#i think it makes the hand stand out more in the gif

[dameronspector]

He’s a Thunderbolt

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Avenger!Reader

Summary: You find out Bucky gave up his position as a Senator and now he’s doing free agent work with….a new team?

Warnings: Slight Thunderbolts* spoilers!!, First meet with the team, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reader is an Ex-Shield agent, Tinge of Angst, Banter, John Walker Hate- click off if you don’t want that, no physical description of reader.

AN: they’ll always be the thunderbolts to me guys idc. I wrote this in a rush, hope y’all like this!

Ps: I won’t tolerate any kind of Sam or Bucky hatred on my page.

You spent the night at Valentina Allegra De Fontaine’s gala with Bucky, keeping him company and helping him socialise. It was clear he had no interest in it but had to because, duties. But both of you were bored so you hung around the corners and stuck to each other’s sides. He looked rather sharp in his tuxedo and hair slicked back, so that was an advantage, and he couldn’t keep his hands off you, constantly reminding you how beautiful you looked in that formal black dress.

Although, watching Valentina flaunt all the Avengers property (including the ‘A’ from the Avengers tower) like it was a fucking auction was making your head spin. Your whole life and fragments of your dysfunctional superhero family was just laid out in front of you behind glass displays like they were art pieces. It was weird, it was odd and you didn’t like her from the first time you saw her. You had warned Bucky about her, and luckily he had understood because he felt the same.

So naturally, you assumed Bucky would stay out of her way and do his job. You were happy that he was finally healing, his words lighter and body language more relaxed as the days passed by and if he wanted to work as a Senator now to improve the Brooklyn constituency, then you’d let him do so, happy to see him content in doing what he wants and to let him have the autonomy.

And then, Bucky called you the next morning after he had left for office, to tell you something important, and he started the call with telling you not to get mad at him.

“What happened? Are you okay?”, you panicked, thinking someone had threatened him or worse.

Bucky let out a weary sigh, “Um- well..you see..”, his voice trailed off, like he was dreading this conversation.

You straightened up, “What is it? Just say it, Buck, don’t stress me out like that.”

“I-uhh…I resigned…from my…position”, he replied in a guilty voice. You paused.

“I’m sorry, what? But- why? Did something happen? Did Valentina do something?”, you growled.

“No- I mean, she’s sketchy but I didn’t resign because of her. I resigned because I am…I want to work as a free agent again. Actually, I’m in the middle of the Utah desert right now with uh- some people”, Bucky confessed, his usual light and unbothered voice a little heavy and subdued.

You quirked an eyebrow, “You…resigned..to work as a free agent again…with some people and you’re in the middle of nowhere”, you deadpanned. Bucky winced.

You couldn’t believe this man. Everyday there’s a new discovery with him.

“Bucky, what the hell are you upto?”, you sighed out.

“Sweetheart, I’m coming home with… these people. I’ll explain it to you once I get back, okay?”, he tried to reason.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll be waiting. Love you”, you murmured.

“I love you too, honey”, Bucky replied softly.

-

The doorbell’s sound echoed throughout your and Bucky’s house and you went over to open the door to see-

Bucky in an all black outfit, his black jacket, his knives and guns holstered around his legs and waist band, hair messy and there were 4 other people standing behind him- 2 women and 2 men.

The blonde woman had a cropped bob and piercings with hazel-green eyes, she looked worse for wear but she was beautiful, the other woman was a brunette with striking blue-gray eyes which were observant and you noticed that her suit was very cool. One of the men was large, with a graying beard and a shaved head, he was wearing a red suit that looked, well, trashy. And of course, you recognised the fourth one right away.

“What the hell is he doing here?!”, you stared daggers at John Walker and questioned Bucky. The other three stared at Walker in shock.

John pursed his lips and waved at you before Bucky blocked your view from Walker with gentle hands on your elbows. The three of them stared between you, Bucky and Walker and the blonde woman let out a low whistle at the look of anger on your face.

“Sweetheart-hi. I can explain. Can we come in?”, he pleaded with his ocean blue irises shining earnestly and you huffed in disbelief. Everyone, minus Walker, stared at the scene in shock. Bucky had a girlfriend?

“First of all, why are you hanging out with him? And why is he here? Why should I bring him in our house, Bucky-”

“I know, I know. You can punch him all you want but please- let me explain to you first, honey”, he almost begged and the two women snickered under their breath, Bucky turned around momentarily to glare at them before the large, bearded man clapped Bucky on his shoulder.

“It’s not good to hide stuff from your lady, Mr. Soldier”, his voice boomed, Russian accent prominent.

You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And who are these people? And what are you wearing, Barnes? You wore your formals this morning”, you glared at Bucky and he grimaced. He didn’t think about the details before coming home and now he was in so much trouble.

Bucky cleared his throat before gently moving you inside, making his way past the threshold of the door to enter your living room. The four of them followed behind Bucky and Walker actually had the decency to close the door.

Bucky made you sit at the dining table while the others awkwardly stood by the door.

“Okay, baby, listen. We know Valentina was being odd, right? Well, she’s involved in something known as the Sentry Project. She’s been experimenting on civilians unethically. One of the casualties is a guy named…”

“Bob”, all of them chimed in exasperated.

“Yeah, Bob. The rest of the participants died, he’s the only one who responded to the experiment. And she’s gonna use him as a weapon. He’s-he’s very unstable and she knows it. Airlifted him to New York to try and manipulate him into turning himself to OXE again. We’ve been trying to rescue him”, Bucky finished and squeezed your shoulders lightly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. A crazy experiment like this and nobody bats an eye? Crazier things have happened, but with your experience and contacts you developed as an Ex-Shield agent and Avenger, you should have probably found out about this before.

“Wait, what? How does nobody know about this?”, you asked in confusion.

“She was experimenting on him in Malaysia and she has a secret vault in the middle of nowhere which was heavily guarded. Plus, she’s got the money and influence—Likely bought a lot of the security and government officials as well”, the blonde woman responds, her Russian accent just as prominent as the large man next to her.

“Hold on, who even are you guys?”, you grumbled and pointed at them.

Bucky let out a breath, “Yeah, uh- That’s Yelena”, he pointed at the blonde woman and she waved at you with a smile.

“That’s Ava”, he pointed at the brunette, “Hi”, she greeted you and you gave her a tentative nod.

“That’s…Alexei”, he pointed at the big man. “Greetings, my lady, it’s an honour to meet the woman who made an honest man out of Mr. Soldier”, he exclaimed and smiled big before approaching you with his hand extended.

You stared at his hand and nervously extended yours before Bucky stepped in between. “Yeah, no. That’s enough”, he announced and pushed Alexei back towards the group.

“And…you know Walker”, Bucky replied meekly. John grinned, “Hey, haven’t seen you in a while-”

“Shut up”, you and Bucky cut Walker off and he raised his hands in surrender. “And this is (Name), my partner, who’s also an Avenger”, Bucky introduces you to the team and they all “ooh” at that, Alexei being the most excited.

You gave them a close lipped smile before turning back toward Bucky, “What the hell are you doing in a team with him, James?”, you asked Bucky in a stern manner.

Yelena, Ava and Alexei stared at Walker and Bucky and chuckled amongst themselves. “Honey, we have to work together. And…he’s kinda useful”, he tried to convince you, Walker smirked smugly.

You gave him a look before turning back towards the group. “You”, you looked at Yelena. Something about her was familiar, “are you sure we haven’t met before?”

Yelena blinked and before she could reply, Alexei’s voice boomed again, “Oh, you must be friends with her sister, Natasha. She was very brave, my Natasha. I was so proud of her”, he announced in a somber yet proud manner.

You paused, “You’re…you’re Natasha’s sister?”, you whispered in disbelief.

Yelena frowned, her chin quivering and she nodded at you. Bucky smoothed a hand on your back, his face shifting in empathy, “Yeah, baby. Yelena and Alexei, they’re Natasha’s family.”

Your eyes widened. Natasha was one of your really good friends. Ever since she passed away, you have felt a hole in your soul. Her absence was visible and huge. She would always talk about her guiding light—her sister. You never thought you’d get a chance to see a part of Natasha’s life again and felt your eyes tear up.

“Oh my god, Buck”, you whimpered and looked at him, he gave you a sad smile and encouraged you to go towards Yelena. You walked over to Yelena and grabbed her by the shoulders, eyes taking her in.

“You- oh my god. You’re so much like her”, you whispered, kicking yourself for not realising that before. Her mannerisms, the way she carried herself—it was all Natasha.

Yelena’s eyes shone with tears, Alexei smiling tearfully next to her.

“She used to talk about you all the time. Called you her guiding light. I’m- oh god. I’m so happy to see you. She was so proud of you, Yelena”, you confessed sincerely.

Yelena frowned and his lips quivered, tears falling down her cheeks, “Really?”, she asked in a small voice. You nodded and gave her a fond smile.

Yelena let out a soft cry and leaned in to hug you, her arms going around your shoulders and her face smushed against them. You stumbled back before catching her and hugging her back just as fiercely. After a while she pulled back and stared at you with bloodshot eyes, “Thank you. For being my sister’s friend”, her shaky voice confessed.

You gave her a wet smile and squeezed her shoulder before turning around to face Bucky, who was looking at you with a soft smile.

“Well, what’s the plan?”, you huffed out in reluctance and wiped your eyes.

Bucky opened his mouth before Alexei cut him off, “Well, we have to take down Valentina and OXE! And we will go to New York and ride to her place like soldiers!”, he yelled in enthusiasm, “For the Glory!”

You stared at him with wide eyes and everyone else groaned loudly.

“Dad, stop it!”

“That’s not what we’re doing-”

“How are we just going to storm her place-”

“Well, if you listen to me-”

“Oh my god, shut up! All of you!”, you shouted and all of them quieted down and stared at you like bugs under a log.

“You guys don’t even have a plan! You’re talking about storming her place, you think she’s not smart enough to amp up her security?”, you questioned Alexei. He sputtered and looked around the room in shock.

You sighed, “Anyways. Where is her place, Buck?”

Bucky swallowed, “Well, she’s the one who bought the Avengers tower, so she’s going there now.”

You paused, momentarily forgetting that the tower belong to the OXE group and by that extension to Valentina.

“Right, of course. Uh- let me know if I can be of any help. I can order something if you want?”, you asked the group.

“Actually, some food would be great”, John spoke up and you glared at him. Bucky turned you around and walked you into your shared bedroom before grabbing your phone to order some takeout.

You turned around to face Bucky, “Does Sam know?”

He froze, his face locked in with a guilty expression and you knew right away.

“Barnes, don’t tell me you just teamed up with these people without informing Sam. You’re doing that isolation shit again”, you asked him sternly.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, “I mean- no? No. I haven’t talked to him…yet”, he murmured.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, “You cannot be serious, Bucky! You just met him. What’s wrong?”

“I’ll call him soon, I swear. It’s just a lot, for now. This Bob guy, he’s very vulnerable and very strong. We cannot let Valentina use him for whatever motive she has. Just let them crash over for the night, we’ve had a long day…Please?”, Bucky requested you with his hands cradling your face.

You stared at him in mild irritation and grumbled, “The girls can take the guest room.”

Bucky smiled at you and pressed a loving kiss to your lips, “You’re the best”, he murmured against them and you finally cracked a smile, leaning into him and kissing him deeper.

-

You stepped out in the living room to see that Ava and Yelena had taken their seats on the kitchen island, bantering loudly with Walker and Alexei who were trying to find something in the kitchen, knocking over your things.

“You can take the guest—What the hell are you two doing to my kitchen?!”, you screeched and pushed them out of the way, putting things back into their place.

“Get out of our kitchen”, Bucky sighed in annoyance and pushed Alexei out before gesturing Walker to join him as well.

“I told you not to touch-”

“I just wanted some water!-”

“Well, you could just ask-”

“I want something stronger-”

You and Bucky looked at each other and shook your heads. These were children in adult bodies.

You silently filled up a glass of water and another glass with one of Bucky’s leftover rum before placing it in front of Walker and Alexei.

The whole room quieted down and the two men picked up the glasses, gulping the liquids down.

“You guys want something?”, you asked the Ava and Yelena.

They gave you sheepish smiles before asking for a glass of water each.

Alexei finished his glass of rum and gave you a huge smile, “Thank you, (Name), you have been so kind to the Thunderbolts.”

You paused and the others groaned loudly. You smirked, “Thunderbolts?”

“Yeah! That’s us! Inspired by the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, Yelena’s peewee soccer team-”

“Okay! Shut up!”, Yelena yelled and Alexei gaped at her.

“Lena, don’t yell at your old man like that!”

And the room erupted in chaos, again. Their voices overlapping each other’s and arms waving around wildly.

Bucky was standing there with his vibranium hand covering his face and the human one resting on his hip. Pursing your lips to stop the laugh from escaping your mouth, you made your way over to him and circled an arm around his waist,

“So…you’re a Thunderbolt, huh?”, you cooed teasingly in his ear.

He groaned loudly, “Don’t start, sweetheart, I swear to god…”

You giggled and looked around the messy assassins and soldiers in your living room, their chaos and banter making your house feel lively. Maybe, you could adjust with them. (Except, a particular someone.)

“They’re nice”, you murmured and Bucky scoffed, bringing you closer to him with his metal arm around your waist.

“Spend a whole day with them and then we’ll talk”, he kissed your cheek.

You held the back of his neck gently and looked at him, his eyes exhausted and lips cracked.

“Don’t scare me like that again. I expect you to, at least, give me a heads up before making such big changes, okay?”, you pleaded with a soft voice.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, baby”, he nodded and kissed your cheek again.

The room had quieted down suddenly and you turned your head to look at the four of them smirking at you two. Bucky let out an exhausted sigh next to you and you chuckled lowly.

These four combined with your grumpy boyfriend was going to be an interesting and entertaining bunch, for sure.

-

AN: I’ll make a second part to this where we talk about #that post credits scene. I’ve written a similar fic for Sam but i wanna write it for Bucky as well, hehe.

Please like and reblog!

[dina-winchester]

Hands Off

Pairing: Husband!Dean x Wife!You

Summary: Someone crosses a boundary.. You don’t take it too well.

Warnings: Protective reader, fists get thrown, tiny bit of angst—but all ends well, no use of Y/N

A/N: Totally got this idea from Georgie & Mandy’s First Marriage lol.

Dean’s been on a case in a small town for a few days. You wrapped up your own side hustle a day early and decide to surprise him.

The sun’s barely starting to set when you pull into the small gravel lot behind the bar. You spot the Impala right away, parked neatly under a flickering streetlamp, and something in you settles. Just seeing her—it’s like seeing him. Home. You smile, grabbing the takeout bag you brought from his favorite diner three towns over. You’re excited. Giddy, almost. He has no idea you’re coming.

You shoulder the door open and step inside the bar the locals say he’s been hanging around after hours. It’s a small-town dive, nothing fancy. You squint against the hazy orange glow and cigarette smoke. The place is small, worn down, the kind of dive Dean gravitates to. Locals laugh around pool tables, music crackling low from a dusty jukebox. Your eyes scan the room.

And then you see him.

He’s at the far end of the bar, leaning casually against the counter. Flannel sleeves rolled up, forearm flexed as he sips from a bottle of beer. He looks relaxed. Safe. Yours.

You take a step forward—and that’s when you see her.

Blonde. Tight jeans. She’s leaning in too close, pressing one manicured hand on the bar next to his. She’s saying something—flirty, bold—and Dean gives her that polite, lopsided half-smile. Nothing flirtatious, just the kind of small talk he’s always too kind to shut down cold.

But then.

She grabs his face.

And kisses him.

Everything inside you stops.

Dean stiffens instantly. His eyes fly wide. He jerks back a second later, hands rising, pushing her off. His voice echoes, rough and angry. “What the hell?!”

But you don’t hear the rest.

Your boots hit the floor hard, steady, and furious. The bag of food drops from your hand, forgotten, the smell of burgers and fries already fading as the fire in your chest overtakes everything.

Dean turns at the sound—just in time to see you coming.

“Sweetheart—wait—”

Crack.

Your fist slams into the blonde’s jaw before she can even blink. She stumbles backward with a yelp, crashing into a barstool. A few heads turn. The jukebox skips. And still, no one moves.

Except Dean.

“Sweetheart—”

You spin, rage flashing in your eyes. “Don’t.”

She’s on the floor now, hand over her mouth, wide-eyed and whimpering like the victim.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snarl, stepping toward her. “You think you can just touch someone who doesn’t belong to you? You think you can put your hands on a married man—my husband—and walk away with a damn smile?”

“I didn’t kiss her back,” Dean says from behind you, low, steady. Not defensive—just desperate to make sure you know the truth.

You don’t turn to look at him.

Your voice drops, sharp and lethal. “And that’s the only reason you’re still standing.”

Dean exhales like you just knocked the air out of him. And the blonde? She scrambles up, grabbing her bag off the floor, glaring like you’re the crazy one. “He didn’t say he was married—”

“I didn’t have to,” Dean snaps, finally losing his patience. “I told you I wasn’t interested. You didn’t listen.”

You step toward her once more, a smirk curling your lips. “You ever come near him again, I’ll break more than your pride.”

She flees.

Dean just stands there, watching you, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath this whole damn time.

You finally turn to him. “You good?”

“I should be asking you that.”

You don’t answer right away. You just look at him. The way his brows are furrowed, how tense he is—not with guilt, but fear. Fear of what this looked like. Fear of what you might think. Fear of losing you.

“I knew you didn’t kiss her back,” you say softly. “You looked like you’d rather be shot.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile—but it doesn’t make it. “I didn’t even see her coming.”

You sigh and shake your head, adrenaline still humming beneath your skin. “I swear to God, babe… next time some bitch throws herself at you, just duck. Or yell for backup.”

He huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “You always this protective, sweetheart?”

You arch a brow. “You wanna test me?”

He grabs your waist gently, tugging you against him. “Not unless it ends with you pinning me down somewhere.”

You don’t smile—but your lips brush his just barely, and your voice drops low, soft and dangerous.

“Later. Right now, we’re going back to your room—and you’re gonna make me forget the last ten minutes ever happened.”

Dean’s breath catches. His hands tense on your hips, jaw working like he’s fighting the urge to throw you over his shoulder and skip the walk.

He nods, breathless. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then he kisses you like he never wants another woman to breathe the same air as him again.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts. I’m actually working on my first series (different concept than this one shot), will be dropping part one soon—excited for you guys to read it!

[ghostofmarvel]

Decompressing

Bob Reynolds x Gender Neutral!Reader

Author’s note: I’m just thinking about the Thunderbolts* and Bob… Specifically Bob’s eyes… so um here’s this, enjoy. Minors do not interact, thank you.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x gender neutral! reader

Synopsis: You teach Bob how to decompress :)

Content ahead: smut, sub!Bob, Bob likes being called a good boy, gentle dom!reader, mutual masturbation, oral sex, fingering, 69ing, reader has ambiguous genitalia, Sentry makes a slight appearance oops, switch!bob?, essence of switch!bob, usage of the term “sweetheart” for Bob (because he’s a sweetheart), basically p w/o plot, Bob wants to be good for you

Word count: 2,075

Bob being part of the team is truly the key in having the team remain a team. He’s the glue holding the whole team together because no matter how much everyone seems to bicker and fight one another after every mission, everyone loves Bob and Bob loves everyone. He’s essentially everyone’s decompression guy, which you are endlessly grateful for, but it leaves you to question what is Bob doing to decompress?

This brings you to your current situation where you’re sitting next to Bob in the center of his bed, backs against his headboard as you both lay with legs spread and hands underneath your pajama bottoms and underwear. Bob is leaning his head against your shoulder with your head resting on top of his as you watch his hand move slowly under his pants. He whines as his eyes squeeze shut in reaction to the sensation, “I-I-I don’t understand how this is supposed to help me calm down.”

