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undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

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4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

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It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

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mirage-aera · 4 months

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•°. *࿐ Find me

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Good Grief - Bastille

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Synopsis: Simon has always reminded you before every mission, that if he were not to return home. You are to find him at the edge of the world. You didn’t understand at first, but now you do.

Word count: 1.730

Masterlist

Simon is tired. He’s tired of putting up with the Ghost persona. He’s done being ruthless, cold, and a brute. He has served long enough already. He has expressed his desire to put down the mask many times with you. He expressed that he wants to start a family with you, settle down, and maybe get a dog or two. Perhaps even a cat. Things that he couldn’t do with you earlier because of his job, his role at the SAS.

Before he leaves to go to missions he makes sure to always, always remind you. That if he were not to return home to you, you can find him at the edge of the world. He would whisper these words to you while kissing your forehead. A subtle reminder that he’s still there with you. You always questioned him, you didn’t understand why he’s always repeating the same thing. What ‘at the edge of the world’ means. He’d always shush you and tell you that you’ll figure it out eventually.

So when a two week mission turned into a 4 week. Followed by you pacing around the shared home that Simon had built for you in the middle of nowhere, to keep you safe. You expected anything but this. He promised, he always fucking promised to return home to you. What a lie it was. The way you sprint to the front porch of your home when you hear the familiar rumbling of an engine a car makes could make people think you’re a sprinter for the Olympics. You stand there with a smile, only for it to drop when you see the familiar bucket hat step out of the driver’s seat.

You can feel your whole world crumbling, as if time has stopped ticking for you. Price walks over to you with shiny metal in his hand, metal that hangs around Simon’s neck. Or used to at least. Tears start welling up, “John, please. Tell me it’s a joke.” The only thing he gives you is a smile out of sympathy. He puts his captain face on, “I regret to inform you that, Lieutenant Simon Riley. Has been killed in action in our recent mission. We could only recover his dog tags.” He holds his hand out with the tags. You reach out a shaky hand and grab onto the metal. You stare at the engraved name, ‘L.T. Simon Riley’. You run your thumb over the name. You resolve crumbles as you crash to the floor. John falls with you to comfort you, he rubs your arms as you wail and sob for Simon. John opens his mouth, “he told me this before he went radio silent. He wanted me to tell you that you can find him at the edge of the world, when you’re ready.” Your wails quiet down a bit at hearing his words. “He said that?” You ask, to confirm your suspicions. John nods. You can’t believe you’re going all this but you are, “Did-, did you find a body?” He shakes his head, “we only found his dog tags at the scene. I’m sorry.” You nod and let out a small ‘okay’.

He sees that you have calmed down enough and gets up, helping you up as well. You take his hand as he pulls you up. “We’re bringing home an empty casket, I’ll let you know when the wave off will be.” He tells you softly. You simply nod. You wave him off as he drives away. As you wait for Simon’s empty casket. You spend time deciphering what he means at the edge of the world. You refuse to believe he’s dead. Not when there’s isn't a body, and the fact those were his last words before he went radio silence. He’s out there somewhere, and you’re going to find him. You search through everything, memories, photos, anything that could resemble the edge of the world. But alas you’re not any closer than you were a few days ago.

Eventually Simon’s wave off day arrives. A day you’ve been dreading. It makes it all feel more real and makes you feel like a fool for thinking he’s still alive. You wear a black dress, while all of his teammates, friends, they’re wearing issued black uniforms. Before the casket gets lowered. The rest of the 141 punch in badges into the wood. They salute as the casket gets lowered. You’re standing there, watching it go into the ground with a blank stare. No, you refuse that this will be where your story ends. You will find him.

More days pass by. At this point you’re going insane. You feel like you made no progress at all since the news. You’ve looked everywhere. You sit down on the sofa and look around the home. A home that was once lively with laughter, fun, and with Simon. You smile sadly as you remember the fond memories you’ve made here. You grab hold of the metal that now hangs around your neck. A constant reminder that he’s out there somewhere, waiting for you. Then it comes to you. You’ve looked everywhere but one place. His journal. He usually brings it everywhere with him, except this time. You rush over to your shared bedroom and open his bedside drawer. There it is, in the middle of the drawer where he last left it. You gingerly take the journal out and flip through. Most of its content is about mission details that are mostly likely confidential. Some doodles of the crew. And some pages are about you, and the places you’ve been together. You focus on those pages specifically.

Eventually you come across a Polaroid, a secluded coastal area. Where you have a small holiday home. More like your second home. And with black sharpie he has written, ‘the edge of the world’ on the Polaroid. Bingo, he should be there. You immediately start packing to return to that place, to reunite with your lover. You have a feeling you won’t be returning. So you pack all of the important stuff, clothes, small knick knacks that you both hold dear. You also grab the stuff that he’d most likely love to have back as well.

After you’re done packing and you had a last look at the house. You put on your shoes and grab a jacket. Before heading to the place you make one quick stop, the cemetery. As you drive there you start wondering, do his friends know? Does anyone know? Does he want them to know? You suppose that’s a conversation for another time. Sometime he can decide. Once you arrive at the cemetery, you head to the spot where he’s ‘buried’. You squat down. You read his tombstone. ‘Beloved partner, excellent soldier’. You smile, short and simple. Something he prefers. You place a single white rose down. “I’ll see you soon, my love.” You say.

You head back to your car and prepare yourself for the long drive. But it’s going to be worth it, you’ll see Simon again. During the drive you think about the various memories you have made with Simon. When you first met, at a coffee shop and you spilled your coffee all over him. You gave him your number so you can compensate him at a later time. He was clearly annoyed at first but liked you enough to give you a call and ask for that compensation. When he asked you to be officially his. It was after a mission that went south did he realized that if he died there, he would regret not telling you his true feelings. It so happened that you reincorporated the same feelings. The night that he trusted you enough to open up about his night terrors and past. The details about his job.

Sooner than later you arrive at the holiday home. The sun has already set and the moon is illuminating the quaint place you have here. You stop the car and hastily get out. You practically run to the front door and clumsily open the lock. You walk in with a smile, “Simon? Are you here?” You call out, completely missing the fact that all the lights are turned off. Your smile drops a bit, “Simon?” You call his name out again. Still no answer or Simon shows up. Your hope dwindles. Were you so in denial of his death? Tears start welling up, realising that this was probably a mistake. “S-Simon?” You weakly call out. Hoping that he’ll walk at any moment. You crumble to the floor as you sob. The reality that he is most likely dead, finally settles in. Not being able to sit alone in the cold living room anymore, you run out of the house. Your destination? The secluded beach. You keep running until you smell the saltiness of the water and feel the cold crisp air hitting your skin.

You stop when you notice a figure standing at the water’s edge. Staring out at the open ocean. This figure has the same build as Simon. It is when the figure turns its head slightly that you realize it is Simon. The all familiar mask that he wears out on missions, is being illuminated by the moonshine. “Simon?” You carefully ask him. Wanting to make sure it’s actually him and not a figment of your imagination. He turns around completely, confirming your suspicions. “Took you a while.” He quips. You let out a cry as you run to him. He’s already holding his arms out to you, ready to embrace you. You crash into his chest as your body shakes with sobs. He shushes you as he comforts you. He rubs your back slowly, “I’m here now, lovie. No need to cry anymore.”

As your cries die down, you lift your head to look up at him. You reach out a hand to move his mask. But he bears you to it. He pulls it off quickly and drops it on the sand below. You look up in awe at him. “Ghost is no more. He’s the one you buried. From now on, your sole protector will be Simon, Simon Riley.” You let out a watery laugh. “Oh Simon. I’m so glad it’s only you in the picture now.” He sighs, “Me too, love. Me too.”

“Welcome home, Simon Riley.”

#cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #call of duty

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cowboydisaster · 4 months

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I have no idea about the historical accuracy of this but imagine a reader who used to be in a pretty well off family (think like the braithwaites level in society) but she left it all and gave everything up to be with Arthur. It’s her first Christmas away from her family and she misses the Christmas tree back home. Queue Arthur cutting a tree down with his big manly man strength and dragging it back to camp to surprise her🥲

* ˚ ✦ Stardust * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 4k a/n: margo!! This prompt was too cute. I kinda took it and RAN so I hope I did it justice! xx

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: SEVEN days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

If there's one thing you haven't gotten used to in this way of life, it's the elements. Camp is situated in Big Valley along the Upper Montana River. It's beautiful, and more open country than you've ever seen in your life. But damn, is it cold in winter. Snow drifts down from Mount Shann, creating a beautiful flurry of white around camp, albeit a freezing one.

At this moment, though, the cold doesn't bother you. In the safety of your tent, back tucked against Arthur's chest, it's impossible for the cold to reach you. He keeps you warm. Like a furnace, that man. You'd be worried he was running a fever if you weren't so used to his toasty-warm temperature.

You shuffle against Arthur, readjusting in the soft cotton cot. The wind whispers quietly outside, peacefully. Gone is the loud whipping ice storm that had come through a week or so ago. It's been replaced by a quiet falling of snow, the creak of nearby oaks.

“Darlin’? What is it?” Arthur whispers, voice sleepy against your ear. The hand that's hung over your waist squeezes gently, a small act of encouragement to respond. You smirk. You can picture his face, eyes closed, or half-lifted, eyebrows knitting with worry.

“What's wrong?” He whispers again. The hand on your waist flattens against your stomach, gently pulling you back towards him.

Oh, your Arthur. His heart is perfectly in tune with yours, and well, when yours is sunk, he notices. A peculiar little thing you've discovered– he always notices those small details, those small fluctuations in your mood. On top of that, he always addresses them.

Those selfless personality traits are why you left the city in the first place. Arthur is genuine, real. He's caring, and he communicates with you when you're upset. Your mamá and papá were far too concerned with selling you off to the most eligible bachelor in Saint Denis to care about your feelings. The bachelor's characteristics were of no importance, just his wealth and status in society. That life was… a load of shit, as your dear Arthur would say.

You'd started sneaking downtown at night to get away from the chaos of your home. Your parents were always fighting and screaming. Broken dishes and ringing ears became a staple in that house. La Bastille Saloon was a short walk from your house on Flavian Street. And that's where you met Arthur.

Despite his career, you immediately recognized him to be the first honest man that you'd ever met in your life. In a mere thirty seconds of conversation, you'd found a depth to him that your father could never scratch, a kindness that no arranged husband would show you. And so it became a habit. You'd sneak out of your window a few times a week, meeting him at La Bastille– talking, laughing, drinking. Arthur's whiskey burned far more than the French wine you'd sipped on in your life. Where you came from, drinking was for show. To sip on a glass of imported chablis was to assert class, but Arthur taught you how to drink for fun. He'd taught you how to play cards and how to cure a hangover. Your parents would be mortified at your unladylike behavior.

Arthur showed you fun, and kindness, spontaneity and honesty in a world that you thought was without those virtues. When Arthur had asked you to join him, it was an easy yes. He laid it all out. the good, the bad and the ugly. Criminals, you'd be joining. He was afraid that you would turn away, but crime is no stranger to you. Coming from high society, you saw the rich take from the poor time and again. You saw laundering and fraud, servitude, coercion and arranged murder.

All your family does is twist lies for their own benefit. They're all snakes, sinking their teeth into everything they come across. Gluttonous in their pursuit to expel venom. It has drowned the whole city of Saint Denis, sunk into the cobblestone roads and poisoned the entire place.

You see more honesty in the Van der Linde's life of crime than in your family's. At least the Van der Lindes are honest about what they do, and only rob from those who rob from others.

Leaving with Arthur was the most freeing feeling you've ever experienced. You love him with all your heart. You love the gang, and your new life, and yet even with all that you've gained, you still left so much behind. Joining Arthur; it's the best decision you've ever made, and you don't regret it for a moment, but the approaching holiday is bringing out sadness, memories of your childhood, friends that you'd left in the city. Any good memory of the city is recalled through rose tinted glasses, but still, it's beginning to sting now that it's almost Christmas.

“Darlin’?” Arthur says, the grogginess no longer evident in his voice. He pulls you back to the present like a tether. His thumb drags soothingly over your hip bone, and underneath the thick blankets, you lay your hand atop his.

“Hmm?” You offer.

“Where's your head at?” Arthur whispers, breath against your ear.

“Oh, just thinking.” You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's a sad smile, bittersweet. If a candle were lit, and he could see it, Arthur would be much more worried.

His fingertips brush your hair away from your face, gently pulling some strands behind your ear towards the braid they have escaped from.

Arthur lifts his hand from you, adjusting the blankets as you turn over in bed. Once you're facing him, he makes sure that all of the blankets cover your frame.

“It's just that this will be my first Christmas away from home.”

A small silence ensues. One that threatens to let tears slip down your rosy cheeks. Your nose tucks into Arthur's chest as you sniffle, hoping he hasn't taken your words with offense. This is your home now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But old habits die hard.

“You missin’ home?” Arthur whispers between kisses to your hair. You shake your head quickly

“No-no. I don't want you to think-”

“Baby, I ain't gonna give you a hard time ‘cause you're missin’ home. Hell… my childhood weren’t nothin’ but a world of pain, and sometimes I miss it.”

You should have expected his understanding. Arthur's never made you feel foolish for your feelings. His hand traces along your hip, keeping you warm and coaxing you to settle back into the comfortable space that he’s surrounded you with.

“I’m finding it difficult.” You whisper, “The holidays are coming up, and they’re bringing lots of memories. Fond ones, things I don’t want to forget.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well…” You crack a small smile, eyes going far away, back to old memories long ago, “Papá would have a Christmas tree shipped from Cumberland forest, only the best for him of course.” You chuckle, and Arthur smiles for the sweet sound.

“And we would decorate it with candles, blown glass, popcorn and cranberries. Oh, it was such a sight Arthur.” You say, a wonder in your voice. The memories are crystal clear in your head. Bright colors, laughter, songs.

Arthur's Christmas memories don't bring much joy. Except for the year his daddy didn't come home. Still, the way your eyes have lit up– Arthur wishes he could have experienced the Christmas that you're describing. He wishes he could see you with that much joy.

“Have you ever seen a Christmas tree?” You ask, rekindling that tether and pulling him back to you.

“Nah, only in the papers. I ain't never lived nowhere so fancy to have a Christmas tree.”

“It was so beautiful…” You whisper, a chill running down your spine. You hardly notice it, but Arthur pulls you closer nonetheless, his body heat wrapping around you like the warmest of blankets.

“It seemed as if when the tree was decorated and we all sat together, maybe it was not so bad.” You murmur, and the wonder dissipates from your eyes, replaced with reality.

Arthur waits for you to collect your thoughts. A whistle of wind breaks the silence before you do.

“Ah, I'm sorry for this show of emotion. It's silly of me.”

He shakes his head, forehead gently meeting yours. Your eyes marvel up at Arthur, making out the deep blue of his eyes from a stretch of moonlight that's infiltrated the room.

