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luveline · 1 year

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You learn how to be someone’s girlfriend. Or, 5 times Hotch raises your expectations (+1 time you raise his).

7k words, new established relationship to established relationship, lots of fluff and some small angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, calls him aaron, basically hotch treating you well

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1. Soup.

"Are you hungry?" Aaron asks, hands at the neck of his shirt as he loosens his tie.

You've never seen him do that. It's a lot to take in.

"A little, are you?" He's lucky that you remember to answer.

His smile lights you up inside and out, a warm, casual quirk. "Famished."

"Should we make something?"

He turns from the doorway and moves into the kitchen. You have to twist on his couch to see his movements.

"No need. I should've asked if you like it, but I made vegetable soup. The kind with mini dumplings."

You look down at your legs and squeeze your thighs together until your knees tap. You're too shy to go and meet him where he's standing, but perhaps sitting and having him wait on you is arrogant. And awkward.

The couch is plush under your hands as you stand. You'd slipped off your shoes at the door, and your socked-feet slide over the tiled floor of the kitchen as you make your way to his side. Aaron lights the stove, atop which stands a tall cooking pot.

"When did you have time to make that?" you ask, soft with awe.

"I knew you'd be coming over. I started it this morning."

"And if I didn't like it?"

He turns his gaze to yours, pot lid held aloft. "Then I would've ordered in for us. You're sure this is okay?"

You've never had somebody cook for you before. Homemade, fresh ingredients, and the intricacy of the dumplings too, it all impresses and amazes you. You feel very special. Like you're worth all the effort.

"I'm sure. More sure if you let me try it."

His laugh startles you for its rarity. "Okay. It's not done," he warns.

"Just to taste it."

He stirs the warming soup with a big spoon for half a minute, the heat on high, before scooping up some broth and holding it above a cupped palm. "It's probably not very hot," he says.

Oh, you think, excited and sick with nerves at once. He's going to feed the soup to me.

Something out of a movie, something you didn't know people actually did for their significant others, Aaron waits for you to open your mouth and offers the spoon. You slurp and feel heat rise to your cheeks at the clumsy sound.

"Aaron," you say, soft and obsessed after you've swallowed, "it's really nice. You made that yourself?"

"I can cook," he says defensively.

You lick your lips, giggling. "I can tell. That was really good. Though it was definitely too cold."

"Mm. It has to cook through some more. Reduce. Do you want to shower?" He puts down his wooden spoon, head tilting to one side gently. He assesses your expression, and brings a curved hand to settle over your cheek. The tip of his index finger kisses the delicate skin under your eye. "No, maybe not. You look tired."

You probably shouldn't say something like that to your brand new girlfriend (you scream internally at the word, every single time since he asked you a week ago) but Aaron speaks factually. You don't think for a second that there's any malice there, any hidden critique. His words shine with concern.

"It's Friday. I'm always tired at the end of the week."

His hand falls to your shoulder. "I can imagine."

"You can go shower, if you like. I'll watch the soup."

"I need one, huh?"

He must know how well-kept he looks even now. You're not sure you've ever seen him dishevelled.

"Definitely need one," you try to tease. It comes out murmur-quiet, and Aaron takes pity and kisses your cheek.

He leaves to shower and you 'watch' the soup — you stand at the stovetop and soak in it's emanating warmth, stirring it every now and then to prevent the bottom from burning. The shower runs muffled from the bathroom, and your mind wanders as it tends to do. It's an undeniable fact that Aaron is naked right now, the thought opening an avenue of images you've been trying not to think about all day. It's your very first time spending the night after a couple of weeks of dating, and now you're together, if Aaron wants to have sex tonight you'll say yes. He's handsome, and his build suggests a certain… tenacity.

His hands would convince you alone. Big hands.

You look down into the simmering pot of soup and smile harder than you have any right to smile. He's done everything right, all the romance; he'd asked you out clearly with no doubt of his intentions, which had shocked you; he'd brought you a bouquet of flowers on your first date, which had delighted you; and he hadn't tried to take you home, which had surprised you.

Modern romance often doesn't feel very romantic. Things with Aaron are different.

Hell, he's so sweet he probably won't make a move unless you make one yourself.

You'd prefer to be squeaky clean tonight, you've decided, just in case. When he gets out of the shower, you'll tell him you've changed your mind.

The shower shuts off. He appears a little bit after that, in new clothes, towel around his neck and feet either side of your own as he sidles in for a damp and quick cheek kiss.

"Sorry I took so long. Are you ready to eat?" he asks, taking the spoon from your hand to give the soup a big, gran stir.

"Actually, could I shower?"

If he's surprised at your changed mind he says nothing, only turns down the heat of the stove. "Of course you can. Come on, I'll show you how it all works."

His 'come on' is accompanied with a guiding hand at the small of your back. You let yourself be guided. The heat of his touch fills your stomach and doesn't abate, no matter how cold you run the spray.

2. Phone calls.

It's the week after that when you're supposed to be spending the night again. You're excited for two reasons, the first and smallest being that he had been what you thought and more in bed, that itself an expectation raised, and it had felt like connection at its brightest — he'd been sweet, and he'd been rough but never, not ever once cruel. A perfect night. The second, and biggest, is that he's honestly just the nicest person you've ever met. He's your boyfriend, a phrase you don't say in front of him because he's admittedly older than you, and you can't imagine he calls you his girlfriend. Partner might be more apt. He's your boyfriend and he's openly fond of you. Openly more than that. It's new to be doted on as ardently as he dotes on you.

He touches you like he can't believe he's touching you. He talks to you like you're gold dust, all smiles and laughs heavy with admiration, and he listens. You've never felt listened to in the way you do when you're with him.

So many conversations are just one party waiting for the other to stop talking until it's their turn. You think, maybe, Aaron would let you talk for hours. He would listen the whole time.

In summary, you're basically thrumming with excitement to see him again. You've missed him some, but mostly you've spent the week bouncing off of walls waiting for the next time you get to talk to him.

His text is disheartening, to say the least.

Hey, honey. I have to cancel our plans tonight. I'm sorry, and I'll explain as soon as I get the chance. Please take care of yourself for me until I can.

It doesn't make you mad. While it is extremely short notice, and your heart hurts to the point of frustrated tears, you know it isn't his fault. He's been clear about his job at the FBI and what that means for you both. How it will without a doubt pull him away from you during dates, the middle of the night, special occasions, the works — this had been after a small disclosure about his commitment to his son, Jack, and how he's a father first — and how it will definitely cause some strain.

"But," he'd said, "I want you, and I want this to work. So if you can be patient with me, I'll try to make it worth it."

He's been successful every time. After he'd cancelled your third date, he'd quickly rearranged it and apologised with a modest but beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth date, you hadn't seen him for two whole weeks, and every worry you'd had about his intentions had been abated by a steady stream of encouraging text messages and the occasional photograph. Nothing crazy, but sweet things, like the cookies he and Jack had made that night, captioned, I'd save one for you if I thought Jack would let me, or a sunrise in a different state, captioned, This looks like the dress you wore to Lemaira.

Later that night, you're unhappy and frowning still, a small carton of ice cream freezing your fingers to the cardboard and a spoon in your mouth when your phone starts to ring.

You aren't expecting it to be Aaron. You aren't in the habit of calling one another, even though you'd secretly wished he would while he's away beforehand.

It's nearing eight o'clock.

"What time do you call this?" you joke, smiling despite yourself. Again, the excitement that comes with talking to him wells at the surface.

"I know, I'm sorry," he says, sounding very tired.

You slouch down into your couch cushions, ice cream on the armrest, remote for the TV on your chest. You click the volume button down, down, down until the TV's near silent.

"I'm kidding, mostly. Are you okay? I've been a little worried."

Understatement of the century. You know sudden cases of violence often draw him away from Virginia, but this had been sudden sudden. The lack of information had made you think the worst, worse than serial killer and bombers and hostage situations. You'd thought Aaron was in danger himself, and then you'd tried to suffocate that thought. He'd never worry you like that even if he were.

"I'm fine. Sorry to miss you tonight."

"I'm sorry to miss you too," you say, voice disjointed, too earnest. You scramble to hide the depth of your feelings. "Where are you?"

"I'm in St. Louis. Where are you?"

You laugh, curling onto your side with the phone pressed up against your ear. "Where am I? I'm at home."

"What are you doing?"

"I was watching TV."

"Yeah? Did you eat anything yet?"

You think to the takeout you'd bought and shoved in the microwave, not hungry at the time but knowing knowing would be. "Not yet. Why are you asking?"

"I want to know."

"I told you in my text I would take care, Aaron."

"Honey," he says, pet name like a warm palm over your heart, "my definition of taking care and your definition are very different. Promise me you'll eat something."

"Of course I will. Easy promise." You scratch the couch fabric absent-mindedly. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes," he says, the sound of a closing window in the background. "It's awful how much take out I eat. All these cases, there's never any time to cook real food."

"Why, what did you have? And surely there's some uber healthy options out there, like, a chickpea salad-"

"That costs thirty dollars? I'm not struggling, honey, but we both know that's obscene."

You're laughter takes on a giddy quality as you cross your leg over the other, picturing his smile as his laughter echoes breathily down the line. You really, really wish he were here right now and that you were having this conversation face to face. You know he'd smile and try to hide how smug he feels at making you laugh. His hand would reach over any gap to touch some silly part of you, forearm or collar or the skin under your ribcage.

"Are you okay?" You say his name to drive the point home. Your voice is quiet — you're hesitant to offer, worried you're crossing a boundary. "Aaron, I know you don't like bringing it home, but you aren't home, so… I'm here."

"I know. It's nothing I want you to worry about, there's an ongoing situation here, bomb threats coming in quicker than the local P.D can handle. They need us to vet them and figure out if any of them are real."

You think about it for a few seconds, the silence small but not uncomfortable. If you were under that kind of pressure, you'd be hurting. Chest pains, anxiety shakes, a migraine.

"You'll be safe?" you ask.

"Always. I'm not in any danger. And I need to get home, I owe you a Friday."

"You do," you mumble.

There's the creak of a box spring mattress, and the sound of a lamp being clicked. On or off, you don't know. When Aaron speaks, his tone is dulcet and hushed but distinct. You feel it in your chest.

"Tell me about your day," he murmurs.

You lay it all out for him in detail. He can barely reply when you hang up, sleep thickening his affectionate, "Goodnight, honey."

3. His bleeding heart.

"What kind of kid were you?" he asks.

You look up from your notebook, surprised. Aaron has been silent for what feels like an hour now, laid out on the picnic blanket with your sweater bundled up under his head while the sun warms your skin.

"I was…" You let your pen roll into the centre of your notebook and close it. He's laid his paperback flat across his chest. You think he might be very interested in the answer. "It was a long time ago, but I think I was lonely."

He nods like this is what he'd been expecting. "Me too."

It's a gorgeous day out. The sky is a light, bright blue with few clouds. They block the sun occasionally, providing a short and bittersweet shield from the heat. The grass surrounding is shockingly green, rippling in the breeze.

"You were?" you ask. "What were you like?"

"I was quiet."

"That's not surprising," you say mildly.

"No, I guess not."

You abandon your notebook and lay down beside him. Worrying what you look like from this angle, you cover your jaw with your hand and turn toward him ever so slightly to show you're listening.

"I liked affection. I remember my mom used to say I was a siphon for it. I'd be all over her, and she'd have nothing left to give anyone else."

"That's not true," you deny. Every ounce of affection that you given him, he has returned tenfold, and that's inspired a lot of kindness in you, for him and for the world. "You're like an amplifier, if anything."

He smiles to himself and turns his gaze skyward. "I wish we'd met before."

"Me too," you say, leaving little room for debate.

"You're so kind," — he adorns you with each word like a gift, a tiny star of praise — "I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

He laughs. It's a catching sound, contagious as anything. You giggle with him and shift closer. Your arms touch, your hips.

"Baby," you murmur, almost lamenting, "d'you ever think your ability to see the good in people is- It's indicative of the good in you... You've given more of your life than most to keep other people safe. That's the kindest thing a person can do."

He tangles your hand with his where it had been resting on your stomach. You're pretty sure you can feel every line of every fingerprint as he works your fingers together, a snug fit like one of those wooden brain teaser puzzles: How do you pull these two pieces apart? From the outside, it looks impossible!

"I think I'd be different, if I'd met you before. I'd be kinder," he says.

You can't agree with him. It's obvious who he is. You know more about him now than you ever have before. His late wife, how she'd been the best mother they ever made. His son, and how he moulds Aaron everyday into a better man. His friends, who trust him, who adore him. All these people have a hand in who Aaron is now, and while you wish you'd been around from the start, now will have to do.

"You're plenty kind," you say. Understatement of the century.

"Sorry," he says with a laugh, "With you-" He cuts himself off, head-shaking from side to side as he pulls your joined hands up slowly.

Your arm bends and then turns as he pulls it toward his face. He unlinks your fingers to steer your forearm, aligning it flat over his lips. The first kiss is a surprise, light like the feathered edge of a flower petal, and the second isn't dissimilar.

The third melts you, veritably, the parting of his lips emphasised by the dull scratch of teeth against your pulse, the wet heat of his tongue. Three becomes four, and a final fifth, crescent moons pressed into your skin like he's trying to tell you something.

You've no clue what. You likely couldn't say which way the world turns, not when he's kissing you. Not like this.

Aaron has an acute ability to talk without talking. Hello's and thank you's and I care about you's woven into quick kisses, the swift squeeze of his hand over the slope of your shoulder.

These ones say something you don't want to speak aloud, lest you jinx it.

The sunlight fades. A big grey cloud covers the sun.

"I think it's gonna rain," you say.

A raindrop splashes in Aaron's eye.

"Fuck," he says, which is hilarious, because he never swears in front of you. You hadn't known he cussed at all.

The downpour is slow and then sudden, spitting rain dotting over you both like a fine mist as you stand, a thicker, faster outpouring chasing your heels as you hurry to the car. You realise you can't outrun it even if you sprint, and so you stop, Aaron's hand in yours tugged like a rubber band. He bounces back into your chest with the picnic blanket under his arm, your books tucked somewhere inside.

He doesn't ask what you're doing. He's made the same deduction as you, or maybe he trusts you, or maybe he's indulging you.

"Your hair," he laments.

"Doesn't matter," you say.

You lift your chin up for a kiss. Aaron ducks down to give you one. A raindrop runs down the bridge of his nose to the tip of yours.

4. In sickness.

You insist that it wasn't the rain that made you sick, but honestly there's no way to tell. You'd kissed for slightly too long, and the rain had been surprisingly cold. Now you aren't very well, and you have to cancel Aaron's sleepover.

You hold out as long as you can, but come Friday afternoon it's clear you aren't getting better. You wake to a text from Aaron, two texts, and it makes you smile through shivery coughs.

I can't wait to see you tonight. Do you need anything before I get there? Miss you. Sent 6.26AM.

Is everything okay? Sent 9.17AM.

Usually you'd have answer his morning text within the hour.

Hi, I miss you too, so much, but I don't think we'll be able to see each other tonight. I've got the flu :( I'm sorry. And sorry I couldn't answer your message until now, I was sleeping.

It's another hour before he answers. You rouse from your gross snotty stupor to squint at the phone. It's surprisingly long.

I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get back to you, things are tense here right now. You don't have to be sorry for either, I'm glad to hear you're resting. You could have told me you were sick. Is it okay if I come and see you tonight anyways? I would love to check on you. Don't rush to answer, and call me if you can.

You call him with reservations.

"Is this a good time?" you ask weakly, forgoing a hello.

It takes him a little while to speak. You assume he's leaving a room, closing a door. "Now's fine. How are you?"

"My throat hurts and it's a little hard to breathe, but I'm sure I'll live."

"You've been to see a doctor?"

"It's not that bad."

He sighs. "You sound tired. And sore. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"You don't have to baby me, I'm really okay."

"Have you considered that I'd like to baby you?"

Not really. You can't imagine anyone would want to deal with you. You're a mess, you look awful, you don't smell great, and you're not good company. You can't think of a single reason Aaron would want to be anywhere near you right now.

"No," you say, "I hadn't."

"I'd love to look after you."

"You could be doing something fun with your Friday. You could see Jack."

"Jack's going to Kings Dominion. And Fridays are our day, you being sick doesn't make me want to see you less."

You hadn't said that, but he'd inferred it. Of course he had.

You and Aaron decide that your sleepover will go ahead after all. Or, he persuades you very gently. You spend three hours doing tasks that should only take one. You shower, you clean your room, and you do the dishes. By the end of it you're sweating enough to need another shower but you aren't a quitter, so you open the freezer and stick your head in, hands braced against the refrigerator door.

You're excited to see him. You always are. Too bad you look so wiped out.

It's almost 6.30 when you hear his knock on the door. You'd been waiting for him and started dozing at the kitchen table, your neck a mess of twisted nerves, your hand numb from supporting your head. You shake it out and open the door, sheepish.

"Hi," you croak out.

He has a lot of stuff with him. His familiar overnight bag, a briefcase, two grocery bags, and a bouquet.

"Aaron, why," you moan, covering your face with one hand as you move back down the hall to let him in.