You let out a soft moan as your hands slips out from your pants to reach around his shoulder, holding his head against you as you turn to kiss his head, body turning slightly to cross your leg over his as your other hand trails down his torso nearing the gap between his flesh and his tented clothing making room for his moving hand. His breathe hitches as your hand plays along the hem of his bottoms, fingers slightly dipping in between the gap of clothing and skin. You sigh as your fingers trail from playing with the coarse hair down his lower stomach to his pubic bone, “You will be calm after this, you’re decompressing, sweetheart.”

Bob moans at the sensation and the name you call him, body turning towards you as his hips rock towards you, lips absently kissing in the space between your neck and shoulder, “P-please, touch me,” he whispers breathlessly between kisses. His hand slips out from his pants as they move from squeezing your thigh to your chest.

You coo at him, “Bobby, sweetheart, the goal of this is so you know how to decompress by yourself.” Even with your words, your hands are moving to trace his cock through his flannel pajama pants.

Bob whines in response, “But why would I do that when I have you?”

You smile at his words, ruffling his hair as he begins to lazily suck on your neck, “You’re right. C’mon, help me take these off,” you gesture by tugging down on his pants, “I got a better idea on how we can both decompress.”

Bob excitedly nods and rushes to pull off his pants and boxer briefs, staring at you as you stand up to pull off your shirt and bottoms, “God you are so hot,” he compliments with both his words and a twitch of his cock.

You let out a soft laugh as you pull your underwear down, watching the precum leak out from his cock, “C’mon, pretty boy, why don’t you lay down for me huh?” You get back on the bed on your knees as Bob practically jumps down the bed to lay flat, his hard cock hitting his lower stomach where it lays heavy, begging to be touched.

You smile as you lean over Bob, giving him a sweet kiss as you give his cock a few tugs. He moans into the kiss, bucking his hips upwards for more contact. You quickly pull your hand away, prompting a cry from him before quickly quieting at you positioning yourself on top of him, your legs on either side of his head with your ass facing him.

Before he has any chance to question, you say to him “Breathe,” before leaning to sit back on his face. He moans as his hands go to grasp your ass, mouth kissing hungrily between your legs. You moan as you lean your chest forward, prompting you to lay on top of Bob with your face directly next to his cock. Completing this motion lifts you off his face somewhat, something he finds completely unacceptable as he readily cranes his neck up, wrapping his arms around your lower back, palm splayed flat across it applying slight pressure to hold you in place as he digs his face right back in between your legs. You moan as your hand reaches to stroke his cock, moving your head like a snake trying to get his cock in your mouth from this position with his movements shaking you slightly. With such a close, intimate position you’re both in, you immediately take in at least 3 inches of his cock in your mouth as you rest comfortably on top of him. You both moan at the feeling of his cock in your mouth, your tongue and moan wrapping around his cock making him roll his eyes back as he breaks away from you with a series of whimpering moans, “F-fuck you’re good, ah!”

You pull his cock out of your mouth, a coating of saliva covering his cock as he whines at the absence of your warm mouth. You’re quick to replace your mouth with the controlled movements of your hands over his now lubricated cock. His whine shifts to a broken moan in a brief second, effectively melting his brain slightly as he only focuses on pleasure and how good that pleasure feels.

“Where’s your mouth, sweetheart?” You ask, giving his cock a quick, open mouth kiss as you slowly stroke his cock, intentionally edging him.

Bob shutters at your contact, “I can’t focus my mouth on making you feel good when you’re making me feel SO so good,” he apologetically announces with a thrust of his hips upwards to meet your hands wrapped around him.

You give an apologetic kiss to his cock as your hand moves to firmly grasp his cock by the base, making it stand tall as you cupped his balls, causing a strangled noise he tried not to release to come out. “Well, you got hands don’t you?” you mockingly ask with a squeeze of your hands.

He shakes his head yes, even if you can’t see it in the position you’re in, and rushes his hands to rub up the backs of your thighs to your ass, paying special care to the bouncy flesh. He’s quick to suck two of his fingers intensely, making sure he coats them in his own saliva before circling his fingers around your hole. He draws out a “good boy” from you as he sinks a finger in you, moving steady and slow.

You moan as you take his length back in your mouth, hand stroking his cock, working in unison as you bob your head up and down. Bob views your praise and your mouth as rewards, so he continues the movement of his finger as he places kisses on your cheeks.

He tries. He really tries to focus his mouth on you, but he can’t help all the noises escaping from him as you relentlessly work your mouth and hands on his cock. The warm, wetness of mouth with the pressure of it all drives Bob to be full of energy, his eyes flickering between normal to his sentry yellow eyes. His arm flees to wrap around your lower back as he struggles to break focus from your divine mouth. He then replays in his head you calling him “good boy” and he regains focus on his submission and how he needs to focus on pleasing you.

Bob slides his second finger into you, causing your hand to grasp a bit harder on his cock, your other hand flying to squeeze his thigh as you choke out broken words on his cock. Bob can’t help but to thrust his hips up ever so slightly and ever so slowly into your heavenly mouth as he fucks his fingers in and out of you slowly, letting out a drawn out exasperated moan. You can tell he’s starting to reach a true mindless, submissive state as you’re not even sure he’s fully aware he’s thrusting his own hips up into your mouth, his cock going deeper and deeper in your throat. You slowly snap your hips up and down to meet his thrusting fingers, encouraging him to pick up the pace. You egg on his movement by increasing your own movement of your hands.

Bob eagerly picks up on your increased pace, rhythmically speeding up the pace of his thrusting fingers into your warm opening as his hips lift off the bed, trying to have his pubic bone meet with your chin. He moans out your name with chants of “please” and a broken cry of “god I’m so close.” You moan with your lips around his cock as you shake your head yes while squeezing his thighs, signaling your encouragement for him to take control of his orgasm.

Your submissive sweetheart fully thrusts up into your mouth as endless moans pour out of his, his eyes struggling to stay open and to remain one color. He’s approaching his climax when his eyes open widely to the pending sensation, his view full of his wet fingers thrusting in and out of you with your ass centimeters away from smothering his face. With that view, Bob cums with a trembling final thrust into your mouth, shakiness overtaking his body.

You lick his cock as your mouth remains tightly wrapped around him, causing Bob to release a squeak of a moan as his cock twitches in the aftermath of his powerful orgasm. After his cock seemingly begins to calm down, you slowly pull your mouth off his cock, swallowing the treat he gave you. You slowly pull yourself off of Bob as his breathless moans turn into pants, a sign of him calming down. You flip yourself over to rest your head on his chest, your arm and leg reaching over his body as you lay next to him. Bob sighs happily as his arms instantly wrap around you, finally decompressing. You kiss his chest as you hum, “You did such a good job, my love.”

He’s content as his breathing begins to become more regular as he reflects on the experience you two just shared. Hot, steamy, and needy memories cross his mind as his cock gives a phantom twitch to the recent memory of your lovingly warm mouth. He’s thinking fondly before he grabs you with urgency as you shoot to look up at him. Your face begs question out of his action as he exclaims, “Wait, you didn’t get to decompress with me.”

You half sit up from your original position on top of him, propping your head up with your arm as you look at your lover with confusion, “I did compress? Silly, you touched me and I got to be with you.”

Bob is quick to correct as he sits up, “But you didn’t cum.”

Your mind silently goes ohhh as you suddenly click together what he meant by decompression. You click your lips before soothing Bob, “Oh sweetheart, that’s okay, there’s always later.” You try to wrap your arm around his lower torso to get him back to laying down, but he resists, a sudden immovability felt as you result in laying face flat against the bed with a small laugh after failing to get him to crash into bed with you. You look up at him, expecting to see him smiling, but instead you see him with his altered yellow eye color.

He turns to you with an inquisitive look on his face, “Why don’t you show me how you decompress? Please?”

You sit yourself up as you look into his eyes, “You sure you don’t want to get some rest, sweetheart? It’s late,” you push some strands out of his face behind his ears.

His eye blink close and when he opened them his eyes were back to his normal blue hue, his face turning to follow your hand that brushed past his face, his head nodding, “Yes, I want to learn what makes you feel good. I just want to be good for you, please.”

You cup his cheek in your hand, and he turns his head to give your palm a quick kiss before turning his cheek back into your grasp, melting into your touch. You sigh lovingly as your thumb taps his mouth, “Okay, pretty boy, open up that mouth for me will you?”

Author’s endnote: uhhh, anyways that’s kinda crazy right lol. i haven’t written a fic, let alone smut, in SO long this feels crazy that i did this. i was BLUSHING while writing/editing this TvT

anyways please let me know what you thought! feel free to request or drop a message! :)

[munsonsmixtapes]

Make it Steamy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

A weekend at a cabin with your best friend, Simon makes the both you decide to take your friendship to the next level.

cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, oral (f receiving)

You let out a sigh of relief when you enter the cabin you’re going to be sharing with Simon. He brushes past you as he comes in behind you, holding your suitcases that he insisted on carrying. Tension between the two of you was high the entire car ride and you’re wondering if being here alone will finally cause everything to crack and you wonder who will be the first to break. 

You’re sure it’s probably going to be you. You’ve been feeling this way about Simon for so long and you think this is going to be the weekend where you finally make a move. You wonder if he feels it too. You see the looks he gives when he thinks you’re not looking. His hand was on your thigh the entire way up here so that has to mean something, right?

While he sets your bags in your rooms, you decide to take yourself on a tour, checking the place out. Simon booked the reservation and wouldn’t tell you anything so it’s all a surprise. Considering how spacious and nicely decorated the whole thing is, you just know that it had to cost a pretty penny even though it’s not very big. 

You make your way through the kitchen where there’s a sliding glass door that leads out onto a deck. Your eyes see nothing but the giant hot tub and you let out a sigh at how good that would feel on your aching muscles. Your job has been stressing you out and you can literally feel the knots in your shoulders. 

And you can’t help but let your mind wander, letting yourself think about Simon joining you in the hot tub, straddling his waist and-

“I’ve got some bad news,” he says, pulling you out of your dirty thoughts and you’re so startled that you feel like cold water has just been poured on you. 

“What is it?” You ask, turning to face him and he has that face that lets you know that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. 

“There’s only one bed.” You resist the urge to bite your bottom lip, fighting off the smile when you hear those words. You’ve shared a bed more times than you can count so you don’t see why this is any different. He’s been acting weird the entire day and you can’t figure out why.

“So? We share a bed all the time. I missed your snuggles.” Simon normally loves sharing a bed with you. He loves that you let him hold you, but this time, it’s different. Seeing you in that tank top and short shorts is making his brain short circuit and if he’s around you for too long, he’s afraid of what he’s going to do. 

He wants to pull you close, to feel every inch of your naked body, to bend you over the counter and-

“Hello, Simon?” You wave your hand in front of his face and he shakes his head, reluctantly bringing himself out of the delicious daydream he’s been having for days. If only he was able to stop thinking with his cock. Then maybe he’d actually be able to be around you and not have to constantly go to the bathroom to adjust himself. He’s debating taking a shower and putting on some loud music so he can jack off to get it out of his system. 

“I think I’m gonna get in the hot tub if you want to join,” you tell him as you make your way to the bedroom to change. You don’t have to ask him twice. He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you’re already in the bathroom, surely getting changed. He wonders what little number you’ve packed this time, if you’ll let him take it off of you. 

You stand in the mirror, the bright purple bikini looking a lot better on you than it had in the dressing room. You’ll wonder if he’ll like this one, if it will be left floating in the water as you ride him. Part of you wonders if you should just take a cold shower instead to make yourself a less horny mess. 

You come out of the bathroom, feeling more confident than ever as Simon’s eyes catch on you, slowly moving over your body and your skin burns under his gaze. He looks like he wants to eat you alive and you think you might let him. 

He stands there, frozen and you make your way towards him, batting your eyelashes like you have no idea what you’re doing even though you can clearly see the outline of his cock in his swim trunks. 

“How do I look, Simon?” You ask and his mouth goes dry, all the words he’s ever known fleeing from his head. You look so good, so much so that he’s close to bending you over the bed beside you and having his way with you. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, his eyes moving down to the tops on your breasts. God, what he would give to be able to reach out and touch them. 

“You can touch me,” you tell him, your voice soft as you arch your back ever so slightly. “You can touch me any way you want.” You grab hold of his hands and rest them on your waist, your mind racing with all of the dirty things he could do with just his fingers. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re calling the shots-he actually prefers it. He loves being told what to do, knowing that he’d do whatever command fell from your pretty lips. He’s so in love with you, needs you so badly that he’ll do whatever he needs to in order to please you. 

He’s hypnotized, feeling dizzy as you stare up at him, his eyes now shifting to your lips that he so desperately wants to know the taste of. But he decides he won’t let himself until you tell him to. He just doesn’t want to overstep, to do something that you don’t want even though you’re looking at his lips too.

“Maybe we should get in,” he gulps, jerking his thumb in the direction of the hot tub and you wordlessly take his hand and lead him that way. 

You feel like you’re on a high. You’ve somehow made Simon nervous and you kind of like it, that you were able to completely disarm him with just a few words. You wonder what he’d do if you straddled him in the hot tub, if he would let you fuck him right there. Your mind swirls with all of the possibilities as you both get in, the water bubbling as you sit across from each other. 

The tension is palpable and you can’t help but smirk at the fact that he looks like he wants to eat you whole but he’s restraining himself, holding onto the edge of the bench so hard that his knuckles are white. 

You don’t even last five minutes before you’re making your way over to him. You straddle his lap, each leg landing on each side of his thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands hesitantly land on your waist. You stare at each other, both of you thinking about all of the nasty things you want to do to each other but neither of you are willing to make the first move even though you’re staring at each other’s lips again. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper and he does as you command, not holding back, pouring out everything he’s feeling for you into this kiss. It’s hungry, and desperate as you both take exactly what you want from each other. It’s teeth clinking and hands in hair, filthy moans. 

You can feel hard he is underneath you and you grind against him as a way to tease him. He looks like he’s about to bust and before you can even register what’s happening, he’s carrying you inside, lips still attached as he takes you to the bedroom. 

Once inside, he sets you on your feet, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing his way down your body until he’s on his knees. He goes to untie your bikini bottoms, letting them fall to the floor as he brings his fingers up to your cunt, moving them back and forth in a teasing manner and because you just need some relief, you grab hold of his wrist and shove his fingers inside you, moaning loudly at the sensation and Simon swears he’s going to bust right there. 

“Fuck,” you whine, when he begins to pump harder and harder, seeing how easily you’re able to come undone just from his fingers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you hold onto him for dear life, feeling your legs already turning to jello. 

“So tight,” he groans, his fingers moving at an even more rapid rate. “Let me fix that for you.” He keeps going, watching you as he fingers you, eating up your pretty moans and the way your throw your head back because of how good it feels. 

He’s hard beyond belief and despite how badly he wants to get inside you, he wants to taste you even more. He wants to watch you writhe as he eats you out, to fuck his face the way he knows you will, you scream with pleasure when you eventually come, his name falling from your lips. 

He watches you orgasm, his ego even bigger because all he used was his fingers. You’re so close to falling to the floor so he pulls his fingers out and steadies you, making sure to lick his fingers clean before he does so. 

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, and you look down at him, your eyes darkening as you do so. “Please.” He’s begging now and you never thought you’d ever get to see Simon Riley in this position. 

“How about it sit on your face?” You ask and he’s on his feet in an instant, throwing himself onto the bed and you join him, kneeling beside him as you take off your bikini top and throw it to the side. 

Simon can’t help but stare at your bare chest, your hard nipples, wondering how someone can be so beautiful. He swears that you’re more beautiful than he imagined, the star in all of his late night fantasies. But even those can’t compare to what’s happening now. 

You lean over and press your lips to his and he can’t help but think about how natural this feels, how he could kiss you for hours and never get bored. This could be what you do for the rest of the night and he wouldn’t complain. 

He’s so in love with you and he wonders how you would respond if he told you the truth. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep with anyone else after tonight, not that he wants to. You’re it for him and he wants to spend the rest of his life with you if you’ll let him.

You pull away before he’s ready then move up by his head, swinging one leg over and before he knows it, you’re sitting on his face and he doesn’t need to be told what to do. He begins at your clit, teasing it with his tongue and just that makes you moan loudly, the sounds almost pornographic and he pulls it into his mouth, giving it a rough suck. 

You must like that because you’re riding his face now, the prettiest sounds falling from your mouth as you do so. His hands move your ass, giving it a squeeze which makes you squeal and Simon can’t help but be amused by that. He then begins to knead, desperate for something to do with his hands. 

You grab hold of the headboard in front of you, as he bites down on your clit, going at it like a man starved and and you can’t help but think that this is the best head you’ve ever received and don’t think you’d ever let anyone do this after tonight. 

Once his mouth moves down to your slit, you already know that you’re going to come again, it’s rapidly approaching and the three words that have been on the tip of your tongue for years are blurted in a breathy confession as you reach yet another orgasm and as soon as the words are out of your mouth, your eyes widen, realizing what you’ve just said. 

You’re quick to climb off of him and his expression matches yours, his eyes just as wide as he takes in the words, really letting them sit. The silence is deafening and you’re silently begging, pleading for him to say something. 

“I meant what I said,” you’re quick to say, not wanting him to think it was just because of the orgasm he just gave you. Before you can even overthink, he smiles, and matches the way you’re sitting, getting on his knees as well. 

“I love you too,” he smiles as a hand reaches up and cradles your face in his hands as he pulls you into a kiss that’s nothing but teeth and giggles because of how happy you both are. “So fucking much.” His swimsuit is off in an instant and he lays you down on the bed, fully intending on showing you just how much. 

You stay like that the rest of the weekend, tangled up in the sheets, whispering just how much you love each other between giggles and sharing stories of when you first fell for each other. The weekend is nothing like you anticipated but you can’t say you’re upset with that. This is everything you ever wished for and exactly what you’ve been wanting your entire life. Needless to say you’ve both earned it.

[charliedawn]

The Staring Problem

Eddie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Eddie is pissed because he thinks you are staring at him and judging him like all the other students in Hawkins High. He doesn’t know that you have a natural staring problem and frequent spacing out episodes that you cannot control…An enemy to lovers story.

Un—fucking—believable.

Here you were again. Staring at him. Eddie was getting tired of those big googly eyes staring at him every time he had lunch with the kids…They were like two dark pits just staring straight into his soul. And quite frankly ? He would have been impressed by the power behind that unblinking ability of yours if it didn’t seem to be used against him every single time…He was used to the judgmental stares and the dark glares. But yours ? It was on another level. Nobody had succeeded in holding his gaze so long before, in case he would ‘curse’ them through his mind powers.

But then there was YOU. You. The damn girl he had been losing against in this recurring insane staring competition for the past few days.

Finally, he had had enough and spoke up.

“…Hey. You. You got a problem with me or something ?”

That was the first sentence Eddie Munson had ever uttered to your humble person. You were eating your lunch in peace, staring into space as per usual when he suddenly spoke to you. You blinked. You looked around to make sure he was indeed talking to you. He snorted.

“Yeah. You. I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes and you haven’t stopped staring at me all this damn time. What ? Got a problem with my face, Gazer ?”

Gazer ? You blinked again and chuckled awkwardly before you tried to defend yourself. “I…No. Not at all. I just…I wasn’t staring at you I swear. I was just—”

“Yeah ?” He interrupted you. “Well from where I’m standing. It kinda looked like you were. And I don’t like people staring at me. It ain’t cool.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole when everyone at your table was suddenly staring at you. You pulled your cap down over your face in shame and begged for a reprieve of this moment of sheer embarrassment. And as if you had been heard, a voice raised behind you.

“Munson. Cut it out.” One of the school monitors spoke up and Eddie huffed—but still complied. He sat back down with an angry thud and his arms crossed over his chest. Once the monitor was gone though, he glared at you.

“Don’t think this is over. I’m onto you, Poker Face. One more weird look from you and I’m breakin’ out the tinfoil helmet, got it ?”

