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silkscream · 1 year

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angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

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lustytears · 2 months

Text

i wanna turn you on.

loser!luke castellan x f!reader

summary: (title is inspired by the smashing pumpkins - today) luke castellan basically watches you from your cabin window and mutually (but not mutually) masturbates with you.

warnings: smut, luke is a bit weird. luke is giving virgin but that’s up to the reader honestly, reader gets sexualized by luke, written in mainly luke’s perspective but it does switch to the readers, masturbation, bathroom breaks (if you catch my drift from the previous tag), luke is a manipulative piece of shit but it’s very hard to know at first read.

You weren’t kidding when you had the sneaking suspicion that one had always been watching you. All of your darkest moments felt violated, invaded, or even threatened.

Maybe you thought wrong. That’s what everyone else thought when you confessed to your friends, saying that “Nobody would bother to try and watch you” or, “You’ll be fine. Camp’s safe.”

What you were unaware of was that Luke Castellan, the brave and noble leader who aspired many at camp for his dedicated devotion to his people and the gods.

Were you wrong to think otherwise?

•————————————————————————•

He was desperate. Desperate to understand you, feel you, and even taste you. His heart (as conveyed by those personal to him) was kind, logical, and even charming. He welcomed everyone who was unclaimed, and those who were claimed. The sweet little “heys” and the “hellos” are what people paid attention to. His demeanor and morality were nothing but pure.

You knew that for some reason, Luke had the right intentions. But for some part inside of you, something twisted his image into something so much more darker and malevolent.

He wasn’t dark, neither any of the things you thought. Contradicting, yes—but he couldn’t help but stare at you whenever you walked past, staring at the back of your body and sometimes your ass. He tried to snap out of it, tried so hard to keep his control, but he couldn’t help it.

He realized that you were his new obsession. Occasionally, Luke would sometimes go to the bathroom stalls to stroke his painfully rock-hard cock that leaked small beads of pre-cum, wiping onto his hand and leaking all over the base of his cock. His mind would drift to how your voice was maternally caring, sweet and dripping almost like nectar. Your lips and the way they would part open and close, rubbing them together against your pink-glossed lip gloss. The thought of the sticky consistency and shiny glow of your lips wrapped around the base of his cock as he steadily thrusted his cock hard and fast into your mouth like it was nothing but made for him would make him grip the top of the stall door.

Luke would try to feel disdained by these thoughts, try so desperately to think of other problems he had. But you were his only problem.

One day around Camp, he noticed how one of the Ares boys were sticking around you like you were some kind of fly trap. The boy would try and lift you up, slinging you over his shoulder like you were some prized possession.

“Put me down!” You laughed as you nudged your body, particularly your hips noticeable to both the boy that was carrying you and to Luke.

The Ares boy took notice of the sudden tension and put you down, before accidentally (but obviously, not totally) pushing your ass into his pelvic region when he grabbed your arms and pulled you back. You’d laugh, the impact of your ass in those little black shorts bouncing against his center drove Luke fucking insane.

Luke ended up getting one of the hardest boners ever to pain him, and he would occasionally watch your body move around, your hips swaying and the way your ass was barely fit into your outfit made him palm his cock, pretending to adjust his jeans.

On a dark night, Luke realized that you had the same routine. Specifically, it was your night routine. He didn’t expect to remember it, but he remembered one specific incident where he followed you to your cabin.

He watched as you opened the door and closed it, slamming it behind you in what may have been frustration. Then, he got the idea to get a closer look.

Luke inched near your window, crouching below the window pane just to see perfectly into the dimly visible light that instantly let him see into your own world. It was so wrong, but it was so worth knowing that the blinds were pulled up all the way, almost as if you personally wanted somebody to watch you like you were a product on display.

You walked around the room, his eyes following your every step, even when you sat down on the bed and looked through your dresser, going through the top drawer that contained your underwear and nightwear. Pulling out a black mesh nightgown, you got up and started to strip down to your bare and naked body. He carefully focused on how the t-shirt you wore hiked up above your amazingly flawless breasts. The way you pulled it off and threw it down to the bed caused the two of you to moan, unknowingly so. You seemed frustrated with something, but he was high as fuck on this moment.

His cock rubbed against the barriers holding him back, and it wasn’t getting better. When your thumb tucked underneath the waistband of your underwear and shorts, you pulled them down and off your legs. Your ass was visible for him to see, and he dared to peak his head up a little more to see how it motioned as you walked to your bed.

He expected you to put back on your nightgown, but he thought so, so fucking wrong. You flopped down your bed and pulled your legs up to show him how your pussy looked dripping wet. His mouth dropped, his hands going down to his pants and subconsciously unbuttoning them so he could stick his dick out through his boxers and thrust his half-erect cock into his fist.

But he didn’t want to touch himself just yet. He needed to see more. What more could you give? It didn’t make any sense, but it finally did when your long and slender fingers tucked under your weight, where you parted your cunt apart with two fingers in a ‘V’ shape. You moaned as the cold air hit your hot and wet pussy. Luke’s hands fumbled to pull his cock out, his eyes glued to the way you were now dipping your middle finger into your sopping wet hole. You pressed a finger into your gummy walls and started to create a rhythm along with your hips and your hand.

He rubbed the leaking pre-cum all over the tip of his cock, pretending like your thumb was doing so. He wrapped his palm around his dick and jerked himself up and down in a slow and deliberately painful manner. Your fingers moved to your clit and began to rub it in a circular motion, your lips all puffy and your eyes closed from the pleasure you were giving yourself. So much was going on for you that your back arched off the bed, and Luke’s cock was being fucked even faster from his own hand. He whined a bit louder, involuntarily thrusting into his own hand. The both of you could sense your own respective releases, and it wasn’t slowing down anytime sooner.

Luke would whisper his name to his own self, pretending like it was you who was calling it out through the muffled sounds of your moans inside of your cabin. Your legs twitched and two fingers were now deep and invasive inside of your tight cunt.

He hoarsely whispered to himself. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard all for you,” softly swearing as he could feel his own semen dripping out of his cock and lubricating his fist.

Your fingers worked harder, and your clit was getting rubbed to the point where it felt like it was numb for pleasure. You let out a steady and sharp moan, lifting your ass off of the mattress and pumping now three digits into your pretty and pink pussy. He watched you, all goggly and eyes wide like he’d miss one second of you. He couldn’t waste the opportunity to miss you cum.

Luke was now practically moaning and hyperventilating as he let out a sigh and came all over the place. Webs of white and hot cum coated his overstimulated cock and the fist of his hand. You followed along, cumming and tightening all around your fingers as you vocally expressed one of the best moans one could ever experience in an orgasm.

All tired and weak, your legs fell down against the bed as your swollen clit pulsated from such intensity.

With realization, Luke snapped his eyes down to see the mess he made just crouching below your window. He groaned, shaking his hand to get rid of some of the cum that was on his hand. His cock was now soft and finally pleased, so he tucked his cock right back into his boxers and pulled up his jeans, remaining low and among the bushes before he know it was safe to walk alone.

When Luke was approached by a wandering cabin mate, he’d just make an excuse.

“Couldn’t sleep. Had to kill time,” knowing damn well with a smile that you just solved his nightly frustrations.

#UGH THIS IS SO BAD #FEELS SOO RUSHED #luke castellan smut #luke castellan #smut #stalker #pjo tv show #percy jackson #percy jackson smut #fanfic

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

AFS: Deleted Scene

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares from PTSD, accidental injury, blood, angst and comfort

Word Count: 2,873

Summary: A night on the town is interrupted by a night terror. [aka someone told me I should write a scene where Grogu has a nightmare and cries out for the reader and I went WAY overboard lol.]

#9.5: MA'S GOT YOU

The house was quiet and as Din sat on his couch, holopad in hand and helmet off, he realized this had been his existence prior to your arrival. Grogu was down for bed and Din was alone. It’s not that he minded time alone. He craved it, really. There was only so much social interaction he could manage before he needed time to himself. It wasn’t a fault to the friends he kept, it was simply how he was built. Which is why it spoke volumes that Din wished you were here.

It was your presence he missed. It’s not like he needed you around him at all times of the day. Din was positive you needed your space away from him and others as well, but he just liked the energy you seemed to carry with you. Din wanted to be alone⏤ together. Both doing separate things, enjoying your own time, but in the same vicinity. He just wanted to know you were near and he still hadn’t decided if that was pathetically clingy of him or not. Din never felt like that before with a grown person so it was hard to find a comparison.

Tonight was his night off of call and you were out with Nima. Din was happy that you agreed to spend time with your not cousin because he didn’t want you to think you couldn’t have a life separate from him. The thought that you might eventually resent him and feel trapped was terrifying. No, he wanted you to live your life as you normally would.

On your way out, you had told him not to wait up for you, but Din was currently perched on his couch in his pajamas doing exactly that. He’d never admit it to you. When you did find your way home he would feign surprise and act like he had been too caught up in reading to realize the time. Din just wanted to make sure you got home safe. It’s not that he didn’t trust you⏤ you were a grown and responsible woman. It’s the rest of the world, Din didn’t trust. Old habits, die hard, he supposed.

His eyes scanned a few more lines of the story he had chosen only to stop when a very quiet, whimper drifted through the air. Din had left his bedroom door open while Grogu slept. He set the holopad aside and padded across the living room toward the hall's entrance. Another familiar whimper followed by a pained cry and Din was sprinting. When he got to his room, Grogu was thrashing in his hammock and every item in the room, save for the large pieces of furniture, were hovering in the air. A side effect Din hadn’t seen since Grogu’s last nightmare ages ago.

“Ad’ika! Gar cuyir morut'yc!” Din cried, but if Grogu heard him it did nothing to ease the child’s mind. He crossed the room, but the moment his hand reached out to grasp the boy a wall of energy body slammed him back. Din fell over the corner of his bed and landed roughly on his back with a grunt. He recovered quickly, rolling to his feet, and tried again. Three times. Din got blown back three more times. One of which he felt the back of his head crack against his bed frame, momentarily making his world spin, before he got through to Grogu. His hands wrapped around the crying boy, pulling him from the hammock into his chest, and cocooned him between his arms while murmuring reassurances.

There is nothing to fear.

You are safe.

I am here.

Eventually, in a sharp hiccup, Grogu’s cries stopped and his eyes snapped wide open. All the objects in the air clattered to the ground leaving the room looking as if a storm had blown through. Din cradled the back of his son’s head as he swayed in a slight rocking motion.

“Buir, safe?” Grogu whimpered as he reached his hand up.

Din leaned closer so Grogu could find the comfort he needed in touching his cheeks and jaw. He nodded. “I’m safe. You’re safe.”

“Ma, safe?” Grogu whimpered again and tried to crawl out of Din’s arms to look around the room. “Ma!” He yelled and when he wasn’t immediately answered the boy began to cry again. “Ma!”

“She’s safe, Grogu.” Din rubbed his back. “I swear, she’s safe. You had a nightmare. Ma is okay.”

This did not appease the boy who began to howl and scream in a panic. Din tried to explain that you weren’t here right now, but you’d be back. You were just spending time with Nima. However, Grogu who was still trapped in a post-nightmare daze was not having it. He wanted⏤ No, needed to see you. Make sure you were safe with his own eyes. Din could understand the sentiment, but it didn’t make the situation any easier.

After a minute more of his son suffering, Din caved and grabbed his communicator. Maybe if Grogu could just hear your voice. He dialed your frequency number and when you picked up neither of you could even usher out a greeting with Grogu’s cries.

“Grogu??” You asked, your own voice panicked, “Mando⏤”

“He had a nightmare and he’s asking about you. I’m so sorry. I⏤”

“I’m on my way.” You blurted with no further preamble.

The communicator line went dead and Din went back to fruitlessly trying to calm Grogu down. He drifted out to the living room to find his helmet so you’d be able to come in without concern. Din winced as it locked in place and the pressure at the back of his head reminded him that he had taken quite the hit earlier. Din wasn’t quite sure how you pulled it off, but five minutes after the call you were bursting through the front door.

“Grogu?”

“Ma!” Grogu was a blubbering mess when you stepped into view, and he nearly leapt from Din’s arms to yours. In the same way Din had cradled Grogu to his chest earlier, you held him close to you. Grogu was hiccuping as his hands roamed your features. “Ma, safe?”

“Yes, baby boy.” You smiled down at him. “I’m safe. I promise. Everything is okay.”

Grogu shifted to bury his face in your neck and you rubbed his back. Din felt his entire body slump with relief. The last time Grogu had a nightmare was back when they had first moved into this house. Since living here, they had slowed until they eventually came to a stop. Din wondered what brought this on. He watched you, hypnotized, as you hummed under your breath and swayed until Grogu’s whimpered breaths turned even. Din could garner a guess. He’d be a liar if he said the thought of losing you hadn’t slipped into his own night terrors. You were new in their lives, your importance increasing by the day, and there was no love without fear. It was the price to pay for a connection.

“We can try to set him down now that he’s calm.” Din whispered. If he could get Grogu settled again then maybe you could get back to your night out. He hated that he interrupted it.

You gave him a small nod, and Din turned to lead the way back to the bedroom. However, as soon as he turned he heard you gasp loudly, “Fuck, Mando!” He whirled back around⏤ panicked. Was Grogu alright? He hadn’t heard you cuss like that in such a sharp and worried tone. Din rushed forward and settled a hand on Grogu’s back and the other on your elbow. You shook your head and shoved him back a step before spinning him around. “You’re bleeding!”

Din breathed out a sigh of relief. You were fine. Grogu was fine. It was just his head trauma that startled you. He chuckled. “It’s fine. Hurts some but⏤”

“The back of your shirt is covered in blood, you psycho! Don’t tell me it’s fine!” Din reached back and touched his shirt. It had felt damp, but he assumed it was wet with his sweat. When he pulled his hand back his fingers shone with red. Oops. “Go. As soon as I get Grogu down, I can⏤”

“No.” Din said quickly. Your eyes narrowed at him, and he quickly held a hand up in argument. “I’ll dress it. It’s not bad. I don’t even have a headache.” That was a lie. He could definitely feel the beginnings of a possible concussion, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you. “Head wounds just bleed a lot. Take care of Grogu. Please.”

You didn’t immediately reply. He watched you chew on your lower lip in thought, and it wasn’t until Grogu softly whimpered that you gave in. You sighed, giving him a hardened look, before nodding once. This time Din motioned you to walk first so you wouldn’t have to stare at his bloody shirt. He let his hand linger on your back as the three of you made your way towards the bedrooms. Din followed you in, mostly to grab a spare shirt, and he paused on his way out just so he could watch you rock Grogu while whispering words of comfort to the boy. It wasn’t until you glanced his way with a light glare that he realized he was transfixed.

“Please go patch up your broken head.” You hissed.

Din chuckled and slipped away.

It had been a struggle to change out of your day clothes into something more comfortable because Grogu refused to let you set him down to do so. You had dressed up to go out with Nima, and more than anything you just wanted to be in comfy clothes. Somehow you managed it, and you drifted back to Mando’s room. You didn’t know what startled you more: getting a call from Mando and hearing Grogu’s hysteric cries or watching the man turn his back to you and seeing his white shirt stained with blood. Both had been jarring and it hadn’t been where you thought your night on the town would end. Still, you didn’t quite mind. Nima had you meeting new people tonight and it had been kind of exhausting.

You tried to set the sleeping boy back into his hammock, but the second you pulled him from your chest he whined until you hugged him again. You turned your head and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his with a small smile, “You’re okay, baby. Ma’s got you.”

You wondered what kind of Maker awful nightmare the boy could have had that scared him so badly. Mando had mentioned the kid had nightmares in the past, but this was the first time you had been witness to one. As you bounced him lightly, keeping yourself moving while patting his back, you glanced around the room in surprise. It was a disaster. Mando was shockingly neat and organized, and you had never seen his room in such disarray. Even his armor was scattered about instead of carefully placed where he usually kept it.

