#hauled ass trying to get here on time for my friends event and when i got there they were like hehe sorry its at another building now

[muirneach]

no matter how many times i go to uoft (which at this point is at least weekly but sometimes more) i am reminded two things 1) i will never ever get over how pretty it is and 2) despite these people being only a year older than me im still scared of university students

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️ Hope you enjoy Part 1 of 3. (I will release one chapter per week! Possibly sooner. 😉)

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,900 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, (eventual) smut.

Part 1: December 23

“I never thought I’d miss my own bed as much as I do right now,” you mutter. 

Though your body’s weary, you manage to heft your duffel bag onto your shoulder. Soon enough, you’ll be out of this craptastic motel.

More specifically, away from the cot that nearly broke your back while you weren’t sleeping on it. Who could sleep on a bed of rusty-ass springs?

But while Sam is already loading weapons and his things into the Impala, Dean seems to be taking his sweet time, fiddling with something by the solitary nightstand in between the two queen beds. Your extra cot is laid out in the corner (may it rot in hell). 

Dean glances up at you at your remark. 

“That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on all week,” he quips. And he smirks when you send him a mock warning look. 

“Don’t mess with me right now. Haven’t gotten my beauty sleep in three days.” You have to adjust your duffel on your shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Dean’s smirk fades the longer he concentrates on trying to put on his watch. 

“Trying to…damn it, think this strap is done.” 

Sighing, you set down your bag on the bed and sit down next to him on the edge of it. You peer over his shoulder and see that the leather band is indeed broken. 

“Aw, that sucks. I can replace it for you if you want, since I’m the one who wrangled you guys out here,” you say with a frown. 

You called them for backup when you discovered the coven of witches. If you’ve learned anything about hunting over the years, it just isn’t safe to go after a group of those demon-worshipping assholes without help. And it gave you a reason to get back in touch with Sam and Dean…

If you’re honest, it gave you an excuse to see Dean. 

You haven’t seen him in months, but he and Sam came when you called. The three of you managed to take out all four of those bitches, after having to track them down across the plains of Indiana. 

At least it only came at the cost of Dean’s watch. 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He tries to wave you off, but you shake your head stubbornly.

“Really, I mean it,” you say. “I’ll buy you a new one. Consider it an early Christmas gift.” 

Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and while you love this time of year (and your own bed), part of you isn’t looking forward to going home to an empty apartment. 

Dean looks up at you with a rueful smile. “Really, it’s okay. This one was my dad’s.”

At that, your guilt intensifies. “Oh…guess there’s no replacing that. I’m sorry.”

“This’s just what I get for hauling my ass out here, pulling yours out of the fire,” he remarks. Some humor creeps back into his smile. “As usual.”

“Hey, if anything, I saved your ass,” you tease back, even though you still feel guilty. “That he-witch was about to grate you into Swiss cheese.” 

And then you shot him between the eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean raises his brows at you. “And when Barbie girl locked you in her cellar, that was what, you taking a nap?” 

Your lips purse in response. You enjoyed seeing that platinum blonde bitch go down hard—with an iron chain wrapped around her neck. Dean held her down while Sam finished her off with two shots to the chest.

Trust Dean to try and take credit for the whole thing. You get up to your feet with a roll of your eyes, collecting your bag. You feel his presence burning behind you as you both head out of the motel.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” you say. 

“Right. Where have I heard that before?” Dean says dryly. He follows you to your car and watches you throw your duffel into the backseat. Maybe he admires the curve of your ass in those jeans for a bit too long while you’re bent over.

But his eyes snap back up to yours when you straighten, turning back to him with a wry look. For years, this is how things have always been between you. Playful, sniping, not entirely flirting, but not quite not either.  

Sam then comes around the Impala to give you a friendly hug goodbye. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says with a smile. You return it, giving his plaid-covered chest a light punch. 

“You two are the ones with the packed dance cards. I’m lucky I got you guys to even answer my call,” you quip. “I’m down to goddamn smoke signals here.”

Dean shakes his head and pulls you into his arms next. “If we’re screening anyone’s calls, it ain’t you, sweetheart.”

You huff at that, but your smile is more genuine when you hug him back. For a brief moment, you let yourself revel in his warmth, his spicy aftershave, the solid feel of him wrapped around your whole body like a perfect man glove. 

It’s so familiar to you, but bittersweet. Because all too soon, you have to let go. 

“It was good to see you,” you say, a little softer than you meant to. Dean’s lips quirk at a warmer smile. There’s something in his eyes you can’t name when he releases you. 

But with a sigh, you turn and get into your car—an old Ford Focus. 

“You’re really still rockin’ that rusted out piece of shit, huh?” Dean asks, watching you with crossed arms as you climb in. The door creaks loudly when you shut yourself in. You flash him a wan smile and lower the window (with the embarrassing hand crank).

“Since 2003. Good old Hubert hasn’t failed me yet,” you reply. And then you turn the ignition.

It splutters, but doesn’t start the car. 

What the fuck?

Frowning, you try it again. And again. And again.

Nothing. 

The brothers Winchester still stand between your car and the Impala in the parking lot. Sam shares a glance with Dean, who brushes a hand over his mouth as he watches.

Finally, you look up at them with a grimace when your car just dies. Kaput. There’s the sound of pressure releasing, along with your high hopes of making it home tonight.  

“Goddamn it, Hubert.”

That’s how you find yourself a guest of Le Bunker a few hours later, after Dean tows your car all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. 

“You’re welcome to stay for the holidays,” Sam tells you once the three of you make it inside. He leads the way down the winding staircase. Dean follows behind you. 

“That’s right! Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” you reply with a smile. 

Your family loves Christmas, but it’s just you this year. Your father is on an extended cruise with his new wife, technically your stepmother. When your dad asked you how you felt about them going on this trip, they seemed so excited about it that you didn’t feel like you could say no. 

So between watching Halmark movies by yourself all day and hanging out here with your friends, there’s really no decision to make. You agree to stay. 

Sam nods back at you and continues into the bunker. He goes on to greet Castiel and Jack in the living room. 

When you reach the ground floor, Dean lays a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around.

“I’ll take a look at your car, see if we can’t get it running in a couple days,” he says.

“By Christmas? That’s a tall order,” you reply with a grin. “Even for Dean Winchester, Un-Certified Mechanic.” 

Dean smirks back at you, crossing his arms. “That a challenge, sweetheart?”

You pull out your best Charlie’s Angels narrator voice. “I guess it is. Your mission, should you choose to accept it.”

His gaze is warm with playful scrutiny, from your dirty sneakers to your jeans and black V-neck top, to the messy ponytail keeping your hair together. But you can’t help but blush at the lazy, damn near flirtatious way he does it. 

“All right. Challenge accepted,” he says, crossing his arms. “What do I get if I win?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “My undying respect.”

He just hums and leans against the iron guardrail of the stairs, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“Not enough for you?” you ask.

He shrugs, unimpressed, like he can take it or leave it. You step up on one of the stairs and fold your arms on the guardrail, so you can be level with Dean’s eyes. 

“Okay. If you manage to miraculously get my car running by Christmas, you get one consequence-free request,” you offer. He raises a brow at that.

“Anything I want?” he asks. 

“Within reason,” you amend, though you’re starting to blush. It curves his lips.

“No questions asked?” he hedges. 

You think about it for a moment…

“None,” you shake your head. “We got a deal?”

Dean smirks back at you and crosses his arms. 

“Deal.”

Maybe the little bet is silly. You know very well Dean can fix your car in two days. Just as you know you need to keep a tighter lid on your feelings…

Now that you’re here in the Bunker, unable to escape him, there’s too much potential for spillage—of things you’ve long kept hidden.

It just never seemed like he was seriously interested. Even if he ever is, you also know very well that Dean’s not the dating type. And you…you just don’t think you can handle being another “hit and run” for him. 

Or a “sometimes” girl. 

Or even worse, a “when it’s convenient” girl.

If you think too long about it, that would just about rip your heart out.

So you ignore the thought of Dean again for a while. After you shower and change into some pajama pants and a loose top, you pad barefoot into the kitchen. Castiel is there to greet you, staring into a glass of orange juice. You raise a brow at him.

“You okay, Cas?” you ask.

“Pulp or no pulp, that is the question,” he muses. 

“Um…pulp?” you reply. 

He nods and takes a sip. “Pulp is good. Increased levels of Vitamin C. But I’m thinking no pulp is best. It eliminates the possible choking hazard.”

You don’t know quite what to say to that, so you nod. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You pause in your quest for a snack to look around the bare furnishings of the bunker. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask. “It’s literally Christmas Eve. Where’re all the decorations?”

Jack comes in the kitchen, pausing from watching reruns of Judge Judy to join you and Castiel. He doesn’t know you very well, but he’s just as curious about you as you’re curious (and maybe a little wary) about him. 

You know Dean hasn’t totally warmed up to the Nephilim, but he seems kind, and you find his honest, natural inquisitiveness endearing.  

“I know about Christmas,” he says, smiling like he’s proud of that fact. “It celebrates the day of Jesus’s birth. Even though December 25 itself is not historically accurate, society has made up for that fact by intertwining pagan traditions and overbearing commercialism.”

“A very good way of putting it,” you say after a moment, chuckling. “Well done.” 

Jack grins at the praise. Castiel shares an amused smile with you, but his is more fond. 

“I don’t believe Sam and Dean are big on celebrating Christmas,” Castiel says, finally answering your question. 

You cluck your tongue and level both angelic beings with a determined look. 

“Well, that’s just not gonna cut it, guys. If I’m spending Christmas here, we’re doing it right,” you say. 

And with a growing smile, “Buckle up. We’re going to Walmart.”

As it turns out, “doing it right” takes pretty much all night. But you’re impressed with how everything came out. 

There’s now a large tree in the living room (a real one, bought in the Walmart lot of Christmas trees), decorated with three packs of lights, ornaments, and a nice star on the top, with a lacy red ribbon that overlays down the front. 

You worked your hardest on the tree, but you also directed Castiel and Jack with a new tablecloth for the war room table. Red candles in “fancy plastic” gold holders, tinsel and ornaments and several other Christmasy things that now brighten up the entire place with festive wonder. 

And all on the cheap. Though your wallet is going to smart a bit, considering you might’ve gone a bit overboard. Not just on decorations, but on some groceries, a few gifts, and maybe a couple of things for yourself…

You just don’t anticipate later falling asleep on the long table in the war room, with a roll of ribbon curled around your hand and tinsel in your hair. 

You wake up to a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. You groan, squinting against the twinkling lights, no matter how pretty they are in all their multi-colored glory.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Huh…?”

“You’re drooling on the table. I’m guessing that’s a new tablecloth.”

“Whathefu…” You manage to open your eyes and raise your head, finding Dean smirking down at you. You blink up at him sleepily. 

“Aw shit,” you utter.

“That’s one way to greet somebody,” he intones. 

You just grin with exasperation, but you accept his help in sitting up with a groan. Every muscle in your body aches in protest from having slept on a slab of hard wood. 

His hand doesn’t leave your back until your bare feet are firm on the ground, though you lean on his arm for a minute while you rub sleep out of your eyes.

“Damn, I wanted to see your faces when everything was put up,” you say ruefully. Sam comes in with a smile and two mugs of coffee, one of which he hands to you. 

“It’s incredible! How’d you do all this?” he asks. “And thank you. You know you didn’t have to.”

You waved him off. “I wanted to. Plus, I had a little help.” 

You raise your mug to Castiel as he walks by with an iPad and a multigrain bar. It’s such a far cry from the angel you had met years ago—socially ignorant of human ways—that you have to smile. He returns it. 

“Jack’s still putting the finishing touches on the Christmas village,” Cas says. 

“Village?” Dean frowns. 

“We had him set it up in his room,” you tell him. “He was fascinated by the train part. And the fake snow. And all the little people…”

“Great, another nerd,” Dean remarks. 

“Be nice,” you chide. He shoots you a certain smirk.

“What do you mean? I’m Mr. fucking Nice Guy.”

“More like Scrooge,” you counter. 

“All right, Sweeney Todd. Might wanna fix the nest you’ve got going on there,” he retorts, gesturing at the wild state of your hair. You’re still picking out tinsel. 

You narrow your gaze at him. “Big talk from the guy wearing fuzzy slippers.”

Dean frowns, glancing down and shuffling his slippered feet. In his defense, the floor is cold.

“All right, I’ll just get started on breakfast then,” Sam says, cutting through the familiar bickering with a resigned grin. After a parting amused look at you, Dean follows him into the kitchen. 

“Wait, wait. You don’t know how the hell to make eggs. Let me get in there.”

Rolling your eyes, you share a conspiratorial look with Castiel, who smiles before taking his iPad into the living room. You take the opportunity to shower, brush your damn hair, and fix yourself into an actual human again. 

Suddenly inspired to put some effort in, you pick out a dress for once. It’s not the new one you might’ve splurged on for Christmas dinner tomorrow, but it’s a “just in case” dress you always take in your bag…just in case. 

It’s a black, comfortable fabric with simple long sleeves and a skirt that drapes above the knee. It’s just casual enough to wear around the bunker. But it can also be dressed up with some heels if you need to. This is not one of those times, thank God. 

You even take pains to do your makeup, light on the eyes but popping with a bit of red lipstick that you typically save for going out. Tis the fucking season. 

And maybe you want to wipe away that asinine smirk from Dean’s face. 

When you return to the kitchen, all four men are sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, talking, and drinking coffee. That all pauses when they see you. 

“Morning, again,” you greet them. And you hum to yourself as you grab another cup of coffee. But you stop in your tracks when you realize they’re all looking at you. 

The ones who have tact (Sam and Dean) manage to return to their phone and iPad, respectively. But the angels are a little slow to look away.

“You look different today,” Jack says. 

Your lips twitch at a smile. “A good different?”

“Yeah,” he says, though the way he looks at you makes you wonder if he’s sure. You share a glance with Dean, whose face strains with an awkward I don’t know what to tell you smile. 

You don’t know it, but Dean’s gaze follows you as you putter about the kitchen. The sight of your smooth and shapely legs are enticing, especially the way the skirt of your dress keeps swishing along your thighs. 

Sam clears his throat, catching his brother’s gaze with amusement. Dean’s lips purse at being caught in the act of checking you out, but he swiftly ignores his brother to glance back down at his iPad.  

Shaking his head, Sam gets up after he finishes his breakfast and brings his plate to the kitchen sink.

“You going out or something?” he asks you. “There’s some eggs for you in the pan, by the way.”

You nod at that, grabbing yourself a plate from the cupboard. You’re starting to reacquaint yourself with where everything is in the bunker. 

“No, but it’s funny how you guys seem to think I live in my hunter gear all the time.” You arch a brow at Sam. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a woman. Capable of wielding lipstick.”

Sam grins, raising up his hands in surrender. “By all means, wield away. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” you say dramatically. He snorts in response and moves to get around you. But that’s when Jack pipes up.

“Oh, look,” he says, pointing to a spot above you and Sam. “You guys are under the mistletoe.”

Your eyes widen. You glance up at said sprig, which hangs from a long string stapled into the ceiling, then at Sam as a blush starts to warm your face. He looks similarly caught off guard. 

“Who put that there?” you ask, cutting your gaze over to Jack in suspicion. His boyish grin is pleased, while Castiel fights a smile of amused embarrassment for you. 

Dean is oddly quiet though. His expression hides behind the hand he’s leaning his chin on, while his elbow rests on the table. You meet his eyes for just a moment, before you crane your head up to look back at Sam.  

You shrug with a grin and beckon to him with your hands. “All right, come ‘ere.” 

Sam’s face is a bit crunched with an awkward smile, but he obliges you by wrapping you up in a friendly embrace. 

You take his face with both hands and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. You feel his prickly stubble against your lips, but you don’t mind.

“Merry Christmas,” you say with a giggle. He chuckles in response and rubs your back warmly. 

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes, pressing a hand to your cheek. You’re one of those friends he counts as his family, and he’s truly grateful that you’re here with them for the holidays. 

You have similar warm feelings for the gentle giant as you pull out of his embrace. When you glance over at Dean, you don’t know what to expect to find. By the mild grin he’s sporting, he just seems amused by the whole thing. 

You inwardly shake your head at yourself, wondering if you should’ve just kissed Sam. Maybe then you’d figure out where you stand with Dean. 

And once you know for sure he doesn’t see you in any kind of way, then you can try to actually move on from Dean Winchester. 

You’re forced to sit across from him after you heat up your eggs and make some toast. He’s just scrolling through his iPad without a care in the world. 

But in reality, you couldn’t know that Dean is fighting not to look at you. Because the truth is, he didn’t like what he just saw…the obvious warmth between you and his brother. 

“We need stockings,” Jack notes, before he turns to you. “Wasn’t that on your list?”

“Ooh, you’re right. I think I forgot,” you reply. “To be fair, trolling around Walmart on three days of no sleep is ill-advised at the best of times, let alone at 12:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve.”

Sam chuckles at that. While Dean gives a slight smile, he’s still quieter than usual.

“Want to go grab some at the store?” Jack asks. You rub your chin in thought. 

“Well, I wanted to get started on baking some cookies for later.”

“I can take him,” Sam offers. Jack nods along with the idea.

“Okay, great,” you reply.

“Need anything else while we’re out?” Sam asks. 

“Hmm, nope! Nothing that I can think of,” you reply. Sam nods, and soon after, he and Jack leave for the store. 

You turn to Dean, intending to ask if he’d like to help you in the kitchen. Realistically, you know he’s not going to do much but stand there while you do most of the work, but it’s a chance to hang out, just you and him.

You’ve almost worked up your nerve to ask when Dean gets up from the table with his iPad. He says nothing to you before he starts toward the garage, making you frown. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call to him. 

He hesitates, turning back to you with an expectant brow. You want to ask him to stay but…ultimately, you lose your nerve. 

“Gonna work on my car?” you ask instead. He flashes you a smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. 

“Un-certified mechanic, at your service,” he dryly quips with a lazy salute. 

You quirk a smile as he continues on his way, but somehow, you feel unsettled. You turn to Castiel, and you remember the rest of your plan for today. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Yes?” His head raises from his book.  

You give him a conspiring smile. 

“I have a special mission for you.”

AN: The stage is set, folks! Let me know what you thought of Part 1. 😘

Next Time:

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you again, with a smirk. 

“My turn,” he remarks. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name. 

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he says.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my Grandma I'm not going to have a specific conversation with her and just walking away?

So context, I (28) am currently between jobs because one of my ex-coworkers was the asshole who got me fired, and I haven't found anything new.

My mother (50) and I both live in my Grandma (80)'s house which is divided into an upstairs and a downstairs. Grandma lives in the downstairs. So do my mom and sister. I live alone in a two bedroom upstairs which belonged to my late aunt.

Right after my aunt died, I wanted to clean the apartment, organize, donate, toss, keep her stuff. To make sure everything gets where it'd ought best go, but my mother told me I had no right to go through my aunt's things alone and sort keepsake from takaway; if I was to do anything it was to be with her.

Well, three years of me trying to get my mom up here to sort through it with me because I want to respect her wishes, and my stuff accruing in a layer over top of my aunts stuff because I can't get rid of it, and the apartment is a lifetime and three years mess. My mom never made the time to do what she told me I wasn't allowed to do without her, me respecting these wishes which she probably doesn't even remember. I've been living up here too afraid of trespassing against my aunts memory to clean the cobwebs full of her red hair. Because my mother said, I had no right to do it.

And that cleaning anxiety is on top of executive dysfunction, depression, having too much shit, being a sprawler type adhd, and working a 40 h/week 'part-time' retail position. I didn't have it in me to clean by myself, and the mess kept getting worse and no one would substancially help me no matter how much I asked. Not my mom and not my sister (who gets a pass because she's got post-exertional malases from Long Covid).

Now fast foreward to two weeks ago. My mother final finds the motivation to clean the upstairs apartment because she's got a boyfriend now, and they wanna have sex upstairs where my grandma can't hear it. They didn't ask me if it was okay or anything: just decided that my space is now OUR space because it's convinent to her. I don't really care, and I'm annoyed, but finally someone to clean the fucking apartment with. She said, two weeks ago that he'd be coming around in about four months time. We spent the day getting a lot of cleaning done. Not anywhere near all of it, but a lot. And I've finally gotten what I see as permission to start sortitioning my aunts things. I'm pacing myself cleaning on that four month timetable.

And then today she bursts into the apartment to announce that BF will be here in a week, and she starts hauling major ass with my late aunt's heavy as shit sewing supplies. For my part, I vent the new timeline to my friends and then get to work cleaning my bedroom so I can move the stuff I have sprawled over the living room into my bedroom. Because my bedroom being messy is what's getting in my way the most.

When she's done hauling boxes, she goes to start cleaning the bathroom, and because she's in too much of a hurry on this new self-imposed and sprung upon me timeline, she hurts herself cleaning the toilet. Spasms her wrist, locks up her back. I help her downstairs but she's obviously done for the day, probably done for the week even. I get back to light cleaning with breaks, pacing myself to the new timeline I have to deal with. And I get a call from my grandma.

G: "Hey anon can you come down here." A: "I'll be down in a minute." I pull on pants and a shirt and head down.

And here we get to the key events all that context was building toward.

G: "What happened with your mom." A: "She hurt herself cleaning." G: "I know that, I mean why was she cleaning your apartment. You're an adult who's lived here for three years, and she's the only one working, and now she can't move. Why's the apartment you live in such a state that she needs to clean it for you."