"Not the greeting I'd hoped for."

"I can't greet you, I'll make you sick."

You get all the way to the kitchen and think, triumphantly, that you've escaped his 'greeting'. He puts the flowers down carefully on the kitchen counter as you try to come up with a thank you that doesn't make your eyes burn. The grocery bags are placed without ceremony on the floor, and his overnight bag falls onto the kitchen chair. You watch him unbutton his rain spattered coat, and your triumph fades when he peels out of it and instantly reaches for you.

"Aaron," you mumble, stepping into his arms. He knows you can't say no to a hug, not after a week of not seeing him.

"I missed you," he says, arms around your back, lips at your temple. "You're running a temperature."

"It's not that bad. 101."

"Honey, 101 is bad."

"Not as bad as 102."

"Not as bad as 102," he concedes. You can hear his voice rumbling in his throat, and feel it in his chest and yours.

He takes as much of your weight as he can, leaning back so you're forced to arc forward. Your face slips into his neck, and you're thinking, this is what it's like? To be held, sick, with nothing to give? It feels good.

"Please tell me the next time you're sick," he murmurs.

You definitely will. If this is what it's like, roaming, cautious hands over your shoulder blades, a strong nose stroking lines against your warm forehead.

"Thank you for the flowers."

It's squished against his skin but he hears it. "You're welcome. Do you want me to put them in a vase?"

"I can do it."

"I think that might defeat the purpose. They're a gift, not an extra chore."

"Nobody ever got me flowers before you, so it doesn't feel like a chore at all."

He encourages your face back enough to look at you. You have to mouth breath on him because your nose is all stuffed up, and it is not something you're happy to do. You look down so he can't feel it.

"I'm gonna do something really cheesy, and you can tease me about it later, okay?"

You look at him from under your lashes. "'Kay."

"Close your eyes," he whispers.

You let your eyes shut. Aaron cradles your face in both hands and pulls your face toward his chin, in your rough approximation.

Heat fans against your eyes. He kisses your eyelids, the left and then the right, the most gentle press of his lips you've ever felt.

"It's killing me to see you like this," he says, and you're grateful for the pinch of humour behind it. "Couch or bed?"

"Couch. I wanna watch a movie with you."

"Good. I wanna watch a movie with you, too."

Aaron does everything. You're too tired to notice, but when you're better, you'll add it all up. He makes you dinner and breakfast and lunch and enough for the day after that, too. He trims down all your flowers and places them in a vase on your window sill. He recleans your room, cleans your bathroom, and plays nursemaid diligently. He makes you take your temperature in front of him, and then he fawns and makes you hug an ice pack, stays the night again when he's supposed to go home.

It sucks, but your temperature falls, and when your insides stop cooking themselves you start to feel better. On Sunday morning, when he has to leave, you feel the strange pang of being cared for unconditionally like the wind being knocked out of you. He'd done all of that because he cares about you. He'd wanted to see you fed and well and happy, and he hadn't gotten anything out of it in return.

5. The test-drive.

"Hi, Jack," you mumble, rubbing wetness out of your sleep-heavy eyes. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he says cheerfully, of his father's disposition.

"Did you," — you yawn wide and turn your face so neither of them can see — "sleep well?"

"Yeah, thank you. Why are you so tired?"

Aaron's standing at the stovetop making oatmeal. You stand at the counter beside it, hips touching but facing opposite ways. "I'm still getting used to your dad's bed."

It's true. There's something about someone else's mattress that makes you ache.

"What is it about my mattress you can't get along with?" Aaron asks in good humour, adding a generous pinch of salt to the saucepan.

"It's more comfortable than mine," you say with a self-satisfied laugh.

Aaron pecks your damp cheek and skirts around you to fill three identical bowls of oatmeal next to three identical glasses of orange juice. Jack cheers when his portions are placed in front of him, and he digs in even though it's ridiculously hot.

Aaron had explained once that he's basically trained Jack to eat it scorchingly hot by accident. Years of oatmeal straight off of the hob versus a growing boy with no patience. You watch in awe as Jack scarfs it down.

You and Aaron are doing this thing. You've called it the test-drive in your head. He wants to see how well you and Jack get along, likely, and how well you handle living together, too. (Though you absolutely don't think you'll be moving in together quite this soon.) That's your working theory. He'd asked you if you'd be interested in staying for the week a month ago, and you had, and it had been a dream. This is week two, and it seems to be going just as well as the first.

It's definitely revealing. To see each other's routines. And an adjustment. You have to see all the gross stuff, no avoiding it.

Though stuff you might consider gross he enjoys. Like watching you put on body lotion, he'd loved that more than words could express. And watching him shave, you'd loved that more than you'd thought you would. You'd sat on the lip of the tub and he'd listened to your morning murmurings, half asleep and excited as always to talk to him about everything.

Getting to know Jack more has been a joy, too. You've met him nowhere near as many times as you would've liked and done family things: bowling, pizza places, the movies, a baseball game.

Eating breakfast together is way more fun. Especially because Jack likes you.

As soon as you sit down he starts to tell you about school. You listen, sipping your orange juice while you wait for the oatmeal to cool from lava.

After breakfast, the three of you head back to your respective bedrooms to get dressed.

That's something else you adore, you and Aaron undressing and redressing together in the space in front of his closet, the intimacy of casual nudity, and the way his hand closes around your hip to move you out of the way of his shirts.

You're pretty much inseperable until you get to the car park. A firm believer in kids receiving as much love as they can from everybody, you offer Jack a hug before you part ways everytime. Sometimes he says yes, though most times he says, "Thank you, Miss Y/N, but my hug quota is full."

Today, he squeezes your waist really hard and says, "Have a good day bye," like it's one word.

"Have a good day, baby," you tell him, laughing as he jettisons into the passenger seat of Aaron's car.

Aaron usually gives you a swift kiss and goodbye like his son. Today, he brings his hand to your neck. You stare him straight in his dark eyes as he does, marvelling the shock of straight lashes outlining each one, and the permanent wrinkle between his brow from frowning.

Placing two hands on either shoulder, you use his frame to rise on tiptoes and kiss it.

"Don't frown too much today, okay, handsome? Have a good day."

He cups your face in both hands as your heels touch the ground. His hands are warm, kind as he pushes both palms over your cheeks and your ears. He covers them, and your heartbeat amplifies, a thumping sound fighting his skin. Then he slips his fingers behind your ears and the roaring fades.

"I love you," he says.

You beam at him. "Really?"

"Really. I love you, honey. Have a good day."

As if. If he thinks he can walk away after dropping that on you he's got another thing coming.

You throw your arms around his neck and all your weight into his front, almost barrelling him over. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your thighs around him, 'cause then he really might fall over.

You dig your face into his neck, searching for something, for the perfect place to rest your cheek. "I love you, Aaron."

There isn't a chance in hell he didn't already know it.

"I got you something," he says.

You laugh in surprise and tighten your hold on him. "Why? This is gift enough." He loves you. It bounces around in your chest.

"Because I'm not stupid enough to miss what I have right in front of me."

You lean back so you can kiss him, ignoring his hand as it reaches into his pocket.

"Baby," you say, a hair's width from his lips. You kiss him again for a second, thrilled, but curiosity pulls you back. "You have it now?"

He takes a step away from you and reveals the box in his pocket, long and thin. It clicks open on a silver hinge, and inside velveteen lies a simple chain.

"Is that a diamond?" you ask, breathless. The stone at the end of the chain shines like nothing you've ever seen before.

You don't know a thing about them other than that they're expensive. You can't see Aaron Hotchner of all people buying a fake.

"A small one," he says modestly.

Your eyes burn. You're happy to the point of tears but you refuse to cry.

"And it's for me?" you ask.

He laughs and you laugh too, the sound slightly sniffly.

"Of course. Do you want to wear it?"

"Now? Yes, more than anything," you say, smiling hard, cheeks appled and aching. "Are you serious?"

"More than anything."

Corny, you think desperately. Do not cry, that's so cheesy.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until my birthday?"

He gestures for you to turn around, the chain hanging from his finger. You turn, feel his hands brushing against your neck as he lays it across your chest and pulls it together behind your nape.

"Your birthday gift is better than this."

Better? You could burst.

The clasp closes and he rubs his hands down the backs of your shoulders.

You turn back around, face dipped to your chest in efforts to see the necklace. It's short but long enough to spot the diamond hanging under your collar.

"I've never had a diamond, before," you mumble, hands pressed to your chest. Your heart bumps under your hand.

"Thank you," you say, looking up, "baby, you didn't have to. You don't have to get me stuff like this, it's a lot."

"I don't think it's too much. You give gifts when you're grateful. I'm grateful to love you."

He's expecting you this time, unwavering when your arms slide over his shoulders. You breathe in the smell of his skin and he does the same, his face pressed to the top of your head.

Jack is late for school that day. You apologise to Aaron more times than you can count, and every time he only smiles and says, "It's okay. I love you."

Aaron misses your first anniversary.

It's a very important date to miss, and you have a right to be upset.

But.

You always knew from the very first date that this was something that could, unfortunately, happen. You'd been lucky to get him for your birthday, luckier still to see him on his own and treat him with the delights he deserved. You'd figured eventually something would happen to throw a spanner in the works.

What you aren't expecting is the lack of anger.

You aren't mad at him, not one bit. It would be okay if you were, even though it's not his fault, because this is so big. You're celebrating the best year of your life alone, and that's no fun. You and Aaron had planned to go away, two days in a fancy hotel, Jack with Jessica and no worries.

He can't ignore a bomb threat in the capital, and he wouldn't want to.

You know a missed anniversary is a lesser weight than innocent people dead. You know Aaron wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't go. You know he regrets leaving you on such an important day.

Maybe one day, you'll be angry with him. Today, you only miss him.

I love you. I'm sorry. I'll be back very soon. Happy anniversary.

He sends that after a grovelling, short phone call, in which you assure him that it's fine. Your voice is tight with tears, you miss him like crazy, and he hears it though you try to hide it.

I will make it up to you.

You don't have any doubts.

You feel a little sorry for yourself, and then you send him a text of your own.

I love you, so don't be sorry. Get back safe and sound and consider yourself forgiven. Happy anniversary, my love.

Followed with what's likely too many hearts for good measure.

Still, still, he doesn't believe it's okay. You know he's human, and he loves you, and that makes it easy to predict how he's feeling — worried that you're angry, worried that you'll leave him, worried this won't work for you.

And you're only human yourself. You can't say how you'll feel in another year, or two, or five. You can't imagine how depressing it might be to miss the holidays and birthdays and anniversaries with him year after year, but you want to be patient. You want to forgive him for the things he has no hand in, and you do.

You get a visitors pass for his office once you're cleared and take the elevator up, checking your text messages for the fifth time, just to make sure.

I'll be home in a couple of hours, the plane touches down in two. Love you. Sent 4.53PM.

It's the day after your anniversary, a Monday, and it's nearly 7PM. You smile at people you've seen in passing the few times you've visited his office before and don't bother trying to sit in Aaron's office, knowing it's locked while he's away. You travel the spare steps and sit at the top of the landing, hands clutching the neck of the bunch of flowers you're holding nervously. The cellophane crinkles.

You hadn't answered him. It was cruel to leave him hanging, but you didn't expect him to come home so soon. He's too damn good at his job.

The elevator doors open in the quiet. Barely anybody lingers now in the late hour, and the voices of the BAU echo.

Spencer sees you first. Morgan second. They stop at the beginning of the office.

Aaron sees you third.

You spring to stand up on your feet, and then you feel very tall and very seen and descend the steps rather than draw more attention.

"You said seven," you say, not sure what else to say, not with people watching you. "This is definitely closer to eight."

Aaron thankfully isn't too proud to speed walk to you. Your heart skips as you meet him, flowers crushed half to death as he gets his arm behind your neck, hooking your head in the crook of his elbow.

He kisses you roughly. Heat floods every inch of skin, your breath rushes out of your nose with a sigh.

He pulls back.

"Happy anniversary," you say quietly, smiling at the sheer relief in his eyes.

"It was yesterday," he says, quiet too.

"Happy one year and one day, then." You push him away from you gently. "Don't suffocate your roses."

"You got me flowers."

"You get people gifts when you're grateful," you parrot.

He takes a step back and accepts the flowers. On the message card, you've written, bashful and clumsy and adoring, I'm grateful to love you. One year and more.

He moves the bouquet into one hand and wraps you up in another huh, firm-armed, chin over the top of your head, though he intersperses his embrace with dainty kisses pecked from one temple to another.

"You aren't mad?" he asks, worried about the answer.

"No," you say honestly. "Not mad. Missed you like crazy yesterday, but I get you today. I can make it work."

When you break apart a second time, you both buckle under the weight of his colleagues watching.

"Thank you," Rossi speaks up, grand and wry, "we thought we'd have to endure his moping for at least a week. Your understanding spares us all."

"Nice, Dave," Aaron says.

"I've got your paperwork, Hotch," Morgan offers.

Aaron has the good sense to accept it before Morgan can change his mind. His friends say goodbye, and Aaron pulls you by the hand back to the elevator bank. You couldn't wipe the smile off of his face if you tried.

The elevator doors have barely closed when he's leaning down to kiss you again.

"Thank you," he says.

"You really don't have to say thank you," you murmur, bumping your shoulder with his. "You got home safe. That's all that matters."

His next kiss is bruising. The sound of cellophane crushed between you makes you laugh. He kisses you through it, his smile pressed feverishly to yours, over and over and over.

༺༻

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, i promise it makes a difference to me <3

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

all the time

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 7,206

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)

a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.

————

The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages.

You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening.

You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl.

You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor.

You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”

“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”

You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious.

“No shit.”

Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”

“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word.

Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about.

She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care.

Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely.

None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be.

“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here.

“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”

You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”

“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”

You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids.

“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”

“Mom, are you out of your mind?”

She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim.

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.”

You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!”

“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.

You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?

When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?”

Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now.

“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”

You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”

When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event.

“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door.

In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother.

You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers.

Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t.

Steve. As your boyfriend?

That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night.

————

“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?”

The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine.

You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation.

Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”

You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.

“Steve’s not working today, is he?”

Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked.

“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”

Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”

“Robin, what?”

She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid.

“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you.

“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”

“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”

She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.”

You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?

A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that.

Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think.

Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder.

Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face.

“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”

Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together.

“Good luck! I love you!”

You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.

————

You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that.

Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.

There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”

Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”

He grins. “Yes ma'am.”

And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit.

Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything.

You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”

“You know how my sister is getting married?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”

You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”

Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”

You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”

You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass.

You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

“Steve, are you sure?”

He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this.

“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”

You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him.

“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”

You let go of him and start to walk away.

Steve chuckles. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”

He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.

“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”

You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.”

You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”

“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile.

“Only yanking your chain, dearest.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck.

You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”

Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator.

“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.

“No. It’s not.”

“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”

Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”

Your knee starts to bounce.

The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards.

Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous.

“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.

Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”

“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”

You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.”

Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you.

“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”

Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name.

You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before.

“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”

“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?”

You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation.

“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”

You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you.

“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”

“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her.

She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”

Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”

Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”

“I mean—yeah.”

Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.

“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”

This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”

He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.

You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more.

You nod your head at him.

“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.”

She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again.

“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”

Steve face palms. “Robin.”

“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”

Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”

He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it.

————

“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy.

You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that.

“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”

Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Fancy,” you say, smirking.

He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”

You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye.

You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories.

“They all fit okay?” you question.

He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to.

You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him.

After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look.

You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress.

“I think that looks nice, yeah?”

You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is.

“I like it a lot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand.

“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.

He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his.

“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty.

He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own.

“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?”

You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one.

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”

Steve’s hands run up and down your back.

“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue.

You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party.

He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.

Not that you’re any better than he is.

His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand.

The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have that? Just lying around?”

He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you.

It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are.

“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”

Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.

The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint.

For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him.

When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all.

You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him.

“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.

“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors.

“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”

You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out.

Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”

Knew.

The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend.

You’re fucked.

“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”

He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead.

He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words.

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”

A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it.

“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”

You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable.

“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin.

You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can.

“You look pretty too, you know.”

Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”

Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way. “Let’s do this, yeah?”

You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”

————

“So, how’d the two of you meet?”

You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know.

“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her.

“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”

Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action.

“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before.

Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here.

He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even.

“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”

You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying.

Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest.

One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed.

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”

Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?

“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”

You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?”

Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her.

Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”

Baby.

Steve called you ‘baby.’

You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you.

“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”

You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same.

When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you.

“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.

“Escaping the mob.”

“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”

You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”

She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had.

You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up.

“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.”

“C’mon, Steve.”

He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out.

————

“Sweetheart? You comin’?”

You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here.

You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping.

“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”

“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”

He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat.

You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”

He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter.

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels.

“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”

There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.

“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”

You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share.

“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”

You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win.

Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks.

He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling.

When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you.

“Damn.”

You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can.

You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are.

“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later.

“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled.

“If you’re good.”

————

“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.

“What?”

You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.

“When did this love confession take place?”

“That’s not what it was—”

“Just tell me when, dingus!”

“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”

“Shit!”

Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks.

“I owe Dustin twenty.”