“What happened here?” You thought aloud. You wondered if it had anything to do with the injury Mando sustained. As if willed by your thought alone, Mando breezed into the room. He had changed shirts and the new one he wore had long sleeves. For a second, you mourned the loss of being able to see his arms then reminded yourself you should not be drooling over the sight of him. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mando walked closer so he could stand in front of you. You raised an eyebrow. “That it?”

Mando chuckled. “I fell. Hit my head, and there was a little gash. Sprayed it with bacta and it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t need stitches?” You pressed. He shook his head. “Are you sure, though?”

“I’m positive. How’s he?”

“Won’t let me set him down.” You replied. “What even… What happened, Mando?”

Apparently this was just as his other night terrors had been. When they came, it was always hard to wake Grogu from them and the Force seemed to bubble around him in self defense. That was why his room looked like a bomb had gone off and how he ended up with a gash at the back of his head.

“Poor baby.” You sighed.

Mando tilted his head at you. “Are you referring to me or the kid?”

“The kid.” You laughed. “I’d give you a ‘poor baby’ too, but apparently you’re fine.” Mando let out that breathy, chuckle that always seemed to send a thrill up your spine. “Is he gonna be okay, you think?”

Mando reached out and rubbed the back of Grogu’s head. “Yeah. He’s tough. Resilient. I just hate that he went through so much in his life.” There was a beat of silence where the two of you just listened to Grogu’s quiet snores. “Hey.” Mando’s voice sounded startled. “What are you wearing?”

“Pajamas?” You glanced down at yourself.

“Where did your… Aren’t you going to go back out?”

“Probably not.”

Mando sighed, his shoulders drooping, “Cyar’ika, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t ruin my night.” You scoffed with a chuckle. “Grogu needed me.” You rolled your eyes. “Besides, I think Nima was trying to find me a date and I wasn’t really too interested in that.”

Mando crossed his arms and bobbed his head. “You, uh, you aren’t? Interested in… in dating?”

“Are you interested?” You asked in return, but panicked as the words left you. “Not in⏤ Not in me. I meant, like, interested in dating in general. With anyone.” Unable to stop the flow of words, you kept going. “I just… If you needed me to babysit so you could go on a date. Not that⏤ Not that it would even be considered babysitting because I’m the nanny. Yeah.”

Mando shook his head, that same breathy laugh making your face warm, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turned to see if you could get Grogu into his hammock partly because your arms were tired but also because it gave you an excuse to hide your burning face. Same as before, the second he was separated from you he began to fuss.

“Here.” Mando motioned toward you with his hands. “Let me see if I can take him.”

Grogu seemed to recognize his father’s hands and shifted to Mando, but he had only settled for a second before realizing he had been moved away from you. Grogu sat up and spun to look for you. When his eyes landed on you, he cried out a mumbled ‘Ma’ and you let out a soft laugh before opening your arms to him again. He fell into your chest and Mando sighed.

“Maybe he’ll…” You cleared your throat. “Can I sit on your bed, or…?”

“Lay down.” He corrected you with a shake of his head. “Get comfortable.”

You hesitantly drifted over to his bed and crawled into the same spot you slept in the last time you fell asleep beside him. Last time, you had been groggy and tired and had fallen into sleep without thought, but you felt wide awake now. You shifted so you could lay Grogu down on his belly, but when he began to fuss you draped your arm over him to let you know you were still here. That seemed to settle him.

Mando nodded toward the door. “You should stay here. I can take your bed or the, uh, the couch.”

You furrowed your brow. “No.” He stiffened and you blamed the few drinks you had for your lack of self control when it came to speaking. “I just mean, you can stay here. It’s your bed. The bed is big enough, right? That’s what you told me last time.”

“I suppose I did.” Mando chuckled.

He carefully sat down on the other side of the bed and drew up the blankets so it covered the three of you. Mando laid on his side, holding his head up in his hand, while his other settled on Grogu’s back right below yours.

“Shoot.” You whispered. “Your helmet? It’d be better for you to sleep with it off considering you’re injured.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“When Grogu is sleeping more soundly I can leave⏤”

“I said,” Mando emphasized his words, “Don’t worry about it, cyar’ika.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“That’s funny coming from you of all people.”

Your lips curled up in a smile and the silence that settled around the two of you was warm and comfortable. Before you knew it, sleep crept up on you.

Din felt settled.

Grogu was safe. You were safe. He was safe. More than just safe, he had the two of you within arm’s reach which he realized was exactly where Din always wanted both of you to be. Cautiously, nervous to wake you up on accident, Din lifted his hand from where it was on Grogu’s back and set it on top of yours. A little sigh slipped from your lips and mingled with the sounds of Grogu’s soft snores. Din smiled to himself.

Everyone was home and safe.

mando'a translations:

Ad’ika: little one

Gar cuyir morut'y: You're safe

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart, Darling

taglist:

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #grogu #poor baby boy has a nightmare #angst/comfort

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achaoticeternal · 11 months

Text

can’t you see...?

aemond targaryen x reader part one - nothing between us

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

word count: 2.7k summary: The eye of the Seven is observant as they watch the altercations that occur between the prince and you. How far will you allow your temptation to spur you? And how could you ever deny Aemond Targaryen of what the Seven have gifted him? a/n: there’ll probably be a part three... warnings: power dynamics/ imbalance, AFAB reader, religious themes and guilt, coercion/dub-con (but not smut), praise kink, Aegon’s commentary

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Aemond’s eye hardly left your lovely figure during dinner that night. Though he may be sitting quite a few seats away from you on the opposite side of the table, it made it easy for him to watch and observe you. While others surrounding you shared polite conversation, Aemond thought solely of what occurred in the godswood before you separately entered for the feast.

His mind mulled over how obedient you were… how eager to please…

The lewd thoughts were only interrupted when Aegon leaned in close to him, breath heavy with the stench of wine. It shouldn’t come to him as a surprise that Aegon already had his fill of the wine even as he whispered into his ear, “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

Aemond’s hands fisted against the napkin in his lap, knuckles turning white. Yet the unbothered look upon his face didn’t sway, except for a twitch of his brow. His self-control was quite impressive, especially with his brother’s vulgar thoughts being whispered into his ear like a deceptive little snake.

“The lady is not a plaything for you to steal pleasure from,” He quietly spat back.

“I wouldn’t have to steal her pleasure,” Aegon chuckled darkly, “I’m sure your little virgin would love being properly taken.”

Before Aemond could retaliate, their grandfather and Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, stood to address the guests of the feast. He spoke of another passing year of the successes the Small Council had brought to the realm, continuing the peaceful reign of the King. Lord Hightower also pleasantly surprised the group with a toast to the health of Lord Corlys Velaryon and his return to Driftmark as the Lord of the Tides and Master of Ships. Many people shared smiles and small toasts, but Aemond’s eye drifted back to the daughter of Viserys’ and Otto’s most trusted advisor and long-time friend of the Crown.

Yet, he was rather surprised when he noticed that you were already looking at him. It was a look the young prince was unable to discern. You looked at him, with a gaze of longing and curiosity before quickly averting your eyes elsewhere. Your face became warm, if not flustered when you realized that he caught you in the act. But you couldn’t help but to admire him…

Flashbacks of your time spent in the godswood washed over you. That brief time spent together just moments before you arrived at your parent’s side.

“Get on your knees and pray,” His voice had come out in a growl nearly similar to a dragon.

There was no resistance as you gracefully fell to your knees before him. The prince now towered over you but made no movement to obstruct you.

“Will you not pray with me, my prince?” You asked softly.

A smirk graced his face at your question, paired with a breathless chuckle, “I am praying in my… own way.”

With a nod of your head, you did not press him further. Clasping your hands together, you raised them to the height of your chin. You closed your eyes and began to recite your prayers in a hushed tone.

Aemond’s soft touch landed atop your folded hands, “Speak up, my Lady. The Gods can not hear your whispers of faith.”

You set to continue the prayer, yet he stopped you once more, “Open your eyes to the heavens, sweet lady.”

Opening your eyes, you glanced upwards only to be met with his looming presence. He had moved closer to you, his one eye fixating upon you and hand cupping your chin. How pretty you looked on your knees before him, innocence brimming in your eyes. You continued speaking your prayers to each of the faces of the Seven, eyes never leaving him. He looked like a God before you, a god you would willingly worship whenever he called upon you.

The prayer finished, causing you to fall silent. His thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip before light tugging it. When he released it, he pressed the pad of his thumb to your lips. Without any instruction, you pressed a soft kiss to the digit.

A warmth now settled in your lower stomach as the scene played over and over in your mind. Though the warmth caused a faint sense of pleasure, guilt settled into your heart and mind. The eyes of the Seven had seen how you had misbehaved when so loosely chaperoned with the prince. How would your oath to the Maiden waver when truly alone and unable to resist the temptation that came to you so naturally?

Your mind raced with these upsetting thoughts. Surely the prince, a faithful man, did not want to be tainted by the presence of a young lady with such thoughts. It was something that you would come to pray over consistently; every meal, every night, every holy day.

Over the course of the following days, Aemond had come to find you were always haunting his mind, day in and day out. Whether he be in the training yards with Ser Criston, or delving into the histories during his time of study, his thoughts drifted away to the idea of how soft your lips felt against his thumb. And how he wished to press the digit against your tongue and order you to suck just to see how far you’d go to please him.

He’d shake his head to rid himself of these scandalous fantasies, especially while seated between his own mother and Helaena. The mother-daughter had been chatting as Aemond remained seated across from them, his nephew and niece playing at his feet. Though he tried to appreciate this time spent with his family, his mind twisted to thoughts of seeing you heavy with his own heirs. The two of you having little silver-haired toddlers coming to pull at your legs for attention.

Yet at night during his nightly solitude, the impure fantasies flooded his mind. His typical dreamless nights had twisted into exaggerations of your bodies laying together in his bed, completely bare to each other. How sweet your voice sang out for him as he coaxed you through waves of incomparable pleasure. The way in which your face would blissfully contort as he thrust his cock into your desirable, tight warmth.

Aemond would find himself kicking his sheets off his body, the layers trapping too much heat against him. When that didn’t help, the young prince would strip himself bare, freeing his hard member from the constriction caused by his breeches. The images in his dreams would cause him to tightly fist himself until hot spurts of cum covered his hand and lean stomach, leaving him panting. These nights left him frustrated and on the brink of tears as he questioned whether or not he was cursed with the same lust the Seven bestowed upon Aegon.

In the morning after these dreams, Aemond would strictly avoid you by taking off on Vhagar or locking himself away in his private chambers when not bound to duty.

But at the end of the day, it not only caused a strain on your blossoming relationship - it left both of you even more frustrated, befitting you both in a state of yearning.

Days later, Aemond had just left his mother’s private chambers after spending lunch with her. Mostly she lectured him about his brothers’ behavior or what she thought was unsuitable in recent Small Council dealings. Surprisingly, Aemond had left all thoughts and dreams of your angelic face and body on his pillow, allowing him to take comfort in his day.

Currently, he was making his way down to the library in search of texts recommended to him by a maester. New teachings had been released from Oldtown and were now housed within the Red Keep’s expansive library.

Yet when he arrived, Aemond found himself met with your figure curled into one of the seats. You were currently facing away from him with an unfamiliar text propped in your lap. It was the way you had strewn out your body that caught and held his attention longer than what might be acceptable. Dressed in a gown befitting the heat of summer, you lounged out upon the chaise with your calves danging over the armrest where one would typically rest their head. Furthermore, your shoes had been discarded and your dress had bunched down to your knees. Where the scene might have been less enticing in the winter where you would wear stockings up your dress, your legs were bare to him. It only spurred the impure thoughts once more.

Aemond cleared his throat which signaled his presence. Almost immediately, you dropped your book when you realized that you were no longer alone. Quickly, you tucked your legs under the skirt of your dress before flipping over to see it was the prince. With a sharp intake of breath, you rose to your knees on the chaise, gripping the backing for support, “My prince…”

“My lady,” He bid you welcome and a beat of silence hung before he spoke once more, “I did not mean to disturb your lounging.”

“You did not disturb me,” You attempted to soothe the awkward tension between the pair of you. It fell silent again when both of you were unsure of what to say. Deciding to continue about your day, you stood from your seat and slipped your shoes on before moving to exit, “Good day, my prince.”

Aemond was quick to notice your discarded book that lay on the floor, “My lady, it seems you’ve forgotten something,” already, he took strides to retrieve it.

Turning on your heels, you watched as the prince went to fetch your book. Waves of horror rocked through your body, “Allow me to grab it. I so foolishly forgot it.”

Though you stepped lightly to catch up to him, Aemond already hovered down to snatch it off the ground, “No, allow me.”

As Aemond rose to his full height once more, you arrived before him. He stretches out the novel for you to take, his eye meeting yours. So far, you were in the clear… But then he glanced down to see what title had kept you so occupied as to not notice his intrusion. The answer surprises him… A Caution for Young Girls.

Gingerly, you pulled it to your chest, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “If you shall allow me to dismiss myself…”

“No. That isn’t necessary,” He stopped the words before they could leave your tongue, “I’d like for you to explain.”

Your eyes flickered back to meet his violet eye burning through you. A chill ran down your spine, the question barely audible, “Explain?”

“Yes, explain,” Aemond confirmed, his hands now tucked behind his back so you would not notice the force it took to restrain himself, “Explain why you see fit to read a book with such… lewd descriptions of what should only occur between a wed couple. You were reading it in quite a public space, before the eyes of the Seven.”

Your lip quivered as your heartbeat hammered against your chest. Feelings of guilt and ruin washed over you and the words tumbled passed your lips with little thought, “My prince, I am deeply sorry. I simply wished to understand the duties of a wife beyond what my mother has explained to me and I thought this book would help. I did not mean to come across so perverse… I… I…”

Emotions rocked through your body as the words caught in your throat. Aemond could see how the confrontation had frightened you and it left him with an interesting mix of emotions. He enjoyed having the upper hand, the way you so sweetly apologized and begged for his forgiveness. Even your confession left him pleasantly surprised with the warmth it caused to pulsate through his body.

“I see,” Aemond nodded, “Your reasoning is quite innocent… even if you’ve exposed yourself to such perverse descriptions.”

“I did not know any better; I swear it upon the Maiden,” You clasped your shaky hand over the pendant on your chest.

Such actions and whines caused Aemond’s rough exterior to soften, “I understand…”

“You do?”

Aemond chuckled lowly at your innocent tone, “Of course, I do, my sweet girl.”

Aimlessly, Aemond took the book from your grasp and tossed it onto one of the seats near the both of you. He then brought his hand up to gently grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “You worry that you’ve disgraced yourself? Made yourself unsuitable by consuming such materials?”

The tone in which he asked the question demanded an answer. Words lost to you, you opted to nod your head as best as you could within his hold. Your hands clung to his forearm as if your hold upon him kept you from collapsing.

“Hmm… don’t worry, sweet girl,” Aemond assured you, “Your soul isn’t tainted, and we shall go to the sept and pray together later. The Seven will forgive you.”

Aemond watched as relief flooded your eyes. Your lips parted as if to say or do anything, but you were too caught up in yourself to do anything. Instead, he continued to coax you through your panic, “All will be well, but you must share something with me.”

His thumb traveled higher, lightly toying with your bottom lip. As he did such, you asked him for further clarification, “What is it, Aemond?’

His unwavering frown turned into a subtle smirk as you allowed him to take what he wished, “I want you to suck and lick my thumb as Lady Coryanne did to the Lord’s cock in the brothel.”

Shock flooded your senses at the young prince’s request, but could you deny it? If you did not, he might run off and tell your Lord Father or expose your lack of innocence which would ruin you. But maybe your refusal to deny him also came from your deep-seated attraction for the Targaryen prince.