Now, I know my grandma. A mule would be jealous of her stubborn demeanor. She's on an oxygen machine 24 hours a day and she still smokes two packs a week. You can't change her mind once she's made it up.

So I'm doing calculations in my head while she's laying into me, and I conclude she's made her mind up: She thinks I'm 100% in the wrong and nothing that came out my mouth would convince her that my mom is just as much an adult as I am who is responsible for her own decisions that got her to overworking when cleaning and hurting herself in the process, and also several inter-related key factors in why so much cleaning needs to be done on an 'oh fuck, immediately' timescale.

Doing the math makes me a bit angry, and I don't like the type of person I get to acting like when I'm angry, especially because anything I say will just make her more upset, so I say, "Grandma, I'm not going to have this conversation with you."

And I walk away. I leave while she yells at me to come back and let myself be yelled at. I'm angry, so I mindfully do not to slam her door on my way out and go back up stairs

After some scrumbling and a bit more light cleaning with breaks to pace myself, best I can, to this newly imposed and unreasonable timetable, my room is 90% clean and ready for me to put my stuff in it. And now that I'm not as angry anymore, I started to feel guilty that I didn't even try to explain anything to her. I just decided she'd made up her mind and made up mine to walk away without even trying. So, I typed this up to ask:

AITA for refusing to engage her in that conversation and just walking away?

What are these acronyms?

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Imagine being kidnapped by Tom Ludlow.

Hi anon. This got out of hand. I’m sorry. CW: mentions of child abuse/dark humor concerning it, rape/noncon fantasies and details. I write from a place of my own trauma, and it gets a little fucked up. If you don’t like dark fics, or are triggered easily, DO NOT READ THIS. Violence, bad cops, SA. Tom Ludlow is not the bad guy in this, though.

If you’re a big girl, a tall girl, a girl with a lot of muscle or fat, you probably haven’t been picked up off the ground since you were very young.

You question your femininity because of it, along with a whole lot of other shit that society decides to push on you for not having a traditional feminine figure…whatever the hell that is.

You often take on a more protective, mothering or masculine roll with your smaller or daintier or gentler friends. You don’t look down on them at all—or envy them too often. Some people just carry a unique tenderness that you wish the world had more of. But every little rainbow or sunbeam needs their strong protective cloud, and you mostly gladly, sometimes reluctantly take on this role.

You will never be a meek, kind, delicate person. It’s just not going to happen. You don’t want it to happen. You’re pretty comfortable with your role in life. It’s just…sometimes…and this is probably something that everyone craves in vulnerable moments…you want to be the one getting protected.

It’s just kind of exhausting, always being there for everyone else. As much as you love it, and you do, it can also really drain you.

The duality of man is that we can be more than one type of person, and want different things. You know this. But…it’s hard as hell to admit you want to be taken care of. Because doesn’t that ruin your tough facade? Your strength and independence? Doesn’t that let everyone know that you’re just putting on an act to cover up who you really are—a weak, sniveling girl?

That’s why you bottle up, keep things to yourself, regard the world cynically and humorously with a lazy shrug of your shoulder. You act like nothing gets to you, like you are a stoic guard at the queen’s gate, like a big mastiff on patrol of your sheep.

When you do wear an emotion, more often than not it’s either sarcasm or…anger. Like tonight, when some guy won’t leave your friend alone at the bar.

She’s visibly uncomfortable and attempting escape from the creep following her around. She’s too nice to tell him to go away, but you’re not, and you have had to put yourself between them way, way too many times.

“She’s not interested,” you tell him.

He sneers at you. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

Except he fucking doesn’t, because ten seconds later he’s smacking her ass when she stands up, and you’re punching him in the mouth.

He hits you back, and it feels like a slap from a two year old, but it startles your fight or flight, and before you know it, your vision is blurry with rage and your fists are flying.

The security guards have to pull you off of one another and haul you outside to where the police are waiting with cuffs.

“He was harassing my friend,” you tell the guy who’s chaperoning you.

“Her ugly ass is just jealous cuz nobody wants her!” Screams scumbag from down the sidewalk.

Wow, you’ve never heard that one before.

One of the cops grabs him by the collar and says something that appears to be stern with his finger pointed at his face.

The guy looks visibly shaken after that, and he specifically avoids looking in your direction again.

The ballsy officer, probably in some sort of supervising position by the looks of it, gets to you next, and you have to crane your neck up to look at him.

You expect anger, but his face is neutral as he pulls a pen and paper from his utility belt. “Hello, ma’am, my name is officer Ludlow with the LAPD. You mind telling me what went on here tonight?”

You tick through the list of events as best you can, trying not to paint yourself as innocent (because with the way you beat on him, you’re definitely not), but making sure he knows what a fucking reprobate you were up against, and he scribbles it all down diligently.

After you’re done, he flicks his chin at the officer standing next to you. “Reed, let her go.”

They uncuff you, and you roll your arms, testing the circulation and rubbing out the raw red marks on your wrists. “Thanks,” you tell the lead officer. “You mind if I go back in and get my friends? There’s only three of us and I’m worried about them…”

“I can’t let you go back in,” officer Ludlow says, “but give us their names and descriptions, and I’ll send Reed in for them, alright?”

You nod, comply, and a few tense moments later Abby is running out to wrap her arms around your shoulders, smearing her glittery tears and pink blush on your jacket.

You hug her back, picking her up a little bit off the ground with the ferocity of your relief, and look at officer Ludlow over her head. “Thanks,” you tell him.

Tye, arriving from the thicket of people at the entrance a few moments later, immediately wants to know what happened.

She, however, is interrupted, by the asshole down the sidewalk, still in cuffs. “Hope you think of me when you see that handprint on your cute little ass tomorrow!” He calls, and Abby turns away, choking on a sob.

You’ve always had anger issues. Usually, in adulthood, they’re pretty easy to tame down. Not in this circumstance, not when you see Abby shaking and crying, looking as defenseless as a baby mouse.

Unbeknownst to you, because your sight and sound have been marginally narrowed to one person who needs his face bludgeoned in so hard that he finally shuts the fuck up, the head officer has already signaled for them to haul this guy into the back of a police car.

You’re not sure how you cross the distance between you and him so fast—you’re built for endurance, not speed—but suddenly your fists are connecting with his flesh again, and there’s a lot of yelling and pulling and finally your feet leave the ground and your knuckles leave his face.

It takes you a minute to realize you are being carried away—that your feet are not on land—and you look up at the person whose arms are currently wrapped around you.

Like mentioned before, it’s been a long, long time since someone has picked you up and you’ve lost your center of gravity so quickly and so thoroughly. Like a startled animal, you fight to try and get back to the ground, more out of shock and adrenalized fear than anything.

You don’t mean to scratch or bite the nice officer, you really don’t.

Ludlow just sighs at your resistance, like he could be doing something much more important right now rather than manhandling you into the back of a squad car like you’re an ornery kitten rather than a formidable opponent.

You are silenced into shock the whole way to the police station.

They put you in the waiting room sans cuffs, and you’re not sure how much time passes until a heavy presence plops down on the plastic chair next to you.

“Fuck,” is the first thing you say to Ludlow. “My friends…”

“They’re safe. I’m giving them an escort back home.”

He gives you some room temp water, and after the fear wears off, grants you enough time to come back to your good senses. You look at him sheepishly, with your head tucked down. “Sorry, he was a fucking creep.”

Ludlow nods. “I get it, hopefully I can get you out of it with a slap on the wrist.” He hands you some tissues from his breast pocket. “Wipe that blood off your face.”

You didn’t realize you were bleeding, so it’s a shock to finally feel the ache of a bloody lip and bruised cheek and see the paper come back crimson streaked.

After a few long moments of silence, you say, “I feel like an asshole.”

He shrugs, leans back, grins over at you. You fight the urge to flush at his crooked smile. He’s a handsome man. Sometimes you like those. “Asshole, no. Dumb, maybe. He could have really fucked you up.”

“I handled myself just fine.”

“Your split lip will disagree tomorrow morning. Lemme see.” He holds out his hand, as if for you to rest your chin in, and you’re not sure what brain malfunction gets you to comply. You are not a good listener by any means, especially for men in positions of authority or power.

Maybe it’s sexist, maybe it’s unfair. Spend your whole childhood getting the shit taken out of you by a man that’s supposed to love and care for and protect you, and then decide what’s fair and what’s not.

He whistles low, turning you this way and that with a tenderness you don’t expect from calloused, bear paw hands with knuckles like golf balls. “I’ll give it to you, you’ve got balls. Bigger than most men I’ve met.”

Your mouth betrays your tough girl facade, and lets a tiny smile hike up the edge despite the stinging pain that follows.

Officer Ludlow gets you out with a slap on the wrist—aka a misdemeanor—just like he said he was going to. You tell him thank you about ten million times for saving your ass, and for offering to give you a ride back to the bar to get your car.

“I’ve already put you out too much tonight,” you tell him. “I’ll get a Taxi or something.”

“It’s a Saturday night,” he says, jangling the keys in his beater pocket. “By the time you get to the bar, you’re gonna be towed. C’mon.”

You open the back door of his charger, but he shakes his head and, instead, opens up his passenger seat for you to slide in.

It’s about now you’re starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something is off about this interaction. You’re not one to trust easily, and getting in the car with a complete stranger, although one in uniform, is out of character to say the least.

Your radar has really been fucked up tonight. By the alcohol, the scumbag, the being arrested, the bruising and tearing of your knuckles. What a way to end it, you think, if Ludlow is a bad guy.

The funny feeling in your guts that you decide to ignore this one time? It turns out to be right. And as Tom Ludlow starts driving up through the deserted hills, in the opposite direction of the bar your car is at, you almost want to burst out laughing at how stupid you are.

Asshole, no. Dumb? Fucking definitely.

You test his door handle and he snorts at you; like he’s saying, you think I’m that stupid?

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” you grumble, sizing him up from the corner of your eye, deciding whether to fight or flight or just give up now. He’s thin, but he’s broad. Tall. Not lanky. He won’t be easy to push over. You’ll have to bite, claw eyes out, rip his hair from his head. Make sure he doesn’t pull that shiny pistol out of his belt before you can jump on him.

You could do it right here in the car and risk barreling over the steep hillside on your right. You could—

“Hey,” he says, calmly, capturing you too easily from your violent thoughts, “it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

A part of you wants to believe him, or maybe just believe there’s still some good in the world—some good in men. Hell, maybe leprechauns exist, too. You never know.

He looks sideways at you when you giggle in response to these reassuring words, as if you’re the one who’s fucking psycho. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He makes a pensive sound, air puffing from his nostrils, switches gears as the incline increases. “Daddy beat you up?”

Well, fuck it, might as well share all your sob stories if this is really happening tonight. “Uncle, actually.”

“Sorry,” he says, and you hazard a glance over to see if his face matches his empathetic tone—it, surprisingly, does. “He still alive?”

“No.”

You must be violently shaking to compensate for the repression of a panic attack, because his still, steady hand on your shoulder pauses the tremors. “It’s okay,” he assures, like he’s trying to soothe a crying kid. You have to admit, his voice is a cool ointment for hot nerves, even if he’s the reason for them in the first place.

The brain has a funny way of dealing with things like this. There’s about a 30% chance his intentions are raping you, because with his looks he could get any lady in the city of lights for free, but rapists and molesters rarely think about physical attractiveness when it actually comes down to the act. Psychologists say it’s more about the power trip for them. And, at least, if he is going to fuck you, he’s not exactly the worst man that you could pick to do it.

At least he’s hot, is what it boils down to. Because you’re a disgusting degenerate. Because your coping skills are a ticking time bomb, a broken record, stuck back at the part of your life where you had to start liking the way uncle Eddy touched you to deal with the shame and the despair of it.

Officer Ludlow’s gonna pick you right up off the ground again, slam you into his backseat, tug your pants and underwear down in one go. He’ll make you beg him to fuck your pussy instead of your unprepared and untainted ass, use his spit as lube, rub his meaty fingers over your puffy lips and taunt you when his saliva encounters your slippery cum. He’ll smack your ass for liking this, leave big red handprints, whisper in your ear that you’re gonna remember him, not just tomorrow, but for weeks after he gets done working your cunt. That he should kill you and leave your body out for the flies, but he wants you to live just so you can feel the way he destroyed your pussy.

The charger slows to a halt out in the sticks, and you have no idea where the fuck you are or how long you’ve been driving. The night is thick black soup in a boiling pot, and his headlights cut through it meagerly. It’s enough light to see what’s happening ahead, though, and when you look over at him curiously, he is grinning at you.

The man from the bar who assaulted your friend is in cuffs, an officer on each arm holding him in place. You don’t feel bad at all when you notice his swollen lip and purple temple, but you do wish you would have gotten more hits in.

Lucky for you, Officer Ludlow has you covered.

“Do you want to hit him?” He asks, unclipping his seat belt. “Or do you wanna watch?”

You blink a few times in response, not sure what to say to this brutally kind gesture. This man who barely knows you is helping you exact revenge against his own brethren. You’ve never been so…flattered.

“Don’t tell me you’re attempting to grow a conscience?” He teases.

“I wanna hit him.”

To your disappointment, Ludlow is not a total savage. He lets you get 3 or 4—it’s hard to remember the exact number—good hits on this dirtbag, and even wraps your knuckles up in a cushiony flannel from his back seat beforehand. His only rule is, “stay away from his ugly ass face. I don’t need him coming back to the station more fucked up than it already is.”

You get him in the stomach, the ribs, kick him so hard in his dick that you feel the hard pelvic bone underneath. Maybe it’s only a couple hits, but you make them count. And when you start to ache, or get tired, all you have to do is remember the tears smearing Abbie’s pretty glitter eyeliner down her face.

If he does say anything to you, you don’t hear it. Or maybe he really doesn’t, because Ludlow stands behind you like a watchful wolfhound the entire time, and then escorts you back to his car with a heavy arm over your shaking shoulders.

“Good job,” he praises, seeming very amused and unaffected by this whole ordeal while you are trembling, soaked with sweat, panting like a hooker in a fur coat. “It’s alright, he had it coming. Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

You do as he says, momentarily escaping your fury in favor of his calming voice and soft black eyes.

“You did amazing. Lemme see the knuckles.”

He takes your hand in his, and you notice the size difference first, and then the warm, damp, pleasant heat second.

There’s been a lot of firsts tonight: someone’s hands being larger than your own (big lady hands should’ve been your nickname in highschool), being picked up off the ground past the age of 7, a man going out of his way to do something nice for you—because your brain decides that’s how it’s going to frame this scenario whether you like it or not, as some fucked up little date on Tom Ludlow’s dime.

You feel safe with your hand tucked into his and the heat of his skin and the cozy intimacy of being belted into his vehicle. You feel grateful that good men still exist. You feel…tight, twisted up in some deprived box of longing you’ve made permanent home in.

You leave the sanctuary of your comfort zone, and have another first, as you cross his center console and kiss a man on his mouth.

For a moment where you feel like your heart is suspended on the edge of a very tall cliff, he freezes. This stiff resistance immediately makes you want to pull away, but, before you can, he wraps his hand around your chin and pulls you deep into his mouth.

Arthur from college, Monica from New Orleans…Hell, even Uncle Eddie—they have nothing on Officer Tom Ludlow with his big, slick tongue and muscular lips.

It’s so good you can almost ignore the fresh sting of your split lip.

He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, and murmurs a laugh when you give him a low groan for the effort, then takes your angry little grumble and dampens it with his renewed fervor. His hands remain gentle and chaste on your face, your neck, your shoulders, even though there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he devours your mouth. He does not push for more, does not hold you down with those big hands that absolutely could if they wanted to.

You set the pace, you pull him closer, you push him back when you need to gasp for air.

He licks the taste of you from his tilted, beautiful lips. “You have to breathe through your nose, honey.”

“Sorry,” you say, crossing your arms over yourself, pressing back against the door, away from him.

His lazy smile droops. “Are you alright?”

”I just…Can you take me to my car? If not I can—“

The thick start of his engine cuts you off.

The car ride back is silent. You think about turning on the radio a few times, but don’t want to cross more boundaries than you already have. Luckily, he flips it on for the both of you and you’ve never, ever been so happy to hear Metallica.

When he parks, cutting the engine off in the nearly deserted garage, the tension between you immediately peaks, sizzling like vinegar on baking soda. He wraps a long limb over the back of your seat, looks confused—vulnerable for such a big, scary man, and he makes your heart twang a lonely cord.

He seems almost boyish, when he asks if he can take you out sometime.

And you want to say yes. Every feral primordial part of you does, anyway. But then there’s the rational part, the one that should and does win most of the time. You’ve already snubbed that part too much tonight, so you politely decline Ludlow’s offer, and with your traitorous heart padlocked and chained back into your breast cavity, you say goodbye to the nice officer.

[oldguardleatherdog]

[Long post]

This photo crossed my dash this morning with the caption, "A classic photo. Still great."

The Leatherman in this image was a friend of mine. His name is Rob Marvin. We first met one weeknight in 1988 or thereabouts here in San Francisco when I was playing pool at the Powerhouse on Folsom Street, back when the pool table was in the main bar.

I'd seen him come down from the back of the bar and give me the eye, and I decided I would be a punk and took out the black bandana from my rear left pocket, snapped it open, and tucked the corner of it back in so my flag was flying as I strutted around the table looking for trouble. I got my wish.

He politely introduced himself, asked if I wanted to play, and guided me out of the bar into the passenger seat of his car. The minute I shut the door he took his leather gloved hand, grabbed me by the back of my neck, and forced my face roughly down into his lap."Who the fuck do you think you are, you wise ass kid, flaunting that black hanky at me like you're king shit?" he snarled in the lowest, hottest, most threatening voice I had ever heard.

He pushed me back upright and growled, "Keep your eyes front. Don't you *dare* look at me. If you say one more word, I will stop this car and push you out that door. You're going to learn a few things tonight," he spat in a voice that was dripping with contempt. I was shocked into silent compliance as he drove up the hill.

We pulled into his driveway and parked. He opened up the garage door, came back to the car, opened the passenger door and hauled me out and into the garage. I won't share the details of our play here, but as you can imagine I ended up on all fours at his feet, and when he came, I licked it off the leather covering his thigh, eliciting from him "you're good" in a voice that was slightly mocking, and when I started licking it off his leather gloved fingers he said with admiration, "oh, you're *goooood!*"! Finally. I'd pleased Him.

After, we talked. He told me his name, and God he was a beautiful man. Red hair all over, about 5'8" tall - on two legs I towered over him, but dressed as he was in the photo you see here, I felt I was looking up at him from the moment he laid eyes on me.

Rob had AIDS. He spoke endearingly of his lovers who had passed, and while I was still kneeling before him, he drew my attention to a marking on his left quadricep that was about four or five inches in diameter, dark and cloudy and irregularly bordered, prominent against his ginger white skin.

He said, "This is how my AIDS manifests. I keep a close eye on it and I collaborate with my doctor as we're trying to find out exactly what's going on. Yes, of course I'm concerned, but I'm not in denial, and dealing with it directly is my way of getting victory over this." He said this in the most gentle way you could imagine, with a slight smile on his face and a voice that held no trace of resentment or anger or bitterness. Only love.

I got dressed, we embraced, kissed, and promised to stay connected, and I took my leave with my head and spirit and body still tingling at the way this amazing Leatherman had taken me down.

We saw each other out in the bars and a couple of events in the year or two that followed, and the last time I saw him he was volunteering as a server at the annual Christmas dinner put on for people with AIDS and HIV at the War Memorial Opera House by the AIDS Emergency Fund. He was in his finest holiday leather turnout, face wreathed with smiles and radiating joy.

Not long after that, as often happened in those days, I saw his obituary in the Bay Area Reporter. As was my custom, I crossed myself in the back bar of the Lone Star, said a short novena, and I was slain for a moment as I always was. I put down the paper and turned my attention to my circle of after-work friends where we passed the bowl of fellowship as we marked another day of life.

I saw this photo often in the gay papers and magazines, advertising everything from bondage gear to phone sex and more, and as you can see, Rob Marvin still stirs the hearts and the cocks of new generations that, in this digital way we live now, still flaunt that black bandana in the right butt pocket, looking and hoping for trouble like him.

Light eternal, Master Rob. I will see you again, and If you're listening, know that you're still slaying hearts right here on Folsom Street and around the world on shortwave...

🙂🧡🐕‍🦺

A classic photo. Still great.

