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eelnoise · 16 days ago

Text

cut to the feeling

>in which zoro realizes he may have a thing for you

pre-ts!zoro x gn!reader cw: none! fluff! an: this was in my wips for so long but i'm so in my feelings about zoro that inspo finally came to me. also this is secretly selfship coded and is in the same canon as a few other fics. wc:2k

With another scorching day in the sun and a breeze that's hardly enough to move the ship at an acceptable rate, there’s a rare silence that spans the decks of the Thousand Sunny. The humidity is enough to keep even the more rowdy crewmates indoors with hopes of escaping the rampant heatwave.

Despite the intensity of the day, Zoro is ever a creature of habit—and can be found taking his usual afternoon nap under the slight shade of the mast, sans robe and sporting a large bandage wrapping along his bicep that covers the wound left by stray shrapnel from a skirmish with marines a few islands back.

It doesn’t bother him. Why would it? It’s just some extra sweat or an extra drink of water, might as well be a normal day for him.

Through the serene silence of the deck, Zoro's rest is disturbed all too early by the sound of one of the doors below creaking open. Familiar—though new—footsteps approach, clamoring up one of the staircases to his nestled spot in the shade.

He watches as you appear next to the mast and notes how your expression changes, seemingly surprised and somewhat relieved when you see him already wide awake and staring in your direction. He just looks at you, an eyebrow raised, as if waiting for you to begin.

“Do you have a minute?” you ask, fiddling with the strap of your bag and shifting on the balls of your feet.

Zoro tilts his head slightly, following your movements as you fidget nervously beside him. He remains silent for a moment, considering your request with a measured look. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and even. "A minute for what?" His tone is direct, betraying no hint of the curiosity that flickers across his features.

You take a moment to steady yourself, glancing around the expanse of the deck before focusing your attention back upon him. “Well,” you begin, your voice steadying as you notice the tension in his shoulders. “The short of it is—Chopper sent me to change your bandages.” You try to keep your tone light, but the seriousness of the situation lingers in the air.

Zoro grumbles something under his breath about Chopper being a mother-hen. He sits up slowly, stretching his limbs as he does. "Fine," he mutters, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he holds out his wounded arm in your direction. "Just get it over with."

"I'll make it quick, promise!" you say with a reassuring smile as you move to sit cross-legged at his side. The shift in position brings you closer, your warmth mingling with the afternoon sun, and Zoro finds himself oddly aware of the intimacy of the moment.

You work methodically, lifting his arm to rest gently across your lap. The warmth of your touch sends a rush of unfamiliar comfort through him, as if such kindness is a rare gift. His nostrils flare as the scent of your shampoo wafts toward him while you reach for the small scissors designed for cutting medical bandages.

He observes silently as you take his arm to gently rest in your lap. Zoro tries to remain collected, but he can't help but notice how your touch is both soft and sure—like you've done this a hundred times before. The slight scent of your shampoo wafts through the air, and a part of that signature tough-guy image wants to lean into it, to bask in the pleasantness of it all. But he resists the urge, simply taking in the moment as you reach for the scissors.

Zoro’s gaze follows your every movement as you tend to his wound, his focus intense yet unwavering. He remains still, allowing you to work without interference. As you gently lift his arm, he feels a strange warmth wash over him, unfamiliar and unexpected.

He tenses slightly at the unusual feeling, his senses suddenly heightened. Zoro's brow furrows as he tries to understand what this sensation is. He's used to discomfort, pain, the sharp bite of a sword against his skin. But this is something different. It's gentle, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

As you continue tending to his injury, Zoro silently observes every meticulous gesture you make. There's something intimate about this entire situation—the gentleness of your touch, the closeness, the way you focus so intensely on him. It's a foreign concept, something he's never really experienced before.

His hardened exterior slowly begins to crack as a sense of vulnerability creeps in. He can't help but notice the feeling of heat where your hands lightly brush against his skin, his muscles involuntarily tensing in response.

You find the wound is intact—not a single stitch busted open, the clean lines of the bandage reassuring in their neatness. “No broken stitches! Any pain?” you ask, your voice laced with concern as you carefully examine the area, searching for any signs of trouble.

Zoro shakes his head in response. "No pain," he replies gruffly, his stare shifting away from yours. His brow furrows as he tries to suppress the faint touch of redness that flushes his cheeks slightly. "I've had far worse than this," he adds, the hint of pride in his voice an attempt to return to his usual cool demeanor.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” you reply, turning to grab some antiseptic and a cotton pad from your pack. “You’ve got quite the steel will, from what I’ve heard.” You pour the liquid onto the cotton and gently dab it across his stitches.

Zoro tenses slightly as the cool liquid hits his skin, the slight sting pulling him back to the moment. He studies you closely as you gently dab the cotton pad across his stitches, the faint scent of the antiseptic lingering in the air.

He gives a small huff in response to your comment, the compliment making his heartrate spike ever so slightly. "You could say that," he says gruffly, his usual nonchalant tone cracking slightly.

You hum, a blend of a smile and soft laughter, as the breeze playfully tousles your hair, sending strands dancing around your face. Zoro feels an urge to tuck it behind your ear, the simple act stirring something in him he can’t quite grasp.

As you continue to clean the wound, Zoro's mind wanders. He finds himself acutely aware of your proximity, the warmth of your body so close to his own. It's a sensation that he's not accustomed to, one that stirs something deep within him.

There’s a silence that comes over the two of you as Zoro tries to fathom why you’re making him feel this way. He can feel his hands shake each time the pads of your fingers grace his skin, and it’s enough for him to ignore the remaining ache in his shoulder.

What is going on?

Zoro's heart races each time your hands touch his skin, his breaths becoming a little shallower than they should be. He can't understand why he's reacting like this to something as simple as changing bandages. He's never been fazed by something so trivial—and yet, the sensation of your touch against his skin sends tingles down his spine.

He fidgets slightly, shifting his position on the deck flooring, desperate to regain some semblance of cool composure. Zoro's thoughts are a whirlwind of unbidden, uncharacteristic impulses, the silence between the two of you growing thicker by the minute.

He feels like he should say something, to break the silence in an attempt to ease himself, and, maybe, he just wants to hear the caring timbre of your voice again.

“So,” Zoro begins, still not caring to look at you—his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead instead, “What’s the long of it?”

“The long of it?” You reply, and he catches you tilting your head up to him in his peripheral, but fights the urge to break his waning focus.

“You said the short of it is Chopper asked you to change my bandages.” Fuck. Why is he so bad at this? What even is this? Zoro can't help but inwardly curse at himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. He doesn't understand why he's so compelled to keep this conversation going, why he wants to hear more from you, more of your voice, more of your laughter…

“Oh!” You giggle, a sound so endearing that it disarms him, making it impossible to maintain his facade. “The long of it, huh? Well, you know Chopper doesn’t fare well in the heat. He’s busy whipping up extra burn salves.”

Your laughter wraps around him like a soothing balm, easing the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. He finds himself locking eyes with you for a brief moment, captivated by the brightness in your expression, before he quickly looks away, a flush creeping to his cheeks.

“Burn salves, huh?” he murmurs, his tone low and thoughtful, as he works to keep his demeanor nonchalant despite the flutter of nerves beneath the surface.

“Mhm, you know Usopp goes through the bulk of them.” You explain as you unravel the replacement bandages. "I don't think I've seen a full stock since stepping onto the ship."

Zoro lets out a low chuckle, the tension easing slightly. "Usopp is a walking disaster," he mutters, "always finding new ways to burn himself." Despite his harsh words, there's a hint of fondness in his voice, showcasing the bond they’ve forged through countless adventures.

Another giggle from you as you adjust his arm across your lap to ready it for rebandaging. How can such a small sound make him feel so tingly? Why is his free hand shaking with the temptation to touch you?

Zoro tries to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine as your giggle echoes through the air once more. He finds himself staring at your face, the way your lips quirk upwards into a small smile, and he has to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand of stray hair behind your ear.

His free hand clenches into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles paling from the force of it. Why is he feeling so drawn to touch you, to feel the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers?

Gently, the wound is wrapped up in a very neat way. You take your time to ensure it isn't too tight or too loose—finding a happy middle ground to keep his wound safe for healing.

As you diligently wrap up the injury with a practiced touch, Zoro can't help but appreciate the care you take in your work. Your precise movements and attention to detail are soothing, almost captivating. He silently notes the way you find the perfect balance between compression and looseness, making sure his wound is protected yet unrestricted.

He takes in your every move, his attention shifting between your focused expressions and the gentle precision of your hands as you work. There’s a quiet intensity in the way you concentrate, and he finds himself drawn to the delicate care you put into tending to him, the unfamiliar warmth surging through him once more.

"All done!" You say happily, giving him a soft tap of your fingers to his wrist before moving to clean up the remains of his former dressing. "How's it feel?"

Zoro flexes his arm a bit, testing out the tightness of the bandage. It's snug, but not uncomfortably so. He glances down at the clean new wrapping then back up at you, the touch of your fingers against his wrist sending another jolt of electricity through his body.

He clears his throat, trying to hide the affect your touch had on him. "Feels... fine," he mutters gruffly. "Sturdy."

"Excellent," you reply with a bright smile, gathering your supplies with a practiced ease before rising to your feet.

Zoro finds himself oddly disappointed as you stand up, readying to leave. He wasn't expecting this moment to end so soon. He had become so wrapped up in your presence, in the quiet moments between you as you worked diligently on his injury.