As his thumb protruded past your lips, the choice was made. Almost too eagerly, you began to lap at Aemond’s thumb as you read what the Lady had done with the tip of the Lord’s cock. Your lips then wrapped around the digit, gently sucking at it. Your cheeks then hallowed as you willed yourself to continue… That certainly couldn’t be in the book… Aemond thought.

“Good girl,” Aemond comforted you, “My sweet girl…”

A moment later and Aemond had pulled you around the bookcase, pinning you against a wall. Yet you did not dare to halt your movements, not without his direct order. You sucked off his thumb and then began pressing delicate kisses from the base of the joint to the tip of it before swirling your tongue around it once more.

Aemond growled as his cock strained against the leather of his pants. Without another cautionary thought, he pushed the neckline of your dress to expose one of your shoulders. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone before he began to nibble and suck on the soft skin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. He figured that the resulting mark could easily be covered or passed off as a bruise.

Finally, Aemond pulled off of you and removed his thumb from your lips. You whined wantonly at the loss of contact which resulted in another smirk from him. Both of your eyes met before glancing at the red-purplish spots he left after his own attack.

“Don’t worry, my Lady, you shall have more… in time,” Aemond sneered, “And make no mistake that you are mine… the Seven has seen it and decree it be…”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. thanks for reading!

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namorslutfanfiction · 1 year

Note

Sugar daddy Namor spoiling reader with everything that is possible and making she move into his palace?

Namor x Reader

Summary: You had simply done a good deed not expecting anything in return. But now you had a mysterious king showering you with gifts and affection.

Genre: Fluff angst and fluff.

AN: probably not what you had in mind but my brain just kept going

You met him days after moving back to your ancestral home. A bittersweet return to the large and solitary beach house you had inherited. You were determined to make the best of it despite how far you were from any town and the rumors that still lingered about your grandfather and other family. You had all been unique. The whispers that you could breathe underwater weren't necessarily wrong.

You had startled him that first day. You had swam far out wanting to cool down during the excruciating heat of the summer. If anyone saw you they would wonder about the bubble that covered your mouth and nose, like a clear scuba mask. Manipulating water was a skill that ran in your family and you had been taught how to preserve air for yourself early in childhood.

You were swimming deep when you saw the man drifting, his ankle tangled in long tendrils of seaweed. You'd never seen such a man with golden tanned skin, draped in jewelry, with small wings on his ankles. You swam up to him, already thinking of how you were going to drag a body back to the shore and how you would explain it to authorities.

You realized as you got closer that he didn't have the normal pale pallor that you would find with a drowned body. You cupped his cheek gently, feeling warmth. Your eyes widened just as he opened his own. He looked surprised but grabbed your hand before you could move away from him.

"Help me," You jolted when you heard his voice. It was not every day you met someone who could communicate underwater. The look in his eyes held no threat but only a silent plea. He tugged his leg and you could see just how tangled up he was.

You swam down and pulled at the seaweed. Yanking and clawing at the tendrils wrapped around his ankles. You nicked one of his wings with your nail and he jerked.

"Gently please, I'd rather not lose an appendage," He said, flicking his ankle.

You nodded and shrugged apologetically. He gave you a small smile in acknowledgement. You continued to tug at the plant but it only grew tighter. Giving up, you swam toward the ocean floor, looking for anything sharp.

"There's nothing, I already looked," the man said, swaying lazily in the water.

You glanced up at him, made a gesture to give you a moment, before you headed for the surface.

"Wait, don't just leave me here," You heard the man call to you.

In record time you swam back to shore and headed into your house. The machete you kept near the door was finally going to be put to some use for once. It was heavier than you remembered and even heavier once you were back underwater.

The man saw you approaching, "Woman, you could have told me you were coming back!"

You just laughed then started hacking away at the seaweed. Within the hour you found yourself sitting on the beach with the mysterious man. You both were exhausted and silent.

"Thank you, I'd been down there for awhile," the man said, running his fingers through his wet hair in embarrassment.

"How did you get stuck down there?" You asked as you wrung out your hair.

"That's the first question you ask? Not 'who are you?' or 'why do you have wings?' or 'how can you breathe underwater?'" The man asked incredulously.

"In case you didn't notice, I can also breathe underwater in my own way, and we got here much quicker because I manipulated the water to take us to shore. Whatever 'unique' qualities you have are not my business," You replied, "I'm y/n."

"Those on land call me Namor," he replied, taking in your features, "You are very beautiful."

The compliment caught you off guard making your face flush. "So, um, Namor, do you need anymore help?"

"With some rest I should be fine and to answer your previous question, I was hunting a fish," Namor leaned back looking out into the horizon. The sun was close to setting now, painting everything in a golden hue. He was stunning.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts, "You were hunting a fish?"

"There is a very specific fish, native to these islands, one of my people asked if I could find one. They want to study some aspect of it. I did not ask too many questions, I simply wanted a reason to venture farther than our borders. I did not expect the fish to be so hard to catch or smart enough to lure me into that forest of seaweed," Namor huffed and turned at the sound of your laughter, "Do I amuse you?"

"Yes," You replied unapologetically, "You look like a king, Namor, and you got caught in seaweed chasing a fish because you wanted to go out for a swim."

"I am a King, and yes that is true. In my defense, it was a rather small and fast fish," Namor couldn't help but chuckle at himself.

"Well, King Namor, it was nice to meet you, and save you. I won't pry anymore and I will keep your secret if you keep mine," You said as you got up and dusted off the sand. The sun had set and the cold was already settling in.

"Do you live in that place?" Namor asked, gesturing toward your home on the hill.

"Yes. It is my family home, although I am the only one left," You replied, a wistful look in your eyes as you took in the scene.

"It used to be full of life," Namor was standing next to you now, looking at your home, "I am sorry for your losses."

"You knew my family," You asked, surprised.

"I knew some of them. Your people have helped me before. Maybe those of us who can dwell in the ocean are all connected," Namor smiled down at you, "Be well, y/n. This will not be our last meeting."

He took your hand and kissed the back of it chastely before he walked back into the ocean. The blush had returned to your face, and only intensified as you watched the half naked man step back into the ocean with a rogue-ish smile playing across his face.

...

It started with flowers. Flowers of every kind, color, variety would appear in flourishing bouquets at your door step. Tied together with twine and always appearing in the morning. You never caught him but you knew they were his doing. It went on for two weeks before you made sure to wake up early enough that you could intercept him.

"You think I do not know when you are awake, pretty one," Namor said right next to your ear, making you jump. You had been waiting on your porch for hours in silence.

"Namor! Don't sneak up on me!" You exclaim, smacking his shoulder. He caught your hand and lay a kiss on your knuckles.

"You were waiting for me? Why have you not come to the beach? I have been waiting for you," Namor asked standing very close to you.

"I've been busy, and the storm has kept me inside," You weren't lying. You had been busy looking up anything you could find on the mysterious man before you. Although you hadn't found much. "You were waiting for me?"

"Yes, I have more gifts for you," Namor said with a grin, he pulled you to the bench near your door and sat you down. You noticed he actually wore a type of cloak or cape this time. Although he still wore those sinful shorts. From somewhere in the cape he pulled a small canvas bag. "I had this made for you."

You watched as he pulled a gold necklace on a hammered chain from the small pouch. A rough green gem hung from it and glinted in the light of the sunrise. You lifted your palm up to catch the hanging gem and admired it closely.

"Let me put it on for you," Namor insisted. You turned and allowed him to move your hair to the side and place the necklace around your neck. His soft touches and the light breeze of his breath sent shivers down your spine. You didn't know why you accepted it without any hesitation.

You turned to him, "Namor, why are you doing this?"

He let out an amused chuckle, "Is it not obvious? I am courting you."

You stared at him and felt your heart flutter as your face turned red. He brushed your hair out of your face then touched the jewel that now lay on your breastbone.

"This is a promise of my affections. I felt I needed to come on a bit stronger since the flowers weren't working. But, in yakunaj, nothing is too valuable for you," Namor winked at you as he combed his fingers through your hair.

"Affection? Courting?" You were still sitting in disbelief.

"Yes. I want you to be my queen, y/n," Namor said with a surety that came so naturally you just nodded.

You shook yourself out of your stupor, "But you don't know me, and I don't know you."

"This is true, but that is why I have come here and will continue to come here. I will make sure you know how much I admire and wish for you to be mine, and we can learn more about each other. It's simple, no?" Namor was being cheeky and you couldn't help but crack a smile.

"But I cannot stay today. I had only meant to give you your gift but I have some duties to attend to. I will return tomorrow at a much more convenient time for you," Namor stood with a flourish. The sun was now fully risen and the storm clouds that had been hanging on for the past week had dissipated. "Do not miss me too much in the mean time."

Namor kissed your hand again and started heading back to the beach, leaving you in a stupor. Your mind was racing and your heart was beating out of control. You fingered the necklace and a smile spread across your face. You'd never experienced anything like this before and you already knew that you were going to miss him.

...

The weeks that followed found you and Namor seeing each other daily. He brought gifts every time, from jewels to flowers. Food and artifacts he handmade. You tried to refuse some of the larger ones but he insisted. The amount of jewelry you now owned had more monetary value than you had in your whole life combined.

You spent days together talking and learning everything about each other. You learned that a couple centuries ago one of your ancestors had helped Namor and his people when a strong storm had washed his explorative mission team on to their beach. You learned about Talokan and its history. Namor asked about your family and your abilities. Swimming together and enjoying the water was one of your favorite pass times. Being able to spend time together on sea and land was a novelty for the both of you.

Months passed as you courted. He was ever the gentleman even when he had stolen a kiss from you and apologized for it. You had simply pulled him in for a deeper and longer kiss. You tried to give him gifts in return but he merely asked for affection instead.

Namor was touch starved to say the least. Once you were both comfortable with each other he could always be found holding your hand, playing with your hair, tracing his fingers across your skin, and practically being melded to your side.

When he had told you the name his people called him and insisted that you call him the same, you refused. No manner of convincing could make you change your mind, for now. You felt you were not worthy to call him that because you were still not sure if you would accept a proposal from him when the day came.

"In yakunaj, I want to show you Talokan," Namor said to you one day while you were huddled up on the couch in your living room. A nasty storm had been raging outside for three days and Namor had stayed with you.

You turned to him slightly, "Are you sure?"

"I want you to see the kingdom you will rule by my side," Namor kissed your temple, "I know you will love it."

Once the storm subsided Namor took you to see Talokan. His flourishing descriptions of it did not do it justice. It was more beautiful and magnificent than you could have anticipated. But his people were weary of you. He brushed it off but you saw how Namora and Attuma analyzed you, approached you with caution despite the enthusiastic welcome from their King.

When Namor returned you to your home the next day you did not let him know of your apprehension. As much as it pained you, you did not visit the beach for a few days. Even leaving your home to take a trip to town so that when he came looking you were no where to be found.

You intentionally returned back to your home during a storm. Hoping the torrential downpour would keep Namor at bay. But he was there waiting for you, soaked through with the cold rain, looking dejected as he sat on the steps of your porch. He stayed seated as you approached, looking up at you with searching eyes.

You stopped in front of him, not minding the rain that was soaking through your clothes. You had missed him so much. You had missed his soft touches, lingering kisses, and the way he made you truly feel like you deserved to be queen.

"In yakunaj, I don't know what I've done but let me fix it," Namor stood now, pulling you into his arms desperately. His hug was fierce and consuming as he spoke in your ear, "Whatever it is you want or need I will give it to you. If I upset you I will beg for forgiveness on my knees. If you are angry with me I will let you strike me. Just do not disappear from me again. In yakunaj, in reina. Please I can not bare it."

Tears welled up in your eyes and you hugged him back just as desperately, "I'm sorry."

...

"They do not matter, y/n. I just need to tell them how you saved me and they will welcome you," Namor had just listened to all your worries, "Regardless they will have to accept you since I chose you to be my queen."

"Namor, I don't want them to resent you," You were laying in his arms on the sofa, the fire blazing in the fireplace to warm you after your soak in the rain.

"They will see just how amazing you are, I promise," Namor reassured you.

"Ask them to tell you their thoughts, and don't punish them for it. I know how much Namora and Attuma mean to you. They are your family and know your people better than I ever could," You pleaded with him.

"And if they can accept you will you finally accept me? Will you be my queen and call me by my name?" Namor looked deeply into your eyes, tilting your chin up slightly. He glanced at your lips briefly.

"Yes, Namor. I will accept you if they accept me," You breathe out. His pupils darkened with desire just before he claimed your lips. His kisses soon softened as he whispered promises of your happiness and your future with him.

...

The next time you found yourself on the beach the sun was blazing as you waited. Then they rose from the surf, Namor flanked by Namora and Attuma. Your heart raced at the sight of the three of them. Namor gave nothing away as he approached you.

When he stopped short and Namora and Attuma stepped forward, you resisted the urge to back up. But they did not look at you with disdain as they did before. Instead they bowed on one knee and together said, "K reina!"

A smile exploded onto Namor's face as he quickly closed the distance between the two of you and lifted you in his arms. Before you could protest he wrapped his arm around your waist, cradled the back of your head and took your lips in a passionate kiss.

A soft but distinct cough interrupted you, and you felt yourself go hot with embarrassment. Namora had an eyebrow raised and looked slightly judgmental, but there was a softness to it. Attuma was smiling at the sight of you in the arms of the happy King.

"In yakunaj, I kept my promise," His cheeky smile was back.

You looked at the two Talokanil in front of you. Then the man at your side. He was as stunning as ever in the morning sun. Your doubts had been abated and the happiness in his voice made your heart skip a beat, "K'uk'ulkan, in ajawo', my love. Make me your queen."

Namor tilted his forehead against yours, trying to cover up the tears of joy that welled up in his eyes. That's when a small fleet of Talokanil broke the surface bearing more gifts of flowers, jewelry, and handmade goods. You gaped at the lavish display and the smiling faces of the people.

"What is that?" You turned to your king.

He ran his hand through his hair with a bashful look, "It was incase you said no and I needed to convince you a little more. It was Namora's idea. She said I hadn't given you enough if I was still convincing you!"

Namora looked flabbergasted and Attuma was openly laughing. It was a surprise to see the playful side of the Talokanil as Namora made an obscene gesture behind Namor's back. Even the people in the water were smiling.

"Let's go home," You finally said as you took Namor's hand, a smile gracing your face as you looked out to the sea.

...

AN: There we go. I know it could have been fluffier but I can't help where my brain goes sometimes.

Hope you enjoyed

#namor x reader #namor #namorslutfanfiction #namor x oc #namorfanfic #fluff #tenoch huerta

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happy74827 · 29 days

Text

He’s Got The Fire

[Johnny Lawrence x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: To your surprise, Johnny shows up at your window unannounced, but it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not for kicks {GIF Creds: pilvimarja}.

WC: 2076

Category: Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff

Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t started writing this franchise earlier given how it’s about equal with my love for BTTF

『••✎••』

The sun had already gone down a while ago, the air was crisp, and the sky was starry. It was the perfect evening to watch the moon rise. The wind carried a chill, and the trees were almost bare, swaying in the breeze.

With a sigh, you closed the book you had been reading and stretched your legs, looking out the window of your room. By now, everyone had been asleep for a few hours, and you worked on upcoming assignments to pass the time. But when you had gotten to your last one, you just couldn't be bothered anymore, so you set it aside.

The quietness was nice, and the light from the moon cast a blue-ish glow on everything around you. You were so calm, but there was still something that had you feeling off.

Johnny.

He was never around much lately. It wasn't surprising, but it was disheartening. Ever since that championship loss a while back, he had been training even harder, and when he wasn't training, he was out doing god-knows-what.