You were speechless. You hadn’t meant to be staring at him. It was just that sometimes you had episodes of complete absence and you just started staring into space. It wasn’t your fault. You swear you hadn’t meant it. But before you could apologise, he was gone…You stood up as well and walked towards the exit. You REALLY didn’t want to run into him again.

…

The next time you saw Eddie, it was two days later—during a fire drill. You were standing on the grass near the edge of the baseball field, biting your nails and trying not to look like a lost idiot in a sea of yelling classmates. Your class was grouped loosely together, but you’d instinctively drifted off to the side, head down, eyes fixed on the trees past the fence. Until someone bumped your shoulder—deliberately. You blinked and turned. There he was. Eddie Munson. Same wild hair, same jean jacket, same permanent scowl. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, tilting his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“You doing it again.” He finally told you.

Your throat went dry. “Doing what ?”

He gestured to your eyes. “Staring. Spacing. Whatever the hell it is. Just…do it somewhere else, alright ?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Where else were you supposed to do that ? It’s not like the fire drill had been your idea. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sure you weren’t, Poker Face.”

You frowned. What wouldn’t he just leave you alone ? You had apologised. Multiple times. “Why do you keep calling me that ?”

Eddie tilted his head again, then shrugged before taking a step forward. “Because you’ve got this…blank look. Like you’re just…trying to win at an invisible game of poker in your head.”

You took a small step back. “I just…sometimes I space out. It’s not personal. I swear. I wouldn’t be staring at you if I could help it. I really just space out and you happen to be in my line of vision often when that happens for some reason.”

He blinked. The hardness in his eyes flickered for a moment. “…You for real ?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, embarrassed again. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It just happens.”

“Huh.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Well. You should tell people that.”

“I tried to tell you,” you muttered and looked away.

He didn’t respond for a second, then replied with a slight wince, “…Yeah. Right. Sorry. Guess I kinda jumped the gun on that one.”

You looked—really looked—and for a split second, he looked…sheepish ? Before you could say anything else, the principal blew a whistle, yelling for everyone to get back inside.

Eddie gave you one last look and finally smiled. Then he playfully ruffled your hair and told you: “Still think Poker Face fits though. But I ain’t upset anymore and I accept your apology. We cool, Gazer.”

And then he walked off. You were stunned by the unexpected exchange and it took you a second to get back inside…only to have one of the monitors tell you something that you really didn’t expect…

That night:

You were already sitting when Eddie strolled in the detention room. He froze. He really didn’t expect you to be there. But he then dramatically dropped into the seat beside you with a groan that was louder than necessary. The teacher at the front—Mr. Keller, who clearly didn’t want to be there either—glared briefly, then returned to his newspaper.

Eddie leaned over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So…” he whispered conspiratorially. “Was it you ?”

You blinked at him. “Was what me ?”

“The fire,” he insisted, like it was obvious. “You started it ? I’ve heard of love burning bright, but damn, Gazer.”

Your face dropped. “What ?”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m just saying, if this was all some Bonnie-and-Clyde way to get my attention, it worked. You even got us detention together. Real smooth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Eddie. It was a toaster short-circuiting in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Oh, sure,” he said, nodding solemnly. “But was it a metaphorical toaster ? That’s the question.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Flattered.” He shot back with a smirk.

You turned your head just enough to glare at him sideways. “You do know why I’m actually here, right ?”

Eddie blinked at you. It was his time to be surprised. But it quickly turned into amusement. “…Because you’re a criminal mastermind ? No ? Enlighten me.”

You sat up, arms crossed. “Parker. In biology. Said I was ‘ogling’ you during class. Then he told the teacher I was your stalker.”

Eddie stared at you—dumbfounded. “Wait—what ?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Apparently, I’ve been ‘following your every move’ and ‘writing your name over and over in my diary.’ Which is funny, because I don’t even own a diary.”

He leaned back slowly in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Wow. So you’re my stalker and a pyromaniac. What a résumé.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Eddie.”

He put his hands up. “Kidding. Jeez.” Then, after a beat, “Parker’s such a dick.”

You blinked. He actually agreed with you. That was unexpected. He almost seemed to be feeling sorry for you…

Eddie then sighed and tilted his head towards you. “Alright, Gazer. Poker Face. Whatever. For real—I didn’t think you were, y’know, actually stalking me. I just thought you were…weird.”

“Thanks,” you replied dryly.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly and looked down—playing with his rings. “Like…you’re weird the way I’m weird. Which is probably why I reacted like a cornered cat.”

You eyed him skeptically and Eddie drummed his fingers on the desk, suddenly fidgety. “Look, I’m not great at the whole…being nice thing. But maybe I shouldn’t have called you out like that in the cafeteria.”

You stared at him. “Is that an apology ?”

He winced. “It’s the Eddie Munson Special™ version of one.”

You cracked the tiniest smile despite yourself and he grinned—proud of himself for making you slip. “You’re smiling. See ? We’re bonding.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “I still don’t like you.”

He smirked and nodded. “Even better. All the best friendships start with mild hatred.”

You rolled your eyes again…Right. As if…

The next morning:

You’d barely stepped into the building when you heard the whispers.

“That’s her.”

“No way. Eddie Munson ?”

“I heard they did it in the chemistry closet.”

Your stomach dropped before you even made it to your locker. You could already feel it—the way people’s eyes clung to you, half disgust, half fascination. The cliques didn’t even try to lower their voices. You saw Parker leaning against a locker with his smug little smirk, whispering animatedly to a few wide-eyed girls.

And then you reached your locker.

Spray paint. Sloppy, red, and dripping.

Devil’s Whore.

You froze. Your mouth went dry. Someone behind you giggled. You didn’t even turn to look. For a second, it was like everything slowed down. Your ears rang. Your fingers curled into fists.

I didn’t even do anything.

I didn’t even touch him.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you just stood there—glued to the floor.

“Hey.”

You turned—Eddie. He’d just rounded the corner, binder under his arm, chewing the end of a pencil. His eyes landed on the locker and he immediately stopped chewing and straightened up.

“What the—” He stepped closer, his voice sharper. “Who the hell did this ?”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. You were still frozen in place. Eddie looked at you. Really looked. And his usual teasing, cocky expression faded fast. You shook your head just a little, lips pressed together. He turned towards the hallway, eyes scanning the nearby faces like a wolf catching scent.

“Who the fuck wrote this ?” he barked and slammed his hand against the tagged locker. “Huh ? Parker ? Was it you, you little rat-faced shit ?”

Parker laughed. “Man, don’t look at me. I just heard what everyone else did. Gazer over here’s been—”

Eddie was already moving. He was about to deliver a punch that would hopefully rearrange the idiot’s brain right. But you quickly grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t. Please.”

He looked back at you, jaw clenched so tight it ticked. “They don’t get to do this to you.”

“They already did.” Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. The hallway was starting to go quiet. Too many people watching. Too many grins. But you didn’t want Eddie to get into trouble. He already had more than enough on his plate.

He finally glared at the students watching and raised his middle finger at them. “Anyone else wanna say something ? Huh ? Step right up. Come on. I’ve been dying to use my evil powers on all of you assholes.”

Silence. Everybody eventually looked away.

The bell rang.

Later, in the hallway outside the front office, Eddie leaned against the wall as you sat beside him on the floor. A janitor had painted over your locker in rushed, messy brushstrokes.

“You know,” he spoke up, “if we had slept together, I guarantee you’d remember it.”

You shot him a look.

He smirked. “Too soon ?”

You huffed. “Way too soon.”

Silence…Then—

“…You’re strong,” he complimented you suddenly, the teasing gone. “Most people would be crying in a bathroom stall right about now.”

“I wanted to,” you admitted. “Still might.”

He nodded once, slow. “I guess I’ll wait outside the stall today, just in case.”

You smiled and he smiled back at you. He then nudged his foot against yours.

“Come on. Let’s go. I suddenly got the urge to go to class.”

You were surprised, but smiled nonetheless and nodded before standing up and he smiled back at you before following you.

A few days later…

You were halfway through stabbing a sad excuse for a salad when she approached.

Marcie Winters.

Cheerleader. Always smelled like strawberries and money. She sat down across from you like you were already friends.

“Hey,” she said, all faux-sweetness and sugar-coated venom. “You don’t mind if I sit here, right ?”

You blinked. “Uh…”

You were pretty sure she had never talked to you before…She didn’t even wait. Just plopped down with her friends and leaned across the table like she was about to share a secret.

“So,” she started, voice dropping to a whisper. “How big is he ?”

You stared at her with a confused expression. “W-What ?”

She smiled innocently. “Munson. You know. Big.”

Your stomach turned.

“I mean,” she continued, totally unbothered, “people say he’s crazy in bed, like wild. I just figured you’d know.” Her smile widened. “Unless the rumor was just fake and you didn’t actually—”

“Are you serious right now ?”

She blinked at your defensive tone, as if you were the one being unreasonable.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” you told her truthfully. “That was a lie. Someone made it up. And even if I did, why would I ever share such an intimate information with you ?”

Marcie pouted. “That’s a shame. I kinda liked the idea of him being as much a freak in the bed than in his everyday life.”

You stood up so fast your chair scraped loudly against the floor. But before you could say something that would land you in another detention, a familiar voice rang out behind you.

“Wow. Really classy, Marcie.”

You froze.

Eddie.

He’d shown up with a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand and a “do not test me” expression that was usually reserved for people who tried to touch his guitar without asking.

Marcie scoffed. “What ? I was just curious. Jeez.”

Eddie stepped between you and her, putting himself squarely in her line of sight. “You wanna know how big I am ? Why don’t you ask your boyfriend ? I hear he’s got a measuring tape and plenty of insecurities he’s trying to hide. Sooo…instead of asking the poor girl embarrassing questions, how about you take care of your own backyard for once, hmm ?”

The lunchroom snorted. Someone two tables over even clapped.

Marcie’s jaw dropped in shock before she scoffed. “You’re disgusting.”

“No,” he quickly answered, popping a chip into his mouth. “I’m selective. And you didn’t make the cut.”

She was silenced and stormed off with a huff. You were still standing there, wide-eyed.

Eddie turned to you and his gaze grew concerned. “You alright there, Gazer ?”

You blinked before sighing and huffing a bitter laugh. “Why are you always showing up right when things get really humiliating ?”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ve got a sixth sense for it. Or maybe,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned just a little closer, “I don’t like when people talk shit about someone I like.”

Your heart skipped and your eyes widened significantly. “You like me ?”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at the shock on your face. “I was kidding. Don’t flatter yourself, Poker Face. I just hate Marcie.”

He walked away, tossing the empty chip bag into the trash, but not before glancing back—just once—to make sure you were smiling.

You were.

A few days later…

You were nose-deep in a history book, fully zoned out when—

Tap.

You jolted so hard you knocked your pen across the table.

“Jesus—!”

Eddie was crouched behind your chair, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hi,” he said sweetly.

You slapped a hand to your chest. “Eddie. You can’t just do that—”

He didn’t move. Still crouched. Still smirking.

“I’ve been here for five minutes,” he informed you. “You didn’t even notice me creeping up. I could’ve been a serial killer.”

You snorted. “I wish you were. Then maybe I’d have peace.”

He gasped—mock hurt. “Gazer. Wounding me.”

You glared at him and turned back to your book, trying not to acknowledge the fact that your pulse was still hammering. But then—

Poke.

Your eyes went wide. His fingers had poked your ribs. Right under your arm. You stiffened.

“Oh ?” Eddie exclaimed, leaning closer, mischief radiating off him like heat. “Was that a reaction ?”

You gave him a warning glance. “Don’t.”

He wiggled his fingers again. “I’m looking for it. The tickle spot. I know it’s there.”

You tried to use the back of your chair as a shield against the assault. “I will kick you in the shin.”

“Promises, promises,” he sing-songed.

You glared at him and tried to focus back on your page, ignoring how close he was now, chin resting on the back of your chair. But he poked your side again and you yelped—actually yelped.

“There it is,” he grinned, triumphant. “Bullseye.”

You shoved your book closed and gave him a half-hearted glare, cheeks warm. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be ?”

“Probably,” he admitted with a grin. “But I like bothering you more.”

You huffed and stood up to walk out. You then sat cross-legged under the old tree near the edge of the field, unmoving. Your eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distance—nowhere, really—and then you just went into one of your weird spacing out episodes.

From the path, Eddie spotted you.

At first, he thought you were ignoring him. Then he realized that you weren’t.

He slowed as he approached.

“Hey…” he said softly, crouching in front of you. No reaction.

He waved a hand near your face. “Earth to Poker Face.”

Nothing.

He paused. This wasn’t the first time. He’d seen it happen before, but never quite this…deep. Instead of pushing, Eddie exhaled through his nose and lowered himself into the grass beside you. He sat close—but not touching—watching you out of the corner of his eye. You were still breathing slow. Calm. Peaceful, even. His gaze wandered. And then he saw it—your hand, resting lightly against your thigh, fingers relaxed. Something stirred in his chest. He looked around for any potential witnesses but no one seemed to be around at this hour.

Left. Right. No one watching.

His tongue poked out briefly as he wet his lips. He looked at your face again, searching for any flicker of awareness.

Still nothing.

So slowly—ever so slowly—he reached out. His hand hovered for a moment over yours like he was afraid you’d burn him. Then, inch by inch, he slipped his fingers between yours. His palm pressed against yours with the lightest pressure.

You didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure that you were even aware that he had decided to hold your hand. So he stayed like that. Sitting beside you, hand in yours, heartbeat skipping like a stone across water.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves above.

He looked at you again—studying the curve of your eyelashes, the calm in your brow, the stillness that always made people whisper, what’s wrong with them ? But not him. He didn’t think anything was wrong with you. He thought you looked like someone who just…lived in a different kind of quiet. And maybe, for once, he wanted to know what that quiet felt like. So he stayed. Just sat there. No jokes. No jabs. Just some guy with his hand in yours, hoping maybe when you came back to the world, you wouldn’t let go.

A few moments later…

You blinked slowly and the haze lifted. Your fingers twitched and tightened slightly around a warmth you hadn’t expected. Turning your head just a little, you saw him—Eddie, eyes closed, head tilted back against the tree trunk, breathing steady and calm. He was asleep. His hand still held yours, fingers loosely intertwined. You hesitated for a moment, the instinct to pull away warring with something deeper. Then, instead of moving away, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest against his. The grass was cool beneath you, the sky above muted and gray, but in that instant, the quiet felt safe.

You closed your eyes.

The soft rise and fall of his breath was soothing to you. Minutes stretched and slipped by. And somewhere between the crunch of leaves and the distant chatter of classmates, you both drifted into a peaceful nap—side by side, hands still touching, shoulders leaning in.

…

The moon hung low and silver, casting long shadows across the empty field when you woke up. You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the chill night air. Your heart jumped when you realized you were still pressed up against Eddie’s shoulder—and your hand was still in his. You jerked awake, coughing softly to cover your sudden fluster. Quickly, carefully, you slipped your hand out of his grasp, trying not to disturb him.

“Sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible in the quiet.

Eddie stirred too, blinking slowly as he registered where he was and who was beside him. He smirked, eyes half-lidded in that trademark devil-may-care way.

“’S fine,” he mumbled, stretching one arm above his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. The two of you then stood up and started walking towards the school ground exit. The street was empty, quiet but for the wind rustling through the trees and your slow footsteps on the pavement. Eddie shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“…You wear that cap a lot,” he noted casually and gestured to the one you were wearing. “Like, a lot a lot.”

You looked down quickly, fingers twitching with the urge to adjust the brim again.

“Yeah,” you acknowledged. “I know.”

He let the silence stretch, giving you the chance to fill it if you wanted to. You did.

“It’s not just because I like it. It’s sort of…a shield.”

Eddie raised a quizzical eyebrow at you. “A shield ?”

You nodded. “From people. From their eyes. I have a…habit. Sometimes I space out and stare. It makes people uncomfortable. Makes them think I’m doing it on purpose.”

Eddie tilted his head, quiet now.

You kicked a rock on the sidewalk. “So I wear the cap low. It gives me something to look at. Lets me hide a little. I know it’s weird.”

Eddie was quiet for a second longer, then replied with a shrug, “That’s not weird.”

You glanced at him and he looked away.

“I mean,” he shrugged again, “people stare at me all the time. But I guess it’s only cool when they do it.”

You smiled, surprised by his reassuring words.

He looked ahead again, a breeze lifting his curls. “So what, the cap’s like—your armor or something ?”

You nodded. “…Kind of, yeah.”

He smiled. “Well, I dig it. It’s got that mysterious ‘who is she under that brim ?’ vibe. Very mysterious and dramatic.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Thanks, Munson.”

He was quick to retort. “You’re welcome, Poker Face.”

And with that, the silence returned. You both kept walking, your cap tugged low and your secret out in the open. Eddie glanced down at his hand—still swinging loosely by his side—and suddenly stopped walking. You paused too, watching as he wiggled his fingers, the silver of his many rings catching in the streetlight.

“You know…” he began, quieter now, “these aren’t just for show.”

You tilted your head. “They’re not ?”

He held up his hand, turning it side to side, letting each ring glint like a tiny spotlight.

“Most people think it’s just part of the whole… metalhead, freak-show image. And I mean, yeah, sure—some of it is. Gotta look cool when you’re scaring preps and failing math.”

You let out a small chuckle. He smiled faintly, but didn’t drop his gaze from his fingers.

“But I started wearing them when I was like… twelve. Found one in a pawn shop. Cheap as hell. Felt heavy. Solid. Like I had control over something.” He glanced at you now, his face more serious as he continued. “It was stupid, but I used to think if I had rings on my fingers, no one would notice they were shaking.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened slightly. He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Still do it. If my hands are bare, I feel…I don’t know. Off. It’s stupid really.”

You were quiet for a beat, then replied softly, “That’s not stupid.”

He looked at you again. You hesitated, then tugged your cap a little higher—just enough for your eyes to meet his. Eddie held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. You didn’t look away this time. His lips quirked up into something real.

“Well then,” he said softly. “Guess we’ve both got our special armor.”

You hesitated just a moment—then, without a word, your fingers reached out and intertwined with his. The weight of his rings pressed softly against your skin. Eddie’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up to your face, surprised but not pulling away.

“If…you ever feel like your hand is shaking…you can just…hold my hand.” You suggested and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, Eddie’s usual smirk softened into a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Poker Face. I think I’ll take you up on that generous offer.”

You chuckled. “Actually, the name’s Y/N.”

He gave you a dumbfounded look. “Yeah, I know. But I prefer Poker Face or the Gazer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “…Wow. Thanks a lot, Munson.”

But you then both burst out laughing as you kept walking hand in hand.

The next morning:

You were walking towards the front steps of Hawkins High with a bounce in your step. The memory of yesterday still lingered—your hand in Eddie’s, the quiet promise you’d made. For once, school didn’t feel so unbearable.

Then you saw them.

Eddie leaning against the side of the school, talking to Marcie Winters—her laugh shrill and fake, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve. He handed her something small—probably another drug deal—and for a moment, it was normal.

Until she looked up and spotted you.

Smirk.

Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You froze. You knew she had probably done that to make you jealous. However, your stomach didn’t twist with jealousy. It twisted with rage. You stormed forward, every step harder than the last. Eddie pulled back, clearly startled, but before anyone could speak, you ripped your cap off and slapped Marcie across the face with it.

Whack.

Gasps echoed from nearby students.

“YOU NEVER KISS ANYONE WITHOUT PERMISSION, BITCH !” you shouted, fury lighting up your face.

Marcie stumbled back, stunned, hand flying to her cheek.

“AND YOU GOT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND !” you continued, voice cracking from the emotion bubbling out of you after years of staying quiet. “LEAVE EDDIE ALONE !”

Silence. Eddie stood frozen, eyes wide, half in shock and half in awe.