“You ain't ever gotta apologize for gettin’ emotional, sweetheart. Not with me.”

All you can do is nod, feeling again like a schoolgirl with butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His breath traces your face, noses just barely lining each other.

His lips meet yours, soft and sweet. Your heart soars like it does every time he kisses you. It's something that you're sure you won't ever get used to. But something you're hoping to find familiarity in, because you never want to stop kissing him.

He pulls away all too soon for your liking, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. When he hears your small whine, he huffs.

“I know, get back to sleep baby, I'll still be here in the mornin’.”

It doesn't take long for you to slip back into slumber, not with the soft whisper of the wind, and the cocoon of warmth around you. Arthur practically carries you across the threshold into sleep with the way his arms wrap around you.

In the little tent, deep in the snow, Arthur begins to hatch his plan. He kisses your head, climbing over you and out of bed to light a candle. It provides just enough light to illuminate the pages of his journal. Just enough light for him to illustrate his surprise.

He had promised you– all those months ago, when he'd packed your bags onto his horse and ridden you out of the city– that he would do anything and everything to make you happy. It's a promise that he intends to keep

— — —

a few days later

“This is the one.” Arthur marvels, sparkling eyes cast upwards toward the fullest, greenest evergreen in Cumberland Forest. You deserve nothing but the best, and he’s sure that he’s found it.

Arthur takes a short moment to pull out his journal, dusting some fallen snow from the leather cover. He sketches the tree, a way for him to remember the moment. To remember how the tree had been, perfectly untouched in nature. He takes his time, back propped against the unhitched wagon in the forest, hat covered in a thick dusting of snow. A few flakes even drop onto the page, melting and smudging his charcoal.

When the branches are sketched to his liking, he accompanies them with a quick passage and closes the book.

For the lady. Christmas. 1899.

When the book snaps shut and is stuffed back into his journal, he looks up, finding a questioning look on his trusted stallion’s face.

“What?” Arthur’s brow furrows, “I’ll plant another one.”

The stallion sighs.

Arthur moves around the back of the wagon, pulling an ax from the toolbox, dusting some snow off the handle with gloved hands. The ground is covered in a thick layer of white, the horses too. They press their noses together, whinnying and rumbling, entertaining each other with horse-typical play in the snow.

“Jasper. Sugar. Quit bein’ sweet on one another, we got work to do.” Arthur calls back to the two horses. What a pair, those two.

Jasper is Arthur’s stallion. He’s well behaved. Shy. Obedient. Then there’s Sugar. She was a gift from Arthur to you. White as snow and wild as the wind. She still is, despite all of her training.

Arthur had brought the pair of them with the wagon to pull the tree back to camp. But now, Sugar seems more interested in kicking up snow, and well– Jasper is only interested in following Sugar around, hearts practically emitting from his eyes.

Snow falls in thick flakes, dotting Arthur’s red flannel and melting against the thick material. He pays it no mind. The snowfall silences the forest, save for the rhythmic whack…whack of Arthur’s ax hitting the evergreen, and the softened sound of playful hooves in the snow.

“Don’t tire yourselves out.” Arthur huffs to the horses, “Jesus.”

A few more swings of the ax, and the tree begins to fall. It hits the ground with a thud, not nearly as loud as Arthur imagined it would be. But, the snow softened the fall, he supposes.

In a matter of minutes, the tree is in the wagon. Just a few more, and Jasper and Sugar are pulling it home.

If everything is going according to plan, right now you should be with Marybeth, picking holly. She had taken you out, because she had “wanted to spruce up camp a bit.” Little do you know, the little adventure is a part of Arthur’s plan. With you away from camp, he was able to borrow Sugar, take Jasper, and get the tree. With you away from camp, the final touches can fall into place.

Arthur gently taps the reins over the horse’s backs, urging them into a faster canter along the beaten down snow path back towards camp.

“Hyah! C’mon, we’re pushin’ it.” He calls to the horses. The little golden bells on their harnesses jingle and ring as he pushes them towards camp, massive evergreen in tow. He checks his pocket watch, cursing quietly before putting it away. Sadie should be done by now.

It’s not long before the horses are pulling into camp, large puffs of white billowing out from their noses as they catch their breath. Arthur hops down from the wagon, his hand running along the expanse of it as he reaches the back.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp. He makes his way towards the wagon, “Now this is how we celebrate Christmas!”

The evergreen nearly overtakes the wagon, branches sticking out from all directions, billows of snow still stuck to them. Dutch has no idea how Arthur managed to get it into the wagon. An approaching Hosea is just as flabbergasted.

“You know, I never took you to be much of a romantic, Arthur. But this might just prove me wrong.” Hosea

“Whatever you say. Now, quit gawkin’ and help me get this big bastard up.” Arthur mumbles, grabbing the thick tree by the trunk and pulling it down. Sap sticks to his hands as he begins to drag it out of the wagon. Carrying it into the center of camp is a group effort– much easier than Arthur getting it into the wagon by himself.

“I reckon you two can handle this. I got some other things to check up on.” Arthur steps back, sizing the tree up and down.

“Run along then and leave us the hard work.” Dutch muses, within earshot of Arthur.

“Figured it would do your old bones some good to do real work, Dutch!” Arthur hollers back over his shoulder, chuckling to himself as he makes his way towards the circle of tents.

“Mrs. Adler?” Arthur hollers, approaching the A-frame tent, “You in there?”

Before he can part the white canvas tent, Sadie emerges, and he backs up.

“You get it done?” Arthur asks, cheeks tinged bright pink from the cold. Hat white instead of black. Sadie chuckles for it.

“Did I get it done?” Sadie mocks with a huff, “A’ course I got it done.”

From her tent, she pulls out a Christmas tree garland. A string carefully woven through dried cranberries and popped corn. It's beautiful and long. It must have taken her hours to make. Arthur’s eyes go wide in small wonder as she transfers the garland to him.

“S’perfect, Sadie. She’s gonna love this.”

A wide, bittersweet smile stretches across Sadie’s face, “Jake taught me how,” there is a pause as Arthur nods in understanding, “Now go. Go decorate it for your woman.” Sadie smirks.

“Dear boy! Dear boy, how does it look?” Hosea calls out, and Arthur’s attention shoots towards the tree. They have it standing upright now, perfectly in the center of camp. It stands tall, a real beauty.

“Perfect.” He gapes at it, wishing he could have done something like this when he was younger– hoping that it will live up to your memories. Arthur doesn’t have the money to buy fancy ornaments, but he’s doing everything in his power to make it special for you.

With the help of the horses and the wagon, everyone manages to wrap the garland the whole way around the tree, even up to the top. The little trail of white and red looks beautiful against the dark green of the pine. Arthur places lit candles in holders on the branches, casting a beautiful hazy glow that lights up the tree. Camp members begin to gather, circling around the tree, watching and helping. Mrs. Grimshaw offers some holly. Karen offers some candy canes that she had bought in town, hanging them from the branches.

The sun begins to set, and Arthur checks his watch, knowing that you’ll be back any minute. A small tug on his pants pulls his attention downwards.

“Uncle Arthur?” Little Jack whispers, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tree lights, “I made this for you! For you to put it on auntie's tree!”

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he glances quickly up to Abigail, who is smiling warmly. Jack reaches into his little bag and pulls out a beautiful paper star. He has apparently put a lot of time and effort into folding and cutting the paper into a perfect little topper. Jack’s little hands extend the star up to Arthur, the smile on his face brighter than any of the tree’s candles.

“You made this?” Arthur asks.

“Yep, I sure did! Momma even helped me cut the paper!”

Arthur kneels on the ground– eye level with Jack, a smirk on his lips, “I think we better put it on the top then, don't you?”

“Oh yes! It would be perfect on top! I just hope aunt y/n likes it…”

“She’ll love this, buddy.”

With some more help from a very grumpy Sugar, Arthur manages to place the star perfectly on the tree top. And just in time, apparently.

When Arthur steps back, taking in the tree for all its glory, his jaw falls slack, eyes filling up with wonder.

It's beautiful. At dusk, the candles shine brightly. The garland has attracted a few red cardinals, and they rest in the branches, comfortable in the new camp tree. Everyone looks in awe. It’s perfect.

— — —

“No peekin’.” Arthur whispers in your ear from behind, his hands covering your eyes. He slowly walks you forwards towards… something. He hasn’t explained anything to you, just… kidnapped you right outside of camp. You’ve been walking with him, eyes covered for nearly five minutes.

“Oh, Arthur, what is going on!?” You giggle, hands covering the length of his own, a smile plastered on your face.

“S’a surprise, darlin’. That’s why you can’t peek.” Arthur’s voice whispers from behind you, his chest nearly pressed against your back as he inches you forward.

You roll your eyes. Suddenly, his footsteps are still behind you, and you stop in return.

“Is this why I was stuck in the forest picking berries all day?” You ask. Arthur huffs.

“Shhh. We’re here.” He shushes.

Your heart quickens with excitement, bottom lip tight between your teeth with anticipation. As much as you try to listen for any clues, all you can hear is the munching of hay and the crackle of the campfire– typical for camp after dusk.

“Arthur…?” You whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet. Anticipation swirls in your stomach, followed by anxiety tickling up your spine.

His calloused hands pull away from your eyes, and your lashes flutter as you focus on the sight in front of you.

It’s… a christmas tree. Your jaw falls slack, and as unladylike as it may be, you can’t help it. A small gasp escapes your rosy lips.

It must be twelve feet high, and it's thick with branches. Candles, and decor wrap around the tree like a dress tailored to perfection. Color and light burst from the beautiful tree, and before you can control yourself, tears are welling up in your eyes.

“Arthur, I–” Your voice cracks, the tears almost spilling over.

“Darlin’?” Arthur’s thumb softly brushes the inside of your hand. For a moment, he worries that he’s misstepped terribly. The sight of your tears brings forth a small panic, quelled by the outburst of your smile. Tears fall freely from your eyes, but they are of joy– not sadness.

“You got me– You got me a Christmas tree?” You smile, wiping away the tears as he envelopes you into his warm arms. You sniffle, laughs of pure joy escaping into his chest as he holds you tight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers to you, arms wrapped around your waist. The light from the tree dances in your eyes, almost as beautiful and bright as your smile.

“Oh, Arthur, it’s perfect.” You gasp, eyes glued to the tree, pulling away to glance into Arthur’s eyes, “How ever did you get it here?”

“With a little help.” Arthur nods towards the horse station where Sugar and Jasper are laying in the hay, nuzzling each other sweetly. As if knowing, Sugar whinnies towards you softly, followed by a quiet neigh from Jasper.

Your eyes wander back towards the tree in front of you, and then to Arthur once again. His hands slide down from your waist, thumbs settling into the dimples in your back.

“It's beautiful.” You say.

“It’s all yours.”

In all of your life, Arthur has been the first person to cater to your emotions– to care about them. Your heart fills with love, so much that it overflows and floods the earth at your feet. Soaking into the ground of the camp, touching the hearts of the others around you.

“I love you.” You whisper, head resting on Arthur’s chest, eyes fixed on a cardinal that’s pecking at the popped corn on the tree.

“I-” Arthur pauses, realizing. His brow furrows, eyes flickering down, “Wait, what?”

“I said I love you.” You reiterate, chin propped on his chest to look up at him. Arthur looks nearly blown away by the words. Words he’s not heard from you yet. Words that he’s nearly let slip time and again over the past few months.

Arthur’s lips crack into a smile, crows feet wrinkling for the action. His thumb brushes your cheek before trailing down to your chin, pulling you in towards his lips. You lean on your tiptoes, brushing your lips against his, meeting him with all the love and joy that you never thought would be possible for you. He’s taken you from a bad situation, and given you everything you could have wanted and more. Your lips press against his, pink-tinged noses lining each other. Your eyes flutter shut, snowflakes catching in your thick lashes as you deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the base of his neck, your tongues dance with one another.

When you pull away to breathe, your eyes lock with his, sparkling with light.

“I love you too.” He smirks, hands wrapping under your thighs, eliciting giggles from you as he hoists you into his arms. Fat snowflakes fall into your hair as Arthur turns towards your tent, ready to carry you to bed.

“No- wait!” You grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks, “Please, Arthur- just five more minutes. I’d like to keep looking at the tree.”

Arthur pauses, brushing your cold cheek, “Alright. Five more minutes.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your hair.

The tree shines bright as ever, as if god had sprinkled stardust down from the heavens, painting your tree in beautiful white light.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

#divider by cafekitsune #cowboydisaster's christmas countdown #bea's christmas countdown #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fluff

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twola · 4 months

Text

The Fine Art of Knot Tying III

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous

Finally, Arthur has a hands-on lesson with you as the example.

“Y-you don’t have to do this-” you pant with a hint of nervousness in your tone as you pull against the rope knotted tightly at your wrists. There’s no use. The knot is foolproof - of course it is.

Your knuckles smack against the brass bed frame, and your wrists are tied overhead, leaving you completely vulnerable and unable to defend yourself.

“Told ya this lesson would be a bit more advanced.”

The outlaw looms over the bed, all six feet of him, amused as you struggle against the bindings. Taking his hat off of his head, he places it on the bedside table before running his hand through his hair to ruffle it.

“A-Arthur, I think I get it-” you stutter, sprawled out on the bed in this hotel room, above a rowdy saloon in Saint Denis. The Bastille it is not, but you’re starting to realize why Arthur chose this one.

The raucous music and drinking below made it so that no one would hear nor care about noises of the lovemakin’ kind coming from your room.

Though with your wrists bound tightly to the bedframe, and the gleam in Arthur’s eyes, you questioned the idea of lovemaking as compared to something much less wholesome.

“Naw, darlin’. You need a full lesson.”

His large, rough hand grabs one of your knees, forcing it down to the bed as your other one follows dutifully, spreading your legs open as you audibly swallow.

Arthur works his way downward as he sits on the mattress next to you, pressing down your legs until he reaches your ankles, reaching for your boots and untying them before working them gently from your feet. Almost sweetly.

That sweetness, however, doesn’t last as he looks up at you with that wicked twinkle in his eye before gathering your skirts and slowly pulling them upward - past your knees and where your stockings end, past your thighs and the hem of your drawers, letting them pile at your waist.

Your stockings are pulled from your legs before he grabs one of your ankles to bring it up to his level. Your breath hitches as you feel him press his lips and suck at the skin above your ankle, his eyes not breaking their gaze with yours. You feel like a lamb before the slaughter, that the man working his way up your leg is going to devour you whole, the wolf that he is.

Arthur suckles, nips, and kisses his way up your leg, your calf to your knee to your thigh before grasping at the lace trim of your bloomers.

He pulls, and you shift your hips upward to assist, completely at his mercy as the cotton is worked down your legs and tossed to the floor, baring your cunt to him, already glistening with arousal. He gives a satisfied smirk, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

Arthur leans over you and begins to unbutton the first few buttons of your blouse, pulling your shirt apart and exposing the lace neckline of your chemise.