You understood how important Cobra Kai was to him, but the fact that he was putting everything else on the back burner really had you worried. He had a tendency to go down the wrong path and not think about the consequences until after the fact. You hoped that wasn't what was happening this time.

Pulling your knees up, you rested your head on them and looked out at the night. There was a full moon, and you wondered if Johnny had noticed. He used to love taking walks at night just to see the moon and look up at the stars.

He had changed so much since then. That fire inside of him burned so brightly that sometimes you wondered if it would burn him, too.

Sitting like that for a while, you lost track of time. It was easy to get distracted and drift away from reality when your mind wandered. It was something you were trying to work on, and you were actually doing pretty well.

Until you heard a pang on your window.

Sitting up, you looked around, wondering if a bird had flown into it, but you saw nothing. Your mind immediately went to a branch falling or something like that, and you were ready to dismiss the strange noise and go back to daydreaming.

But the pang came again, and your heart leaped in your throat. You stood and cautiously moved toward the window. At the same time, a face popped up from below, and you shrieked.

He motioned for you to open the window, along with attempts to hush you. It was a very frantic gesture, and you felt your heart rate rise. You quickly opened the window and stuck your head out.

"Johnny?!" You whispered-yelled, and he was pulling himself up. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" He held a finger to his lips and looked behind him, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Johnny-"

"Do you want the whole neighborhood to know I'm here? Let me in!"

You stared at him for a moment longer before helping him through the window. It didn’t go as smoothly as one would expect, like the movies, but he managed to tumble in. You stood there, arms folded, as he dusted himself off.

You haven’t seen him in so long, and the day you choose to miss him, he shows up out of nowhere. You would’ve called yourself psychic if it weren’t for the fact that Johnny always did the unexpected.

He looked… good, to say the least. The red jacket still fit him perfectly; his blonde hair was combed and fluffy, and his eyes were still focused and alert, even if his body language seemed a little sluggish.

To be honest, Johnny was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. His sharp jawline, his toned muscles, and that cocky smile of his. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the way he always looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

For a while, you didn’t understand why he chose to pursue you, of all people. He could have anyone he wanted. You weren't exactly a social butterfly, and you always got nervous and shy in the presence of others.

Johnny was the opposite of you. He was outgoing, and his charisma attracted everyone to him. And the way his voice was so smooth and deep. He could be the most annoying person on the planet, but when he said your name, you would melt.

So when he asked you out, you thought it was some sort of joke. I mean, he was the hottest guy in school. And you were just… you.

But then you realized there was more to him than just the bad boy exterior. He had a sensitive side, and his vulnerability was endearing. His family was… well, a lot. His mom was nice, but she had her fair share of issues, and his stepfather was a piece of work.

It only took one date to realize the Johnny you were accustomed to wasn’t the real him. The real him was like you… except he could kick ass and had some pent-up anger issues.

And yet, here you were.

"Johnny-" You began, but he stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stood stiffly, arms at your sides.

"God, I've missed you."

That was the last thing you expected him to say. You felt your face heat up, your chest warm up, and your shoulders slumped. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've missed you too."

You could feel him grin against the top of your head, and he squeezed you a little tighter. He was so warm, and it made you forget the fact that he was literally climbing through your window at almost midnight.

After a minute or so, he pulled away and held your face in his hands. You were looking into those piercing blue eyes, and you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your voice a little above a whisper.

He hesitated, and that was the moment you knew something was wrong. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, uh… I needed to see you."

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn't say anything. You were waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, you sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the bed. You sat on the edge, and he followed.

"Johnny," You said, turning toward him and placing a hand on his knee. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just… wanted to see you."

You didn't say anything. You knew better than that. So you waited.

"Okay, okay," He sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to you, but I can’t tell you why."

"That's reassuring."

"It's just… things are… well, I just needed to get away. It's nothing, I'm fine, don't worry."

You were silent. You didn't really know what to say. There was so much going on, and it was hard for you to believe him when he told you not to worry.

"Is it… Is it Sid? Your mom?"

"Just…” He shook his head and stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He started pacing, and that was when you knew he was really upset. “Just drop it, alright? Everything's fine."

“You ignored me for the past two weeks, Johnny. Something is wrong."

He stopped and glared at you, and you froze. You were taken aback by the expression on his face. He seemed frustrated and almost angry.

The look… you knew it wasn’t directed at you, but you couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. He was always so hot-headed and stubborn, and when his mood shifted, you had a hard time knowing what to do.

He seemed to realize his expression and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

"Sorry, God, I'm sorry, it's not you. I'm just-" He sighed and plopped back down on the bed next to you, running his hands over his face. "I'm a fucking mess, okay? Just forget I came."

It was weird how, in certain situations, you could completely shift into a different person. You’ve seen it in movies and TV, and it was a cliche. You didn’t think it would ever happen to you.

And yet, the second you heard the words come out of his mouth, you were hit with an overwhelming urge to turn his head towards yours, grab his face in your hands, and kiss him.

So you did.

You couldn’t really tell him why you did it. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it was an impulse. You figured it was the best way to let him know that you were here and he wasn’t alone.

The second your lips met, he was leaning into you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. You could feel the passion and desperation behind the kiss, and it took you a moment to match his energy.

He was rough and intense, and he pulled away after a few moments, moving to your neck. You gasped and gripped the collar of his jacket, feeling the heat of his lips on your skin.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And it was true. You had missed him more than you had thought. You had almost forgotten how much of a force he was to be reckoned with.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to form words, but failing. Instead, you tugged on his jacket and pulled him towards you, hoping he would get the message.

And he did.

His lips found yours again, and he was pushing you back, holding himself above you with one hand. His other was moving up your shirt, his fingers grazing your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers danced across your ribs. His lips were rough, but they moved with such grace and delicacy it was hard to keep up.

He pulled away for a moment, and you looked up at him, catching your breath. His blonde hair was messy, and his eyes were a little hooded. He looked like a mess, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You reached up and brushed his hair back, giving him a soft smile.

“Is that…” His eyes peered away from you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have that damn elephant?"

Your eyes followed his, and you spotted the elephant in question. It was a gift Johnny had given you back when things were different. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure you were together at that point.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked, and he chuckled. “Ozzy's special."

"You named it? What are you, ten?"

You swatted his arm, and he laughed again. His eyes found yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. It felt like old times.

"Don't make fun of him. You gave him to me."

"Yeah, whatever," He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Can't believe you kept him."

"I keep a lot of stuff, Johnny. Especially when they're meaningful."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still focused on you. The moonlight was shining through the window and casting a shadow on his face.

"I keep a lot of things, too."

Before you could say anything, he was leaning down and kissing you again. You could tell this one was different, more meaningful, like he was pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

And he was.

He wanted you to know how he felt about you without actually saying it. And although you weren’t really sure what was going on, you had a feeling this was what it was.

The fire inside of him was burning again, but finally, after so long, he realized that he needed to take a breather every now and then. Add some water to the flames.

It was a delicate balance. And although he may be bad at showing his feelings, talking about them, or acknowledging them, you were there to make sure he didn't lose himself in the heat.

And maybe, just maybe, the flame was a little more subdued, and the burn a little less harsh.

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delulu-hours · 8 months

Text

Strawberry Kisses

Paring: Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: The way you tasted was one of Jake's favorites. You never failed to taste like strawberries with each kiss, so sweet and rich. It has always been hard for him when he's away, but all he thinks about is how you taste; not even the strawberries can satisfy the craving unless it's you.

Warning: Slight smut, like very slight

Jake had been gone for six months and was missing his favorite girl. All he could think about was how your lips tasted against his, that strawberry flavor he had grown accustomed to. Jake never realized how much he needed to taste that flavor again until he saw you running towards him. He couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as he dropped his bag on the ground and held his arms open for you. Once you were at arm's length, you jumped up and right into his arms. He stumbled back as a laugh left his lips.

"Woah there, sunshine." He felt your lips kiss his face, ensuring you got every inch of his face. His hands found their way to the side of your thighs as he rubbed the exposed skin from your sun dress. "Miss me that bad?" He asked when you pulled back; a huge smile sat on your lips as you cupped his face.

"Greatly." You answered honestly, eyes scanning his face as you took him in. Trying to embed a picture of him in your mind. Your thumbs rubbed against the apples of his cheeks, and he could see that beautiful shimmer in your eyes. He loved how your eyes shined when they were on him, all full of love. Then his eyes drifted to your lips. All rosy and full to their glory, and then he was reminded of the taste of them. The way they felt around him- all warm and soft. And before he could say anything, a voice drew your attention away.

"Why don't you greet me with the same excitement?" He wanted to roll his eyes at Rooster's voice as he glanced over his shoulder. Next to him stood the rest of the dagger team. When you moved to get down, you gave Jake a quick peck on the lips, barely giving him enough time to enough you. He didn't hide his annoyance as he allowed your feet to touch the ground again. Rooster seemed entertained by the reaction he was getting from his fellow friend.

"I'm glad you guys are all back." You stepped away from Jake as you went to hug the rest of his team. He couldn't be annoyed with Rooster's actions as he knew you loved his team, but there were days that he wished they would get the hint. Today is one of them. He just wanted you to himself. Feel your skin against his. Have your lips. Anything he could get after being away from you for six months.

"Glad to be back on land." Bob smiled at you before Phoenix took your attention away. The only other girl who you indeed hung out with.

"Strawberry!" She held her arms out, and you didn't hesitate to hug her as you swayed. "We should be allowed to take you with us each time we have to leave." She grumbled, teasingly smiling as she looked at Jake, who stood behind you, unamused. "Six months away from you made Bagman a pain in all our asses." A giggle left your lips as you heard the groans that slipped out of the rest of the dagger team, all agreeing with Nat. "We just need to carry you in our pocket." Jake's lips quired up as he rolled his eyes. He knew his team was annoyed with him as he missed you more than he expected. It also didn't help when he got those beautiful photos from you, even if you felt like a mess. God, he had missed you so much.

"Alright," He waved them off, knowing if he allowed it, they would keep going. "Can I have my girl back?" You turned to look at him to see his hand held out for you. A slightly annoyed look on his face as he shot Bradley and Coyote a glare as they laughed. You took his hand, and the moment your palms touched, he pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly as you tried not to laugh. Since dating Jake, he was never afraid to show affection for you, especially when he returned from his deployment. You rested your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. "Hello, Sunshine." He flashed you that beautiful smile as your arms wrapped around him.

"Hey, Jake." You said softly, enjoying the time in his arms.

"How about we get out of here," He curled a piece of your hair behind your ear. "And let me show you just how much I missed you?" His voice was low, and that look in his eyes sent a shiver down your back. Your cheeks flared as you gave him a bashful smile. His team groaned, making you flush even more. His smile widened at your reaction, loving how shy you got with him. An effect that he firmly had over you.

"I'm gonna throw up." Rooster's comment didn't phase Jake; he winked at you. You rolled your eyes and slightly pushed him before taking his hand and interlocking your fingers.

"I'll see you guys this weekend." You gave them a quick wave as Jake dragged you to his truck. He didn't waste any more time as he moved around the people still there. He wanted you alone. You couldn't help but laugh at his eagerness as you followed behind. "Baby," You called out for him as he hummed, his truck coming into view. "Slow down." He glanced down at you and slowed down as they were a few feet from the car.

Once he was near, he threw his bag in the truck bed before pushing you into the truck. He kissed your lips with so much need. The action caught you off guard as you gasped into the kiss. His tongue darted into your mouth, and he groaned as he tasted you. The sweetness of the strawberries as he pushed himself up on you. You kissed him back, hands moving behind his neck as you pulled him down. His hand cupped the back of your neck while his other hand held you firmly. He pushed his leg in between yours and pushed against you. At the contact, a moan left your lips. His lips moved down to your jaw until they reached your neck. Everything about you tasted sweet.

"Jake," You dug your nails lightly into his neck. "We can't do this here." You tried to push him off, but in all honesty, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going. You felt your hips rock a bit on his thigh.

"You're the one moving." He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he took in your rosy cheeks. Your lips plumed from the kissing and the way they parted. The needy look in your eyes as you looked up at him. He licked his lower lip, his fingers digging into your waist as you whined softly. "How about we head home," A soft kiss was pressed on your lips. "and continue this so I can hear the way you call out my name as I taste every inch of you." You batted your lashes at him, and he had to bite back the groan as you looked so fuckable.

"Okay," Your voice was soft as he moved away. He opened the door, and you got in, rubbing your legs together for some sort of relief. He quickly closed the door and wasted no time jogging to the other side as he got in. When he started the car and out of the parking lot, his hand rested on the exposed skin of your thighs. He glanced down at you when movement caught his eyes and couldn't help the small laugh that left his lips. You looked at him, confused, as you took a bit of the strawberry in hand, trying to get your mind off the previous events and the feeling of his hand on your skin.

"God," He stopped at a red light and stole a kiss. He felt your hand reach up to cup his cheek as you kissed him back, and he couldn't help but groan. "You and fucking strawberries. I missed this taste." He pressed another soft kiss before the light turned green. "So fucking much." He hitched his hand up higher on your thigh before squeezing it, earning a gasp from your lips. He licked his lips, tasting the sweetness driving him crazy the last six months.

#top gun imagine #top gun jake #top gun hangman #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #top gun jake hangman seresin #hangman #jake seresin #top gun jake seresin #top gun seresin #seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun x reader

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zedif-y · 8 months

Text

“So,” Joel says. “D’you think Tango would talk to me if I broke the bow again?”

Which, obviously, is a joke. Obviously. He’s a blummin’ actor, for goodness sake. He can handle an audience of one.

Even if that audience is Tango. And also– not quite an audience, is it, when you’re just two people having a conversation–

Grian pauses, looking up from where he's been checking Joel’s outfit, one hand tracing a seam. "Joel," He replies, deadpan. "You are not breaking another prop just ‘cuz you're bad at talking to people."

Joel bristles, oi! “I’m not bad at–!”

"Then talk to him like a normal person!" Grian retorts, rolling his eyes. He focuses his attention back on the costume, "Pretty sure he'll notice and chew you out for it anyway. I'm doing you a favor by telling you this, really." Joel scoffs.

He’s choosing not to reply to that, by the way. It’s a choice.

Joel lets Grian do his thing, double-checking his costume until Joel’s arms grow tired of staying up, pinning stuff into place and calling Cleo over for makeup stuff. Joel lets his mind drift, letting Grian lead him in front of a vanity mirror– Ah, look. His handsome face.

Joel studies his reflection for a moment, turning his head this way and that. And just before Grian leaves–

“…Would he really get mad?”

Grian pauses in the doorway, “Huh?” He frowns for a moment, squinting, then sighs. “Yes, Joel. You’re not that cute.”

“Oi!”

Grian lets the door shut with a click, his cackling muffled as he goes. That little…

Joel huffs, glowering at his reflection.

“Not that cute,” He grumbles. “I’m plenty cute. The cutest.”

Someone knocks on the door. Cleo pokes their head in, “Hey, Joel.”

“Hey,” He hasn’t stopped glaring at his reflection. “Don’t ask about Grian.”

Cleo lets herself in, “Wasn’t going to,” She says simply. “Now stop sulking and let me do your makeup.”

With great effort, (not really) Joel relaxes his face, his features smoothing out.

He looks good, is the thing. No matter what Grian has to say. Joel looks– good. Attractive. Drop-dead gor– whatever. The point is, he’s handsome, and he could woo whoever he wanted. Definitely.

(He thinks of Tango, gold-spun hair catching the stage lights, red eyes dark as wine.)

…Probably.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Ugh, he’s gonna be thinking about that all day, won’t he?

Stupid Grian.

—

(“Cleo,” Joel starts. “Am I hot?”

The brush on his face stops.

“The fuck?”)

—

He breaks the prop again.

In his defense, it was still mostly an accident. Mostly.