He watches you gather your things, a silent, unexplainable longing for your company coursing through him. But he keeps his mouth stubbornly shut, his usual impassive exterior firmly in place.

But you ask him something he doesn't expect then, something he didn't know he'd be chomping at the bit to want.

"It's killer out here," you say, fanning yourself with your free hand, the light breeze teasing your hair as you glance at him with a bright smile. "I'm going to grab some water—Sanji's keeping some cold for everyone. Want a glass?" The way your expression sparkles makes his heart skip a beat, and he finds himself eager for any excuse to prolong your time together.

Zoro's eyes widen ever so slightly at your question. A part of him wants to decline, to maintain his usual aloof demeanor. But another part, a more impulsive part, leaps at the opportunity to prolong your time together. He clears his throat again, his voice gruff as he replies. "Yeah. Sure," he mutters. "A glass would be nice."

You nod, promising to be right back with some after disposing of his old dressings below deck—and though it seems like ages for you to return, you do with that same smile with an ice cold glass of water in each hand.

"Mind if I join you? It's nice being out here in the quiet."

As you return, glasses of water in hand, Zoro can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in his chest. Though he outwardly remains stoic, he's inwardly glad for the chance to linger in your company.

He glances at the empty spot beside him on the deck floor. "I don't mind," he mutters, scooting over slightly to make room for you. "Quiet's nice every now and then."

As Zoro and you sit side by side, sipping on the cool, refreshing water, he finds himself surprisingly at ease. The silence between you is comfortable and soothing, a welcome change from his usual readiness for action.

As the minutes roll by, he can't help but notice the way you hum a soft, soothing tune under your breath, the sound blending seamlessly with the gentle lapping of waves against the ship. He turns his head to glance at you, a small, uncharacteristic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Perhaps this is something he could get used to.

#roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #one piece zoro #op zoro #zoro fluff

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ellecdc · 7 months ago

Note

okay so I just wanted to start by saying I love you're moonwater stories so much.

Ive been thinking about this like paring ig for a bit and your recent moonwater story when r gets home from girls night just made me think of it more so if you're interested id love for you to do it.

Basically its like poly moonwater plus Barty ive been calling it moonwaterkiller in my head (idk if its already a ship or already has a name but I haven't been able to find anything) but basically I feel like r and Barty would be like a chaotic duo and reg and rem would just be like wtf a lot idk... I just think it has some potential and I just love your writing so fucking much.

(I also just love how you write Barty)

so if you're interested I think it would be cool

much love :)

I love the way your mind works babes. thanks for your request! (it's almost two am where I am so please forgive any awkward sentences or spelling mistakes). also, if I didn't completely lose everyone with my DeathStar fics - this may very well do it. && this was written with the help of our fabulous @unstablereader

poly!moonwater x chaotic fem!reader + Barty Crouch Junior

Regulus didn’t know whether to be concerned or slightly aroused at the slightly deranged way that Remus was stalking the halls in search of you and Barty.

You and Regulus had both at one point or another been in a friends-with-benefits situation with Barty (albeit separately) during your time in school, before you and Regulus went and fell in love with a Gryffindor.

Regulus still wasn’t quite over the humiliation; both of falling in love and falling in love with a Gryffindor.

Of course, you and Regulus both stayed friends with Barty; Regulus mostly because he couldn’t shake him (ignoring the fact that Regulus really was quite fond of his maniacal friend), and you because the two of you really were sort of two sides of the same hyperactive galleon.

And though Remus (and sometimes Regulus) liked to pretend that yours and Barty’s friendship caused them grief, they couldn’t deny how much they valued Barty’s loyalty and devotion to his friends; specifically you.

Regulus’ new favourite thing was easily Remus’ new found appreciation for Barty.

Up until this point, Barty had been his notoriously flirty and salacious self when it came to the likes of Remus, who wasn’t yet accustomed to Barty’s unique…personality.

However, once Remus realised the history between his two partners and the other Slytherin boy, he quickly came to appreciate the kind of pull Barty could have on people.

So, Remus had started flirting back.

Barty hated it.

Regulus loved it.

You started keeping track of the number of times Remus reduced Barty to a blushing and stuttering mess in your notebook.

Barty hated that too.

It was nearing curfew and Remus and Regulus hadn’t seen you all afternoon.

Usually that was fine, considering you were a bit of a free spirit. What was concerning, however, was that they hadn’t seen Barty either.

Regulus watched as Remus checked the stupid map that his brother and their friends had created when his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What? Don’t tell me they’re in the middle of the Black Lake again?” Regulus asked quickly, moving to stand over Remus’ shoulder to peer at the map.

“Again?”

“Don’t ask.” Regulus muttered.

“But…doesn’t Barty not know how to swim?”

“I said don’t ask.”

Seeming to know better, Remus turned back and pointed towards the Ravenclaw common room on the map. “It says they’re up in Ravenclaw tower?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Regulus muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

“How’d two Slytherin’s manage to get into Ravenclaw tower?” Remus asked bemusedly, earning him an unimpressed glare from Regulus.

“Remus, I love you, but that was perhaps the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he closed the map and tucked it back into his trunk.

“Come on, we might be able to catch up to Pandora on her way up and have her help us in.”

They had indeed caught up to Pandora, and Pandora had indeed helped them in, though it seemed to be for naught.

“I thought your stupid map said they were here.” Regulus muttered as he surveyed the common room, unable to spot a single lick of green and silver.

“It’s not stupid and they are in here.” Remus muttered back, moving to stand in the dead centre of the room.

“How do you know they’re here if you can’t see them?”

Remus glared at Regulus before looking around to ensure no one could hear them. “I can smell them.” He whispered.

Well Regulus just didn’t know what good these wolfy senses were if they were still out two Slytherin’s.

“Shit.” Regulus heard whispered suddenly as a quill fell from the air and landed beside his foot.

Remus and Regulus both looked up to see you and Barty casually lounging in the chandelier above them.

“Are you sodding kidding me!?” Regulus shouted.

“I think our cover’s been blown.” You said simply to Barty as if you didn’t have two fuming and fretting boyfriends standing nearly forty feet give or take below you.

“Pity.” Barty responded as he peered down. “This was a nice refuge.”

“How’d you even get up there?” Remus cried, pacing like he was getting ready to catch you should you fall.

“Magic.” Barty taunted from above.

“Junior, so help me gods if that witch falls I-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Lupin. I resent the insinuation that I would ever let anything happen to our sweet angel baby.” Barty bit back immediately.

“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” Remus acquiesced as if he were negotiating a hostage situation. “Why don’t you both just come down here, nice and slow, okay?”

Both you and Barty leaned forward to look down at the two boys, causing the chandelier to swing precariously.

“Fucking hells! Stop moving!” Remus shrieked, causing the attention of the few Ravenclaws sitting in the common room to look over.

“Such a worrier.” Barty muttered as he stood and started manoeuvring himself to the edge of the chandelier - you following him over and causing the chandelier to tip to a nearly 90 degree angle.

“I’m going to be sick, I’m actually going to throw up right here.” Regulus muttered mostly to himself whilst Remus tried to stand directly underneath you lest you need to be caught.

To Remus and Regulus’ absolute horror, Barty launched himself away from the chandelier, grabbing at the billowy banners hanging from the ceiling causing the chandelier to swing away from him like a pendulum.

“JUNIOR!” Remus shouted, causing Barty to momentarily look shamefaced as he looked below him.

As the chandelier swung towards the opposite wall, you too launched yourself at one of the billowy banners hanging from the ceiling and began monkey climbing down them.

“Can you make sure she doesn’t fall, please.” Remus barked at Regulus as he made his way towards Barty.

Barty let out a high pitched screech and began hastily making his way down the wall. “Run Treasure! Save yourself!” He shouted dramatically.

You turned quickly at that and saw Regulus making his way to you.

You let out a surprised squeak and hurried down, and before Regulus realised what you were doing, you had used your wand to open one of the windows and were shimmying out.

“Oi! What the-” but before Regulus could even shove his torso out the window, you’d managed to shift into your animagus form - a mink, which Regulus felt was very fitting considering what a sodding cheeky minx you were being right now - and began scaling your way down the side of the building.

Regulus was interrupted by the sound of a squeal - Remus’ squeal - and turned to see Remus hanging halfway out of the window in much the same fashion that Regulus had been.

Unlike Regulus, however, Remus had been successful in his capture of Barty and had him hanging from the tallest tower at Hogwarts by one of his arms.

“Junior! Are you trying to sodding kill me!?” Remus barked angrily at him, trying to pull Barty up without any help from Barty himself.

Barty looked up at Remus with all the innocence he could muster (read: none) and winked.

“Catch me if you can, Mr. Wolf.”

And Barty shrunk into his own animagus form - an osprey - and let out a cry before swooping down to pick up something that looked suspiciously like a mink from the eaves of one of the lower towers and took off towards the grounds.

“Fucking son of a bitch.” Remus cursed as he tried catching his breath, still sitting half out of the Ravenclaw window. “Why do we put up with those two?”

Regulus shrugged with all the nonchalance he could muster. “‘Cause they’re cute?”

Remus sighed and hit his head against the windowsill. “They’re so sodding lucky that they are…”

“Come on.” Regulus said, offering Remus a hand and helping him out of the window. “Unfortunately, I know exactly where they went.”