[wordsofapanda]

It was a unique experience during my dads recent party. My parents were happy I was sticking around for the whole party and ceremony. I am usually shy and barely interact with some of the lodge members but I said fuck that and told myself I’m having a good time. And I did! I interacted with more members than I ever did. My dads best friends kept checking up on me and coming by to talk. A couple of members that I have a good friendship with cracked jokes with me or made some drinks for me. Some of the ladies were inviting me to the dance floor. A lot of people who took home the floral centerpieces that I made the night before, thanked me personally. All the ladies were eyeing them so some husbands got them for their wives and the husbands thanked me and told me that their wife is going to love it. It was incredibly sweet. There was a Debby downer and this guy who upset me. I’ve never interacted with him but he told me to calm down because I was cleaning and dancing. Guess what everyone else was doing? Cleaning. He wasn’t though. And I knew he wasn’t close with my father because he never stays late to help clean, he hasn’t visited my house or ever tried to talk to me. It upset me. One of the members that I’ve helped before, came up to me later on and could tell something was up. He asked if I was okay and I lied but it was sweet he was checking up on me. I felt like it was all a blur. I got so many thank yous and compliments but it didn’t register until now because I was so busy I kind of shrugged them off. The members wouldn’t let me make my own drink so they just kept throwing margaritas my way. Some guy bursts into a karaoke session and he starts to jam with me because I had to sing along to Engelbert Humperdinck. Even though that guy was weirdly bitter, I had a great time. I told my dad about the incident 30 mins later and he was upset. He asked me to point him out and I told him he already left but it was nice that he was like “why are you telling my daughter to calm down when she’s just dancing and picking up trash?”. I also warned my dad that someone was ridiculously drunk and he’s like “is it —? I’m going to chew his ass out”. And then approached this man who is like a whole ass foot taller than him and tried to make sure he knows he’s cut off but has a ride home. I’m watching this afar with my mom and this drunk tall Asian man is getting in my dads face (unassertively but just close because he’s drunk as fuck) and my dad is trying to tell him he’s want to make sure he gets home safe. I asked my mom if the drunk guy was new and she’s like “oh he’s super rich”. Lord. My mom tells me that she’s glad I’m here because things are “uncontrollable”. And she means, people were just being super greedy and annoying. Which is fair because they’re grown adults with no manners. I spent so much time taking care of people that day but it made my parents happy. I drove my aunt to and from the event. I hauled a bunch of party supplies to my car and home and carried anything heavy. I made 18 floral centerpieces and 10 bouquets. I cleaned up a bunch of trash, broke down tables, did my mothers makeup, and more. I am exhausted but at least I lost the calories, had fun, and made a bunch of old ladies happy with my floral arrangements.

[piecksz]

prove it | (m)

pairings: modern!jean kirstein x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, penetrative sex, saliva, fingering, finger sucking, handjob, slight mentions of breeding, explicit language

words: 3k+

summary: your jealousy sparks a bitter argument between you and jean, but he shows in more ways than one, that you’re the only person he’s infatuated with. 

a/n: as always, if you wanna fully immerse yourself in the smut hehe you can listen to the songs i looped incessantly while writing: girls need love too by summer walker and excitement by trippie redd and PARTYNEXTDOOR (you cannot tell me that jean wouldn’t listen to either he’s so sexy omg pls free me from my brainrot)

You gripped the fabric of your dress, hiking it up above your ankles to make sure the material didn’t get caught under the sharp heels of your shoes while you stormed into the house. Seething with outrage, you swung the front door shut behind you, savoring the few seconds of solitude you had before Jean trailed behind you clamorously.

“I already told you, and I’m telling you—again—I didn’t know she was going to be there!” Jean was insistent, his footfall demanding on your tail as he followed you into the kitchen. His fingers were carelessly twined in his hair, an overt demonstration of his stress.

You hastily tossed your purse onto the counter, paying no mind to the way it slid across the granite and almost toppled over its edge onto the floor. “Bullshit Jean. It was your fucking event, how did you not know she was gonna be there?” You spared him an irate glance, it was the first time you’d looked at him since the two of you left the venue.

The entire ride home, Jean had attempted to make conversation, asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself and trying to solicit your opinion on how he’d done coordinating his company’s milestone event. Following the successful closing of a large venture deal and the expansion of the corporation, his boss had entrusted him to organize a company soirée to celebrate, and if Jean’s event had managed to go off without a hitch, a possible promotion was in the cards for him. However, much to Jean’s confusion you were quiet in your responses, mainly giving one word answers and little praise.

After relentless prodding, you snapped, admitting you were irritated after seeing Jean talking to Mikasa, an old coworker and friend of his. You’d disappeared for only a moment to use the bathroom, but when you returned, the two were engrossed in what seemed like interesting chatter. Seeing the way Jean laughed after everything she said prompted the agitation in your lower stomach to boil up into your throat. Nothing was that funny.

“Maybe I overlooked her name on the guest list.” Jean’s fingers left his hair and wrapped around his tie, tugging to loosen it.

“Oh, you sure looked over her while you two were talking and laughing.” You stood on your toes to grab a mug from the cabinet before slamming its wooden door shut. “What was so funny? The fact that you used to fawn over her like an idiot?”

You shuffled back over to the sink, flipping the faucet and watching as the mug filled with water before bringing the cup to your lips to take a long drink. You sighed as the liquid quenched your dry throat, raw from yelling. You peered over the top of the mug at Jean, eyes following him as he made his way over to the selection of hard liquor against the kitchen wall.

“There you go. Name calling like a fucking child.” He poured himself a generous glass of booze, chuckling wryly and taking a sip.

You pulled the mug away from your mouth. “You—are so—,” you started, but your words disbanded into a loud and frustrated groan.

“I’m so what?” Jean swirled the auburn liquid around in his glass, pretending to look more interested in the way it moved than in the conversation you two were having.

“You don’t want me to finish that sentence, Jean. You really don’t.” You set your cup down loudly, so forcefully it might have shattered with just another ounce of force. “Stop acting like I’m overreacting. You know I’m not the jealous type, you fucking know that. I wouldn’t care, but you know you guys have history together.”

“Yeah, history means that it was in the past,” Jean retorted. “It was in the fucking past.”

You leaned forward on the counter, dipping your head low as if to question the validity of your boyfriend’s reply. “You’re telling me you’d be okay seeing me with an old flame?” You laughed humourlessly.  “You complained for ten minutes after a waiter called me sweetheart.”

Jean took another long sip, then exhaled. “Because he clearly couldn’t tell the difference between horny and hospitality. Now you’re blaming me because you couldn’t see that?”

You nodded sardonically, a disbelieving smile shadowing on your lips while you reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. “And how’s that any different from this?”

“Mikasa never liked me back, what’s the problem? Did you just pick a topic out of a hat to bitch about?” Jean downed the rest of his alcohol, and then returned the short glass to the display. He wiped at his lips with his thumb and started back toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Jean.”

He let out a low chuckle while he rounded the length of the counter, sauntering in long strides until he was behind you with his large hands planted on the curve of your hips. He dipped his head, letting his mouth ghost by your ear. “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” His palms began roaming, first gliding across your stomach before moving to your backside and cupping your ass in the curve of his hand. “Especially in that dress. You look really fucking good, baby.”

You barely cracked a smile. “Yeah?”

Jean’s low voice rumbled against your back. “Hell yeah.”

You turned around to face him, gazing up at him from behind sultry lids. “Then how about…,” you started, teasing him by fiddling around with the loose buttons on his shirt. “You sleep dreaming about all the things you wish you could do to me tonight. Because you’re not getting any.” Your seductive expression fell, and you pushed him backwards so you could slide out of the space between his body and the counter.

As you retired into your bedroom, you heard Jean’s weary voice echo from outside. “You’re cold.”

“Good,” you responded back resoundingly. “Maybe Mikasa’s free.”

“Maybe she is!” he retaliated, and although he wasn’t in front of you, you could nearly see the way he rolled his eyes at your spiteful jab.

You rolled your eyes back. “Shitforbrains.”

You removed your earrings, throwing them onto the dresser with your necklace before slipping out of your heels and stepping out of your dress. You struggled to make haste, trying to get ready for bed as quickly as you could before Jean entered the bedroom and had a chance to say anything that would incite another feud. Lazy and clad in your undergarments, you hauled yourself into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror lethargically while you brushed your teeth and removed your makeup with halfhearted effort.

“Do I need to prove it to you?”

You removed the cold wipe from your lids, opening your eyes and watching as Jean wandered into the bathroom. He continued walking until he met you at the sink, and he wrapped his long arms around your frame again.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into him until the space between your bodies waned. You gave him an unamused glare through your reflection in the mirror, and resumed rubbing away at your persistent eyeliner.

“Should I mark up that pretty neck of yours?” Jean nestled his face into the curve of your neck, pressing messy, carnal kisses along the side of your throat until his lips met the dip underneath your jawline. He lightly brushed over it, knowing it was your sweet spot. Every time he wanted to turn you into a frenzy of moans, that spot was the easiest way he knew how.

“Or maybe I should have you carry our child.” His hands were hot against your stomach, the soft pad of his finger drawing a delicate circle around your navel. You were glad it didn’t tickle enough to make you laugh.

“You’re pissing me off,” you said, simply.

Jean released a husky groan that vibrated against the hollow of your throat. “You’re turning me on.” He hummed. “You feel that?”

You did. Against your ass, you could feel the prominence of Jean’s hardened cock through his pants, digging eagerly into your backside, and he did nothing but continue to fuel his lust by rubbing his erection against you.

“You’re the only one that can get me hard like this,” he strained, grunting at the discomfort in his briefs.

“Look how pretty you are.” Jean took your chin in his hand and prompted you to look at yourself in the mirror. He hovered over your shoulder and looked on, like he was only spectating. “Do you think anyone compares to you?”

His eyebrows creased while amber eyes fixated on your skeptical face. After a lack of response, he jerked your chin, forcing your attention back to yourself. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said quickly.

“Exactly. Good answer.” Jean’s thumb swept gently across your chin while he withdrew his hand.

Your timid eyes drifted over to him, observing as he slid two digits into his mouth, glazing them generously with saliva before lolling his tongue and pulling his fingers out. A thick string of spit lingered until his hand dipped and slid itself into your underwear.

You choked back a desperate cry once you felt Jean part your folds, using his wet fingers to pet the sensitive swell of your clit. Instinctively, you wrapped a sweaty, tremulous hand around his wrist, but it did nothing to quell his painfully tender ministrations.

“Jean,” you murmured. Your voice was breathy, just barely above a whisper while you gave in and rolled your hips against his hand. “Fuck, wait—Jean—”

“I love the way you say my name.” He placed his free hand on your breast. His fingers hooked onto the delicate fabric of your bra and tugged the material down, freeing your nipple. “Say it louder.”

“Jean,” you mewled loudly as he began flicking the hardening peak of your chest with a ginger touch. His movements were delicate and sensual, as though he wanted to kindle an impatient desire within you.

Jean’s fingers continued to rub slow, tortured circles into your clit and he eased into you every few seconds to make sure he was keeping his fingers slick. Once he heard your whimpers begin to ebb, he would stop and switch the direction of his motion, sending you into another flurry of moans and taking pleasure in the filthy-wet mess he was creating in your panties. “Louder.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes until the darkness of your eyelids melted into white heat. The familiar torrent of quivers shook your body, and the surface of your skin tingled with the onset of your orgasm. You dug your nails into Jean’s forearm, and in the haze of your high you forgot about all of your concerns.  

“Jean!” You cried his name again, your wail echoing off of the bathroom walls while you writhed against his hold. You moved restlessly, looking for absolutely anything to cling to in an attempt to steady yourself until your climax subsided.

After you came to and regained your soundness, you scrutinized yourself in the mirror through misty tears, chagrined at how easily you’d submitted to him. You were situated limply in Jean’s arms, bottom lip swollen from persistent biting in your best efforts to veil how good he was truly making you feel, but from the sickeningly-smug simper on his face it was obvious that now Jean knew his fingers were more fruitful than an apology. Which meant this episode surely wouldn’t be the last of its kind.

He slotted his fingers into his mouth for the last time, sucking the silken coat of your arousal off of them before releasing them with a quiet pop, then Jean’s other hand crept up your neck until his thumb drove itself to part your closed lips, just wide enough so he could stick his lubricous fingers inside.

“Mhm,” he encouraged, nodding at the way you meekly looked to him for direction.

Jean’s fingers were warm and sloppy in your mouth as you sucked and he watched you intently, undoubtedly wishing that his cock could receive the same treatment. He sighed heavily as you wreathed your hot tongue around his knuckles.

“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his digits from your jaws before his urge to stick them down your throat and watched as you gagged through tears became insatiable.

Jean worked one hand against his belt, unbuckling it skillfully before impatiently forgoing his buttons and tugging on his zipper instead. His breathing grew labored while you watched from the mirror as he shuffled behind you, and you canted yourself to the side to provide yourself with a clear view of Jean’s cock in the surface’s reflection.

His thick length pulsated, convulsing even without contact, and every time it did so, a fresh stream of precum dribbled from the swollen, red crown of his tip. With a light hand, Jean tapped his cock against the side of your thigh, prompting you to take him in your palm, and when you obeyed, it elicited a lengthy groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You weighed his hot and heavy cock in your hand before beginning to move slowly, flicking your wrist and evoking the jerking of Jean’s hips when you did. His head hung forward and loose strands of his neatly tucked hair billowed around his face while he watched as your hand worked against his throbbing heat.

Jean delivered another set of kisses to your neck, kissing along your jawline until he stopped at the corner of your mouth to take a brief second to acknowledge his own pleasure. “Shit,” he grunted, his fleshly pants now becoming uncontrollable. “Okay, that’s enough.”

You loosened your grip around Jean’s cock while he curled his fingers around the cloth of your thin underwear, pulling it down until he stopped midway past your thighs, then his large hand settled between your shoulder blades to bend you over.

His palm collided with the pert curve of your ass, delivering a mild spank, and then he ghosted his touch over the stinging pain, blithely enjoying the way you whimpered his name ever so quietly. Jean positioned himself at your dripping entrance, prodding the tight hole with his tip over and over again just to taunt you until you glowered uncomfortably at him through the mirror.

“Stop it,” you heaved, your longing now turning into an unbearable itch.

Normally, you knew Jean would have loved to tease you, disregarding your begging and instead working even harder to rouse you, but you could tell by the sweat that beaded around his hairline that he needed relief too. So Jean spared you, grip tightening on your hips, and he pushed himself into you with a husky and guttural moan that overwhelmed your delicate whines.

He wasted no time and began moving, gradually picking up his pace until he decided on a moderate speed, not too rough, but just forceful enough that your breasts jounced and your body lurched against the sink whenever he thrusted into you.

“I always tell you how good you feel, do you need to hear it again?” Jean murmured, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and whenever he pulled back to rock his hips forward again, it glistened with a new layer of your arousal. “Your pretty pussy always takes me so well.”

He leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his hand on your shoulder, holding you in place while he fucked himself into you, over and over again. You tugged at Jean from deep inside your well, tightening your walls around his cock and causing his jaw to go slack with bliss.

“The way you fucking milk me, I could cum right now.” His balls slapped ceaselessly against your skin, and the sound of two sweaty bodies married together saturated the thick sex-tainted air. You struggled to watch yourself in the mirror, mouth wide open and eyes bloodshot from your tiredness and tears. Jean’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear and sent a ripple of goosebumps down the expanse of your back.

“I wish I could take a picture of you right now and keep it for later.” He panted into your ear. “You’re the only thing I can think of when I jerk off, it would be nice to have a visual.” When you said nothing he smiled, tugging at the softness of your lobe with his teeth. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You could only give a weak and disoriented nod, and when you felt Jean’s cock twitch inside you, coupled with the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin, you knew he was close. You wrapped your hands around the arm curved about your waist and nodded at him again, cueing that you wanted to feel his release inside you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but he made no efforts to slow his cadence. “Yeah, you’re gonna let me cum inside you?”

You nodded silently for a third time.

Jean delivered a few more generous jerks before the small of his back tightened and he came inside you, amply flooding your chafed walls with his hot seed until you overflowed, and the creamy, white liquid seeped past the girth of his cock and began dribbling down the inside of your thigh.

Jean pulled his now limp cock out, wiping his essence gently on your folds before pulling you into another doting embrace. His clinch was tight, warm cheeks pressed against each other while he looked at you in the mirror with complete and unadulterated adoration.

“I love you,” he affirmed before flipping you over in his arms to face him. He bent down to press a salty and clammy kiss to your mouth, his lips stalling for a few moments longer before he pulled away and then delivered another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, stupid?”

You bobbed your head briefly, now embarrassed at your earlier outburst. You sunk into Jean’s torso, head against his chest, and mumbled sheepishly. “I love you too.”

The two of you stood together, arms encircling each other until Jean carefully broke his caress and began tugging you in the direction of the shower.

“Come on baby.” He grinned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[m-jelly]

HALLOWEEN MY FAVORITE TIME!!!

Anyways could you do sfw Levi x reader where they go into the woods for like moon water or some type of special herb that works best on Halloween due to astrological reasons and when they go since it’s night as they are in the woods they start hearing and seeing some creepy ass stuff… and it’s always been said about like the Appalachian mountains here in America if you hear something no you didn’t, if you saw something no you didn’t, if you think you’re being followed don’t run. So reader realizing cryptids are there and them trying to get away without being chased or suspected until that doesn’t work and Levi and reader haul ass out of the woods. 🏃‍♂️ 🏃‍♀️

Sure thing. So, it won't be moon water for this but herb gathering. I have Wicca books and practising witches in my friends and family and you don't need to go into the woods for moon water, you can just fill jars up at home and place them under the full moon to charge the water! :D PS I LOVE Halloween as well.

Samhain Sabbat Panic

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Genre and tags: Modern AU, fluff, romance, couple, date, Wicca, woods.

Concept: For a date, you and Levi go into the woods to gather some flowers and herbs that are in season and you need for Samhain Sabbat. Levi goes with you and helps you gather, but due to such an important day coming up and the lines between natural and supernatural begin to blur. You and Levi have to stay extra careful when on your travels. You give an offering to the fairies, but what you didn't expect was an elemental to be around that has been irritated by an old portion of the woods being damaged.

Link to my event if you want to take part!

Tag list: @ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @skittlelover69 @strawberrybunny123 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6

You put on your little side bag and smiled at Levi. "Ready?"

He nodded as he gathered the last of his things. "Yeah, I'm good." He offered his hand. "Hold please."

You held his hand tightly and walked with him down your path and turned off up the road to the woods. You trudged up the road as the wind tussled the leaves and caused a mix of orange and red to rain down on you and Levi. The air was crisp and sent a bubble of excitement through you and your husband.

Levi and you ran a cute little shop with tea, herbs, spices and a few little spell kits for people and you both actively went out and gathered things for people. Most of the time, people would place an order of what spell they want and you and Levi would work together to make it. You found that working together with love made it work a lot better.

You slowed down on the path to see the little offering spot against the base of an oak tree for the fae folk so they wouldn't play tricks or come after you and Levi.

Levi stopped you, went into his bag, and offered you an iron nail. "Put it in your pocket to ward them off, you never know with the fae."

You nodded and put the nail in your pocket. "Good thinking." You let out a long sigh and opened your bag. "We bring offerings as a sign of respect to the fae folk in this forest." You placed down honey, coins and alcohol. "Enjoy."

Levi took your hand and helped you up. "So, we're looking for mugwort and rowan trees."

"That's right. We can use it for problems with dreams, depression and warding off evil. It's so nice in a bath. I love the stuff."

"Roman tree berries are desperately needed. We need to put them around our home and shop for protection against bad spirits." He pulled you close. "Gotta keep my cute wife safe."

You giggled and kissed his cheek. "I have to keep you safe as well."

He smiled and walked further with you. "You always keep me safe." He kissed your neck. "Full moon tonight, right?"

You hummed. "I gotta make some moon water and charge some crystals for people."

He looked ahead. "I'll do the water if you want to focus on the crystals."

"Sure! Thank you for the help, my love."

He hummed a laugh. "Anytime."

You both walked together and followed the river along the path. You climbed up crooked steps and up steep paths. You ventured for a while until you came to a stop and looked out at the land to spy part of the woods had been damaged, a rather old part, it seemed some kids got in and damaged the area.

Levi clicked his tongue in irritation. "No wonder we've had an increase of customers. Some kids dicked about."

You nodded and hugged yourself. "I'm beginning to think an elemental is not happy. We need to be careful."

"You're right. We'll have to come back later with a group of people to restore and give an offering."

You sighed. "I hope that will work."

"It will." He pulled you along and stopped when he stopped Rowan trees. "Plenty of berries. I'll cut them. Let's be quick."

You opened your bag and watched Levi carefully the branches inside. You flinched a little when you heard snapping that didn't sound normal. You held your breath and strained your hearing. You jumped a little at a distant scream.

You grabbed your husband's arm. "We have to get moving."

Levi put his clippers away. "We just need mugwort. We can grab that on our way out of the woods."

You nodded and hurried with him back where you came from. "Let's get going. I'm worried."

Levi saw you gripped your pentagram. "It'll be okay." He looked off into the woods to see something moving like it was part of the woods or a shadow. He turned his head and held you close. He lowered his voice. "We have a follower. Keep walking fast and don't let me go. Don't look at it either."

You hugged Levi's arm tightly as you felt the worry filter into you. "Levi?"

He rubbed your hand. "We'll be okay." He picked up the pace. "We'll be okay."

You fast walked with Levi. "We'll be okay."

"That's it. Think it, believe it, chant it and it'll come true."

You nodded and whimpered a little. "It's really mad."

He picked you up and started running. "We have to get out."

You hugged Levi tightly as he ran as fast as possible back down the path and out. You looked behind Levi and didn't see anything. "We're in the clear thanks to your speedy ways."

Levi put you on your feet as he panted a little. "Tch, we need to sort out making it happy again. I worry someone is going to get hurt in there."

You hummed as you gazed into the woods. "Yeah."

Levi grabbed your chin and turned your head. "We'll do it." He kissed you and smiled. "Mugwort"

You blushed. "Huh? Oh! Yeah, you're right." You giggled and walked with him to the mugwort. "Well, that was an interesting date, huh?"

Levi cut plenty before walking with you back home. "I'll make it up to you."

You giggled. "No need. It's not every day you almost run into an angry elemental." You pulled Levi close to you. "Us coming out of it perfectly fine means that me and you are meant to be."