“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.

“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.”

Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?

Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!”

You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter.

“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”

She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”

“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”

“No. Nononono—”

You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening.

“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs.

You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”

He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.”

“So quit whining.”

“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him.

“Was that mean?”

“Not at all.”

You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mean and a tease. Wow.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”

He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin.

“Damn right.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

#savannah’s fics #steve harringtion #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #robin buckley #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington comfort

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tastesousweet · 4 months

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (vii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : a little weed sure eases theses two up.

warnings : implications of sex & use of weed

mickey speaks : sorry this took a while to get out friends, hope u love it. also lowkey self inserting w the hawaii trip :P

THIS IS PART SEVEN GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST!!!

“OH, he’s obsessed!” andrea exclaims across the table, a wide smile smothered over her face.

it didn’t take long for asha to call you and begin debriefing her month-long europe trip to you, only for you to cut her short (because matt began knocking on the door, complaining about how long you’d taken to piss) and ask her to finish her tell-all over lunch. she of course agreed and texted you the location of her favorite ramen place along with: “tell your roomie andrea that she can come with i wanna see u bothhhh!”

she’s spent the last half hour detailing the total princess treatment she’d experienced from a guy she met at her stop in london. “yeah, too bad i won’t see him again,” she pouts.

“you didn’t get his phone number that entire time?” you ask, fiddling with the chopsticks in your hand.

“oh of course i did, i just won’t be using it,” asha laughs and tucks a piece of her dark curled hair behind her ear. “it was nice while it lasted but i’m definitely not trying to deal with the hassle that comes with dating anyone right now,” she shrugs.

“you’re so bad!” andrea shakes her head and giggles, "but you know what, i get it."

asha hides her laugh by guiding noodles towards her mouth.

your phone buzzes softly against the counter and lights up, showing off a new text message from your mom, but more importantly your lock screen wallpaper displaying a sleepy figaro on your chest.

asha squeals through her chews as you pick up your phone to decide whether you’ll confront or procrastinate the text message (that will most likely sour your mood). andrea’s eyes widen at the girl as asha finishes up and starts to explain, “who’s cat is that?!” her acrylic nail taps against the table.

“oh, it’s ours,” you peer over your phone, deciding you’d rather not answer your mom’s text (she's asking how degree-related job searching has been, again).

“what?!”

“oh yes, he's my babyyy,” andrea coos while unlocking her phone to show off the many photos, “his name is figaro-.”

asha swipes through the phone in awe, “and when the fuck did this happen?”

“like a few weeks ago, i wanna say…” you turn to look at andrea while trying to remember.

“i’m coming over way more now. oh my god.” she gushes over the many photos of the playful black kitten before returning andrea’s phone.

“please do, it felt like you were gone for so long.” you whine out the beg before taking another sip of the warm broth.

asha sighs (in a way that causes her lips to flutter a little), “i know, i miss hanging out with my friends!”

“and we miss you! your ass is always traveling somewhere we have to soak up all your LA time while we can,” you joke.

the two laugh along with you, “i think i’ll be here for a while…not until like, my birthday.” asha thinks through her schedule and her mouth widens at the thought of her birthday, “oh my god! i forgot to tell you- mostly because it’s kinda far out? so, the past four years i’ve hosted trips for my birthday in late november... and i want you two to come this year!”

your eyes widen in excitement and your mouth is full of noodles, keeping you from letting out the loud 'yes' you wanted to. so andrea answers for the both of you, “well of course, we’ll come!”

asha’s face can’t possibly be stretched further with happiness as she celebrates, “yay, this’ll be so fun! you’ll get to meet some of my girlfriends and f’course the boys will be there so you’ll know a few people already!”

“and where are we going?” you ask with big, curious eyes.

“hawaii!"

౨ৎ

a distinct berry shade drips over the room in full swoops as the leaving sun peeks through matt's curtains ever so gently. your lips are now almost the same shade of the woven fabric, especially after enduring matt's undying and bitter kisses.

you hear him breathe a soft laugh, finding your body's limp, laid-out position to be straight out of an erotic femme painting: right leg and arm stretched above and below you, left arm above your waist to cradle your tits, and left leg bent and falling over the opposing leg.

you turn your head when you recognize his return, whispering, "hey."

matt’s bed dips accordingly when he lowers himself next to you, fixated on your still-exposed silhouette that hosts a few deep hickeys (he’s recently taken a liking to giving you them, his ego gains a small ignition at the thought of him placing them only where he gets to see), rather than your observant eyes.

he finds one he’d kissed into the skin under your printed hello kitty, leaning closer to lick and suckle at it more. you squirm and push his head away with a whine of his name.

he chuckles and moves his hair from his face, “put some fuckin’ clothes on then.” he lays your sweatshirt and panties, he gathered on his way back to you, against your chest.

you lift yourself easily, though a sleepy yawn still makes its way to you as you fit into the hoodie. matt shifts himself to slouch against his headboard. you finish your redressing before moving yourself higher on his bed as well.

matt thinks your phone screen is severely bright and headache-inducing but he doesn't complain as he normally would, instead he's more focused on balancing his joint-rolling necessities atop his wife beater clad torso.

you pay no attention to him as you exchange texts with remi:

REMI - 6:43 PM

OMFG

REMI

this guy im friends w thinks i should set you up on a blind date with a guy he knows :D

REMI

HE JUST SHOWED ME A PIC AND ... fuck

REMI

PLS SAY YOULL DO IT

REMI

u deserve a nice date night

Y/N - 8:36 PM

hi WHATTT

Y/N

idk rem😭😭

REMI

ABOUT TIME U RESPONDED HELLO

REMI

rlly you dont wanna??

Y/N

ill have to think about it

you sigh while turning off your phone, moving your body to better face matt, who's hands work to add the potent plant into his detailed silver grinder. there's obviously no need for you to stay in his bed or hang around for any longer, but as of late you both aren't necessarily itching to kick the other out as soon as clothes are back on.

"i wanna learn," you declare as you sit up more, looking down at his slouched figure.

"to roll?" he asks pausing his smooth routine and licking over his lips expectantly.

"yeah," you move your hoodie’s long sleeve cuffs away from the lower half of your palm, showing him your dedication and anticipation.

matt smirks and continues to zip the plastic bag once more, shaking his head.

"what? why not, matt?" you pout.

“because i’m already good at it,” he shrugs, “you can smoke with me but you don’t have to be the one to roll.”

“‘kay, whatever. i’ll just get someone else to teach me then, like chris or lucas or somethin’” stretching as you collapse back onto his bed and bury your face in the crook of your arm. when matt does nothing to pull you out of your dramatic fit, you decide to mess with him further, grabbing his phone from its place near his thigh and rolling over so that you lie on the plush of your stomach.

you pretend to type (actually just tapping against his uncharacteristically soft lockscreen, displaying a vintage looking photo of a woman you’d only assume to be his mother) then putting the phone up to your ear, mimicking the ring with a burring noise in your throat. “hey lucas! yeah it's me, matt never gave me your number! i know. that is really selfish and unfair!” you nod along while staring at matt who thinks you look and sound so stupid that it’s kind of cute.

you twirl your hair and bite your lip, really getting into character, “you're right, he is the worst. he won’t even let me roll up with him! but that’s fine, i think i may just need someone more skilled and sexy like you to hel-”

matt taps your barely covered ass harder than he intends to, shocking you in the best way. “alright, stop fuckin’ around and pay attention ‘cause i’m not repeating myself,” he softly demands, gesturing you to sit up with his fingers.

"ow!" you rub at the spot and roll your eyes in faux irritation, fighting the urge to smile now that you've successfully recaptured matt's attention and can still feel the heat of his hand on your ass. you try to give yourself grace in moments like this but you can't help but reflect and feel a bit pathetic when having a crush on someone like matt.

matt, who would never take a relationship further than casual sex and unserious after-sex smoke sessions, especially not with you.

"shh. come here, bruh" he hushes you and you obey, shifting to sit next to him, reflecting his bent position. "'kay," he hands you the grinder, mumbling, "take a look," as he grabs one of the natural hemp rolling papers and places the packaging on his nightstand.

you open the silver lid gently, eyes widening slightly and impressed with the dollops of finely crushed weed laying in the container. "how much do you use?"

"all of it," your head practically snaps over to look at him and he sighs, "y/n, it's like half a gram."

you fight the urge to dip your index finger in the crowd of weed and move it around, "still looks like kind of a lot."

"well, it's not," he shakes his head and adjusts his shoulders. "now you're gonna take some in your fingers and place it in this paper," he taps your distracted arm with his hand to bring your attention to the rolling paper he has curled slightly around his thumb. as you begin to take a hold of some of the substance he warns, "and don't do too much at once- i don't need you spillin' any on us or my bed."

"you're such a diva," you huff and softly sprinkle the weed into the wrapper he's holding.

once it's full enough matt shows you how his fingers guide the paper and fold it into its proper joint shape. he moves his hand towards your mouth, "now you gotta lick and seal it." you inch closer, hesitantly peeking your tongue out just a little to lick at the small flap. "okay, you need more than that baby-ass lick. but don't over-do the spit 'cause that'll fuck it up too," he eyes your mouth when you expose more of your tongue, successfully sealing the joint (with matt's guidance).

he finishes off the end of the joint before presenting it to you, "voilà," matt fiddles with the joint in front of your face before you boldly grab it from his hands.

you immediately encourage him with a wave of your fingers, "gimme that lighter, please."

he's slightly impressed with your sudden confidence and adjusts himself (removing the remaining items from his lower stomach, including the lighter you ask for) and reaches over to light it for you.

matt's lip falls between his teeth due to natural anticipation. the sharp, orange hue sparks to life and you gain a shyness as he approaches the joint in your mouth with it. suddenly your fingers take it away from your mouth as you whisper, "wait, matt."

matt dramatically throws his arm down, "yeah?"

"i don't actually know how to do this," a smile spreads across your face when you see matt's mouth slightly ajar and eyes disengaged.

"seriously? you started talkin' like you've at least smoked a couple times."

you hold a laugh in, "well like, i wanna try it. you just have to tell me what to do..."

"inhale the shit," matt gestures his hands, "hold in your lungs, blow it out. it's simple as fuck," he points to your hand holding the joint, "let's see it."

you deadpan, "you're so unhelpful," you shake your head and place it back in your mouth, "just light me up."

he rolls his eyes as his hand moves back up to you, you lean into the flame and immediately inhale as it comes to life in your mouth.

matt just smirks from next to you, amused at your attempt. you focus on holding it in your lungs and close your eyes as you exhale. the smoke exits smoothly and surrounds your head, when you open your eyes you immediately look over to matt who laughs when he sees a cough brewing in your lungs. you push his shoulder just as you begin a small coughing fit.

he goes to grab the joint from your hand but you raise it away, finishing your cough and putting it back into your mouth to taste the odd plant flavor again.

matt's laugh is still there just died down, "who the fuck are you?! 'just light me up' and then here you go actin' like you own shit." he points a finger at you with his eyes big and playful.

you smirk sarcastically, and your eyes crinkle in the softest way, when you lean closer to him in response, blowing smoke in his face.

౨ৎ

"so why're nick and chris staying so late at the warehouse?" you ask and play with the strings of your hoodie.

matt draws lines across your inner thigh with his fingers, "it's nick's month to do inventory and chris bought some crazy wall art shit he had to finish setting up-"

"you're not gonna help them?"

"oh yeah sweetheart, i'll actually go there right now and help them out." his eyes are so dewy and red you find yourself excusing his annoying sarcasm and instead wanting to kiss him and his puffy eyelids and his flushed cheeks, especially when you're sat on top of him like this.

"still, they probably wanted you around," you explain.

"why do you care so much about shit that doesn't involve you? i left them and invited you over so you should be happy." his voice eases his delivery to not come across so harshly while his eyes squint a little.

"you're right, s'not really my place to have a take on y'all's dynamic." you shrug and feel as his hands stop running over your thighs and instead squeeze harshly as he looks in your eyes.

"mmm, thank you for telling me i'm right," he smiles and leans forward to give your jaw a kiss with his wet, pink lips, "say it again and i'll be fully hard."

"you're a dog," you laugh as he pulls away. "what'd you do today?" you whisper, ignoring the sensation that comes with him feeling up your lower half.

"guess." he blinks slowly.

"mmm... i don't know. you tattooed some people, fucked me, made fun of me, smoked..." you list off on each of your fingers.

he nods along as you list each, making different facial expressions depending on the task. "those are all definitely things i did.."

"did you eat?"

"i mean, yeah...ish." he rubs his eyes and his mouth begins to curve slightly, knowing your next sentiment well enough he could say it with you.

as if on queue, you prompt him with a question that tends to come up quite often when the two of you finish fucking, "can we get food?"

౨ৎ

the doorbell of matt's shared townhome rings through the house as the two of you giddily stand near the door, "3, 2, 1.." you count through giggles before opening the door and facing the young man dressed head to toe in papa johns gear.

"oh. my. god!" you exclaim in a ridiculous country accent, "baby come here, they sent a man to sell us insurance or somethin'!" you call out and pinch your eyebrows.

before the man can get a word in matt comes into frame, cowboy hat in tow and his mocking accent deeper yet identical to your own, "now who 'den sent you here to harass my woman? huh?" he holds a tooth pick in his mouth and squints his eyes. "and how much would i owe to have whatever you got in them boxes, son?" he points and you try not to laugh from behind him.

"uh, it's just a pizza delivery that was ordered to this address, sir..." he looks around, checking the numbers displayed next to the door once more.

you peek your head back in, "you know what, charles, it was probably little john, you know he's always orderin' that amy-zun and what not from that tablet!"

"mmm..." matt pretends to think and not laugh as he holds onto a fake belt around his black sweatpants, "my lady's right," he cracks a smile, "you know how the kids get," he tuts and gestures to the man again while pulling out his wallet, "i owe you?"

"only $12.57."

"right," matt grabs a few bills and whistles, "wife, come grab this box for little john would you?" he hands the money over as you reach for the pizza box, "keep the change, boy." he tilts his hat in dismissal and as soon as the door is shut matt's falling to the floor with laughter as you laugh and place the pizza box down, screaming about how close you are to pissing yourself.

౨ৎ

"asha told me about her birthday trip in november," you say, licking your lips of excess pizza sauce.

matt nods and swallows to respond while wiping his mouth, "yeah she does that shit every year."

you adjust yourself on the bed and grab another slice of the cheese pizza in between you two. "it sounds fun, i'm excited," you say before taking a bite.

"yeah, it's usually fun. usually." he laughs.

"meaning?"

"last year in mexico nick almost fist fought asha's boyfriend because he was bein' shitty to her on her birthday. it was a fuckin' brawl everyday of that trip, i swear."

"damn."

"yeah. but don't trip, asha's not letting anything ruin her birthday this time, she loves herself too much to do that." he rolls his eyes in endearment towards his friend.

"well, how about you? your birthday's next weekend.."

matt shakes his head and looks to the side for a moment, "we always struggle to figure out what we're doing for our birthday. the three of us wanna spend that time together but chris wants a party, nick wants a small get together with games, and i'd want a lowkey dinner or something."

"you could always do all of the ideas but on different days."

"that drags it too much, we'll most likely host a party like we did last year, chris will probably nag us enough to make us give up." matt shrugs and takes a bite of his slice.

"well, i'll be at whatever you decide to do," you smile.

"oh will you now?" his eyebrows lift for just a moment in humor.

"well duh."

"and who's inviting you? cause it won't be me," he smiles and stuffs his mouth again right as you push his shoulder and laugh off his bad joke.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list (ily):

@rootbeerworshiper @deadxrx @breeloveschris @saintsturn @honestlybabymiracle @hearts4chris @starrysturniolo @blissfulbellss @aoxash @st7rnioioss @blondiesjailer @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @sturnioloa @thinkingabkinkyshit101 @tcvazq @novasturniolo03 @imaslutforwhitemen @trinity2058 @taking-a-footnote-in-your-life @1horrormoviewhore1 @keira324 @st7rnioioss

@whicked-hazlatwhore @matthewsturnioloswifey @mayhem-72

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

Text

Sickness and Health

A married!Javi Drabble based on this request

Series Masterlist

Rating: All fluff except for a few inappropriate words

A/N: I had to use this gif because I couldn’t think of anything for sick Javi. Just imagine he’s wiping his snot instead of his sweat (you’re welcome for the new mental association I’ve created)🤪. I got this request a month ago and I’m writing it only now 🙈 Sorry anon requester, but I hope you see this and like it 💜

I’ll be fine, he said. It’s just allergies, he said. My god querida, stop mothering me, he said. Yet here he was, flopped on the sofa with a leg on the floor as he snored. The man never came home before her. There were times when he’d come home briefly in the morning to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes before bolting out the door with nothing to spare her other than a rushed kiss. And now here he was at 5 PM, sleeping.

She placed a hand on his forehead, wincing when she found him burning up. Not to say she told him so, but she told him so. But he would hear none of it. The man dropped her off at work with the promise that he’d take an Advil if he needed before driving away to the embassy. He probably forgot. Or his promise was made just to placate her, stop her from being the nagging wife.