Marcie sputtered, “Wha—are you crazy ?!”

You didn’t even give her the dignity of a reply. You turned your back on her, shoved your cap back on, and looked to Eddie. Eddie blinked. Then grinned.

“…Holy shit.”

He then looked down at Marcie on the ground, then back at you, then at the students around with this look of ‘have you seen that shit ?’.

You barely registered Eddie grabbing your hand. One second you were standing your ground in front of a gasping crowd, and the next, you were running away from the scene. He tugged you through the hallway, laughing breathlessly as you ran past lockers and students to finally slip into a dark, musty janitor’s closet. The door shut with a quiet click. You stood in the darkness, the scent of mop water and dust in the air, your chest heaving from the sprint—and from what you’d just done.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you whispered, pulling your cap low again. “I didn’t mean to—I just saw her, and then she kissed you, and she has a boyfriend, and I just—shit, Eddie, I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice was rising, a full-blown panic ramble—Until he grabbed your face and kissed you.

Full stop. No warning. No build-up.

Your breath caught in your chest and your pupils started dancing around in their eye sockets as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Your heart exploded in your chest and your hands flailed up and down in the air like a headless chicken.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like you’d just lit the world on fire.

“That,” he breathed, eyes gleaming, “was the sexiest, most badass thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

Eddie leaned in again, forehead resting against yours, breath warm. “You really just smacked Marcie Winters with your damn cap, Poker Face ?”

You stammered and tried to justify yourself. “…It-It was the only weapon I had.”

He barked a laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. “You’re fucking insane. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. Not this time. “…You’re not mad ?”

He scoffed. “Mad ? I’m in love.”

Your lips were still tingling from the kiss. His words—I’m in love—echoed in your head like a dropped match in a room full of fireworks. You blinked. And then—

Gone.

The janitor’s closet faded. His voice, the heat of the moment, the nearness of him—it all softened into static as your mind slipped.

Eyes open, but not seeing.

Still. Silent.

You were staring into nothingness again.

Eddie tilted his head. “Hey…?”

No response.

“…Shit,” he murmured under his breath, the playful spark in his eyes softening instantly. “You’re doing the thing again.”

He didn’t try to shake you. Instead, he sighed and crouched a little lower, gently resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hand—the one still warm from his grip.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, “I got you.”

He glanced at your face. You looked calm. Peaceful, even. Like you were off somewhere far away where none of this mess existed. After a beat, he slowly moved to sit on the floor beside you, shoulder brushing yours again—just like that day in the grass.

“I’ll wait,” he whispered. And he did.

Suddenly, your lashes fluttered. The mop bucket and dim fluorescent light above came back into focus. The weight of the air shifted. You blinked, head turning slowly, and saw Eddie sitting next to you on the floor—elbow resting on his bent knee, eyes watching you carefully.

“…How long was I out ?” you asked, your voice still distant, like you’d just woken from a dream.

“Just a couple minutes,” he replied with a smile. “Not too bad.”

You looked down at your lap. Embarrassment started creeping in again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time.

You looked up at him with wide eyes when he cut you off and he smiled. He shrugged, fiddling with one of his rings absentmindedly. “I mean…I get it now. You weren’t ignoring me. Or zoning out ‘cause I’m boring.” He smirked a little, but it faded quickly. “You’re just built different, huh ?”

A pause.

Then he asked. “Is it scary ? When it happens ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Sometimes.”

Eddie leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he was thinking hard about something.

Then, “Well…for what it’s worth ? You don’t look weird when it happens. You just look like you’re somewhere important. Like your brain’s off doing spy shit and forgot to bring the rest of you.”

You laughed, startled and warm. “Spy shit ?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You probably know all the secrets of the universe and just can’t tell me ‘cause I’d freak out.”

He nudged your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m gonna be your handler now. Like, your official lookout. You space out, I keep you safe. No questions asked.”

You tilted your head. “And what do I do for you ?”

Eddie grinned. “You hold my hand when it shakes. We’ve already got a deal, remember ?”

You smiled—small, shy, and utterly real. “…Okay.” Then you let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “We should…probably get back to class though.”

Eddie groaned dramatically, tilting his head back against the wall like you’d just told him finals were moved to today. “Ugh, why ? We just committed a public slap. Shouldn’t we be fugitives by now ?”

You stood slowly, brushing dust off your pants. “You can go full fugitive if you want. I still have homework due.”

“God,” he sighed, getting to his feet and stretching his arms overhead, “you’re such a nerd.”

You shot him a dry look beneath your cap. “And you kiss nerds. So what does that make you ?”

He paused. Then grinned, stepping a little closer, his nose brushing yours. “A nerd lover, apparently.”

You blinked—then smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of your hand. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

As you reached for the doorknob, Eddie gently caught your wrist. “Hey…seriously.”

You turned back before he continued.

“Thanks for what you did. With Marcie. No one’s…ever done something like that for me before.”

You felt your throat tighten—but managed a quiet, honest: “Anytime.”

And with that, you slipped out into the hallway. Whispers were already crackling through it like static—students leaning in close to each other, nudging shoulders, darting glances. You didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about.

You were walking beside Eddie Munson. And he was holding your hand.

You felt it then—that rising heat under your skin, the old instinct to shrink, to disappear, to pull the cap lower and pretend none of it was real. So you looked down. Your hand in his. His fingers tangled with yours.

Slowly, gently, you opened your hand—leaving it there for him, but giving him the choice.

If he wanted to let go, he could.

For a second, nothing happened.

And then—

His fingers tightened.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he laced your fingers together more firmly and lifted your joined hands a little—almost like a dare to the hallway around you. You looked up at him. He was already looking at you.

“Poker Face,” he whispered under his breath, leaning in just enough so only you could hear, “I’d rather be holding your hand than pretending I’m not.”

The whispers got louder.

But suddenly, they didn’t matter.

Not when his thumb brushed the back of your hand like it was second nature. Not when you realized he hadn’t even looked at them. Not once.

Just you.

Always just you…

You smiled and dared to stare into his eyes.

He smiled as his eyes met yours. “Welcome back to Earth, Y/N.”

[writeriguess]

hii, can I request a fic where the readers grandma is in the hospital with little to no chance of living and Bakugou is the only classmate who knows/comforts them. childhood friends/crushing maybe :)

The Strongest Shoulder

You barely notice the way the heavy rain pelts against the windows, each drop a sharp reminder of how cold the world feels right now. The sterile scent of antiseptics clings to your clothes, lingering long after you’ve left your grandma’s hospital room. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes incessantly, but you’re too drained to care.

Class 1-A was quick to notice something was off—well, most of them. You didn’t want to talk about it, though, so you plastered on a smile and went about your day. No one questioned the bags under your eyes or the way your hands trembled when you held your chopsticks.

No one, except Katsuki Bakugou.

“You look like shit,” he’d grunted on day three, unceremoniously dropping into the seat beside you. It wasn’t exactly a comfort, but you could feel his eyes on you all class, sharp and unrelenting.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. What would he do if you told him? Yell at you for being weak? Mock you for crying? He’d always been prickly—rough around the edges with a temper hotter than his explosions. But he never outright bullied you, not since you’d defended him in kindergarten. Back when he’d been a bratty kid throwing tantrums, and you were the quiet one tugging him away before he could punch the wrong person.

But things were different now. You’d drifted apart, just like childhood friends tend to do.

The days dragged on. Classes blurred together. You went to visit your grandma every evening, sometimes alone, sometimes with your parents. She was unconscious most days, hooked to machines that hummed and beeped like a heartbeat. The doctors said she might not wake up. The words sank deep into your chest, anchoring you in place.

“Oi.”

You blink back to the present, the hallway outside your dorms stretching long and empty. Bakugou’s standing there, arms crossed, expression sharp and annoyed.

“You deaf now?”

“What do you want?” you snap, weariness making you irritable. The last thing you need is him barking at you.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t even talk to your friends, dumbass,” he growls. His voice drops. “You think we can’t tell something’s wrong?”

Something in your chest cracks. Your fists clench. “Not everything is your business, Bakugou.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” he snaps back, unflinching. “You’re moping around like a zombie, not eating, not talking, acting like you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt.”

Anger flares hot in your gut. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me!” he demands, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, crimson eyes blazing.

Your chest heaves, words spilling out before you can stop them. “My grandma is dying, okay? There’s nothing the doctors can do. She’s just—just lying there, and I can’t do anything to help her!”

The hall echoes with the force of your confession. You swallow hard, throat tight, tears pricking at your eyes. You won’t cry—not here. Not in front of him.

Bakugou’s expression shifts. The scowl remains, but there’s something softer behind his eyes. Regret, maybe. Understanding.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” he mutters, voice gruff but lacking the bite from before.

“Why would I?” you mumble, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not like anyone could help.”

He glares, but it’s more exasperated than anything. “You think I’d just ignore you if I knew? Idiot.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“Tch. Ain’t pity.” He grabs your wrist, grip firm but not rough. “Come on.”

“W-What? Where—”

“Shut up and move.”

He drags you to his dorm, kicking the door open and shoving you inside. You blink, glancing around. It’s cleaner than expected. Minimalistic, practical, with training equipment piled in the corner. A punching bag hangs near the closet, looking well-worn.

He shuts the door and flops onto his bed, gesturing for you to sit. “Talk.”

You hesitate, but the stern glare he shoots you leaves no room for argument. Sighing, you sit on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around your knees. Slowly, you tell him everything. About your grandma’s condition, the hopelessness of it all, and how the thought of losing her feels like your world is crumbling.

He listens. Not a word interrupts you, though he frowns often, fingers drumming against his knee. It’s oddly comforting, the heavy silence filled only by your shaky breaths.

When you finish, the exhaustion catches up, and your shoulders slump. “She’s the strongest person I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Bakugou’s expression hardens. “You stay strong. For her.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“No shit,” he snaps, leaning closer. “But you’re not some weakling, right? You’re not gonna just sit there and cry until she’s gone. You fight. You stay by her side. She needs you.”

The lump in your throat loosens. His blunt, no-nonsense words ground you, carving away the fog of despair.

“I…” You look away, wiping your eyes. “I’m scared.”

“We all get scared,” he mutters. “Just don’t run from it.”

You sniffle, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“Shut up.” He looks away, cheeks dusted pink. “Just don’t let yourself fall apart.”

You nod, heart a little lighter. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He grunts, scowl softening. “Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen. He looks away, embarrassed, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay. Thanks, Katsuki.”

He crosses his arms, grumbling. “And stop hiding shit from me. You look like a damn corpse.”

You laugh weakly. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in days, a genuine smile tugs at your lips. Bakugou—Katsuki—scoffs, but you catch the hint of a smirk. The rain outside slows, softening into a gentle patter.

You realize then—maybe you don’t have to carry this alone.

[bochowssinner]

in love with the way you write remmick like hello??? the dark mysterious vibe, yeah. i also love the fact it’s black reader coded being black myself i love seeing it from the perspective of someone the same race as me. wondering if you’d mind typing an x reader with remmick showing up to readers house seeking shelter and she kind of figures out what he is, but he doesn’t turn her valuing her humanity? kinda sappy but i wanna see a more soft approach to remmick idk

🪽THANK YOU.

summary: a random white man appears on your porch one day, covered in blisters, and while your father is skeptical, your heart tells you to help him.

warnings: none i think.

a/n: worked on this for hours nonstop. got messy at the end. hope y'all like it.

the missisipi sun was at his back 'n he was burning up. the arid, limitless field of dirt extended for miles in all directions, scorched and crumbling in the sunlight. his weathered boots kicked up clouds of dirt heated by the sun as they shuffled through the sand. he was thirsty, dehydrated, longing for a small drop of water to coat his cotton mouth. and above all, he needed food—bones, flesh, and blood.

the sun. that ball of fire, that damned piece of light. remmick had previously been hunted by that blazing light. he tried his hardest to stay away from it, even spending days at a time hiding in a hole in the ground to allow his skin to heal. he was powerful, sure. but every creature had its weakness, and remmick? the sun damn near killed him.

he staggered with each excruciating stride, the sun soaking through his shoes and burning the raw blisters on his feet. as he ran, a wet plap filled the air, with the sounds of his own blood and sweat sloshing in his shoes and between his toes, exacerbating his blisters. remmick wasn't religious at all, but he found himself praying in his head that he could get out of this scorching heat. despite the fact that he was a sinner and a horrible man, God appeared to answer his prayer quickly as a house came into his view.

after helping your ma in making breakfast—scrambled eggs, cheesy grits, crispy bacon, and buttery pancakes—you were in the kitchen cleaning up. an unfamiliar male voice caught your attention, and you wiped your hands on the floral kitchen towel before making your way to the front door, the wooden floor groaning under your steps. standing with a double barrel shotgun in his hands, your father—a well known farmer in the neighborhood—was aiming it straight at the stranger kneeling at the door.

you stood behind him, looking up down the white man with worry etched on your face. he didn’t look like one of the men from the neighboring farms—he was too beat up, his clothes too raggedy. he also smelled. it was a hot day, but even from where she stood, the man reeked of something sour. a little bit like alcohol, a little bit like sweat.

your father questioned him relentlessly, his expression hard. this was strange; a random white man on your porch, covered from head to toe in blisters and looking like he had been beaten with hot barbed wire; something wasn't adding up.

remmick didn’t respond at first, licking his chapped lips and looking between the double barrel shotgun gun and your pa, taking in the little woman poking her head from behind the porch door. “i don’t mean trouble,” he said at last, voice rough and sandpaper low. his eyes found you, studying the confusion on your face. “i jus' need water.”

the air was tense, your pa's grip tight on the gun. the man on his porch looked like he’d walked through hell, red faced and staggering. he was also white, which was suspicious enough. the farmers around here stuck to their own, the lines of color were drawn deep. remmick held up both palms empty, but still, your pa didn’t lower the gun. “i’m dyin' o' thirst, i swear.” he swayed a bit on his feet, and both your and your pa noticed. he was exhausted, dehydrated. his eyes locked with yours, and something passed between them. pleading.

"pa, he's burnin' up.." you spoke softly, cringing at the blisters that covered him from head to foot.

your pa's gaze flicked over to you, softening for the smallest moment when he saw your big eyes looking at him. you were always a soft-hearted girl, seeing something in people that he didn’t. he huffed.

“you from here? who’s land you trespassing on?”

“i ain’t trespassing. i’m just lost, is all. i was headin' east, and then the sun got to me.” remmick ran a dry hand over his face, groaning. “i need a few hours. to cool off, get my bearings. i'll be on my way as soon as the sun goes down.”

"he can sit at the table. i'll get him some water.." you spoke firmly but softly to your pa, walking to the kitchen before he could say anything else. you've always been stubborn, anyway.

that night, you persuaded your father to let remmick stay in the guest bedroom for the night. and he agreed after some pleading, promises, and tears of empathy from you. and he hated seeing his baby girl cry. you provided him with clothes from your pa's closet, a washcloth and soap bar for bathing, food, and other necessities. you were a little nosy and looked into the guest room before going to bed to see how remmick was doing, and then you saw them. his teeth were as sharp as your brother's hunting knife, and you almost gasped before forcing yourself to stay silent. putting the pieces together didn't take long; you were a smart girl who had heard tales from your cousins who lived in new orleans about the kinds of things they saw. in the hopes that you would forget what you saw, you said nothing to your pa about it. if he even caught a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth, he would shoot remmick dead.

but remmick knew you saw, and he knew you would keep quiet.

that night, you awoke to the sound of the front door creakily closing, but a shimmer on your nightstand drew your attention. a piece of gold with a note next to it with only two words scribbled on it with a nearly empty ink pen.

thank you.

— R.M

the gold gleamed in the low light from outside, glimmering like the stars on a clear night. that was more money than you had ever seen, more money than your family made in a week. you’d never even touched gold before, the metal was cool beneath your fingers, the ridges of the coin imprinted in your palm. your jaw dropped. where had this come from? you looked at the note, confusion making your head spin. where had he gotten this from? you sat up, studying the note again. the handwriting was messy, the letters sharp pointed and uneven. the words were simple, but the coin was worth a weeks worth of their harvest. you'd never forget him.

remmick.

[nervoushottee]

Casual | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: To you, what you and Steve had felt like coming home but to him? It was only just casual.

Warnings: 18+ MNDI, S1 King Steve (asshole), implied sex, descriptions of sex but not in detail, ANGST, Steve being a piece of shit, I think I gave Carol the wrong last name?

Notes: I love Chappel Roan’s “Casual”. Always have and always will. One day a few months ago when listening to the song I literally thought about this fic and just wrote crap on paper and forgot about it. Months later and here it is! I haven’t wrote for Steve in a long time so please bear with me if it’s rusty. This fic is inspired by a oc fic that I’m writing for a Canon Stranger Things store but Oc’s are always so hardddd to write compared to Reader. So there are some plot points used from that story to add in this story because it just felt right.

please enjoy! Not edited

(I know I know! This isn’t what you want for me to post! The Jesse fic IS being worked but very slowly due to my feelings with the S2 potrayal so bear with me on that!)

You and Steve have always been around each other—like a tether or an invisible string guiding you together. You live two houses down and one across from him, you’re in the same friend group. You’re a cheerleader and he’s on the basketball team. The both of you were causally and unintentionally tied to the hip.

So it only makes sense when the two of you fuck one night when Steve’s parents aren’t home.

Steve was bored—that’s what he told you over the phone a couple hours before. With a playful groan and a promise of a joint, you shove some sweats and sneakers and make the short walk to his house.

Another thing that the two of you so casually have in common—being an abandoned child.. Father kicked it years ago with the stupid and overused milk scene; Mother drowns herself in liquor that when she’s sober it’s scary. You should hate her, want her to show up more in your life but you’re not…not really.

When she slurs her speech with how much she loves the man who left her years ago and tries to find him again and again in old rich men—you can’t help but feel bad for her. You can’t help but hope and pray that you’ll never be like her: a shell of a woman constantly heartbroken from the one that got away.

Despite her absence and the (many) rich boyfriends in a suit that she drags to meet you—then cry her eyes out when it’s over, you have a roof over your head and money in your pocket. The last guy she dated was able to upgrade the television set in the living room. The guy two guys before that one fixed the pool that hadn’t been working for three years straight (you would use Steve’s anyways). That is what’s different between you and Steve.

Steve’s parents are rarely ever home. Business trips or vacations is what they call them but from what Steve told you, he knows it’s mostly his father having a business meeting or whatever and his mother tagging along be every time she didn’t, his father would go and cheat with a younger version of her. Despite Steve’s nonchalant attitude toward it whenever it’s brought up with Tommy and Carol, you know Steve better than that.

It was nights like these when Steve “bored” out of his mind and calling you to come to his or he’d go to yours—Steve would whisper out the feelings that were hidden inside of him. When the joint was down to its last hit or the beer too warm to drink anymore on a warm night. Or even if it was just a little too quiet and a little too comfortable. The two of you would bring out all of the skeletons you kept deep in the closet.

It was a mutual understanding between you both to keep it to yourself. Despite not being more than good friends, the weight of the conversations you shared meant more to you than just that.

Shaking your head, you scoff playfully as you see Steve already standing in the drive. His hands placed on his hip and his foot tapping on the cement. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought Steve was a disappointed mother rather than your cute friend.

Of course you think Steve is cute—who fucking wouldn’t? You still keep it to yourself though.

He taps his hands on his wrist, his eyebrows furrowed in disappoint, “Do you know what time it is young lady? For you to go out this late and come to a boys house of all things is just unacceptable.”

You roll your eyes as you walk toward him. “Sorry mom, it won’t happen again.”

“You bet your ass it won’t.” he says sternly, as you stop a foot or so in front of him, you can already see the playful and fond gleam in his eyes. Sometimes you wonder if he only saves that look for you.