Levi smiled. "You're right." He pressed you against the doorway at the front of your home and kissed you. "Mine."

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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[justthehiddleswrites]

Hammock | Loki x Female Reader

A/N: Hey look at me, I wrote something!  The first story based off of the Love is in the Air requests.  This was an anon request for Loki and a hammock

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary:  Tony has treated the team to an all inclusive vacation but Loki doesn’t seem to know how to relax.  You offer to help but that only makes your feelings for him more obvious.  To a point where you start avoiding Loki. Or at least try to.

Warnings:  implied smut, a couple of curse words, excessive fluffiness

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

-

As the late morning sun hit your face, you sighed in contentment, rolling over from your stomach to your back. And then a shadow crossed your face. 

“How can you possibly be this happy?” A deep voice grumbled. You opened one eye, squinting at Loki, back lit by the sun, fully clothed.

“Well, for one, I’m dressed for the weather. How are you not sweating in…” You pulled your sunglasses off. “… are you wearing a sweatshirt? In Puerto Vallarta?” 

Loki scoffed. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code. I must have missed Stark’s memo.” 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a romance novel from your bag you bought at the airport. “Don’t they have vacations on Asgard?”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest. “Ruling the Nine Realms doesn’t generally lend itself to leisure time.”

You flipped open your book. “Pity. And here I thought you knew how to have fun.” 

His mouth dropped open. “Hey… I know how to have fun.” 

You squinted at him. “Says the man wearing layers on the beach.” You returned to your book, smirking behind the pages. “If you want some help, just say the word.”

“I do not need help.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” You glanced up at him. “In the fun room.”

You watched as Loki stormed off, mumbling about you not doing fun if it bit you on the ass. 

“I have a very cute ass by the way!” you yelled after him.

-

Two days later, at the ungodly hour of 9 a.m., you woke up to insistent knocking at the door. With a groan, you dragged yourself to whip open the door to find Loki standing there.

“Loki… What the hell—”

“I’m asking for help.” He blurted out. 

You rubbed your eyes. “Give me 15 minutes.” You walked away, leaving the door. Loki stepped into your hotel room, following you as you headed towards the bathroom. 

“Where are you going?” You whipped around, snapping at him. 

“Um… not the bathroom?” Loki grinned widely.

“Chair. Now.” You pointed at an uncomfortable chair and spun back around into the bedroom. Loki wandered to the chair but diverted towards your suitcase. “Touch it and die, Loki!” He sat down. 

After a too brief shower, you stepped out in a romper and your hair wet. Loki stumbled to his feet. You took in his outfit and chuckled. 

“Black is not really a vacation color, Loki.” 

His long, slender fingers plucked at his pressed black t-shirt and black jeans. “I beg your pardon?”

You grabbed your bag. “Rule number one, you do not question.” 

Loki nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Rule number two. Call me ‘ma’am’ again and lose a testicle.”

Loki smirked. “Apologies.” 

You grinned back. “Come on, we’re going shopping.”

-

“LOKI!” you called outside of his hotel room bathroom. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Yes. I signed us up for surf lessons.”

The door flung up and Loki stepped out, bare-chested and in a pair of green board shorts. Your cheeks heated at the sight.

“You, what?” he demanded, his brows furrowed. 

“Uh… surf lessons… you, me, and the sea.” You glanced at your phone. “And we are going to be late. Come on, Loki!” He had just enough time to grab a shirt before you dragged him towards the beach. 

-

Loki turned out to be better at surfing than you expected. Although when he glanced over at you on the last wave, he wiped out hard. 

“What happened?” you giggled as you paddled to the beach and flopped onto the sand. Loki flopped down next to you. 

“My foot slipped.” he lied. He blushed under your gaze. 

You furrowed your brow. “Oh.” You attempted to hide your disappointment by digging through your bag. “You’re getting red.” You shoved a bottle of sunscreen at him. “Put this one.” 

Loki’s nose wrinkled. “I can’t reach my back. Will you help?” 

“I can’t… I have to… go. Ask someone else.” You scrambled to your feet and took off before Loki could protest. 

-

You avoided Loki for the rest of the day, begging off the team dinner that night.

“Come on,” Tony begged as you called him from your bed. “One drink. Just one drink and you can leave.”

You faked a cough. “I caught a bug on the flight. I would hate to get everyone sick.” 

Tony sent an entire pharmacy to your room in response. The next morning, you heard Loki knocking on your door, but you ignored it and the three phone calls, choosing instead to bury yourself in the blankets of the bed. 

When you finally emerged, you found a hammock tied up in a secluded area of the resort and settled in with your book. After no one bothered you, your mind slowed as the breeze6  rocked the hammock from side to side, lulling you to sleep.

-

When you ignored his phone calls and knocking, Loki took to searching every inch of the resort for you. And yet you eluded him. He slumped into a chair and held his head in his hands. 

“Damn it all!” he cursed. Loki wasn’t sure how he fucked up, but something had gone wrong. He squinted under the blistering sun and noticed a shady spot off in the corner. 

As he approached the area, he spied you asleep in the hammock, your book threatening to to tumble onto the ground, losing your place.

“Your book is—” Loki leaned over to grab the book, placing his weight on the hammock, sending you, your book, and him on a short but eventful ride to the ground.

“WHA!?!” you exclaimed as you noticed the hammock shifting. Your eyes snapped open to see Loki above and then below and then finally beside you. “WHAT THE FUCK, LOKI?!” You weren’t sure if you were screaming about him dumping you onto the ground or finding you in the first place. Neither were ideal. 

“But your book… I didn’t realize…” he sputtered as he clamored for your novel, shoving it into your hands. 

“Don’t you know how a hammock works?” You stood, brushing off the sand off your clothes.

His brow furrowed. “Of course, I don’t. I thought you were going to teach me how to have fun.” He stood as well, cleaning off his shorts and shirt. The ones you helped him buy. “I’ll let you be.” He stepped off towards the resort in hopes to find Thor or even Stark to annoy for amusement. 

You sighed. “Wait… I’m sorry for being rude. I…” You chewed your lip as you contemplated how to finish the sentence. “Let me show you.” You placed your book down and sat down on the hammock before swinging your feet over and settling in. “Easy as pie. Your turn.”

You gestured to another hammock hanging nearby, but Loki sat down on the one you occupied, swinging his legs and sliding in next to you. He smiled widely at you. “You’re right, easy as pie.”

You gritted your teeth. “I meant one of the other hammocks, Loki.” You wiggled away. 

“If I did that, we can’t talk. Why are you avoiding me?” Loki stared at you.

Your cheeks burned. “I… I… I… no… not… I…” you sputtered and mumbled.

“I thought we were friends.” Loki winced slightly at the word. “I thought you liked me.” he sighed. “But if I’m mistaken, I’ll let you be.” He swung his legs, but you grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him back.

“We are friends, Loki.” your voice trembled. “That’s the problem. We are just friends. And I like you.” 

“How is that a problem? Friends should like…” His brows raised and his eyes grew wide. “Oh…” 

You hid your face as you fought off hot tears. “Oh…” you sniped back, sarcastically. “Now if you don’t mind, I would prefer to wallow in my self-delusion and pity alone.” You pushed his shoulder, but Loki grabbed you by the wrist.

“I feel the same.” he said. “Why else did I agree to come to this wretched place? For a tan? I am a Frost Giant.” He chuckled. “I hoped to spend more time with you.”

“But… but…” Your mouth dropped open. “Why?”

Loki cupped your face with his hand, cool against your sun heated skin. “Does love need a reason?” He didn’t wait, couldn’t wait another moment. He pressed his lips to yours. 

You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around Loki as best you could. “Did you say ‘love’?” you giggled. “A girl could get spoiled with kisses like that.” 

Loki nuzzled into your neck. “And you haven’t seen me in the bedroom.”

Tony overheard a loud shriek and giggle from the pool bar. He glanced up to see Loki running with you over his shoulder. “About fucking time.” he muttered before popping a nacho into his mouth. 

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XX. More Than A Feeling (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6480

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence, Injury.

Your head pounded like an alarm clock you couldn't shut off. The explosions hadn't done any favours for your tinnitus, either. The high-pitched ringing noise was constant, and only intensified the more you tried not to focus on it. Even now that everything had settled down, it still seemed like you could hear walls crashing around you, or feel the vibrations as the stone crumbled and settled at your feet.

Except, it wasn't brick walls that were sending shock waves over the ground; it was Daryl's footsteps as he paced. You could feel them through your own boots, and sent him a look to try and coax him to sit down. 

"It's a sprained ankle, Daryl. I didn't lose my leg." You said gently, before someone cleared their throat.

You looked down at Hershel, who was in the process of wrapping the bandages, and winced as he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Sorry." You muttered, awkwardly.

Everything had gone mostly to plan. The governor and his men had been driven away, and the others had returned from Woodberry with even more survivors. You hadn't gotten the chance to see them yet, but the ruckus drifted up the stairs and you could feel the marching of the stampede as though they had been part of the army themselves.

The prison remained standing, albeit missing a watchtower and seeming a bit dilapidated in a few places - but your home was once again yours. You'd sacrificed so much for it. Lori, T-Dogg, Axel, Oscar, and Merle had all lost their lives just so that you could sit here now, complaining of flesh-wounds and mild injuries like they were the most perilous problems you could face.

Daryl didn't seem to agree, however, and narrowed his eyes at you - or more specifically, at the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd taken a bit of a fall, but it wasn't like you'd cracked it open. Though, that didn't stop the man from treating you like Humpty Dumpty - trying to fix all of your pieces despite them not actually being broken.

"I don' care!" Daryl yelled, and you felt Hershel flinch as he made another pass with the bandages.

The man slung his crossbow onto the mattress, and you felt the bed dip beside you from the weight of it. His face was all scrunched up into a scowl, and you wanted nothing more than to hold it in your hands and bring his cheek to yours.

"What the hell d'ya try an' pull tha' for?" He asked, but this time his voice had lost its fight. "You could've gotten yerself killed." Daryl said quietly, like it almost killed him to say, too.

The older man stayed silent as he continued to do his job, and you felt guilty for having let him get caught up in this. 

"But I didn't." You reminded Daryl, before shooting a light-hearted smile his way. "Certain victory, remember?"

Your eyes glanced down to his hand, and at the shoddily drawn rune you'd given him with a sharpie earlier in the day. He didn't say anything back, but his pacing had stopped - and he looked straight at you as you spoke.

"And although the governor got away, don't you think he'll be easier to find with a bullet in his shoulder?"

If you had anything to show for your injuries, at least it was that. You offered a teasing smirk to the man - one that probably made him wonder if you had a concussion.

"I think I know a pretty good tracker, too." You joked, nodding in his direction.

Daryl didn't smile back. You watched as the man took a seat next to you on the mattress, and noticed the way his eyes rested on Hershel as he tended to your injuries better than he could have. 

"Ya should've followed the plan." He mumbled, so quietly that you barely caught it.

You let out a sigh, unable to hide your guilt. Daryl had an expression you'd only seen him wear once before, and you didn't like it in the slightest.

"I had a clear shot." You reasoned timidly, like you were trying to convince yourself of your words.

You had done; it was true. Except, you should have taken a moment to consider your actions. You thought that you were in fact the hypocrite - since when the time came, you'd been the one to shoot first, and ask questions later.

"If my aim was a little better we wouldn't even be having this conversation." You told him, and offered a sheepish smile alongside it. "I'm sorry I missed."

Hershel tightened the knot as he finished wrapping your foot. You lifted your leg and outstretched it to examine his work. Tentatively, you wiggled your toes, and thanked the man when you felt no pain in doing so. Daryl sent a nod in his direction too, before turning back.

"I don' give a damn if ya missed." He told you, barely above a whisper.

Hershel ushered himself out of the room as quietly as he could manage, trying not to intrude any longer. As soon as he'd left, Daryl let his head drop onto your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath over the crook of your neck.

"I only care tha' yer alive." He admitted, mumbling against the skin there. "I can't lose you, too."

You leant back against the man. He seemed so downtrodden, but for the first time since the farm, you felt safe. You remembered that first night after you'd cleared the prison, sitting out in that field around the campfire. You'd asked him then if he thought this could be your home. Now, you decided, it was.

"Have more faith in me, Dixon." You told him, and stroked his hair - letting your nails run along his scalp gently. "I think I must be pretty hard to kill."

Despite the head injury, the events of that morning were as clear as day to you - as clear as the cloudless sky had been when you all took your positions. The strategy had been to ambush them when they came, and you had been the one to dissuade Rick from utilising the watchtowers.

"They'll be their first target." You'd said, and luckily he had listened.

You and Daryl had been checking the guns, before deciding to take one last walk around the perimeter. You'd scouted their vehicles en route to the prison, so you knew it was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose. The day was otherwise serene, and you hoped that once all of this was over you'd get the chance to revel in the sunshine and celebrate your certain victory.

You smiled over at the man, remembering what you'd wanted to tell him. The two of you were checking for breaches in the fences, making sure that the governor's men couldn't infiltrate from anywhere you wouldn't expect. You watched as Daryl pulled on the lattice wire to make sure it was secure, and you slipped your hand into his other, free one. 

He gave you a subtle glance, but didn't make any sarcastic remarks in return. The two of you walked hand-in-hand alongside the fences, as though you were going on a mundane, morning stroll in the sun. It was silent, and you both seemed to just bask in the peace whilst it still lasted. Though, once you had gone full-circle, and had ended up back where you'd started, you stopped in place.

You fished around in your pocket and pulled out the sharpie you'd scavenged from Glenn earlier in the day. Daryl looked at it suspiciously, but let you do as you pleased - just like always. Carol had noted how much of a soft spot the man had for you, and you couldn't even deny it at this point. The two of you had woken up entangled in each other this morning, and it had taken you the better part of half an hour to coax him to let you get up. You could tell he was scared of what the day would bring. Despite claiming to be a man 'not scared of nothing,' you knew that Daryl Dixon was afraid of one thing above all else - and that was losing you. 

"Give me your hand." You instructed, and pulled the cap off the top of the pen with your teeth.

The man eyed the permanent marker, before looking down at your interlocked hands.

"Yer holdin' it." He grumbled, and you rolled his eyes at his dry humour.

"The other one." You clarified, pointing in the direction. "It needs to be on the same side."

You took his hand in yours before he had time to question you further, and pressed the sharpie to it. You drew the simple pattern, watching as the ink bled out slightly over the cracks in his skin.

It was the same rune of Týr that you had tattooed on your hip - the one Daryl claimed 'looked like an arrow.' He stared at it once you'd finished, stretching out his fingers before balling his hand into a fist. Maybe it was a little childish to want to wish him luck in this way, and you thought that Daryl was a man quite capable of victory by himself, but you'd wanted to do it nonetheless.

"Look, we match." You exclaimed with a smile, but the words felt familiar on your tongue.

Daryl must have thought so, too, as you saw some kind of recognition flash behind his eyes. Then, you remembered it. The memory washed over you like a wave coming onto shore. It had been back on the farm, where you lay next to each other on that springy, double bed. He'd had an arrow wound in his side, and your bullet hole matched it nicely. You'd pointed it out to him with a grin, too doped up on medication for your own good. It felt so long ago - back when you'd been more young and naive to the world, and he'd been more angry at it.

"I guess some things never change." You admitted, and you could tell that he understood.

You felt him squeeze your hand, and looked back down at the semi-tattoo you'd drawn haphazardly. 

"An' other things do." He replied.

When the first explosion rang out, your mind immediately thought back to that moment. The front left watchtower had been decimated, just as you had predicted, and the tanks began to roll in through the field. Whilst some of the group were hidden away in the prison interior, waiting to ambush those who came in, you stayed outside with Maggie and Glenn - ready to catch any stragglers who made it back out.

Daryl hadn't wanted you to be in the thick of it, and you could tell why. From the looks of it, the governor's army was partially made of toy soldiers. From your position, you could make out young boys and girls barely through their teenage years, and adults who looked like they had never held a weapon before. You would have found it hard to kill them - even if you needed to.

From your hiding place, however, you couldn't see the governor. The group was too dense, and he was probably lurking somewhere in the middle - just like the coward he was. You stared down the scope of your rifle, trying to get a better view. All around you, you could hear the sounds of crumbling stone, and the flicker of flames as they burned the tower to the ground. There had only been a couple of warning rounds shot at the building, but they'd done more damage than you were comfortable with. You just hoped that Daryl and the others were alright inside. 

The whole thing seemed to last a couple of minutes at most. As quickly as the group had entered the cellblock, they were forced back out in a shroud of smoke and gunfire. Maggie and Glenn had their guns aimed, but it looked to be a clean retreat. The govenor's makeshift suicide army had all turned back, and were fleeing into the forest - so you didn't shoot at them.

That had been the plan anyway, until you caught sight of a familiar eyepatch and the man who wore it. You jumped up from behind the bushes like someone had set them alight, and ran over to the wall for cover. Maggie and Glenn shouted at you, but you continued until you reached it. It was part of the fence you'd reinforced with steel, and you ducked behind it to peer through the gunhole. 

The man was returning back to the tank, mowing down anyone who got in his way. You stared through your rifle scope, finger hovering the trigger. You would have pulled it, but a civilian got in your line of sight at the last second. 

"Shit." You whispered, below your breath, and slung the rifle back over your shoulder.

You hopped the fence and started running, making your way to the blazing watchtower that was set alight like a torch. The base was still steady, and it provided good cover whilst allowing you to move in closer. The calm summer's day had been transformed into a warzone in a matter of minutes. Shouts and gunfire rang out around you as you dashed to the burning building. When you reached it, you quickly ducked down and pressed your back to the stone as you set up your rifle. 

It hasn't been part of the plan; you knew that. Though, you didn't just want to let the man walk free, either. If you weren't the one to do it, it would be someone else - perhaps Rick, or Michonne, or even Daryl. You wanted to pull your weight, especially if it meant that their shoulders wouldn't have to bear the burden of it.

The tower creaked and groaned above your head, and your eyes quickly glanced upwards to catch sight of the flames that licked the sky - creating an amber haze that resembled sunset. You ignored the sound, and locked onto the governor once again. This time, he was clambering into the vehicle, and you knew that it would be your last chance. Your line of sight was clear, and so you let your finger squeeze the trigger - and felt the jolt of the gun as it hit back against your shoulder.

The bullet connected, and you watched the man stagger backwards. He turned to face your direction, and your gazes caught for a split second - like you could see it all unfold in slow motion. Then, you heard a crash, and time resumed as normal.

Glass shattered above your head and fell onto you like jagged raindrops, and the stone debrid came following like lightning after it. The tower shifted, and you watched it crumble for a brief moment before the adrenaline kicked in. You abandoned your rifle and jumped up, starting to run in the opposite direction. Rubble came pouring down and bounced over the concrete at your feet. You felt small pieces nick your legs, but continued to sprint as you heard Maggie and Glenn call your name in the distance. You couldn't outrun the collapse, but you'd managed to dive behind one of the fences just in time to shield yourself.

You'd squeezed your eyes closed as the tower fell, and huddled your knees to your chest to protect yourself. The stone structure made the most almighty crash as it caved to the ground, and suddenly the courtyard was completely shrouded in dust. It wasn't until the smoke cloud had settled and you recognised figures emerging from the fog that you realised you'd made it. 

Your head stung, and you pressed your fingers to your temple only to notice that something had drawn blood there. You must've been struck by some stray piece of rubble, you thought. You were a bit dazed, but you could make out voices clearly as they shouted your name. You recognised one in particular, and your heart sped up in response.

"C'mon, Teach!" Daryl yelled, but you couldn't pin-point where from. 

You tried to call back, but your throat was dry and your voice barely made its way out of your lips.

"Can ya hear me?" He shouted again. "Call out to me if ya can hear me!"

Clearing your throat, you tried again.

"Daryl!" You screamed, and this time it resonated. "I'm here!" 

You noticed a shift in the fog, and figures got clearer as they made their way through it.

"I'm over here!" You yelled again, your voice breaking over the words.

The man came running over to you as soon as he could tell where you were. You'd been hidden behind the sheet of metal, sat amongst a pile of debrid, but he still found you. You could feel the fresh blood trickling down your forehead, but you wiped it away with the back of your hand and sent him a watery smile of pure relief. Daryl took in the sight, and the way your foot seemed to be turned in an awkward angle beneath you - and his eyes widened.

"What did you do?" He asked, rushing over to your side in an instant.

You looked back at him with an equally dumbfounded expression.

"I shot him." You admitted. "I shot the governor." 

After Hershel had left your cell, you and Daryl stayed sitting on the mattress together for a little while. You let him rest his head over your shoulder, which soon turned into lying on your chest as you both slumped back into the pillows. It was a little different from what you were used to, but you held his head and stroked his hair gently. You thought that he needed the comfort, and you were fine with being able to return it for once.

Maggie and Glenn had informed you that they'd seen everything go down - and that you'd actually hit the governor in the shoulder, rather than his chest. It was a bitter disappointment, but they'd reassured you that you'd still done a good job - after they'd given you a scolding, that is. You weren't entirely sure what had possessed you to do it - to abandon the plan. Maybe it was the images of a beaten Glenn and an inconsolable Maggie that you weren't able to rid yourself of, or perhaps it was the nightmares you had of cowering beneath Axel's body. More likely, it was the recent death of Merle, and what it had done to Daryl as a result. Whatever it was, you didn't regret it. The governor had deserved everything that was coming for him, and you'd just happened to be the one to pass the sentence.