She didn’t quite know how to do it, the wife thing. Was she supposed to force a pill down his throat? Would she be the annoying nagging wife men talked shit about to their friends if she did? Was she supposed to leave him be? Would she be a bad wife for neglecting him and letting him go to work ill?

Knowing the man, he probably didn’t have anything to eat. His only intake was whiskey and tobacco from all the smoking he did. Was she supposed to pack him lunch? Send food to the embassy? She didn’t know. He never asked for anything and was happy to eat what she gave him when he came home. She provided dinner, leaving it on the table and leaving a note on his bed reminding him to eat it. Sometimes she managed to force a glass of OJ into his hand in the morning. But that was all. Lunch was a big question mark. What he ate when in Medellin was a blind spot.

Retrieving some chicken, carrot, celery and broth from the refrigerator, she got to work. With some time, spices and low music playing on the radio, the soup was ready to be served.

She poured some into a bowl, placed it on the coffee table and hovered over him. Beads of sweat had collected on his forehead, either from the hot weather or his sickness. Messy black hair stuck to his forehead and she reached over and pushed it back.

“Javi…”

Nothing. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook gently. “Javi?” He stayed still as a rock. Goddamn. The man usually woke up at the slightest noise. A bullet could leave a gun two miles away and he would hear it. It was rare that he slept at all, so when he did, she did everything in her power to keep his surroundings quiet.

“Mi amor…” she called, caressing his sweat soaked forehead. “Come on, get up. You need to eat something.”

He trembled under her touch and whined something incomprehensible. She tried again, called his name while giving gentle rubs to his shoulders. “…hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know,” she said, smiling at his half-awake form. He looked so sweet like this, so innocent and childlike. She wanted to pick him up like he was a puppy and give him a million kisses. He might be a big bad federal agent but sleeping on their couch like this, he was her little puppy.

“… ‘s the paperwork and…Wysession…la Quica…umm and yeah what do I think?” He mumbled, making her laugh. This fucker would not survive without his job. It took a few more tries and sweet words, some of which embarrassing enough that she’d never repeat to him if he were awake. His eyes opened a little, his mumbling about work dimmed down and he spoke her name.

“Yeah. It’s me. Get up. I made soup. You should have some, have a Tylenol and sleep on the bed. Okay?”

“What time is it?” He asked, sitting up suddenly.

“Six thirty three.” The man always wanted the exact time. No rounding up or down. It was unnerving.

He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. “Fuck. Got an early meeting at eight with Noonan. Gonna be late. She’ll kill me,” he said, getting up. He hunched over the couch, hand gripping on to the leather of the headrest for support as his other hand clutches his head.

“8 PM is not an early meeting. Unless you’re talking about a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Wait, what’s the time?”

“Six thirty. In the evening. You have a bad fever and you were asleep on the couch when I got home at five.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. Fuck. Now sit down and have some soup. You can’t have Tylenol on an empty stomach.”

“Actually, I can. The body absorbs it faster on an empty stomach.”

“Alright buddy, sit down and have the soup,” she said, coaxing him to sit next to her on the couch. He sat a bit too close to her, leaning on her shoulder and placing his weight on her.

“Feel like absolute shit,” he said, dipping the spoon into the bowl of hot soup. He blew on it once and then twice before drinking it. “So good.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, pulling her to his side. She did not want to contract whatever he had and proximity would increase the chances of infection. But she didn’t have the heart to push him away. Even on a normal day, the man liked physical contact with her. It could be anything from a hand on her back when they were out in public to full on cuddling her in bed. He just showed his affection through touch. She didn’t want to deny him affection when he was so vulnerable and soft.

He drank it down quietly, wincing every now and then from his headache. He even surprised her by asking for a second helping and she gave it to him gladly, even topping his bowl up another time when he wasn’t looking.

“Now Tylenol.”

“Nooo,” he whined, flopping back on the backrest of the couch. “Hate pills.”

She laughed and popped a pill out of the foil wrapper before handing a glass of water to him. “Aww, is the big baby afraid of pills?”

“Not scared,” he pouted and folded his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant three year old. Good god. Was this really the man being paid by the US government to catch Escobar? Or was he the secret sweet cuddly twin to her grumpy sassy Javi?

“Right. Definitely not scared. Now have it.”

“I’ll be fine without it. Just need to sleep.”

“Sure, Dr. Peña. If you say so,” she teased. She was definitely noting down all the details of his behavior in her head to tease him with later. “Can you have the liquid Tylenol?” She asked, recalling seeing a bottle of it in their medicine cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, getting up to go fetch the Tylenol for him. Before she could step away, his hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked back at him to find him staring at her with those big brown eyes, all wide and precious. He was still grumpy, but less intimidating and more adorable. “I need to take my hand with me, Agente…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t go. I miss you.”

“It’ll just be gone for a minute. I’ll get you your Tylenol and be right back.” Huffing, he finally let go of her hand. When she returned, he smiled up at her lazily before grabbing both her wrists.

“Javi…I can’t give you your medicine if you don’t let go of my hand.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this too. There is no plan C, Javier. Pill or this,” she said, holding up the bottle of the liquid acetaminophen.

“That tastes like shit.”

“Yeah. You’ll survive.”

“I wooooon’t,” he whined, pulling her onto his lap. He may be very sick, but he was still strong and worse, unaware of how much force he exerted. She fell with her face forward, smushing into his chest. She made a low sound of satisfaction before wrapping his arms around her and settling his chin on her head.

“Bebito…”

“‘m not your bebito. I’m your husband.”

“Yeah yeah. Then stop acting like a bebito, bebito.”

“Don’t do this to me. That thing tastes vile. Tastes like shit. Like, like horse shit mixed in with rat poison.”

“God, you drama queen,” she teased, adjusting herself on his lap to sit up properly. “It’s just 20 ml. Have some of it, drink some water to wash the taste off and go to bed. God knows you need the rest.”

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Uh huh?”

“Bit of whiskey after the medicine.”

Absolutely not.

“Of course, baby. All the whiskey you want,” she lied through her sweet smile. She did not have the energy to argue with a gigantic baby she couldn’t yell at. She’d make him have the medicine first and figure out the rest when she had to.

At the mention of whiskey, he smiled wider than the day they got married and happily let go of her wrists. She hissed at the dull pain around them, flushing when she realized just how strong he was. Yet he never used such strength on her, handling her gentler than this even when she asked for rough treatment. She’d have to ask for more the next time… she looked away from him embarrassed. The man was sick and delirious, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t the most appropriate time to be horny.

“Tilt your head back,” she ordered and he followed immediately, exposing his neck to her. “Now open your mouth,” she said, bringing the little cup of the liquid to his lips. It went alright for the first second, but when it touched his tastebuds, he gagged and groaned.

“Uhh that was fucking disgusting!”

“That was just 10 ml. You need another 10 for the full dosage.”

“No, no, no. Please don’t do this,” he begged before sticking his tongue out as though casting out the organ for making him experience the medicine’s taste.

“Please, Javier… Just one more, okay?” She said, pouring him the other half of the dose. “Imagine you’re taking a tequila shot.”

“Then it should be on your bellybutton with salt on your tits and a lemon wedge between your lips.”

Horndog

“Suuure. You couldn’t tell it was evening and not morning just half an hour back but you think you can do a body shot, huh?”

“Absolutely can. You didn’t know me in college. Plus I’ll do anything to lick your tits,” he said, his eyes looking too adorable for the things he said. Shouldn’t he be too sick to be horny?

“Alright big guy, open up” she said, tipping his chin back and forcing the rest of his medicine down his throat. He groaned and whined once more and summoned a couple demons with the sounds he produced.

“Tequila?” He asked, pouting as he fixed his puppy dog eyes on her.

“Sure. Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring you the goods,” she said, helping him get off the couch.

“Perfect. You’re the best wife, you know that?”

“I’m your only wife. You don’t have much else to compare me to, do you?”

“Fine, I’ll get more wives. Test the hypo- hypo…tenuse?” He asked, squinting.

“Hypothesis.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said hypotenuse. That’s the longest side of a right angled triangle.”

“The fuck,” he said under his breath, allowing her to lead him to their bedroom. When she’d gotten him to lie down, he pulled her to himself and held her to his chest. She was yet to have dinner and there was a tv program she’d wanted to watch before bed. But with his arms around her and his lips mumbling in his sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

It wasn’t often that she got to be wrapped up in his arms at this early hour. Why fight it when she could savor it.

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judasgot-it · 3 months

Note

MAY I PLEASE REQUEST KALDO X READER PLEASE? I DON'T SEE THIS MAN OFTEN. At first, the reader wasn't exactly interested in Kaldo's combination food taste, it tasted okay for her. Until she's pregnant? She starts having 'weird cravings' that's when she finds out how good the taste of honey or syrup with the other food combinations are

Omggg I love Kaldo sm, need to write for him tbh cause even if he's a side character, I love him...(I have a type it's so painfully obvious)

Headcanons: Enjoying Kaldo's honey sashimi...(also tw for pregnancy ig)

Headcanons:

Usually, when Kaldo offered his food, you would try it and say it's 'ok'

It wasn't a relationship ender - he was happy he found someone who at least tolerated his addiction

You mostly worried about him developing cavities, tbh

But recently, you found yourself salivating over whatever he ate - some of it was so bizarre, that you were starting to wonder if you had gotten hit on the head too hard.

For Kaldo? It was a goddamn miracle at first

Anything for you. He became a five-star chef in your eyes, and it made him so happy he felt like he was walking on air

You didn't even need to lift a finger. This man was spoiling you, really

For a while.

You had started to throw up in the mornings, which was a little more than concerning

The two of you were smart and figured it was the new diet. Kaldo was a little disappointed, but he could live

But you didn't stop. and despite eating healthier after that, you had started to gain weight for some reason

yeah. oh. oops.

Kaldo was pretty excited to be a dad. He was a calm, level-headed guy - but his thoughts were getting ahead of him

like damn...he was going to be a dad. maybe he was starting to understand Ryoh a little; because the idea of shoving a picture of you with a little kid that he made was starting to sound appealing

He had a lot of people he wanted to call and brag about being a dad too. half of them wouldn't care, but he needed to tell someone

but he tried to be cool about it

you were a little mad at him at first when you first realized.

Kaldo was making it up to you, but yeah, your vacation plans were put on hold for a long time.

Also adding a short drabble cuz there's nothing for him:

"Let me try that."

You reached over, trying to grab a taste of his honey-soaked udon. It had more honey than broth, and it moved in a slow way as he brought his chopsticks through the bowl.

"Seriously?"

Nodding, you tried to pick at it, but your annoying husband only swatted you away. He gave you an incredulous look, trying to see if he actually believed that you would even want any of his food.

You stared back, waiting. The man was too protective over his bowl, knowing that there now was someone willing to steal from him.

"Open your mouth."

Obliging to his orders, he held your chin gently against his hand, stuffing your open mouth full of honey and salty udon noodles. Instead of the expected disgust, you found yourself smiling at the burst of flavor.

"You...you like it?"

Kaldo didn't really know what to expect. You never really had liked his food this much before. At best, he got 'it's edible' from you.

Nodding, you opened your mouth for more, like some sort of shark. He huffed, indulging you.

"Shouldn't you eat your own food?"

"Yeah, but yours is good. The honey adds to it."

He smirked.

"Really now?"

You weren't ever going to live saying that down.

This is kinda short but I love Kaldo sm. what a little freak

#mashle x reader #kaldo x you #kaldo gehenna #kaldo gehenna x reader #kaldo x reader #kaldo gehenna x you

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that-basic-simp · 4 months

Text

Blood & Bruises PT. I

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: Blood WC: 1.2k+ Uses he/him and she/her pronouns for Mizu. Changes depending on who is being spoken to.

"Again, Mizu?" I asked as she stumbled into the house with blood dripping down her upper body. Puffs of her breath could be seen as well as the sound of her heavy breathing.

Slowly nodding her head, she walked towards me, immediately collapsing. Rushing up, I caught her before she could fall. Sighing, I carefully laid her down and that was when the door opened up.

"Go away. I need to treat someone," I stood up, turning around. "Oh, Ringo. My apologies."

"And Taigen," Taigen poked his head out from the left side of Ringo.

"Quickly, get in here. Actually, Taigen, leave."

"Why do I need to leave?"

"I need Ringo's help."

"He doesn't have hands."

"Not in that way. He knows how to make medicine for Mizu. You know, medicine Mizu will actually take," I shot a glare towards her.

I knew Ringo knew about Mizu, but Taigen still doesn't know. I don't want him finding out without Mizu telling him. She should be the one to inform him of her true identity. But would it even matter to him at that point? All he sees her as is a monster. That's all he'll ever see her as.

"Fine," Taigen said and walked away from the front door.

Ringo stepped inside and closed the door.

"Get to making the medicine," I said and walked to where Mizu was laying.

"I-I'm sorry, Y/N," she breathed out.

"Save your breath," I sighed. "I'm just glad you come back to me in one piece."

Removing her top, I found the stab wounds were by the top of her shoulder, the left and right side of her abdomen, and one in the center. Typical Mizu. Always stepping in front of harm's way.

"You do know you're supposed to block with your sword. Not your body."

"Sorry I can't help it," Mizu said in a serious tone.

"Lighten up, Mizu. I was joking. I know you can't help it."

"Then why say it?"

"To get you to smile. You're pretty when you smile. Or handsome. Whichever you prefer."

"Either is fine, but handsome in front of Taigen."

"Understood. But I am speaking the truth. You are pretty when you smile. And when you let your hair down. Does it need to be trimmed?"

"No. The length is fine. And I only let it down when I bathe."

"I know. Which you need to do since there is a lot of blood. You can bathe in my bathroom and I'll sew your clothes back together. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Y/N."

"Anything for you, Mizu. Ringo, is that medicine ready?"

"Getting there."

"Of course," I breathed out, continuing to stitch Mizu's wounds. "How are you not dead?"

"I don't think I can die, even if I tried to."

"Mizu, the last thing I need you to do is die on me. You still have a mission you need to do."

"And I will get it done. No matter what it takes."

Once I had finished stitching up the wounds, Ringo came over and handed Mizu a hot bowl filled with broth and vegetables. After she finished it, she headed towards my room to get undressed and to bathe. She even set her clothes outside so I could have easier access to them. Heading outside, I began to rinse the blood from her clothing. Every time she visits or comes by, she's always bleeding. I guess I solidified a place for her as a trustworthy person. Because I never judged her when I first found her almost bleeding out in the snow. Even after everything she told me, I still cared for her like how my parents cared for me.

"You don't have to do that for him, you know," Taigen came over to me.

"Do what?"

"Take care of him. He can take care of himself."

"I know Mizu can, but who will take care of Mizu when he himself can't?"

"What?"

"He can't stitch up every wound he gets. He can't even make medicine without Ringo. Someone needs to watch after him at times. But in battle, that's a different story."

"Have you seen him fight?"

"I have," I said.

"He's a monster," Taigen whispered.

Reaching down, I grabbed a soaking wet towel and smacked him with it.

"Hey! What was that for?!"

"Mizu is not a monster."

"Clearly you haven't met him."

"I have. I know of his eyes. I know of his heritage."

"And you don't think he's a monster?"

"No. He's just another person."

"That is a monster."

"You need to stop thinking about how you were raised and think of Mizu. You were one of his childhood bullies, weren't you?"

"I was."

"And yet you're working with him."

"I am making sure he doesn't die by another person's hands. Him and I are set to duel one another."

"Ah yes, because the mighty Taigen never loses. Not ever. And yet wasn't your top knot cut off by him?"

"Yes."

"And you have yet to do the same to him. Shows how strong he is compared to you."

"He could never beat me."'

I turned and faced Taigen with a 'are you serious' look, "Wasn't he also the one who showed that you could be taken down by a chopstick? While he was still recovering too?"

"Who told you that?"

"Same person who told me about you and the fight at the Shindo-dojo," I said.

"Mizu," he snarled.

"Don't think I don't know everything about you, Taigen. Mizu tells me everything."

"Why?"

"Simple: he trusts me."

"Or he's looking at sleeping with you."

"Mizu is not that kind of person."

"You don't know him."

"You're right, I don't. And neither do you."

Taigen scoffed and walked off. I kind of hated talking to him whenever he talked down about Mizu. Picking my head up, the window to my room was open and Mizu was leaning against it, a smile on her face. I waved up to her and she waved back to me. After cleaning her clothes, I walked inside and hung them up before getting her a kimono to wear. Knocking on the door before sliding it open, Mizu has dried off and was wearing her chest binding and undergarments.

"Your clothes are drying. Here," I handed her a kimono.

"Thank you," she said.

"Y-Your arms," I noticed her forearms. They were covered in bruises. Scanning down, I found she also had bruises on her calves and shins.

"Training weights," Mizu said.

"Where else do you have bruises?"

Mizu stood up and put the kimono on. There were bruises on her thighs and abdomen as well. How did I miss those?

"Like my wounds, I get a lot of bruises, too."

There were scars along her upper body, close to or exactly at the same place she repeatedly got wounded at. Now that I could see them, there was faint bruising on her lower abdomen, where her stomach was. I let out a sad sigh, shaking my head.