Steve opens the door for you and once you step inside, it’s like you never left. You know Steve’s place like the back of your hand and you won’t be surprised if Steve knows yours just the same. Following him up the stairs to his bedroom, the two of you get into a routine that has honestly warmed your heart since it started.

Steve goes slides his desk to corner of the wall as you open the window that it was faced toward. You can hear the crickets chirping in the night and the faint sound of trees rustling from the night wind. The air warm from summer being just a blink away, so you unzip your jacket after pulling out the light you had shoved into it. Steve sits on the other side of window as he pulls out the joint that was promised. You chuck off your shoes with a groan an wiggle your sock covered toes as you hear the scrape of the lighter against Steve’s thumb.

He doesn’t take the first hit, he never does. Not with weed or even cigarettes—he simply lights it for you. You don’t remember when it started but you do remember the curt remark from Carol at a party once. Steve had got a couple beers, had opened one, handed it to you and pull one for him out of his pocket. Carol (drunk and little jealous) had asked “Who is she, your girlfriend Harrington?”

You and Steve had both shrugged off the comments, not really taking to heart the words that your friend had slurred out your mouth. But as Tommy dragged her away for some air, and you watched Steve light the cigarette just to give to you, the words were replaying in your mind for the rest of the night.

Months later and here you are, sharing the small joint with Steve. Fingers brushing against each other as you exchange it back and forth. You blow the smoke out the window with your arm rested on the windowsill. Your cheek squished against your arm, you look out at the night sky. You don’t know if your eyes are playing tricks on you but you can only see two stars in the sky. They stand in the blackness of the night parallel to you and Steve.

You’ve got to be super high already. You clear your throat and rub your eyes against your arm. “Mom’s got a new guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks as he hands the small joint to you.

You hum. “Yea he’s,” you inhale warm smoke, “He’s some guy up from Indianapolis. Works at a lawyer firm or accounting something.” You shrug your shoulders, you never really give a shit about the who and what of your mom’s new flavor of the month.

“Think this one’s gonna stick?” Steve accepts the last bit of the joint.

You shake your head and smush your cheek back on your arm. “They never do.”

Because from what your mom tells you whenever she drinks vodka—that all of them can never hold a candle to your father. She tells you that with tear in her eyes, mascara smudged and lips quivering. You always exchange her vodka out for whatever after a while when she’s not looking; Usually she’s too drunk to even notice the difference.

You snap out of your daydream at the touch of Steve’s warm hand against your waist. His skin on yours makes your breath hitch silent. Your shirt had ridden up with how you were leaned against the window sill, so you know it wasn’t his intention to place his hands on you like that but he doesn’t move it. Instead you feel his thumb softly move back and forth. Faint baby strokes against your skin that sends goosebumps up your spine.

You try your best to look casual as you direct your gaze to Steve. He’s smoking the last bit of it, the roach looking tiny in his big hands. You let out a whine, “You’re hogging it Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, “Not my fault you were lost in a daydream.”

You use your unoccupied hand to reach out for the roach but Steve takes the little thing and extends his arm out of your reach. Orangey red ember staring back at you as you squint and pout. “That shit probably only has one hit left. ‘S not fair, I was just enjoying my high.” You lie.

Steve debates it for a second, you see how his face changes from playful to thoughtful to fond in the bright moonlight.

Fuck, you really like the way he looks at you.

“Fine. How about this?”

Steve takes the last and final hit of the joint and you gasp in shock— slightly annoyed that he didn’t share it. But once Steve gets into your personal space, his hand still on sliding from your waist, up your back to softly cup your neck—you realize that Steve Harrington is actually fucking sharing it.

You lean to meet him as suck in the warm smoke that Steve blows into your mouth. His gaze low and heavy as he leans back a bit to watch you lick your chapped lips.

You can’t really tell who pulled in first but all you know is that night you and Steve had sex for the first time.

The morning after, when you woke up to the sun on your skin and the sound of birds chirping. The bed is empty when you turn around. Your naked underneath the sheets and you shove Steve’s shirt over your head and shrug on your sweats as you make your way out of his room.

You follow the sound of pots and pans and walk downstairs to see Steve in the kitchen. His back toward you as he places a pan on the stove. There’s a cup of coffee next to him and a mug empty right next to his.

“Hey.” you mumble out.

Steve turns to the sound of your voice and with the same fucking in his eyes that makes your heart jump—he smiles softly at you. “Morning. Coffee?”

Warmth and relief flutters inside of you as you let out a deep sigh, “Yeah that’s perfect actually.”

The two of you don’t talk about what happened last night. Neither of you ask the what are we question and it makes you happy and anxious at the same time. But as you laugh at some stupid story he’s telling, you remind yourself that it was only one time and it won’t ever happen again.

Until it happens a second time and then a third time. Then it turns into something so continuous that Tommy and Carol catch on.

“Are you guys fucking or something?” Tommy blurts out at your table in the cafeteria. You nearly choke on your Coke. Carol eyes you both as she blows the biggest bubble of gum she’s done so far. You keep the soda can up against your lips—an act of not speaking, blaming it on drinking soda.

“Don’t try to deny it either,” Carol states with a pop of her gum. “Those hickeys conveniently placed blow your neck is peaking out of your collar.” She tells you. Your mouth slightly gaped like a fish, you reach to adjust your shirt collar as Steve clears his throat.

“It’s nothing serious. We’re just hanging out.” Steve says like it’s whatever.

You ignore the pang in your chest when the words come out of his mouth. But, you’re in no mood to make a fool of yourself, so you do what you do best—push down those unwanted feelings and agree. “Yeah,” you shrug your shoulders. “We’re just-”

“Casual.” Steve finishes for you and like the stupid girl you are—you nod. You take the multiple blows he sent your way with the five letter word and the look on his face that’s nothing like how he looks at you in private.

With the ring of the school bell, you watch as Steve wipes his mouth with a napkin, toss it on his tray and leave the lunch table. Tommy follows after him like a lost puppy while leaving his girlfriend in the process.

You almost don’t see the small look of shock and disappointment in Carol’s eyes with how fast it leaves. She pops her gum and in a blink of an eye it’s gone. Her usual bored stare takes its place as she locks eyes with you.

“Bathroom?”

Going to the bathroom with Carol Jenkins means more than just going to the bathroom. No, it doesn’t mean making out in the stall—even though you did do that one time when the two of you both turned sixteen; Just to see how kissing girls felt. It meant what every other group of girls did when going to the bathroom at Hawkins High.

To Reapply lipgloss, smoke out the window and gossip.

The highschool bathroom window only opened three inches on every floor for safety reasons and to prevent kids from smoking. But all you had to do was stick your hand out and let the smoke trail out side.

So hear you stood by the window, cigarette in the hand extended outside. You take a puff and watch the track team do laps on the yard.

“You know, if what you and Steve have isn’t as casual as he thinks it is—you need to tell him like now.” Carol says out loud. You nearly break your neck with how quick you turn to the redhead who is reapplying her lipgloss for the second time since you lit the cig. She meet your eyes yet, giving you time to save face as she primos and fluffs her hair before finally turning to you.

You shrug, “He’s right. We’re just—having fun.”

She nonverbally asks for the cigarette and you hand it to her. Watching as she walks to the window and blows the smoke she just inhaled out the tiny open space. Carol’s a bit shorter than you, something you made fun of in a cute way whenever you’re too drunk. But now, for some reason, you’re the one that feels small. Almost as if she can read right through your bullshit lie and knows that what you want and what Steve wants are two different fucking things.

“Well,” she taps the ash of the on the window sill. You wipe it off in annoyance. “Make sure you remember that and have fun.”

The thing about Carol Jenkins—she wasn’t always a bitchy mean girl. No, before status and highschool popularity and even Tommy, she was a pretty good friend. As time went on, she changed and you did too. But probably not in the same direction though.

Carol doesn’t say anything to you about the matter ever again after that. And you continued on with the facade of being okay with being just causal with Steve.

Because the thing is, it wasn’t casual. Steve can go about and say that the two of you were just casual but it doesn’t feel casual and it never has.

Not when he kisses your hand when the two of you take long drives and especially not when you hold each other so close at night.

You know how many freckles Steve has on his back. You’ve counted them on one lazy Sunday morning. The wind blowing through the open window of your bedroom, curtains light and flowy with the sun peeking through. Steve, chest bare, sleeping on his stomach with hands underneath the pillow. You on top of him, cheek smushed against his back and your legs tangled together.

You had woken up before him. Eyes a bit blurry and mouth dry as you glide your fingers up and down his back. M Dancing around his spine as you count all the small dots that were scattered across his body. Twenty three of them.

He knows where all your birthmarks are. Could find them blindfolded with nothing but his wandering hands.

You’ve moaned his name against his mouth and he’s grunted out yours. In his room and yours. In the front seat of his car and the back seats. At Lover’s Lake when the sun is gone and the moon is bright. At Skull Rock, a place you both found after too many close calls getting caught by the cops at the lake. On his bathroom counter and underneath the warm shower water. At his parent’s beach house and at parties when you are able to ditch your friends.

None of that felt fucking casual to you.

You wished and prayed not to be like your mother. But here you are, drunk out of your mind in the corner of the room at Tina’s Halloween party. Black eyeliner smudged against your eyes and fake blood dried against your mouth. You can taste the nasty artificial taste of it as you lick your lips. “Pure Fuel” nearly finished in your stained and sticky solo cup; you watch as Steve and Nancy walk through the crowd of dressed up teens—in their own couple’s costume.

He’s wearing the same sunglasses he had at the beach house. The same ones you took off his face to see his pretty brown eyes and kiss his lips afterwards.

Drink in hand and eyes blurry with tears, you painfully watch the couple dance to the music.

What you and Steve had wasn’t casual. You knew that deep within your bones. But Steve doesn’t speak to you, not like he used to, not after that night and not since Nancy. Because he’ll see it tightly in his mind that what you had was causal when it was nothing of the sort.

So, as you watch Steve follow Nancy to what you assume is the bathroom to go fuck like you used to do with him, you follow in your mother’s footsteps. Hips swaying and mind fuzzy as you tangle your warm tongue with Billy Hargrove’s.

He’s a mistake. He isn’t Steve. But he’s just enough to make you forget how the boy you loved was never your boy begin with.

He made that very clear.

[fuckoffbard]

His Masterpiece - One Shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: In which Remmick has an idea to paint a masterpiece and gives you a necklace in thie filthiest way possible (i.e fucking your tits)

wc: 1.2K

a/n: First Remmick fic and kind of nervous! Quite frankly this was just written as a need for some titty fucking with Remmick, but there's a bit of softness here, but mainly all filth. @spikedfearn mentioned it and I just ran with it. S/O to @eternalstrigoii for beta-ing. warnings: (18+) MDNI, vampirism, monster fucking, titty fucking, all porn no plot, spit kink, hair pulling if you squint , drool, pillow riding, cum play, pearl necklace, slight biting, breast play, possesive!Remmick

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

ADULT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT

When he suddenly leaves your cunt clenching around nothing, you whine at the emptiness. You begin to protest, but his voice, thick and dripping with desire, cuts through the silence first. 

“I want you on your knees, baby.” He lightly smacks your thigh and steps off the bed to stand. His cock hanging hard and wet between his thighs. It’s enough to make your mouth water and a part of you hopes he’s about to fuck your throat. You immediately begin to sit up on your knees, admittedly a little wobbly from how well he had been fucking you up until that point. “Remmick, what - “ 

“You think I didn’t notice earlier when you left more than a few buttons undone on your dress, hm? Leavin’ just a little peek of those pretty tits to tease me?” 

Okay, so he did notice. You can’t help but duck your head down in shyness.

“Nu-uh, chin up. Let me see ‘em.” 

He’s standing over you now, cock in hand and lazily stroking himself. Just the sight of him before you is enough to make your clit throb and a burning heat pulse between your thighs. You’re not even the least bit upset that he stopped fucking you, because seeing him like this; the want and need in his red-rimmed eyes, his fangs half-exposed, is pleasure enough. To be this wanted is all you’ve ever dreamed of. 

You proudly present your bare tits and tilt your head to look up at him. He looks down at you, his mouth slightly open with a sly subtle grin. You notice a small string of drool pooling that’s halfway down his chin. He groans. “Come here,” he says, but it comes out more like a groan, like he’s in pain every second he’s not touching you. 

He steps forward and a firm hand comes behind your neck. He tilts your head up before bending down and meeting you with a punishing kiss that takes your breath away. He pulls away but not before giving your bottom lip a sharp nip that makes you squeak. You feel the sensation of his bite between your legs which makes you grind against the bunched bed sheets. He reaches behind you to grab the pillow and folds it in half. “Sit up for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You oblige him and he guides you to widen your legs enough for him to slip the pillow between them. The slight pressure into your aching cunt is delicious and it’s difficult for you to not start grinding into it, to chase the high you were so close to reaching before he decided he wanted to play with you. He must see your frustration because he gives your forehead a quick peck. “Oh you still gonna get yours, don’t you worry about that.” 

What he does next though sends you nearly over the edge. He closes his mouth for just a moment and it looks like he’s trying to concentrate on what he’s tasting, but he smiles a wicked, devilish smirk and lets all the drool and saliva he’d been building up fall down from his lips and drip right in between your breasts. It’s not cold, but you shiver at the sensation. He steps away to admire what he’s done to you. It’s like he’s taking in a painting in a museum, if that painting was also a meal he wanted to devour. You can’t help but grind into the pillow now, and a small moan escapes you as you hold his gaze while you move your hips like you would if you were riding him. 

He growls before stepping forward and guiding his length to sit between the crevice of your tits.

Oh. 

Oh.

“Hold them together for me, love.” His typical twang is replaced by his Irish lilt and you can’t help but smile. You love it when he lets the mask slip. When you get a glimpse at the man underneath the monster. When you’ve managed to make him lose his senses. 

You hold your breasts together tight around his hot cock as he begins to move, slipping in and out between them. His precum leaks onto the swell of your breasts and finds its place among the spit that’s been smeared by his movements. You look down at the head of him peeking through your bust which makes you start to ride the pillow between your legs harder. The sight of him is so deliciously dirty and this act of pure unadulterated filth the two of you are engaged in is not lost on you. You would’ve never dreamed of doing something like this with anyone else, but he’s managed to drag you down deep into depravity.

He’s long enough that you can easily bend your head down and quickly lick the tip before it disappears again. You take a page from his book and spit, letting your own liquid fall down your chin and settle in between your tits and onto the head of his cock. He releases a deep throaty moan and begins to quicken his pace, but still maintaining a steady rhythm. 

He has a one hand grip on your left shoulder to steady himself and you sneak an open mouthed kiss to the top of his hand, continuing your ministrations onto the pillow while he uses the crevice between your tits to get himself off.

“That’s it,” he hums. “That’s fuckin’ it…” He punctuates his words with thrusts, his breath growing ragged with the effort of chasing his own pleasure. 

You whine, the grinding onto the pillow has brought you to the brink of climax. You’re so close, but there’s just something keeping you from falling over the edge. It’s maddening. But Remmick knows what you need without you having to ask. His free hand comes to cover your right breast and palm it, squeezing it roughly, but not so rough as to cause undo pain. You cry out with the new sensation that has somehow sent a direct line of pleasure directly to your center. It’s like he’s touching your clit but yet he couldn’t be farther from it. You gasp his name which makes his movements become jerky and uneven. He was close. 

“I’m about to give that pretty little neck of yours a necklace,” he snarls. “You ready for it?” 

All you can do is nod as he continues to squeeze your breast and let his thumb run across your hardened nipple which sends you into bliss. Your climax hits you like waves, first a blinding light and then smaller bursts. You feel his cock tighten and twitch before painting your chest in ropes of his release. 

He pulls out and away from your chest and presses his fingers lightly to your skin, making sure to spread his cum across your chest from collarbone to collarbone. He is the painter and you are his canvas. 

“Hmm, what should I call you?” he muses. “Call me?” Your orgasm has left you dumb.

“Darlin’ from where I’m standing, you’re a goddamn masterpiece deservin’ of a proper name.” 

A beat of silence hangs between you, but it’s anything from uncomfortable. He steps forward to lean down and press his forehead to yours. “I’ve got it,” he whispers. “Mine. I’ll call you mine.”

[yuujispunches]

What the fire left behind ~ N.K.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Haibara’s sister!reader

Summary: Nanami saw how many lifes the Shibuya incident had taken and he hated that he wasn’t one of those, but what he hates the most is the fact that you make him want to live it.

CW (content warning): mentions of death, grief, mentions of injuries, blood and burns, this is honestly angsty af!

AN (author’s note): This is absolutely canon, exactly what happened in Shibuya, I refuse to accept anything else. This is purely self-indulgent and I’m already thinking about making this kind of a small series so let me know if you guys would be interested in it! As always a reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this on my phone so I’m sorry if there are any typos/mistakes. Hope you like this! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send them! (you can check the list of character I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

His name had been on the list, it was the first one you looked for while you were still covered in blood that you no longer knew if it was your own or someone else’s. Nanami Kento, MIA. You felt like you were fifteen all over again, looking at your brother’s body covered by a white sheet.

A few days later you got the call from Shoko.

It was Geto’s voice, his real voice, before the body was stolen, the one that used to be familiar to you before the war came, that echoed in your memory when you heard the news “You know, Nanami never really got over Haibara. Not really.”

You didn’t know why but those words kept replaying inside your head time and time again as you sat in the hallway outside the medical wing of Jujutsu Tech, you’re not sure you ever did either.

Your brother’s name had been spoken in reverence and ruin over the years. First with the weight of grief, and then, in Nanami’s voice, with guilt that aged like wine bitter, potent, undrinkable and almost poisonous. You knew the way Haibara’s death had shattered you, but you also saw how it cracked open something deep in Nanami. Something no one else could fix.

You didn’t want to resent it. You loved him too, after all. Both of them, even if it was in different ways.

The door to the room opens with a slow creak. Shoko steps out, gloves in her hand, the smell of antiseptic clinging to her. Her face is unreadable, but her eyes are tired.

“He’s stable. Mostly. But…” She looks at you for a long beat. “He might not want to see you.”

You blink. “Because of what happened in Shibuya?”

Shoko shakes her head. “Because he’s still alive.”

That hits you like a punch to the chest.

You stand, legs shaking more than you’d like, and walk into the hospital room. The kind that smelt of antiseptic, loss and pain. And there he is.

Nanami Kento. Alive. Scarred. Burned. Broken.

Your mouth goes dry. Not from horror not even surprise, but from the crushing, suffocating weight of finally seeing him.

He doesn’t look at you, he’s just there, unmoving and hollow.

He sits on the bed, hunched forward, shoulders broader somehow under the pale blue of the hospital gown. His left side is a mosaic of bandages and raw healing skin, from his temple down to his hand. What little flesh you can see is mottled and blistered, the ghost of flame still haunting it.

“Ken…” you say, barely audible.

He stiffens, and that’s all. No warmth, no softening. Just that familiar, ever-present restraint, turned now into armor.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His words come out hoarse and strained and yet they somehow seemed to resonate in the whole room.

That doesn’t stop you. You cross the room, your steps slow. Careful. Like the ground might break apart beneath you.

“But I am.”

He turns his head, just slightly. Enough for you to see his left eye, milky, sightless. The scars curve down his cheek like ash hardened into skin. He doesn’t flinch when your eyes land on it, but he does look away again.

“You should go.” He barks.

“No.” You state, firm despite the fact that you felt like everything around you was crumbling down.

He exhales slowly. “You’ve seen enough grief for one life. You don’t need to carry mine too.” He didn’t have to say his name for you to know what he meant.

You step closer. “And you’ve helped me to carry mine for a decade. Let me share yours.”

His silence is deafening.

“I thought you were dead.” you whisper. “Again.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I was.”

You sink into the chair beside his bed, trembling with something like fury or grief. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“I watched Mahito rip souls apart. I watched civilians beg for a death that wouldn’t come. I saw Itadori break. But none of that hurt like seeing your name on the list of the missing. Because I knew what that meant.” You say, your eyes trained on the heart monitor that was attached to him, as if to make sure that it was real.