You pull on the rope again but know it's a futile effort as he chuckles in that warm, low register of his.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.” Arthur grins the same way he does when he’s robbing people, “You’re mine to do whatever I want with for the night.”

With that, he yanks down the neckline of your chemise, and you yelp at the sudden rush of air against your breasts as your captor laughs under his breath.

The outlaw trails his lips down your neck, your décolletage, to the swell of your breasts, taking them in hand and groping at them gently as he sucks on your pebbled nipples, switching between them so as not to neglect one or the other. You squeeze your eyes shut against the feeling, overwhelming to the point of making you whimper.

Arthur pulls back, and you hear the rustling of clothing as you keep your eyes shut, trying to wind yourself down before giving in and lifting your head from the pillow to look at him.

He’s stripped himself down to his union suit before he moves back onto the bed and forces your knees apart, looming over you like that wolf ready to devour its meal. You make an undignified squeak as he climbs atop you, settling his hips in the cradle of yours as he places his elbows on either side of your shoulders, pressing himself against you fully. You feel the swell of him against your bared cunt, and moan aloud as he makes his arousal well known to you before pulling back. You whine in disappointment before he tuts at you, readjusting himself to dip his head down to your cunt.

One long, slow lick up the seam of your body makes you keen, jerking against your bindings as he blows cool breath on your cunt. Your legs try to snap shut, but his broad shoulders keep them apart as he leans in again, pressing his tongue between your folds, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as he slides within your opening. You’re at his mercy, writhing near uncontrollably as he laps at you like a meal. You come with his tongue pressed inside your cunt, his breath hot between your legs.

“Christ, god - please-” You gasp, overstimulation coursing over you in waves, “Arthur - I can’t -”

He gives another long lick to your cunt before placing his chin lightly on your pubic bone. Like a cat who's gotten the cream, he smirks as you crane your neck to see him. Your arousal drenches his beard.

“Can’t what, sweetheart? Keep comin’? I think you can.”

“Arthur, please-”

He wipes some of the moisture from his beard as he climbs up your body, over the layers of cotton shielding… not much of you, over your spit-slicked nipples, until he holds himself over you, eye to eye.

The outlaw leans down and kisses you, lowering his hips against yours, and begins to rut himself along the seam of your body as he presses his tongue into your mouth. The rough cotton of his union suit quickly becomes wet as his hard cock presses between your folds, and you moan, deep and desperate, into his mouth.

He pulls away from you, and out of sheer need, you raise your head to follow him upward, held back by your bound arms. A desperate noise of frustration escapes you, much to his amusement.

“Thinkin’ you do want to come again.” He chuckles as he sits back on his haunches, reaching for the buttons of his union suit, and your gaze moves down to where his cock strains against the fabric, a large wet stain gracing his crotch.

“A-Arthur-” You throw your head back on the pillow and your legs spread wider around him seemingly of their own volition.

Over the wild pounding of your heart in your chest, you can hear him pull his union suit from his frame, tossing it to the ground as he settles himself between your legs again. You raise your head again to see him sitting on his haunches, gloriously naked, one hand pumping his cock.

He laughs, the bastard, and releases himself to grab your hips and raise them over his legs, fingers digging into your thighs playfully before he sits up on his knees and hooks your own over his shoulders.

As he leans down over you, bending you in half, you feel the hot head of his cock press against the rim of your cunt, and it slips the barest bit inside as he settles his forearms on either side of your shoulders.

You groan with the stretch, you always do, his cock is a reflection of his stature, and he hums a gentle tone, shushing your cry, as he presses himself inside you, inch by inch. By the time his hips press against your own, you’re panting, near hyperventilating, so goddamned overstimulated that the mere presence of him inside you makes you shudder and come, pulling against the ties that suspend your arms above your head as you cry out.

“Jesus Christ, woman-” Arthur grunts through gritted teeth as you convulse around him, his hands fisting in the sheets on either side of your head.

As you come down from your high, he begins to roll his hips, his cock dragging against the walls of your channel as he shows you no mercy, thrusting back into you with the force of a man on a mission.

You scream into the hotel room before he has the wherewithal to slap a hand over your mouth.

“You tryin’ to get us jailed?” He hisses at you, and you are unable to respond as he continues to thrust his hips, groaning against his hand as you can barely keep your eyes open.

The rhythmic sound of wet skin slapping wet skin overtakes the room as he holds his hand over your mouth, gritting his teeth against the sweet clutch of you on his shaft.

You’re floating, unable to feel your toes as he pounds into your hips. Each thrust of his cock sends you reeling, your cunt near overflowing with arousal, smeared along the backs of your thighs and all over his pelvis. Tears overflow down your cheeks as you feel like lightning bursts from your core, having come so many times.

He slows down, gyrating his hips into yours as he pants, pulling your legs down from his shoulders and letting them fall open on either side of his hips. His crystalline eyes pause when he sees your face, the streaks of moisture down your cheeks.

“Shit - darlin’, I didn’t-” Concern takes over his features as he stops his hips’ movements, one hand reaching to the knot holding your wrists to the bed frame, “Damnit- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You’re too fucked out to say anything in response at the moment, but as he pulls at the knot and it loosens enough to fall away, your hands immediately pull away from their shackles and you wrap your arms around his neck in an embrace. Your shaking legs raise just enough to cross over his back, pulling him closer to you as he gives a surprised grunt.

“Finish in me,” you command, the firmest your voice has been all night.

For the first time this evening, you are in control, without a rope or anything to hold him down. Even with his strength and size, he is unable to do anything but acquiesce to your demand. He buries his face into your neck as he snaps his pelvis into yours, heaving thrusts that leave him teetering on the edge of pleasure.

One final roll of his hips, grinding you down into the mattress, and he groans, pulling away from your neck and squeezing his eyes shut as the string in his gut snaps. You mewl as you watch pleasure take over his face. His cock pulses as he spills himself inside you, moaning unencumbered as you clutch at him desperately.

He pants as he pushes himself up to keep most of his weight off of you, one of his hands brushing your hair back off your forehead as you slowly let your legs down from over his hips.

Your hands sweep over his upper back as a satisfied smile plasters itself across your face. Keeping him sheathed within you, you press your lips against his cheek before letting out a satiated breath.

“Mm, I’m definitely going to have to practice that one.” You whisper amusedly, and he chuckles softly in reply.

“I’d like to see you try, woman.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic

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writing-mlm · 5 months

Text

Right here

Druig x male!eternals!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: dinner with the Avengers gets unexpectedly cut short

“Uh… Mr. Corpus, sir?” Peter looks up from where he’s working on his homework, watching as you swirl his LEGOS in the air. They click into place, quickly forming some version of the Titanic but the colors are off. They release from their form and swirl in the air again as you look at him, your fingers held in a cupping motion. He looks away for a second, fiddling with his pencil. “Do you know what happened on July 14th, 1789?”

“Storming of the Bastille,” You answer without thinking too much about it. “Very important moment in the French Revolution; Bastille was a prison that many aristocrats preferred to go to because it was a very… relaxed prison. Almost a thousand people surrounded the prisons, cannons, and gunpowder ready. They were afraid the King was going to arrest the new National Assembly. They were also wanting to fortify the prison, crime was horrid those days.” As you speak, Peter writes it down. He has no use for fact-checking you, you’re the Avengers history nerd.

“Thank you,” He smiled and flipped to the next page. You nod, returning to your LEGOS and recreating the prison. It spins around and you look into the box of loose legos, using random pieces to create canons around it.

Living with the Avengers was far from the plan you had set in your head when you finally broke away from your family. You didn’t want nor need a team of people to boss you around again but this was the easiest way to ensure the world was safe. At the top of the world, nothing was hidden.

At least to you.

You look at the other Avengers who’d found themselves a spot in the common area, blissfully unaware of the truth. They think they know it all, there’s nothing they don’t know. Anything and everything that happens on Earth— they’ll know it. And they’ll stop it.

God, they were so fucking wrong.

Sinking into your seat, your eyes drift off to the woods that surround the compound. They’re smaller but denser than the forest you’re used to back home, which reminds you that you ought to visit soon. It’s been almost a year since you’ve last been there and you’re sure you’re being missed day and night.

And you miss it, too, of course. The dreams cannot replace reality.

“Hey, Chronicle,” Tony calls and you look over to him. He lifts his cup to point towards the TV and you see you’re up for the next match of Mortal Kombat. Pulling yourself to sit next to Sam, you take the controller from Natasha and pick your character. Sam picks his and the round begins, you end up winning but that’s almost entirely due to the fact that for some odd reason, Sam could not have a steady grip on his controller.

“He always cheats!” Sam points to you as you hand the controller to Tony. “Nah- nah, get the power blockers! I want a rematch!” He demands but everyone knows that for some stupid reason, it doesn’t work on you.

“It’s okay, butterfingers,” You tell him, patting his shoulder as you return to your spot creating LEGOS. “I know you're getting all hot and bothered around me.” Sam closes his eyes, telling Bucky that he’s about to send you away and you offer an amused smile.

The place settles down after that, you end up losing in the game because you had a long-standing promise with Bucky that you wouldn’t use your powers on him unless it was necessary. Some type of PTSD you didn’t care to dive into. All that mattered was that Bucky absolutely murked your character and Sam was cheering the entire time.

Dinner rolls around and you agree to make something quick, but with how much everyone eats even a quick meal takes an hour with how much needs to be made. Thankfully, the kitchen has four ovens for that exact reason. Seven lasagna and garlic breads later, dinner is served and everyone is eating around a table.

Thor, Steve, Bucky, and Peter each got their own pans. Although, Thor needed another and you’re glad you made seven because the remaining two were just enough for the rest of you with normal appetites.

Midway through your slice, you feel a certain tug in your mind and smile, doing your best to not look away from your food. It’s a tug you’ve grown to love and adore, and it’s more than welcome to invade your mind.

What’re you eatin’ tonight? Druig asked, his soft voice mulling over the voices around you.

Lasagna, the recipe I showed you. You answer, grabbing your cup of juice to hide your smile. You?

Soup. He replies. Arishem, I miss your cooking. You laugh, although you manage to keep it silent.

I’m planning my next return, just have to make sure there’s nothing coming up here.

Good, I cannot go another month without you, my love.

Neither can I. You look up, seeing everyone is looking at you. One moment, darling. Like a phone call, you put the connection on hold and clear your throat.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You ask, setting your cup down.

“Peter was asking for the recipe,” Wanda says, offering the kid a smile when you look at him.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” You nod. “Remind me later.” He nods and everyone slowly goes back to their conversations and you take Druig off of hold.

You have to stop letting your mind wander. He teases and you roll your eyes, finishing up the last of your food.

Only to thoughts of you. You reply and he makes an ohh sound. Not in that way. You add, leaving the table with a simple see you later.

One amazing thing about the compound is the fucking dishwasher, it’s honestly a lifesaver.

I do not need a dishwasher. Druig says as you close the door to the washer.

You don’t have electricity, you cannot have one. He takes the reminder with a grain of salt and your conversation continues well into the night. Eventually, he falls asleep and you allow yourself to as well.

—

One thing you absolutely dread about living with the others is the fact that whenever someone who’s not Tony or Peter is there, they insist on working out at the crack of dawn.

You’re awake at four in the morning, several hours before you normally do, and have only managed to get two hours of sleep so you’re more than annoyed when Thor makes an announcement over every single speaker in the house.

Begrudgingly, you get prepared for the workout and join Sam for the pre-workout smoothie. He makes the best ones, Steve just eats it dry and Bucky cannot make it taste good for the life of him. The others don’t take any before their workouts so it’s just the four of you drinking (and eating scoops of protein powder) before you head up to the gym.

Workouts with the Avengers last for hours, although Tony taps out two hours in, Peter had to get ready for school, and Clint wanted to finally go home soon after. Sam is the next to go, he’s beyond tired three hours in and chooses to watch everyone instead.

You’re on your ass as Natasha flips you over, the wind knocks out your chest as you land on the padding. She stands over you, her weapon tossed to the ground and you twitch your fingers. It flies through the air and knocks her backward as you pull yourself up.

“Cheater,” She teases as you twirl her stick in the air with a shrug. “Mama never taught you to play nice with friends?” Dropping the stick into your hands, you swing and she ducks. This continues for a while until you have her pinned down— albeit using your powers but it was getting a little tiring using your arms.

Training ends with five laps around the compound— which only Thor, Steve, and Bucky actually completed. You gave up after two and Natasha got through three and a half. You were many things, a try hard was not one of them.

Cleaning up, you head to the common area to find something to watch.

There’s a lot to which, with Tony having every single streaming service possible, but you eventually settle on some show Peter had recommended.

“Dinner is ready!” Tony calls and for the first time since you started the show, you look away from the screen. It’s dark outside and you were well into the show… that's a little embarrassing. “C’mon, Matilda!” He calls when you’re not moving fast enough.

“Shut up, white man,” You grumble, pausing the show and heading to the others. Peter is back for the weekend but Clint stayed with his family.

Dinner is a large order of pizza, boxes piled up on the table and the super eaters take theirs before everyone else takes their slices. Tonight you’re able to engage with them completely uninterrupted and come to think of it, you’d gone the entire day without talking to Druig.

You couldn’t feel him in your mind, either. Normally there’s a small feeling when you focus, letting you know he was there but today he wasn’t.

Sighing, you decide not to dwell on it just yet. He’s gone through periods where he doesn’t want to talk before, the longest being a week. You’d give him two days before you stole a jet to go and see him.

“Unknown subjects approaching the compound,” FRIDAY says midway through dinner. “Unknown mass in the air approaching at rapid speeds, engage?” He’s basically buzzing to use the systems defense system.

“Describe the mass,” Tony says, afraid FRIDAY is alerting them of another bird. It’s happened at least six times already.

“A large black triangle with unknown carvings on it, approaching in approximately five seconds,” FRIDAY says and you take that time to think about it. It sounds familiar and as you’re rushing out with the others to find out what the fuck it is, it clicks. The Domo.

“Holy shit!” Peter gasps when he sees the Domo hovering above the field in front of the compound. There’s a couple flashes of light and you rush over to where they’re going to be landing while the others remain a good distance away. You’re glad for their sake that they aren’t a shoot-first ask-questions-later type of group.

“(Y/n), do not engage!” Tony shouts, stopping the others from going after you. You ignore him, stopping exactly two steps ahead of where you know they will land in a couple of seconds. The others are calling for you to get back— Sam is sure it’s some type of alien and he tells Bucky he’s always right about the people they have to fight. You tune them out, watching as the light shoots down completely from the Domo and as it falls to the ground.

Druig is the first to land and wastes no time in his arms wrapping around your waist and you hold his face. He looks at you with these puppy dog eyes, a smile creeping up on his face and you dip your head down.