"I'm worried about you, Mizu."

"You don't need to worry about me, Y/N," she wrapped the kimono around her body, tying it together with the belt.

"But I do. I worry every time you leave this place and when you come back bloodier than before."

"It's what happens when you're on the path for revenge."

"When you heal, and you're not leaving until those stitches come out," I pointed a finger at her. "Please promise you will be careful out there."

"I-I'll try to, Y/N."

That's all that mattered. Is that she would try to. Stepping towards her, I pulled her in for a rare hug only we share. I had feelings for Mizu, there was no denying it. But I don't think she had feelings towards me that I knew of. Her arms wrapped around me and she held me close.

#bes mizu #mizu x reader #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai

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dadsbongos · 3 months

Note

i loved that denji one ty 😝🤘u said u've been wanting to write for him? ur in luck cuz i can only think about him 😎😎

how about (fem) reader is sick or something and denji's there to take care of her but like he sucks at it and he doesnt know the fever temps (cuz that'd be pretty funny)

or switched and reader takes care of sick denji :)

ok i know... i know you said him being bad at it is funny... but i think aki having forced him to become a good nurse is sillier

645 words -- not proofread :/

~~~

“I knew you were hot,” Denji wiggles the thermometer in front of your sweaty face, grinning despite the miserable downturn of your lips.

“Denji.”

“Sorry,” he huffs, studying the dial again and sucking air through his jagged teeth, “This is shit, though. You’re boiling.”

You nod sluggishly, “I know, Denji.”

“That’s seriously bad.”

“I know, Denji.”

He frowns, bending down to wring a towel through cool water before laying it over your forehead. Smoothing down the cloth just because he feels useless otherwise. Denji gnaws his bottom lip as he thinks, sitting on the edge of your bed to hold your clammy hand.

“Do you want soup?” he murmurs unsurely, watching you wince and swallow hard before nodding slowly. With a new and apparent objective in mind, Denji beams down at you before rushing off, “Okay!”

Soon after, he returns with an off-white bowl shaking in his hands before sitting beside you again on the bed. You blink up at him with crinkly, boogery eyes and croak out desperately, “...chicken noodle?”

“Chicken noodle,” Denji nods surely, spooning soup up and into your mouth, “I tried not to make the broth too hate.”

“Thanks, Denji.”

“‘Cuz if I burned your tongue I think I’d skin my hand.”

You chuckle weakly, sputtering phlegm and wheezing as you do before soothing a hand over your chest, “Thanks, Denji.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he happily feeds you more soup, feeling his whole body go lighter and lighter the longer you go eating his food without throwing it up. He knows it’s a little strange, but he remembers eating all of Aki’s cooking because he wanted Aki to know he appreciated it -- and he prays now that you might have the same motivation.

“Tea,” you’re mostly mouthing the word, desperate to avoid harsh scratching against the sore spot in the back of your throat.

“Tea!” he hugs the emptied bowl to his chest (still getting the drippy remnants of chicken noodle soup on his shirt), prepared to rush out of your shared bedroom before pausing, “With honey, right?”

You nod sluggishly, yawning into the open air.

Denji’s eyes light up excitedly, “Lots of honey, right?”

Again, you nod. More so to entertain Denji than anything.

When he returns, it's with a steaming mug and a spoon in his mouth. You point at the spoon with a shaky finger and he speaks clumsily around it, “Honey!” he plucks out the spoon and lays it in his lap when he sits to avoid setting it on your nice dresser. Then he hands the warm mug to you, “And honey here, for my honey.”

You grimace playfully, rasping a “corny”, before blowing into the tea and sipping.

“‘s true,” he wants to lay down with you, but you’d whack him upright -- too stacked with preemptive guilt of spreading germs onto Denji to let him cuddle you.

“My neck feels slimy…”

“Shit,” he feels over the folded cloth on your head, “It’s warm!” he dips his fingertips into the large bowl of water he kept to re-moisten the cloth, “Warm!”

Denji runs off to the bathroom and soaks the cloth in cold water to slick over your feverish forehead before refilling the water bowl. Your heavy eyes follow him through the doorways, he stumbles and his hands are unsteady but he’s helpful. You’re sure Aki whipped him into shape on one of his rare sick days. Then, the thought of Power strikes and you’re almost giggling aloud -- what a nightmare that Fiend would be if she got ill.

“Back!” Denji cheers, settling the bowl down and stirring a single finger through the iced water, “Nice and cold for ya. If you overheated that’d be bad.”

“I know, Denji.”

“‘Cuz I don’t want you sick anymore,” he pouts.

Soothed by good humor, you smile genuinely and wave off his worry, “I know, Denji.”

#denji x reader #denji x y/n #denji x you #denji fluff #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader

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carolmunson · 8 months

Text

you keep me without chains | em.

this is a re-post of a ramble fic of me processing some stuff i've been through and am struggling with in my own healing. if you're familiar with my 'bad at feelings' series, it's in a similar vein of writing except eddie is incredibly soft and sweet to reader who is going through her own stuff. eddie sucks here, i don't think it's a correct characterization of him but it's just me using him as a placeholder.

originally, i didn't want to put this story in the tags because it's sad and explores the mindset of someone in a non-physically abusive relationship. however, since it is DV awareness month, i wanted to make sure to express that if there are people reading this who are struggling that they aren't alone and there are people there that understand and support them. and also that if there are younger readers reading (still eighteen plus!) who aren't sure if they are in an abusive relationship they are maybe able to get some context via fiction. my inbox is always open. DV Hotline US: 800-799-7233 DV Hotline UK: 0808 2000 247 tw: 18+ mindors dni, references to emotional and psychological abuse, minor threats of physical violence.

he left this morning with a kiss on your cheek and your lips, a nuzzle against your temple when you gave him two thermos's, one with hot black coffee and the other with the beef stew you made last night. hot hot hot. the way he likes it.

you made bread, so crisp on the outside, pillowy soft on the inside. he groaned when he popped it in his mouth at the dinner table, soaked in broth and butter. you warmed some in the oven when you put his lunch together, wrapping it in foil to trap the heat -- maybe it'll keep until his lunch hour. he might eat it all before his lunch hour. he never eats breakfast really.

you clean the counters and do the laundry while he's away. no kids to take care of, not yet at least. you mend his spare coveralls, treating the grease and oils stains, resewing his name tag stiched in red thread. you shine your mary janes and stilettos, shine his doc's just to be nice. you fix his patches on his vest from the last show he went to. you clean the stubble out of the sink in the bathroom.

he has the car so there's nowhere to go.

you shower, you do your hair, put make up on, go through the motions while he's not home. he hates to wait for you to do it but you hate looking tired when you're out and about. better to do it when he's busy doing something else.

next door neighbor is heading to the library, knocks on your door to see if you wanna come with. she just wants you to get out of the house for once, stop playing wife to a man who hasn't married you yet.

you hesistate, wanting to be home in time to make dinner, but you can't imagine the library taking too long so you go. she looks at you with a strained pity that you can't stand. he doesn't hit you, so why does she even look at you like that? he'd never do that. he just got back from all that shit with a few screws loose. he never knows what he means when he says it.

he's always sorry. y'know? he's always sorry. sorta.

doesn't hit you but you know how the day will go by the way he says good morning. by the way he wakes up with you -- or without you. know how the night will go by the way he breathes when he comes in through the storm door. by the cadence of his steps on the metal stairs. by the way the van pulls in.

sometimes things break and that's fine cause he just replaces them. he knows he shouldn't have thrown it, he knows he shouldn't have tossed it, he knows. he knows. that's why he gets it the very next day. new plates, new house phone, new coffee pot, new records, new casettes, new picture frames, new flower pots. he doesn't throw them at you. he's only punched the wall twice. he slams his head against it all the time. cause he knows he's not good. he knows. you go to the library and check out some books, laugh at your neighbors jokes, tell her about your weekend in the city visiting his friends. he held your hand in front of everyone and pulled you onto his lap, he joked with you and you laughed the whole time. you went to see a band play that you'd never heard of and he got you a t-shirt and the next morning you all went out for hot chocolate and breakfast and he kissed the whipped cream off your lips and ran his thumb over your engagement ring over and over. he never stopped calling you baby. so charming. so perfect. you don't know what you did to earn it, but you've been chasing it ever since. modeling that week's behavior into this one. tip toes through the tulips of the trailer. jagged. shell like.

you get home from the library and lunch, she even stops with you when you mention you have to go to the grocery store. out of eggs for meatloaf, needed some canned string beans for one of the sides.

it's the best dinner you've made in a while and the mashed potatoes are double whipped and extra buttery because he can never get enough of them. you know that it's little things like that. you love the smile he gets when you tell him you do some things just for him, so blushy and boyish.

'that's so nice, baby,' he gushes, 'thinkin'a me.' and god he gushes. cries when he can't contain it. saw you in a new dress and wiped his eyes. new hair cut sent him into orbit.

so pretty.

you're so beautiful, i don't deserve you.

you're gorgeous i -- i can't even like, think.

presents on your birthday. handwritten notes with tear drops washing over the ink in a wave, blurry letters blue and black, black and blue. he'd never hit you. too in love. too bursting with affection when he looks at you. too nervous when you look at him when he takes you out. when he plays a show. when he sees you get dressed into your pjs at night. you're so good to me. especially when you hold him through those nightmares. when you calm his anxiety, those deep breath panic attacks. the ones that the meds miss when he misses them. you're patient through the mood swings and he always says thank you. he always says it -- you're the only one that understands him. that sees him. sometimes you don't get it. that's what he says at least. you don't get it and that makes him upset. but you're not sure what there is to get. and you try not to get sad about it -- 'bout anything really 'cause you're not the one who got a few screws knocked loose. nothing bad like that happened to you. i mean, sure, maybe some bad things happened to you but not like the way bad things happened to him, right? you wouldn't get it. but he gets you, he tells you all the time. he gets you so well. symbiotic. the only person who knows you, the only person whose been in your skin -- right? at least that's what he says, and he's said it so long you can't help but believe it.

your eyes fall on the newly vased roses he bought you two days ago from the florist near the shop. bright red petals opened and fat, contrasting against the pea green of the walls. you smile at them while you pour gravy over each plate, extra on his mashed potatoes. he kissed you this morning, he was almost late leaving the house -- couldn't stop kissing you. couldn't stop looking at you with those brown eyes, sparkling with a mischief saved for tonight.

the van rolls in as you set the table, still in your outfit from earlier, the books you checked out on the counter need the flowers. the storm door opens off kilter, your throat constricts. you know by the way he doesn't say anything when he comes in the house. work boots kicked off with loud thumps. his jacket swishing with a thwap when he throws it with a grunt to the ground. something bad must've happened at work. 'hey honey,' you say quietly, 'got dinner for you.'

you know better, watching him turn the corner into the dinette, looking down at you from where he stands and you sit. you hold a mug full of orange juice on the table, fingers tapping on it silently while he holds his gaze. 'you goin' somewhere, dressed up like that?' he asks, there's nothing behind those sparkling eyes now. dulled out to hollow brown.

'no,' you shrug, you know how to coreograph your responses now -- still stepping on his toes sometimes, 'went to the library with gina, she just wanted a friend for some errands.'

'you know gina doesn't like me,' he nods, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, 'she doesn't like us together. she hates me.'

'she doesn't hate you, ed,' you assure, voice still calm, mediating, 'no one hates you.'

'your folks hate me, your sister hates me,' he nods, curls bouncing while he takes a swig, like it's normal conversation. so steady, 'you think they like that i got you ever here in this trailer park?'

'my parents don't ha--'

'they do.' and that's final. you don't argue. and he's right. your parents don't like him and that's why you don't call anymore, and they stopped calling you too. so did all your friends from back home.

'so what'd gina tell you about me today, then?' he presses.

'nothin'," you shrug, 'we didn't talk about you.'

'of course not,' he laughs but it's one that sends a chill under your skin, a laugh to not seem so mean when you know he's about to be, 'she was prob'ly tryna set you up with someone. that's why you got all dressed up right? anything to look good for other guys out there.'

's'cuse me?' 'you heard me,' he nods, voice still steady like nothing's wrong, 'that's why you wore all those tight jeans in the city last weekend, right? those dresses? tryna show off to harrington and the guys. don't act like i didn't notice.'

'what are you talking about? why didn't you say anything when we were there?' you heart rate quickens, you try not to get mad.

'i shouldn't have to. but that's how you are, y'know?' he shrugs, another swig, another chuckle, 'makin' dinner and everything, you must've been out there makin' eyes at everyone if you made my favorite.'

'i wasn't doing that,' you urge, voice raising, tears threatening to pool, 'i just made it cause you like it, cause it makes you happy.'

'so you just do anything to make sure i don't get mad? do you even know why you do stuff like this for me?' he asks.

'what are you even saying?' your voice raises again, a mild yell. you're frazzled now, heart racing, head already scrambled.

'don't yell, what're you -- fuck babe, see! this is why gina doesn't like me,' he grits through his teeth, 'cause you're always making a scene over nothing. you're over fuckin' reacting.'

'i --' your voice catches in your throat, quieting, 'i'm sorry? i'm sorry.'

'd'you even know what you're sorry for?' he nearly sneers, 'always sayin' your sorry over nothing. y'know somethin' babe, sorry loses it's meaning when you're sayin' it all the time. it doesn't mean anything from you anymore.'

you nod, losing your resilience, too confused about how quickly you got here -- and he's right. you're always apologizing but half the time you don't even know what you're apologizing for. just that you feel like you need to be sorry. like you need to say sorry.

he holds that stare on you like he's waiting for you to speak again. daring you to say something. you stare down at the wood grain of the table, blank and empty -- numb, even. the mug between your hands is warm from how hard you were gripping the ceramic to keep you grounded.

's'what i thought,' he nods, voice a low rumble while he makes his way to the bathroom.

he'd never hit you.

the slam of the bathroom door makes you flinch.

sometimes you wish he would. maybe it would hurt less than this. at least that physical pain fades, right? at least it wasn't the same dull ache on a bruise that won't go away. are you hemmorhaging? do you just not feel it yet? will it be too late when you do?

he slides into bed with you at night after spending the rest of the evening out back with the other couples and families that were smoking ribs, having a little fire out in the brush. he smells like cigarettes. you could hear his grizzly laugh through the windows while you laid in the dark of your bedroom. too tired after the way he spoke to you to do anything else. everyone's favorite mechanic loverboy in the park.

you feel his fingertips on your shoulder, one of them gliding down the slope of your arm. he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, your eyes shut -- blearing with tears from that dull ache.

'dinner was really good, baby,' he says softly, a whisper.

you try to get out a thank you but it becomes a choke, a sniffle, a gasp. then a cry and then a harder one, remembering how he rolled his eyes at you two weeks ago when you cried after he threw out the love letter you wrote him for your four year anniversary because 'you didn't mean any of that shit anyway'.

he sits up, shushing you softly while his hand smooths over your bicep.

'what is it, sweetheart?' he asks, 'are you mad at me?'

you shake your head no. looking up at him, lying flat on your back. he looks so handsome in the moonlight, concerned eyes and tilted head peering down at you. 'n-no, ed. m'not mad at y-you,' you push out, head still scrambled. you feel guilty about last weekend, about going out today. what if guys really were looking? you know you weren't looking at them but what if they got the wrong idea? gina doesn't know what she's talking about, she's always hated ed. ever since they were kids.

'you just havin' one of your moments?' he asks, soothing voice, 'yeah?' one of your moments. always just one of your moments. couldn't be him, you're just -- maybe you're over thinking it.

'yeah,' you nod, 'm'sorry i went out with gina, baby i -- she didn't say anything bad about you.'

'it's okay,' he smiles, 'm'not mad at you. never mad at my girl.'

'no?' you ask, swallowing hard -- your heart leaps. he's not mad. maybe he just had a rough day.

'no doll, m'never mad at you. you always think i'm mad at you,' he says, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to roll down the sides of your face to your hair line, 'you need me to kiss it better?'

another sob rips through you, nodding, because you do. you need it. and you sort of hate that you need it. you hate yourself for needing it. but he kisses you and it does feel better. he knows how to kiss you just right, he always has. he knows just where to put his hands. just how to pull away and brush his nose against yours. how to kiss your forehead between affirmations. smooth and understanding, like a movie scene. his kisses are his apologies. his sorry. you accept it every time.

because he doesn't hit you and he never would. in the morning, when the bathroom door slams so hard the walls vibrate, you flinch.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #dark!eddie munson #dark eddie munson #stranger things au #stranger things angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction

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leech-drinker · 9 months

Text

nosramus fluff to fuel an addiction

@twotruckschillinginahottub has a crush on a decrepit old man stalking the dungeons but he is so babygirl and I am an enabler<3

Time doesn't seem to flow the same down in the dungeons. The last time you saw daylight it was midday, the hot sun high in the sky. In stark difference, the dungeon air is cold and dry. You could've been down here for several hours...days...perhaps even a week.

In the present moment you are stumbling in dimly lit tunnels, you run your hand across the wall to find your way. You see movement in the darkness and freeze, you're certain that there can't be anything actually there. You must be seeing things.

"Are you lost?"

A voice lingers in the air, it steals your breath and your heart surges blood into your aching limbs.