"How."

Joel squirms a little under Tango's gaze, hoo boy.

He holds up the broken prop bow, "Ehh, the uh. The thing is, I keep, like, using too much strength on it?" He grins, straightening his back. "You know, 'cuz I'm so strong and stuff. Happens uh, all the time, you know?” At Tango’s silence, he tacks on, “…It's annoying."

Tango raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Joel's grin goes lopsided, withering under the look.

"I– uh," He thins his lips, runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. "...Sorry?"

Tango’s tail sways a little behind him, His arms are crossed, just. Looking at him.

Okay, Joel thinks, palms starting to sweat. Maybe Grian was right.

“You realize I’m not even a props guy, right?” Tango asks. Joel swallows. “Official title’s set designer.”

Joel is so fucked.

“I knew that,” Joel manages, still clutching the damn prop. “Just– you helped me fix it last time.”

And the time before that. And, also, the time before that.

…Joel’s sweating up a damn storm over here.

Eventually, Tango sighs.

"C'mere, I've got something for ya."

Joel's eyebrows leap up. He follows Tango as he leads him deeper backstage, past costume racks and other stage tech-y stuff– none of which Joel can make heads or tails of.

His mind races with questions, half of his brain going why is he leading me all the way back here while the other half is really trying not to ogle at Tango’s–

"There it is," Tango says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scoops up what looks like a small toolkit, holds it out to Joel. "Here, for the next time you manage to break that poor bow again."

Joel opens his mouth, closes it again. He just stands there, dumbfounded and cheeks burning with shame, "I don't know how to–"

"You've seen me do it like five times, haven't you?" Tango asks, teasing. Joel's going to die. "You're a big boy, you can do it."

What'd he just call me, "Right," Joel squeaks, "That's– Right. Yeah."

He reaches out to grab it–

But Tango pulls it back, his grin growing wider.

"Wha–?"

Tango tilts his head, "There are better ways to get my attention, you know."

Joel's heart leaps into his throat.

He’s so fucked–!

It must show on his face, too, because then Tango laughs and it would've been a win if it weren't at him– "I'm serious, man! You didn't have to do all that stuff– You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

Tango shakes his head, gives Joel the toolkit. He closes Joel’s hand around it with his own.

Joel's breath hitches in his throat– Tango’s touch burns but in a good way, like sunlight on skin, like–

"It's not like you needed help getting my attention, anyway."

If this were a movie, Joel thinks this is where he’d hear a record scratch.

Hold on. Rewind. What?

Tango looks surprised, “Did you really not know?”

“I–” Joel closes his mouth. He’s trying to form words, honest, Tango’s hand is just so warm– “Would you believe me if I said I knew?”

Tango laughs, (Again! Joel’s mind crows.) “It wouldn’t be your best performance, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Answer’s no, then,” Joel replies, strangled. A pause. “No as in, I didn’t know– oh gosh, I hope I’m reading this right–”

Tango’s hand falls away, amusement twinkling in his red eyes. Joel tries to remember how to breath.

Tango’s lips pull up into a smile, “You know, you’re way different off-stage.”

Ouch. “Sorry to disappoint,” Joel blurts out, a faint sting in his chest. Tango’s eyes go wide.

“That’s not what I meant!” His tail lashes in panic, “You’re– you’re a completely different person on-stage, you know? Which I get is the point, you’re amazing, just…”

Joel blinks. Is his brain melting out of his ears? It feels like his brain is melting out of his ears.

It echoes in his head, you’re amazing.

A faint red dusts Tango’s cheeks, “…I think I kind of prefer the real deal.”

“Oh,” Joel says, voice faint. Tango’s blush deepens.

“I just made this weird, didn’t I–”

Joel’s brain kicks into gear, finally, “D’you wanna go out some time?” He asks. His hands shake, just a little. “Cuz I think you’re bloody brilliant, Tango, so if you’re gonna be saying stuff like that,” He swallows. “You better at least let me take you out to coffee.”

Tango’s grin is blinding, “Only if you promise to stop breaking props.”

Joel laughs, a giddy rush in his chest.

“I promise.”

(At the back of his mind– Take that, Grian!)

—

Somehow, somewhere, Grian just sneezed.

#ryan's writing #joeltek #joel smallishbeans #tangotek #tango tek #trafficshipping #trafficship #trafficshipblr #trafficblr #mcyt #mcyt au #idk . another au be upon ye (probably not gonna continue this tho)#grian #hes an important character. trust #not tagging cleo bc theyre there for 2 seconds

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nekomacheercaptain · 4 months

Text

The ghost of you part 2

Part one

Law knows better than anyone what kind of secrets devil fruits hide - so when you reveal you can bring him to the realm of the dead, there is no going back.

All the echoes in my mind cry; There’s blood on your lies

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x gn! reader

Word count: 2,5K

Content warnings: angst, grief, extreme survivor’s guilt, mention of death, Law’s never-ending list of mental health issues and trauma, Law asks a lot of questions

Weeks went by with Law chasing the cold spots in the submarine, a content smile decorating his lips whenever he made contact. But it didn’t take long before he came to you wanting to know more about your power. And for another… selfish reason. He knew better than anyone how devil fruits hold secrets no one could ever comprehend.

“What more is there?”

The question caught you off guard when you laid in bed together in his dark room almost asleep, his hand soothing down your arm as you were snuggled up against him.

“What do you mean?” your voice was riddled with sleep, your fingers lazily tracing the tattoos on his chest by memory.

Law kept quiet for a moment, before his hand stopped, “Devil fruit powers hold more than one function”.

Your silence was enough for him to continue. “How long have you had your ability? Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?”

They were fair questions to ask, hiding such an anchor from the crew, but the other side to your ability was one you dreaded sharing. When a cold breeze fanned over your skin as blue hue illuminated the room, you turned to see the ghost that finally had a name look at you. He was a curious one, his eyes expectant for an answer.

Law saw you looking beside the bed, realizing you weren’t alone.

“Is Cora here again?”

You chuckled lightly before nodding, making Corazon smile while he looked at Law’s eyes frantically searching the room.

“He’s around often, checking up on you”

Law’s heartbeat increased and you could hear him swallow a deep gulp, “I see…”.

A deep sigh passed your lips before you told him about your power, knowing there would be no way back.

“I can travel to the realm of the dead,” you kept your gaze at Corazon, whose eyes widened at the news, “but then it’s like I become a ghost, they can’t see or hear me”.

Silence filled the room once more, Law’s hand fidgeting against your skin as he processed the information. And knowing him, he had already figured out the next part of your reveal.

“I can also bring people with me”

What harm could letting Law see Corazon in the ghosts’ realm do? It was useless to fall asleep once the words had fallen past your lips, a flame suddenly lit alive in Law’s heart.

I can see him again?

Law had dreaded sharing something with you, but now that he finally had a chance to fix it, he told you. He could barely remember the face of his savior. He could only remember flashes of Corazon, like patches of cloth sewn together, but when it’s finished it’s just not right. His smile was the only thing stuck whenever he tried to imagine his face. You had never heard him admit anything with such shame, knowing the ghost of Corazon was listening as well. He tried to hide his hurt, but he’d lie if he said he was shocked. Being dead for 13 years, with no picture left behind for the boy he saved, he wouldn’t expect the memory of him to remain. With his smile plastered everywhere, a tribute only for him, he couldn’t have asked for more. Was he happy Law lived the life of a pirate? No, how could he possibly ever be comfortable with such a fact? But he was alive, nonetheless, surrounded by friends. What greater life could he have?

With a swift slide of your hands, a strong light shone from your palms creating a thin turquoise veil covering Law’s room. Law gasped when he saw you were translucent, noticing how the ground and walls looked like debris swaying in the wind, slowly drifting away into nothingness. The submarine didn’t seem to be underwater any longer, the darkness outside of the portholes swallowing all sources of light. However, there was life out there. Or… movement at least, of things that belonged only to the past. Law gawked at the translucent fish and sharks swimming past the portholes, some missing fins and chunks of their bodies. A small shiver ran through him at the realization; cause of death would be visible. A reason for your discomfort of parading around in the world of the dead; when they visited you, they presented themselves when they were at their peak. But here, the truth of their demise was revealed.

“Remember, this is their realm, they can’t see or hear us, just like you don’t see or hear them when they visit our world”

Law felt a lump form in the back of his throat, suddenly feeling uneasy. Was he ready for this?

With legs no longer meeting ground you explored the dark, glowy hallway of the submarine in search of the gentle giant. And when a sudden burst of debris came shooting past the corner, Law froze. The years of sudden bursts of sand, snow and smoke shooting in his direction suddenly coming back to him. Tears pricked at his eyes, and you stopped when you noticed the distance between you increasing.

“Do you want to go back? We can do this another time,” your voice was small and sounded like an echo, the realm contorting your sounds.

Law was quiet for a second before taking a determined step forward, inhaling deeply, “No, I want to see him”.

And with a few more steps, Law tried to hide the trembling in his knees when he rounded the corner to see the large man sitting on the floor, dusting himself off. Once again, Law’s world stood still, just as it had done twice in his life. But this time something wasn’t taken from him. Like walking into a lost memory, bits and pieces of Law’s mind glued together the appearance of his savior. Law felt a hurt in his heart while his knees grew weak, betraying his suddenly heavy body.

Law remembered what he had witnessed when he peeked out of the treasure chest suddenly clear as day. Too much blood staining the snow red, white flakes dancing in the air before falling on the still warm body like nothing was wrong in the world, and the godawful sight of the shirt he had relentlessly bullied Corazon for. Why did the stupid shirt have to get filled with holes and stained with innocent blood just for his survival? Law’s eyes flickered over Corazon like he was expecting him to fly away with the debris. He wobbled closer, making dust of the past spread and it was then he saw the inspiration for his jolly roger. Corazon was smiling widely; he knew you were there.

Law’s eyebrows furrowed in worry, however, as he saw an incomplete smile. When had he lost a tooth? How much of his memory had withered? He instinctively reached out but only pushed through the ghost, a bitter reminder of the predicament they were in. Corazon seemed to feel him, his arms seeking out in different directions. The doctor fell to his knees and made sure Corazon sensed him while he looked at the ghost’s face, tears stinging his eyes. You expected him to wear a frown, to be tense - for his lips to show anything but a smile. But you were wrong. Law wore a smile; a painful, bittersweet smile.

“You can’t hear me, I know,” his voice was low, and you knew this wasn’t meant for your ears. Despite your own curiosity, this was not a boundary you could ever cross. Already trespassing on such a vulnerable part of Law’s life was too much, but hearing his innermost raw, unfiltered words? He deserved to do this alone without you hovering over his shoulders. So you walked away, letting your boyfriend pour whatever he needed out of his chest.

“And it might be bad that I don’t care, really…” Law whispered, his voice raw as his throat tightened, “I…I think about you every day, Cora”.

With a bowed head and his eyes shut tight, Law continued, his hands now digging into the ground, ignoring the pain in his fingers.

“Every day I question if your sacrifice was worth it, why you lied! You knew you were going to be killed! Why the hell would you- what made you do that for me?”

Small plops on the ground filled Law’s silence as he finally cried, heart clenching with pain, allowing him to say aloud what had burned in his heart for 13 years.

“I never wanted you to die! You left me, I-… you said we were going to travel the world together, and I believed you,” Law laughed tensely through the pain, voice harsh and low as he forced his words out, “When did you know you were doomed? Huh? How long did you know I would be the reason for your death?”.

Law looked up at Corazon, who was struggling to pinpoint Law’s exact whereabouts, so Law raised his shaky hands to the ghost’s cheeks, his fingers bloody and nails cracked. Corazon’s eyes widened, and held his own face, feeling the warmth radiating from Law. “But it was inevitable wasn’t it? With your luck and all”.

His laugh grew more loose, yet still full of pain, breath shaky as he talked.

“I miss you… god, I miss you,” Law gasped, tears melting down his cheeks and neck, “You- without you, I fear what I-”

Flashes of the other brother haunted Law’s mind then, causing shudders down his spine, “I didn’t realize until it was too late, but you saved me from becoming what I hated the most.”

Law thought back to the day he met the family, ready to blow himself up; how could a boy who's lived through hell ever find salvation? A boy so young should never have known such torment and agony, and he remembered why Doflamingo had favored him.

“A part of me thinks you saved me for some selfish reason,” Law pondered for a while, “you told me I couldn’t turn into a monster like your brother. Was your sole reason for saving me that I reminded you of him that much? Did you save me because you never got to save him? Though, if that was your reasoning, I can’t blame you too much.. it was my own goal after all”.

Law shook his head, eyes red and strained, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“However, that part of me is something I’ve wanted to shake off, ‘cause you taught me better. If you were doing it for a selfish reason, you would never have left me, right? If you were selfish, you would never have chased after the stupid fruit, would you? You never would-”

With a clenched jaw Law sucked in a harsh breath, his lips salty with tears, “If you were selfish you never would have saved me. There was never any reason for you to help me! So why, Cora, why did you trade your life for mine? I was never meant to live, I-I..”

Law was gasping for air through his words, sniffles and whimpers being caused by the sudden overwhelming monologue. Not able to carry himself anymore, he clutched his sides and curled into a ball, his forehead resting on the ground as he broke.

“You even cried for me, I- I should have thanked you then, I shouldn’t have pretended to sleep- fuck- I put a knife through you, and yet you cried for me. And I never got to thank you. I never got to say how much those six months meant to me. Even if they were painful, you never gave up. You carried a useless hope, and it cost you your life. I just- I just wanted the two of us to be together, I don’t care that I would’ve died eventually! I just wanted my last moments to be with you, I knew my time was running out, I was ready to die and watch the world burn as I left! I just didn’t expect for anyone- I… I never thought anyone could make me want to live anymore”.

Law had dreamt of the moment he got to spill these secrets, these confessions that harbored so much of his guilt. But in those dreams his words never fumbled over each other, they came out clear, precise and intelligent. Reality disappointed him, his thoughts coming out incoherent and in chunks almost unrelated, wanting to say so much more, his words only the tip above water of the hidden iceberg beneath. He wanted to say so much more, he wanted to sound mature. And he realized he wasn’t the one speaking; it was the little boy that was left all alone in the world 13 years ago.

“So many people have… so many people I have cared about are dead and I couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it…,” Law’s breath hitched as the face of his sister flashed in his mind, “I couldn’t even protect Lamy”.

Tears stained the haunted floor as Law kept his head down, “I’ve never been able to do a damn thing, your sacrifice- you should have lived, why the hell did you save me, Cora? Didn’t you have an entire country to save anyway? Then why, please, why did you waste your time on me? If you had left me alone, you’d still be alive!”.

Law whimpered, hugging himself tighter, “Why did you say that you loved me, only to abandon me?”.

Wandering the halls of the Polar Tang for a while, you decided to carefully thread your way back when it grew eerily quiet, the sight that greeted you melting your heart when you rounded the corner where you had abandoned them. Law was sleeping against the side of the ghost, like he could actually feel the feather coat. Corazon seemed to understand Law was still with him, sitting completely still. Your footsteps caused clouds of debris to catch Corazon’s attention, and although he looked in your direction with a smile, his wave missed you completely. Law looked peaceful, so you sat for a while, allowing him this well-needed rest even if his body would ache before the two of you eventually got back to your own realm. The tension in Law’s shoulders had become nearly non-existent after the visit, and every visit he had requested later. Law had calmed down tremendously, but he still craved a taste of vengeance; to bring Corazon’s mission to an end.

The ghost stayed for a while, still lingering over Law’s shoulders like a guardian angel; the merciful hand of salvation aiding him on his adventure. It wasn’t until Law needed help realizing the love he received was unconditional that the cold spots disappeared, Corazon’s soul finally put to rest, his voice chiming in Law’s ears one final time.