Daryl's eyelids seemed heavy, and his breathing had evened out. You knew that if you didn't rouse him now, he'd probably fall asleep within a matter of minutes. It was selfish, but you didn't want that. You wanted to celebrate your victory - no matter how certain it had been.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." You whispered, and gently moved his hair back from his face.

The man inhaled sharply, and you watched his eyes flicker as they adjusted to the light. You let out a soft chuckle, which you were sure he could feel resonate through your chest.

"Can you help me down the stairs?" You asked sweetly, hoping to coax him awake. "I want to meet everyone."

He'd already carried you out of the rubble once today, but you hoped he'd be generous enough to lend you an arm as you hobbled down the metal steps. Daryl sat up and stretched his neck side to side before glancing over at you, his eyes immediately resting over your bandaged forehead to check it was still alright. You offered a smile to reassure him, and eventually the man nodded in return.

"It's gonna get a lot nosier 'round 'ere." He grumbled, but it didn't sound like he really minded.

Daryl had your arm slung over his shoulder as you both attempted the stairs. His other hand was on your waist for support, and he waited patiently as you took each step - going along with your pace. You'd heard the commotion from your cell, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer amount of people that had been brought back from Woodberry. 

As your foot hit the final step you were greeted by an unexpected round of applause, interspersed with the occasional cheers. You almost stumbled back in shock, but Daryl caught your arm before you could trip.

"There she is!" Glenn yelled over the crowd. "Our suicidal sniper."

You shot Daryl a side-eye glance, but the man just shrugged in response. Your gaze ran over the unfamiliar faces as they smiled, or looked at you curiously, and you suddenly felt inadequate in comparison. You stood leaning against Daryl in your dusty clothes and bandages, and sheepishly lowered your head as they stared. Eventually, Daryl shooed them all away, warning them to 'get out of your face.' 

It made you laugh, and you aimed some teasing remarks in his direction - pestering him if he'd like to become your bodyguard. The chatter buzzed around you like nothing you'd ever heard before. Even in the old world, the atmosphere couldn't compare. You didn't know how long it had been since you'd even laid eyes on so many people at once. You knew that you'd have to clear out some other cell blocks just to make room for them all. This was the start of something; you just knew it.

Someone called your name from amongst the fray, but Daryl didn't stop ushering you over to a nearby seat. You whipped your head around in confusion, but continued to shuffle along until you had the opportunity to sit down. He leant against the table next to you, resembling a diligent guard dog. Daryl was the most loyal man you'd ever met, and everyday he reminded you not to settle for anything less. You wondered how anyone could ever come close to him - past or present. Your ex had been a mere speck of poorly-chosen dust in comparison to Daryl Dixon. 

The man seemed to be able to read your thoughts, as he glanced in your direction with perfect timing - causing you to look away. You heard your name through the thick of the crowd again, and this time tried harder to locate the source. Only a few seconds later, someone emerged from the centre of the room, pushing past everyone so that she could get to you. 

The woman had neat brown hair to her shoulders, and was wearing a sundress that looked like it had been recently pressed. All of the former Woodberry inhabitants looked clean, but she definitely stood out due to how beautiful she was. Her eyes were a warm coffee colour, and her smile was bright as she looked over at you.

You choked on your words, immediately standing up only to stumble into Daryl's shoulder. He quickly got a hand under your arm to steady you, but had a disapproving expression on his face as he did so.

"Vanessa?" You spluttered out, and she gave you an excited nod in return.

Daryl barely had time to step aside before the woman bounded up to you and flung her arms around your neck. She squeezed you so tightly that you forgot how to breathe, but you hugged her back with the same force - clasping your arms around her back.

You were utterly speechless. The last time you'd seen the woman, the two of you were witnessing the complete horror of your camp being destroyed. You'd looked for her in the days following, but she'd seemed to simply disappear into the night. You hadn't even thought she'd made it out alive. She'd been your colleague before all this, and then your campmate. But, most importantly, she'd been your friend.

You stared at her as she pulled away, and she giggled at your dumbfounded expression. Her smile was as pretty as you remembered, and you suddenly felt pale in comparison to her rosy cheeks and honey complexion. She was as quick-witted as ever, and wasted no time in regaining her composure to tease you like you'd never even spent any time apart.

Daryl watched in silence, not wanting to interrupt, but you could tell that he was starting to put the pieces together.

"You were the one who shot him?" She asked, as though in utter shock.

She had her hands on either of your shoulders, and looked you up and down before settling over your one foot that you kept hovering above ground.

"Yeah." You replied sheepishly, and glanced off to the side.

The woman slapped your arm in disbelief, and Daryl shot her a warning look that made you snort. She looked over at the man, too, and raised an eyebrow.

"What on earth happened to you?" She questioned, meeting your eyes this time.

You stared at the floral pattern of her sundress, secretly wishing you had something equally as pretty, and shrugged.

"Well, I hit my forehead and sprained my ankle-" you started, but the woman cut you off.

"I don't mean that." She remarked, with a disapproving tone.

She sounded the same as she did on those days you'd spend your lunch breaks together, or go and get coffee at the local shop - trading gossip and work secrets. She grinned at you mischievously, and it didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

"Where is the timid girl who sang 'Yellow Submarine' to us from her tent every night?"

The man beside you was the one to laugh this time, and you jabbed him with your elbow in response. 

"I really do miss that tent." You mumbled under your breath, and thought you could hear Daryl weakly protest below his.

Vanessa eyed the two of you, and her mouth upturned into a grin you recognised all too well. It was the one she wore when whispering to you about cute baristas, or when sliding her number across the bar. 

"And who's this?" She said, in a tone that was equally as familiar.

She turned to face Daryl, and gave him a quick once-over like she was checking for any visible flaws. You couldn't contain your laugh; she always did lack subtlety.

"This is Daryl." You told her, and slipped your hand into his. "My-" you paused, furrowing your eyebrows as you did, "boyfriend?"

It came out like a question, and Daryl snorted uncharacteristically from beside you.

"'M too old for tha' word." He grumbled, but it was still light-hearted.

You took the opportunity to have some fun, and pressed your chest against his arm as you got closer to his ear.

"What do you want me to say, then?" You asked teasingly. "My partner? Sweetheart?" 

The man seemed completely taken aback to hear you call him anything besides 'Dixon.' 

"My other half? The old ball 'n chain-" you continued, but were abruptly interrupted as he shrugged you off in embarrassment.

"D'you wan' another head injury?" He asked - a little too quickly and a lot too loudly.

Vanessa laughed her usual dainty laugh, and you'd almost forgotten that she was even there. Daryl's cheeks were dusted a light pink, and you knew he would remind you of this later when you were alone.

"You two are good together." The woman spoke, causing you to look over in her direction. "I'm glad you found someone in all of this." 

You gave her a shy smile, before looking down at your feet. You'd never been good with compliments, but she always seemed to have an abundance of them to give.

"After everything you've been through," she went on, this time glancing over at Daryl with a look that could only be described as approval. "You really deserve someone who can make you happy."

Happy. That is what this feeling was. You'd almost forgotten what the word meant, but you were suddenly reminded. Daryl had made you feel a lot of things since you'd met him - first a lot of nerves and sometimes even frustration, but eventually it became comfort and security. However, you realised that all along there were moments of happiness. Even back at the farm, the man never did fail to make you laugh - intentionally or unintentionally. Whether it was his dry sense of humour, or the wise-cracks he'd make in those days where he seemed younger, and more willing to fight the world. 

You looked over at the man like you'd only just come to the most obvious of realisations. Daryl Dixon made you happy - like nothing else had before.

As the night started to settle down, the atmosphere fizzled away along with it. Everyone had taken to their temporary sleeping arrangements, and you could tell that Daryl was holding back his yawns as he helped you clamber over the people left chatting on the floor. The day felt like it had gone on for a week, and you couldn't wait to just sink into bed and let your bandaged head meet the pillows.

Across the block, you spotted Rick talking to some of the new residents, and urged Daryl to return to the cell ahead of you. The man glanced down at your foot and then back up to your eyes, as though needing to state the obvious. You shook your head, telling him that you'd get Rick to help you up the stairs once you were done. You just wanted to talk to the officer briefly, and didn't want to keep Daryl up any longer than he needed to be.

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he left you propped up against the wall where you instructed him to. His stubbornness had definitely rubbed off on you, you'd realised, and he could hardly attempt to fight against it.

"Deputy Grimes!" You called, once Daryl was out of ear-shot. "Get over here for a second."

The man looked up from his conversation, and you watched him excuse himself before making his way over. He looked equally as exhausted as the rest of you, and stepped heavily over the stone floor. Still, he gave you a small smile as he approached, and squeezed your shoulder.

"You did good today." He drawled, praising you for the second time tonight.

You rolled your eyes and slapped his chest with the back of your hand. 

"Don't let Daryl hear you say that." You warned, with a teasing look. "I could have died, remember?"

You'd said the words in Daryl's Southern accent, impersonating the man the best you could. Rick laughed in response, and you quickly glanced over your shoulder just to double-check that the archer wasn't still looming there.

"Never knew him to be so uptight." The officer replied, and you shrugged.

"He just needs a good night’s sleep." You explained, glancing over at the staircase leading to the second floor. "I think we all do."

Rick especially seemed like he was dead on his feet, but he held it together well. You couldn't imagine the pressure he felt having to keep everyone safe during times like these. You wanted to ease that burden a little, or even just throw some distractions in the mix to make him forget about it.

"Anyway, I heard that Glenn found a camera at Woodberry." You started, watching as he raised an eyebrow at you.

A few hours ago you'd hijacked it, and briefly kidnapped the Grimes children for that photoshoot you'd been threatening. The polaroid had turned out even better than you'd hoped - and you had almost been tempted to keep it for yourself.

You pulled the picture from your pocket, careful not to bend it, and passed it to the man. His eyes squinted as he looked at it, flat atop his palm. Both Carl and Judy were sporting their sheriff's hats, and the older Grimes had his sister perched on his lap.

"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Rick." You told him, and watched as he brought the picture closer to his face. "I'll never forget how you were always there for me."

It was rare that you ever saw the man speechless, but in that moment you were sure you saw a glimpse of the same Rick Grimes you'd first encountered back at the farm - that officer friendly who would give anything for his family.

He shook his head wordlessly, before tucking the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"You don't give yourself enough credit." He said quietly, before slinging one of your arms around his neck. "And I don't think you ever will."

You returned to your cell soon after that, bidding the officer goodnight at the door. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before reminding you to change your bandages in the morning. You laughed in response, wondering why all the men around you treated you like glass.

The room was quiet as you ducked under the sheet hanging at the doorway, and you shuffled inside. Daryl had lit the small lamp on the table, and it cast a warm, golden glow over him where he lay. He had his eyes closed, but you noticed he had your headphones on - connected to the walkman that was left at the edge of the mattress.

You could hear the faint din of the music as some sound escaped, and slowly made your way over to the bed - not wanting to startle the man. He was still fully dressed, and had his arms tucked under his head as he lay on his back. You didn't think he was asleep; rather, he seemed to be waiting for you.

You knelt down onto the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your weight as you crawled up beside him. He didn't react, so you pulled one side of the headphones from his ear, and brought your lips close to it.

"Boo." You whispered, and blew hot air there to make him shiver.

This time he cracked an eye open, and pulled you down beside him gently. He continued to be mindful of your head, and plumped a pillow up for you to lay on. He then removed the headphones, and twisted the ends of them so that the speaker parts were facing outwards. 

You chuckled at the action, suddenly thinking back on your childhood where you'd share a pair with your friends. Daryl placed them in the space between the two of you, so that you could both listen to the songs together. You heard something by The Beatles play muffled, and closed your eyes to take in the melody.

The two of you talked briefly, and sleepily, for a bit. Daryl grumbled about you using him as a makeshift crutch for the majority of the night, and you just hummed in response. You caught him glancing over at you every now and then, but he made no attempt to pull you closer like he usually would have. You knew it was because of your head; he didn't even have to tell you.

"Hershel said it might leave a small scar." You told him, like it was a secret you felt needed to be disclosed.

You didn't really mind all that much, but you knew Daryl had a tendency to look at you guilt-stricken whenever he saw you injured. You just wanted to warn him - just in case.

"Like Harry Potter or some shit?" The man mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

"Maybe." You replied.

The chatter downstairs had settled, and all that remained was the tinny sound of the music that quietly played near your ear. You swallowed thickly, staring up at the ceiling to see the uneven cracks that marred it.

"Will you still love me if I have a gawdy scar over my forehead?" You asked teasingly - but a part of you felt nervous to hear the response.

Then, your eyes widened as you realised your choice of words. You sat up, immediately feeling the blood rush to your head as you did so.

"Wait-" you stuttered, noticing the man's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

He cut you off before you could finish.

"I will."

You blinked, but he pulled you back down to him - this time letting you lay your head gently over his chest.

"Know I ain't said it before, but-" he paused, "I love ya." 

His heartbeat pounded quickly against your cheek, as though proving his words.

"I love ya so goddamn much, so don't ever pull that shit on me again."

You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and hoped he couldn't feel them dampen his shirt.

"I love ya - you crazy woman who shot the governor an' took a bullet for me."

You swallowed thickly, trying to hide the wateriness of your voice as you responded.

"I love you too, Dixon." You admitted, wondering why you hadn't done so before.

You'd loved the man almost as long as you could remember; but it was one thing to love, and another thing to be loved in return.

"I won't let anything on this earth take me away from you." You mumbled against him. "You don't have to worry about that."

Daryl breathed in deeply, and you moved along with the rise and fall of his chest. This is what happiness felt like, you decided. Happiness wasn't as perfect as you had once thought it to be - back in the old world. It wasn't that amazing job, or the hard-earned paycheck, nor was it the men who called you pretty whilst giving you an ugly stare. Happiness for you was now walking around the perimeter of a dingy prison, hand-in-hand, as you stared up at the morning sun preparing for a fight. Happiness was those nights you'd stay awake, listening to the laughs down the hall of Maggie and Glenn as they whispered about their future together, and noticing that Daryl was eavesdropping, too. Most importantly, happiness was the man who you woke up next to, and the sound of his voice as he told you 'good morning.'

You looked down at his hand, resting on his chest, and saw the ink there that had smudged throughout the day. The walkman finished its tune, and there was a brief, few-second silence before it skipped to the next one. A familiar melody rang out, and Daryl placed a careful kiss over your hair.

"I like this song." He whispered against you, and you nodded in return.

"Yeah, me too."

A/N It took 20 chapters, 120k words, but they finally exchanged their ‘I love you’s.’ I think it was obvious that they already loved each other before this, but hearing them say it out loud just- 

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[leiawritesstories]

Improbability

Rowaelin Month, Day 26: You’re seeing my roommate and accidentally walked into my shower. Featuring Sam and Rowan as roommates. :)))

Word count: 1542

Warnings: language, little bit of math gobbledygook that I stole from my stats class.