The body of the voice comes closer, at first you believed it was another one of those eerie squid like beasts. But, after you squint you realize the figure is humanoid.

"How did you even find yourself down here? You don't even have a weapon...you must be lucky."

If your voice wasn't so weak you would've laughed.

On second look this stranger was the prettiest thing you've seen in the dungeons, a nice change of pace from the other horrors you've witnessed. Obviously they have been here for a long time, messy pale blonde hair hangs over the floor and obscures his smooth skin and sunken eyes. He wears a simple brown robe but what is so unique about it is that there is not a tear or stain on it. As if this garment was just made yesterday. You look down at your own worn down boots and blood soaked cloak and blush. In a large city this man would be quite ordinary, but here, down in what you assume is probably the fourth circle of hell disguised as a mineshaft, a well maintained man in simple clean clothes seems astonishing.

"My name is Nosramus. Would you like to follow me to my lab?"

The fleeting thought of this man strapping you to a desk and dissecting you doesn't prevent you from nodding your head. You follow him...out of desperation. Or at least that's how you justify it in your head. Desperation and nothing else.

You stumble about in the darkness again, this time following the blonde hair dragging along the floor. The both of you walk in the winding road of the dungeons for a while and stop at a heavy metal door.

You watch Nosramus pull a key from his sleeves and unlock the door. Immediately the door opens as if it were weightless. Light floods out and stings your eyes. Behind the door is a polished library of stone and other various contraptions used for science you assumed. Nothing sharp or pointy looking, that was a good sign.

"Take a seat. I can get you something to eat."

You sit on a wooden stool as he walks over to a stove. He grabs a kettle to pour himself a cup of yellowish tea.

He returns to you with a soup, it smells of pig fat and steamed vegetables. The bowl is slightly misshapen when you hold it, unable to contain your impulse you sip the broth until all that remains is the chunks of potato and carrot. Nosramus watches you with an amused smile.

"I assume you like it?" He says as you pick up the wet vegetables with your hands.

You look up at him and nod, suddenly embarrassed for eating with your hands.

"You don't seem to talk much...perhaps if you get some rest you will become more sociable?

In the lantern light of the library Nosramus emits an unnatural glow.

"It's probably rusty by now but I have a cot behind those shelves if you want to sleep there."

You reason with yourself, this man has let you into his residence, has fed you and is now asking you to nap in his room. In the absolute worst case scenario, the soup was drugged and after you pass out he will brutally murder you. You tilt your head in thought, despite how...peculiar he looks...his smile seems sincere. You've already gone this far trusting him so why stop now?

Warily you nod your head once again. His genuine smile appears once again and you feel a slight twitch in your chest and your ears turn red and warm.

He directs you to a corner where an old but clean cot lies against the wall. To your left you see a wide map of the known world carved into the wall.

"Rest well, understood? I'll be doing some reading...I hope you do not mind if you hear me reading aloud." He explains as he holds a thick book.

You sigh deeply as you relax into the cot...it creaks slightly. You face Nosramus once again before closing your eyes.

Minutes later you hear his voice again as you balance on the edge of sleep. He speaks in a language you do not know in hushed tones. You hear the sound of fluttering pages.

Somehow, you have never felt safer.

#nosramus #enki ankarian #fear and hunger #fear & hunger #enki #f&h #fanfic #x reader #cahara fear and hunger #gay #nonbinary #reader #for my moot #hi #ur welcome #funger #fear and hunger fanfic #funger enki #fear and hunger fanart

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meowzfordayz · 5 months

Text

cast iron

Author’s Note: inspiration truly is everywhere — even elbows deep in a sink washing dishes. 🫧

cast iron

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: none

~faqs~

You know Bakugo’s fallen in love with you the day he lets you wash his cast iron pan. He’s meticulous about the thing; a handed down, family “secret” that he only revealed after a year of dating to cook your anniversary dinner…

… not including the months it’d taken for him to randomly exclaim So are we together together or are we friends?! his face red and puffy as you’d blinked slowly, taking a moment to process his outburst. What do you want? you’d deflected, heart nearly beating out of its cage, to which he indignantly replied Nope. I asked first! Your achingly familiar laughter ringing in his pinkened ears as your assured answer brightened his gaze We’re together together… I hope? He’d rolled his eyes, that overwhelming sensation of longing tucked neatly away, his chest broad and exuberant as he scoffed Well obviously.

You hadn’t actually gotten to watch him cook—he’d surprised you by taking over your apartment while you were at work, perfecting the meal for your return—but you’d taken note of the soaking pan (all other cleaning already completed, of course) when you’d peeked into the kitchen.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you gush, salivating as the scent of the broth in your spoon wafts to your nose, “My entire place smells amazing!” “Yes you can,” he grunts You already do, the softest of a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, “Eat.” Nose scrunching, you happily acquiesce, a tangle of lime, fresh chili, and coconut milk (plus a hint of fish sauce) melting warm on your tongue. You dip your spoon again, this time capturing a cute button mushroom, its fleshy underside soaked in flavor and heat as you take a contented nip. “How is it?” He tries to sound nonchalant, eyes hardly meeting yours, right hand clutching his own spoon with calculated casualness, but you know better. You’ve loved him for 365 days, after all. Bakugo doesn’t give a damn what people think, because Bakugo knows what he is and what he doesn’t aspire to be. But Katsuki? Katsuki cares, perhaps a little too much. “Delicious!” you declare, “Definitely spicy, but not unbearable. And there are so many subtleties… I swear it tastes different yet better with every bite.” “You’re so dramatic,” Katsuki snorts, grinning proudly nonetheless, eyes raising to feel your praise, acutely aware of how you might’ve just described him. — You spring up when you’re finished, determined to get to the remaining pan before he can, but you’re stopped almost as soon as the thought occurs. “Sit.” His voice is quiet, stress not veiled in the slightest. “But the-” “I’ve got it.” You pout for a second, arms crossing as you sit down, head shaking fondly at his protectiveness. “I know how to wash cast iron.” “So tell me why you don’t own a single cast iron pan,” he retorts. “High maintenance,” you quip, eyebrow raising pointedly. Grumbling to himself, Katsuki stands and clears the table, pressing a chastising kiss to your forehead before walking toward the kitchen. “Takes one to know one.” “Heeeyyy!!!!!”

The pan goes home with him in the morning—sometimes in the afternoon on a lazy Sunday—an unassuming tool of tenderness and self reliance. Katsuki, selflessly devoted. Bakugo, foreign to the touch of affection. You don’t feel half loved, nor do you feel that you love half a man (Bakugo Katsuki, for all of his faults, is a wonderful partner and admirable person), but you often wonder how he feels. As he scrubs at the buildup of grease and grime, clear water gradually turning murky, his reflection still visible as scraps of onion and garlic float to the surface… rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. How do you get a man who loves so deeply to see that same love shining back at him? A man so attentive and observant to the quirks and whims of his lover… and afraid to share his own, lest they be unwanted or unfulfilled.

“Can you wash the pan tonight?”

You gawk. Not your finest reaction, but certain instincts can’t be avoided.

“I thought you knew how to wash cast iron?” Katsuki teases, pulse in his throat, “Or did you say that to impress me?”

“I…” you falter, unsure whether to continue tiptoeing or reach for him outright. He starts toward the kitchen, stare more guarded than you remember, and you blurt, “I figured you’d never ask.”

He freezes, indiscernible emotion clenching in his jaw. And then he chuckles. He chuckles and swivels to look at you, ruby eyes twinkling with uncharacteristic yet so beautiful shyness, tone rough like the homey crackle of a winter fire, soothed by the languid drip of honey into chamomile tea.

“Silly,” he rasps, your fingers curling around his waist, plates and silverware caught between your almost embrace, “I love you.”

—

He watches you scrub at breadcrumbs and spring onion, water practically scalding, and not a soap sud in sight. You work methodical and efficient, the pan hardly banging against the sink when you change angles and sections, each glance you direct his way brimming with amusement and adoration.

“I feel like I should pay you,” you hum, giving the pan its final rinse, “You’re basically my personal chef at this point.”

“Absolutely not,” Bakugo scowls playfully, poking your side before gently taking the cleaned pan from your hands, “This is more than enough.”

#katuski bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #one shot #modern au #boko no hero academia #my hero academia

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mynamesaplant · 4 months

Text

Day Trip

This one took a lot to get out of my head. Thanks to Mons for their endless inspiration and for urging me forward. --------------------------------------------------------------------

Summary: Dawn spends the day with Mai, and Gaeric is pissed about it.

Don't like to read on Tumblr? Find it here on AO3.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Diamond Clan wasn’t too far offshore, the village nestled in the deep channels of a mighty river delta that flowed through the whole of Hisui. The waters were considerably warmer than that of the northern shore and, although Dawn’s mer body was well adapted to that kind of water, it was a welcome change. She would be cold when she got out of the water, but she wouldn’t be at risk of hypothermia when she clambered out from the sea…

Dawn was caught mid-thought, Adaman sweeping his arms this way and that around the settlement while she lagged behind. Where did her clothes go when she transformed? Did her clothes turn into her pearly coat? Her hair was usually soaked when she exited the water, it was why she started bringing a towel down with her, but her clothes only got wet when she was out of the water and her sopping wet hair dripped on her warm clothes.

Magic could be so weird.

“Dawn,” Adaman calling her name pulled her out of her contemplation and she worked to catch up to the clan leader, his young face pinched with annoyance. “Mustn’t waste any time, Mai is waiting for you.”

This was news to Dawn. In fact, this whole situation was a little odd to her.

The Diamond clan was not unfriendly, far from it, it was just that the Pearl clan tended to gather her up rather protectively and whisk her away to the cold waters of their territory. Adaman had specifically intercepted Ingo and Dawn on their way to the settlement. The man’s scales glittered in the late morning sun as he circled around them in a hypnotic sort of dance. It was relaxed, especially for someone like Adaman who Dawn was sure was unable to relax given his impeccable sense of time.

Although Adaman could be deceptively fast with a few quick swishes of his tail, it didn’t seem like he wanted to attack or to lull them into a false sense of security, but he was acting decidedly un-Adaman-like with his small talk. Ingo chatted with him politely but was bristling with each interruption as the Diamond clan leader managed to insert himself between them and their intended destination.

It took Dawn a few passes to realize, but Adaman seemed to be herding them back to Diamond clan territory with his ever-tightening circles. He knew that infringing on Ingo’s space would make the warden want to put more distance between himself and Adaman, the blue haired mer was taking advantage of that.

“Lord Adaman,” Ingo’s voice finally cut through the conversation like a spear launched through the water. “I’m terribly sorry, but I must get Dawn to the settlement posthaste. Mistress Calaba has a lesson for her today about the practical uses of seaweed for dressing wounds.”

Unbeknownst to Ingo, Dawn made a face of revulsion. Seaweed was not amongst her favorite things. Seaweed was both slimy and rubbery to her adolescent taste buds and smelled of rotten dead fish to her, from the kombu that Beni used to make his seafood-based broths to the seaweed salads she distantly remembered her mother trying to feed her when she was young. When Dawn swam in the sea, she was the only one to screech in panic as pieces of seaweed clung to her bare legs, her brain conjuring images of sea monsters that would drag her to the deep to drown her.

She would rather die than learn more about the disgusting vegetation that the sea had to offer.

“Ingo!” She hissed, loud enough for both of them to hear, but low enough to clue into both of them men of the conspiratorial nature of her beckoning hand. Ingo excused himself and leaned down, his ear close to Dawn as she whispered to him, “Maybe I should go with him. We don’t want to offend Adaman by rejecting him, y’know?”

The warden paused to consider this. It wasn’t that he didn’t take it under advisement, he just wanted to keep an eye on Dawn, and he would not be permitted to tag along to Diamond clan territory with them. His concerns lie with her… chatty disposition. Dawn was a friendly girl, it was nearly impossible not to like her, but she often spoke first and thought later.

“Is there a specific purpose for Dawn’s departure to your station?”

He was trying to stall without being perceived as rude. Adaman waved his hand, mentioning something about Mai needing some help with some items Dawn would find of interest. Ingo was not listening.

He would not be there to help her recover if she said something suspicious. He would not be able to protect her if Diamond clan saw through, at times, tissue thin lies that she had to spin on the fly. If they tried to hurt her – No, Ingo didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how small and delicate she was compared to every other mer. He didn’t want to think about how Melli and Iscan were already suspicious of her.

All he had to do was say no, then it would be the end of that discussion. Adaman would have to accept his choice.

“Ingo,” she must have seen something in his dour expression change minutely, she poked his cheek with a pout on her face. “Trust me. I promise not to say a word.”

He truly wanted to believe that.

“Exhibit caution around Melli and Iscan if they are there. Understood?” Dawn gave him a thumbs up and a bright smile. This was a fun, new adventure for her. “Please do not take this lightly. If anyone were to find out-”

“I’ll be careful!”

She insisted, big black eyes pleading to let her go. His ear twitched and his eyes softened at the expression, nodding in Adaman’s direction in a wordless acknowledgement. Ingo knew Diamond clan was just as protective of pups as Pearl clan was, she would be safe with them.

“I believe Calaba will understand… I will expect you back here promptly before sunset, so that I might escort Dawn back to the settlement unscathed.”

Adaman nodded, offering his reassurances as Dawn joined him at his side. The warden tried to ignore the uneasy churning in his stomach as he watched them go.

After Adaman’s little tour of the settlement, he and Dawn joined Mai at the outskirts. The warden was chatting with some of the other clan members when she noticed their approach and broke off the conversation to greet them. Dawn liked Mai, she was the second mer she ever met, and she had been nothing but kind to her. She was one of the few who didn’t outwardly said anything about Dawn being unusual for a mer. Not even weird looks. Mai was easy-going and took every Dawn said in stride with a serene, unbothered expression.

“Ready to go on a little adventure, kiddo?”

Mai asked after her initial greeting, smile widening when Dawn nodded emphatically. Ushering the teen away, the warden explained that she needed Dawn’s help searching the insides of a wreckage from one of the rifts.

Dawn encountered many rift distortions on land and in the sea, they came in the form of dark bubbles that blotted out the light around it. They would only last for a few minutes, but strange things would appear in them that seemed familiar to Dawn. She explored them, hiding from the animals that were going berserk – like being inside the rifts was driving them into a state of madness. Captain Cyllene, Professor Laventon, and Ingo all warned her to stay out of them, Laventon saying half heartedly because he was also so excited to see what things appeared inside those mysterious distortions.

“What fell through the distortion this time?

“Not sure if I’m being honest.” Mai hummed, allowing Dawn to race ahead and play in the water in her excitement. “They’re big, almost as big as me, so I can’t get inside to investigate.”

“Why not ask Arezu or Sabi?”

Mai was silent for a moment, long enough for Dawn to swivel her head to look at the warden.

“Sabi gets distracted to easily, and Arezu is… indisposed.”

Although the moment was stilted, Dawn shrugged it off and allowed herself to drift back to fall alongside her. She knew why Mai and Adaman had wanted her help as soon as the water grew colder and colder. Gaeric wouldn’t attack Mai for entering their territory with Dawn in tow. It sucked to be a chess piece, but if it got Dawn out and about in the ocean then she supposed she didn’t mind.

------

Ingo returned empty handed and prayed that he ran into Calaba first. He knew one person who would not be thrilled that his ward was not accompanying him. Although Gaeric was only slightly smaller than him, his fellow warden had mastered a level of stealth that would have been envied by the likes of octopi and flatfish. Despite his best efforts, Gaeric had found him, and he was watching Ingo’s impassive face closely. They hadn’t known each other long, but Gaeric was inexplicably good at catching the minute details that his closed off expression had to offer.

“You look more mopey than usual. What’s the problem?”

Before Ingo could get a word in edgewise, he noticed Gaeric’s nostrils flair and his eyes moved around the cavern, not seeing Dawn and instantly becoming suspicious.

“I assure you I am not moping.”

“Uh-huh,” Gaeric hummed, clearly not listening, and leaned in closer to peer around him. Dawn was nervous around him thanks to past interactions, so she took to hiding behind the large mer. “Where’s your pup? You smell like her, but I don’t see her.”

Ingo was not the lying sort, especially not with his clan mates, and, despite knowing Gaeric would not like the answer, he told his fellow warden the truth.

“Ah, she is spending the day with Diamond clan to get better acquainted with them.”

“SHE WHAT?”

------

The long metal tube that Mai eventually led her to looked as though it had been here for a while. There was no crater that would have telegraphed the momentum of such a large object crashing into the ocean floor. The sand had settled around the outside of the tube, like it had been here for a while.

“There shouldn’t be anything in there that can hurt you, but I’ll be right here if you need me, alright?”

Mai pried opened the double doors, a flurry of bubbles escaping the tube just before Dawn poked her head inside. The warden didn’t let the door close. She wanted to leave an easy exit for Dawn just in case something was in there.

Dawn prodded around. The tube was pretty barren, a few blown out glass windows and what seemed to be structural polls, and colorful bench seats. Whatever had been in the tube had most likely drifted away by this point or was scavenged by the local sea life.

Limp safety posters had turned mostly transparent from the salt water dotted the walls, the symbols seeming somewhat familiar to the teen as she swished before them, squinting at the assemblage that offered a warning. She remembered that big red text often indicated something important or dangerous to the reader.

“Is there anything specific I should be looking for?”

She asked Mai, tearing her eyes from the posters that seemed to only grow blurrier the longer she looked at them.