Kissing him, one of his hands grabs the back of your neck, deepening it. You move one of your hands down to his belt loops and hold him. He laughs into the kiss but neither of you pulls away. You hear a gag but it’s clearly from Sprite so you ignore it.

“I didn’t need to see that!” Sprite groans as she lands. “They’re worse than you and Dane.” She tells Sersi as you pull away from the kiss. But just slightly, you can still feel his lips on yours and you carefully rub his cheek.

“Hello, beautiful,” He mutters against your lips.

“Hey,” You mutter back, going in for another kiss but Phastos pulls the two of you away.

“Dude!” You whine as he holds your collar and drags you across the lawn until you’re more than an arm's distance from Druig. “Let me kiss my fuckin’ husband!” Druig smiles and you wink, finally getting put back on your feet.

“Did he say, husband?” Natasha whispers to Tony who blankly nods.

“You can kiss when we’re done here,” Ikaris says, floating down from the Domo.

“You’re not the only one who can fly, asshole,” You tease, rising to his level. “But yeah; whatever. Why're all— most of you here?” You correct yourself, seeing that Ajak and Gilgamesh aren’t with the others.

“Aren’t you and Gilg a package dead?” You ask Thena and that seems to be the wrong question to as everyone looks sad. Lowering yourself to the ground, you look between everyone. “What’s going on?” You slowly ask, looking at Druig as he walks up to you.

“Ajak and Gilgamesh are dead,” He says as he holds your hand. “Killed by deviants; they're back.” He softly adds.

“There’s some more stuff,” Sersi steps forward, her hand on Thena’s shoulder. “We’ll explain everything in the Domo but we need to go now.”

“Now— like, right this second now?” You ask and she nods. Looking at your team, you sigh and look back to the others. “Give me a second.” They nod and you rush over to the others.

“I’ll be back, I just— I’ll explain when I get back.” You tell them, giving everyone a once over. “Um… yeah, see you!”

“No way,” Tony says as he grabs your arm before you can go too far. “You aren’t just up and leaving like that! Where are you going? Who are they?”

“We’re on a bit of a time crunch!” Kingo shouts and you sigh, apologizing to Tony before removing his hand with your powers.

“I’ll explain when I get back, I promise!”

—

Sitting on the beach, you look over at Druig who’s already looking at you rather than the very large golden hand sticking out from the sea.

“I should’ve stayed with you,” You whisper, a frown forming on your face. “If I hadn’t been with the Avengers Gilgamesh would be alive, I could’ve stopped Ikarus long before this became such an issue.” Looking back to the water, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Don't think like tha’,” Druig replies in the same whisper, brushing hair from your face. “You were doin’ your best, you joined that stupid team to help people. No one could’ve seen this comin’, darlin.” He wraps his arm around you and lays his head on top of yours. He glances at your red and gold suit, tracing the shapes that he’s traced for centuries before as the waves roll in.

You stare at the crashing waves, your eyes drifting to and from the head and hand every so often. There are so many thoughts running through your mind. You’ve lost three friends, you look at Sprite and while the others might be able to forgive her you can’t.

Sure, she looks like a child but she was… born at the same time everyone else was. She grew as everyone else grew, despite how it looked from the outside. You can’t look past the betrayal, no matter the reason.

Then there’s Kingo, who you weren’t too sure about either. You’d always fought, no matter how dire the situation seemed. You fought and you fought together. And he ran. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I can still hear your thoughts,” Druig whispers. “Mind if I change those thoughts?” You hum, and move your head from his shoulder. His head moves back before it moves forward, his lips finding a home between yours. They’re dry, but you don’t doubt yours are either. And probably taste of sand just as his taste like volcanic ash. He smiles, glad your mind has drifted to other topics and you pull him on top of you.

“Do not fuck on the beach,” Phastos grumbles. You pull away and tilt your head back to grin at him. Druig doesn’t pay him much mind, letting his eyes and hands wander your body. Although that’s probably to just annoy Phastos even more.

“You’re such a cockblock, y’know that right?” He rolls his eyes and joins the others several yards away.

“We should head back, though.” You tell Druig, squeezing his arms. He looks at your face, and you stare at his blue eyes. God, they’re really fucking blue.

“They’ve always been blue,” His lips quirked into a smile and you shove his face away from you before bringing the two of you to your feet.

“I know you want to go to space and like… save the others out there…” You start as the two of you walk back to the group.

“But you don’t?” He finishes and you sigh. “Can I ask why?”

“I like it here,” You shrug. “I’ve built a life and I get to play with LEGOS and cheat during game night…”

“You’re afraid of space.”

“I’m afraid of space.” You concede and he lets out a small laugh before his face softens.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, darling. Right here is perfect.”

#x male reader #druig x reader #druig x eternal!reader #druig x male reader #druig imagine #druig x you #barry keoghan #x reader

194 notes · View notes

neevblanc · 4 months

Note

Aizawa with a pro hero & highschool sweetheart reader finally talking again after months (or even years) of no contact 😋

a/n —hey hey anon!! thx for sending this in! I've never written for shouta b4 despite having read my fair share of media involving him lol. i hope i can do him justice for you!!! this is such an interesting prompt hehe p.s this was literally the funnest thing to write ever im actually incredibly invested. i might as well have fleshed out a whole au for this, not that it rlly reflects it i think haha!

blanca’s cafe event!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

Tags— semi-angst, awkwardness, mentions of injuries/war, bittersweet

CW/TW— Manga Spoilers?

note — quirk — Revitalize: the ability to heal wounds and injuries by simply touching the affected area. They can accelerate the body's natural healing process. Their healing abilities also extend to others. They must gain the energy to do so by taking it from enemies or using their own(think Moyra from overwatch, sorta. w/ a mix of bastille's group healing ability thing teehee).

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"Have We Met Before? by Tom Rosenthal, Fenne Lily"

02:20 ━━━━━━━●─ 02:39

ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

“ Will you know it when you see it? Have we met before?”

You hadn’t been in Japan for years, having been sent to America by the Hero Commission as soon as you had graduated from Yuuei. Adjusting to the culture (both civilian and hero) was a struggle, but you did well with your healing-centered quirk.

Once the war had taken place, the commission had called back all of the heroes they sent to foreign countries they could, and you just so happened to be one of them. All for One was a looming threat, and with the amount of casualties suffered, they sent you home to help the war effort.

You stand inside Yuuei’s walls, stomach rolling at the bleak sight. Cities had been razed while you were gone, and Yuuei had been converted into a base for civilians and heroes alike. People milled around almost aimlessly, no doubt restless, as they were afraid to leave school grounds. You make your way through the crowd, eyes focused on the building you had been directed to.

Yuuei hadn’t had dorms since you last checked, but amongst all the changes you’ve seen in your hometown, you didn’t have the energy to even question it. You hurry up the steps and knock idly on the door, rocking on your heels while you wait for it to open.

The door creaks open, and an eye with a black sclera blinks at you before it opens wider, revealing a yellow-eyed, pink girl. She grins tightly at you, obviously confused by your presence.

“Hello, can I help you?” She said, and you take note of her for just a second. Young, most definitely not any older than 17- and tired. Her demeanor screamed of exhaustion. You smile gently at her.

“Hi, Nezu directed me this way. I’m looking for your teacher. This is 2-A, right?” You say, taking a step back just in case you had gotten it wrong (which you hoped wasn’t the case, seeing as the dorms were marked with the class names). The girl nodded and opened the door further, shifting to allow you room to enter.

“Yeah! You’re in the right place.” She says, and you enter the building quickly. You take your shoes off and place them into one of the cubbies near the door, and you note the number of shoes already in the cubbies. It reminds you of school, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

The girl hands you a pair of guest slippers, and as you put them on, she grins a little softer.

�� I’m Mina, by the way.” She says. You nod, both of you making your way out of the genkan.

” You have a very pretty name, Mina. I’m Revitalight, but you can call me y/n.” You reply, and she squints a little at you.

” Revitalight? I’ve heard that name before…oh, and thank you.” She says, startled out of her contemplation as she remembered the compliment. You nodded, a soft laugh leaving you. Even with the war, she was kind and very much a child. It both saddened and warmed you how her demeanor did not wholly mirror that of the community outside.

You both make it to the couches, where another group of teenagers are milling around. Their idle conversations pause as you stand at the edge of one of the couches. You wave politely, and Mina gestures toward you excitedly.

“Please welcome American Pro Hero: Revitalight!” She introduced, and you don’t have it in you to fight the American label- you’ve been a Pro in America for longer than she’s been in school. No point in telling her you went to Yuuei, too - or that you were still under the HPSC’s rule. The others say hello enthusiastically, waving from where they were sprawled out on the couch.

“Please, call me y/n.” You say, sitting on an unoccupied section of the couch.

Mina explains you’re looking for their sensei, and a girl with frog-adjacent features stands from her place on the couch.

“I’ll get Sensei down here for you then.” She says, voice horse how you’d expect a frogs to be. You send her a grateful smile.

” Thank you.” You respond, and she does little more than nod and disappear down the hall.

“Why are you here, Revitalight-san?” A boy with glasses says, and you pause to consider what you can tell them.

“The commission asked me to return, and I’ve been dispatched here. Principal Nedzu said I should head here before finding Recovery Girl.” You explain, trying to ignore the way the kids around you sober up quickly at the mention of the Hero Commission. You didn’t know how much they knew, but you hoped it wasn’t much- for their sake.

“What’s your quirk do?” A blonde asks, and you can see his curiosity blatantly on his face. You smile and raise your hand, gesturing toward him. He straightens from his flopped-over position and stands excitedly, opening his arms.

” Hit me!” He says, pouting at the bespeckled boy when he tries to get him to sit down.

” Denki, we don’t know their quirk. What if it’s dangerous,” he cautions, and you laugh a little to ease his worry.

“Don’t worry, um,” Mina whispers into your ear quickly, “Iida-kun. This won’t hurt him at all.” You reassure, and Iida settles back into his seat without further complaint.

The kids watch as you flex your hand just slightly, and suddenly, a bright yellowish-white light floats slowly from your hand to Denki, curling and moving in the air. The glow hits Denki straight in the chest, and he takes a deep breath.

“Woah.” He says, shaking out his body and looking down just in time to see the glow follow lightning-like patterns below his skin and fade down his arms. You tilt your head and eye the lightning bolt in his hair.

“Your quirk is electricity, right?” You say, prompting him to nod. The way the kids stare at you makes you want to laugh, but you hold off in case they take it mockingly.

“I can tell from the patterns it made. I only see those jagged lines from people who have lightning quirks or have been exposed to high voltages.” You explain, and Denki brightens at the information.

Mina’s about to ask a question when someone clears their throat behind you, and the kids all deflate into exaggerated whines or pouts.

“That’s enough, all of you, to your rooms. Or anywhere but here, really. If you even think of eavesdropping, I’ll have you scrubbing bathrooms for a week.” The voice says dryly, and you grin as the kids file out quickly, whining, “This is a common area; it’s not eavesdropping,” and “Sensei’s such a buzzkill.”

You turn to face them with a sheepish smile already in place.

“Sorry for intruding. Principal Nedzu said I should speak to you before,” You pause, finally registering who exactly you’re talking to. The gaze you get in return is similarly dumbfounded.

“Shou- Aizawa-san.” You stutter, correcting yourself. The man before you is every bit the boy you remember, even with the injuries you can see littering his body. The same tired eyes, pitch black hair, moody expression.

And still, you’re hit by his age. The mature structure of his jaw and the strong frame that screamed, well, Pro Hero hit you more than you’d think. Most of all, his height struck you. Last you had seen, Aizawa was pretty short for your age. He stands in front of you at six feet at least, and you wonder when a growth spurt that big hit him.

You flick your fingers anxiously, and his eyes follow the gesture for just a moment.

“Y/n. It’s been…a long time.” He says, crossing his arms in an attempt to seem casual. You can see the awkwardness of the action, though, in the way his shoulders tense and his brow furrows. The familiarity makes you a little light-headed. You smile, nodding.

“Yeah, it has. 12 years, now?” You say, looking around for just a moment to avoid his gaze. His hair, longer than you remember it being, is tied into a half-up, half-down style. He nods, and you lace your fingers together in front of you.

“Nedzu said the commission was sending someone, though he didn’t say it’d be you.” He says, and you try to find some emotion in the statement. When you don’t identify anything negative from his words, you shrug.

” Principal Nedzu didn’t tell me you were the teacher I was meeting either. Speaking of,” You hum, stepping closer. Aizawa shifts, obviously watching you but not moving away. “Sensei? Didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher, Aizawa.”

Aizawa grimaces slightly with a sigh and drops his arms from his chest to shove them into his pockets. “It’s not really my thing. But someone has to do it.” He says, and you squint a little at his response. With his hands hidden in his pockets, it clicks in your mind, and you bite back a smug smile. Aizawa had a similar tell to you- his hands start motioning to crack his knuckles, even if no pop comes of it.

You let a calmer grin settle on your face, staring up at him.

“Totally. Either way, I think it’s pretty cool of you.” You compliment, and his mouth twitches faintly in response.

“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly, and for a moment, you can see in his face that he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

You huff a sigh, “Same reason as everyone else. The war effort needed help, so the commission sent me home.” You explain. Aizawa nodded absently, reaching up to rub at his neck as he thought.

“You’re here to help Recovery Girl, then?” He says, face serious. You shake your hand in a so-so motion.

“Yes and no. I’ll help RG here for now, but I’ve been told they’ll send me with patrol groups and into war zones when needed. I can heal en mass in a way she can’t.” You shrug. Aizawa frowned, and you could tell he wasn’t happy with how the hero commission seemed comfortable throwing you wherever. Still, they’ve been this blasé with your life since you agreed to the program years ago, so it wasn’t something you concerned yourself with anymore.

“That doesn’t seem sustainable at all,” Aizawa says, critical as always. You give him an unimpressed look.

“War generally isn’t, no. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say, waving your hand casually. “Anyway. I meant to ask, what’s up with…this.” You say, gesturing toward the eye patch. He pursed his lips briefly.

“War causality. Still getting used to it.” He rumbled, and you smiled gently at him.

“If anyone can kick ass with one eye, it’s you, Aizawa.” You hit his shoulder playfully, almost in slow motion as a joke. The movement is familiar, and for just a second, you remember how this same punch made him hiss like a disgruntled cat and glare at you, teetering away from the force.

Now, the stare he levels you with is unimpressed; mouth curled upward. He hadn’t budged. Your stomach flutters for a moment. “You’re ridiculous.” He mutters. That is familiar. The warm tone in his voice makes you painfully nostalgic, and through the ache in your chest, you laugh at his response.

“One of us has to be,” You tease, backing up and crossing your arms. Aizawa shoots you a look and rolls his eye. Without another word, he turns back down the hall he came from, and it only takes you a beat to realize you were supposed to follow.

“C’mon, Mic would wanna see you.” He calls, waving a lazy hand to gesture you over. You follow eagerly, almost tripping over yourself.