His fingers twitch on the blanket. He still hasn’t looked at you.

“I prayed.” You say. “For the first time since Yu was killed. I begged for you to be alive, even if I knew you’d hate it.”

That makes him turn. Just barely.

His voice is quieter when he speaks. “I didn’t want to be saved.”

You swallow hard. “Too bad.”

And then the silence grows thick and dense like fog, like smoke, like every word left unsaid between you since the day your brother died.

——————————————————————————

The first time you met Nanami, you were fifteen.

A brat. Over-eager. Too stubborn for your own good.

He was eighteen, quiet and already too old for his age. Haibara had pulled him into your orbit like gravity. You’d hated how serious he was, how polite. You'd teased him relentlessly.

But secretly, you’d watched him. Watched the way he protected Yu, the way he stood still and solid like a tree with roots deeper than any curse could touch. And after your brother died screaming, burned away from the inside, you watched Nanami crumble under it.

You had loved him even before then. Quietly. Devastatingly.

The years passed. You both became sorcerers in different ways. You, out of stubborn legacy; him, out of reluctant obligation. He left. You stayed. And when he came back, it was like finding a piece of home buried beneath years of ash.

But nothing ever happened. You danced around it. Both too tired, too haunted, too stubborn to name what lived between you.

And now? Now he was trying to disappear all over again.

——————————————————————————

He doesn’t return your calls. He’s discharged quietly and relocates to an old apartment near Ueno Park. You find the address from Ijichi, who gives it to you with a nervous look and a muttered, “He’s not… really letting anyone in.”

That doesn’t stop you. You show up at his door one week later.

He doesn’t answer at first. But he opens it eventually.

When he sees you, he sighs. “You’re persistent.”

“I’ve been told.” You shot back.

He leans in the doorway. He’s wearing a loose long-sleeve shirt that hides most of his injuries. His hair’s grown out slightly, messier. His glasses are gone. The left side of his face is still discolored, the scar tissue thick like tree bark. But his eye, his one good eye, watches you with quiet restraint.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

“Because I don’t want to grieve you twice.” You answer as if it was obvious.

He says nothing.

So you add, “And because you’re not the only one who loved him.”

That gets him.

He opens the door wider. He doesn’t say anything, just walks inside leaving the door open. You take that as an invitation.

——————————————————————————

Life settles into a strange rhythm after that.

You visit once a week. Bring groceries. Sit quietly while he reads. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he doesn’t.

He won’t let you touch him, not yet, but he stops asking you to leave.

One day, while washing dishes, you find one of Haibara’s old photos tucked into a drawer. The three of you, grinning in a blurry snapshot outside the school. Nanami’s smile is small. Yours is crooked. Yu’s is blinding.

You stare at it until your hands start shaking.

When you turn, Nanami is watching you.

“He always thought you’d end up a better sorcerer than he was,” Nanami says quietly.

“He told me once that he never wanted me to be one at all.” You breathe out.

“You shouldn’t have been.” His voice is quiet, distant despite the fact that you’re standing right next to each other.

You nod. “But neither should you.”

He looks at you, and this time, you see it, that bone-deep grief that never went away. The ghost of your brother standing between you like a wall neither of you know how to climb.

“I was angry at the both of you.” you admit. “For years. After he died. You were supposed to protect him.”

His face doesn’t change, but his body stiffens like you’ve struck him.

“I know” he says quietly.

“And then I realized he probably died trying to protect you.”

His voice cracks when he answers. “He did.”

“I couldn’t understand it, why would he do that? Why would he sacrifice himself and leave me behind?” You said, fighting to keep your voice from trembling. “But then I saw your name on the list of missing people in Shibuya, I understood it then. I would’ve given everything to be in your place, for my name to be on that list instead of yours” You pause for a moment, breathing deeply. “I would‘ve done the same thing he did.”

You walk to him, standing close. Close enough to touch but you don’t, not yet, not now.

“He wouldn’t want you to carry it alone.” I stated.

Nanami closes his eyes. “He wouldn’t want me to drag you into this you either.”

“I’m not a burden.” you say. “Not to him. Not to you.”

His eyes open. And for the first time, something in him breaks, softens.

“Then stay.” he says. “Just for a while.”

——————————————————————————

He lets you touch him weeks later.

It’s late. The city is quiet. You’re curled on the couch together, his head resting on your shoulder. His hand finds yours.

When your fingers brush over the thick, raised scars on the back of his hand, he flinches but doesn’t pull away.

You don’t say anything. Just hold him.

Later, he murmurs, “It still hurts sometimes. Phantom pain. Heat. Pressure. Like I’m still burning.”

You kiss the side of his head, the one that’s littered with scars. “Then let me help carry it.”

He turns his face into your neck. Breathes in deep. “I don’t know how.”

“We’ll learn.”

——————————————————————————

You kiss for the first time on a cold morning in November.

He’s dressed in a soft sweater that hangs loosely over his frame. His hair’s damp from the shower. You’re making tea. He leans in, hand on the counter, and you see it in his eye before it happens. The weight of it. The fear.

You reach for him.

And then his lips are on yours gentle, unsure, but most of all desperate, as if you were the only thing still tethering him to this world.

You taste grief, and salt, and every year you’ve wasted waiting for this.

When he pulls away, he whispers, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You pull him back. “Do it again.”

And he does.

——————————————————————————

Not everything is perfect.

There are days he disappears, emotionally, mentally. Nights when he wakes in a sweat and refuses to speak. Mornings when he stares in the mirror too long and doesn’t recognize the face looking back.

But you are there. With tea. With silence. With patience.

One night, months later, as winter frost laces the windowpanes, he comes to bed late. You’re half-asleep when he slips under the covers, arms wrapping around you from behind. Carefully.

“I cared about him.” He murmurs into your shoulder. “In my own way.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“And I think… I think I love you.” He mumbled before taking a deep breath as if the words he was about to say would stop the world from moving. “I know I love you.”

You turn to face him. “I know that too.”

His lips find yours.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

——————————————————————————

The healing is slow. Not linear.

There are nights he still wakes up sweating, gasping, convinced he’s back in that alleyway. There are days when he can’t stand the sight of himself in the mirror. When you touch his scars and he shudders, not because of pain but because he still doesn’t understand why you’d want to.

But you stay.

Through the silence. Through the guilt. Through the days he wants to disappear.

You stay.

You sit beside him when he visits the graves of those who didn’t make it. You bring him coffee the way he used to bring you. You learn to live around his scars, not in spite of them.

And slowly, he comes back to you.

He begins reading aloud to you again at night dry, philosophical texts that you only half-listen to, lulled by the sound of his voice. He lets you fall asleep on his chest, even though the left side still aches sometimes. He starts smiling again, first small, then real.

One morning, you wake to find him already dressed, shirt sleeves rolled up, burn scars visible.

You blink. “No gloves today?”

He shrugs, sipping his coffee. “Figured I should get used to people staring.”

You sit up, watching him. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’m not,” he admits. “But I’m going with you.”

And he does.

To the market. To the bookstore. To the world.

They stare, of course. Some longer than others. Children ask questions their parents don’t know how to answer. But he holds your hand, steady and firm, and he doesn’t look away.

Later, when you’re walking home, he squeezes your fingers.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?” You and as you to look up at him.

“For seeing me when I couldn’t.”

You stop, fully turn to him. “Always.”

And in that moment, scarred, still healing, still learning Nanami kisses you in the middle of the street, sunlight filtering through the clouds above like grace.

He’s not who he was. But he’s here. And you’re here.

And that, finally, is enough.

taglists are open so let me know if you want to be tagged for future works! :)

[unsuperingyournatural]

delays and banished omens and Karens, oh my!

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

masterlist

You knew it was going to be a long day the second the airline agent tilted her head at Pedro’s suitcase and asked, “Sir, is there a lithium battery in this bag?”

He’s explained it three times now. Kindly. Clearly. Patiently. Each time to a new associate who somehow manages to understand even less than the last.

Now, Pedro is standing at the counter asking to speak with a supervisor, his jaw tight but his voice calm. You stand beside him at the counter, close enough to feel the tension humming just beneath his calm exterior. Your arms are crossed and you do your best to keep your frustration tucked just beneath the surface.

The bag in question sits perfectly still on the scale. You know exactly what’s in it. So does he. You helped him pack it in the middle of the night, barely awake, somewhere between a press party and two hours of sleep.

To make matters worse, you spot them as soon as you glance past the queue. A few cameras. Two guys with phones already filming. And one very familiar TMZ “correspondent,” grinning like a cat who smells a headline.

They move in fast, just as the supervisor is being paged.

“Pedro!” one of them calls. “What’s in the mystery bag? Something fun?”

Pedro turns slightly, offering a tired smile with a flicker of his usual mischief. “Just socks and a backup hoodie. No secret gadgets or cursed relics today, unfortunately.”

The TMZ guy laughs and presses in a little closer. “Is it true you travel with weights? Emotional or actual?”

Pedro’s expression barely changes, but his voice takes on that familiar dry lilt. “A little of both. But the emotional ones take up way more space.”

You hear the quiet strain in his voice, the kind of effort it takes to stay friendly after two days with no real rest. He hasn’t slept more than six hours total in forty-eight hours. Now he's stuck explaining his luggage to airline staff and TMZ like he's on trial.

Then, as if the circus wasn’t loud enough, the woman behind you in line chimes in. She’s maybe late sixties, her cardigan folded neatly over her shoulders. “Well, if there’s a battery in there, they have to be careful. These rules are for everyone.”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. Pedro doesn’t even blink. He turns to her with the same polite smile and says, “There’s no battery, ma’am. But you’re absolutely right about safety.”

You want to snap at her but keep yourself in check, especially since TMZ would love that footage that would guarantee you a firmly-worded call from your publicist. But who the hell is she to lecture him? Who even asked her to chime into the conversation? As if he doesn't already have enough to deal with, now a Karen-lite is sharply watching every move he makes and listening to every word he says.

Before you can mentally vent any more of your frustration at the rude woman, the supervisor arrives. Pedro straightens. You see the small shift in his posture, the way he’s already bracing for another round of repeating himself. You step a little closer and murmur just loud enough for him to hear, “Let me take this one.”

He hesitates for half a second. Then nods once, subtle but sure.

You turn to the supervisor with your friendliest smile and keep your tone warm. “Hi. Thanks for coming. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. This bag’s been flagged, but there’s no lithium-ion battery inside. He’s explained it a few times already, and we’re just hoping you can take a quick look so we don’t miss our flight.”

The supervisor is firm but professional as she runs through the policy. You listen quietly and wait her out. Pedro lets out a soft breath beside you, hand still resting on the suitcase.

Once she’s finished, you politely explain again. Then Pedro opens the bag and shows her. She checks, asks a couple of follow-up questions, and finally—after a brief inspection—nods and says, “This is fine. You’re good to check it.”

You thank her, sincerely, and move away from the counter with Pedro at your side. But before you can get more than a few steps, a small crowd of fans steps into your path, holding out photos, notebooks, and pens.

Pedro smiles as kindly as ever, even as he glances at his watch. “I’ve only got a minute or two, but I’ll do what I can.”

He signs a few autographs, takes a quick selfie with someone who’s shaking with excitement, and answers a question about his next project. The TMZ guy circles like a shark, phone still recording.

“So, Pedro, was it a battery or not? What actually happened at the counter?”

Pedro keeps his tone steady. “No battery. Just a misunderstanding. It happens.”

You can see it in his face, though. He’s smiling, but there’s a thread of exhaustion running underneath. It pulls at the corners of his eyes, makes his responses a little softer, a little slower.

You step in gently, laying a hand on his back. He catches the cue immediately. After finishing one last autograph, he hands the pen back and offers a quick apology.

“Thanks, everyone. Really. But we’ve got to go. Gotta make our flight.”

He moves back beside you, falling into step without a word. Once you’re safely past the check-in area and out of sight, he exhales a quiet, almost exasperated, “Jesus.”

You glance over and catch him wiping a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

Without saying anything, you reach up and squeeze his shoulder. He leans into it for a second, then slides his arm around you and pulls you close as you walk.

Security is a blur. Shoes off, laptops out, the whole drill. You both get through quickly, collect your things, and hurry to the gate just as they begin boarding your section.

Inside the plane, the two of you stow your carry-ons and sink into your first-class seats, the fatigue finally settling into your bones. Pedro drops down beside you, lets his head fall back against the seat for a second, then immediately leans toward you.

His arms come around you, warm and heavy, and he buries his face against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your sweatshirt. “For handling that. I was close to losing it.”

You press a kiss to the top of his cap. “Of course, babe.”

He sighs and squeezes you once more before settling in, eyes closed.

You let him stay like that, feeling his breath slow against you. Eventually, you reach forward to grab something from the seat pocket—and stop.

Your hand hovers above it.

“Umm… Pedro?”

He doesn’t lift his head. “Mmm?”

“Skymall is gone, right? Like, it doesn’t exist anymore.”

He yawns. “Yeah, pretty sure they went bankrupt. Why?”

You slowly point to the magazine in the seat pocket. He lifts his head, follows your finger, and stares.

Sitting right there, tattered and slightly warped, is a Skymall catalog.

He squints at it like it’s a ghost. “Okay. That’s weird.”

“Weird?” you repeat, your voice inching higher. “That’s an omen. It’s a sign.”

He leans back slightly and studies your face. “Babe. Deep breath.”

“No, seriously, what kind of person holds onto a Skymall magazine for years and then just leaves it on this plane? Right where I was going to sit?”

Pedro sees the panic blooming fast. You’re tired. You’re stretched thin. He knows this spiral well.

Before you can launch into a full theory about doomed flights and cursed in-flight shopping, he leans in and kisses you. Gently. Long enough to stop the rush of your thoughts.

You melt into him. You always do.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Someone just left it. The universe is not coming for us.”

You take a breath, still pressed close. “You sure?”

He grins. “Positive. And if the universe is coming for us, we’ll outrun it at baggage claim.”

You laugh, finally letting your shoulders drop.

Pedro picks up the magazine, raises his eyebrows at it, and then promptly stuffs it under the seat in front of him.

"Banished. Never happened. Probably haunted too. That magazine’s got cursed catalog energy."

The plane hums to life, and for the first time in hours, you both start to relax. When you lean back and let your head rest against his shoulder, he takes your hand and laces your fingers together without a word.

Whatever else the day throws at you, you’ll deal with it.

One flight at a time.

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ lucky !

↳ frank castle x female reader

the key turned like it always did - smooth, quiet, familiar. the door opened, and there you were, standing in the doorway with that same soft smile you gave him every evening.

“hi, frankie,” you said gently, stepping forward, already reaching for him.

he barely got a word out before you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then another one right on his lips. you always did that - like it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss him hello. and maybe it was, because you’d been doing it since the second week he started staying over, like it just made sense.

frank didn’t usually think too hard about things. but tonight, the second your lips touched his, it just… hit him. he stood there for a second longer than usual. didn’t speak. didn’t move past the doorway. just looked at you - your face upturned, your arms sliding around his waist, the faint scent of something on the stove behind you. and something warm settled in his chest.

he wrapped both arms around you, tugged you in close with a quiet grunt, and just held you. no words, no explanation. his hands flattened against your back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you were home.

you let out a soft laugh. “you okay?”

he nodded against your skin, not pulling away. “mm. better than okay.”

you smiled, relaxing into him as his arms tightened, like he needed to make sure you were real.

“you smell good,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

his hands were warm against your back, moving slowly like he was memorizing the feel of you all over again. he kissed your shoulder through your shirt, then the side of your neck, then rested his head there like he could stay just like this for the rest of the night. you didn’t question it. you just stayed quiet, letting him hold you, your fingers brushing through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“missed you today,” you murmured.

“missed you more, sweetheart.”

he shifted slightly and kissed your temple, then your cheek, then down the curve of your jaw - lazy, sweet kisses, like he had all the time in the world. like there was nothing else on his mind but you.

you gave his shirt a little tug. “long day?”

he shook his head. “nah. just… comin’ home to you, that’s all.”

he leaned back a little, just enough to look at you, but not enough to let you go. his eyes scanned your face like he was still trying to take it in. he brushed his thumb across your cheek, smiling softly.

“don’t know how i got so lucky.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile said otherwise. “you say that every night.”

“’cause i mean it every night.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, and let it linger. his fingers curled lightly around your waist, like he never wanted to let go. and honestly? he didn’t. when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still half-closed, completely relaxed for the first time all day.

“you’re my best part, y’know that?” he murmured. “every damn day.”

you reached up and smoothed your hand down his chest, fingers brushing along the buttons of his shirt. “you’re so sappy tonight.”

“hell yeah, i am.”

you giggled softly, and he swore he could feel it in his ribs. he smiled and kissed you one more time, just because he could.

“alright,” you said gently, rubbing your hands along his back. “dinner’s almost ready. you hungry?”

“starvin’. but i’m not movin’ yet.”

he hugged you tighter, nose brushing your cheek, lips curling into a quiet smile.

“just lemme hold you a minute longer, baby.”

you nodded, cheek against his chest. “okay.”

and so you stayed there, wrapped up in the arms of the man who loved you more than anything, while the world stayed quiet around you. nothing dramatic. nothing complicated. just the simple, solid warmth of being loved by frank castle.

and being his was the softest kind of forever.

🌟FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[ih8simps]

Not proofread; I just miss Levi sm

You broke up with Levi nearly a year into dating citing his inability to trust you as the main cause. It wasn't that Levi explicitly told you that he does not trust you, but his actions on countless missions beyond the wall showed you that not only does he not trust you, he also does not see you as an equal. When you brought this up to Levi the bland look on his face and the "tch" that he responded with were more than enough for you.

"I'm done" you bitterly choked out, trying to maintain your composure.

"Sure" is all he responded with as he watched you stalk away from him.

That was three months ago.

In the three months since that moment Ex Boyfriend Levi has made life as a scout a living hell. It started two days after the break up when he decided (on his own) that although you had been avoiding him, it was time for you to restart having your meals with him. He sat down at your table in mess hall without warning, making the conversation at the table die as quickly as it had started. Its not as though the other scouts do not like Levi, he was just intimidating. As if on queue, the others at the table all grumbled small "sorrys" as they rose from their seats and found other places to sit.

"Move" you ground out.

"No" was all he responded with before he began eating his meal.

From that moment on you have had to sit across from Ex Boyfriend Levi for every meal. Even when other people sat down at the table (Hange) Levi refused to acknowledge them and continued to eat while peering into your eyes.

Ex Boyfriend Levi's harassment did not end in the mess hall. When it was time for training, he'd make it his personal mission to embarrass you. When engaging in hand to hand combat you were always paired with ferocious opponents. One time you were slammed into the ground so hard you had lost all of the air in your lungs. You knew that this fight was over but your pride told you that you had to get up and keep fighting. Before you could even make an attempt Levi had come over and thrown your opponent onto their ass.

"Get up" he said, reaching out a hand towards you.

"I did not ask for your help"

"Should I have let them beat you bloody then?"

You wanted to respond but the small crowd that surrounded you prevented that. If you did respond in this moment, everyone would be confused about your boldness. No one had ever openly disrespected Levi in public and you decided it would not be a good idea to be the first.

You ignored his outstretched hand and decided on that day that you would never interact with Levi ever again be it in public or in private, no matter how many attempts he made on a daily basis.

For three months you had to avoid his snide comments, his lingering stares, and his orchestrated harassment. What you didn't know was that on the day that was supposed to be your one year anniversary, Levi decided that he had certainly had enough.

"You are being called to the captains office, (y/n)"

It was a direct order, one that you could not ignore. As you made your way down the halls and through the corridors you tried to think about what you could have possibly done to be called to a higher officers office. You wondered if he had anything to do with it.