“No, nothing in particular.” The warden admitted, peering into the car with a massive eye. “I know you take an interest in this stuff.”

“Oh! Thanks Mai.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

Huh, how funny, Gaeric referred to her by the same little nickname. Actually, she and Gaeric bore a lot of similarities.

Dawn didn’t spend nearly as much time with Diamond clan as she did with Pearl clan, especially since many of their number were more suspicious of her, but she did know Mai was the eldest warden and everyone seemed to look up to her like everyone did with Gaeric.

Somehow, what they felt resonated with Dawn. She felt like a lot of people looked up to her for guidance wherever she was from. That was when she felt a mild buzzing blooming at the back of her head, uncomfortable and hot when she lifted her hand to run the spot tenderly. This always happened when she tried to remember something from before she dropped into Hisui. Did she maybe have siblings or people close enough to call siblings? She felt like she knew the pressure of having all eyes on you and she could sympathize with Mai and Gaeric.

“I don’t think there’s anything in here, Mai.”

“That’s unfortunate. Some of the things you find are real treasures.” That made Dawn blush, a sheepish smile coming to her face as she exited the tube. Mai was always taking interest in what the pups did and said, listening with an idle fascination, a soft smile, and infinite patience. “There are a few more of these closer to the drop off, let’s go take a peek. Stay close to me.”

------

Ingo expected the roar of indignation, it rattled the very foundations of the icy space. He attempted to be calm, but knew it was fruitless, nothing was going to keep Gaeric calm at this point.

“The situation is temporary. She was quite insistent that she go to maintain the piece between the clans.”

The interrogation that followed wasn’t unexpected, but his fellow warden’s explosive reaction was not entirely expected at the mention of Mai.

“Mai? MAI? Ingo, we have to go get her right now!”

Ingo looked at him, utterly perplexed as Gaeric’s whiskers twitched with a barely contained frustration. Mai was the least of his concerns among the Diamond clan. She was kind to Dawn, she knew how to be gentle, but also knew when and how to treat her like the teenager she was. This was something, Ingo noted, that Gaeric failed to understand. He wasn’t sure if it was because he harbored suspicions of Dawn, if he didn’t quite know how to deal with a runty teenager, or a combination of the two. Gaeric was an excellent mentor to the pups, and they all seemed to adore him in return – perhaps Dawn’s distrust of Gaeric made their already tentative relationship more strained.

“I fail to see the issue.”

“Mai’s going to corrupt her!”

“Pardon?”

Gaeric grit his teeth to stifle a growl, hands resting on his shoulders and claws digging into the black fabric as if for emphasis.

“Mai is going to corrupt Dawn. She’s going to twist her mind so that she might be more receptive to the ideologies of their false god.”

Ingo stared at him blankly. Although he practiced the teachings of Pearl clan, Ingo didn’t really understand the nature of the schism and the lingering animosity that arose from it. He was looking at it as an outsider and understood they had differing truths and ideals, but much of what he was able to glean from listening to Melli harp on and on about the topic, much of Diamond clan’s ideology matched up with Pearl clans.

“I understand your concerns, however I think it would be unwise to barrel into a station at full steam.”

His fellow warden closed his eyes slowly, his jaw clenched and a tight smile on his face when he reopened them. Ingo knew Gaeric did this whenever he started to get frustrated with Ingo and didn’t know how to tell him that politely.

“We’re going to go get her.”

“I don’t-”

“Now.”

------

“You don’t like any fish?” She shook her head. “What does Pearl Clan feed you?”

“I eat cooked fish.”

Dawn said, rummaging through the detritus at the bottom of the overturned tube. Some of the things she recognized. Bottles. Little colorful wrappers for sweets. A little hard case that reminded her of a clamshell with a pair of spectacles inside. Glasses case. Dawn lifted the glasses to her eyes and looked toward Mai with a grin. The warden was extremely blurry through the lenses of the glasses.

“How do I look?”

Mai exhaled sharply, less startled and more amused.

“A little silly, but I think you could pull it off.”

Dawn giggled and removed the glasses, finding the shift between her own eyesight and the lenses disorientating.

“I think I might keep these. If you focus the light with something like these, you can start fires pretty quickly.”

“Really?” Mai said mildly, watching her as she tucked the glasses and their case into her little bag. “Who taught you that?”

Dawn was about to answer when she suddenly was met with a wall of white. Not literally, but mentally. Whatever had just been on the tip of her tongue was gone just as quickly.

“I… Don’t know. Not Pearl Clan.”

Not Galaxy Team either. They used a little flint and steel to create sparks for flames.

No, this was knowledge that preceded her time in Hisui. The realization made her heartache with a familiar emotion for a home that she no longer remembered with extreme clarity. A fog that clouded her mind and misted her eyes when something almost seemed familiar. The sensation was hollow when she knew it should ache. Surely, she left people behind – people who missed her… right?

“Dawn?”

Mai’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She didn’t reply but resumed her sweep through the tube with little to show for her searching. A slip of paper with faded colors and letter that seemed familiar. Greens and reds that were nearly opaque from the salt water, but it reminded her of something… She used a slip like this for a boat – a ferry – to take to an island. This tube wasn’t a boat as far as she could tell. Not unless it was a weird underwater boat (which wasn’t even remotely possible to build, how would it be airtight?). In any case, she stashed the slip into her bag. Maybe if she kept it, it would spark something more in her head.

“How many more of these are there?”

“Just one more. The swim is a little longer so, if you get tired, grab my hood and I’ll tow you.”

Dawn insisted she could swim but found it hard to keep up. With each stroke of Mai’s tail, Dawn had to do five to keep pace adequately. She held onto Mai’s hood.

“Mai?” When she hummed in reply, Dawn asked, “Did you ask me to come so you wouldn’t get in trouble with Gaeric if he came across you looking for these tubes?”

The warden snorted, her eyes crinkling at the sides in amusement.

“I’m not worried about that ball of blubber. I could beat Gaeric with one fin tied behind my back… But you’re not wrong.” Mai paused for a moment, seeming to consider what she said next, before admitting to her, “It would be a bad look for Diamond clan if I were to just poke around in Pearl clan’s territory. I might not be causing any problems, but I don’t want Gaeric to fly into a tizzy about this. You being here might at least give him pause.”

In all honesty, Dawn had expected Mai to say something more akin to a reassuring lie. She knew Ingo and the other members of Pearl clan did that, but the Diamond clan warden said each word with sincerity.

Mai didn’t treat her like a baby.

Dawn appreciated that.

------

“Don’t you think you’re worries are a bit… premature?”

Gaeric deliberately ignored him. Nothing he said was going to derail him – Gaeric would march right over to Diamond clan, reclaim Dawn, spit a half threat-half warning, and return to the settlement to scold her. Ingo didn’t think he would let his fellow warden get that far.

Dawn didn’t deserve a scolding for a pragmatic decision.

“Where was the last you saw them?”

Ingo heaved a great sigh and told him where, following in Gaeric’s wake to avoid an incident between him and Mai. Of all the Diamond Clan wardens, Ingo liked Mai best. Not that he disliked the others! No, he just found himself relating to her more. Much in the same way that he related to Gaeric. It made him wonder if, at one point, if he had younger siblings he looked after.

Ingo felt like he must have, that or he had people who looked up to him as if he were an older brother figure.

The orca mer shook the thought from his head and focused on catching up to Gaeric. His expression was dark with annoyance. It did not improve when Ingo asked him his next question.

“Is there a particular reason why Warden Mai in particular makes you concerned?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gaeric asked, jerking his whole body around to reply. He was puffed up with an indignation that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to ingo. Any time that Mai was mentioned, there seemed to be a near instant irritation from Gaeric. Ingo blinked, slowing to a stop, and waiting until Gaeric’s brow twitched and he exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping.

“I was not trying imply anything, Gaeric.”

“I know… Mai’s a lot more conniving than she looks. She’s a Diamond, she shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Do you have reason to believe she would harm Dawn?”

Gaeric hesitated and then shook his head. The next words looked as though they physically pained him to admit aloud.

“No, I trust her to keep Dawn safe. I just don’t like the idea of them spending too much time together.”

Ingo offered a nod.

“We will go retrieve her, but I must insist to calm yourself before we get back on track.”

------

The last tube looms in the distance, the whole thing sticking up vertically in the sand and creaking with their approach. Dawn edged closer to Mai, not liking the look of this one even a little. The sounds, the lack of other sea life, and the precarious way it jutted from the ground made her stomach queasy.

“You’re sure it’s safe, Mai?”

The older mer tilted her head, dark eyes sweeping over it.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I have a feeling that this one might have more little trinkets that you might like just because of how isolated and undisturbed it is, but you can say no and we can head back to the settlement right now.”

Mai gave her an indifferent shrug and a neutral smile, allowing Dawn to make the decision by making her own thorough examination of the tube. This one seemed to be a lot more intact than the others as Mai suggested. This one had what looked like wheels on one side and it dawned on Dawn that the tubes were a vehicle. The word “bus” flashed in her head, but that didn’t sit right with her. It was some form of transportation, but that was the only thing that seemed clear to Dawn. She didn’t voice any of this, of course.

Swimming to the top of the transport, Dawn peered through the cracked glass and saw a few things dangling from the ceiling and a few colorful posters on the opposite end. Those were obscured by dark and sand, but Dawn immediately saw something that jumped out at her.

There was a symbol that stood out as clear as day on the right poster.

“I’ll go in. I’ll be extra careful.”

Dawn insisted, tugging on the doors but unable to open them. She waited, holding back the quiver in her hands when Mai pried the doors apart. She made a beeline for the poster and stared at the shattered glass covering, the same symbol that was on Ingo’s hat was on the poster, albeit almost as faded as the badge.

It was surrounded by symbols that had no meaning to her, but she recognized it as some sort of advertisement. There were… Silhouettes? Gray figures that were all lumped up. Nothing really distinguishable. Gingerly, Dawn pressed her fingers to the glass, absently wondering if there was a way for her to take this out of here to show to Ingo. It truly didn’t even occur to her just how odd that this symbol was here, in this transport that was clearly too small for the massive orca. Her discovery simply excited her for the rationale to cross her mind.

Eyes drifted around, trying to mentally map the space as she thought of other potential problems with this half-cocked plan. The paper would be super fragile, virtually untouchable without disintegrating, in all honestly, but Dawn was unwilling to admit that because she wanted so desperately wanted to show this to Ingo. Could she maybe pry the poster off the wall in its frame? It seemed to be bolted down tight.

Maybe if she had enough leverage…

Dawn’s eyes fell onto the other poster on the other side of the door, and she froze.

She recognized a word on that poster! In fact-

Dawn moved closer to that poster, the uncomfortable prickling in her head growing into a stabbing pain as she forced herself to look.

Sinnoh

That… That was Mount Coronet. But how was that possible?

Something was boiling in the back of her head. The burble of a voice that sounded familiar. It reminded her of Volo for some reason.

… There is a statue of an ancient ... Have you seen it already? According to myth, it was an extremely powerful ... Who knows? You may encounter something like it while you're traveling …

Dawn gasped sharply, her mind and body putting distance between the memories and the poster that were causing her such pain. The water around her face suddenly felt so warm.

------

Finding Dawn and Mai wasn’t too much of an issue. Gaeric had a sixth sense for Diamond clan members, probably from having to deal with sneaky little Sabi, and Ingo had his own sort of sixth sense to Dawn. Her habit of getting into her own sort of mischief made him hyperaware of where she was at all times. To both their surprise, Dawn and Mai were in Pearl clan territory – dangerously close to the drop off.

Why they were there was unimportant, it was imperative that they get them out of there. The drop off was absolutely not a place for pups. Not even a good place for adult mers because of all the strange things that lived in the drop off.

Ingo couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of his first and last hunt over the drop off because he was surprisingly awful at hunting and because he became Lady Sneasler’s warden. However, a hazier recollection was percolating just beneath the surface when they came upon Dawn and Mai. His limbs froze up, stopping all together as Gaeric pressed forward, completely unaware of Ingo’s sudden distress.

A burning pressure in his lungs as if he were holding his breath underwater too long, his thoughts molten from the lack of oxygen before he blissfully passed out. His next memory was of Palina’s dark eyes about six inches from his nose, the pain coursing through his body immense as… what was that thing? Ingo didn’t know, but it was crushing his tail.

The structure - That thing….

“Gaeric-”

Ingo began to say, but the mer was surging forward toward Mai with an intimidating growl. She looked their way, and her expression didn’t change much, indifferent if a little amused by their appearance.

“Warden Ingo. Warden Gaeric.”

It was polite for Ingo and a little frosty for Gaeric. It wasn’t hard to tell they had a history. If Ingo wasn’t acutely aware of minute changes in body language, facial expressions, and the tone and pitch of voices, he wouldn’t have realized. He almost didn’t realize now as a sudden and uncomfortable sensation crawled the length of his considerably long spine.

The structure…

“What is the matter with you? What would possess you to take a pup anywhere near the drop off?”

“I like to give the pups I watch over the benefit of confidence. They get a little more independent when I let them explore and do the things they want to do. I offered Dawn the chance to explore these… things, and now she is, and she loves it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

This structure… why?

“We can’t afford to waste time and coddle our pups into adulthood.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but the space around us is a little less hospitable than your filthy river.”

They said there were no more. Just the one they found him in.

“As precious as you are about your space, at least we were more strategic about picking a location to settle than a damn glacier.”

“What do you know? What do you know about what we’ve gone through when we-”

“Gaeric.”

Ingo’s voice was sharp and cold like an icicle shattering into fragments on the ground. The other Pearl clan warden flinched. His bitterness and agitation in Mai’s presence evaporated when he heard that tone. He had rarely heard Ingo use it and it was petrifying when he did. Even Mai when still and quiet, a breath stuck in her chest as she waited in fearful anticipation. She had never seen Ingo mad – but she wasn’t sure she could call this mad.

“Ingo-”

Gaeric was not permitted to finish.

“You said there weren’t more. You explicitly said there weren’t more. I may have a faulty cab, but I know this is not the same one.”

Ingo did not understand the structures, but they triggered something in his head. Something familiar. He wanted to know so badly what it was. He was found being crushed by one, but nobody really had an explanation for it. Ingo had explored that one top to bottom once he had recovered, trying to find any clues or remnants of information that might clue him into the significance of these things.

Irida had told him after a long search that there were no more. He tried to ask for permission to look for himself and Gaeric jumped in to shoot the idea down. Ingo barely knew the area, he had said, and they had already checked all over – there was nothing left.

Gaeric had lied.

His fellow warden had a flash of something (was it fear?) cross his face before he recomposed and began defending himself.

“What difference would it have made if you had known about this? You couldn’t get in there even if you wanted to. It would have been a wild goose chase.”

“Wow, didn’t realize how much disarray the Pearl clan was.”

Mai smirked, folding her arms and leaning back to watch the show. Now that she knew the anger wasn’t directed at her, she could afford to watch Gaeric get verbally berated. She doubted Ingo had it in him to hurt Gaeric, he was remarkably gentle for a mer of his size, but Ingo could talk circles around people.

“Shut up, Mai.” Gaeric hissed before cutting his eyes back to Ingo. “Listen, I didn’t really know you back when Irida had us fan out to look for your pod. We came across a few of these, but they seem less related to you and more to the rifts that kept popping open. I’m sure they have nothing to do with-”

“You’ve known about this for that long?”

The tone was verging on disappointment, but it was hurt in a way that felt sharp going in and jagged coming out. Gaeric unconsciously crossed his arms and rubbed his biceps, growing more defensive with each passing second and he emitted an incoherent snarl of frustration. Yes, he recognized that he was making excuses. It would be no good to anyone to have Ingo distractedly swimming all over kingdom come.

“What difference does it make?”

There was a flash of wickedly sharp teeth and a deep growl that seemed to make the water vibrate. Behind him, Mai tutted disapprovingly, but Gaeric made no attempt to round on her – his attention was on his clan mate.

“All that time wasted, what a shame.”

“How long?”

The words were ground out with a note of impatience, like Ingo was moments away from lunging forward to shake some sense into him until Gaeric spat out the answer.

“We knew about a month after you arrived.”

“Hm, how peculiar that your Sinnoh did not deem you worthy enough to know of these things in your space sooner.”

A warning growl from Gaeric, but Mai ignored it. It was amusing to watch someone other than herself give Gaeric a hard time. This was easy pickings, but Mai allowed herself to be petty this once. A smile curved her lips, displaying rows of sharp teeth for only a millisecond before it disappeared.

“You kept this knowledge from me? There could have been remnants of my pod there – and now they’re most likely scoured by scavengers and wiped clean by time. This…” He seemed to be at a loss for words, casting his gray eyes around as if seeking out the right string to really emphasis how painful this felt for him. “Your actions are disgraceful.”

“Disgraceful? You think my actions are disgraceful?”

Gaeric bristled with rage, leaning closer to Ingo who remained unmoving and glowering. He opened his mouth, gnashing his teeth like he was between tearing Ingo’s throat out with them or just to intimidate the orca, when something white streaked across his vision. Ingo flinched and Gaeric immediately drew back, Dawn was shoving Ingo’s cheek as if to push him away.

“Stop! Stop! Let’s just go! Come on Ingo, let’s just go. Please? I want to go back to the settlement.”

Fright laced her words, pushing him with all her might until Ingo relented, moving in the direction of the settlement without so much as a backward glance. Crisis narrowly averted for now.