“Oh my GOD, Mic’s here too?!”

#gn!y/n #mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #my hero academia x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #boku no hero academia x reader #eraserhead x reader #mha x gn!reader #aizawa x gn!reader #neev.doc

133 notes · View notes

red-write-hand · 6 months

Text

Modern!Tommy headcanons

(this could just be my thoughts splat onto a page but have fun! also no beta read we die like tommy's sexuality the moment he saw alfie solomons)

If that man could take his computer to bed with him, he would

He runs on cigarettes and coffee

I feel like he would totally have those machines that are super intricate about making coffee

Usually an apple loyalist but buys add-ons from others (think headphones, charging cables, other Bluetooth items)

Listens to The Neighborhood, Drake, Hozier, Eminem, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Kendrick Lamar, Bastille

Exclusively buys from Boss, started as a joke with his brothers but then he realized he really likes the suits he bought

Owns a bunch of clubs and knows about the best clubs to go to if you want a good time

Likes to eat expensive food but will never turn down Italian take out at horrible hours of the night

Absolutely owns a pair of those Bluetooth Raybans that play music discreetly

Favorite movies are the Tobey Maguire Spidermans, Star Wars (only the New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, Revenge of the Sith, and Rise of Skywalker)

Has better figured out his own mental health and sexuality

this👏man👏is👏bisexual👏 (it radiates off him, takes one to know one)

since it is more widely accepted, he feels a little better about it

he absolutely had his first bi panic when he would banter with Freddie

that and EVERY interaction with Alfie

alfie bought him a tiny pride flag which he keeps in his desk, right next to his incredibly expensive alcohol ~x fem!Reader headcanons (m! in part 2)~ warnings: kinda unethical office workplace relationship?

its become a joke of sorts about being tommy's secretary around his family

this all stemmed from him taking an interest in you when you applied

you really were gorgeous to him

you're the only person he is slightly comfortable around besides the Blinders or his own family

the longer you work with him, the more comfortable he gets

after awhile, he (politely, our boy is respectful) asks you to call him Tommy instead of 'Mr. Shelby'

he is one of the most sought after men in the city which makes him very alluring to most

you don't super see it, he's always been very "normal" around, not the silver tongued devil most people knew him as

it wasn't that you didn't like him, you really did, his gorgeous frame, his perfect eyes, his slender fingers, his dark hair, everything was amazing except for the fact that he never really showed any interest in you, to him (you thought), you were his secretary, nothing more

oh how wrong you were

this all changes one late night, him still tirelessly working and you still there making sure that he doesn't stay there all night

it doesn't take much for him to just keep running on fumes so it usually falls upon you to remind him what god awful hour it is

you gently crack open the door and poke your head in

"Hey, Tommy, it's almost 1, pack it up and get some actual sleep."

He rolled his neck and closed his computer, just before packing everything up, he stops

"Cmon 'ere"

It was simple and you knew what could happen if something were to go down but you could find a new job if you had to

The Shelby building was quiet and the only office with any lights on was his

You leaned on the side of his desk and he opens the big drawer at the bottom

He procures the bottle of probably very expensive alcohol and starts pouring you one

"Why do you stay so late? Making sure I go home isn't in your contract."

You thought about it, it had become such a part of your daily cycle

"I guess I've just gotten used to it. Seemed like the right things to do after awhile."

He thanks you quietly and hands your glass of the whiskey he had poured

This was the softest you had ever seen him, you decided to capitalize off of it

"I've never understood it, why are you so comfortable with me Tommy?"

He nods slowly, knowing he would have to explain himself soon

"Polly says I don't 'ave my head straight yet, so my answer won't do you much good."

You, of course, weren't satisfied with that answer so you decided to play a hunch

By this hour of the night, his hair was rather disheveled so you tentatively ran your finger through it, fixing it for him

a small smirk bloomed on your lips when his expression seemed to soften more

This sort of tension was now a pattern for the two of you

The tension got to such a height that after awhile, late at night, he would just pull you into his lap and have his hand wrapped around your waist

You like to run your hands through his hair or trace his jaw with your fingertip

this is just how it is for the two of you and both of you like that <3

195 notes · View notes

woman-of-balnain · 1 year

Text

Bold as Love Part 2 (Arthur x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 | Masterlist | A03 Ver.

Summary: A requested part 2, where the Reader gets back at Arthur for making her jealous.

A/N: @anyas-stuff, I hope it's okay. I wasn't sure if I was making him too dominant, and then later if he wasn't dominant enough lol 😅 Please let me know if you aren't happy with any of it and I'll edit it to your liking.

Warnings: Possessive Arthur, jealous Arthur, dominant Arthur, reader flirting with some random guy lol, Arthur punching and threatening said guy, swearing/cursing, smut, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie, no use of Reader's name/Y/N etc.

Word Count: 3,409

Divider by: cafekitsune

You were treading into dangerous waters as you flirted with the handsome man you’d spotted while in the Bastille Saloon. Arthur had noticed that you were still annoyed with him for going off to see Mary, so he’d taken you out of camp for the night, planning for you both to spend some time alone together in Saint Denis. But the saloon was filled with people, meaning Arthur had to work harder than usual to get the bartender’s attention.

That had given you the perfect opportunity to get back at him. All it took was spotting this attractive stranger - who was clearly interested in you - from across the room. You had made your way over to him, struck up a lascivious conversation and now you were seated in his lap, toying with him and waiting for Arthur to notice.

You played with the collar of the man’s jacket, while his hand disappeared under your skirt, trailing up the bare skin of your leg. You hoped Arthur would realize soon, before things got to a point where backing out would cause a scene.

“How ‘bout we find somewhere more private, beautiful?” The man spoke deeply, right by your ear.

You tried to think of a way to stall him. He was attractive, sure, but you had no real interest in him other than to incite Arthur’s jealousy.

“This feller botherin’ you darlin’?”

Speak of the devil.

You tried to hide your smirk, not wanting to give yourself away as you turned your head to regard him.

“No,” you replied simply. “We’re just talking.”

Arthur looked absolutely livid, and his gaze only hardened even further as the man snaked his other arm around your waist.

“Yeah, back off mister,” the man told Arthur, not seeming to realize that he knew you, let alone that you were together. “I saw her first, so I’m havin’ her first. You can do what you want with her after that.”

You tensed at his words, disgusted by the way he talked about you like you were just some shiny new toy that he got the first dibs on playing with. But you barely had time to truly react, because Arthur seemed to like it even less. He moved with lightning speed, pulling you away from the other man right before he brought his fist back and then slammed it into the bastard’s face.

“I best not hear you talk about her like that again,” Arthur warned him lowly, seething with anger. “’Cause if I do, I’ll do worse than just breakin’ your nose.”

Your heart pounded with excitement as Arthur took hold of your wrist and you got one final look at the blood pouring down the man’s face before you were being pulled up the stairs and towards the hotel room Arthur had booked. You let out a startled gasp as your back was pushed against the wall of the room after you entered it.

Arthur’s gaze was dark with both anger and possessive desire. You couldn’t stop the small smirk that played across your lips, as you realized that you had successfully brought out his jealousy.

“Did you forget you’re mine, darlin’?” He asked in that deep and gruff tone of his.

He was pressed right up against you, his eyes heated as one of his hands moved to your collarbone. Arthur’s fingertips brushed over your skin, teasing in the way that he was barely touching you, but providing just enough contact to leave you wanting more.

“Are you jealous?” You asked him playfully, attempting to mask the way his touch always got to you.

“He had his hand up your skirt,” Arthur practically growled out. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you like that.”

His answer only confirmed your suggestion, even though he didn’t outright admit it. You reveled in the raw possessiveness that you found in his gaze, feeling yourself already becoming wet with anticipation. You tried to bite back a moan as Arthur began hiking up your skirt until your bare legs were revealed.

“Where did he touch you?” Arthur’s fingertips trailed softly over your knee. “Here?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded slowly, eyelids drooping slightly as you bit down on your bottom lip in open desire.

“What about here?” He moved his hand further up your thigh.

“Yes.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed with annoyance, but his touch kept travelling further upwards until he reached the very top.

“You better not have let him touch you here, darlin’,” Arthur warned you lowly, his hand cupping your now dripping wet pussy.

“What if I did?”

“I’ll go back down there and kill the son of a bitch.”

You should have found that to be a turnoff and you should have felt shame due to the fact that it only filled you with more desire for your man. But you felt neither of those things and your pussy just got wetter at the possessive fury Arthur was exhibiting.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare tell me you’re this wet for anyone but me.”

“What? I’m not allowed to have a little fun with someone else?”

You were referring to him going off to see Mary, of course. The number of times your mind had tortured you with imagined images of what the two of them might have got up to in that dark theatre left you rightfully angry.

Yet, you realized with satisfaction that Mary seemed to be furthest thing from Arthur’s mind in that moment. He didn’t seem to pick up on your insinuation and instead he just seemed to get angrier at the idea of you wanting any man who wasn’t him.

“You’re mine,” he reminded you again. “And you’re gonna prove it to me.”

Your eyebrows raised in question, but he didn’t give you time to think over and guess at what he might mean. Arthur took hold of your wrist again, pulling you over to the bed and unceremoniously pushing you down onto it. Then, his hands were on you, unfastening the belt around your waist, which kept your skirt up.

You were quick to work on removing your blouse as well, flinging it off to the side at the same time Arthur pulled the skirt down your legs. Once you were naked before him, he took a moment to eye you up and down with open lust before his gaze hardened again.

“Turn around.” He ordered.

“Or what?” You challenged. You were still unwilling to give in, partly out of pride and partly because you wanted to see how far you could push him and just how possessive and dominant he could get.

“Don’t make me ask again, darlin’,” he warned. “Or it’ll be ten instead of five and I’ll keep goin’ up ‘til you listen.”

Ten what? You wondered.

You did as he said though, turning around until your stomach was pressed against the bed.

“Lift up your hips,” he continued instructing you.

You lifted them up, resulting in your ass being presented to him.

“That’s it,” he praised. “My good girl.”

You felt the coarseness of his calloused hands smoothing over your exposed ass, his fingertips trailing over the naked skin before he squeezed down appreciatively. Then, he moved his touch down to your dripping folds, stroking along the slit of your pussy and then up to your clit, causing your legs to shake with need.

“That feel good, darlin’?”

“Mmm,” you couldn’t form any words as your body became desperate for more.

“What was that?” Arthur teased you by pulling his hand away. “Tell me.”

“It feels good,” you moaned out, pushing your hips up even further in an attempt to have him touch you again.

“What does?”

“You…” the reply was breathless and filled with desire. “Touching me.”

“Good girl,” you could practically hear the smirk he must’ve had. “Just my touch, right darlin’?”

You managed to regain some of your stubbornness now that he had relinquished his touch, so you bit back a little.

“Maybe…”

Yet, you were surprised when Arthur didn’t verbally respond straight away, and the only thing you could hear was the sound of him removing his gun belt. You went to turn your head and look at him, but Arthur was quick to give you another order.

“Eyes forward, sweetheart.”

You did as he said, waiting with anticipation as you heard him place the belt on the dresser before the sound of clothes rustling filled the room. Then, Arthur’s body was bending down over yours, pressing against you until his lips were right by your ear. You realized that he had stripped as you felt his hardened length against your lower back.

“I want you to count for me gorgeous,” his deep and gravelly voice spoke into your ear. “Can you do that for me?”

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“You’ll know when to start,” was all he said in response.

Then Arthur was pulling back, and you expected to feel his cock thrusting into you fast and hard. You were aching to have him filling you up, deep inside. But you weren’t expecting to feel the forceful and sharp slap of his hand against your ass. A shocked sound – something between a moan and gasp – escaped your lips.

“I told you to count, darlin’,” he reminded you. “If you forget, this’ll just take longer.”

“Oh, fuck!” You moaned out, realizing that he was going to make you endure this at least another four times.

The sharp sting of his hand against your skin was shocking and gave you just the slightest twinge of pain, but it also made your pussy even more wet and needy for him.

“You got a dirty mouth, gorgeous,” he chuckled darkly. “But that ain’t what I wanna hear right now.”

He spanked his hand down again, his free one holding your hip to steady you.

“T-two,” you got out.

“No, sweetheart, that was one.”

You groaned, realizing that he was serious about drawing it out even longer if you lost count.

“One,” you corrected yourself, your pussy clamping down on nothing as you yearned to have him just fuck you already.

“Good girl,” he praised, squeezing down on your hip.

“Oh, Christ! Two…”

He had brought his hand down again and the sweet mix between pain and pleasure was already too much to bear.

“Look at you darlin’,” Arthur admired the sight of you. “Your pussy is soaked. Is this turning you on?”

“Please, Arthur,” you begged, noting how he had stopped. “I need you inside me.”

“You sure?” He asked, making you frown.

“Of course, I’m sure!”

“You don’t want that feller downstairs?”

“No,” you insisted. “I just wanted to get back at you… Make you jealous too…”

“Oh darlin’, I ain’t jealous,” Arthur told you lowly. “I am god damned furious.”

He brought his hand down again, a little harder this time and you scrambled to get out the word ‘three’.

“You’re mine,” he said yet again. “All mine.”

Your only response was another deep and desperate moan, so he did it another time, forcing you to continue counting.

“Say it, darlin’,” he coaxed you, his fingers soothing your skin by tracing lightly over where he had been spanking you.

“I’m yours,” you breathed out. “Just yours.”

Then you were crying out in euphoric bliss as he pulled back and finally thrust into you, deep and hard.

“Don’t forget it sweetheart,” Arthur warned you. “You do that again, and I won’t leave the bastard alive.”

Your hands balled into fists, clutching tightly at the sheets as he continued to pound into you.

“Your body is attuned to mine,” he grit out, quickly becoming lost in his own sense of desire. “You think another man can make you feel like this?”

“No,” you breathed out, knowing he was right.

He didn’t even have to touch you. Just one heated look, or the way his voice deepened and got rougher with arousal was enough to make your body yearn for him.

“Shit, darlin’,” he groaned, finally giving away just how badly he needed you too. “You’re always so tight around me.”

Arthur faltered just briefly, taking a second to enjoy the way your pussy wrapped around him so snugly, before he pulled all the way out and then slammed back in again. Your entire body seemed to thrust forward from the force of it and you could no longer hold back the constant and eager sounds that left you.

“That’s it,” Arthur encouraged you huskily. “Don’t hold back, darlin’. I want everyone here to know what I do to you.”

You bent your head down, letting it rest against the bed as the feel of his velvety but rock-hard length against your walls brought you closer and closer to the edge. You were so wrapped up in the fact that he was finally deep inside of you, that when his hand slapped your ass again, gentler this time, you almost forgot his earlier instructions. But you managed to moan out the number ‘five’ in time and then his hands were on your hips again, using his grip on them to give him leverage as his merciless rhythm continued.

“You’re close, darlin’,” he observed. “I can feel it. What do you need?”