Barty loved nothing more than the feeling of his feet sinking into the sediment of the Black Lake below his feet. He also loved the feeling of being near you, his Treasure. He also loved the idea of two handsome men frantically searching for you, and him by proxy.

All this to say, Barty was having a really nice night.

“Junior!”

Barty’s face morphed into a Cheshire cat grin as he turned towards the voice of the man and his boyfriend as they stormed towards the waters edge.

“Well hello, Lupin. How nice of you to join us; care for a dip?”

“Get out of the water.” Regulus drawled in a bored tone.

“Why would I do such a thing? The water’s lovely, I’m in wonderful company, and we’re going to feed the Giant Squid.” He argued.

“Barty.” Remus barked with all the severity he could manage. “You don’t know how to swim.”

Barty scoffed indignantly. “Yeah, well…neither can Reggie!”

“That’s why I’m standing on the shore you absolute bell-end.” Regulus countered quickly.

Remus turned his furious gaze into a bemused one as he took in Regulus. “Do you really not know how to swim either?”

“None of us can!” You shouted from your disturbingly deeper place within the lake as the gentle waves nearly lapped against your skirt.

“Oh, for the love of- you know what? This summer, everyone’s getting swimming lessons.” Remus proclaimed.

“Ou, does that mean I get to see you in your swim trunks, Lupin?” Barty called.

Remus, without missing a beat, started towards Barty, walking into the lake in his shoes and all. “You could see me right now, in less, for free, Junior. You only had to ask.”

Barty let out a screech and tried running towards you, albeit in slow motion on account of the water’s resistance. “Y/N! Treasure! Help! Make him stop!”

“No can do, bubs.” You called back in monotone, still throwing chunks of bread towards the middle of the Lake in hopes of eliciting the company of one Giant Squid.

“Dove, you’re going to catch a cold; get out of the water.” Remus called to you, pants soaked up to his knees after giving up on chasing Barty in the water.

“We’re trying to make friends!” You whined.

“You cannot make friends with a squid, amour. He will eat you.” Regulus explained from the shore.

“He wouldn’t eat his friend.” You scoffed.

“Dove.” Remus barked again.

“I want to see the the big water kitty!” You whined again, turning towards the boys and offering the most pathetic pout you could muster.

Regulus scoffed from his place, still dry on the shore, Remus let out a pained sigh, and Barty all but skipped towards you.

“A valiant death it will be!” He cheered before he felt the fabric of his jumper being summoned by an accio, dragging him unceremoniously through the water towards Remus.

“No! Ah! AH! STRANGER DANGER. STRANGER DANGER!” He shrieked as Remus threw him over his shoulder.

“Okay, well, now you’re just showing off, Lupin.” He muttered, crossing his arm petulantly as Remus held his free hand out to you.

“Dove, please? Come inside with me?”

You looked distressed at this and moved obediently towards Remus. “Are you mad at me?” You asked timidly.

Barty could actually feel Remus’ body soften beneath him as he allowed some of his tension to dissipate. “Of course not, dovey. I love you.”

You leaned over and pecked a kiss to the corner of his mouth before turning into your animagus mink and swimming to the shore, crawling up Regulus’ pant leg (who admonished you in faux contempt for ruining his trousers), and allowed him to carry you back to the castle.

Barty was feeling petulant about the whole matter of being chased and chastised so decided then that he was going to force Remus to carry him all the way back to the castle in silence.

Unfortunately for Barty, he hated silence.

He was at least proud he’d made it to the dungeons before giving up on his vow of silence.

“You’re really not upset with her?” Barty asked quietly from his current prison. He could feel Remus’ head tilt in confusion, though his steps never faltered.

“Of course not?” He responded as a question.

“Hmmm.” Barty said, racking his brain for something to upset or fluster this man.

“Oh! What about me having slept with both your boyfriend and your girlfriend?”

“What about it?” Remus asked plainly.

“Well…aren’t you upset about that?”

Remus scoffed and adjusted his grip on Barty, hand’s migrating none too innocently up the back of his thighs. “Junior. The only thing I’m upset about is that you haven’t slept with all three of us. I don’t like feeling left out, you know?”

Barty made a strangled sound as he struggled in Remus’ grip to no avail, causing you and Regulus to chuckle from a few strides ahead as you all stepped into the Slytherin common room.

“We told you he was smooth, Barty.” You chuckled.

“You should hear him in bed.” Regulus taunted, reaching over to pinch Barty’s arse, causing him to yelp and start cursing at him.

Remus relented and put Barty down, who immediately made for Regulus’ throat.

“Easy, Junior.” Remus chuckled, pulling him back by the shoulder. “You wanna keep Reg around, don’t you?”

Barty harrumphed and crossed his arms indignantly.

“We’d like to keep you around.” Remus continued.

Barty grumbled again and let out a quiet. “Fine.”

Remus beamed at him, which was very alarming if you asked Barty, as they stepped into his and Regulus’ shared dorm; Rosier and Avery were already asleep in their beds with their curtains drawn.

“Yeah? You’ll let us keep you?” Remus asked.

“I said fine, Lupin.” He bit back.

“Great. So we’re in a relationship then.” He explained simply, causing Barty to level him with a severe glare. “How dare you, Lupin. Never say such vile things to me again.” He spat before storming towards the boy’s bathroom.

Regulus groaned and grabbed his own toiletries before making his way to the washroom behind him. “I’ll go make sure he doesn’t try to drown himself in the shower again.”

Remus shook his head and changed into his pyjamas before climbing into Regulus’ bed and pulling you towards him.

“So, explain this to me, Dove. Why is Barty the way he is?”

You snorted a laugh and turned to face him. “You’re going to have to be way more specific, love.”

Remus chuckled and ran his hands up and down your back. “He likes Reg. He loves you. He seems sweet on me. We invite him to be ours and he accepts - but runs when we make it mean something?”

You smiled up at your boyfriend and booped his nose with a perfectly manicured finger - which Remus found very confusing considering you spend your spare time scaling the rafters of grand ceilings and enticing Giant Squids from their hiding places. “Barty doesn’t understand, Rem. He wouldn’t know love if it punched him right in the face.”

Remus could feel his brows furrow and he pulled you in tighter to his chest. “Dove…love doesn’t punch you in the face?”

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say as you rolled your eyes in exasperation and threw your head back onto the pillow. “You see? That’s the kind of thing someone who grew up loved would know.”

It’s not that Remus ever really forgot to worry about you per se, but he sometimes really worried about you Purebloods.

At some point in the night, you had apparently decided Remus and Regulus’ bed was too hot and moved to Barty’s. Remus would have been slightly more petulant about the matter if he hadn’t thought you looked absolutely precious with Barty resting his head on your chest.

He looked so innocent in his sleep.

Sleep clearly didn’t know him very well.

Remus was shocked when the four of you entered the Great Hall for breakfast and Barty actually followed you three to the Gryffindor table. Though Remus was trying to play it cool, he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope surge within him at what that might mean for the three four of you.

Remus was just about to bite into his toast when a sultry voice sounded from behind Barty.

“Hello, Bartemus.” Amelia Bones sing-songed as she trailed a finger up Barty’s arm.

His brows furrowed almost comically from above the rim of his coffee cup before he slowly lowered it and turned to consider the Hufflepuff.

“Bones. Can I help you?” He asked, punctuating the word help as he plucked her fingers from his being between his two fingers as if he’d found something really quite disgusting on his person.

“I was thinking, you could help me, perhaps tonight?”

Barty turned to look at her incredulously.

“Help with what, Amelia? I’m really quite busy.” He spat, gesturing wildly to his cup of coffee.

“An orgasm or two? Gods, you’re pissy in the mornings.”

Barty scoffed, sounding completely scandalised as he clutched at non-existent pearls adorning his neck. “I am sitting here with my beloveds, Amelia. For shame. You see this lot? I’m theirs, capiche?”

Amelia looked bemusedly at the group of you before shaking her head in confusion. “Whatever you say, Junior.”

She moseyed on away, and Barty turned back towards his cup of coffee. “The gall of some people, honestly.” He said in exasperation, downing the rest of his still hot coffee and standing unceremoniously.

“Well, I best be off. Things to fuck up, people to scare. Tah-tah.” He called, pressing a quick kiss to your hair as he left the Great Hall.

Suddenly, realisation dawned on Remus.

“Ah, I see. So no to a relationship, but he is ours.”

You and Regulus chorused a hum of acknowledgement.

“That’s just how Barty operates. You’ll get used to it.” You explained, still not looking up from the Daily Prophet you had been reading all this time.

Remus didn’t mind getting used to that; not if it meant he managed to get everything he wanted.

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osarina · 4 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 IN A SKY FULL OF STARS, I SEE YOU

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai is on the verge of falling apart. he can feel it happening, it's just a matter of whether or not he's going to be able to get out of your apartment before you come back and catch him like this. he has the opportunity for it—he does—but when he realizes that you might be in just as bad of a state as he's in, dazai decides to swallow his pride and put aside his own struggles to try to help you in the same way you've helped him in the past. {sfw, 3.2k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: the first time fic stays hoarded for another week ... but i think this one is just as good eheheh. fun fact, when they're 22, reader acknowledges that this is probably the night she fell in love with dazai.

(warnings: fem!reader, pm!reader, in the beginning of the fic dazai is on the brink of a major depressive episode, reader is not in a good headspace when she shows up, reader has ambiguous injuries)

Dazai is not in a good headspace.