I love you

Author's note: I will never stop obsessing over these two :,) I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!

Tags: @unsuretater-simp

If you want to join my taglist, you can find it here!

#trafalgar law #law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #donquixote rosinante #corazon #angst #my work #one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #corazon one piece

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 9 months

Text

Evermore Part 3

Summary: It's been 7 years since the love of your life left you behind for his career. When he decides to come back, is it too late to start anew? Will you decide to start over or realize what's been right in front of you this whole time?

Warnings: 18+. AFAB!Reader. Angst and more angst. Curse words. Alcohol use mentioned. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is given the nickname Peach.

Word Count: 2.6K

Masterlist

“Hey Peach.”

Steve was still standing in the kitchen when he heard the brief interaction, “shit,” he muttered. Immediately abandoning the food he had been working on, heading toward the doorway where the three of you now stood.

He came up behind you moving the door wider to accommodate his protective presence, gently laying a hand to your lower back. "Munson." He nodded, lips set in a thin line and eyes boring into the other man.

"Harrington," he murmured but never breaking his gaze from you.

You eyed him, still unbelieving that he was here and not some phantom conjured up from your mind. You had enough sense left to realize you didn’t want Maddie to overhear anything not meant for little ears. You knelt to her level, gaining her attention as she turned around. "Hey baby, why don't you go with daddy so he can make you some breakfast?”

"Okay!" she gave in easily, as Steve took her small hand and examined you with worrying apprehension. You gave him a small nod and brief smile, letting him know you could handle it. Sighing to himself, he turned, leading them both back toward the kitchen. Maddie looked back with a wave at Eddie, "bye mister!"

Eddie smiled and gave her a sheepish wave and wiggle of his ringed fingers. "Bye!"

You watched as they rounded the corner, turning to him abruptly moving yourself out of earshot and onto to the porch, shutting the door behind you. Effectively crowding his space, he stepped back making room for you both.

“Uh, cute kid.” He half whispered.

"Eddie, what are you doing here?" you sighed, already sounded exasperated by his mere presence.

He started shuffling on his feet, fidgeting with his rings again, trying to put his swirling thoughts into words. “I… Uh…”

“Oh my God!” you suddenly gasped, your hand flying to cover your mouth. “What’s happened to Wayne?” thoughts immediately drifting to the worst possible situation as it seemed the only reasonable explanation as to why the metalhead was standing before you.

He raised his hands in protest and shook his head, curls swaying side to side. “No, no he’s fine.”

“Thank God!” moving your hand to your chest, trying to control the beating of your heart. It felt like it might leap out of your chest at any moment, not just from the thought of something happening to Wayne but Eddie’s sudden appearance shot your pulse into overdrive.

“Then… wh… why are you here?” defensively crossing your arms across your chest.

“I uh… just wanted to talk.” He stated flatly, breathing a heavy sigh.

You shook your head in disbelief. “Talk? You want to talk? It’s been almost 7 years since I’ve seen your face and you think you can just show up out of the blue? What on Earth could you possibly need to speak to me about? This is truly unbelievable, even for you Eddie!”

He shifted his gaze to the ground, unable to hold eye contact, feeling the embarrassment of how absurd it sounded, even to himself. Feeling cornered, your tone immediately making his mind shift into the defense.

“Well, Peach, I see this was clearly a mistake. You’ve got your hands full with your kid. You and Harrington still keeping it cozy. Look, I,” he started but you interrupted him once more before he could even begin with any sort of real explanation for his impromptu visit.

“No.” You spat, harsher than you had intended as your blood began to boil and you couldn’t keep the vitriol from spewing. Years of pent-up emotions seemingly fighting their way to the surface all at once. “You don’t get to do this Eddie.” Pushing your finger into his chest as you spoke, making him flinch with the abruptness.

“You don’t get to come here with some condescending attitude like you know anything about my life. In case you forgot, you left me! And you’re pissed because Steve’s here? News flash, he’s been here! He actually gave a shit about me when you didn’t.” You turned then, reaching for the knob.

He lightly gripped your forearm before your hand reached its target. The heat of his touch mixed with the cool of his rings sent a shiver through you.

“Wait, look, I’m sorry. You’re right, please. Just give me 5 minutes. I know it was wrong to just show up, but I just had to see you.” He wasn’t below groveling. Begging you to just hear him out. If only you’d give him the chance that he didn’t deserve.

“No Eddie! You can’t just expect me to sit here and listen to whatever shit reasoning you have for showing up unannounced. You don’t get to come back whenever you please and expect me to just fall at your feet. I’m not some star-struck groupie that’s head over heels for rockstar Eddie Munson. You’re not a rockstar here, you’re just some guy that broke my heart. Where were you when I needed to see you? Huh?” You looked right into his eyes when you spoke, making sure he heard you loud and clear. His pleading gaze dashed further into despair. Eyes glossy from lack of sleep and nearly on the brink of tears.

You really regarded him then. Looking like he hadn’t slept in days, noting the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes, his cheeks looked more sunken than normal. He didn’t look at all like the Eddie you remembered, full of life. This person was someone entirely different. Even with all the history the two of you shared, this was a stranger before you now. Life had been good to him, but it wasn’t always kind. The last couple of months have pushed him to the brink of exhaustion in more ways than one.

He relinquished his grip, leaving you free to open the door, promptly making your way in and slamming it in his face. In this moment, he finally realized just how badly he had fucked up. He hadn’t expected what an impact seeing you would have on him. With one more desperate attempt, he used his fist to bang on the door.

“Please Peach!” he pleaded, his forehead leaning on the door.

“Leave Eddie, or I’ll call Hopper to come escort you off my property!” your stern voice muffled slightly through the door.

Your palms and forehead rested on the coolness of wood, a stark contrast to the heat that seemed to radiate from you. Trying to collect yourself, your breathing became a little more ragged, as hot tears threatened to spill from your lashes. You were thankful you held your composure long enough that he hadn’t seen the cracks that were still there. You preferred him to see an indifferent, uncaring version of you. He had been your first love, first everything if you were being honest and that’s something that you can never truly just “get over.”

Steve approached you hesitantly, the way one would approach a wounded animal. Unsure how you would react. Not used to seeing you in such a state, he knew you hid your emotions well, and this was all too crushing. His heart broke instantly.

“Peach?” he spoke lowly, voice coming out a little hesitant.

At first you didn’t move, keeping your eyes shut, taking another deep breath before turning to your best friend, eyes already starting to rim red as you reached out to him seeking some semblance of refuge.

He immediately drew you into his arms, engulfing you with the comfort you so desperately craved. You pressed your face into his chest as you clawed at his shirt, fisting it in your hands trying to anchor yourself. Choked, muffled sobs reverberated through you as your tears soaked through his shirt.

“It’s ok, I’m here.” He whispered into your hair, as he started swaying, the same slow rhythm he would use while calming Maddie. Placing a chaste kiss to your temple, “You’re okay,” he started repeating.

You stayed like that for a few moments, letting Steve dote on you, trying to bring you back from the brink. You were only shaken from this trance when you heard Maddie’s gentle voice jolt you back to the present.

“Daddy? Aunt Peach?” You saw the worry etched on her small face when you pried yourself away from his embrace, trying to wipe the remnants of your tear-stained cheeks as he reluctantly released his arms that encircled your frame. Making your way over to the young girl, instantly pulling her to you and giving her a bone crushing hug.

“Hey baby! It’s okay,” you spoke in a low, hushed tone. Speaking the same words Steve had used to calm you.

She looked into your eyes and placed her small hands on your cheeks. She scowled, “why are you crying Aunt Peach? Was that boy mean?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, sniffling and willing the tears to stop.

“No baby, he wasn’t mean. It just made me sad to see him. Adults are just… complicated.”

She scowled once more, eyebrows knitted together seemingly trying to decipher what those words meant.

Steve came to the rescue, before she decided to start asking more questions. He took her from you, “alright my girl, let’s go finish your breakfast. You’ve got a big day with Aunt Robbie lined up!”

“Aunt Robbie!” she cheered, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing his cheek with an overexaggerated smack.

You watched them walk away, seemingly carefree and laughing, leaving you where you stood suddenly feeling cold and empty. Arms now wrapping around yourself as if you were trying to shield what’s left of your heart.

After Robin had been filled in on everything that had gone down that morning, she dropped what she was doing to pick up Maddie for a girl’s day to give the two of you time to spend alone. Everyone in your small group of friends had been privy to what happened between you and Eddie, so it was no surprise she didn’t try to pry. She simply hugged you as tightly as she could and whispered, “call me, if you need anything.” Kissing your cheek as she left.

Now huddled under your blanket, Steve joined you on the couch stealing some of the cover that you gladly shared.

“You ok?” his warm hazel orbs worrying over your form, his knee nudging yours, pressing himself closer to you.

“All honesty, I’m not sure how to feel right now.” You chewed your bottom lip thinking about your next words carefully. You sighed, looking up to the ceiling tears threatening to spill once again.

He reached for your hand, with a gentle squeeze. Ever patient, never pushy, waiting for you to talk when you were ready.

“I keep replaying this morning in my head. Why did he have to come back? It’s finally convenient for him to talk?” You shook your head, “I just don’t get it.”

“I don’t know why he chose to come back now Peach, but he’s here and there isn’t anything we can do about it, but I can see what’s going on in that brain of yours. I doubt he’s trying to torment you. That’s not Munson’s style. At least it wasn’t back then. The way you guys’ left things it was bound to happen one of these days. Not that anyone expected it to take him this long to come crawling back.”

You kissed his cheek and laid your head on his shoulder. “Stevie, I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

He returned your kiss with one to the top of your head, as he spoke gently into your hair “and that’s ok. No one said you had to.”

“The funny thing is, he thought Maddie was our daughter. Got all defensive about it, like he has any right! Acting jealous like he used to about you when we were younger,” you laughed out. “I didn’t correct him though.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, but his voice held no humor when he spoke. “She’s basically yours, you know? Been here longer than her own mom now.”

“I know Stevie, but no one can ever replace her mom.”

He grabbed the remote, turning a movie on that you hadn’t finished from the night before, ending the conversation because he knew where it was headed. Efficiently distracting you from reality for the time being. Just you and Steve in this bubble you had made, that held only the two of you and the rest of the world faded away. He had a way of making you feel safe and loved that no one else had ever matched. Your Stevie that would give anything to save you from another heartbreak.

When Eddie had fallen asleep, your face was all he could picture, he dreamed of that day that tortured him repeatedly, always on replay when he let his guard down.

He woke up 3 hours after his head had hit the pillow and hadn’t been able to drift back off. He didn’t want to shut his eyes if all his mind could conjure were visions of the past. Mistakes and regrets rattled around his brain until he could lay there no longer.

Still slightly buzzed from the Jack he had finished off, he padded off to start some coffee, wild locks swaying with each step. Still in the wee hours of the early morning, the sun not yet ready to rise, the house was still and dark. He tiptoed past Wayne’s room trying his best not to disturb him.

He decided to drive out to Lover’s Lake, with coffee in hand sitting on the hood of the rental, he watched the sun rise above the glossy surface. Lighting everything around him, bathing the new day with the sun’s golden rays. It was peaceful. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of the big city, and exactly what he had been missing.

“Fuck it,” he said to himself.

It was a rash decision to go to your house. But it was as if his body was stuck on autopilot, with an overwhelming need to see you, acting as if he were hijacked by some unknown force watching it all unfold.

When you slammed the door in his face, and turned him away he stood there stunned, unable to move or think, until he heard the muffled sobs. He had done that to you. He had intruded into your life without any regard for how it would affect you.

“So stupid.” He muttered to himself and rubbed his face. “So fucking stupid, Munson!”

He wanted to be the one to shush your crying and wipe away the tears. But instead, knowing that Steve would come in to save the day, he did what he does best when he can’t face the things that make him uncomfortable. He turned heel and ran back to the waiting car. Driving out of your neighborhood like a bat out of hell seemingly trying to outrun all the feelings that came along with seeing you face to face.

He couldn’t go back to Wayne’s yet; he knew the old man would notice his demeaner and start asking a million questions. The truth would eventually find its way to him, and Eddie knew he would never hear the end of it. He wasn’t even sure if Wayne knew the whole story between you two, never mentioning it but he had a sinking suspicion that he did.

Hawkins was just beginning to wake up on a sleepy Sunday morning. With nowhere to go, he sat in the parking lot of the Hideout. It wouldn’t be open for another few hours, so he was stuck. Stuck in his feelings. Stuck reliving the past.

He should never have come back.

Taglist: @josephquinncore @theawkwardbutterfly @munsonmecrazy @jadedhillon @pettydonuts @angelina16torres-blog @justheretoreadleavemealone @heyyimmisunderstood @micheledawn1975 @devilslittlebabyxx @luciferiorbxtch @bebe07011 @yunnie-f1 @akiratoro420 @evansslutt @sheerfreesia007 @tlclick73 @bakugouswh0r3

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x female reader #dad! Steve Harrington #eddie munson fic #steve harrington fic #older!eddie #older!steve

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eksvaized · 2 months

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Part Five [ Previous 〡 Next ]

At the break of dawn, as you slowly flutter open your eyes, the piercing sunlight streaming through the window momentarily blinds you. Squinting against the brightness, you let out a low sigh and instinctively roll to the side, burrowing your face deep into the welcoming softness of the pillow. There's a part of you that resists to wake up. A part that wants to swim a little longer in the sea of dreams. The sun seems to have only just started its ascent into the sky. Its pale light hinting at the early hour. And you, you're tired. So, so tired. The logic in your sleepy mind determines that surely there can be no harm if you decide to sleep in today.

As you get comfortable, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the plush mattress. It moulds to your body. The sweet scent of freshly washed sheets wafts around you. For a fleeting moment, you're teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness, the call of slumber as irresistible as a siren's song. But then, abruptly, your heart drops. With a jolt akin to a lightning strike, you jerk up, flinging the covers away from you as if they were chains. You sit up in bed, your eyes flying open in sudden realization.

You realize that you're not in the basement anymore. Instead, you find yourself sprawled out on a spacious bed, covered in crisp, pristine white sheets. As your palm glides across the smooth fabric of the blankets, smoother than a mirror's surface, you can't help but grimace. You feel out of place, tainted even, in such a clean environment.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, drinking in the surroundings, like a parched traveler in a desert. You are in someone's bedroom. There's an enormous wardrobe to your side. Its door is ajar, revealing an array of women's clothing hanging neatly in rows. Two windows are set into the wall. Their views obscured by heavy, grey curtains. The room is minimally furnished, devoid of any personal touches or decorations. The only other piece of furniture is a desk, pushed into a corner of the room. It looks lonely, almost melancholic. The sterility of the entire space is palpable, its silence as unsettling as the calm before a storm.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed. A sharp pain shoots up your right leg, causing you to hiss involuntarily. You twist slightly, allowing your fingers to skim over your thigh. You can feel a small puncture wound left by a needle. You close your eyes, trying to piece together the fragmented memories.

You remember being in the basement. And the feeble light of the candle being extinguished by the careless sway of your arm. You recall the terror that gripped you, the tears that flowed freely, and the silent prayers you sent up for Simon to return. You also remember the desperate run for your life, sprinting up the stairs as an unknown presence chased after you. Back then, you didn't know who it was, but now, it seems painfully obvious. Of course, it was Simon. It had to be him.

You want to be angry with him, seething with rage even, and indeed you are. But a part of you, a part that had been a quiet whisper in the back of your mind until now, is happy that he came back, even if his return was accompanied by a scare. This part of you, you realise, is also relieved that instead of paralyzing you again, he merely put you to sleep, presumably with the help of some sleeping meds.