“Ah well.”

Mai sighed, stretching and eyeing Gaeric’s back, his shoulders still tense. She didn’t get to see them tussle.

“Mai?” He hadn’t turned to look at her, Gaeric was still watching the duo retreat into the gloom. “Do you think there’s something off about Dawn?”

It should have been something she laughed off. Gaeric? Asking her something like that? How ludicrous. However, Mai heard something in his voice, something that resonated with her all too well, and it made her pause and really consider what he was asking. He was asking as someone concerned for his people and, even if it felt a little preposterous that Gaeric would be worried about a pup like Dawn, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, just this once.

“I… think I know what you mean? But I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Neither can I.”

Gaeric admitted. He didn’t ask anything else. He wasn’t even really sure why he brought it up, unsure of what prompted the thought in the first place, but it was out there now. Mai slipped away without further comment and Gaeric returned to the settlement, remaining under the radar until the necessary space would give him and Ingo time to reflect on their words.

#thanks for reading!#pokemon #pla #legends of arceus #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon: legends arceus #pokemon legends: arceus #pkmn #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #pla ingo #pla dawn #pla gaeric #pla mai

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kakushino · 7 months

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I’m scared to ask because like I never done this before-

Anyway 👀

Do you think you can make a head cannon thing (or whatever they are called. 🥲) about a male y/n meeting (tanjiro, rengoku, or zenitsu) for the first time but y/n had like major anger issues because of their past (mostly because of their father) and they like later at night they like tell them that their dad was a horrible person and just and soft for the first time to them.

It’s fine if ya don’t want to do it I won’t mind at all :)! But if u do thank you! :D

Tanjiro meeting reader with anger issues

Tanjiro would never judge anyone for their trauma.

Tags: mild violence mention, anger issues, GN! Reader, sfw

Masterlist

AN: I have to admit, this gave me some troubles to write, as I tend to forget "the bad" as a form of coping mechanism. Lots of thanks to A and G for beta-reading and their help in figuring this out! Thank you for your patience and for requesting this! I hope you like it!

The first time Tanjiro sees you, you split your knuckles punching a man much bigger than you. The wrath and distress practically oozing from you make his nose scrunch up a little, but the situation is dissolved before he can step closer to you. You disappear in the next second like vapor above a cooking broth. It makes him wonder who you are, and why you have so much anger in you.

The second time Tanjiro sees you, he actually meets you. Your form is tense as you administer meds to a few of the slayers resting in Butterfly estate. He vividly remembers the way you laid out that man on the streets…

One of the slayers says something he can’t hear but the next thing he knows, you’re pouring tea over that slayer’s head, much to his indignation. Yet again, the anger wafts from your figure as you stalk away, overpowering any other scent he might have caught on you.

Is there anxiety? Is there sadness? All he can smell is anger, and it makes his head spin.

The third time he sees you, you’re sitting on the engawa staring at your hands, callused from labor and fighting. An undercurrent of the previous negative emotions seemingly soaked into your clothing, yet your face is blank. He has to wonder, are you always on the edge? Or does he just happen to see you in such situations?

He feels compelled to sit beside you, and perhaps offer you an ear and a kind word.

Perhaps it is his openness and warmth, but you find yourself spilling your life story to him - how your past left a festering wound behind, and especially how your father created a deep chasm in your mind, heart, and soul. You tell him how you simply can’t keep calm when someone reminds you of the inadequacy and loneliness you always felt when under your father’s thumb, the shame and the distress fueling your fists, and you cannot hold back.

Tanjiro simply listens. He offers no judgment to your character, because anger is not what defines you, it never did. He understands the need to use it as a protection, a wall of defense when anything hits too close to home, he understands and he doesn’t blame you. He doesn’t know how it feels to be related to such a person, but he knows just how to comfort you.

He gives you his hand to hold, and reassures you, tells you that that man shouldn’t call himself a father, tells you that you will find happiness, and that’s one thing he will never experience. Karma is free, and it has its way of coming back around.

The warm embrace you share afterwards is the start of something great for you both, the stars being the only witness to your exchange.

dividers made by the amazing @benkeibear Network: @enchantedforest-network

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tanjiro x reader #kamado tanjiro x reader #kamado tanjiro #tanjiro #tanjiro x you #tanjiro x y/n #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #tanjiro headcanons #kny headcanons #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer fanfic

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honey-tongued-devil · 2 years

Text

↞[arcane preference] with s/o wet due to rain↠

▶[Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Marcus, Silco, Vander, Singed, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika] with s/o wet due to rain (and a bit sad)

I know you missed me <3 I’ve almost finished the exams of this session, so I can write more! I’ve seen some authors join challenges where they write one scenario a day and I’d like to do something similar, in case you have prompt you can dm it to me!

(While I was writing it took a particular meaning, so I specify that in some points is the reader is a little sad/ melancholy)

↠No use of "y/n", gender neutral reader (no pronouns for the reader) ↠TW: fluff?, Sfw ↠Character/s: gn reader, Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Marcus, Silco, Vander, Singed, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika

↠If you have any requests, ask the devil.↞

【Jayce】

The rain doesn’t bother Jayce too much, at least when he’s the one getting soak to the bone.

But when you knock on the door of his dorm room, he casts his eyes in disbelief.

He pulls you into the room quickly, raising the temperature of the thermostat.

makes you sit and offers something warm as he goes to prepare the bath, putting clean towels and his clothes on hand.

If they’re too wide, it’s not a problem, he’ll just look away and shrug, his ears flushing. Clearly, his neurons stopped working on that view.

When you come back from the bathroom you find him busy preparing the bed by putting extra pillows and plaids.

will make you find food, no matter if it is junk food or vegetable broth arranged in that little time, the important thing is that you completely recover

"I thought if you’ve been out in the rain so long it’s because something didn’t go right and... uhm..."

obviously worried, but he won’t force you to talk about it. If you’ve actually just caught the downpour, he’ll give you a lecture about bringing always an umbrella and how health is important

If you actually have something upsetting you, he will just caress the back of your neck

will hold you close if you do not want to talk about it, so that you feel that you are not alone.

【Viktor】

You probably don’t even have to reach him.

Both in the courtyard of the academy soaked to the bone, hair stuck to the face.

on the one hand you are two idiots, on the other the feeling of loneliness, the smell of petrichor, the rain that seems to wash away the problems relaxes you

You go back to the dorm together, arm in arm because of the slippery ground

I can’t really tell what’s the reason, but taken by an unjustified euphoria, mixed with the fact that no one sees you, you would even sing off-key some notes of "Loverboy" to Viktor, who would barely hold a giggle.

It is said that not all evils come to harm, and showering together is proof of this.

It doesn’t have to result in something more, it’s a simple way to replicate the feeling of raindrops on the skin without getting sick.

You enjoy a bit the feeling, a bit the intimacy that is created by gently passing your fingers in each other’s hair.

After the ritual shower you are together wrapped in blankets, talking about more and less with your eyes closed: the exams, the hextech, some embarrassing scene of Jayce happened in the day, up to fall asleep in that position

lulled by the sound of the storm, muffled by the closed glass

【Ekko】

He doesn’t love the rain, but in his defense it is both an obstacle when you move with the hoverboard, both the rain of zaun is so acidic to be almost corrosive.

The first instinct to see you come back to the firelights soaking wet would be to scold you: he is worried, he didn’t see you return to base, he had feared the worst.

Once he gets past the initial reaction, he’ll make fun of you. Look at you, you look like a drowned rat.

he would bring you a warm clothes change and approach you, rubbing the back of your head with a towel partly to remove water from your hair, partly to get a smile out of you.

a quick check to see if you got hurt, ready to medicate you in case, before getting told in detail what you were doing out there, if you saw or did something and how it went.

He would not be too apprehensive, the rain is annoying but it is the least.

But he’s empathetic enough to know if you’ve been taken aback by the sudden rain or if you needed to be alone with yourself.

"Ya know… if something goes wrong you can tell me ‘bout it, if not as a partner at least as a member of this community. We solve problems together. There is no "stupid" or "not serious" problem, if something hurts you"

He’s not one to talk too sentimental, but in these cases he prefers to put aside his character and remind you that you’re not alone

and that if you do not have an umbrella you can stand in two under the same

【Silco】

When you enter his office dripping wet, he looks up from the documents only to raise his brows, before looking back at the pieces of paper, waiting for an explanation.

He is not indifferent to the fact that you are shaking like a leaf, but in his gaze it’s implied a scolding: you should have repaired yourself or should not have gone out at all.

If you don’t feel like explaining yourself, Silco’d just sigh and put the documents in a desk drawer, getting up to go get a plaid hot enough to make you stop shaking.

But he doesn’t wrap you in it or give it to you directly, he walks instead to return sitting on his throne

He places the blanket in such a way that he wrap you when you go to sit on his lap, holding you. It is about respecting the spaces, if you want physical comfort you can hide in his arms, otherwise you can only take the blanket.

Plus, you can take your time.

he would turn on the gramophone, letting the low volume music fill the room.

He doesn’t talk, you already know everything you need to know. He gently runs his fingers through your wet hair until you fall asleep, wrapping you up better.

"Sometimes it’s good for us to carve out a corner of the world for ourselves, to be alone with our thoughts. But don’t overdo it, health is a precious gift."

his lips whisper these words softly against your temple.

He does not mind the rain, the noise relaxes him, so would take advantage of it to stay for a while in intimacy tight in that position, lulled by the notes that fill the air and by the drops of water on the green window

【Marcus】

He wouldn’t really know how to act, he wouldn’t spontaneously do anything other than ask you explicitly if everything’s okay and what he can do.

He’s a simple man: if you tell him to get the tub ready, he does. If you tell him to make a seat for you at the table, he is already in the kitchen.

he’s not stupid, he just doesn’t know what you feel do to and what you don’t, so he shows his concern in helping you the exact way you need help.

If he has already eaten, he will still sit at the table with you, perhaps peeling a fruit while you are busy eating a hot meal.

And he is going to tell you about his day, about the child, about how the Kirammans are giving him white hair.

"You know Marcus, they kinda suit you well. White hair I mean"

He looks up at you before spreading his lips in an idiot smile that never fails to put you in a good mood

"Then I’ll be working overtime for that family. Double shift tomorrow, definitely."

Maybe he doesn’t have loud reactions or exaggerations, but that normality that permeates the room when you’re alone with him makes you feel safe.

When you start eating the fruit, he stands up and disappears into the bedroom.

You are going to find extra pillows and candles, just to create a small corner for you two

【Vander】

The sigh that comes out of his lips is worth more than a hundred words.

He makes you sit at the counter and prepares you a hot drink, something to warm you up with before he crosses his arms.

"So? You don’t have to tell me anything?" can be a little intimidating, but you know he’s just worried. You imagine that he waited for you with anxiety, that he is worried about you and how you feel.

He knows you’re grown and independent, but he still feels responsible for everything that happens in the lanes, and you also know for sure he was ready to blame himself if anything happened to you.

In case it was just a shower, a second sigh would follow, this time to lighten the chest.

he smiles at you tired but full of love. "One day you’ll scare me to death like this"

If you want to talk instead Vander is a great listener, would remain silent and would take some time to answer you, so that he actually looks for a solution or an adequate answer and not just being polite.

very apprehensive, he is the father of four children after all. Once he’s done cleaning the inn, he’ll carry you in his room, cuddling and covering you in attention.

Being in bed together, covered, while he hugs you from behind is the closest thing you can get to heaven

【Singed】

He wouldn’t be too worried, but you can’t blame him, he’s used to things worse than two drops of water.

He’d look up at you, moving his gaze away from his bakers and test tubes to make sure everything is okay, making room for you next to him.

"Something wrong?" the voice is hoarse and low, almost relaxing in its uniqueness.

he puts his vest on your back to cover you as much as possible to warm you up a bit and take off with his thumb a few drops of rain caught between your eyelashes

You know he’s working and he’s busy, and that attention he gives you while his hands are extracting the drug is enough to make you smile.

From time to time he caresses your cheek, while your head rests leaning against the work surface, with the back of his hand, as if to tell you that he is not ignoring you.

You take the opportunity to close your eyes and rest a bit, trying to focus on the noise of glass and the metal that gently clinks.

"Will you tell me about it?"

After a while he stops and looks at you, devoting all his attention to you.

He’s not a talkative man, but he’s a man of science. And when he puts everything on the table, leaning his back against the wall to be able to look at you better you know that he is expressing how important you are.

【Jinx】

perplexed, but amused

"awww, did you go for a walk in the rain?"

It is not a problem if you make the floor wet, but she gives you a signal to not to approach the stationary shovels that act as a bridge to avoid unpleasant accidents.

A lot of questions about why you were out, what the rain was like today, what it tasted like.

She feels enthusiastic even though her fingers are busy tightening bolts and attaching cables.

When you crouch on the sofa next to the creepy dummy, she turns to look at you, you can’t tell the expression, but she throws the device into the void, letting it explode as she approaches.

She doesn’t ask questions, she’s the first one who doesn’t know how to express what’s going on. Jinx just bends over so her face is lower than you, hands on her knees, and tilts her head as she looks into your eyes.

And she is so tender in that moment that you wish you could take a picture of it.

She takes old clothes or rags and sits on your lap, wiping your hair with a playful act, similar to what her sister did with her when they came back from a mission drenched to the bone.

You can’t help but smile as you see her concentrated expression, her incisors exposed by her lips and her tongue between her teeth

She is not good at words, her comfort is physical contact. She would remain embraced by you playing carelessly with your clothes

【Vi】

If it’s her standing in the rain, there’s no problem. She also enjoys the feeling of the rain on her skin as if it could wash away all the guilt she has taken.

But the moment you’re soaking wet, the situation changes.

Vi takes off her leather jacket to put it on your head while you run for shelter, and j

keeps an eye on you, ready to support you if you lose your balance because of the wet roads.

found a shelter keeps you to herself, makes you lean with the head on her shoulder and carelessly stokes your waist

from time to time she takes your hands between of hers and blows on them to warm them up, waiting for the rain to diminish before going home.

holds you closer to herself when she hears thunder or the light of lightning fills the shelter, an instinct that has not lost and probably will never lose.

Once you’re home, she’ll make you undress immediately to wash your clothes, no matter how much you try to reassure her that you’re okay or that you don’t need to, she’ll just give you a scolding look before continuing.

She’s a hundred percent quiet type to cuddle in bed while the storm is raging outside.

If you’re afraid she holds you, falling asleep holding your hand

【Sevika】

She is the first to come home always wet or dirty, so she probably wouldn’t even notice

but as soon as he sees the clothes sticking to your skin she frowns perplexed

"Did you want to take a shower?"

She throws you a towel or something with which you can take the damp off you while she carries an ashtray, two glasses and a bottle of liquor on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

She comes from an environment where you cannot be weak in any way, and everything that is not about something concrete is out of her reach

Sevika sits down and makes room for you on the sofa.

If you’ve just been caught unprepared by the bad weather you drink and talk about more and less, while a hand on your thigh rubs it loosely.

But if something bothers you, she won’t force you to talk about it. Silence isn’t awkward, it’s just an intimate way of communicating.

And if the alcohol makes you want to tell her what’s wrong she will listen to you in religious silence staring at the amber liquid in the glass; she does not touch neither cigarettes nor liquor until you are finished

bonus: if you tell her that someone has wronged you, don’t worry that the rain will not stop her from getting up immediately to go and... “talk to them”.

【Mel】

As soon as you show up wet as a drowned rat, she call off the servants, telling them to prepare a hot bath, dinner and the bedroom.

You see her thinning her eyes and crossing her arms to her chest, looking like she’s waiting for an explanation.

It’s not as hard as it may seem, in her work she learned that you have to first assess the situation well and then act accordingly,

for this reason she wants to understand if it was just carelessness (and turn a homicidal look that will make you burst out laughing because you know that she behaves like this because she loves you)

or if there was a problem.

You see her play imperceptibly with her ring, she knows she can always be little present and the fear of making you feel neglected or not enough consumes her, but she cannot show it or say it explicitly.

It must be said that he is not a person who accepts not receiving answers, if Mel understands that you do not want to talk about what happened she softens the tone approaching, a hand on your cheek precedes her lips, her warm breath on your skin.

She’d find a way to get you to talk, more than out of curiosity because she needs to know if it’s a problem she can solve it.

she would feel guilty anyway, because she did not notice before the fact that you were having troubles, regardless of whether the problem concerns her or not

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