He arrives at your apartment in a whirlwind, not even your doorman dared to say anything to him on the way in. He’s wet and cold, his mind is in turmoil; he can’t stop the way his body is shaking no matter how hard he tries. The bandages on his wrist are fraying and the cool air conditioning of your apartment washing against his bare skin makes his body crawl uncomfortably. As he rushes into the bathroom, he nearly stumbles over his own feet, grateful that you’re not there to see the onset of what he knows is going to be a bad episode.

He doesn’t even know what triggered this one.

The air getting to his lungs feels thin and shallow like he’s on a mountain peak and not in the comfort of your apartment. His fingers tug at his button-up as he falls to his knees in your bathroom, rifling through the cabinet to find his bandages—he needs to replace the ones that are coming off and then he needs to leave because he thinks he would rather die than let you see him like this.

His vision spins as he unwinds the bandages around his forearm, leaning his shoulder against the cabinet as he tries to keep himself steady. His fingers are cold and clunky, he can hardly wrap the fresh bandages back around his scarred skin, can hardly breathe. He tilts his head back, trying to force himself to get more air to his lungs but it’s just so difficult.

Fuck.

He drags his knees to his chest trying to calm himself down, resting his forehead on his knees, rocking back and forth slowly. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He needs to focus—for ten minutes, he needs to focus. He can’t let you see him like this, can’t go out of the apartment with his bandages coming apart; he has to finish his left arm and then he can drag himself out of your apartment and rush back to the shipping container and ride out the worst of the episode alone, without your lingering eyes to see him at his lowest.

But as he unwinds the bandages of his left arm and starts to rewrap it with the fresh bandages, he finds his chest caving in because he doesn’t want to go back to the shipping container. The thought of not being able to curl up in the soft sheets of the bed in your spare room makes Dazai’s stomach churn, waking up cold and alone on the metal floor of the shipping container… all of the dark claws tearing his brain apart get sharper at the mere thought.

Maybe he can just lock the door, he thinks desperately. He can lock the door to the spare bedroom and he won’t let you in until it’s passed. He’ll rot in bed for days until he can force himself out from beneath the covers and then he’ll pretend like it never happened, evade all of your questions and brush off your concerns until you get frustrated and stop asking him.

Yeah, he thinks, this could work. It could work, and it means he wouldn’t have to go back to that cold, damp, uncomfortable container.

No, he realizes, it won’t work, because you’re you and you’re frustratingly observant and have a quick mind to rival his own. More than that, you seem to actually care about him for whatever reason. You probably won’t let him rot there when you realize he’s not even coming out to eat and it just won’t work because he doesn’t want you to see him like this.

He doesn’t want you to see him weak. Doesn’t want to lash out at you while he’s too consumed by his own mind to control himself. Doesn’t want to lose one of his only friend. (Maybe his only friend—is Chuuya actually his friend? Dazai is never sure) Not for the first time, Dazai wishes he was anyone else in the world, wishes that he didn’t have to constantly be at war with his own brain, wishes that he was normal.

He’s tried so hard to keep up that facade around you even if he does know deep down that you know it’s a front. He’s been so careful, so meticulous in his efforts to act the way he thinks a normal sixteen-year-old would act and now it’s all going to be blown because what?

No, he can’t let that happen. He has to get out of here before you get home.

He doesn’t even know how this happened. Usually, he can feel a depressive episode coming from a mile away—he’s so used to them by now that it should be impossible for them to sneak up on him like this. The telltale signs are always glaring, always all-consuming; it’s impossible for him to ignore the way blackness edges at the corners of his vision, the way his chest becomes heavy with an indescribable weight, the way his feet become anchored to the ground, an effort to even just drag them against the ground.

It’s impossible for him to miss all of this, he doesn’t know how he managed to do it this time.

His nails scrape against the floor as he pushes himself to his feet after he tucks the edge of his bandage in to keep it in place. Even that takes an agonizing amount of energy, his lashes flutter as he tries to brace himself for the walk across the city. He steps out into your hallway, takes another deep breath of the familiar air of your apartment, trying to savor it before he leaves to deal with days of hell on the cold floor of the shipping container he used to live in.

And then-

And then the elevator up to your apartment slides right open and you walk out.

Dazai’s lips part in horror—he can’t even rush to his bedroom because he would have to get past you to do it. His mind races as he tries to figure out what to do, but it feels like the equivalent of wading through waist-deep water, his thoughts are slow and sluggish and stupid—he feels like Chuuya—and he desperately tries to mask his internal struggle with a smile, forcing his face to light up at the sight of you.

He can fake it—he can fake it and then he can make an excuse to leave and then-

You walk right past him.

It startles Dazai so bad that he finds himself freezing, head turning to follow you as you walk past him to sit right on the couch. There’s an empty expression on your face, distant and unreadable and entirely too familiar to Dazai—something that he sees in the mirror every night, something that he’s never seen on you.

This is his chance, he realizes. He can leave in the elevator you just came from, make a break for it before you notice he’s there, but… his gaze lingers on how you sat so rigidly on the couch, staring at the black TV screen, hands folded in your lap, so lost in thought that you’re seemingly blind to your surroundings.

Instead of making his way toward the elevator, his feet move toward you and he finds himself sitting primly on the couch next to you. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, unsure what to say, and then glances back down at his lap.

You don’t even acknowledge his presence.

Finally, he clears his throat and asks, “Where were you?”

“A mission,” you say, voice bland and you still don’t look at him. “Had to get information.”

“Oh.”

Dazai has never felt uncomfortable in your presence before, but he feels uncomfortable now because he just doesn’t know what to say when you’re like this. A part of him still wants to flee but you wouldn’t flee if it was him and something isn’t settling right in his stomach about it.

He glances over at you, eyes catching on discolored marks staining your wrists and forearms. He pauses, reaching out hesitantly to grab one of your wrists—your skin is soft beneath his fingers and a spark shoots up his arm from the pads of his fingers. You don’t pull away as he gingerly pulls your arm into his lap, frowning when he sees the bruises on you.

“Who did this?” he asks quietly, jaw tightening. “Who-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him.

Dazai gives you a sharp look, careful to not tighten his grip on your arm. “You’re hurt, it does matter. Tell-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, voice sharper this time. “Drop it, Dazai.”

Dazai falters at your tone—you’ve never spoken to him like that before. He doesn’t let go of your wrist but he does lower his gaze, unsure of what to do.

He doesn’t like this. He’s becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with each passing second. Doesn’t like the tight feeling in his chest. Doesn’t like seeing you like this. Doesn’t like the way he has no idea how to approach this. Doesn’t like that he doesn’t know how to help you. Doesn’t like that he wants to help you. He doesn’t like any of this.

Dazai stares down at your hand. It’s still resting in his lap, you haven’t pulled it back to you. You’re just staring ahead again, you’re sad, and he feels a bit lost. And Dazai never feels lost, he always knows what to do but he doesn’t know now when it matters. He can talk his way out of every situation, makes plans to win any battle, but he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I-”

Dazai doesn’t even finish what he was going to say. Honestly, he doesn’t even know what he was going to say. He turns his head back to look at you, feeling increasingly more helpless, and he doesn’t even notice the way the dark claws that had been threatening to tear him open slowly start to recede, doesn’t notice how the emptiness in his chest starts to disappear the more he focuses on trying to help you.

How do you help him?

You sit with him sometimes when he starts to get lost in his own thoughts. You try to be casual about it so it doesn’t seem like you’re hovering. He figures it’s because you know he’ll get shifty and defensive if he knows you’re lingering because you’re worried about it, but Dazai knows, he just pretends like he doesn’t because everything feels less painful and lonely when you’re around even if he doesn’t understand why. And then that first time-

The first time.

“The roof!” Dazai suddenly says loudly, jumping to his feet. You twist your head to look up at him, a hint of curiosity in your eyes, and Dazai reaches down to snatch your hand, pulling you to your feet. He yanks you so hard that you stumble right into him but Dazai is unperturbed, dragging you forward to the elevator. “We’re going to the roof!”

“O-okay?”

Dazai doesn’t have to look back to see your confusion, but Dazai has tunnel vision now. He bounces on the balls of his feet impatiently as he waits for the elevator to come back up, staring as the numbers as they tick upward. His fingers entwine with yours, grip tightening on your hand as he swings your joined arms impatiently.

You don’t say anything, more proof of how in your own head you must be right now. You’re always usually the one leading the conversation with him until you get him talking about something he can ramble about, then you just sit and listen, but you’re always the one to get the ball rolling.

As the elevator arrives at your floor and he jerks you into the elevator with him, he can’t help the way his lips start to curl up, proud of himself for figuring out what to do with you. You’d found him up on the roof that night he’d nearly jumped, you had him lay down on a blanket with you and the two of you spent the night watching the stars.

You showed him your favorite constellations, and told him the story behind them. Cassiopeia, the vain queen in Greek mythology who angered the Sea God; Andromeda, the princess who was sacrificed because of her mother’s hubris, and Perseus, the hero who had saved her. You told him that one day you wanted to learn the stories behind all of the constellations, but you haven’t had the time to look into them at all.

You’d seemed sad about it—sad that you haven’t been able to look into it, sad because you probably won’t ever have the time for it with how busy you constantly are with mafia business. You’re busier than even Dazai is most days, always out and about working on something.

So, Dazai learned them all—memorized all eighty-eight of their positions in the sky, learned the stories word for word, learned the histories behind the stories so he could give you the whole picture.