You could only moan in response, but Arthur didn’t seem to mind. He knew your body just as well as he knew his own. He lifted you up until your back was pressed to his chest and then one of his hands gently held your throat, while the other slid down your body until it reached the apex of your thighs.

“You need me to touch you?” Arthur guessed, brushing his fingers ever so slightly against your clit. “Right here?”

“Oh god,” you moaned. “Please Arthur…”

“Tell me.”

“Please touch me. I need it so badly.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

Arthur pressed down harder, his fingers rubbing in circular motions over your clit. Your pussy reacted instantly, squeezing down even harder on his cock. He moaned, tilting his head to give you another kiss, this time to the crook of your neck.

“Come on, darlin’,” he coaxed you. “I need to feel you cumming around me.”

He lightly pinched your clit, applying just enough pressure to cause a wave of pure bliss to wash over you.

“Arthur…” you moaned out.

“Shit,” he cursed.

Arthur held your hips tightly, keeping himself buried deep inside while your pussy spasmed perfectly around his cock. He loved the way it felt when you came undone, knowing that it was him who did that to you. Your legs shook and your head fell back to rest against his shoulder as your orgasm left your mind and body reeling. Arthur gave you time for your body to settle again before he was slowly pulling out of you and turning you around to face him.

He hadn’t cum, so you knew he wasn’t done with you yet and you moved to lay back on the bed. Arthur followed, his perfectly chiseled body caging you beneath him. You spread your legs, allowing him to settle between them and you let your eyes move slowly down to look at his chest and the light hairs that spread across it.

Then your gaze descended further, taking in his long and thick cock, still achingly hard. You reached out, wrapping your hand around him and lifting your hips to line him back up. Arthur didn’t waste any time, thrusting quickly back inside you.

“Sweetheart,” he moaned, lowering his head until his forehead rested against yours. “You drive me crazy.”

He moved a little slower then, no longer setting the brutal and ruthless pace from before. Now, he allowed himself to take in every little feeling and sensation, like he was savoring the way your body fit his so perfectly.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

You felt slightly bad for making him so angry, even if it did mean that you’d successfully gotten back at him.

“Just don’t… forget… darlin’,” he murmured between thrusts. “I ain’t gonna… let you go. ‘Specially not to a… son of a bitch… like that.”

He brought his hands to yours, entwining your fingers together and using the grip he had to move his hips quicker and deepen his thrusts.

“You’d better not,” you grit out, your back arching a little from how deeply he was filling you up. “Just like… you’d better not see that… bitch again…”

Arthur just let out a light, amused laugh and it surprised you that he didn’t seem bothered by you cursing her out for once. Then he dipped his head and caught your lips in a fervent kiss, pressing his tongue against yours while he continued his steady but passionate rhythm. The way his cock moved in and out repeatedly, with his hips smacking against yours in desperation, caused that fire to build up in your lower belly again.

You met his thrusts eagerly, loving the feel of his naked and toned chest pressing against your hard nipples, teasing them and the rest of your body even further. You were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, bodies tangled together and desperate for release.

His taste filled your mouth, a mix of whiskey, tobacco and just a hint of the mint he often chewed. Along with the little sounds of pleasure he was letting out, it all meant that you were totally and utterly consumed by Arthur.

He gave one last lingering and deep kiss to your lips before pulling back, releasing his grip on your hands and taking hold of your thighs instead. He picked up the pace again and you realized how close he was. His hips moved rapidly, pounding into you forcefully and your body writhed in ecstasy beneath him.

You peered up to watch him through hooded eyes, seeing the way his own were squeezed shut and his mouth was slightly agape with open lust and desire. Then you looked further down your body and observed the swift way his cock slid in and out of you.

Paired with how it felt, tantalizing your sensitive walls with every stroke, brought you to a state of elation once again. Arthur was getting louder now, unable to hold back the moans and groans of pleasure that rose deep in his throat.

The way he lost control and began to unravel whenever he was close to cumming always turned you on. He threw his head back, muscles flexing slightly as he continued to smack his hips against yours. The sounds coming from him were now becoming more unrestrained and guttural. You were so close as well and when you clamped down even tighter around him, in a vice like grip, he thrust all the way forward, burying his cock completely inside you and holding himself there.

You both let out a simultaneous moan and as the first spurts of his cum filled you up, another orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy milked him, convulsing around his length and making Arthur get completely lost in the feel of you as more desperate sounds escaped him. His cock throbbed inside you, further stimulating your sensitive walls and keeping you in a state of euphoric bliss until his body finally began to settle.

When you looked up at Arthur again, he had a small but content smile playing across his lips, and he regarded you with deep affection. Then, he leaned down again, bringing his body closer to yours so that he could look you right in the eye.

“We good now, darlin’?” He asked, voice still deep and gravelly with unadulterated lust. “’Cause I can’t handle seein’ you like that again, ‘less it’s me you’re wrapped around.”

“We’re good,” you promised him, reaching up to run your fingers over his cheek, the coarseness of his short beard tickling your skin. “Although, jealousy does look good on you.”

You let out a light, playful laugh, showing that you were just teasing him.

“I ain’t jealous,” he insisted once again.

“Sure,” you nodded, still unable to hide your smile.

But Arthur was quick to wipe the smirk of your face, causing it to melt into an expression of desire once again as he stole another kiss from your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and forgetting about everything else but him.

#arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x fem reader #red dead smut #arthur morgan/reader

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honeypiehotchner · 9 months

Text

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part five

Some of these parts are going to be pretty short as things ramp up, which is why I wanted to do two parts a week! Promise it'll make sense as it goes on 😈

Don't forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be "tagged" when a new part goes up!

Five: Don't pin it all on me -- "Blame" by Bastille

Sunlight warmed your cheeks, waking you up slow and sweet. Spring air filtered into the room from the open window, birds chirping on the tree branches just above the house. It was pure peace.

You rolled over and clutched the closest pillow to your chest, inhaling the fresh scent. Your new laundry detergent had a lavender fragrance, but this was something else. Something better.

“Hey, honey,” a smooth voice called from the hallway. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” It sounded so familiar, yet so new.

Your eyes opened as you rolled back over, meeting Aaron’s soft gaze. He wore jeans and a light blue button down, your favorite. You hummed. He looked good. He always looked good.

“You’re not awake yet,” he cooed, his footsteps drawing closer, the swish of his sock feet against the hardwood. “Go back to sleep, honey.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You felt it. “I’ll be back later.”

Your mind drifted forward, anxiety swirling. Where was he going? Why was he leaving?

“Wait,” you blurted, your eyes shooting open to find Aaron was already gone. “Aaron?”

You threw the covers off your body, standing up to look for him. You wore one of his shirts, the collar hanging loosely off your shoulder.

Down the hall, into the living room, you searched. But he was gone. It didn’t even sound like he was still outside, getting in his car, cranking the engine. He was already gone. Completely gone--

“Y/N?” an urgent voice called from outside. It sounded muffled, and it wasn’t Aaron this time. “Y/N!” it called again.

“Yeah?” you yelled, walking toward the front door with tentative steps.

It was far away, further away than you remembered. It kept moving. You kept reaching for it, but it kept getting smaller, always out of reach no matter how fast you walked. You tried to jump, but it failed.

“Shit,” you cussed, tripping over the circular rug by your couch. When you looked up again, you were in Aaron’s office at the BAU, facing his window, rain beating on the glass. “Huh?”

“Y/N!” the voice called again, this time sounding like it came from down in the bullpen. “Y/N!”

“Aaron!” you yelled back, spinning around. “Aaron! Wait!”

You lurched forward, reaching for Hotch’s office door, fingers straining, mouth open, ready to scream don’t go please don’t go you have to stay you don’t know what’s out there--

+++

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, it was just a bad dream,” Morgan whispered, his eyebrows pressed together. “You okay?”

You were suddenly very aware that you were in the jet, sprawled across two of the seats with your blanket kicked to the floor. Emily, JJ, Rossi, and Spencer stared at you, various shades of worry covering their expressions. qq

Right. Arkansas. Four women had gone missing, and the first one’s body was found just yesterday. Completely unrecognizable, if it weren’t for a tattoo and dental records. And a fifth went missing this morning, though they weren’t entirely sure she was connected. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. Morgan and Rossi made the decision to head out there.

“I’m good,” you replied, flashing Morgan a smile. “Good. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Morgan sighed, taking the seat across from you. Everyone went back to their respective menial tasks, but you knew they were all listening in on your conversation.

“You said that yesterday,” Morgan said, leaning forward to keep his voice low. “And the day before that.”

“And the day before that,” you nodded. “I know.”

“You know you can talk to me,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, laughing him off. “I’m fine, I’m just…stressed, I don’t know. It’s been hectic here, that’s all.”

“It has,” Morgan agreed. “I know you miss him--”

“I did not say that.”

“Y/N, you whispered Aaron in your sleep.”

“What?”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah. You did. It’s been hard, we all feel for him, but…” He paused, gesturing toward you, but saying nothing.

“What?” you pressed. He was holding something back, you knew it.

“I know the two of you were…close.”

“Derek,” you scoffed. This was getting ridiculous.

“And listen, I’m not judging, alright? I get it. It happens. But if you need time off, I need you to say that.” This was Acting Unit Chief Derek Morgan filtering in, mixing with his usual Protective Brother act. You didn’t like it. You wanted him to stop being so good at profiling you.

“I’m fine,” you said, realizing you sounded exactly like Hotch before he left. You corrected yourself. “Thank you for checking in, but I’m good. How far away are we?”

Morgan took a moment, but accepted the subject change. “About forty minutes.”

“Okay,” you said, sitting up fully. “Should we revisit victimology?”

“Sure,” Morgan nodded. “Let’s do it.”

+++

Hours away, almost to Washington state, Aaron continued driving.

He hadn’t slept in days. There was no time. If he was to do what he needed to get done, he had to do it quickly.

The files sat in the passenger seat, open to the picture of the unsub. He wore a smile. Asshole.

This case was special. The unsub was nearly convicted, but the case was dismissed last minute. The evidence against him was strong, but not strong enough, apparently. The BAU was asked to appear in court -- Hotch was -- but there was no time. Another case came up, one more urgent than a court appearance.

Hotch should’ve never turned his back on it. He should’ve gone to court and put the unsub away for good. Now he had to make up for it. Now he had to make it right because the unsub had moved away just to continue killing. Because he didn’t show in court.

Maybe. Hotch didn’t know for sure, but he thought so. All he had to do was find the guy, and it would be over soon enough.

He pulled off the interstate to fill up on gas, paying with cash. He grabbed another coffee while he was stopped, and an energy drink from the fridge.

Back on the road, Aaron began to think of you.

He hated to leave you. He really did. But he had to, and he knew that. You would’ve tried to stop him. You did try to stop him. But you had turned him in to Strauss. That was your fault-- this was your fault. If you hadn’t said anything, then he would be back at the BAU right now, doing paperwork until God knows what hour in the morning.

But was that what he wanted right now? He was tired of doing paperwork. Tired of being the boss of it all when it never even mattered. None of it made a difference. It never would.

This, though, this would make a difference. He had to do this. He had to stop them. No one else would. It had to be a him. It always had to be him.

Did it?

He heard your voice in his head, the soft, stay, please, as if that would really work. (It almost did. He almost went to your apartment, almost knocked on your doour, almost made it all different--)

He stopped, slapping the radio dial, wanting music to block out his thoughts. Only it was the news, so all he heard was about the disastrous storm that was behind him, rolling into Washington with his four wheels.

He drove faster. The snowstorm couldn’t protect the unsub, or Hotch, from themselves. It was too late for protection.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #unsub!hotch x fem!reader #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #unsub!hotch #unsub!hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months

Note

🎵 But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you’ve been here before? - Pompeii by Bastille

Hi can i request and spencer reader for scarlets concert please

# milestone celebrations

Hello lovely Anon! Kind of a rewrite of 15.04 Saturday I guess. Artistic liberties were taken in that the Jeid confession never happened (like we all wish it hadn’t). Also the way Spencer talks about Pompeii is actually how the lead singer of Bastille described the meaning of the song in an interview.

I am still taking song lyric requests for my milestone celebration 🎵

Pompeii

Gif does not depict the appearance of the reader.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - Spencer Reid is stuck in a rut, bored by his mundane life. But one conversation with a stranger prompts his whole life to change. And he knows he’ll never be bored again.

CW - slightly miserable Spencer, therapists, a lot of talk of Mount Vesuvius eruption and death, Spencer and his uncomfortable info dumps, self depreciating Spencer, one swear, mostly silliness and cute dog interactions.

WC - 4.3k

Spencer Reid was, for a lack of a better word, bored. Unfortunately for him, given his incredibly high IQ and his brain's need for constant stimulation, it was easy for him to feel this way.

For a long time now he’d felt like he was living a Groundhog Day. His life became a series of tedious events that seemed to recur over and over again in the exact same way.

His days started with coffee and the newspaper, whether he was at home or away on a case. He showered, towel dried his errant hair and dressed in some version of the same outfit everyday.

Then he went to work, taking the metro at the same time everyday he was in DC or jumping into one of the SUV’s, always in the back seat, if they were away.

The cases always seemed much the same as each other these days. People were being murdered, it was their jobs to stop the unsub.

Time and time again Spencer found himself in front of a map working the geographic profile or he was utilised if there was a lot of literature as he was the only one who could get through it fast enough.

He spoke to Garica over the phone, sometimes watched interrogations through the two-way glass, rarely conducted them. And when they had a suspect, he got on his Kevlar and piled into the SUV with the rest of the team.

Whether they stopped the unsub before it was too late or not meant very little to him these days.

And then he’d crawl into bed, sometimes his own, sometimes a random hotel bed in whatever town the team found themselves in. It didn’t much matter, they were all equally as lonely.

And Spencer was just bored of it all.

When he closed his eyes, it almost felt as if nothing had changed at all; like he’d been here before. The monotony of his days was getting him down. His impressive brain wasn’t being used to its full capacity and he felt it withering away inside of his skull.

He didn’t feel challenged in any aspect of his life. His job had grown stale and maybe if he had something else to keep his mind occupied it might be ok. But climbing into an empty bed was by far the most soul destroying part of this perpetual deja vu loop he’d ended up in.

How was he supposed to be optimistic when life kept giving him reasons not to be?

Along with the boredom, Spencer started spiralling into a vicious pit of misery. It’s not that he was necessarily depressed, but he certainly wasn’t happy.

He became snappy with the people he called his friends. He was easily irritable, quick to anger. Everyone had noticed. It didn't take a profiler to see Spencer wasn’t himself.

But much like they always did, they buried their heads in the sand, busy enough with their own lives so they didn’t have time to worry about the youngest member of their team. It was a pattern he’d grown used to, another mundane facet of Spencer’s life. They cared, he knew that, but maybe they didn’t care enough.

His days off were always the same too.