Enjoy!

~~~~

“Mate, you alright with my girlfriend coming over today?” Sam called out to his roommate. “We’re probably going out, but I asked her over here first.”

Rowan pulled out one of his earbuds and stuck his head out his bedroom door. “Yeah, that’s totally fine, just for God’s sake warn me if you’re going to do the dirty on our couch, bud.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME!” Sam yelled, “and I was 100 percent sure you had football!”

“It’s called soccer, Cortland!” Rowan laughed, never missing the chance to poke at his British roommate. 

“Whatever, mate. You’re good with Ae hanging out here for a bit, yeah?”

“Sure am. She’s a fun person.” Rowan put his earbud back in and returned to doing his homework, or rather, swearing at his statistics textbook. Some fifteen minutes later, he heard the door of his and Sam’s dorm open.

“Anybody home?” enquired a throaty female voice. “Someone told me he was at home, but obviously he’s too busy to go out today. Guess I’ll just go drink with the girls, then.”

“And leave me lonely?” Sam asked.

Aelin Galathynius, who’d been dating Sam for almost two years now, smiled. “Never.”

He returned the grin and pulled her into the living room, where their conversation faded into a blur of noise too dim for Rowan to interpret. Not that he minded…much. Aelin was hilarious, though, and he loved hearing her make cracks at Sam’s British habits, her friends, her day, and pretty much anything else she thought deserved a snarky comment. 

Slamming his stats book closed, Rowan huffed a sigh and decided that he could use a quick shower to relax a little before heading out to training. He grabbed his towel and a bar of soap and went into the tiny dorm shower, which was low enough that he, at 6’3,” had to crouch to fit under the shower head. Grumbling to himself about the stupidity of whatever idiot architect designed dormitory showers, he stood under the stream of hot water and tried to make sense of all he still had to do. Which was too much. After somewhere around five minutes, he stuck his head out of the shower, realizing the dorm had gone awfully quiet. 

Maybe Sam and Aelin were out, then, he thought.

Rowan turned off the shower and reached for his towel, giving himself a quick dry-off before stepping out. He was just wrapping the towel around his waist when the door swept open.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here!” gasped Aelin.

Rowan gaped at her, forgetting that the only thing between her and a prime view of what he may or may not have been doing in the shower was a dark green bath towel.

A too-thin green bath towel.

Aelin’s turquoise eyes traveled down his frame, decidedly not missing a single detail. A pink flush spread over her cheekbones, and she hastily backed out of the bathroom and shut the door with a firm click.

Rowan swallowed whatever he’d thought he might have said and told his raging male hormones to calm the hell down. Quickly, before anyone else could walk in on him, he pulled on his practice jersey and sweats and went back to his room, where he grabbed his soccer bag and hauled ass for the gym.

He spent the entire 90-minute workout trying and miserably failing to get the image of Aelin Galathynius in her unfairly attractive blouse and miniskirt blushing at his nearly-nude self out of his mind. When he got back to his dorm, having showered in the locker room, this time without anyone interrupting, Sam and Aelin were gone. Sam had left a note on his bedroom door, stating that he’d probably be back around three. Checking his watch, Rowan groaned. It was almost two, and he’d broken down and signed up for stats tutoring at four. 

He just hoped that whoever the tutor was, they’d be able to help him get his mathematical shit together and pass the course. 

~

Two hours later, Rowan walked into the library and took a seat in the study room marked with a sign that read “STATS 320 TUTORING 4 PM.” Nobody else was there, but to be fair, he was a little early. He plopped his textbook, notebook, and calculator onto the table and waited. 

And nearly fell off his chair when Aelin Galathynius walked into the room.

“What the hell?”

“What the hell, what?” she asked, obviously amused at his reaction. 

“I--I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s what the hell. You here for tutoring too?”

“Yes and no.” Rowan blinked in confusion. Aelin’s little smirk grew bigger. “I am the tutor, Rowan. You’re here for my assistance…and expertise.” She winked.

He felt himself flush at the image that conjured. “Yeah, expertise, in stats, right?” He knew full well he was stammering like a fourteen-year-old on his first date, but that about summed up how his roommate’s girlfriend made him feel right now.

“Correct.” Just like that, Aelin was all business. She set her backpack down, closed the door, and sat across from Rowan. “So. How can I help?”

He sighed. “I’m stuck. I need this class, it’s the last math I have to take for my major, I’m usually decent at math, and I’m fucking stuck on a concept my professor said was fucking simple.” 

Aelin listened to his mini rant without comment. She pulled out her own stats notebook and calculator from her backpack and slipped on a pair of glasses. Rowan cocked his head. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Reading glasses, Whitethorn. I’m supposed to wear them whenever I’m reading, on my laptop, or studying, but do I? Hell no.” She grinned. “Don’t tell my optometrist.”

“Given that I don’t know them, no problem.” He returned her grin.

She flexed her fingers and turned her attention to Rowan’s math. “Right, big bad soccer boy. Where are you stuck?”

He flipped his book to the section on conditional probability distributions. “Here. I took notes, and it seemed logical enough, but I completely tanked the quiz we just had, and I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Aelin scanned the quiz. “You’re reading the graphs wrong.”

“What?”

“Conditional probability is the probability of an event occurring given that a certain condition is satisfied.” She opened her notebook to a blank page and drew a horizontal line. “Any time you see a condition, that condition goes in the denominator.” She pointed to one of the problems he’d answered wrong on the quiz. “What’s this question asking you to determine?”

“Probability that a student chosen at random is an engineer given that the selected student is female.”

“Right. So, you take the condition, the ‘given,’ and put that number in the denominator. Remember you’re only looking at the row labeled ‘female,’ because that’s the condition. Once the condition’s written in, you find the other part of the question, in this case the number of female engineers. Put that number in the numerator, divide by the denominator, and there you have the probability. Does that make sense?”

“Condition in the denominator…” Rowan mumbled, writing it in his notes. He looked up at Aelin and smacked his hand flat on the table. “Aelin, I’m a fucking idiot. I spent so much time trying to look at the totals that I didn’t remember to keep the condition, I--goddammit, I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Rowan, lots of people struggle with conditional probability at first.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. A lot.”

“Really? But you just explained this shit to me better than my professor.”

“I…I happen to like stats. Might be part of my major description, but I just find working with the numbers extremely satisfying.”

“What’s your major?” he asked, intrigued.

“Don’t judge me.”

“Nope. Promise.”

“I’m in finance.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I’m impressed.”

She blushed. “Thanks. It’s a lot of stats and spreadsheets and yelling at each other about the stock market, but I really love it.”

“You’re making me look bad; I’m just your standard pre-PT student athlete”

“Standard pre-PT student athlete,” she mocked, “don’t sell yourself short, Whitethorn. Pre-PT is nothing shabby.”

“Yeah, but not remembering a stupidly easy math concept sure as hell is.”

She snickered. “Fair enough. Is there anything else I can help you with, or is that all for this session?”

He flipped through his notes. “That’s all I had for today, but I’ll probably be back at some point whining about another tricky concept.”

Aelin grinned, closing her notebook. “Wait until you get into chi-squared models. I’ll be here then, waiting for all the stats students to come crying to me while I plug seventeen equations into my spreadsheet and hope it actually calculates the quarterly interest this time.”

Rowan shook his head. “You lost me at ‘chi-squared,’ Aelin.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s fun.”

“As much fun as you and Sam have?”

Her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “Your couch would know.”

Before he could sputter out a response, she’d shouldered her backpack and was walking out the door. Rowan watched Aelin Galathynius leave, wondering how fast he could make up an excuse to talk to his roommate’s brilliant girlfriend again.

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Kokichi Ouma x Female Reader - Love-Hate Relationship

Thank you to my patron/client! Kokichi is always fun to write

Summary: Kokichi starts to fall for the only person in the killing game who likes him. His best friend is always on his side and has true feelings for him both platonically and romantically, but will he ruin everything with his harsh words and lies?

Friends to Enemies back to Friends to Lovers LMAO - ANGST and FLUFF

Warnings: Vulgar Language, otherwise SFW - Admin Myah

Word Count: 5.1K words 

When it all began, people didn’t like Kokichi. (Y/N) found this little fact out quite quickly. It was quite obvious. He was loud, and obnoxious, and stubborn, and whiny, and a great many other negative adjectives one would use to describe, say… an elementary school student.

 But! … he was also a great many other amazingly fantastical things, such as cunning, intelligent, hilarious, perceptive, adorable. These were the things (Y/N) saw in him, these and a lot more endearing qualities, these things the others seemingly refused to see in him. Even the more intelligent and reasonable of her peers, such as the intuitive detective Shuichi Saihara or the studied anthropologist Korekiyo Shinguuji could admit Kokichi was intelligent, but not much else. (Y/N) didn’t understand it. She truly didn’t think Kokichi was all that awful. Why weren’t they seeing what she saw? From the moment they all arose, groggy and confused in that eerie gymnasium together she knew he would be something special, someone to watch. She had a gift for reading people like that: their souls, their intentions, their true talents.

 The two of them, in time, had even started to become friends where he had none, and she essentially became his only link to the rest of the students. It would often go something like this: 

 Kokichi would reveal something critical, something hidden or potentially deadly that they all must know.

Kokichi, being the stubborn ass that he was, would lie about the details, or the information altogether, switching facts around and embellishing the story with fictional bits and bites.

The other Ultimates would ignore him, call him a liar, engage in some petty squabble.

(Y/N) would vouch for the little lord of lying, and the group would reluctantly scrounge up enough good faith to believe the pair.

 In times like those, (Y/N) would often chastise the tiny tyrant, forever asking him why he couldn’t just play nice and help the group out of the kindness of his heart?

 There was always some nonsensical, facetious, nonchalant response.

 And without fail, the more outspoken students would try to talk some sense into (Y/N), asking her why she put up with him, why she even tried to get to know him, why she liked him.

 But it was no use, she was drawn to him, and there was no stopping or changing it. (Y/N) was always one to latch onto the people who piqued her interest, who plucked her heartstrings, be it romantically or platonically. She found herself enraptured by his mind at first, then his looks, then the way he spoke, and more specifically... the way he spoke to her. 

 Yes, despite what the others thought, she found herself always defending him, and then, she found herself falling for him.

 And he would never in his life admit it, but he was starting to fall for her, too. 

 When the killing game first started, the others thought of him as a brat, just a nuisance. They ignored him and at worst, they told him off like the annoying kid on the playground. Back then, she would still hang out with him, ignoring his teasing jabs or even jabbing back. He found himself surprised with her comebacks and playful insults at times. 

 She was always around, and would never abandon him, a fact he most definitely took advantage of, for when the first killing happened, when Rantaro was taken from them and the killing game transformed from a hypothetical danger into a very, very real one, people started doubting and turning on each other. At that moment, he also was transformed in their mind. He was no longer a brat, he was becoming a villain and potential threat. People were choosing sides, forming cliques, trios, duos, going solo, and so on. 

 And she was always on his side.

 When it came time for their terrified little class of ultimates to enter the trial grounds for the very first time, her podium was directly across from his, as if by fate. Kokichi didn’t believe too much in fate… but he didn’t mind getting a perfect view of her all trial long. He found out quickly that he may come to regret the placement, however, as it also gave her a perfect view of him, and she was no fool like the rest of them. She would watch his expressions, catch the smallest twitch of his lip or raise of his brow. Much like Shuichi, she was one of the only ones who could study his words and actions and weed out the lies… at least most of the time. She wasn’t afraid to call him out on it, and she knew the tone of his voice better than anyone else there. She was making it terribly difficult for him to confuse others, extend the trial, stir up some fun… and he liked that about her. Someone who could keep up with him was certainly not boring… and extremely attractive.

 Even with so many people against him, dismissing both his lies and truths, verbally attacking him, she would hear him out, and by the end of it all, the innocent got out alive. The thrilling and bone-chilling trial ended with a correct verdict. Without their teamwork, even with Shuichi’s genius, it may not have been so.

 With the first trial’s conclusion, Kokichi’d made up his mind to stop simply admiring her and actually get to enjoy that not-boring personality to the fullest. That’s the most he’d give her: that she wasn’t boring, unlike the rest of them. Grabbing her hand, he whisked her away to uncover the newest research labs that Monokuma’d allowed them access to. They inspected them all top to bottom, together as a team. They eventually would do this to every unlocked location in the academy, making short work of the campus while harassing each other, badgering and bantering, hurling insults the entire time. She was the only one he couldn’t exhaust. Just when he began to think it might be a tad bit more romantic to pull some punches for her sake, he discovered he didn’t have to. She’d punch back, and just as hard.

 In fact, he liked her so much, that when his poor classmates were subjected to the horrendous Insect Meet-and-Greet event, she was personally invited by Ouma himself, and not hauled over Gonta’s gentlemanly shoulders and carried, or worse, knocked the fuck out only to wake up surrounded by bugs.

 “How charming,” she teased, rolling her eyes as he stood in the frame of her dorm room’s door.

 “Yeah, you should feel pretty special! I wasted precious energy coming down here to ask you to come!” He exhaled loudly, far too proud of himself.

 “Well, as much as I’d love to be covered in roaches and piss myself when beetles attempt to crawl into every orifice on my body, I can’t. Again, love to, truly, but-”

 “Awwww! But we hang out every night! And you’re lying! You’re never busy you dirty, rotten, lying loser! Who else hangs out with you beside me?! What else do you have to do if it doesn’t involve me? Your life’s a yawn unless I plan your daily itinerary!” He huffed, crossing his arms with a small stomp of one foot. “Gosh, I hate liars!” He pouted.

 “Pout all you want, I’m not going to your bug fest. I hate bugs.”

 “Wait ‘til Gonta hears about your very controversial opinion!” Kokichi gasped, feigning absolute shock.

 “You wouldn’t...” her eyes widened, knowing instantly that she’d fucked up. He didn’t reply, but simply smirked, an evil, plotting, crooked grin creeping across his visage. She sighed deeply, head hanging in defeat.

 “Be my date?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers temptingly. Her head shot up, an uncomfortable, flustered warmth running through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. He caught this immediately, as he caught most changes in the air, and his face twisted into an equally awkward expression for a split second before his brow furrowed and he snarled. “Hurry the fuck up, shithead! You know what I meant! Let’s go or I’m having Tarzan put your ass to sleep!” He spat, and she simply giggled, grabbing his hand before being pulled off.

 “Your date huh? I can’t think of anything I’d love more than some worms in my shoes.”

 ♡

 That morning when they awoke, Ryoma was gone, stolen away in what they assumed was either the night or the early morning. Kokichi was usually very much unfazed, desensitized to most shock and awe in life, but this time… it was different. He was upset, and visibly so, stomping around the crime scene like a child, brooding.

 It wasn’t the loss of a Ryoma, nor the gore and tragedy of the scene that had him so agitated, it was her reaction to it. (Y/N) wore her heart on her sleeve, and she wasn’t afraid to cry in front of others, so it was no surprise that she was in tears now. She’d cried over both Rantaro and Kaede’s deaths, but that was different. Kaede was a girl, and he didn’t care about (Y/N) enough back when Rantaro was killed to be jealous of her tears, but now… he was practically green.

 (Y/N) had actually been pretty close with Ryoma. Like she did with most people, she dug past Ryoma’s appearance and the story he wanted everyone to know, and what she found was a pretty amazing guy. She wasn’t as close to him as she was to Kokichi, but still…

 These weren’t tears of horror from seeing a dead body, or of witnessing a young person’s life cut short. They were tears of mourning the loss of a close friend, and Kokichi was positively boiling.

 By the time he’d managed to cool himself down while effectively hiding his meltdown from the rest of them, (Y/N) had wandered off to start the investigation and avenge her friend with Shuichi. Yeah no, that wasn’t going to happen. She was quickly swept away to start their own little search party. The two of them, the way it was supposed to be. Of course, he would never say all of these embarrassing thoughts aloud. He’d make up some stupid excuse for why she just had to come with him. But it wasn't personal, and he didn’t care about her.

 He didn’t

 He. Didn’t.

 Did he...?

 ♡

 When it came time for the second trial, Kokichi made sure to make fun of (Y/N), calling her a crybaby, mocking her “endless blubbering” and all the valuable time she wasted doing it. He tried desperately, now at war with his own heart and values, to convince himself she was nothing to him, that she was just another pea-brained opponent in this death game, that she was a source of entertainment at best, and nothing else.

 “Shut the fuck up, Miu, nobody wants to hear that gross shit! Cream your pants later!” (Y/N) spoke across the circle to the blonde exhibitionist with a scowl on her face. Miu, in response, shriveled and whined. Kokichi couldn’t help but crack a smile. That was one of the things he loved about (Y/N), how she put people in their place.

 What?! Shit, no! Not loved… I mean she was cool, but... not - his mind raced, trying to shake himself back to the place he wanted to be. Shit!

 The trial went on, and with every word she worsened the self-made conflict within him.

 “How could you say that Kaito?!” (Y/N) howled at the Ultimate Astronaut, who was taken aback by her anger. Kokichi, too, found himself taken aback. Kaito was the “good guy”, the macho action hero, the protagonist’s best friend. While many called Kaito names, dismissed his ridiculous ideas, and even told him he was plain stupid and wrong at times, no one ever truly challenged the trusted hero duo that was Shuichi and Kaito, and certainly not with such unbridled anger. “You must have no idea what it’s like to go through depression, to not see the point in living anymore! How dare you speak ill of Ryoma?! How dare you say he used to be your hero?!” She knew what it was like, those dark thoughts Ryoma must’ve been having for years.

 Kokichi watched her, like a spitfire, a firecracker. He forgot all about his decision to let her go, to stop interacting with her altogether after today, and couldn’t help being pulled in. They spent the rest of the trial working as they usually did: together, as a team. He spoke up more, and they teased each other, flirting harmlessly and carrying on.

 And the others were starting to notice…

 “Man, can’t you two save it for when you’re alone?! Damn! I can practically see you undressing each other with your eyes, bleh!” Miu gagged before letting out one of her infamous cackles. (Y/N)’s face ran hot, instinctively leaning back on her podium. Her bottom lip caught itself between her teeth, at a loss for words as she met Kokichi’s gaze.

 “Yeah right, as if! I’d love to be discussing with literally anyone else here but you guys all have the personality of dirty pond water…” Kokichi sighed defensively, looking at his nails as if Miu’s words meant nothing to him. 

 (Y/N) knew how he was, she knew harsh words and lies were his coping mechanism, but she couldn’t help the way her shoulders sunk.

 ♡

 Despite her hurting heart, when Kokichi - the shit-stirrer that he was - revealed Maki’s truth to the group after Kirumi’s execution, (Y/N) was the only one to throw herself between them, prying Maki’s hands from her best friend’s throat.

 “Fuck, now she’s out here tryna die for this asshole!” Miu crowed. “HA HA! They’re definitely fuckin’!” She held her stomach, practically in tears from her laughing fit.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” (Y/N) pushed past the crowd, tired of them, tired of the humiliation, tired of Kokichi, tired of all of it. She left the trial room, running all the way and not stopping until she was locked up in her room.

 After the public embarrassment and Kokichi’s heartless dismissal of their… complicated relationship, maybe….

Maybe now it was her turn to cut him off.

 ♡

Days passed and she refused to see him. She stayed locked up in her room at night and avoided him during the day, well... avoided him as best she could. Kokichi wasn’t one to be ignored if he didn’t want to be. He persisted, harassing and tracking her around, begging her to talk to him, to play, to prank others with him, to investigate the new research labs, but she simply pretended he wasn’t there. It hurt, it really hurt to shut him out, but to go on with him acting like she didn’t matter in public and then deciding she did in private hurt even worse. Her loyalty could only go so far. She wouldn’t allow him to mess with her heart any longer… or so she thought.

 ♡

Hours before the third trial was to commence, (Y/N) found herself outside of Korekiyo’s research lab when what looked like a walking corpse stumbled by. She cried out, running over to a dazed Kokichi, bumbling about light-headed and pale, with fresh blood running freely down his head.

 “Kokichi!” Her feelings be damned! She couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer or worse. Who knew how much blood he’d already lost? Crazed with worry, she threw his arm over her shoulder, looking around frantically wondering why no one else had noticed him yet.

 The answer was simple: no one else cared. They probably had noticed and simply written him off. (Y/N) pouted, contemplating leaving him there… she was supposed to be mad at him.

 “Ohhhhh… gah! ...Damn you, Kokichi!” How did he keep doing this? How was he worming his evil little ass into her heart again and again?! She began dragging him down the stairs and toward the dorms. The investigation would have to wait.

“(Y-Y/N)...?” Kokichi mumbled in his ditzy state. “Hoo hoo! I thought we weren’t talkin’?!” He nearly tumbled from her arms, weak and wobbly.

 “Oh, shut up, asshole!” (Y/N) growled, nearing the dormitory area and pulling him into her room.

 ♡

 “Man, that sucked!” Kokichi sat leaned against the glass of the sliding shower door in the small personal offshoot bathroom attached to her small dorm room. A cold washcloth sat covering his forehead, wetting the messy strands of his long bangs.

 “Tell me again why you didn’t just call for help once you realized how badly you were bleeding?” (Y/N) made small talk, wringing out the soiled rag she’d initially used to clean him off. He took a swig of some icy bottled water she’d provided and glowered, his bottom lip out in contemplation.

 “ ‘Cause I didn’t think anyone would come…” he spoke flatly, exhausted with the loss of blood and shittiness of it all. She froze, turning to him.

 “I’m sorry…” she sighed, replacing the washcloth on his head with some gauze that she started to gently wrap around the rather deep wound.

 “You should be! Hmpf!” He crossed his arms and she pulled on the gauze sharply, tightly constricting the oozing sore. “Shit!”

 “Don’t start, dickhead. You’re lucky I’m choosing to forgive you!” She chided. He shot her a dirty look, and for moments they sat in silence.

 “... For a moment I thought you hated me… like the rest of them,” he finally spoke up, any amount of silence torturous to his child-like psyche. She felt her heart sink.

 “... I could never.” She smiled softly, fighting off a nagging frown that threatened to present itself. Before he could make this even more awkward, she stood, taking control of the situation. “Okay, I’ll be right back, you stay right here. I don’t want you passing out again.” She took off, closing the bathroom door and sneaking away into the main room.

 Shuffling through her closet and by extension her Monokuma-provided wardrobe, she peeled off first her shirt then her uniform’s skirt, both now completely ruined by dark patches of Kokichi’s blood, her reward for carrying his sorry ass all the way here. Now in only her underwear, she reached for a replacement uniform and wandered over to her bedside table for her deodorant and some facial wipes. As she wiped the grime and sweat from the crevices of her oily face, the bathroom door slid open with an impatient force behind it.

 “I’m boooooooored-”

 “Ahh!” She screeched, rushing to cover herself up before she could even process what was happening, but the only things nearby were her comforter and intricate uniform.

 “Oh, God! Why are you naked?!” Kokichi hollered, his face turning beet red. (Y/N) pulled the comforter up and around her body, her uniform falling from the bed.

 “I told you to wait there!” Her cheeks felt engulfed in flames, the skin all over her body hot and her feathers effectively ruffled.