He figured maybe one day he’d end up back on the roof with you and he’d be able to show off his newfound knowledge. You’d be impressed, you would simply have to admit that he’s better than Chuuya, because he’s been trying to get you to admit it from day one but you have yet to utter the words out loud. He thinks maybe it’ll also make you happy, but he’s definitely more concerned with getting you to vocally admit that he’s better with Chuuya so he can hold it over the other boy’s head.

Definitely.

He types in the keycode for the roof—he can feel your eyes on him, narrowed and suspicious, because he’s not supposed to know the keycode to the roof. He gives you a sweet smile, mourning the fact that you’re going to have the code changed again and he’s going to have to go through the process of figuring it out all over again.

It only takes a few moments for the elevator to reach the rooftop and Dazai is rushing out into the cool night immediately, dragging you behind him. His gaze darts around until it lands on where you folded the thick blanket underneath an overhang and he finally lets go of your arm so he can snatch it up and lay it out in the center of the roof. He plops down immediately and then motions for you to join him.

When you sit down, you sit so close to him that your thighs are brushing and it makes Dazai’s cheeks heat up a little so he’s grateful that the darkness masks it. He lays down against the blanket and stares up at the sky, you follow him down and Dazai’s steady heartbeat wavers when he realizes that your fingers are brushing each other’s—he could grab your hand again if he wanted, it would only take the smallest shift of his hand to slip his fingers between yours, but he can’t bring himself to now without the excuse of dragging you somewhere to shield him.

So, the two of you just lay there, shoulders pressed together, fingers brushing, Dazai’s heartbeat thuds in his chest and his mouth feels dry, all plans of telling you the stories of the constellations out the window because suddenly all of the stars look the same. All of his practice pinpointing them is gone, he’s too hyperaware of your skin against his, how close you are, how stupid he’ll look if he’s wrong.

“That one is called Cygnus,” he blurts out finally, lifting his hand to point to one of the first ones he can recognize. “It’s a swan. There are a bunch of stories, but I think you’d like the Roman one the most. It’s mostly about Phaethon—he was the son of the Sun God, and he wanted to ride the sun chariot for a day, but he couldn’t control it. Zeus had to destroy it while he was in it and it killed Phaethon, the chariot crashed into the river. Cygnus was Phaethon’s lover, he spent weeks diving into the river to collect all of Phaethon’s bones to give him a proper burial. The gods were so moved by his devotion that they turned him into a swan and placed him in the stars.”

All of the theatrical narration he thought he’d be able to give you is long gone. His words are short and stunted, awkward, he rambles in a way that’s painful to his own ears. He swallows thickly when he hears you shift to look at him, fumbling as he tries to find another constellation before you can say anything.

“That one is Draco,” he says, pointing to one that he knows is near Cygnus, heart rate calming as he slowly starts to pinpoint each of the constellations. “It’s another one with a bunch of stories, but I think the most fitting one is the one that has to do with the Twelve Labours of Heracles—Heracles is right next to Draco, see, it’s right there. The dragon was called Ladon, he guarded the golden apples in the garden of Hesperides…”

As he continues to talk, his voice becomes more animated, easing into the stories as he moves from constellation to constellation, each story flowing into the next. He spins you a tale of each of the Twelve Labors of Heracles before shifting into the myth of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. He talks so much that his voice starts becoming hoarse but he clears his throat and pushes through it.

It’s at the end of the tale of the Gemini Twins, Castor and Pollux, that Dazai finally dares to glance over at you. There’s a soft smile on your lips, a lidded look to your eyes that makes it clear you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

All of the tension and emptiness on your face is gone, you look ethereal beneath the moonbeams—so much so that Dazai stutters over the transition into the story of Orion. You’re prettier than any of the stars in the sky, more enchanting of any of the eighty-eight tales he learned for you. Your lashes flutter before looking up at him, eyes tired and sleepy and so full of emotion, and Dazai can barely breathe at the sight of it.

You don’t say anything, you don’t need to, Dazai thinks your eyes say it all. He watches as they finally droop shut, your head falling to the side as you drift off to sleep next to him. He can feel your forehead brushing his shoulder, but more than that, he feels the way your fingers slip between his, loosely holding his hand as your breath evens out.

The words of the next story freeze in the back of his throat, a type of emotion swelling in his chest that Dazai has never experienced before. As his fingers tighten just the slightest bit around your own and he shifts to see the peaceful expression on your face. He forgets all about his ulterior motives, content to just bask in your presence, knowing that he’s the reason for your smile tonight.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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queen-of-the-avengers · 1 year ago

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Not Allowed

Pairing: Cop!Bucky Barnes x Receptionist!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: bad date angst, jealous bucky

Summary: You and Bucky always flirt with each other while at work but it never goes anywhere like you'd hope. You accept a date with another man, causing Bucky to be jealous. He's a cop who is jealous. Nothing will go wrong, right?

Squares Filled: kink: pet names (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

You walk through the double doors with a smile on your face because today is another day. You’re alive and that’s the best kind of day. You work for the local police department as their receptionist. You’re the first thing people see when they come in so you have to be on your best behavior.

You set your things down on your desk and quickly get settled in. Besides the Captain, you’re the first one in the building. Every officer that comes in, you greet them with a smile as you log into your computer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Officer Wilson says when he comes in. He always calls you that since he's often told you how he thinks of you like a little sister. “How was your weekend?”

“Too short,” you chuckle. “Did Sarah get into that college?”

“Yeah, she got the acceptance letter yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for her!” you grin.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her to give you a call.”

Sam taps your desk twice and leaves to go to his own. A few more officers come in until the one you’ve been waiting for walks in confidently. Your heart starts to race because you have a huge crush on him. He kind of knows it but doesn't outright call you out on it.

“There she is,” Bucky smiles and leans on your desk.

“Officer Barnes, it’s good to see you.”

“Doll, you know you can call me Bucky.”

He knows exactly what those pet names do to you. After a night of drinking together, you let it slip that your kink is pet names, and doll happened to be your favorite. Like him, you won’t call him out on it.

“I know. How was your weekend?”

“Better if you were there with me,” he flirts.

“Oh, Bucky,” you chuckle nervously. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. I was wishing, ‘Man, don’t I wish Y/N was here with me? I guess I have to drink alone’.”

“You know what alcohol does to me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he smirks. “You look cute today. That dress compliments you.”

“A compliment. I might swoon,” you joke even though your cheeks are hot.

“As long as it’s in my arms, I don’t care.”

“Don’t you have a job to get to, Officer Barnes?”

“Yeah, but I’d rather stay here and talk to you.”

“You might get fired.”

“It’s worth it,” he winks. “Here’s your coffee.”

He sets your favorite coffee order next to your keyboard and walks away. That’s the extent of your relationship with Bucky. You two flirt constantly but nothing ever comes of it. It’s comfortable. Why leave something when you’re comfortable being there? Do you wish you were something more? Of course. Do you think he’s going to man up and take it to that next level? Not unless something threatening happened like him realizing if he doesn’t do it soon, he’d lose you.

Some of what your work includes is printing off documents for the other officers, inputting things into evidence before they get shipped off there, and sorting through the files regarding the people they have locked up in the holding cells or interrogation rooms. You already have a list of things to print out and file, but you look for Bucky’s name first.

After printing off what he needs, you get up and personally hand this to him. There is a mailbox for the officers that you’re supposed to put in, but you like visiting his desk. He has a picture of you and him printed out and placed next to his computer that you look at every time you visit.

“Here are the papers you asked for,” you smile.

“Thanks, doll,” he grins and grabs them from you, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours.

You go back to your desk to finish your work, and you come across two people who need stuff put into evidence. One of them sent it over a couple of hours ago, and the other one is from Bucky. You immediately click on his name to get what he needs first before looking at the other one.

“Now that is bullshit,” you hear from behind you.

You jump and turn to see Sam standing there with a half-smile on his face.

“What are you doing? You scared me!”

“I sent you evidence hours ago and Bucky sent you it just now, and he’s the one you pick first?”

“I--”

You don’t have any words for that.

“When are you two gonna fuck?”

“Sam Wilson!” you gasp.

“What? It’s a valid question. I should ask him that.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’m rooting for you two no matter how painful the slow burn is,” he chuckles and walks away.

It takes half an hour to get the idea of you and Bucky fucking for you to do your job right. Once you’re in the groove of things, the door opens and an attractive man walks in.

“Can I help you?” you ask with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m here for my brother. He’s in lock up.”

“Okay, what’s his name and date of birth?”

“James Farley. 04/05/1986.”

“Your name?”

“Brandon Farley.”

“Okay, I see your brother here. It looks like--”

“I’m sorry, but I have to tell you how beautiful you are.”

“Oh, thank you,” you blush.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, but--”

“Great. Can I take you out?”

“You can see how this is inappropriate, right?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he grins. “So, can I take you out?”

There’s a certain charm about him that you find endearing maybe because he reminds you of Bucky. Being put on the spot like that is enough to make you freeze up, so you say the one thing that won’t cause conflict.

“Yes.”

“Here’s my number.”

He grabs your hand and writes his number on it so that it won’t come off with one scrub.

“I have sticky notes!”

“This is better. Now you won’t lose it.”

“Go take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly to bring you to your brother.”

“Thanks,” he winks and walks to the waiting room.

You’re about to get up and wash off the number when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway that leads into the precinct.

“Did I hear that right?”

“What?”