He spent the mornings with coffee and a newspaper, showered and dressed before leaving his apartment. The home he’d once loved, his fortress of solitude, had grown so impossibly lonely that he couldn’t bear to spend more time there than he had to.

Those four walls in which he’d lived for close to two decades now seemed hell bent on provoking him, reminding him how isolated he’d become.

So he went out, to coffee shops, bookstores and museums; always in that order. He hated the rut he’d found himself in but he couldn’t for the life of him snap himself out of it. As much as he hated it, repetition was something he was good at.

But something had to change. He had to find a way to banish the grey clouds that rolled over the hills, shrouding him in a constant darkness.

And that was how Spencer Reid ended up on his day office in a therapist's office.

His first three sessions went exactly the same, a constant theme in his life. His therapist would ask him what brought him here and what he hoped to achieve; in response Spencer would pretty much clam up instantly.

In their fourth session, things played out a little differently.

Doctor Santiago didn’t have her notebook on her lap when he entered her office like she had the other three times. Her hands were laced in her lap, her glasses pushed up on top of her head. Her expression was less amicable than usual.

“Spencer,” she spoke before he’d even gotten comfortable. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but is it really worth wasting your money and what precious free time you have, coming here when you aren’t going to talk about why you’re here?”

He looked at his shoes, one of which was tapping against the carpet, then he looked at his hands. He didn’t look back at Doctor Santiago when he spoke.

“I’ve been reading a lot about Mount Versuvius and Pompeii.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh in time with his foots rhythmic tapping,

“Ok…” Doctor Santiago frowned a little but hoped if she didn’t say too much so he would continue.

“All those people who were just going about their days, lost in their own vices and then boom, it’s all over just like that. Posed forever in time as the dust settles around them. Do you know that approximately sixteen thousand people died in Pompeii?” He glanced up at her, his own expression contorted in confusion.

“I didn’t know that.” The Doctor shook her head. “So you’ve been thinking about death?”

“No.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Although I suppose that would be the more obvious trail of thought. But once you get to know me you’ll realise my trails of thought are anything but obvious.”

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this then.”

Spencer huffed out a breath, frustrated even though he was used to people never understanding him.

“I’ve been thinking about stasis.” He mused and he watched as his therapist's brow furrowed. “Just imagine it, how boring must it have been, emotionally speaking, in the aftermath? Just stuck in the same position for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

Doctor Santiago’s brow was furrowed so deeply her eyebrows were practically in her eye sockets.

“But they were dead.” She stated the obvious.

“Logically I know that. But for some reason I just can’t help thinking about it. I keep having imaginary conversations in my head as if I were one of those people. Stuck in some kind of like, tragic death pose and having a conversation with the other people also resided to the same fate.” He frowned himself now as he spoke it out loud.

It sounded even more ridiculous hearing himself say it. Was he really so bored that these were the kind of thoughts he spent his time nurturing?

The doctor leant forward with her knees on her elbows, it was her job to quickly make assumptions about the things her patients told her and to read between the lines.

“You feel like one of those people. Stuck in time while the rest of the world continues to move around you.” She stated it is a fact, didn’t ask.

Spencer winced a little at her summation but nodded nonetheless.

“People always see my IQ as a blessing, but actually a lot of the time it’s more like a curse. Boredom is so much easier for me to fall into, if my brain’s not being stimulated enough.” He ran his fingers over the crease in his slacks, hoping it would work to distract him from talking about himself.

“And you feel like you aren’t getting enough stimulation?” She narrowed her eyes on him.

“Not anymore. Not for a long time.” He agreed. “I love my job but it’s just not challenging me anymore. I feel like…let’s say the BAU is a city, like Pompeii. I used to love that city, but now it just feels like all the walls are tumbling down and I’ve been left covered in rubble, left in this monotonous death pose for all of eternity.”

God that sounds morbid and very over dramatic, what is wrong with me?

“You’re stuck in a rut.” Doctor Santiago didn’t seem perturbed, she’d probably heard a lot worse.

“Undoubtedly.” He agreed.

“You’re going to do something for me today.” She sat back in her chair, a smile toying at her lips which Spencer wasn’t sure he liked. “You’re going to go somewhere you wouldn’t ordinarily go, not a bookstore, not a museum. Somewhere new for Spencer Reid.”

“That’s all?” He frowned sceptically.

“No,” Santiago chuckled with a shake of her head. “I want you to have one conversation with someone you don’t know. Don’t talk about work, or your routine. Definitely don’t talk about Pompeii or death poses.”

“See, here’s the thing with that,” Spencer swallowed. “In case it wasn’t clear, I am exceptionally socially awkward. I can’t just talk to a stranger. How about I come up with some conversation topics and next week we can discuss them and then-”

“Spencer,” she cut him off. “Today. It’s time to break you out of your rut, ok?”

Goddamnit, why did I ever come here?

***

The park was just about the least Spencer Reid place to hang out that there was, aside from maybe the beach, and he felt inherently uncomfortable.

He was a middle aged man in a suit jacket and shirt, wandering a park on a Saturday afternoon, alone. He actually found himself willing his cell phone to ring and being called into work rather than go through with this.

One conversation with someone he didn’t know. It was at its core a simple enough task. At least it would be for most people, people unlike Spencer who didn’t feel paralysed at the thought of talking to strangers.

It was different at work, where part of his job was to talk to people all the time. He had some sort of authority in those situations, his presence was helping catch a killer. In the park he was out in the wild, thrown to the wolves. He was so far out of his comfort zone it made him feel nauseous.

But for the first time in months, he wasn’t bored. And maybe Doctor Santiago had been onto something.

He scanned the area as he meandered down the tree lined path that cut through the park, in search of someone who looked normal enough for him to strike up a conversation with. Most people weren’t alone, with their families, partners or kids or both. The only other people he noticed on their own didn’t look what Spencer would deem as normal.

He spent almost an hour wandering with the bright DC sunshine beaming down on him. Eventually he started to feel sweat gathering at the base of his neck and at his temples and ambled to the nearest bench.

He shucked off his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. Feeling dejected and slightly fed up, he pulled his book on Mount Vesuvius out of his satchel and started reading it for approximately the seventy-sixth time.

When Spencer was reading, his brain blocked off everything else that wasn’t directly on the pages in front of him. He couldn’t hear the sound of people chatting and laughing in the park, he could no longer feel the heat from the sun. He was lost somewhere in Pompeii.

It was because of this that he didn’t notice the large, fluffy mutt running directly at him, or hear its owner calling for him to stop. It wasn’t until he felt something heavy pressing against his knees and his book being snuffled out of the way by a wet nose, that he looked up from the pages.

The dog with its piercing blue eyes and a soft, fuzzy face stared at him, paws on either of Spencer’s knees and its tongue hanging dopily out its mouth. Spencer stared at the mutt for a moment or two, somewhat perplexed, before it dribbled on Spencer’s slacks and Spencer groaned in frustration.

“Gross,” He grumbled, giving the dog a soft push. “Get down.”

The dog dropped back to the grass, but continued staring at Spencer while he found a handkerchief in his satchel and wiped his pants.

“Beau! Beau, what are you doing?” A panted voice caused Spencer’s eyes to snap away from the dog and up to a woman running his way.

Spencer felt his chest tighten as he watched the grace with which you chased after the errant dog.

“I’m so sorry.” You fought to catch your breath as you stopped in front of him and the dog. “He’s so much faster than me.”

“He dribbles.” Spencer tucked the soiled handkerchief away.

“Yeah, dogs will do that.” You laughed, clipping the leash to the husky’s collar.

“I could have been allergic.” Spencer stood up from the bench.

“Allergic to dogs?” You cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“Dog saliva. A study showed that dog saliva contains at least twelve different types of allergy-causing protein bands.” He told you, stuffing his hands in pockets.

“Right, odd thing to say to someone you just met, but sure.” You shook your head.

“It was reported that a seventy year old woman had a severe infection of bacterium called capnocytophaga canimorsus, which likely came from her Italian Greyhound’s saliva.” He continued despite himself.

“When was the last time you talked to an actual human being?” You pulled a face, patting Beau’s fuzzy head and causing him to mewl happily.

“I talk to human being’s all the time.” He frowned, not understanding the question.

“About dog saliva?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Never about dog saliva actually.”

“Maybe don’t make a habit of it, it's kinda weird.” Your lip started to slowly curl up into a small smile.

“Duly noted.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Does, uh…would you say this counted as a conversation?”

Your brows knitted together, almost immediately wiping the smile from your face.

“What would you class as a conversation?”

“An informal talk between two or more people, in which thoughts, feelings and ideas are expressed.” He quoted the dictionary definition of the term.

“Well, this seemed pretty informal. I shared my thoughts about you coming across as weird, as you shared your ideas about my dog’s saliva and my feelings towards it are discomfort. Seems like a conversation.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” He sighed to himself. “My therapist wanted me to have one conversation with one person I don’t know today and I guess I achieved that so please, don’t feel like you need to stand here and humour me any longer.”

“I’m your homework?” The smile spread back to your lips.

“I mean, that makes it sound clinical.”

“This was kinda clinical.” You chuckled and Spencer’s heart felt lighter than air at that sound. “Why don’t we try again. Hi, I’m Y/N and this is my dog Beau.”

Beau barked happily at the sound of his name, his giant front paws tapping on the grass in excitement.

“Spencer.” He nodded with a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry if I offended you or your dog.”

“Luckily for you, neither of us are very easily offended.” You smirked, sidling past him and sitting down on the bench.

Spencer faced you with a soft frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting, isn’t that obvious?” You crossed one leg over the other and unclipped Beau’s leash again. “Off you go boy.”

Beau did as he was told and joyfully bounded away, but made sure to stay in your field of vision. Spencer looked between you and the husky as he started exploring trees with the use of his nose.

“You aren’t worried he won’t come back?”

“He’s very well trained. And besides, I have his favourite treats.” You patted your pocket.

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded and reached down for his things. “Well it was nice to meet you I guess. Have a good day.”

“Where are you going?” You stopped him before he could walk away.

“I, uh, was going to leave you to it?” He cradled the book and his satchel under one arm.

“You said you needed to have a conversation, so I sat down so we could have one.” You chuckled again and it was quickly becoming Spencer’s favourite sound.

“Oh. Oh. Really? You want to have a conversation with me? After I talked about the bacteria in dog saliva?”

“Yeah, I don’t really understand it either. But you seem…” You trailed off, unable to find the right word.

“Lonely? Creepy? Pathetic?” He tried, again causing you to laugh.

“Oddly endearing.” You corrected him.

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been called, and he’d take what he could get. He slid back down to the bench, ensuring to keep a comfortable amount of space between you and placed his bag and book in his lap.

“Uh, just as a forewarning, I am not very good at small talk.” Spencer raked one hand through his hair.

“Oh don’t worry, I already gathered that.” You glanced away from him towards Beau briefly before looking back at him. “So, can I ask why your therapist is making you have conversations with strangers?”

“I’m stuck in a rut, I suppose.” He confessed, finding it strange how easy it was to want to open up to you. “My job, my personal life; it’s the same thing day in and day out. I’m just a little bored of it all.”

“What do you do?”

“If it’s ok with you, I’d rather not talk about it. I’m trying not to focus all of my energy, all of my personality into what I do for a living.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Ok.” You shrugged. “What are you reading?”

Spencer looked down at the hardback in his lap and turned it over to display the cover. He ran his fingers over it remembering Doctor Santiago’s specific instructions.

Definitely don’t talk about Pompeii or death poses.

“It’s about Pompeii and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.” He blurted out.

“Oh, just some light and cheery reading then.” You laughed and if you kept doing that Spencer may very well fall in love with you.

“It’s…meditative in a way.” He shrugged. “I was told

I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Your therapist told you topics of conversation?” You raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“More like she told me topics of conversations to avoid. Specifically, my thoughts on the boredom that must have been felt by these people trapped in these perpetual death poses after the eruption.” He mentally scalded himself as the words tumbled out his mouth. “Yet here I am, talking about it anyway.”

You glared at him, noting your dog nearby out of the corner of your eye, but focusing on Spencer. He drummed his fingers awkwardly on the book cover.

“Wow,” you inhaled sharply. “That’s gotta be one of the most depressing things I’ve ever heard.”

“Probably why I was advised not to talk about it.” He sighed.

“You’re a pretty dark dude.”

“In my line of work it’s hard not to be.” He shrugged, he’d already gone against one thing Santiago told him not to do, he may as well go for broke. “I’m an FBI Agent. A profiler. I use psychology to track down serial killers.”

Your expression didn’t change much, something which surprised him. You quickly glanced over at Beau again who was now making friends with a much smaller dog, before looking back at him.

“That’s the same thing day in and day out?” You frowned.

“Not physically but mentally I guess. I, uh, I’m pretty smart…no that’s not true, I’m a certified genius. And that means I can grow bored easily. I guess I need a higher level of stimulation than most people.” He shrugged, noticing the way your eyes started to sparkle.

“A higher level of stimulation, huh?” The smirk adorned on your lips and the way you spoke the word stimulation made his ears turn suddenly red.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, his mouth dry and he had to look away from you. “Mental stimulation. Jesus Christ.”

You smiled to yourself at his obvious embarrassment, enjoying the way you’d made him blush. You decided to change the subject, as much as you enjoyed it, you didn’t want to make him too uncomfortable.

“So, a certified genius?”

His eyes snapped back to you and he swallowed with a nod of his head.

“Yeah.”

“Well I can’t be very stimulating for you then? Mentally speaking of course.” You couldn’t help yourself.

As predicted his blush spread to his cheeks and neck and he fidgeted with his bag on his lap. What you didn’t know was that he was trying to conceal the fact your words were causing a bulge in his pants he desperately wanted to hide.

“Are you trying to fluster me?”

“Is it working?” Your eyes sparkled again.

“Very much so.” He confessed. “For the record I find you utterly stimulating. Mentally speaking of course.”

“Good to know.” You nodded, looking back across the park and spotting Beau staring at you. “Beau, heel!”

The large and playful dog immediately started in your direction, bounding delightedly towards his owner. When he reached you, he slumped down on the grass by your feet and you popped a treat in his waiting mouth.

“So usually after our walk I take Beau to a little cafe where they sell doggy cupcakes and I grab a coffee, unwind.” You pushed yourself to your feet and clipped Beau’s leash in place once again.

“Oh, ok.” Spencer nodded, tucking his book inside his bag. “Have a nice time.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, trying to ascertain if he was really this clueless or if it was just an act. You were quick to realise it was the former.

“It was an invitation, dummy.” You chuckled. “Do you want to come with me? I love my dog but he’s not exactly…stimulating.”

Spencer had to take a moment to compose himself before he stood as his legs trembled a little. He inhaled sharply and pushed himself up.

“You want me to join you?” As asked by way of clarification.

“Correct.”

“Even after I talked about Pompeii and death poses?”