When you reached the office you gave a small knock to the door and heard a voice call you inside. For a moment you thought that you recognized the timber of the tone but you shook that thought away quickly. When you walked into the room you swore under your breath and promised yourself to never second guess your ability to recognize voices ever again. Standing before you was none other than the man you had grown to loathe.

"What are you doing here?" you tried to keep your voice calm.

He said nothing for a few moments. He stood, as still as a board as his eyes raked across your face and your body.

"Levi, I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing here and why am i here?" He smirked at your outburst.

"I called you here"

"I was called here by a captain and you are certainly not-"

"I am being promoted. Erwin will be announcing this first thing tomorrow"

Of course Levi was being promoted. Of course he was being promoted for his strength and valor. Of fucking course.

"Nice. Congrats. Can I go now?" You needed to get out of the room to go scream and maybe cry a little.

"Is that any way to speak to a superior officer, (y/n)?" He had a slight smirk on his face, again.

"I-" you ground your teeth. He was right, of course. Even in a private setting the chain of command was respected and maintained. "My apologies, sir" you practically hissed the last word.

"Good girl" He could tell you were absolutely seething but he loved it. This was the most amount of emotion you had geared towards him in three whole months. He had missed this passionate part of you, even if this passion was fueled by anger.

"Can I leave now, Captain Levi?"

"There's one more thing we need to discuss" He waited for you to react but your reaction never came. You remained stock still standing before him with an unreadable expression on your face.

"Y/n, you are also being promoted-"

You cut in before he could finish. "To what, the captains bed warmer?"

The playfulness of the moment died with your words. You watched him lock and unlock his jaw. Was he angry?

"No, you are to be my second on my squad. You will be my eyes and ears."

"Wait, what?"

For the first time since you had entered the room you finally took to looking him directly into his stormy gray eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean as I said. You are to be my second. I am trusting you" you could see the sea of emotions dancing behind those eyes, "I am trusting you with my life"

The room seemed to shrink in size and constrict along with your heart. "W-wait, Levi"

"You may leave now, y/n"

"B-but wait. I don't underst-"

"You are dismissed" his words held an air of finality.

You turned to leave but something seemed to stop you. "My captain dismissed me but my friend has not"

"Friend?" he chuckled darkly, "we were never friends. We were always so much more than that, y/n"

For a beat, the room was entirely silent. Neither of you seemed to want to break to brief peace that had suddenly settled into the room at his words.

"Why do you trust me, Levi? Why now?"

"I have always trusted you, y/n. You have always had all of me" he was slowly making his way over to you, "You have always had all of my thoughts, my mind, my body, and practically all of my soul"

"Levi-" He was right in front of you now. "I have belonged to you and trusted you since the moment I fell for you. Why do you think you are the only person who knows me this way? Hm?" He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek.

"No one even thinks I speak this much"

You laughed at this, "No one would ever believe you've ever spoken more than ten words at one time"

You both chuckled. You were so close to one another that your breath mingled between you.

"Levi, I'm sorry that-" he didn't let you finish, pulling you into a soft kiss. His yearning could practically be felt through the joining of your lips.

"No, I am sorry" he spoke gently, pressing your forehead to his, "I'm sorry I let you walk away thinking that I do not trust you. I though that you'd see how ridiculous that thought was sooner than later"

"You're an ass" you spoke, truthfully.

"I know" he smirked. "I am such an ass, but you love that about me"

Love. That word hadnt been shared between you in so long. For a moment you considered telling him that he was wrong, but that'd be a lie.

"You're right, Captain" there was playfulness to your tone that he hadnt heard in entirely too long, "I do love you. Very much"

"Very much" he was teasing you now. "Promise me what happened three months ago will never happen again, y/n. I dont think I could handle having to be so apart from you"

"Oh no, captain" you fully pulled away from him now, walking over to his desk, "It kind of sounds like you have a thing for me"

"More than a thing" he muttered, watching you curiously as you sat on his desk.

"Hm" you seemed to ponder his words for a moment. "Come show me, Captain"

"W-what?" Levi stuttered for a moment, watching you nervously.

"Come show me what kind of thing you have for me, Captain"

"Y/n you don't mean-" His words died in his throat as he watched you raise your hips to slide your pants under your ass and down your legs. "Come show me what kind of thing you have for me and maybe I'll show you what kind of thing I have for you."

"You can't order a superior officer around like this" he spoke, tongue suddenly dry and heavy in his mouth.

"I can't?" he sucked in a sharp breath as he watched you part your thighs to show him your barely covered sex. "Come over here and kneel, Captain Levi"

"Kneel?" his voice was quiet as he took a step closer. He hadn't tasted you in months and now the sight of you like this was more than enough to bring him to his knees.

"Kneel" you repeated, watching him practically crawl over to you. "Good boy".

[venusandsaturnsrings]

woke up and smoked a cherry cigarette on an empty stomach before working on some painting commissions. i think mydei would find it painfully charming (and annoying). just soft musings about him. ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

you’re white knuckling the edge of the balcony, frown etched in place when a chin finds its way onto your shoulder. large hands slowly creep around to hold you tightly, pulling against you with a deep sigh. his nose brushed along the side of your neck as his fingers danced across your stomach and the sun peeked over the horizon. he never asked and you never told but the unspoken truth was you were having nightmares again, the same ones as always, and mydei knew nothing of comfort tactics than holding you close. he mumbled something about breakfast you didn’t catch but he didn’t move and the most delicious platter of delicacies could be waiting on the table and you wouldn’t move an inch just to feel his warmth for longer.

his presence is grounding, more so than the crushed package of cigarettes under your foot. it’s like having your own personal anchor wrapped around you that smells like cinnamon sticks and pomegranate. mydei doesn’t say more, opting instead for humming. he told you once that every time you hear is another his mother had sang to him and this time you don’t recognize it as one you’d heard before so it must be extra special. perhaps one he saved for a moment like this, one where he knew you needed him to do nothing more than be there and he just can’t stand the silence. it’s another thing you learned and grew to love; mydei gets antsy when it’s too quiet. he needs some sort of constant background noise to function and in the beginning of your relationship it was a bit annoying to have someone who couldn’t exist without sound but it’s something charming now. the sound he makes is never unpleasant, or maybe you just love him enough that nothing he did could ever irritate you. thoughts of getting him to pen the words his mother sung pass you occasionally but they’re best in his heart perhaps.

you don’t notice the filter burning until it’s pulled from your mouth and stubbed out by mydei. he kisses your temple saying, “‘s not good to burn that far,” as if it’s good at all but you know the meaning is ‘we both know that tastes like shit.’

it takes maybe half an hour till you sigh out and finally relax yourself, giving him the cue to gently pull you inside. mydei always promises everything you make is worth the world and it’s easier to believe him on a full stomach.

[jpmarvel90]

Don't Belong Part 4

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 6125

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: It's Y/n's birthday and everyone is making an effort to make it the best day possible. Including a suprise early visit which sees Y/n experience a happiness she's not had in a long time.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

When the morning comes around, I blink my eyes open. I don't know what woke me first, the muted knock at the door or the quiet creak as it opens. For a moment, I think it's one of my moms again, coming in to check if I've eaten or taken my meds. I'm already halfway to turning away when I hear a familiar voice. "Knock knock," Kate calls softly, her voice like a warm breeze slipping through the room.

I blink my eyes open, squinting at the brightness filtering through the window. She's standing just inside the doorway, a sheepish smile on her lips, and something tucked behind her back. She looks like she always does, messy ponytail, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it was made to, and for some reason, my chest tightens. Maybe it's the way she looks at me. Or maybe it's because, for the first time, someone came just for me.

"Kate?" I croak out, surprised. "What are you doing here?" She enters fully now, closing the door behind her. "Well, it's a special day," she sing-songs, stepping closer to my bed. "And I thought I'd drop by early to wish a very certain badass agent-in-the-making a happy birthday." She smiles.

My brows raise. "Wait... it's today?" Kate giggles. "You forgot your own birthday?" Well, I knew it was coming but it kind of snuck up on me. With everything going on, the healing, emotional trauma, being babysat by my guilt-ridden moms, it just hadn't occurred to me. "Guess I did," I mumble.

"Well, that won't do." She steps closer and pulls a small box from behind her back. "Here." I blink, looking at the wrapping. It's simple, but there's a purple ribbon, her signature colour as I've learnt. "You didn't have to..." I start before she interrupts me. "Shush. It's already here, and you're opening it."

There's something so easy about the way she talks, like we've always done this. Like this, whatever this is, has existed longer than I've allowed myself to notice. I peel back the wrapping, careful not to tear the paper, and reveal a small velvet box.

Inside is a silver bracelet, dainty and simple, with a single hawk feather charm that glints in the sunlight streaming through the window. It's understated, elegant, and... weirdly perfect. I look at it in awe. "This is..." I start but she cuts me off. 

"I saw it when Yelena and I went shopping yesterday." Kate shrugs, suddenly looking nervous. "Reminded me of you. Strong, graceful, always aiming for something even if no one's paying attention." My breath catches in my throat, and I look up at her. "Kate..." She's biting her bottom lip now, her eyes darting between me and the bracelet.

Something twists in my stomach. Not unpleasant. Just... unfamiliar. "Kate..." I say again, but there's not really anything else I can think to add. She shrugs, pretending to play it cool. "Also, feathers are cool. And you're cool. So... logic." I laugh softly, and she looks up, eyes dancing with relief at the sound. "Too much?" She questions in a small panic. "No," I say softly, feeling my heart flutter in a way it hasn't in a long time. "It's perfect." Her grin returns, more relaxed now. "Well, good. Because I was ready to fake an excuse and run out if it was weird."

I laugh, genuinely this time, and motion for her to help put it on. Her fingers are warm as they brush against my skin. She doesn't pull her hands away immediately once it's clasped. "You look good in silver," she says casually, but her eyes say something else. There's a pause, and the air feels different, charged. "You really didn't have to do this," I murmur, though I'm glad she did. "Birthdays deserve presents," she says. "And you deserve to be celebrated."

Before I can respond, there's a knock and the door swings open again. Dr. Cho enters with a clipboard and a smile. "Well, well. Look who's already popular this morning." Kate stands up straighter, pretending to be innocently casual. "Just a quick visit." Cho grins at the both of us. "Actually, I've got a bit of a birthday gift too. Since your vitals have stabilised and your infection is nearly cleared, I'm approving a short supervised walk outside." She announces.

I'm in shock and a smile slowly creeps on my face. "Wait, seriously?" I ask wondering if I heard her correctly. "I don't joke about recovery milestones," she replies, then adds, "Fifteen minutes. Wheelchair assist. Someone responsible with you. I assume you two can manage that without scaling the roof or anything." I states, now turning to Kate with a raised eyebrow.

Kate salutes. "Scout's honour." Cho narrows her eyes. "You were never a scout." She calls her out, making me chuckle. "I could've been." Kate mumbles in return. "Don't make me regret this." Cho says pointing her pen between us. "I'll be on my best behaviour." I promise, moving to sit up in the bed. "That'll be a first." Cho mumbles to herself as she heads out the room.

A few minutes later, I'm being wheeled outside, wrapped in a cozy hoodie and thick blanket that Kate insisted I bring. The sunlight feels foreign on my skin, almost startling in its warmth. I close my eyes and breathe it in. The fresh air, the gentle breeze... it all feels surreal. Like I'm not in the compound, not in recovery, not hovering between everything I want and everything I've lost.

Kate's walking beside me, hands in her pockets, glancing at me now and then like she's worried I'll fall apart in the sunshine. We find a bench near the gardens, away from the main paths. There's the soft hum of bees somewhere in the bushes, the quiet rustle of trees overhead. I sit up slowly, wincing a little as I adjust. Kate sits beside me, just close enough that our knees touch.

"It's beautiful out here," I murmur, breathing in deeply. Kate glances at me. "You okay?" She asks softly. I hesitate for a second, then nod. "I am... I think. It just still feels unreal. Everything happened so fast. One minute I was on a mission and the next..." Her hand brushes against mine, fingers grazing. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she says softly.

I stare down at the grass for a moment. "It's not just the mission," I admit. "It's everything. My moms... I thought they didn't care anymore. I still don't know if I believe this whole 'we're here now' act. Like, where were they when I needed them? I've been alone for years and now that I'm bleeding out, suddenly they remember I exist?" I huff in frustration.

Kate's quiet, but not in a way that feels dismissive. It feels like she's giving me room. "My biological parents gave me up," I continue. "Hydra turned me into something I never wanted to be. Nat found me and... for a while, she made me feel like I was worth something. But then Billy and Tommy came along, and I guess I was just... extra."

I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist, the charm glinting like it knows something I don't. "You ever feel like... no matter how hard you try, you'll never be enough?" I ask suddenly, barely above a whisper. Kate's head turns toward me. "Yeah. More than I'd like to admit."

I nod, staring straight ahead. "That's what it's been like with them. My moms. At first, I had everything. A home. A family. Then the twins came and... slowly, it was like I just faded out of frame. Babysitter, housemaid, invisible. I tried to earn it back. Be better. Be perfect. But they didn't notice. Or maybe they just didn't care." I share honestly.

"Now they're around all the time. Bringing soup and fluffing pillows. Acting like they didn't ignore me for the last few years. And I don't know how to trust that." I admit vulnerably. "You don't have to." She says gently. "Not right away. Maybe not ever. But you can still heal, with or without them." She advises.

"Hard to do that alone," I admit. "You're not alone," she says, brushing her fingers against mine. "You've got Steve. You've got friends. You've got me." I turn to her, heart in my throat. "Do I?" Kate meets my gaze without flinching. "You do. You've always had me."

I finally turn to look at her. "I don't tell people this stuff. Hell, I didn't even tell Steve half of it." I chuckle awkwardly. Kate's expression is unreadable at first, but her voice is steady when she says, "Y/n... you're not extra. Not to me anyway." I blink. She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, her hand lingering near my jaw. "Not now, not ever."

My heart skips again. I try to scoff, to deflect with sarcasm like I always do. But it dies on my lips. The world feels still. The breeze moves lazily through the trees, birds chirp somewhere in the distance, but all I can hear is my heartbeat. Louder than it should be.

I don't think. For once, I don't overanalyse or build up walls or second-guess what I deserve. I just lean in, slowly, giving her space to pull back if she wants to. She doesn't. Her breath hitches softly, and then she leans in too. The distance between us disappears with a quiet inevitability. Our lips meet, warm, hesitant, searching.

It's not rushed. It's not perfect. But it's real.

Her hand finds mine again, fingers curling between mine with a gentle squeeze as her lips linger against mine, soft and sure. I feel the way she exhales shakily into the kiss, like maybe she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

The warmth of her palm grounds me, anchoring me in this moment. This tiny, quiet miracle I didn't know I needed. We part slowly, but not fully. Her forehead brushes lightly against mine, and I open my eyes to find hers already watching me. "Wow," I murmur, my voice barely audible. Kate grins. "Yeah," she whispers back, her nose nudging mine. "That was... definitely not just a birthday present."

I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. It's light. Unburdened. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Then she adds, "But if it was, I really outdid myself." I roll my eyes with a smile, bumping her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head."

We sit there for another long moment, her hand still in mine, the kiss still tingling on my lips. For the first time in forever, I don't feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I feel seen. Wanted. Maybe even loved.

"I think I like you, Bishop," I murmur. She grins. "Well... I was hoping you'd say that." I laugh, breathless. "Smooth." Kate shrugs. "I have my moments." We sit there for a little longer, fingers brushing, letting the quiet speak for us. Today doesn't feel quite so lonely. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I thought.

She stands, offering her hand. "Come on, birthday girl. Let's get you back before Cho realises I'm terrible at following instructions." She jokes. I take her hand, letting her help me up. And for the first time in a long while, I don't feel like a background character in my own life. Maybe this birthday is going to be better than I had expected.

By the time Kate wheels me back through the medical wing's hallway, my chest feels lighter. I can't tell if it's the kiss, the sunlight, or just the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I feel like someone really sees me.

We're laughing at one of Kate's terrible impressions of Steve ("Language!" she says in a fake-deep voice, holding up an imaginary shield) when we turn the corner into my hospital room, and everything stops.

The room is... glowing. Streamers in purple and red hang loosely from the ceiling. There are balloons everywhere. Some Avengers-themed, others with "Happy Birthday!" printed in glitter. My bed is surrounded by snacks, presents, and handmade decorations. Someone even stuck a banner over the window that reads: "Y/n—Top of Her Class and Queen of Badasses."

And then.... "SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

The room erupts in cheers. I blink, startled, as people begin stepping out from where they'd been hiding. Steve's standing at the foot of my bed, grinning. Pepper and Tony are by the snack table (which, of course, is colour-coordinated). Clint's got a party hat on backwards. Even Bruce is there, waving from the corner.

But it's the next voices that break me completely. "We got you! We actually got you!" Tommy cheers. Billy is right behind him, his face lit up. "You didn't even guess!" I'm almost too stunned to speak. "Wait, you guys planned this?" I ask in shock. "Well, Uncle Steve and moms helped a little." Billy admits with a grin, "But we made the decorations. Look!" He runs over to show me a clumsily drawn poster that reads "Best Sister Ever" with stick figures of the three of us drawn beneath it.

My throat tightens. "You guys..." Tommy launches himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around my waist before he seems to remember I'm injured and pulls back. "Oops! Sorry! I didn't mean to...did I hurt you?" I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. "No. You're okay. Come here."

They both crowd me then, Billy on one side, Tommy on the other, snuggling up to me as best they can without bumping the healing wounds. I run my fingers through their hair, holding them close. "I missed you both." I whisper. "We missed you more." Billy says, looking up with wide, honest eyes. "Are you gonna come home soon?"

I look at them, at their innocence, their hope, and despite everything that's happened, I can't bring myself to say anything but, "Yeah. Soon." Tommy grins. "Good! 'Cause we need someone to settle who's better at Mario Kart." He declares. "Definitely not you," Billy shoots back, making Tommy gasp and begin a dramatic argument, and I just laugh. I haven't laughed like this in forever.

I don't notice her until I hear the soft cough behind me. "Room for one more?" I glance up and there's Yelena, standing awkwardly near the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder and that familiar half-smile she always wears when she's trying not to look too emotional. "Lena." I smile. "Get over here." She strides forward, more confidently now, and kneels beside my bed. "You know, I had a speech planned. Something dramatic about Russian strength and glorious birthdays. But now I feel like an idiot." She sighs. I chuckle. "You're my idiot."

Her smile softens, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Happy birthday, malyshka." I smile widely. Since she has been back, she's been a breath of fresh air. I sometimes go months at a time without seeing her and I realise now how much she does in my life and how much I wish she was around more.

"Thanks. For coming. For... all of it." She nods. "I would burn the world down for you. But instead, I helped decorate and resisted the urge to strangle Tony. Which is almost harder." I snort and take her hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm really glad you're here." I tell her honestly. She leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, staying close. "Just don't scare me like this again, okay?" She practically orders. "No promises," I whisper.

Kate's still nearby, arms folded, watching the exchange with an amused little smile. She doesn't say anything, but when Yelena steps back, she gives Kate a subtle nod of approval. I don't miss it, and neither does Kate, judging by the soft pink tint to her cheeks.

Eventually, everyone gathers around. Steve insists on speeches. He actually wrote one, of course he did! Tony hands out cupcakes and calls it "nutrition for emotionally stunted heroes." Clint juggles party favours for the twins. Bruce accidentally knocks over a stack of gift bags and looks mortified.

And me? I just sit there, taking it all in. The laughter. The chaos. The family. It's messy and weird and loud, but it's ours. I can't remember the last time we all just existed together. Not during a mission. Not under stress. Just as people. As a family. I lean back against the pillows, the bracelet Kate gave me catching the light, and I smile.