“You have a date?”

“Yeah, he asked me out,” you stutter. Bucky looks pissed as if you just told him you killed someone. “Why do you look angry?”

“Nothing. No reason.”

Bucky walks off angrily leaving you confused. He avoids you like the plague for the rest of the day. He isn’t at his desk when you drop off paperwork, and he’s not there to walk you to your car when you get off. He’s supposed to get off an hour before you do, but he stays after not on the clock to make sure you get to your car safely.

This time, he didn’t.

The next day, Bucky is already at work when you arrive. There is no coffee on your desk, either, and you’re feeling guilty for accepting a date with someone else. Is that why he’s acting this way? Sam walks in drinking an energy drink when you stop him.

“Hey, what’s going on with Bucky?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, what did I do?”

“You accepted a date from someone else.”

You knew it. Why is he bigging out?

“So?”

“Have you not been here for the past two years? You two flirt like crazy.”

“No, he’s just being friendly.”

“You won’t get it until you do,” Sam shakes his head and walks off.

The date with Brandon comes sooner than you hoped. He picks you up in a fancy car and takes you to a fancy restaurant that you could never afford. He smooth-talks the hostess to get him a table by the window so he can have a view while he eats. The waitress brings by a drinks menu but he already orders what you two are going to drink.

“Trust me, you’re going to love this,” he winks at you.

“Okay,” you say and fiddle with your fingers underneath the table. “You know what I do for work. What do you do for work?”

You shouldn’t have asked him that.

“I work in the telecommunications sector. You know that big building in the city? That’s mine. It’s funny. I got all my parents’ money when they died and instead of using that money for myself, I decided to invest in a small company that turned out to give me millions.” You open your mouth to speak but he continues talking. “Can you imagine that? This small company that wasn’t going to go anywhere if it weren't for me. I’m like their hero. They eventually sold their part to me, and I’ve been thriving ever since.”

Once he got to talking about his job, he hasn’t shut up about it since. He’s very arrogant and rude but that doesn’t seem to stop him. As soon as the drinks come, you greedily take yours and down it without caring what it is.

“Whoa, doll, calm down. I don’t need to haul you to the car at the end of the night. You should pace yourself.”

No one can call me that but Bucky. Oh, Bucky. You shouldn’t have said yes to this man. He only asked you out to hear himself talk. You want this date to end so you pretend to be interested in what he has to say. Even when the date is over and he’s driving you home, he won’t shut up. His voice mixed with alcohol is starting to make your head throb.

About halfway to your house, you see red and blue lights behind you.

This better not be him, you think to yourself. Brandon pulls the car over obediently and waits for the officer to approach him. You look through the mirror to see the outline of the officer and recognize it immediately. He better not. I swear to God… Instead of walking to the driver’s side door, Bucky walks over to your door and leans down so only you can see him.

“Step out of the vehicle, please.”

“No.”

Bucky takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He leans in so close that you can smell his delicious cologne. That makes your head spin.

“I’ll repeat myself. Step out of the car.”

“Or what? You’re gonna drag me out?”

“Don’t tempt me, doll,” he says so only you can hear it.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Brandon asks.

“Yes. You have a busted taillight.”

“Fuck! You’ve got to be joking, sir.”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“Shit. Officer, I can promise you I keep this car in the utmost pristine condition.”

“Not today, buddy. That’s a ticket.”

Bucky takes out his pad and writes Brandon a hefty ticket for a broken taillight you’re not sure is even broken.

“Fuck!” Brandon turns to you without guilt on his face. “Look, do you mind if I drop you off right here? Your house is only down the road. You can get there from here, right?”

Your mouth drops open in shock.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take her home,” Bucky offers.

“Thank you. I’ll call you.”

You don’t say anything as you get out of the car. Bucky walks you to the passenger side of his cruiser. You look at the taillights of Brandon’s car and notice they’re both working properly.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” you yell when he gets in the driver’s seat. “His taillights are broken! You can’t just do that. That’s illegal!”

“He’ll fight against it, and I’ll drop the charges,” he shrugs.

“You’re un-fucking-believable. We were actually having a good time,” you lie.

“No, you weren't,” he laughs.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s written all over your face. Your eyes don’t have the usual light.” Bucky pulls onto the road and heads in the direction of your house. “I don’t know why you would accept the date in the first place.”

“Because at least he had the fucking balls to ask me.”

That puts the entire car ride into a tense silence. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home. He pulls up to your place but instead of letting you get out first, he gets out and walks over to your side of the car. He opens the door but doesn't let you leave the car. He leans into the car, grabs your chin, and kisses you. You’re shocked but you won’t pull away from him. Both your lips move in harmony against one another, and he slides his tongue into your mouth to show you he means business.

“You’re not allowed to see other men.”

“Why not?” you ask, breathlessly.

“Because you’re mine now and I’m not gonna let you go.” This brings a smile to your face. He lets you get out, and when you pass by him, he taps your ass lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doll.”

Yes, you will.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #mcu #marvel fluff #mcu fanfiction #marvel fiction

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zwhoreo · 1 year ago

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Can i get some Luffy smut? If you don’t do smut i’d love some fluff!! ☠️💖

so hyped to write smut again let’s go <3

caught in the act - luffy x f!reader

SMUT!!

summary: while he’s missing you at night, luffy gets the urge to touch himself while his crewmates are sleeping, and this works out well… until you walk in

contains: handjob, established relationship, innocent but very horny luffy, light exhibitionism

words: 1.6k

________________________

They’re all deep sleepers, right? The crew around Luffy is unmoving, rhythmic breathing making blankets rise and fall against their chests. It’s dark out, he watches the moonlight rise and fall against the wooden floor and swaying bunks as the ship rocks slowly in waves. He’s been up for a couple hours, wriggling uncomfortably in his bed, he’s restless and he can’t sleep and he’s trying to figure out why. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go bother you, he’s missing the feeling of wrapping your body in his and falling asleep in your arms. But you’ve been put on watch tonight and told Luffy to go sleep somewhere warm, you’d be fine out on your own.

So he’s with the guys in the men’s quarters and he’s missing you greatly. He’s stressed, he doesn’t like being alone like this at night anymore, if he can help it.

How can he relax? How can he think of you but calm his mind but go to sleep? But then he remembers something you once told him, about how it’s sometimes soothing, and will help you with bad sleep, if you touch yourself between the legs for a while. He’s done it once or twice, out of pure curiosity, but usually that’s your job and it doesn’t feel that good unless it’s your hands and he’s getting kissed and held at the same time. But maybe tonight he could give it another go.

He’s still wearing jean shorts, the fabric tough and difficult to really feel himself through. Maybe he should take them off, but he doesn’t really want to do that here, he understands the implicit shame of getting yourself off around others, and getting caught.

So he palms himself, rubbing gentle circles over the zipper, building up a pleasant friction and now his cock is aching and twitching in his pants. He grits his teeth and wants to stop, this is getting embarrassing, but it’s feeling so good that his hand is almost moving on its own. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels his breathing get heavier as he presses harder, blood pumping in time with his heartbeat down beneath his legs, he feels himself filled there, swelling…

“Mmmgh…” he moans in a raspy, distant sort of way, unconscious now of his hands or his voice or his bed or his mind, it’s all his cock, burning up against him, desperate to be cared for.

Luffy yanks off his shorts in a fluid motion, feeling his dick slap his stomach, hard and needy. His hands find himself and he tries to imitate what you might do, how you stroke deeply yet carefully, how your thumb etches patterns into the skin, he’s sloppy and clumsy about it because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and now he gets more and more frustrated, heart racing.

So soft slaps fill the silent room as he jerks off furiously, squeezing his cock and rubbing in whatever way he can and just praying that something will be right, if he just tries over and over. Little throaty moans and gasps echo through the men’s quarters and thank god they’re drowned by the others’ snoring, and the creaking of the ship on the waves. He arches his back and squirms and he wants to cum so bad now, it’s hurting him. But he can’t, he just rubs and rubs, faster and more frantically.

You’re trying to find your jacket, meanwhile.

You thought the night would be warm like the day but the stars brought ice. You’re in your favorite blue velvet night dress but it only barely covers your chest, your arms and shoulders are exposed. You wander to your room to check the dresser but your jacket isn’t there. So you wrack your mind, where did you leave it?

Oh yeah, when you were helping Franky fix a leak in the ceiling. The ceiling of the men’s quarters. You had set it down on the table, right? Yes, it must still be there.

So you find the door and open it as softly as you can, creeping your way in through the crack of moonlight, and as you stand in the doorway you look up for a moment, and you meet Luffy’s eyes.

Deer eyes, frozen still, pants off and throbbing cock clutched in his hand. His legs are spread, he’s propped up on an elbow and he’s staring at you, motionless.

You’re in total shock, unsure of what to do. You stare into his eyes as your cheeks burn red and your first instinct is to turn and leave without saying anything. But behind the humiliation in Luffy’s eyes you see a burning need. He wants you really, really bad.

His chest rises and falls fast, like a nervous animal, he blinks a few times at you. He’s sick with anxiety about getting caught in the act, even if you’re his girlfriend, he feels gross and dirty all of a sudden.

But wordlessly you smile at him. You focus your eyes between his legs and his cock is leaking and begging for attention so you slowly, carefully walk across the floor. He’s on the top bunk, Zoro fast asleep beneath him. Luffy tilts his head to follow your every footstep, flushed and embarrassed still, but so excited all of a sudden. You gingerly climb the ladder, the set of bunks rocking a little which makes you freeze, but Zoro isn’t going to wake up, it’s fine.