“Even after that.” You nodded with a smile.

“You don’t have to invite me. I was only strictly required to have one conversation so I think you’re off the hook now.” He slung his satchel over his shoulder before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Are you really so naive that you don’t understand when a girl is asking you out?”

“You are?” His eyes widened dramatically.

“Yes!” You laughed. “Surely you’ve been asked out before?”

“No, never. I mean, I didn’t know you were asking me out so maybe I have and I didn’t realise it.”

“You are utterly precious, Spencer.” You shook your head. “Come on, let’s go. Unless you want to go back to your rut?”

“No, no. I am happy to be rut-less.” He nodded and the two of you, plus Beau, fell in step with one another.

He let you lead him through the park, stealing glances at you as he did so. He’d never felt more outside of his comfort zone before and it was exhilarating.

So many of his days had fallen away with nothing to show for them. Days upon days of the same, tedious tasks again and again. Nothing had changed for so long, every had felt the same, every time he closed his eyes.

But finally things had changed. Letting you into his life would bring with it a shake up of his previously monotonous routine.

He didn’t know it at the time, but his future would hold walks in the park whilst learning to enjoy the company of a dog. Random two am phone calls when you couldn’t sleep. Waking up next to your sleeping form, deep, meaningful debates in the middle of the night which would end up with lips silencing the other and body parts entwining.

He had to look forward to your surprise visits to his office with baked goods and coffee. Sending flower arrangements to your work just to say he was thinking of you. Unplanned weekend trips to New York or Baltimore or wherever the two of you ended up. Spur of the moment date nights and spontaneous adventures, just you, him and Beau.

But all of that was yet to come, the great unknown unfurling before him. All because he had one conversation with one person, and finally Spencer’s predictable life didn’t seem so predictable anymore.

Much like the citizens of Pompeii, who had to grow and adapt to their new city in the wake of the eruption that had destroyed so much, now it was his turn to embrace the new and uncharted.

And quite honestly, he’d never been more excited.

You glanced at him as you walked, a soft smile on your features and you boldly reached out and took hold of his hand in your free one.

Spencer felt his chest explode at your touch and he already knew he never wanted to let you go.

“So, tell me,” you asked as you strolled hand in hand. “Are you still bored, Spencer?”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips and he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

“I can honestly say, I’ve never been less bored in my entire life.” He sighed in content, slightly disbelieving how much his world could change just from a simple conversation.

Today was one kind of Groundhog Day he would happily repeat over and over for the rest of his life.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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starlostastronaut · 5 months

Text

DAY 06 | STORIES TO BE TOLD

PAIRING: han jisung x reader

GENRE: idol au (jisung is a soloist), not angst, but bittersweet?, ambiguous ending

WC: 1.14k

CW: idol trainee!reader, implied felix/reader

PROMPT: coming back after years apart

here it isss! to the person who asked for no angst... well guess what lol (pls dont kill me ilyy). i remember having a great idea for this when i wrote the masterlist so naturally i forgot it 😭 but i have this instead. tbh i think i spent more time on backstory than the actualy story but oh well. and yes, i did put felix/reader in the story, but you can read it as past relationship if you want ;) enjoy <3

title from laughter lines - bastille

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

Jisung looked out of the window again. His head was bobbing to the rhythm of the song playing through his headphones, and he watched the landscapes and cities pass by as the train made its way back to Seoul. He looked at his phone to check the time again. Exactly three minutes went by since he last checked. With a frustrated groan, he sank into his seat. The train was too slow, and Jisung was starting to regret deciding to ride it in the first place. He was visiting some of his friends down in Busan while also filming a music video, and against his better judgment, he decided to take the train back. He hoped he would have lesser chances of getting recognized, since no one would expect an idol on a train of all places. So there he was, tormented to several hours on a train. Normally, he wouldn't really mind, though. He had his beanie, headphones, and mask on, looking unrecognizable even with his manager sitting opposite him. He had his peace and quiet. Normally, he would be happy to relax on the train, but not today. Today he was seeing you and that made him extremely restless and giddy with excitement.

You and Jisung went way back. You were trainees at the same company, which is how you met. Your first conversation was a fight over the last piece of cheesecake at the company café. Having agreed to share it, you began talking, and ever since then, you became inseparable. You and Jisung would wait for each other after vocal lessons, he would give you pointers on your rapping, and in return you helped him with the JYPE basic dance routine. You had this symbiotic relationship that worked really well between you. Until Jisung's debut date approached. He would spend more time in the studio, going over his performance over and over again. You saw him less and less. And then he debuted, and you haven't seen him at all for a month because the public immediately fell in love with him, and as the new sensation, he was pushed from one music show to another. But he promised you that when you debuted as well and the initial whirlwind of chaos calmed down, it would go back to how it was. Except none of you thought of the fact that just a few weeks before your group was set to debut, you had been kicked off. The company never gave you a good enough reason, just some talk about “not fitting the group's vibe and concept” . You took it hard - harder than anyone expected. With your dreams being crushed, you packed all your things and moved to Australia. Jisung would never find out if it weren’t for another trainee named Chris, who helped you sort everything out. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not that you didn't want to, but Jisung and his success was just another painful reminder of the fact that you failed, and you didn't need that at that time.

In Australia, your life has gone pretty well. You applied to college, got your first boyfriend - a very sweet guy named Felix - and slowly healed from your failure back in Korea. Meanwhile, Jisung was busy with his idol career. You watched him thrive via social media once the pain eased a little. You even bought some of the albums. Felix convinced you to get tickets for Jisung's concert last year, but you never told anyone you went there. You did it mostly for your boyfriend anyway, who, as it turned out, was Jisung's fan. He almost lost his mind when he found out you and Jisung used to be best friends. But despite all of that, you never tried to contact Jisung, not even when he was in Sydney for his first tour. You were too scared of his reaction. After alll, you ran away without a proper goodbye. And Jisung never made contact either anyway, so you took it as a sign of your friendship truly being over.

Which eventually brought Jisung here, three years after he spoke to you for the last time. While he was in Busan, Chris messaged him to tell him that you were visiting Seoul in the next few days. Jisung spent a lot of time thinking about why Chris told him that. At first, he felt bitter and jealous, because clearly you've kept in contact with Chris but not him. His second thought was that he had to message you because he hadn't seen you in forever. His third thought was fear, because if you hadn't tried to contact him all this time, why would you want to see him now? But after two phone calls with Chris, he somehow found the courage to ask for your number and send the first text. He did it right before he went to sleep, knowing that otherwise he would be checking his phone every five seconds.

You left him on read for almost the whole day, carefully weighing the pros and cons. Ultimately, you decided to agree to his offer, the longing to see your former best friend again winning over the fear. So there you were, sitting in a small café alone, the half-empty cup of coffee in front of you slowly going cold. You almost decided to give up when Jisung came stumbling through the door. Your breath hitched in your throat. He looked the same as he did back then, but older and more mature. His hair was different, too. He spotted you almost immediately, rushing to your table.

“Hi! Hi, sorry I'm late, I-” He stopped and looked at you properly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as you watched him sit down. He still had that nervous smile and the joyous spark in his eyes. You decided to break the tension by asking the most trivial, most hated question. But in your case, it only made sense. “How have you been?”

At first, it was awkward; both of you were unsure how to act with each other. But with every new topic, the conversation flowed more easily, until it felt like old times. You told him about Australia, about your time with Felix and about your life there. He told you stories from the tour, he told you about the people he's met and about his career. By the end of the afternoon, it was as if you had never left. You realized you missed this. You missed him. Suddenly, you didn't know how you managed to go three years without talking to him.

Jisung nervously checked his watch. “Look, I need to go in a moment, but I have the day off tomorrow?” he asked, gathering his things and taking out his wallet to pay the bill.

You smiled. “Yeah. I would like that.”

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings

#moony's countdown to christmas #mctc #stray kids x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 1 year

Text

Bad Horsie - Yandere! Johnny Joestar x Reader x Yandere! Gyro Zeppeli

Reader’s horse has a stand and of course is protective of their owner, both Gyro and Johnny fume over this as this animal blocks them at every move. This was supposed to be a joke post for April fools awhile go, less comedic than I was intending so it’s not gonna be right on April fools. Horse’s name : Bastille

Stand : Bad Horsie (Namesake ; Steve Vai - Bad Horsie)

You and Bastille probably had one of the strongest bonds one could possibly have with each other. Even Mountain Tim himself made an observation of this, which made you proud. Your father had given him to you a few years prior to entering the Steel Ball Run. A horse that was supposedly stubborn with other riders, just happened to click with you. So, you made sure to treat him right, give him the love he deserved and the both of you could communicate with grace.

Something that came heavily in handy in this arduous journey across the United States. Though it wasn’t just the two of you alone not like you thought it would have been. You wished it was that way, but life had thrown you a terrifying hardball consisting of two racers. The British born Johnny Joestar and Italian Gyro Zeppeli, who you only had considered allies to get you through this disaster of a race.

Bastille was your rock keeping you sane around those two, their romantic interest suddenly blossoming in a hell-scape of stand users. Your lovely horse knew this, the nervousness in your heart as you handled the reigns. He’d always eyeball the two of them when they were camping down for the night or when you hit a checkpoint. So he made it known to you to give as much pets as you wanted.

However as the trek went on, the atmosphere became suffocating. Bastille could feel it even as the two of you kept in sync, trying your best to either ride behind or in front of those two men. As much as there was to worry about venomous snakes or other apex predators, they seemed easier to deal with in this scenario. Perhaps this horse couldn’t get the complete situation down, but if you were in danger it would help instinctively or otherwise.

You knew your lovely companion had a stand but never divulged this to the men you were traveling with. You felt rather guilty relying on your own horse for protection, but if he wanted to you knew there wasn’t stopping him. Just retroactively planning things carefully so you and him could cross that finish line.

While you tried to keep your distance from these two, as much as they would allow they would take advantage of this to talk about your horse. This was literally the only reason for the past few weeks that you managed to get any kind of break. They knew for certain your furry friend knew this even if you didn’t consciously realize.

“The way their horse acts it’s interesting isn’t it?” Gyro said breaking a small silence the two of them.

Johnny’s blue eyes glanced over briefly “It’s not too hard to differentiate, horses do have emotions but I can tell there’s something more to him”

Gyro nodded along “How long have you been suspecting him being something more?”

The blond admitted he couldn’t shake a certain feeling from the very start of the race. Gyro’s eyes in turn widened a bit before resettling.

“Tch…so I’ve been getting dirt flung in my face on purpose by that cheeky prick for a little while now” The male smirked with a small gleam of his teeth.

Joestar himself sighed, he was frustrated by Bastille himself. He never really counted on being on the defensive against a horse of all things. Considering they were chasing corpse parts, this should hardly be any surprise to either of them. Johnny would never hesitate in taking a humans life to keep you to himself, Your horse complicated things for the race at least.

“Think it has a stand?” Gyro tossed another question out “If he wants to protect them that bad, I can’t rule that out as an impossibility”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, y/n loves that horse to death and of course they wouldn’t bother telling us about it”

“Damn, that’s true…” He clicked his tongue in annoyance, not for the potential fact your horse could’ve helped during certain face offs. Or the fact it was only focused on you and vice versa stung his heart. You’re cute trying to hide everything from him and Johnny though. As for Bastille, he wasn’t about to let a damn horse of all things keep him away from his darling.

The two of them decided to stitch together a timeline of sorts of your mighty steed’s actions. Johnny recalling a few times during the night he’d see your horse move it’s pitch closer when it could tell when he was staring at you during the night. Not to mention the close proximity of blocking his view of you by the morning. Or it pulling back when if felt your discomfort at him getting close to you while running.

Biggest thing Johnny had happen to him was almost having his head crushed in. He’d admit he was being nosy in attempting to get a hold of a diary you had, just to see if you were trying to write something to a potential significant other. Which he’d promptly burn without care if you had one if he had actually gotten a hold of it.

Gyro on the other hand had as he said dirt flung in his face various times. The intense flirtatious comments he’d make occasionally would sometimes occur. Almost getting knocked off balance if you tensed up enough. Or his belongings on Valkyrie getting strewn about, to distract the Italian from being in your presence. Or somehow slipping into a waterhole even though he knew for certain he had good balance and grip.

Johnny wouldn’t lie, he kinda chuckled at that last one at the time.

In literally any normal scenario anyone would take a hint. But Johnny and Gyro didn’t quite see it as protecting you. They were pouncing for more attention from you than they already greedily lapped up.

That evening when you all decided to pitch up camp for the night however would unknowingly unravel everything.

That evening you were the one to start the fire, the wood and kindling already gathered. You felt nervous that you weren’t able to catch another respite from these two. Keeping you right in their line of sight. Sighing you informed Gyro the fire was ready and he decided to start dinner with steadfastness. However he insisted you help him this time around.

“You know, that horse of yours sure does love you” Gyro abruptly brought up while tending to cutting up something with his knife.

“uh yeah I’d think so?” You do your best to shrug off the comment

“Something seems interesting about yours behavior wise” He responded cryptically.

“What’s your point?”

A smirk rises on his face, his green eyes cutting into your own.

“I’m just saying your horse seems to act on things with purpose”

You could feel your heartbeat race a bit faster than usual, this wasn’t the first time but this was a little different. A snort came from the distance, Bastille looking to your eyes clearly disgruntled. Shortly after you saw Gyro pointing towards him.

“There’s only so many times something could be an accident, and you know it don’t you?”

You swallowed nervously when Gyro projected his voice a bit louder. You knew who he was referring to, and when his eyes settled down back to yours you went cold.

“It’s not very nice keeping things from your lovers you know” Your eyes darted over to Johnny whose own stare was ice cold.

“Now, I’m a little more forgiving than Johnny is…Bastille would probably be dead by now if we weren’t searching for the corpse parts or were in a race” Something you absolutely took to be true when you saw the blond facing down an enemy.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw something pierce the ground, causing Bastille to move erratically in dodging. Quickly rising to your feet to attempt to assist him. But the sensation of a steel ball on your leg made you twist in a way you never felt before. Gyro quickly sought to catch you and hold you back into his vice grip.

“Bastille stop! Stop!” You shouted as he stomped his hooves aggressively, knowing he would try to attack Johnny. Gyro too if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. It pained you to say such a thing when you knew for certain they started this on purpose.

“You could give it up all right now and try to fight Johnny and I off, abandon the race completely” The Italian man stated with smugness.

“But I’ll make sure you’re unable to run in anyway I can” He hummed “I can hurt you just enough that I need help you like I do Johnny~, but not enough to disqualify you from the race”

You bit your lip as he squeezed his arms closer around your body.

“So what’ll be? Can’t wait to hear your answer”

#yandere x reader #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere scenario #jjba imagines #yandere jjba #yandere jojo’s bizarre adventure #yandere johnny joestar #yandere gyro zeppeli #yandere jjba x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #Yandere jjba imagines #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure

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