aggression made the kiss much more thrilling as Alastor fought for dominance with you trying to dominate over him

With a deep chuckle he pulled away from the kiss, “You being defiant won’t end well for you dear” You looked up too him as you bite your lower lip holding on too his bow tie slowly undoing it as his hands trailed up and down your legs

“No words so be it” He shrugged before pushing you down to the ground, your back laying on the grass as he spread your legs open wide, everything on full display for him to see

He leaned his head down as his ears pushed back towards his head as his eyes half lidded looking up to a red face you “Mm~Darling your so intoxicating with that look on your face” He said before plunging his head down open his mouth before eating your pussy

Your eyes shut closed as your hands went immediately to his hair gripping and pulling at it, as you mumbled out moans holding onto Alastor head down as he kept eating you out

“Al~!” You said in low moan as you felt yourself starting to come undone down there “Alastor..I..I am going to—”

Before you could muster and get out the words to warn your husband, the sensation of Alastor mouth moved away from you leaving you in almost blank state, so close to clarity but yet so far …

You whimpered as you looked down to Alastor who’s face was smirking as he shook his head licking his lips slightly “You think after the charade you pulled your going to get to cum that quick and easily?” He said and laughed “Dearie we are just starting.”

Alastor in a instances flipped you over making you rise to all fours with help of his shadows tendrils you were now ass up face down, with your arms being held down by the shadows tendrils, you whimpered trying to move against them as you felt a burning sensation on your bottom causing you to move it from side to side

Alastor watched in trans like state as you moved your ass after he smacked it only making his boner go harder, as he rub on it through his pants

“Al, let me out of this! I don’t want to be—Ahh~!”You said feeling a familiar feeling slide in you as your eyes rolled behind you, you clawed at the grass alastor pushed all himself in you

“Mmm~There you go Mon Cher~” Alastor said rolling his hips as his head tilted backwards, both of his hands gripping on your hips keeping them in place as he began slowly pumping in and out of you

You moaned as you moved with his thrusts, arching your back as Al grunts and low moans could be heard

Alastor started to pick up in speed as you could only speak out the simple word “Al~” Which was music to the radio demons ears

“Oh (Y/n)~” He said as he kept up fast with his thrusts moving one his hand to your hair, gripping at it pulling you backwards as your head flung back

“Open your eyes.” He said making you slowly open your eyes as meant with the eyes of crimson red ones as his smile was deceiving as his eyes showed pure lust that was feeling “Fuck.” He said as gripped tighter on your hair yanking almost at the root as you moaned with each thrust

“I am going to finish in you.” He said in not a question but as a command as you tighten around him bring him closer as he shut his eyes letting go of your hair before opening his mouth and bitting at the back of your neck as you moaned closing your eyes feeling yourself reaching edge as you reached climax sametime as Alastor

Couple months later drawed by quick before you knew it you were back at the manor, watching over Al’s territory sipping tea as you smiled mindlessly, yeah there was really nothing to worry about.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

(Y/n) and Al strolling through the park. hand in hand as Al hums a tune

Al: “I do say mon cher, I think I never told you why I was saying Charlie's name”

Y/n: “Yeah you haven’t, do share”

Al: “You wouldn’t believe it! Charlie in my dream was trying to paint my Radio Studio, it was all going to be rainbows with fluffy pink unicorns if I didn’t say her name”

Y/n: deadpans

Al: Only telling you the truth dearie~!sings out

Y/n: Your truth is utter dogshit sometimes

Al: gasp Darling!

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