Luffy scoots over a bit to make room for you, still twitching with nerves, still rubbing his dick a little. His lips are parted, shining with saliva.

Your hands slowly reach for his face, he’s still frozen but as your fingers stroke his cheeks he begins to smile, his eyes still begging, and at the smallest contact he groans and you shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips to his quickly, eliciting a little squeak from Luffy, and a shiver that travels down through his stomach. Your legs are smooth against his as you slide closer, gathering him gently into your arms.

“[Name…]” he murmurs at last, drool coating his chin, eyes glossy.

And you say, “hi, Luffy,” under your breath. Reaching to hold his hand.

“Hi,” he says too loudly and you kiss him again and whisper a shhh into his mouth. Then you test the waters, you rest your hand over his knuckles where he grips himself, and Luffy practically spills his body over into yours with the promise of touch.

He bites your shoulder as he leans against you, heavy, sweaty, shivering like a little dog. His tongue rests against your skin and he makes some happy little noises, muffled by your body, you lift him to a better position and trace the curves of his knuckles.

So he lets go and lets your soft hands replace him. And there, this feels better. Luffy can relax and let his mind wander and your hands are so much more caring than his. Long, powerful, slow strokes. His skin vibrates and his cock is smelting iron under your touch, a kiln of white-hot sweat blooming beneath your fingers. He buries his face in your neck and looks up at you with huge, loving eyes, raw feeling overtaking his whole self. He reaches for your breasts and squeezes them to occupy his now free hands, he grounds himself in your soft flesh.

It’s a strange feeling, giving Luffy a handjob, because his skin stretches when you pull and you have to be more careful, but also more deep, squeezing with pressure and force so he can feel your movements and playing with him becomes like kneading dough.

He says something unintelligible and shoves his face up against yours as you continue to slowly stroke him off, you keep having to gently quiet him, he’s starting to forget where he is or at least not care anymore, those movements feel so good, this angelic massage.

He’s butter in your arms now, melting against you, he begins to nibble at your ear and writhe under you, his body unsure of what to do with itself now that he’s about to cum.

You’re not sure either and it’s too late now, you have to turn your attention to clutching his face and shoving your tongue into his mouth in a heated, long kiss so his yelling moan is lost in your throat. His cock spasms and he cums all over your night dress.

“Oh…” you whisper, flushed, looking down at the ribbons of white coating the blue velvet like sea foam. This is what waves are made of. Luffy is staring down at you too, curious, but he doesn’t seem to care about the mess he’s made and just wants to hold you now.

“Don’t go. I’m gonna hold ya. I don’t want you to go yet.” His gravelly voice is loud again in your ear and you pause to look around the dark room, the men still fast asleep, the shadows still moving back and forth slowly on the walls.

You don’t even wipe off your dress. You just grab Luffy in a tight embrace, pulling the covers over the both of you and settling into his bunk, snuggling into him.

“Fuck it,” you whisper happily into his neck, “I don’t wanna keep watch tonight.”

#luffy x reader #luffy #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #one piece smut #luffy smut #luffy x reader smut #luffy x f!reader

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caotictimmy · 13 days ago

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I was in fear that I was the only one with their brain completely rotted by mouthwashing and swansea appreciation 😭😭 good to know I'm not alone in this

We love Swansea😍😍 but yes guys I’m finally doing his headcanons. I’m sorry it took so long to start making it. I’m still not completely recovered from the side effects from my meds. But I love my man swansea sm. Gonna bit a little bit angsty but mostly happy. Gonna be Just like the rest of my headcanon.

Crushing - Confession

- It’s gonna take a long time for Swansea to like you. I think we all get this. He’s been through a lot in his life.

- Your guys relationship goes through stages before he starts to like you. Like different stages of trusts. But when he fully trusts you. He’s Inlove, like INLOVE with you. GOD I LOVE HIM SM.

- Swansea isn’t gonna be to noticeable he finally figures out he likes you. There will be hints. Subtle hints. But still hints.

- Like curly. He will treat you different. Not that much different. He’d be a bit nicer with you. Nicer with his sarcastic comments. Nicer with his insults. Just not being as harsh on you. He might crack a smile at you.

- Swansea will be protective. Not in a weird alpha male thing. He’s worried about your safety. Let’s say you wanted to help work on the broken vent. He will adamantly say no. He knows how dangerous some of the stuff he works on can be. He’ll let you watch but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. Not even a paper cut. ( doesn’t worry he doesn’t coddle you)

- If you ever do get hurt. If it’s not bad Swansea will help you himself (he’s trying to be romantic give this man a break.). If you accidently got cut put a bandaid or bandage on it. Scolding you for being so ‘stupid’ and getting yourself hurt. (He was really worried, you almost gave that poor man a heart attack)

- He’ll do little things for you. Saving you a seat next to him. Waiting for you to catch up to him. Saving you the last candy bar on the ship (much to Daisuke’s dismay). He doesn’t really mention that he does this stuff. And if you ask him about it he’ll deny and look at you like you’re crazy.

- Swansea is constantly thinking about you. In such a sweet way. Oh this reminds me of them. They would like this. I wonder what their doing right now. He always has you in the back of his mind. He also a romantic but he’s just emotionally stunted. PROVE ME WRONG.

- Swansea is gonna be a bit scared to try again. But you make him wanna try again. You make him feel like he’s in his prime again. So it might take a long time for him to confess.

- I think when he does confess, it would be late at night. You guys would be talking. Laughing the night away. Just having a genuine good time. He’d pause for a moment. Making you confused. You guys lock eyes

- “Y’know you can be a parasite sometimes. Always in my god damn head. You really made an old fool like me fall in love like I was back in my twenties.” He won’t directly ask you to date him but I think you get it

- When you say you wanna date him. He’ll just smirk. Wrapping an arm around you as guys continue your night. (He was absolutely terrified you’d say no.)

Dating

- Another dude he likes hearing you yap. It could be about anything. Be warned he will probably tease you. But he doesn’t do it in a mean way! His sarcasm is just his way of showing you love. But he truly does listen to you talk. Sometimes when you guys talk hell randomly bring up something you talked about like 2 months ago.

- I think his love language for receiving would be quality time and words of affirmation. And I think his giving love language would be quality time and acts of service.

- (receiving) I feel like Swansea likes you around while he’s working. Whether that be talking, listening to music, or just in silence. He likes having you around. I already talked about how much he likes listening to you talk. So that definitely plays a big role. So whether you’re yapping about how Daisuke almost broke his arm trying to get a pack of sugar, or doing your own thing next to him. He just wants you around.

- (receiving) He’s had a rough past. I think we all get that. So I firmly believe he’d love some praise. Whether that you talking about how handsome he is, or complimenting his skill. Swansea will act like he doesn’t care when you do this. But he does. He really really does. He’s not gonna tell you though.

- (giving) Said again. This man loves having you around. He’ll actively invite you to hang out with him while he’s working. Swansea is gonna act like it isn’t a big deal. But he really wants you to show up. So please don’t turn down his offers to spend time with him!!!

- (giving) Swansea will do small things for you. Saving you the last of cereal for breakfast(even after Daisuke begged to have the last of it). Doing your laundry with his, making you some food when he’s cooking. They’re not humongous gestures but he does them frequently. It’s like a second nature to him. Swansea isn’t thinking ‘I’ll wash their clothe cause I wanna be nice”. He just kinda does it. Like an unconscious part of him just makes him do these things.

- This man will always swing his arm around you. Like always. Whether that be walking down the hall together. Wrapping an arm around you during movie night(the crew definitely as movie nights sue me). He always has an arm around you. (GUYS I KNOW THIS IS SIMILAR TO CURLY GIVE ME A BREAK😭🙏)

- Do spa masks with him. He’ll call them stupid but trust me. You will have a lot of fun. It will turn into a gossip night. You can’t tell me this man doesn’t gossip at least a little bit. He doesn’t call it ‘gossip’. But this man is sassy when he’s ’talking shit’. Like Swansea bae… Just call it gossip.

- Swansea defiantly calls you nickname. Don’t get your pitch forks out yet please😔. I think his main nicknames would be toots, sweetheart. And other old timey nicknames.

- Daisuke looks up to you guys. He’s definitely more than once called you guys ‘dad and ___’ (keeping it gender neutral gang).

NSFW - DO NOT READ IF YOUR A MINOR OR UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW (AFAB)

- We know this man is old. I think we ALL get it. So he’s not gonna have that much energy. But what he is gonna have. Experience and knowledge. LOT’S OF EXPERIENCE AND KNOWLEDGE. So your not gonna have to worry if your gonna be satisfied by the end of the night.

- SWANSEA PREP GAME IS ON POOOIIINNNNTTTTTT. He will make sure you are ready! I’ve said before, he does not like seeing you hurt. So I firmly believe he’ll spend a lot of time on prep. If you wanna give him some special thanks go ahead. All he’s really worried about is making it less painful for you.

- I do not believe he’s a selfish lover. No matter what anyone else says. I’ve seen people talking about how he would be selfish during sex. LOUD INCORRECT BUZZARD. Argue with a fucking wall. While he does like getting pleasured. I think he likes a good 50/50

- Cock warming king. Sometimes when he knows no one will bother him. Hell unbuckle his pants and just slide you right on. You guys haven’t been caught so🙏🙏 Try to make sure it stays that way.