 “You didn’t say why! You didn’t say you were doing a strip show in here!” He retorted, covering his eyes with one arm, more for her to save face than out of his own desire.

 “Get out! Just get out!” She screamed, tears pricking her eyes.

 “But-!”

 “Now!!” Full of a genre of rage he almost never felt, he conceded, stomping out of her room without another word.

 (Y/N) fell to her bed, screaming into her pillow like nobody’s business. She felt ashamed, mortified, infuriated. Why, for once, couldn’t he just listen?! Her body was never something she was confident in or proud of, and now, to have him, the guy she had feelings for see her like that, and not only practically naked, but caught off guard… it was as more than she could handle.

 ♡

 The trial room was relatively quiet that afternoon. The usual suspects were chatting, defending themselves, accusing others. Shuichi was having a pretty smooth trial - a blessing in his eyes - with Kokichi not giving him an easier time than usual. When he did speak, it was his usual lies, with an underlying irritated tone, but he never spoke a word to (Y/N), and (Y/N) hardly spoke at all. After some time, someone addressed the elephant in the room… err, other than the murders, that is…

 “Soooo, uh…” Kaito, courageous as always, spoke out, “(Y/N), you awake over there? We could use some help to, you know, find the culprit so we don’t all bite it?” He was only somewhat gentle with his words, having already made up with her after the last trial’s argument, but anxious over the current situation. “Shuichi and I can’t handle this on our own! You usually have a lot to say!”

 “I resent that comment, Kaito, as I believe I help plenty, but yes,” Kiibo rolled his metallic eyes to the sky, ever focused on the current goal, “you do usually have more to say, (Y/N). We could really use another opinion here.”

 “Something wrong with (Y/N)?” Gonta, always concerned for his friends’ feelings inquired, brows furrowed in concern.

 “Hah!” Miu spat. “Of course something’s wrong! Haven't you noticed that little prick over there ain’t feedin’ us his bullshit nearly as much as neither?!” She pointed at Kokichi before placing a haughty hand on her hip. “He probably slipped her his little prick, and it was so tiny she was turned off for good! Probably can’t even speak, she’s so disappointed! Hella awkward!” She roared. Everyone exchanged the familiar looks of disgust or scorn that came after one of Miu’s outbursts, and as (Y/N) opened her mouth to defend them both, she was cut off.

 “More like the other way around!” Kokichi hurled Miu’s statements right back in her face, his knuckles crunching down on his podium with a vice-like grip. “After I saw her naked earlier, I was the one leaving with a softie!” He growled, his frustrations, self-loathing, and need to be in control and defend himself all culminating in these toxically destructive words.

 A few audible gasps were heard in the room, a few laughs from Monokuma and his remaining offspring, and the more mature students such as Maki and Shuichi simply sighing in exhaustion, wondering why they kept getting off track with useless information. (Y/N) felt her knees almost buckle.

 No. Not this time! She heard her mind shout at her heart, and she slammed her hands down on her podium, all embarrassment melting into pure rage.

“YOU- GOD!” An encore slam down onto the flat metal, “You FUCKING asshole! That’s not what happened you goddamn fucking LIAR, and you know it!” Her voice was hoarse with the force of it.

 “Uh oh! Struck a ner-” Miu began to speak.

 “You shut the fuck up!” (Y/N) pointed to the busty instigator before directing her venomous ire back at Kokichi, who refused to look her in the eyes. “I did everything to help you after your dumb ass fell through the fucking floor, and this is how I’m repaid?! I do everything with you and for you, and this is how you treat me?! Why do you always sit here and lie to these people about us?! Fucking shithead fucking-” she was struggling for words, holding back tears. “You tell them the truth, that I had your blood all over me from patching you up because no one else likes your sorry ass! Everyone else would’ve left you passed out on the floor or worse dead from blood loss or killed by the culprit who seems to be on a fucking spree!” She gestured wildly, talking with her hands. “You walked in on me changing my bloody clothes! It was your fault! Just like it’s your fault that you have one fr-” her voice broke, and she looked to her feet. “No friends. Fuck you… Shuichi just finish the fucking trial we all know who the culprit is.” She looked down the rest of the trial, saying nothing, hearing nothing, just a ringing in her ears.

 “This is reeeeeeal fuckin’ awkward and I hate it here,” Miu cooed, rubbing her hands together.

 ♡

 As soon as the trial was over, Kokichi, feeling the weight of his best friend’s words, searched high and low for her. The campus was huge with many places to hide, but he knew her well, and he knew her favorite spots. He checked the AV room, library, casino, her research lab, and her room first, then everywhere else, asking anyone he came across about her whereabouts.

“Dude you messed up, even by your standards,” Kaito demeaned with a righteous fist in the air.

“I think it’s completely reasonable that she would not want to speak with you,” Kiibo sighed.

“Kokichi, you probably really hurt her. Just let her be, that’s the right thing to do,” Shuichi offered guidance even to the worst of his peers any time he could.

“Why are you speaking to me?” Maki walked away.

♡

At long last, finding himself in the basement after wallowing around the school for a while, he opened the door to the AV room for some space and privacy, seeing as it was rarely used since Rantaro’s death. He gasped.

 “(Y/N)!” She turned from her position reading on the little couch, startled, and immediately turned back upon seeing the owner of the voice. He closed the door behind him, shuffling over with his tail between his legs. Quickly, before she could notice, he forced a rather convincing peppy voice. “The heck?! I already checked here!” She knew that. She’d been there earlier, and left when she heard he was making the rounds only to return later, but she didn’t say as much now. “Soooo? Whatcha readin’?” He grinned, plopping down on the floor beside her seated position on the couch. She didn’t respond, didn’t change her expression, and merely kept reading. “C’mon!!! Reading’s boring!!! Well,” he tapped his finger on his lip pensively “not always! But your taste in books is! Let’s at least go find some good shit to read together!” She had not the mental or physical energy, the want nor the need to banter with him. As far as she was concerned, this… whatever it was, was over. 

 Kokichi sighed, taking the hint to stop talking but not the hint to leave her the fuck alone. She would not physically kick him out, he knew this, and it seemed she wouldn’t do it verbally either. It was safer not to be alone, she rationalized in her mind… well, only if the group knew who was paired up and when, but he would never hurt her… physically. And she would never hurt him. And so, Kokichi resolved to sit there, just sit there and stare: at the ceiling, at her, at his thumbs. After the first thirty minutes he began to make pretend snow angels on the ground with his arms and legs flopping together and apart. He lapped around the room a few times, looked through the DVD options, sat with her on the couch, moved closer, then further, then closer, back and forth trying to get some reaction. Usually he could at least annoy someone into paying attention to him. Even negative attention was still attention. She was never like this with him. This was bad… he could feel his selfish little heart ache.

 An hour passed, and then another. She’d picked up a sketch pad she’d stored in the couch cushions, doodled, changed books, and now was reading again. He’d begun running his fingers up and down her thigh, making explosion and car noises when he hit her knee. And finally, he spoke.

 “You know, you’re super brave to be down here alone, you know... before I got here I mean… or at all really. Place is spooky… haunted since Rantaro got murked. No one comes down here but you. Surprised you’re down here… but I guess you always are.” He could feel the stone wall she’d put up between them. “You know, it kinda sucks, that we lost Rantaro…”

 “...and Ryoma, and Tenko, and Kirumi, Angie, Kiyo, Kaede…” she spoke up, irritated by his flippance. “Don’t forget them like they don’t matter.” He twiddled his thumbs in response.

 “At least you didn’t die…” he tapped on the back of the book you were reading, making the pages shake before her eyes.

 “Like you’d care if I did,” she replied without hesitation.

 “I woooooould,” he pulled at her sleeve like a toddler aching to be picked up.

 “I’m ugly. I’m fat and hideous and a turn off and just disgusting, right? So who cares if I die?” She spoke like she was reciting a grocery list: monotone, uninterested.

 “Well… I can still care about ugly people…” he batted his eyelashes innocently. The look she shot him told him she was not in the mode for jokes. “B-but, you’re not ugly! You’re way hotter than Maki or Miu or any other hag here! I just said all that stuff to catch Miu off guard! It was all a lie!” He was getting nervous now, sitting upright beside her on the couch.

 “That is not an apology,” she rebuked.

 “Aww come on, forgive me!” He collapsed, resting face down on her stomach and stretching his body out on the cushions behind him. “You’re my best friend…” His words were muffled, but she could make them out still. “You’re more than that…” her ears perked up, and she began to hear sniveling. Slowly, a wetness began to seep through her shirt onto her abdomen.

 Was he…?

 She placed a single hand on the back of his black locks and ran her fingers through the messy mop. The other placed the book on the floor then joined the other. For a few peaceful moments they sat silently while she stroked his scalp and played with the waves.

 “I’m sorry…” an apology came through his sniffles, but he would not lift his head up, never in a million years would someone see him cry genuine tears.

 “I can’t hear you,” she lied, something she learned from him. A devious smirk he could not see crossed her lips.

 “Yes you can!” Muffled frustration vibrated her tummy.

 “Well since I can’t hear you anyway this conversation is ov-”

 His head shot upward, a snarl crossing his red, moist, puffy face. He pulled his knees up, leaning forward with all his weight

And pressed his lips deeply into hers.

[diary-of-deadweight]

Masterlist.

Fic Idea by @leximills666

“Anything new?” You asked, sitting yourself in the spare chair between Darcy and Jimmy, who handed you your cup of caffeine. “If you consider Pietro teaching the twins how to stream snacks from the kitchen then no.” Jimmy spoke up, his eyes glued intently to the television for any missable details that could play in your favour. “But Jimmy did almost spill coffee onto Director Hayward.” Darcy shoots the mortified male a amused look as you slapped a hand onto his shoulder, trying so hard not to burst out laughing at the mental image that gave you an good amount of serotonin, “I’d pay good money to see you actually do it, serves him right for calling my friend a terroist.”

It was common knowledge that you and the Maximoff twins were close friends after their introduction to the Avengers as you were gaining some semblance of understanding of your teleportation powers and it’s limitations before trauma bonding with the pair over being Hydras successful lab rats. So when Hayward slagged off Wanda it took Darcy, Monica and Jimmy to hold you back from ending his whole career John Wick style. The bastard got real lucky but you couldn’t promise that the next time was going to have him leave a briefing room without a few bruises and even bruised ego. Fuelled by the frustration of recent events that left you feeling helpless as you were forced to watch the sitcom shenanigans Wanda and her dead yet somehow not dead husband and her adorable twins get into that only made it feel like a horror after they end, leaving you with more questions then answers that weighed on your darkening eyebags and breaking every last ounce of paitience you once thought you had along with the sleepless nights of theorising that went nowhere without someone bringing up a flaw made keeping your powers in check a little more difficult that you’d scare Jimmy, Darcy and Monica on a plethora of occasions.

You just wanted to get them out and be done with Hayward’s suspicious ass. I mean it was clear as fuck that vision was in bits and pieces in the video servalence footage. What was he doing with him? Why did he wait this long to show everyone something that would’ve benefited the opertation from the beginning? THAT was suspicious behaviour and yet no one was gonna question it?! Gotta love corruption I guess. “Anything new Dr Lewis?” Speaking of corruption, here it was in human form standing behind you there with his ‘stick up his ass’ attitude; it really pissed you off that you’d love nothing more then to slam your fist into him punchable bitch face until it’s unreagnisable. Sensing your hatred and thirst for violence, Jimmy places a hand on your shoulder and gave you a stern look that read ‘no...not yet at least.’ Sighing you gave him a passable smile before talking a long sip of coffee, making sure to slurp annoyingly loud as possible when Hayward looked at you unamused that you couldn’t help retaliating with a tight lipped smile and the middle finger. Darcy had to cover her mouth from bursting out in hysterics while Jimmy sighed like a disappointed parent but you knew he was trying to hold it together internally as Darcy was. “Nothing worth reporting back on sir.”

Hayward didn’t say anything other then let out a grunt then making his way out of the room not without a snarky comment from you of course, “don’t let the door hit you on the way out directior” to which he replied with as swiftly “appreciate the concern (l/n).” Making sure he was out of sight Darcy burst out laughing so hard she had to lean against you for support while Jimmy allowed himself to chuckle a little had your chest warming up, erasing any forms of pent up frustration like magic. Spending time with these beautiful bastards were what made the sleepless nights worth it in your opinion, knowing that you weren’t alone in wanting to help Wanda instead of harm. “What’re they laughing at?” Monica asked, a dazzling smile adorned her face as she nursed her own coffee between her hands; You shrugged nonchalantly looking back at her with fake innocence that told her more then she needed to know. “The sleep deprivation must’ve caught up to them.”

“Shut up!” The dark haired woman nudged you in the side, almost spilling your coffee in the process, “(y/n) threw some serious sass at Hayward earlier, should’ve been there Monica it was hysterical.” Monica only laughed in response as she patted you on the back, proud that she wasn’t the only one sick of Hayward’s shit, “I guess I should’ve. Would make a great memeory to share in the future” she sat in the chair next to Darcy turning her attention to the screen where Pietro was attempting to be slick and nab a snack while Wanda was cutting onions unflinchingly, only to slip and land flat on his back scaring Wanda as the unseen audicene laughed. Stupid and as cheesy as it was it didn’t fail to make you crack a smile while reminiscing of a similar memory that stuck out like a sore thumb. You and Pietro thought it be a great idea to compete against one another in order to see who’d get to the kitchen first, spoiler: he won by a narrow margin, that still had you calling him a cheat to this day, and decided to hide from you behind the counter like the little shit that he was. Long story short you entered the kitchen thinking you won, he jumps out scaring you so badly that you end up teleporting ontop of him.

“Hey (y/n).” Darcy’s voice brought you back from your thoughts and to reality. The thought of teleporting in there and getting your friends out has been a recurring one though your required to feel someone’s energy signature and with how well getting inside visuals went the likelihood of you sensing Pietro or Wanda for that case wasn’t going to be a piece of cake if it was you’d already have done it by now. “Yes Dr Lewis?” “Think you could-“ teleport inside? Trust me I’ve thought the same thing but the barrier is a major issue standing in my way of actually getting inside and out without trouble.” Despite all odds that didn’t stop you from wanting to give it a try if it meant trapping yourself also you wouldn’t hesitate to do it in a heartbeat. So it took your friends aback when you abruptly stood up from your chair, shoving your coffee into Jimmy’s hands and made a mad dash out of the room and down the corridor unapologetically shoving everyone aside with Monica and Darcy in hot pursuit while poor Jimmy placed your coffee down by your chair and bolted in hopes of catching up but when he did you were already teleported into the barrier that was dragging you into Westview before their eyes.

“(Y/n)!!!!” Monica yelled as she ran towards you, hand outstretched to pull you back but only grasped air when you disappeared form sight, she was so close to saving you but was too late non the less. Darcy and Jimmy shared a look as they came to her side as the feeling of helplessness became more evident within them. “Come on Monica, we can probably catch them on the television.” She said solemnly as they walked back to base.

-meanwhile in Westview-

Scared and confused you found yourself wandering aimlessly down the streets in your new attire of plaid shirt, leather jacket, high waisted trousers, converse and a locket that help a picture of you, Pietro and Wanda inside before finding yourself on your ass looking up at a silver haired male in a black leather jacket, Hawaiian shirt, jeans and worn down sneakers.

“What the-,” his chocolate eyes widened as they landed on your face, “(y/n)?! Is that you?!” His voice was just as you remembered it you smirked, outstreching a hand in a silent jesture to be helped up, “you think I’d let you wander too far?” He chuckled, hauling you off the floor and into his arms, face buried into his neck savouring the brunt sugar smell you’ve missed so much. “I should’ve guessed you’d be several steps behind.” He whispered into your hair, placing a kiss there, immediately comforting you before pulling away to drag you down the street without explanation towards a familiar house that belonged to the auburn haired female who was currently cleaning up after her kids when she saw Pietro, giving him that parental stare. “You’re a bad influence on my kids Pietro, you’re lucky to be my brother or I would’ve blasted across town by now.”

‘Well that ain’t foreboding at all.’ You thought to yourself as you took in the fact that you were finally reunited with the people who meant the most to you, you couldn’t remember when you got here nor how other then the fact that you wanted to visit Pietro and Wanda and that you could teleport. “If it’s any constellation, look who finally decided to pay us a visit.” The silver haired male stepped aside to reveal you in all your unsure glory as Wanda’s eyes widened like they did with Pietro but she didn’t any waste time in running towards you and holding your face in her hands, tears lining her eyes and you couldn’t help but lean into her warmth. “(Y/n)?” She whispered softly. “Hi Wanda, sorry I’m late.” You said as Pietro held both of you close to his chest protectively while Wanda laughed weakly her hand dropping you grasp yours tightly, “all is forgiven now that we’re together...as we should be.” Her eyes flashed red for a split second.

“Yeah, together at last.”

[cosmic-goddess-leo]

Familiar Face - Ukai Keishin x Reader

Summary: Ukai catches up with an old friend who has returned to Miyagi after being gone for 7 years.

Word Count: 4469

Warnings: SMUT. If you are uncomfortable with sex then DON’T READ THIS.

Author’s Note: I like dropping hints that I like older men... I like older men. Also, special thanks to the Haiku Writer’s Chat for helping me with this fic! 

Tagging: @cmllnc​ @haik-whoo​

“And look at this picture! He totally went bald, it’s only been a couple years and he’s completely bald!”

Ukai sighed deeply, trying to tune out Shimada’s and Takinoue’s gossip as he flipped through a magazine at the store counter. 

Shimada had recently made it a point to friend all their old classmates on FaceBook, claiming it would be good to ‘get in touch’ with everyone and set up a reunion.

Ukai was sure it was an attempt to rekindle old flames with their female classmates.

“Why haven’t you joined FaceBook, Ukai? If you join and you friend me, I’ll only be a couple more people away from having our whole class on here!” Shimada exclaimed, continuing to scroll through his feed while Takinoue looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t need a bunch of strangers to know my business,” Ukai replied, not bothering to glance up at them from his magazine, “If they matter, they’ll already know.”

Shimada huffed before returning to his recommended friends list.

A chirp from the phone followed by an excited gasp caused Ukai to give another irritated sigh.

“(Y/n) friended me back!” Shimada said excitedly.

Ukai finally looked up from the reading material, resisting the urge to completely set it aside and attempt to snatch the phone from his friend’s hands.

“Woah! She looks totally different- she messaged me!”

Well, that was enough for Ukai to toss the magazine aside and try to get a look at the phone.

“What? What’d she say?”

“Oh nowww you’re interested!” Shimada huffed, shielding the phone from Ukai’s eyes. “She said she’s moving back to town for work. She wants to meet for dinner and drinks tonight.”

Ukai would never admit to it, but that made his heart drop. He hadn’t seen or heard from (Y/n) in 7 years.

She decided to go to college in the city, meaning she left everything behind. Including Ukai. After being best friends since middle school (and boyfriend and girlfriend their third year of high school) she just left.

It wasn’t like Ukai didn’t understand. He totally understood why she wanted to go. That didn’t make their breakup any easier though.

“Lucky for you, she’s asking me to invite you and Takinoue.” Shimada smiled, typing out his reply to her.

“What are you saying?” Ukai asked, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

“That we’ll see her at 7 at our old spot.” Shimada replied, sending the message before any of them could object. Not that Ukai would.

He would have to haul ass back to the shop from Karasuno, get changed into something presentable, then haul ass to the restaurant. But he would do it if it meant seeing (Y/n) again.

And that is exactly what he did.

He rushed his last words to the team before sprinting out of the gym, leaving the the boys confused and Takeda scrambling to come up with words of encouragement on the spot.

Once Ukai arrived at the restaurant, he was showered and dressed in jeans and a casual button-up. Something to show he tried but not really.

Shimada and Takinoue had seated themselves to face the door, meaning (Y/n)’s back was to Ukai when he arrived. Once the two started to wave Ukai over, (Y/n) turned to look at him and smiled.

Ukai was suddenly 18 years old again; palms sweaty and knees weak from that familiar smile.

“Keishin!” (Y/n) got up from her spot and leapt into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace he wasn’t expecting. “It’s been so long!”

He quickly returned the hug, lifting her off her tip-toes for a moment. “Too long.”

Ukai set her back down, pulling out of the embrace and repressing the blush he had felt creeping up his neck.

The two sat down, all while (Y/n) continued staring at Ukai. “You look so different, look at this hair!” she beamed, lightly tugging on a blonde strand of hair. “You got your ears pierced too!”

“Yeah,” Ukai smiled, scratching at the back of his head, “I went a little overboard after graduation but I think it fits me...” More like after you left...

“Well I love it. It definitely fits you.” (Y/n) smiled, her gaze lingering on him before turning back to her drink.

“Well, let’s toast! To rekindling old friendships!” Takinoue held up his glass, clinking it against the other three.

Ukai watched (Y/n) from the corner of his eye as he sipped at his beer. It was almost room temperature since they ordered it before he arrived, but his thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

It would be way too forward to tell her how beautiful she had gotten in the years she was gone. When they finally got together their third year, she was a budding flower, still beautiful in her own right as a young woman. Now she was fully bloomed, radiant and flawless. A woman.

Rather than spilling his guts to her about how much he missed her and how these past 7 years were agony, Ukai spent the night laughing about old times while also catching up on more recent events.

“You’re really coaching at Karasuno huh? And to think you gave your gramps all that shit for sticking around like that...” (Y/n) smirked, downing the last of her drink.

“This is different, they really needed it.” Ukai smiled, tapping his fingers against his glass.

“You guys really needed it too, though.” she quipped, earning a laugh from Shimada and Takinoue.

“And what about you? You said you came back for work. What work?” Ukai asked, lightly nudging (Y/n) with his elbow.

(Y/n) shrugged, “I’m an athletic trainer and physical therapist. I’m interviewing for a job tomorrow. That’s all I’ll say about it because I don’t want to jinx it.” There was a coy smile playing on her lips. Either it was the alcohol or she was up to something.

“Well good lu-” Ukai was cut off by (Y/n) covering his mouth.

“No! You’ll jinx it!” (Y/n) giggled, keeping her palm firmly against his lips.

Ukai responded in kind by dragging his tongue along her palm, earning a squeal of disgust from (Y/n) as she pulled back.

“Sick! Keep your bodily fluids to yourself!” (Y/n) groaned, wiping her hand on his shirt.

“Need I remind you there was a time when you didn’t mind my spit.” Ukai smirked, looking away from her to hide his slight blush.

“Oh I don’t need any reminders there.” (Y/n) replied, rolling her eyes at him.

“I can’t believe you two dated.” Takinoue sighed, resting his chin on his palm.

Ukai sent a small glare his way.

“N-not as in you two weren’t a good fit! It’s more like... we all kind of expected you both to get together, when it finally happened it was like a dream!” he explained.

“He’s right,” Shimada added, slowly nodding. “No more tip-toeing around each other. No more cat and mouse. Just boom! Ukai and (Y/n)! They’re like an elephant! When they walk into a room it’s like, okay! They’re in there!”

Now there was no hiding the blush on Ukai’s cheeks. He looked down at (Y/n), who had started shuffling in her spot.

��O-okay, judging from his volume I think it’s time to call it a night.” (Y/n) said, checking her phone for the time. “I need to get to bed soonish anyway. Interview’s in the afternoon but I still want time to get ready.”

“I can get him home.” Takinoue said, dropping cash on the table and helping Shimada up. “We’ll catch up again soon.”

Ukai and (Y/n) bid them goodbye as they began fishing for their wallets.

“You back home home? Or have you found a place?” Ukai asked, helping (Y/n) onto her feet once she paid her fair share of the tab.

She shook her head, “Im in a hotel kinda nearby. Thought it would be weird going back to my parents’ place as a 26 year old...”