I've never had this many people show up for me before. The medical bay isn't exactly the most glamorous venue, but no one seems to care. It's alive with laughter, the kind of laughter that vibrates through the walls and settles somewhere deep in your bones. For a while, I just sit there, watching everyone move and talk and tease each other, absorbing the atmosphere like it might disappear if I blink.

The tray table in front of me has become a mountain of tissue paper, ribbons, and gift bags. I've unwrapped more things in the past twenty minutes than I have in the last three birthdays combined. Kate is still right beside me, comfortably close, legs crossed at the ankle, her fingers brushing mine every so often as she hands me each present. It's subtle, but grounding.

From Clint, it's a custom arrow set with glittery purple fletching and tiny inscriptions carved into each shaft. "You'll have to work on your draw, obviously," he jokes. "But when you do, you'll be better than Bishop." Kate scoffs. "Untrue. But cute."

Tony's gift is as over-the-top as expected. A sleek tactical vest designed specifically for fieldwork, complete with integrated tech and a touch of ridiculous Stark flair. "Look, it glows when you're under UV light," he says proudly. "Very nightclub assassin." Pepper rolls her eyes, but her handwritten card makes my chest tighten in a way I don't expect. It says, simply: We see you. Always have. Always will.

Bruce hands me a leather-bound journal filled with his recovery notes, complete with diagrams and some shaky sketches of me in various combat poses. I laugh when I see one labelled: "High kick of doom, 3.5 ft trajectory." There's even a small pouch attached with a hand-carved wooden pen. "You'll need to track your healing. I thought it might help to write it down." I don't say it, but I will. I will write everything down. The good, the bad, and especially the parts where I've felt like I didn't exist. Because now? It feels like I do.

I'm still smiling when the crowd begins to shift, people making room as two familiar figures step forward, each holding something in their hands. The noise in my head returns, just a little. Mom and Mama.

They've been here this whole time, quietly moving through the celebration, helping out, cleaning up plates, never taking the spotlight. I noticed it earlier, and I've been thankful for it. I needed space. I still do. But now they're here, in front of me, and it's harder to keep the barrier around my chest intact.

Nat steps up first, her hands clasped around a long rectangular case. It's black, sleek, familiar. My stomach knots in anticipation. "I, uh..." She hesitates. Natasha Romanoff hesitates. That alone is enough to jolt something inside me. "I wasn't sure what to get you. I've never been great at birthdays. But these... these kept me alive for a long time. And I think it's time they had a new owner."

She opens the case and turns it toward me. Inside is a matched set of weapons. Intimate, in a way only warriors understand. Twin shock batons, sleek and polished with matte-silver handles engraved in Russian script. A Glock 43, lightweight and efficient, with a grip she's worn smooth over the years. And the Widow's Bite cuffs, the real ones, resting on black velvet.

My breath catches. "These are..." I blink down at them, my hands hesitant to reach forward. "Yours?" Nat nods. "They were. Now they're yours. I always knew that you would be a better Agent than me. I just wish I had shown that pride more." There's emotion in her voice, but she reins it in expertly. She doesn't reach for me. Doesn't try to hug or explain too much. She just offers them, like a passing of legacy. Of trust.

I nod slowly, something like awe and confusion twisting through my chest. "Thanks. They're... badass. When I was training, I always based my tactics off you using these." I share a glimpse into what she missed. She gives a quiet smile, a flash of hurt in her eyes, but steps back without comment. I don't miss the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, as if resisting the urge to do more.

Then Wanda steps forward, her gift flatter, wrapped in dark green and tied with a silky ribbon. She holds it carefully, like it's something ancient. "No weapons in this one," she says, smiling, "unless you count Frodo's sword." She jokes. I give her a curious look and begin unwrapping the gift, careful with the ribbon. When I peel back the paper and lift the lid, my heart skips.

First editions. Hardcovers. Faded gold lettering on rich leather bindings. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The original artwork. My fingers hover over the covers, reverent. "Where did you find these?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"I didn't," Wanda says softly. "They were mine. I've kept them for years. You used to sneak into our room when you thought we were asleep, remember? You'd hide under our covers with a flashlight and whisper-read Gandalf's speeches like you were preparing for battle." I do remember. Vividly. That tiny space of time when everything felt safe and warm, when their room was my sanctuary.

I don't realize how hard I'm gripping the box until Kate gently places her hand over mine. "These are..." I swallow. "Wow." It's all I can manage to get out. Both of these gifts have been so thoughtful, and they've caught me completely off guard. Wanda's voice lowers. "I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how strong you already are. Even when you felt small."

A lump forms in my throat, but I force it down. I nod. Not because I'm ready to forgive. But because I'm not ready to push them away either. "Thanks." I say quietly. "Really." And just like that, they back away. No expectations. No more pressure. I appreciate that. It's like they're finally listening to me.

It would've been so easy for them to hijack the day and to make it about apologies or guilt. But instead, they've given me room. Let me have this one day to feel like I'm the centre of it all. And I needed that more than I ever realized.

The party picks up again, as Clint accidentally knocks over a cupcake tower and Billy yells "five-second rule!" before diving for the last chocolate one. Laughter ripples through the room like it belongs there, like we all do.

Kate squeezes my hand again and I smile at her, letting myself melt into the comfort of her presence. That's when I notice it. A movement, subtle and precise. Mama is watching. She's near the far wall now, leaning against it with her arms folded. But her eyes are locked on Kate. Not hostile. Not even judgmental. Just... focused. It's that hyper-vigilant mother-spy thing I haven't seen in years.

Kate follows my gaze and catches Nat's eyes, lifting her chin in subtle challenge. Natasha doesn't blink. Just tips her head slightly, evaluating. I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head. "She's profiling you." Kate smirks. "I should be flattered."

"You should be cautious," I whisper, nudging her with my elbow. "She has very creative ways of intimidating people." Kate leans closer, her voice low and teasing. "Good thing I'm hard to scare." I believe her. And I believe, for the first time in a long time, that someone might actually stick around. Not because they pity me. But because they want to.

The laughter has begun to soften now. People are settling into quieter conversations, cups half-finished, frosting smudges drying on napkins. The decorations still flutter gently in the airflow of the room, streamers casting coloured shadows across the walls like echoes of the joy they helped shape.

I'm still riding the high of it. The weightless kind of happiness that you don't quite trust to last, but you cling to anyway. That's when the door opens, and the atmosphere shifts. Even before I see him, I feel him.

Nick Fury doesn't enter a room. He commands it. Even here, surrounded by friends, cupcakes, and glittery party hats, he's unmistakable. The kind of presence you don't forget once it's in your life. "Don't mind me," he says, his voice a familiar gravel tone, softer than usual but still laced with authority. "Just came to see the guest of honour." He smiles.

A quiet hush falls over the room as he approaches. The tension isn't fear, it's more like reverence. Respect. The kind that makes people straighten their spines without realizing they're doing it. He walks to my bedside, pausing just beside the tray table, arms behind his back. His eye meets mine with a steadiness I've always found both comforting and intimidating.

"You gave us a scare, kid." I smile faintly, keeping his gaze. "Didn't mean to." He doesn't laugh, but something in his expression softens. "I read the full mission report," he says. "I know what went down. And I know it was my call that put you there in the first place." My chest tightens. I shake my head immediately, the instinct to defend him rushing forward. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You didn't know someone on the inside had turned. You couldn't have." I defend.

Fury's jaw flexes. "It doesn't matter." He replies after a beat. "I should've. Should've read deeper. Dug harder. Hell, I should've seen it coming. That's my job. To know before anyone else does. To protect you." His voice cracks, just barely. But it's enough. It unsettles me. Because I've never seen him like this. Vulnerable, human in a way that doesn't wear a patch or a trench coat. And it's not guilt for guilt's sake. It's care. "You've done more for me than most people ever have," I say quietly. "You gave me a chance. You trained me like I mattered. You saw me." I admit.

He lets out a breath, slow and rough. Then he nods. It's not to brush it off, but to acknowledge it. "You're one hell of an agent, Y/n. I've seen plenty come and go, but you've got something different. Grit. Instinct. Fire." She observes. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a gravel-soft whisper. "Don't let what happened change what you know about yourself." I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "I won't."

And then, in a rare moment of unspoken affection, he rests a calloused hand gently on my shoulder, just for a second, before straightening and stepping back. As he turns to leave, he casts a long look toward Nat and Wanda near the back of the room. His gaze lingers, and something in it, maybe warning, maybe reassurance, passes unspoken between them before he disappears through the door.

I exhale only once he's gone. Then, just as I start to gather my thoughts, Dr. Cho re-enters the room with a clipboard and her no-nonsense smile. "Okay, everyone," she announces, clapping her hands together once. "Quick update before you all crash from sugar and emotional whiplash." The room chuckles in response. I sit up straighter, something in my gut already stirring.

"Y/n, your scans look great. The infection's resolved, and your vitals have been strong for the past forty-eight hours. Based on today's assessment..." She pauses, flipping a page like she doesn't already have it memorized. "You're officially being discharged tomorrow morning."

The room erupts louder than it did the first time. This time it's more than celebration. It's relief. Release. Tommy jumps up like someone plugged him into an outlet. "You're coming home?! Like really home?!" He questions excitedly. Billy's already halfway into planning mode. "We have to do a welcome-back breakfast. Wait, no, brunch. Brunch is fancier. And we can use the good mugs!"

I laugh, the real kind, as they both launch themselves into my arms, hugging me with as much force as they dare. "I missed you guys," I murmur into their hair. "We missed you more," Tommy says without hesitation, grinning up at me.

Across the room, I catch sight of Nat and Wanda. They're not saying anything. Not pushing their way into the moment. But I can see it on their faces, the way Wanda's lips tremble just slightly, the way Nat's arms remain crossed tightly over her chest like she's holding herself together by sheer force of will. They're relieved. Genuinely relieved. And they're holding back. For me. It means more than I know how to say.

Still... as the twins start rattling off pancake toppings and "who gets to sit next to Y/n at the table," a familiar flutter of anxiety flickers to life in my chest. I'm going home. To the apartment I once called mine. The home that now feels half-foreign and half-frozen in time. To Nat's watchful eyes and Wanda's worry-laced hovering. I know they love me. I believe that now, at least a little. But I don't know if I'm ready to live under that roof again. To be seen that closely. To be reminded of everything that fractured before I ended up in this hospital bed.

Kate must sense the shift in my energy. Her hand closes around mine, steady and warm. "You're not doing this alone." She murmurs. Before I can answer, Yelena slides in from the other side, arms folded but her eyes fierce. "I will be checking on you. Every day." She promises. Kate smirks. "We've got it covered."

"I'm serious," Yelena adds. "If they hover, I will stare them down until they leave the room. If they make too much soup, I'll eat it out of spite." She says with a straight face. Kate leans in toward me, her voice barely a whisper. "She will. I've seen her do it." She chuckles.

"I don't need babysitters." I murmur, but there's no real heat in my voice. Yelena raises a brow. "Good. Then we're just company." She corrects. "Support." Kate adds. I glance between them, and something loosens in my chest. Maybe I can go home. Because this time, I'm not going back alone.

The room is quieter now, but it still glows with the remnants of laughter and light. Nat and Wanda remain in the background, not imposing, not forcing. They're waiting. Not for forgiveness but for me. And I think that matters most of all.

The soft hum of conversation has tapered into scattered goodbyes, quiet laughter, and the rustle of gift bags being gathered. The scent of vanilla frosting still lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile but oddly comforting smell of hospital-grade fabric softener.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, legs dangling over the side, blanket wrapped loosely around my shoulders as Kate helps me tuck away a few of the smaller gifts into a bag. Most of the guests have left. The noise has died down to a gentle murmur. It's just us now, me, Kate, Yelena, my moms, and the twins, who have passed out on a beanbag in the corner under a pile of discarded wrapping paper.

Kate shifts beside me, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Alright, Bishop Security detail clocking out," she says, offering a playful two-finger salute. I chuckle at her goofiness, and I can't hide the flutter to my heart. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Bright and early. Probably with coffee and really bad jokes."

"Looking forward to it," I reply, trying to keep my voice light, though a quiet kind of sadness starts settling in my chest. I don't want the day to end. Not yet. Not when it finally felt like everything was okay. Kate seems to sense it. She steps closer, her smile softening as her eyes search mine.

"Hey." she says, gently brushing a stray hair from my face, her fingers lingering near my cheek. "You did good today." I huff a small laugh. "I didn't do much." I sigh. "Still," she says, her voice quieter now. "You let yourself have today. That matters." She points out.

She leans in slowly, giving me time, and I meet her halfway. The kiss is brief, gentle, warm, a promise wrapped in quiet goodbye, but it anchors something deep in me. It's the kind of kiss that doesn't demand anything. It just reminds me I'm not alone.

When she pulls back, we're both smiling. But of course, nothing in my life happens without some form of chaos. "I swear to god, Bishop," Yelena calls from the doorway, arms crossed and smirking, "if you break her heart, I will personally staple your arrows together and feed them to you." Kate blinks a flash of fear in her eyes, then she grins. "Creative." She shrugs, trying to play it cool. "I'm Russian. We invent new ways to threaten people daily."

I burst into laughter, chest-shaking laughter that makes me wince slightly, but I don't care. It's worth it. Kate just shrugs like it's part of the deal, then throws me a wink before heading for the door. "Sleep, okay?" she calls back. "I will." I say, holding her gaze a second longer. "See you tomorrow."

Once she and Yelena slip out, the room falls into a softer stillness. The kind that lingers when the lights have dimmed and the buzz of the day begins to fade. Mama, Nat, steps forward first, arms crossed but eyes gentle. "She seems nice," she says, voice casual, but the comment lingers in the air.

I turn to look at her, studying her face for any sign of disapproval. But it's not there. Her expression is sincere, measured, and, if I'm reading it right, curiously fond. "She is." I reply, testing the waters.

Mom then joins us, walking up beside Nat with a little nod of agreement. "She's kind. Confident. I like her. I'm excited to see more of her around the house." I blink at her, surprised. Mom has always been the more intuitive of the two, more emotionally open, but still. The ease in her voice, the warmth, it catches me off guard.

"You're not going to interrogate her?" I ask, only half-teasing. "Only a little," Nat says dryly, but there's no edge to it. Just a trace of the protectiveness I used to crave from her, back when I didn't think I deserved it.

For a beat, none of us speak. They stay near, not hovering, not pressing in. Just... present. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel suffocating. I ease myself back onto the bed, wincing slightly at the pull in my side. The hospital room is quieter now, dimmer. The balloons have started to droop, and the party glow is beginning to flicker out.

My eyes flick to the stack of gifts beside me. Clint's arrows, Mom's books, Mama's weapons. Kate's bracelet still rests gently against my wrist, glinting faintly under the soft lamplight. Today was a good day.

But now that it's over, a gnawing restlessness settles in my chest. Tomorrow, I go home. The word tastes foreign in my mouth. Home. That apartment. That space full of memories, some good, some aching like bruises not fully healed. I can already see the way they'll watch me. The soft questions. The hovering. The awkward silences when no one knows what to say. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But I'll go. Because something inside me, faint and fragile, wants to try. And I also know it have no other choice.

The quiet stretches long now, the day finally unwinding. Wanda kisses my forehead gently before retreating to gather the twins. Nat lingers just a moment longer, eyes sweeping over me like she's committing this version of me to memory. "Sleep well dekta. I love you." She says quietly, not making a fuss or waiting for a response. She simply leans in and presses a soft kiss to my head and joins Mom with carrying a sleeping Tommy out of the room.

I'm left alone with the hum of machines, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls, and the distant warmth of Kate's goodbye on my lips. And for the first time in a long time, I let the silence hold me. Tomorrow begins something new. Maybe hard. But maybe good, too. And maybe that's enough.

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute-blog @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality @elle161989 @jusnough @nessheartnat @yelldontwhisper

[mamiobesssionfics]

Steel and Silk

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Bodyguard!AU

Warning: Soft Smut

Summary: A bodyguard and a politician's daughter, both bound by duty and desire.

It all started with the threats.

Your father was a powerful politician, one whose policies and decisions made waves. And with power came enemies. It was inevitable that the threats against your life would become too serious to ignore.

That’s when they brought in Rhea Ripley.

Rhea was not your average bodyguard.

Tall, with dark eyes that seemed to see straight through you, and an imposing presence that could silence a room with a glance.

She was all leather, black boots, and professionalism. Nothing about her suggested warmth or approachability. She was a soldier, efficient, precise, and deadly. But that didn’t matter.

You needed her, and she was your protection.

You didn’t like it at first.

There was something unsettling about having someone like her around.

She was cold. Distant.

And frankly, you hated how safe she made you feel. Not because you didn’t need it, but because you didn’t want to need her.

Days turned into weeks, and it was clear that Rhea was more than just a bodyguard. She was your shadow, always a step behind, always watching.

At first, you only spoke when necessary. You didn’t try to engage, didn’t make any effort to bond with her.

But there was something about how she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, something soft under all the professionalism.

You saw it when she caught your eye one morning as you entered the kitchen. You had barely gotten your coffee before she stepped forward, her usual stoic expression faltering slightly when she noticed the bruise on your wrist from where you’d fallen the previous day.

“Do you need help with that?” Her voice was low, almost too soft for her usual commanding tone.

“I’m fine,” you answered quickly, not meeting her eyes. You had to prove you didn’t need her.

But Rhea didn’t back off.

She didn’t let you push her away. She was relentless, watching over you without fail, staying close even when you tried to put distance between you both.

It was late one evening when you finally cracked.

The house was quiet; everyone else had gone to bed.

You found yourself wandering the hallways aimlessly, your thoughts a swirl of frustration, confusion, and fear.

The weight of the threats, the protection, and your feelings for her that you couldn’t deny anymore was too much.

You didn’t even realise you’d walked into the study until you saw Rhea standing there by the window, her back to you.

She was staring out into the night, her posture stiff, and for a moment, she looked so far away, unreachable.

“Rhea?” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

She turned, her eyes meeting yours instantly.

Her gaze softened, but only for a second before she masked it again. “You shouldn’t be up. It’s late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, stepping closer. “And I... I don’t know if I can do this anymore. All of this.” You gestured vaguely, frustrated. “The protection, the threats, and the constant reminder that I need you.”

Rhea’s jaw tightened, and you saw something flicker behind her eyes. She approached you slowly, the air between you thick with tension.

“You don’t need to do anything. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to just be a job for you,” you whispered. “I want... I want something real. For once in my life.”

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then Rhea closed the space between you, her strong hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to look up at her.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking. “But now that I’m here… I’ll do anything to protect you. Anything.”

The distance between you both was finally gone, and before you could think, her lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was fierce, passionate, as if she were pouring all her feelings into it. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as you responded eagerly.

Her body pressed against yours, warm and protective, as though she wanted to shield you from the world.

Her lips trailed down your neck, soft, warm breaths making your skin shiver. “Are you sure about this?” she murmured between kisses. “Because I don’t back down once I make a choice.”

You nodded, breathless, unable to stop the flood of emotions that rushed through you.

You had never felt more alive than in her arms.

In the privacy of the study, the rest of the world faded away. She was gentle, her touches filled with care and desire, as though she needed to prove to you that she wasn’t just your protector,  she was something more.

Her hands slid under your shirt, her lips never leaving yours as she undressed you slowly. Each movement was deliberate, each kiss a promise of something deeper than just passion.

Finally, when you were both laid bare, with her above you, she paused, looking down at you, eyes soft and conflicted.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asked again, her voice husky.

“Yes,” you whispered, pulling her down to you. “I want you.”

With that, she claimed you fully, both in body and heart.

Hours later, you lay in her arms, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your intimacy. 

You were both silent, not needing words, but there was an understanding now, an unspoken truth between you.

Rhea Ripley, the woman who had sworn to protect you, had become your everything. 

She wasn’t just your bodyguard anymore. She was the one you couldn’t live without.

And you realised then, as you drifted into sleep in her arms, that this was where you were meant to be. Safe, loved, and finally free to be yourself.