- Call you a whole ass phone book ass size of pet names. PUT THE PITCH FORKS AWAY!! Honestly I feel like it just slips out. He’s not fully focusing on what to say. (I’m sorry. No im not sorry. He would not call you baby girl/baby boy during sex,.)

- Swansea prefers having these intimate moments in one of your guys bedroom. He’ll take a risk sometimes if he’s that horny. But he feels it’s more special in one of your guys room. He doesn’t get that thrill of it. (He also prefers the plushness of a bed.)

- Swansea loves holding you after sex. That post nut clarity really hits. He feels so special knowing you’re here with him. Willing to be so intimate with each other. He feels lucky that he has you. That he gets to try again.

- I feel deep in my heart he’s a grunter. I don’t think he’s like a loud one. But you’ll hear a grunt every so often, your gonna have to train your ears to really listen to it

- He talks you through it. ARGUE WITH A DAMN FUCKING WALL HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. He gets pleasure from it to, comeing at you that your doing good, that you can keep going, just a little longer. My opinion is better suck my dick.

Authors note: I FINALLY GOT IT OUT. Sorry it took so long but it’s finally out!!!

#mouthwashing smut #mouthwash #mouthwash smut #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwash game #mouthwash x reader #swansea x reader #swansea mouthwashing #swansea smut #swansea mouthwash

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thagomizersshow · 1 year ago

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Ranting about how JP is not a good critique of capitalism made me want to talk about a sci-fi monster movie that is an excellent AND highly relevant exploration of anticapitalistic themes: Alien (1979).

First I want to say that if you haven’t seen Alien, please do so before I spoil it for you. It’s not just one of my all time favourites, but also one of the greatest pieces of science fiction ever created. For real, please go watch it.

The biological aspects of Alien are often the most talked about themes in the movie, which is fair, because they’re simultaneously very interesting and in-your-face. Most viewers remember the movie for the gory sexual imagery, not for an authentic depiction of class struggle. I actually wrote a video essay a while back that I never made about how our innate disgust and resulting fear of parasites/parasitoids is the primary driver behind the xenomorph’s ongoing popularity. I’m not immune to this aspect of Alien’s eternal intrigue, that’s for sure.

However, there’s one narrative element that makes Alien ripe for class analysis, especially today, and that is the film’s portrayal of artificial intelligence.

AI in Alien is consistently shown to be hostile to the crew, but not because of a glitch, like HAL in 2001: Space Odyssey, or because they decide to rise up against their oppressors, like in Terminator. No, what makes Ash, the android, and MOTHER, the ship’s AI, so threatening is that they are doing exactly what they were programmed to do — whatever it takes to ensure corporate interests. In this case, they are programmed to ensure the survival of an extraterrestrial monster at the cost of the crew.

The audience isn’t privy to all the things that Ash does to meet this goal, but at the very least he breaks quarantine protocols, does a shitty job of watching the facehugger, lets Kane join the rest of the crew for a meal (when they still don’t know what it did to him!), plays dumb once the xenomorph is on the loose, and attempts to murder Ripley when she discovers his mandate. If it weren’t for Ripley being a determined badass, Ash might’ve gone unnoticed until the whole crew was dead and the Weyland-Yutani Corporation had their mitts on the alien so they can cause another catastrophe.

This horror, that you will encounter AI whose programming doesn’t care if you live or die, is what makes Alien’s take on the subject so relevant. Dipshits like Elon Musk or some shitty tech journalist might try and convince us that ChatGBT scary because it can fake being human, as if Skynet is right around the corner.

No, the real horror of AI is that the people in power (our bosses, our politicians, etc.) are going to use it to exploit us, just like how they use everything else.

In the end, it takes being skeptical of things that seem trustworthy for Ripley to defeat Ash. The audience finds out from the Nostromo’s captain, Dallas, that Ash was a last minute addition to the crew, as chief science officer. This is a role that inherently engenders trustworthiness in the face of the unknown, especially for a crew that is basically a bunch of working joes. It’s not unbelievable to conceive this was purposeful by Weyland-Yutani to make Ash above suspicion. That, combined with literally naming the ship’s AI MOTHER, of all things, shows that the company is deliberately weaponizing aesthetics to foster a positive relationship between the crew and their AI agents.

Alien serves as a reminder to be vigilant as we enter the AI boom, because these programs will be used to exploit us, and corporations WILL try to cloak this purpose behind relatability, convenience, and trust. The AI we encounter is more likely to be Ash or MOTHER than it is to be Data or Skynet.

#alien #movies #crit post

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 7 months ago

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Sneaking Around

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You and Spencer are keeping a relationship a secret from your brother, Derek

Square Filled: "don't you touch her." (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

You don’t ever want to leave this bed. It feels too damn good to want to start your day. Spencer has been up for a while just watching you sleep. He likes to see your eyes flit back and forth underneath your eyelids as he wonders what you might be dreaming about. Where do you go when you fall asleep? Based on the smile on your face, your dream is about him.

“Darling. Wake up,” Spencer whispers and nudges his nose with yours.

You scrunch up your nose in the way he loves, the way that makes you look like a squirrel, and you open your eyes slightly. He waits until he sees your bright eyes before kissing the tip of your nose. There you go again with the cute nose scrunch.

“Why did you wake me? I was having a great dream,” you sigh happily.

“Was it about me?”

“When is it never about you?”

“Tell me what it was about.”

You yawn and move away to get a better look at him.

“Well, I was on this boat and it wasn’t a cruise ship-type boat but like a sailboat. You know, the one Rossi lets us use sometimes. We were in the middle of nowhere but we didn’t feel lost or felt scared. We felt content. I decided to go swimming so I jumped into the water, but then I grew a mermaid tail and you were so jealous because I swam faster than you. You jumped into the water to see if you could grow a tail but couldn’t. So, I decided to take you to my underwater world where we had fish children and ate kelp all the time.”

“Sounds adventurous,” Spencer laughs.

“It was weird,” you giggle.

“So, while you were snoring,” you push Spencer away playfully, “I was thinking maybe we can go up to your parents’ cabin this weekend.”

“That sounds ama—wait,” you sigh, “we can’t. Derek is having his friends over. He’s taking the weekend to do whatever it is they plan on doing. The last thing I need is to be caught by him.”

It’s not that Derek doesn’t approve of your relationship with Spencer, it’s just he’s so protective over you. You have nothing to do with the police or the FBI, and he doesn’t want you getting mixed up in that life. It’s bad enough he’s in it, he doesn’t want to add another person you could possibly lose. He’s only looking out for you, and you understand that, but you fell in love with Spencer the second he introduced you two.

You two have been seeing each other behind his back, and it’s been working out so far.

“Maybe we can rent a hotel room, then. I really want to go away with you for the weekend.”

“I’d like that,” you grin.

You lean over and kiss him, but the kiss is anything but short and sweet. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your head spin. The kind of kiss that makes you want to do very bad things with him. The kind of kiss that makes you fall in love with him all over again. The kiss gets heated very quickly and he pulls you onto his lap so you can feel how hard you’re making him.

Suddenly, the front door slams open and your brother can be heard laughing downstairs.

“Reid! You here?”

“Shit,” you gasp.

You scramble off Spencer and fall off the bed toward the window. Spencer laughs at your panic just as you crawl underneath his bed. Seconds later, Derek opens Spencer’s bedroom door, and you cover your mouth to keep quiet. Spencer doesn’t mind that Derek barges in whenever he wants. With him are Matt and Luke, and the latter smirks at the flushed look on Spencer’s face.

“Why is Y/N’s car here?”

“She dropped it off here,” Spencer thinks quickly. “She took an Uber to hang out with the girls. She didn’t want to drive, and it was cheaper to get one from here than her house.”

Luke looks around the room and sees your toes underneath the bed. He smirks but doesn’t comment on it.

“When she gets back, she can sleep in the guest room.”

“No problem,” Spencer shrugs.

“Don’t you touch her,” Derek points at him.

“I won’t. Why did you come here? Not that I don’t love your company.”

Spencer doesn’t want to get up because then they’ll see the boner he has.

“We’re going to a baseball game. Want to come?”

“No, thank you. I have a bunch of books to get through.”

“I can wait ten minutes,” Derek laughs.

“Maybe next time.”

“Alright. Let me know when she gets home safe.”

“Sure thing.”

The three men leave the room and Spencer busts out laughing at the situation.

“Shut up,” you glare and hit the underside of his bed. You crawl out from underneath it when you know it’s safe to do so. You kneel on the bed and kiss him lovingly. “Derek may be my brother, but he’s not the boss of me. I love you with all my heart, but I better go before he sees me.”

“We gotta tell him soon.”

“I know but sneaking around with you is so much fun,” you wink.

Instead of leaving through the bedroom door like a normal person, you sneak out of the window where there is a tree that slopes down, giving you the perfect escape route. Spencer watches you go with a chuckle, glad that someone like you is in his life.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fictino #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff

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aquaquadrant · 8 months ago

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Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing.

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…”

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’.

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.”

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop.

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second.

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it?

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

“... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is.

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #scarian #my writing #listen i am only a casual phasmo enjoyer and idk anything about architecture school pls don't come for me abt any inaccuracies #just here for a good gay spooky time #wanted to see if i'd be any good at writing commissions (ie. solely based off someone else's idea) and i had FUN #but it's always easy to be inspired by mel <3

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