Your head snaps towards the door as it creaks open. Simon steps in, the light from the hallway casting long shadow in the room. As soon as his hawk-like eyes land on you, sitting there, gripping the edge of the bed with white-knuckled intensity, his lips curl into a smile. It's a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's a smile, nonetheless. He is wearing a shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms. Your eyes drift down, registering the ash-grey shorts and the casual slippers he dons. He looks casual, too casual, and the sight of him in such nonchalant attire somehow makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Ah, you are finally awake," he purrs, his voice echoing in the small room, washing over you like a chilling winter breeze. He walks up to you. His fingers lightly trace your jaw, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before he playfully prods your nose with his knuckle. Then, without another word, he moves towards the wardrobe, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You don't know how to feel. The last time you saw him, he was furious, his anger palpable and heavy. But now, he's acting as if he hadn't kept you locked in the basement, as if he hadn't left you alone in the dark and then returned only to scare you further before sticking yet another needle into your flesh.

For the first time, not only do you want to say something, but you actually dare to open your mouth. You let the words, a question really, slip past your lips. "You seem to be in a good mood today."

"Indeed," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates through the room like a predator's growl, as he pulls out an oversized, plush white towel. The towel is effortlessly tossed over his broad shoulder, the fabric cascading down like a waterfall of cotton. "I am in a good mood... 'Cuz you have been a very good girl for me."

Your mind whirrs with confusion, a maelstrom of questions and thoughts as you try to decipher what you might have done to garner such praise. Yet, you remain silent. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth; fear anchoring your words deep within you. The horrifying thought of him taking advantage of your unconscious state, using your body, doing with you as he pleases makes you recoil and curls your shoulders inwards.

You keep your gaze fixed on his back, observing as he retrieves a pair of grey shorts, mirroring the ones he's wearing, and a plain white t-shirt.

"Your punishment was supposed to last longer, you know," he says, pivoting on his heel to face you. A faint smile teases at the corners of his lips. "But when I came to check on you and found you alone in the dark... when I heard you calling out for me in fear, I realized you were deserving of a sweet reprieve. Especially since my name, like a desperate prayer, was on your lips."

A chill races down your spine, swift and sharp, as he navigates his way towards you. His gaze sweeps over your figure one final time before he extends a hand for you to take.

"Let's go. You are in dire need of a proper bath and I have taken the liberty to prepare everything in advance."

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. The prospect of washing away the layers of grime and despair is as tempting. You consider declining his offer, but the rare occurrence of him not being upset or disappointed in you is something you don't want to squander. You slowly rise to your feet, yet refrain from accepting his outstretched palm.

Simon, even in a state of obvious annoyance, refrains from making any comments. With a silent gesture, he leads you away from the bedroom and down to the far end of the corridor. He guides you to a bathroom, pushing the door open to reveal a room filled with a comforting warmth. The air is thick with the steam, carrying the sweet scent of bath salts that immediately tickles your senses. When you step inside, you notice a large bathtub in the center, filled to the brim with water and a frothy sea of soap bubbles that seems to sparkle under the light.

However, despite the inviting ambiance, you can't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that has settled within you. You're apprehensive, too hesitant to make a move, not until you're left alone. But as you glance over your shoulder towards Simon, he merely raises his eyebrows, and in a firm voice, gives you a command, "Strip."

You swallow hard, maintaining eye contact for a second longer before you turn away again. Your gaze falls back onto the warm water. The thought of undressing, of revealing yourself in front of him, is unbearable. It feels like too much, an invasion of your privacy that you're not ready to give up. But in the back of your mind, you know that your options are limited. It's either you undress yourself, or he does it for you.

Gathering up your courage, you quietly ask, "Can't I bathe alone?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, your words tremble as they slip past your lips.

Despite not being able to see him, you can sense his rejection. His voice, when he speaks, is laced with a soft, misleading concern that you can't ignore. "Of course not, darling. What if you get into one of your moods again? What if you try to drown yourself? I can't risk that. I need to stay to ensure that you won't do anything reckless."

You start fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your mind racing as you try to think of another excuse, another reason for him to leave you alone. You even consider promising him that you won't do anything stupid, but deep down, you know it won't change his mind.

So, instead, you ask in a muted voice, "Can you at least turn around?"

To your surprise, he nods in agreement. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe as the air seems to get stuck in your chest. Your movements are stiff and forced as you pull off your shirt and panties, leaving them discarded on the bathroom floor.

Simon only turns back around when you timidly settle into the bath, akin to a hesitant bird dipping its toe into an unknown lake. All the while, you diligently avoid the piercing gaze of his eyes. The bubbles and the soap provide a thin veil of coverage to your exposed flesh, but it is far from enough to make you feel fully comfortable. Your face and chest blush a bright shade of red as the warm water laps against your skin. You try your best not to shift too much and remain as still as a statue, fearing that any sudden movement would cause the water to recede and expose more of your body.

"Nice, isn't it?" Simon breaks the silence. He takes a stool and places it close to the bath before taking a seat. You only dare to steal a quick glance at him, but when you see his eyes skimming your frame, you quickly turn away, vowing not to look at him again. You wrap one hand protectively around your chest, while the other finds solace in between your thighs.

The water is piping hot, but you do not complain. Its warmth, contrary to the awkwardness of the situation, soothes your weary muscles and actually feels rather nice. However, the scents of the bath products are a bit too overpowering for you, especially when Simon decides to light up a few candles that release a saccharine aroma of vanilla, which pervades the bathroom, enveloping everything like a thick, too-sweet fog.

For a while, neither of you speak. You keep your gaze glued to the water, silently watching the bubbles that float around aimlessly. Simon, on the other hand, maintains his focus on you.

You notice him reaching for a big bottle of shampoo.

"Soak your hair," he orders. You nod and obediently sink into the water.

You stay submerged with your eyes closed for a moment too long. You realize this when you feel his fingers wrapping around your shoulder, abruptly pulling you back to the surface.

"Enough," Simon says tersely. He tries to control the tone of his voice, but you can sense a hint of anger seeping through his facade of calm.

As his eyes nonchalantly drift to your breasts and noticeably perked nipples, you are roused from your daze and realise that your arm has negligently fallen back to your side. A flush of embarrassment crawls up your cheeks, making them burn with a heat that is uncomfortably conspicuous. Instinctively, you cup your breasts, your hands acting as a shield. You are fiercely determined not to let him see you fully exposed, and although it seems almost impossible to hide your bare body from his prying eyes, you try to conceal as much as you possibly can.

Simon proceeds to wash your hair. His hands, surprisingly gentle, start massaging the shampoo into your scalp. Despite the internal admonishment that you'll surely berate yourself with later, you find yourself leaning into his touch, relishing the way his fingers move with practiced ease, untangling the rebellious strands of your hair. You strive to shut off your mind, to not think about anything, and it seems to work until you feel his hands graze the nape of your neck. His fingers trail a path down your shoulder, and you jerk away from his touch immediately, like a startled deer. His expression shifts into a frown.

Your eyes lock with his, creating a silent standoff. You observe as his jaw twitches in silent annoyance, and a vein in his forehead pops out, indicating his rising irritation. It's clear that he doesn't appreciate being pushed away, but you couldn't care less about his feelings at this moment. You don't want him to touch you more than he already has.

"I can wash myself," you say. Once again, your voice is incredibly quiet, almost as if you are afraid to raise it, afraid to say something that may provoke him.

"You can't, you are tired," he contradicts, standing up abruptly. You watch as his previously light mood vanishes. His fingers curl around your arm with a firm grip, his nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you out of the water, forcing you to stand up.

A surprised yelp escapes from your lips, your hands flailing around, caught in a moment of panic, not knowing which part of yourself to cover first. Simon doesn't seem to care about your discomfort, and after unplugging the bath and setting the water to drain, he picks up another bottle from the side. Squirting some gel into his palms, he begins running his hands over your skin, seemingly oblivious to your discomposure.

You find yourself reeling, fighting the encroaching darkness encircling your senses. Your mind is a whirlpool of protest, your body writhing in futile efforts to escape from his unyielding grasp, as relentless as a vice. Despite your desperate pleas and attempts to push him away, he remains undeterred, his touch refusing to withdraw. As his hands cup your breasts with a harshly, the tears well up in your eyes, spilling over. His thumbs graze your sensitive nipples, toying with them until they harden in response, like reluctant buds blooming under an unwelcome sun. After he seems satisfied with his actions, he turns you around, your back now facing him.

In your attempt to edge away from him, you lose your footing on the slippery surface of the bath, only to be caught just in time by Simon, preventing a potentially heavy fall. This close call leaves you feeling even more helpless and vulnerable, and you no longer dare to move.

With your back turned to him, you allow yourself a moment of raw vulnerability, letting your tears flow freely, unrestricted and unhidden. You can feel his fingertips tracing a path along your back, his touch now gentle as he massages your tense muscles before moving lower to your rear. He kneads the soft flesh, playing with it, teasing it, his touch somehow turning softer when an unwanted whimper slips past your lips, betraying your discomfort.

The rest of the shower passes in a blur, ending quicker than you'd have thought possible. After carefully drying you off, he proceeds to dress you. You let him, your body and spirit too drained to offer any resistance. You're too tired to fight, too tired to thrash around, especially when you've come to the stark realization that all your efforts, all your struggles, seem to be in vain and will not change anything.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #writing #cod #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost #cod ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #dead dove fic #fem!reader

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lodi-writes · 1 year

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「And when your eyes met, you saw nothing but love.」

When Your Eyes Meet Mine

Pairing: Ushijima x Reader

Word count: 1319

Genre: Sweet, sweet fluff

Summary: All Wakatoshi wants is for you to have a wonderful birthday, even if that means having to step outside his comfort zone just a little bit

A/N: I woke up this morning and realized that I’ve never written for him before, so I just had to get something down and out came a very soft fluffly ushiwaka who deserves nothing but love ;-; I really enjoyed writing something a little longer than I have been with my drabbles!! If you guys want more of these types of fics, or something longer, let me know! (also I’m trying to make my blog look a little more aesthetic, I hope it looks okay lol)

You noticed it before you even opened the door. As you slid your key into the front door, a hint of a savory scent wafted through the cracks and to your nose. Eyes fluttering shut, you paused for a moment as your brain tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. You swung the door open and called out to your empty house with a dull enthusiasm.

“I’m home.”

You mindlessly hung your coat up in the closet in the foyer, mind drifting as you wondered when your husband would be coming home. He was usually home an hour after you on the dot, not usually one to run late. But you noticed that his work shoes were already here, placed delicately along the wall, so perhaps he’d gotten home early but gone for a run. That was when you heard a subtle clank coming from the kitchen, and that aroma you’d notice outside became stronger as you walked further into your home, along with a delicate melody that you didn’t seem to recognize floating through the air.

“Toshi?” you questioned, making your way through the hall to the kitchen before stopping in your tracks. Wakatoshi stood tall next to the stove, hips swaying all too subtly to the sound of the radio he set up on the corner of the counter. He donned the apron that you usually wore when baking, the tie just barely making it around his hips.

“What is all this?” you asked, almost at a whisper, with a grin crawling onto your face.

Wakatoshi turned around, your voice finally pulling him out of his concentration. When he turned around, you tried and failed to stifle your laughter upon the sight of his torso absolutely covered in flour - rendering the much too small apron essentially useless - and his hands slick with cooking oil and some kind of sauce.

“It’s your birthday,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he grabbed a hand towel to wipe off his hands. Before anything else, he placed the towel back on the counter, took a few steps toward you, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, gently resting his hands on either cheek. He greets you this way every time he comes home from work, but somehow it feels different, more special, when you’re the one coming home. Before letting go, you noticed him gently close his eyes and take a soft breath before opening them and resting his forehead against yours. His eyes locked with yours and you felt your cheeks begin to burn just a bit as he softly whispered.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Before you could speak he kissed you once more, this time on your cheek, just below the corner of your eye, and he pulled away and went back to what he was working on. Your body felt cold as he stepped away but a tinge of heat remained on your cheeks. You knew that your husband loved you but he didn’t often show it in the most forthright manner. He showed it through the way that he would tuck the colorful comforter on your shared bed over your shoulders when he woke up early for a morning run. Through the way that he would help you zip up your dress before you went out to dinner without you needing to ask him. Through the way that he cuts your bagel in half for you when he’s making his own breakfast. It’s all the little things that truly do add up, and never once have you felt that he didn’t love you as much as you love him.

But sometimes, like tonight, you would be caught off guard by his more direct affection. You knew that it was hard for him, but you truly did appreciate his effort, especially when it wasn’t something that you requested of him. However, you’d gotten so swept up in the moment that you forgot to address the elephant in the room.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” You slowly made your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade, seeking out the warmth that he deprived you of.

“I stayed home today. If my boss asks, I have the flu,” he responded, and the small smirk that grew on his face was audible in his tone. You laughed against the back of his shirt and tightened your embrace before planting a kiss at the base of his neck. Wakatoshi stood noticeably taller as you smiled against his skin and thanked him. You finally took a moment to peer around your tall partner’s torso to glance at what he had been cooking. There were miscellaneous chopped vegetables and herbs strewn about a few different cutting boards, three bowls with different colored sauces in them, and a pan on the stove with salmon fillets sizzling as they slowly cooked. You glanced past the stove and noticed that the warm red glow of the oven light was on, which piqued your interest. He must have noticed where your gaze landed because he tossed you a quick “it’s a secret” before turning to you.

“Why don’t you take a seat while I finish up,” he continued, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you over to the kitchen table which was adorned with what you deemed to be your “nice tablecloth” and the silverware that you only broke out when your parents came to visit. He pulled his hand away only to pull out a chair for you until you took a seat. Gently, he tucked your hair behind your ear before returning to the counter to finish up and plate your dinner. You waited patiently for a few minutes, out of the corner of your eye swearing you caught a slightly slouched Wakatoshi with his hands on the edge of the counter, taking slow breaths with a rosy blush crawling up the tips of his ears.

Just before your stomach began to growl, your partner walked over and placed a plate in front of you, the sight enough to make you drool. He placed his own plate down as well and took a seat, but instead of taking his usual seat across from you, he sat in the normally empty seat to your left. As you both began to eat, without looking over at you he grabbed your hand under the table and wove his fingers between yours, gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. You smiled and squeezed his hand gently, appreciative of the affection but you questioned him nonetheless.

“What’s gotten into you today? I know it’s my birthday but you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with just to make me happy,” you told him softly, turning to him with a gentle smile.

He let out a low sigh, as if he’d been trying to be sneaky with the way he had been acting. “I may not be comfortable with it yet, but you make me want to be comfortable with it. I see the way you look when we watch those cheesy rom coms and I want to be able to make you as happy as those movies do,” he responded quickly, not able to look you in the eye. However, your heart swelled at his confession and you pulled his hand up to you, kissing the back of his hand. Suddenly, you heard a loud ding from behind you.

“What was that?” you asked, your eyes lighting up when you remembered the oven light from earlier.

“Cake,” he responded with a small grin. He rose quickly from the table to pull the dessert from the oven and when he returned, you found yourself not looking at the cake, but looking up at Wakatoshi’s smiling face. And when your eyes met, you saw nothing but love.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima fluff #ushijima x reader #lodi writes

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vagabondfandoms · 2 months

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Falls on Me

Day Four: Morning

Rating: Teen

Previous Chapters: Chapter One , Chapter Two , Chapter Three , Chapter Four

Characters: Gale Dekarios, Shadowheart, Karlach, and F!Tav: Copper

Warning: Gale POV, Mentions of Chronic Pain, Gale x Female Tav

Gale is hanging out around the campfire waiting for the scouting team to come back when he has a flare up of pain.

—

Day 4- Morning

Gale was out by the campfire, enjoying his small talk with Shadowheart. He found it fascinating to hear the cleric’s devotion to her goddess, even if it was an evil one. But Gale finds himself more captivated by the shadows reflected in her deep green eyes.