Ukai chuckled, following her out of the restaurant. “I don’t blame you.”

The two went silent for a bit, shuffling their feet and hesitating to make eye contact.

“...Shimada never could hold his liquor, huh?” Ukai asked, earning a giggle from (Y/n).

“You’d think after all these years he would have learned...” she mused, running a hand through her hair.

They both went silent again until (Y/n) spoke up, her tone conveying an inkling of hope.

“I have to get up early and all but even then... I’m still kind of thirsty...”

Ukai gave her a small smile, “We can get some beer on the house from the shop...?”

(Y/n) smiled back, “I’d like that.”

He offered (Y/n) his arm, hiding his excitement when she linked their arms and began walking with him in the direction of the shop.

He was sure to lock the door behind them, keeping the lights off so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Even though the shop sign read ‘closed,’ some of the Karasuno boys would still try to get in if the lights were on.

“Do we get to drink in the dark the rest of the night?” (Y/n) asked, taking a swig of her drink.

“We can go upstairs... sit in the living room and talk.” Ukai offered, his palms getting sweaty all over again.

Once (Y/n) accepted, he lead her up the staircase in the back of the store, unlocking the door to his flat and letting her enter first.

“Ooooo, bachelor pad.” She teased, looking around the room. It was surprisingly clean, except for the clothes trail towards the shower he had left earlier.

“Nothing to see here!” he shouted, swiping his boxer briefs from off the floor and throwing them into his bedroom.

(Y/n) giggled, turning away to look at the wall decorations he had strung up. Some movie posters, one karasuno poster, and a couple pictures of their friend group in high school.

She paused at a particular photo of the two of them at graduation, smiling fondly at the memory. “Bring a lot of women up here?”

Ukai had been gathering the rest of the clothes on the floor, pausing at the question. “None that are really noteworthy...”

(Y/n) hummed to herself, tearing her eyes away from the picture and making her way to the couch.

“It’s kind of awkward since the town is small... so I’ve kinda stopped doing that.” he explained, retrieving his beer and sitting beside her.

“Kinda?” she asked.

Ukai shrugged, “I’m only human... I slip up and break my own rules every now and then.”

(Y/n) smiled slightly, shaking her head and taking another drink. “Some things never change...” she mumbled against the bottle.

He kept his eyes on her the whole time, tapping his thumb against the glass. “Did you...?”

(Y/n) bit her lip, unwilling to meet his gaze before taking a big swig of her drink.

“You seemed so sure you would before you left... but it still feels like the same (Y/n).” Ukai continued, slowly looking her over.

“Is it bad if I didn’t change?” she asked, staring at a random corner of the room.

“Not at all...” Ukai paused, unable to hold back a sigh before continuing. “It just makes me wonder... why break up if the only thing that really changed was your zip code...”

“I mean- I did change. I grew up, you did too. I just didn’t want it to end badly because of those growing pains.” (Y/n) explained. “Did... did you think it ended badly?”

“N-no, no I didn’t. I’m grateful it ended the way it did, rather than you falling out of love with me or something... Not that you still love me now- I’m just- Ugh! Bottom line, I’m fine with how things happened. It just... stings...”

(Y/n) chewed at her lip, something Ukai knew she did when she was anxious. He just made things super weird, all cuz he wanted closure.

“Do you have any regrets?” she suddenly asked, finally looking up at him.

Ukai sighed softly, slowly nodding his head. “Yeah... just one... I didn’t go after you.... Do you...?”

(Y/n) chuckled softly, turning back to her bottle. “Yeah actually... I didn’t stay with you.”

The two went silent. Ukai hadn’t meant for the conversation to take this turn. He wasn’t even drunk and he was still spilling his guts over a breakup from 7 years ago.

(Y/n) downed the last of her beer, setting the empty bottle on the coffee table before fully facing Ukai. “Can we try something?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, setting his bottle on the coffee table before turning to her.

“You’re going to kiss me. And if we don’t feel anything, I’ll leave and act like it never happened...” (Y/n) explained. It was a simple set of instructions but it had Ukai’s heart ready to jump out of his chest.

“And if we feel something?” He asked.

(Y/n) shrugged. “I dunno. But I won’t leave...”

Ukai took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily to regain his confidence.

“Okay,” he opened his eyes, “I’m ready.”

“You’re kissing your ex-girlfriend, not disarming a bomb.” (Y/n) quipped. 

“Well, now I have to take another deep breath because you broke my concentration.” Ukai complained.

“Will you just hurry-”

Without warning, Ukai cupped (Y/n)’s cheeks and pulled her into a gentle, passionate kiss.

He told himself to keep it simple, but 7 years of repressed feelings suddenly began pouring out into this one intimate moment. Before he knew it, (Y/n) was kissing him back, hands clinging to his shirt and pulling him closer.

(Y/n) brushed her tongue over his lip, earning a moan from Ukai as he pulled her body flush against his.

(Y/n) pulled away for a moment, lightly pushed Ukai to lay on his back, then moved between his legs and flush against him.

Ukai breathlessly pulled her into another kiss, sighing shakily against her lips as his hands roamed her body. He was beginning to regret wearing jeans instead of his usual sweat pants.

(Y/n) tossed his hairband aside and began running her fingers through his hair, causing another moan to bubble from his lips.

No other women made him moan like this. But this was (Y/n). (Y/n) who knew him inside and out. (Y/n) who he knew inside and out.

He brushed his hand through her hair, lightly gripping it and pulling her away, tugging her head to the side and dragging his tongue up her throat. She moaned shakily, gripping his shirt so tight that Ukai thought the buttons might pop off.

The sudden feeling of (Y/n) grinding her hips against Ukai’s had him tugging her hair harder and biting her neck.

(Y/n) whined and began shakily unbuttoning his shirt.

He parted from her neck and moved her to sit up, taking off the button-up and his undershirt.

(Y/n) had gotten busy trying to take off her dress, she almost didn’t notice Ukai’s shirtless body.

She went hot, looking over his amazing physique. He looked nothing like this when they were last together. Something special caught her eye, causing her to smirk once her dress was tossed aside.

“When’d you do this?” she asked, brushing her fingers over one of his pierced nipples. Ukai shivered at her touch. He retaliated by reaching around her and unclasping her bra, tossing it away.

“I told you I went overboard after you left...” he mumbled, kneading her breasts.

(Y/n) moaned shakily, peppering needy kisses against Ukai’s lips. “Take me right here...” she murmured between kisses.

Ukai suddenly flipped their position, getting (Y/n) on her back and straddling her. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, beginning to take a condom out until (Y/n) stopped him.

“Nuh-uh, I’m on the pill. I’m clean. I want you raw.” She panted, hastily unbuckling his belt.

This was a dream come true.

Ukai threw the wallet aside and tugged off (Y/n)’s panties, stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans before tugging his pants halfway down his thighs.

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. She gripped the couch cushion as he rubbed his tip against her slit, sighing shakily.

“Maybe I should have stretched first...” (Y/n) breathed, hips twitching as Ukai eased the tip inside of her.

“You’ll get a good stretch from this, angel...” he grunted, her old nickname adding onto the pleasure they were both experiencing.

Ukai eased in deeper, his hips stuttering as (Y/n) dug her nails into his arms. His teeth dug into his bottom lip and his eyes screwed shut. They moaned in unison once he was fully inside of her.

“Kei, if you don’t move...” (Y/n) whined, rolling her hips to gain some friction.

Ukai moaned shakily, slowly rocking his hips against her’s. “Y-you’re as tight as the first time we fucked...”

(Y/n) gasped as Ukai suddenly hit her g-spot, prompting him to thrust faster into that spot he instantly recognized. “Has my angel been waiting for me this whole time?”

She moaned louder, dragging her nails down his arms, earning a symphony of moans from him as well.

Ukai hooked one arm under her leg, spreading her legs wider as he continued plowing into her. He struggled to keep himself propped up with the other hand, shaking hard as (Y/n) began to tighten around him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, growling as she stared into his eyes and clawed at his shoulders.

“Keiiii pleaaaase!” she shrieked, squirming against him.

“T-that’s it, angel. Let me have it...” he groaned, brushing his lips against hers.

(Y/n) screamed shakily, burying her face in Ukai’s neck and biting him.

Ukai came after a few more thrusts, emptying himself inside her while he moaned wildly.

They both panted hard, a wave of euphoria crashing into them in the wake of their orgasms.

(Y/n) tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him into a sloppy kiss.

Once they parted, he stood straight and took off his jeans, standing completely bare in front of (Y/n).

She was slightly confused until he lifted her off the couch and took her to his bedroom. He carefully laid her down before flopping onto the bed beside her.

(Y/n) let out a tired giggle, looking Ukai over as he still struggled to catch his breath.

“I think I have a cramp in my leg...” he groaned.

“Want me to rub it out?” (Y/n) teased, reaching towards him and brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

He slowly shook his head before taking her hand and kissing the tip of her middle finger. “Anymore friction from you and my soul will ascend into heaven.”

(Y/n) sighed softly, relaxing into the mattress and closing her eyes. “I shouldn’t stay... I have my job interview tomorrow.”

Ukai moved closer to her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “I have to open the shop up early tomorrow. I’ll wake you up so you have time to go to your hotel and make sure you’re ready... okay?”

(Y/n) slowly nodded, leaning up and kissing him once more.

“I guess this means we still feel something, huh?” Ukai asked, pulling the covers over their bodies.

“I guess so...” (Y/n) smiled, gently hugging his waist. “Maybe you can take me on a proper date tomorrow night... then it can be official.”

He chuckled softly, the need to sleep overcoming his need to say something clever. “Goodnight, (Y/n)...”

“Goodnight, Kei...”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day went by like a breeze for Ukai. He got one last kiss from (Y/n) when she left that morning, along with her new phone number. She didn’t even ask for her panties back.

Ukai wore a hoodie that easily covered the bite mark (Y/n) left him, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with stupid questions from the boys at Karasuno.

Speaking of the boys, they were responding well to the new drills he and Takeda drew up. They were already showing improvement with their spikes and their serves. It was a perfect day.

Ukai was in the process of taking a swig of water when he heard the gym doors open, followed by a “HEADS UP!” from Noya.

The sound of a volleyball smacking against someone’s arm’s made the gym go silent. Hinata caught the stray ball, looking helplessly at Ukai.

The coach turned to see who had entered and blocked the ball.

He snorted, keeled over, and spat up the water he had been drinking onto the gym floor.

Takeda began slapping his back to help clear his airway as the school’s principal thanked (Y/n) profusely.

Ukai figured she had sidestepped in front of the principal and blocked the ball from smacking him right in the family jewels. She never joined Karasuno’s girl’s team, but she had helped Ukai practice enough to know how to receive a ball.

The principal cleared his throat, regained his composure, and led (Y/n) towards the coaches.

Ukai stood up straight, still struggling to breath as he looked her over. She was wearing a button-up shirt, a pencil skirt and heels. She was like an image out of a sexy librarian fantasy... only this was the real world. This was really happening.

“Coach Ukai, Coach Takeda, I would like to introduce your new athletic trainer!” the principal announced, beaming as Takeda and (Y/n) bowed to one another.

“It’s wonderful to meet-”

“What are you doing here?” Ukai coughed, interrupting Takeda.

(Y/n) smiled bashfully, giving him a small shrug of her shoulders. “I told you at dinner I didn’t want to say more about the job... I coulda jinxed it...”

“Ohhh!” the principal exclaimed, “I don’t know how I didn’t realize you two were classmates! What a wonderful reunion!”

“I did tell you we needed a trainer to come in and help before nationals...” Takeda murmured, nervously shifting where he stood.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Her first official day is tomorrow.” The principal left with that, Ukai realizing how silent the gym was as his footsteps got further and further away.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?! Get back to your drills!” he shouted at the team.

The boys got their asses back in gear, stealing glances at the coaches and their new trainer every now and then.

“I’m going to... go... over there...” Takeda stuttered. He quickly bowed to (Y/n) before running to the opposite side of the court.

“Are you really that upset?” (Y/n) frowned.

Ukai sighed softly rubbing at his temples. “No... I just really wish you told me...”

“Well... I didn’t exactly plan on last night-” (Y/n) paused when she noticed one of the boys, Hinata, slowly sidestepping closer to them to listen in on what was happening.

“Get back to spiking or you’ll be on towel duty for a month.” Ukai grumbled.

Hinata squeaked before running back onto the court.

“I didn’t plan on last night to go the way it did. I thought we’d get dinner, go our separate ways, then surprise! I’m here and we get to live out some slowburn fantasy where we fall for each other again.” (Y/n) explained, keeping her voice low.

Ukai sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

He felt (Y/n) slowly place her hand on his arm, wandering until she took his hand in hers. “Please just give me a chance? I want to help you get them to nationals...”

He slowly opens his eyes, groaning at the way she batted her eyes at him.

“Fine.”

(Y/n) smiled wide and hugged him tightly, snickering when he completely flushed red. “This is gonna be so much fun... now introduce me to the team.”

Once their current drill was complete, Ukai called the team over, noting the way the boys eyed (Y/n) with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Alright, this is (Y/n). She’s an old friend and she’s going to be our new athletic trainer. She’s gonna do everything in her power to whip you into shape for nationals. So do as she says and we won’t have any issues.”

A couple of the boys raised their hands high.

“Wow, there are questions about that... Tanaka.” Ukai pointed at the redhead.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he asked, no hesitation or shame in his words.

Ukai tensed. (Y/n) snickered.

“N-Not relevant!”

“Is she our Coach Mom now?” Noya piped up.

“No!”

“So you're not our Coach Dad?” Noya asked.

“Of course not!”

“I have a question not having to do with Coach Mom at all!” Hinata shouted.

Ukai breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. What’s your question?”

“What’s on your neck?”

Ukai went completely red again as (Y/n) tried to stifle her laughter.

“Is that from Coach Mom?” Noya shrieked, grabbing Asahi’s arms and shaking him wildly. “That’s from Coach Mom!”

“It totally is from Coach Mom...” Suga mumbled.

“Don’t encourage them.” Daichi said, nudging Suga.

“THE NEXT PERSON TO CALL (Y/n) COACH MOM HAS TO RUN 50 LAPS!” Ukai yelled, finally silencing the boys.

“L-lets just get back to our drills!” Takeda shouted, ushering the boys back onto the court.

“I just wanted to know what was on his neck...” Hinata pouted, “Did Coach Mom really do that-”

“50 laps Hinata!”

“Awwww! Do I have to, Coach Mom?!”

“100 LAPS!”

“No!” (Y/n) barked, lightly pushing Ukai before turning to Hinata. “That’s absurd, you don’t have to.”

Ukai adjusted his hoodie, glancing at (Y/n) as she crossed her arms. “You’d think you’d be a little less tense after last night-”

“Please just go home.” Ukai sighed, taking the keys to his flat from his pocket and placing them in her hand.

She blinked down at the keys in shock.

“I don’t want you in some hotel room when I have a perfectly good bed at my place... I’ll help you get your things from the hotel once practice is over...” He explained, scratching at the back of his head while keeping his eyes on the team.

“Guess you are my boyfriend then...” (Y/n) smiled. She quickly pressed a kiss to Ukai’s cheek before turning on her heels to leave. “See you at home, Coach Dad...”

Ukai turned to watch her leave, a small smile on his face. It wasn’t such a bad nickname when she said it...

[abarbaricyalp]

@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 1: Urban Legends

High School AU, spooky ghost stories and dead girl’s revenge

Rated G: mild cursing (AO3 link in the notes)

Haunt me, baby, one more time

“Legend says that every 17 years, the body of Lyla Ray comes back from the dead, looking for her next victim,” Sam whispered severely. Bucky’s attention was rapt on him, unblinking and fully engaged. “She preys on beautiful young men, the kind that killed her all those years ago. And she cuts their hearts out to eat it.”

“That’s a little on the nose,” Bucky breathed back, but his gaze didn’t waver. The bottom of Sam’s truck bed was starting to get uncomfortable, even with all the blankets he and Bucky had piled into it and Louisiana was hot on October 28th, so the blanket thrown over their heads--turning them into one lopsided ghost to anyone who happened to drive by and look--was getting unbearable.

“Do you want to go see where her body is?” Sam asked.

“I thought you couldn't bury people so close to the coast.”

“She’s buried,” Sam assured. “So far down underground so that maybe she won’t dig her way out.”

Bucky shivered involuntarily and Sam grinned. “How long ago was her last supposed appearance?” he asked.

“A year after we were born.”

Bucky let out a breath of realization. “I see. So she’s supposed to come back tonight,” he said.

“Exactly. If we hurry, we can see her come up.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted the full Louisiana experience while you were stuck down here?”

“Did I say stuck?” Bucky asked, reaching over to cup Sam’s cheek before pulling him into a slow kiss. “I’m sure I didn’t mean stuck.”

Sam grinned against his mouth, a little thankful for the blanket over them since they were parked just off the road. Then again, Halloween always made him feel invincible, so he probably would’ve let Bucky kiss him with or without the blanket.

He let Bucky distract him up until Bucky tried to lay him out over the blankets--later, definitely later--at which point he pushed him back. “Come on, you have to come with me,” he said, pulling on Bucky’s hands.

Bucky sighed like it was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe it was. Bucky was the biggest skeptic Sam had ever met. Most kids new to the state were wide eyed and excited about the hundred billion ghost stories that permeated every street and building. Not Bucky Barnes though. He couldn’t be tasked to believe in any story about any monster or ghost or legend. Nothing phased him. Not any of the ghost tours Sam had dragged him to, not the haunted houses that had crept up in the weeks leading to Halloween, not the voodoo or tarot shops that always sent a thrill of excitement down Sam’s spine. Bucky just didn’t buy any of it, which made him even more enchanting to Sam’s stupid heart. Opposites attract and all that.

Bucky stood up, knocking the blanket away, and hauled Sam with him before climbing over the edge of the truck and waiting for Sam to do the same. By design, they were already pretty near the cemetery and it was getting dark, so Sam let his fingers graze over the back of Bucky’s hand until Bucky tangled them together.

“Y’know,” Sam said after a few steps, “you’re just like a Layla Ray victim.”

“Am I?” Bucky amused. “How do you reckon?”

“Oh come on. You’re a total pretty boy. Total heartbreaker.”

“Samuel Thomas, have I broken your heart?” Bucky asked in mock affront.

The thought of this thing between them maybe not being permanent broke Sam’s heart every damn day, actually. And Bucky being adamant about going back to New York for college was devastating too. “Not me. But I know you got a string behind you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked their hands against Sam’s thigh softly. “You’re terrible to me. You’re like her victims. You’re breakin’ my heart right now as we speak. And with eyes like that? A mouth like that? Total pretty boy too.”

Sam laughed and leaned into Bucky’s side. “Now you’re just flattering.”

“Nah, it’s true. I’ve heard the girls at school talk about you. All of Sarah’s friends are obsessed with you. Becca thinks you’re the cutest.”

“They’re freshmen. They hardly have taste yet. Sarah’s friends are just happy I pay attention to them in the hallways.”

“Well, Sarah’s friends like you a lot more than Becca’s friends have ever liked me,” Bucky said. “Which has to count for something.”

“Nah, ‘cause you’re an asshole. I totally get where those girls are coming from.”

Bucky glanced down the street before hauling Sam into a kiss that sent Sam’s head spinning through the dark night. “You think assholes can kiss like that, Wilson?”

Sam still couldn’t think but he nodded anyway because being contrary to Bucky was second nature.

Bucky snorted and let go of Sam’s waist. “Then I’m an asshole who likes you a whole lot. Even if you’re, like, super mean to me all the time.”

“You like it,” Sam said and hurried to catch back up to Bucky. “Here, it’s just up ahead.”

“Yeah, I might’ve missed the gate,” Bucky agreed sarcastically.

“We can be a little extravagant,” Sam said, looking up at the metal monstrosity, a remnant of the past, holding all the secrets of the past too. “Gotta keep the ghosts inside, y’know.”

“From what I hear, you’re not very good at that part.”

Maybe not. “Layla Ray isn’t a ghost, she’s a Revenant.”

“She’s a bear?” Bucky asked, just to be obtuse.

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam repeated and pulled him into the cemetery. “She’s buried towards the back, ‘cause she’s so old, y’know. And so that maybe she’ll be confused while she’s trying to get out.”

“Wait a second, this girl has been eating hearts for centuries now and she’s been buried underground for most of the time this cemetery’s been around to keep her buried, but actually it’s not working since she’s been wandering around?”

“That’s not the point,” Sam said, waving his hand in the air. “The point is the story.”

“I get the story. I’m just saying, stick to a reason why she’s buried instead of cremated or something.”

“She’s buried because that’s how the story works.”

“You know, she ought to come after you, usin’ her name and tragic end to scare new kids at your school.”

“We used to come out here all the time when we were kids,” Sam said. “The worst trouble I ever got in was when I brought Sarah with me once and dragged a stick down her arm while she was looking at the gravestone.”

Bucky snorted. “And I’m the asshole.”

“I’ve been waiting for seventeen years for this. Just let me have this one night.”

“If this is a once in seventeen years event, why ain’t no one else out here?” Bucky asked.

“I dunno, guess you grow out of it,” Sam said with a shrug. “Or maybe no one wants to risk being the guy who gets his heart eaten.”

“Right. Or you just made this up to get me out here all alone. Maybe you’re actually the ghost.”

“Am I that unbelievable?” Sam teased. He leaned up and stole another kiss before weaving Bucky to the back of the cemetery. He made sure to avoid walking over any plots that happened to be in the ground, though there weren’t many. Finally, nearer to the back fence, they came to a stop in front of a gravestone that read Layla George Ray 1796-1813 Beloved Daughter.

“I hate looking at tombstones for people our age,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers over the lettering of Layla’s name.

“That’s almost touching, Barnes,” Sam said.

Bucky crouched down to run his hand over the even, cut grass that adorned the top of the grave. “No fresh dirt. Guess your revenant isn’t so hungry tonight,” he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Even with two eligible guys standing around.”

Suddenly a woman’s scream pierced through the night and Bucky sprawled back on his ass, scrambling away without ever being able to get his feet under him.

Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders when they finally collided and then sank down himself, cackling so hard he could barely breathe.

“Oh my God, Barnes,” he gasped. “Your face!”

“Sam!” Bucky cried. “Didn’t you fucking hear that? What was that?”

Sam fell onto his back, clutching at his ribs, knees bent up to his chest. It didn’t help retain any air, but it happened anyway. “Jesus, look at you,” he wheezed and buried his face in his own arm. “You really thought--” He wheezed some more and real tears slipped out from his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asked, still panting, still ready to bolt, but now more confused than terrified. “What are you talking about?”

Sam uncurled himself and held out his phone. The scream pierced through the air again and cut off abruptly when Sam silenced it. “You thought-- You really thought a dead girl was coming out of her grave to eat your heart.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Bucky snapped, finally catching up to what Sam had done. He sat back heavily on the ground and Sam broke out in new laughter.

“Your face, Barnes! You were so fucking scared.”

“I thought someone was dying, Wilson.”

“You thought someone was coming back from the dead,” Sam corrected.

“I hate you. I hope you do get haunted.”

“You can’t hope for what you don’t believe in,” Sam pointed out.

“I can hope for what you believe in. And I hope all sorts of creepy shit haunts your ass for years. I hope you don’t sleep for ages.”

“Oh come on,” Sam said with a smug smirk. “You don’t mean that. You love cuddling with me when you think I’m asleep.”

Bucky glared balefully at him. “Cuddling with you when you’re awake is just as fine by me.”

“Besides, if I get haunted, that ghostie’s gonna be all up in your business too,” he pointed out. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand down to Bucky. “Come on, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

Bucky followed the long line of his arm up to Sam’s face before reaching for his hand and standing as well. “That a promise, Wilson?”

“Well, those blankets weren’t just for story time, y’know.”

“I like the sound of that. Keep on talking.” Bucky closed his fingers around Sam’s and Sam took it as the reconciliation it was. Together, they started for the front gate again.

Behind them, others talked too.