The other half of the team was out scouting the goblin camp so they could figure out their next plan of action.

Only himself, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Copper were currently at the camp. The four of them are being paired up more and more to allow the sneakier team members to scout for danger, which is perfectly fine with Gale. He despises crouching. It hurts his knees and he feels it's an unfitting position for a former archmage.

Shadowheart chuckles softly and it draws Gale's attention to the direction of Copper, Karlach, and their furry camp companions. A dog named Scratch and a newly orphaned owlbear cub they rescued from a goblin raiding party.

“I was worried that the smelly little beast was going to eat us, or at least the dog,” Shadowheart says fondly. “But it looks like everybody’s getting along over there.”

Gale and Shadowheart watch the women throw a red ball for Scratch while the owlbear follows close behind, joy emanating from the wild little creature.

Karlach also had a big smile on her face that made her appear more lovely than usual, Gale thought.

After a few moments of silence, as the two spell casters watch the game of fetch unfold, Shadowheart excuses herself to her tent. But before she could get that far, Karlach enthusiastically waves the cleric over to see the owlbear cub and the Sharran seemed happy to oblige.

Karlach starts talking excitedly to Shadowheart, asking her what she thought a good name for the cub would be. While the two other women debate between Owlbert or Dark Feather as names. Copper drifts away from the girls allowing them to have their fun.

Gale watches the strong graceful form of the young monk, her auburn braid swaying behind her as she walks towards him. Realizing he was staring too long, Gale quickly busied himself, gathering up his book and pretending to read to cover up his gawking.

“Gods, I’ve been away from society too long.” Gale scolds himself, staring extra hard at his pages just as Copper stands next to him. “I’ve been acting like a besotted schoolboy to every attractive person I see.”

Copper doesn’t start a conversation with him, taking his nose in the book at face value and leaving him alone to read. Instead, she starts slicing apples and places them in the cooking pan to warm.

As the young monk cooks, Gale actually finds himself relaxing and ends up flipping to the exact page he was reading earlier. Sinking further into the comfort of an old hobby, Gale only rouses when the scent of spiced fruit is right under his nose. Looking up, Copper is smiling down at him.

“I was just about to give up,” Copper jokes, setting the cooked apples next to Gale, as she settles down next to him. “It seems feeding your mind is more important to you than feeding your stomach.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I skipped a meal for academic pursuits,” Gale says good-naturedly, reaching for a slice. Both pleased and vexed that the young woman decided to feed him. “Tara often had to put herself between me and the pages to remind me to head down to dinner.”

“So what’s so engrossing about that book?” Copper asks, taking a slice for herself.

“Well, it’s a primer on Mythical Beasts.” Gale describes. “I was reading the chapter about miniature giant space hamsters.”

“Sounds like a contradiction.” Copper scowls, biting into another piece of fruit.

“They sound like fascinating little creatures. Apparently, they choose well-muscled human males as their steeds when visiting our realm.” Laughing slightly at the absurdity of such a creature existing, Gale playfully flexes his bicep and adds. “Sadly, I don’t think I’ll ever meet one.”

“You need to train a little more in strength to achieve that goal.” Copper gives him a shy smirk that she tries to cover with her hand.

“Alas, I think my considerable talents are best… Aughhh!” A sharp pain shoots down Gale’s arm, cutting off his sentence as his orb acts up again. He quickly clutches his hand to his chest. His fingers tingle and stiffen within seconds of the pain starting.

“Here, give me your hand,” Copper says quickly and with authority that it startles Gale and he complies with the command with only a little hesitation. The monk already was activating her Ki and the soft glow engulfs both their hands.

Copper starts applying pressure to the palm of his hand in a circular motion and the stiffness lessens while another pulse of pain hits Gale. He grits his teeth, as the woman works. Pulling and rubbing at his fingers while applying her Ki to combat the degradation Gale’s orb was causing him.

After a few minutes, the attack ebbs away and Gale finds himself just watching Copper’s tan hands in his, as she massages his hands. “Warm, Strong hands,” he admires the contrast between her lightly scarred hands and his delicate long-fingered ones.

“She’s definitely seen battles before, unlike me where battle spells were for show.” Gale thinks, frowning at how much his life has changed since he got inflicted with the orb and how he got kidnapped by the illithid while in search of magical items for said infliction.

But if Gale was being honest with himself, his adventuring out of his tower in Waterdeep was more of a sacrificial journey than one of hope. He didn’t want to drag Tara, his mother, or even Waterdeep itself into his destruction.

If he were to die it was to be alone…but now he dragged his (somewhat) innocent travel companions into his trouble since he was too weak and too scared of the tadpole lodged in his brain to venture off on his own.

“Gale, are you ok? Does it still hurt?” Copper asks, concern in her grey eyes. “You look upset.”

“No, I’m fine,” Gale says coldly, before realizing his tone and smiles at the monk to make up for his attitude. “I’m better now, thank you,” he says pleasantly. “But I think I want my hand back even if it was lovely of you to hold it.”

“Ok...” Copper says hesitantly before giving Gale’s wrist one last squeeze before letting go. Gale almost regrets the loss of the strong gentle pressure anchoring him down but he mustn’t get dependent.

He needs to be strong. He needs to be useful. Above all, he needs to be Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra.

Not Gale Dekarios the fool that lost it all.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #oc: copper #shadowheart #karlach

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mermaidfanficlibrary · 5 months

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An introduction to the first note | OHSHC x Male Reader

Prologue time!! Enjoy!! My Wattpad and Quotev!

Description: Of A Melody there once was

Prolouge: Prologue before the Chorus begins

Chapter 1: An introduction to the first note | (You are here)

Chapter 2: The joining of notes to create a nostalgic song

Chapter 3: Violin of Harmony

Chapter 4: Remembering the screeching tune in the memory | TBR

Warning: Any chan is used in a gender neutral way

youtube

(Play this song when I say too)

youtube

(Play this song when I say too)

Y/n was walking up to the new campus he was going to be attending. He was here to show the principal his talent. Sure, Y/n's scholarship was set in stone, but the principal wished to see what kind of person he was admitting into his school. Y/n wore a suit to impress the man he was going to be playing for. He had his ebony violin, case in hand, taking deep breaths.

Y/n was hoping it was only the principal who would be there, but this wish was not granted. As he opened the door gently, Y/n was faced with the principal along with someone else. He seemed to be a year older than Y/n. The boy had bright blonde hair as well as matching violet eyes full of gentle passion. Y/n was startled at his presence. Y/n spoke up in an anxious tone.

“Ah, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt..”

Y/n had a soft blush and the teen in front of him found it cute. This boy didn't realize that this interaction would start an obsession in his heart.

“It's quite alright, L/n-chan. Tamaki, you may leave now.”

The blonde boy refused, insisting that he stay. Only someone like the H/c haired person in front of him had his interest. Looking at the stature of the s/c boy, Tamaki had noticed him holding a case. It was a violin case.

'Was this the boy who had been offered a scholarship on talent alone? Father seems to have high hopes for this boy.'

“You may now play Y/n L/n”

That's when Tamaki learned the boy's name. It was a name he would never forget after witnessing this boy at his best.

(Play the song now)

As Y/n pulled out his ebony violin, and the bow, he rhythmically played the song he had prepared. Sure, it wasn't his own, but it was a song he loved. With each bow of the strings, Y/n had swayed rhythmically. Each note hitting the small audience with a passion of which they had never experienced. They felt the emotions that Y/n was feeling.

They didn't understand the effect that this boy had. The sweet notes seemed to have more of an effect on Tamaki. He felt Y/n's sadness, which he didn't understand.

That's when he looked at Y/n's s/c face. He noticed the crystal tears brimming his closed eyes. Tamaki's interest was peaked even more. Why was this boy crying when he played such a beautiful melody? He was going to ask Y/n after he had finished, that was his goal.

Y/n still played, not bothered by the stares he was receiving. His thoughts drifted to his mother, the time he practiced this song with her. The tears overwhelmed his eyes as they gently fell.

Tamaki had begun to worry, should he have interrupted this beautiful peace to comfort the boy in front of him? He hesitated, but Y/n picked up the pace. His fingers placed themselves on each note beautifully. It was as if flowers were blooming around Y/n as he delicately played the song he loved so dear.

And then came Y/n's least favorite part. The moment when the song would end, and his melody would cease. He found so much comfort in the melodies he created, even if they pained him when he played.

Y/n had started to slow down as the bow came to a stop. The song had ended, and it had left the two in front of him amazed. Suoh-san expected highly of the boy in front of him, but not this much talent entering his school. He clapped for Y/n as Tamaki did the same. Tamaki was amazed, and had to befriend this boy in front of him. And just as if his father read his mind, Suoh-san had spoken up.

“Please escort Y/n out of my office, Tamaki.”

This flustered Y/n a bit, and Tamaki couldn't help but be consumed by cuteness aggression. He took the boy's hand and gently lead him out of his father's office. He then turned to the y/h boy in front of him.

“You played beautifully! But I have to ask if it's alright little prince, why you were tearing up? Were you that enchanted with the song you played, as well?”

This question stung Y/n's heart a bit. Should he have trusted this stranger? It didn't help that Y/n was flustered at Tamaki's nickname for him. Lucky for Y/n, a black haired boy had interrupted this small conversation. Tamaki was a bit disappointed, and Y/n noticed this. Y/n reached for the blonde boy out of intimidation of being stared at by the black haired teen in front of them. Again Tamaki was enveloped in his own world of cuteness aggression from this h/c haired boy. Y/n had recognized the boy in front of him to be Kyoya Ootori. His fame was from his family's multiple facilities in Japan. Kyoya seemed to chuckle at Y/n in the situation he was in.

“Who is that behind you, Tamaki?”

The two boys were here on account of their parents asking them to explore the school to make sure their classes were all memorized. But they only went because they had host business to take care of before they had gone back to school. The two also were intrigued about the new student they were getting from America, and they only knew about it because Tamaki's father would not stop talking about it. And the gossip had gripped the Ootori family as well. Was this the real reason behind the families pushing them out of the house? Who knows, only their parents of course. Tamaki had finally answered the question.

“This is the famous musician Y/n L/n! I just heard him play, and it was magnificent!”

Y/n blushed, trying to hide his face. He hadn't gotten this much praise from many, and when he did, Y/n rarely ever reacted like this. What was wrong with him? Kyoya had looked at the tear stained face behind Tamaki. He was taken aback at how someone so elegantly presenting could be so cute to him. Kyoya wished to address something, however.

“Well, it's no good for this elegant musician to be crying now, is it.”

This startled Y/n even more, making his face even more red. What was going on? He was so confused, and Tamaki looked back at the h/c haired boy behind him.

“I had asked him about that, but Y/n has yet to answer.”

The two looked at Y/n which made him anxious. He was seriously debating telling these two about the reason his tears struck when he played. Then Tamaki created an offer.

“Hey Y/n, why not join us to our clubroom? We do have some duties to attend to, and you could tell us over some tea!”

Y/n did really like the idea of tea. It would calm him and make it easier to tell. He was never one to keep secrets about his past if he was asked about him. Y/n nodded and Tamaki excitedly took Y/n's hand and ran with him to the clubroom, with Kyoya insuite. Once the trio had reached the music room, Y/n's gentle voice perked up, which had startled the two boys.

“Why is the clubroom a music room?”

Tamaki had enveloped Y/n which overwhelmed him, gushing about Y/n's sweet voice and how it matched him. Y/n was struggling against Tamaki suffocating him, but Kyoya had begun to explain.

“This music room is abandoned, so we had asked the principal if we could use it. He had said yes, and now it resides the host club and most of its clubs events.”

Y/n nodded in acknowledgement, which made Tamaki blush even more.

“You are too precious, L/n-chan! Come inside!”

“Please don't call me L/n, you can just use my first name Tamaki-senpai.”

This made Tamaki stop in his tracks, leaving Kyoya the one to open the door for them. As if one cue, an overwhelming scent of roses met the boy's face. He was amazed! The elegance of the clubroom astounded him! He also noticed a piano covered in curtains. He so wanted to play it. Kyoya then spoke up.

“We're back gentlemen.”

Y/n had saw 4 boys that walked up to Kyoya. Two of them were identical and seemed to be Y/n's age. One was really tall and seemed to be a 3rd year. The last one he looked at was short and had blonde hair, and didn't seem to even be in high school. The two twins were the ones who noticed Y/n first.

“Who is this Kyoya senpai?”

Y/n stared at the two with fascination. And it seemed to show, since the two twins were curious about the boy in front of him.

“This is our newest member of the host club, Y/n L/n.”

This shocked Y/n. He didn't agree to join the club, and he was never asked. The two twins noticed the shock in Y/n's eyes. It was clear he was trapped by Kyoya.

“Uhm, I don't think you ever asked me to join.”

Kyoya looked at Y/n with a small smile. He knew everything about Y/n and how he wasn't of a rich family. He also knew the reason Y/n had tears in his eyes when he played.

“My apologies, I did intend to ask, but it slipped my mind.”

No it didn't.

Kyoya knew Y/n would join. All because Tamaki was the leader of the group. Tamaki had perked up from his stunned, flustered shock. He grabbed Y/n's shoulder.

“Let me introduce you to all the hosts here! Kyoya, the cool type. Mori, the wild type. His companion Honey, the boy lolita type. And the twins Hikaru and Koaru, the little devil types. And you know me, the prince type.”

After this statement, he took Y/n's hand, making him even more flustered.

“And if you were to join us, little prince, you would be the musician of our group. What do you say?”

Y/n was shocked. He didn't want to remind himself of being a musician. He was trying to separate himself from it because of all the emotional baggage it had on him. Before Y/n could answer, Honey had jumped on his back.

“Wow Y/n-chan you're a musician? Can you play a song?”

Y/n looked at the doe eyed boy. He couldn't resist him and he nodded.

“Maybe, but not right now.”

Honey looked a little dejected, and walked over to his tall friend Mori. This gave the twins a chance to tease Y/n around.

“Aw, come on, Y/n!”

Hikaru had started the sentence.

“Play for us!”

Kaoru had finished it. Then they both spoke in unison that unsettled Y/n. “Or are you too scared?”

Tamaki had pushed the twins away, enveloping Y/n into another hug.

“Leave Y/n alone! Don't listen to those twins, my little prince, you don't have to play.”

This gave Y/n an odd sense of comfort. Tamaki had reminded him of his mother, and this made his heart hurt more than it did now as the tears well in his eyes. He brought up both his hands to try to push the tears out of his eyes. This had made everyone freeze, and Tamaki went into a panic. Even with the brief time they spent together, Tamaki felt incredibly close and enchanted by Y/n.

Tamaki had thought the twins caused the tears of his little prince, so he chased them, saying things like “You made my little prince cry” and “Go apologize to him.” Honey had gone up to Y/n and gave him a big hug of comfort, and Mori towered over the two comfortingly.

“Please don't cry, Y/n-chan! How about you have some cake with me and Usa-chan! Here! You can hold Usa-chan too!”

Honey handed Usa-chan to Y/n and took his hand as they went to the table Honey and Mori were stationed at. Y/n perked up at all the sweets that were presented elegantly. As Y/n took a bite of the cake Honey put in front of him, he was amazed.

He didn't realize that the three boys that were running around stopped as they stared at Y/n. A blush met all their faces as they all found Y/n so cute when eating the cake with Honey. Kyoya then took this chance to ask Y/n something.

“Why not give us a small presentation of your musical talent? Then you can have your tea.”

Y/n really wanted that tea, especially if it was a rich, fancy kind of tea. He took a deep breath and spoke gently, which had surprised everyone due to the tone. They all found it cute.

“Only one song?”

Kyoya nodded, intending to keep his deal. Y/n then got up and looked at Kyoya which made everyone freeze.

“May I sing instead?”

They were all shocked by this. Tamaki had thought Y/n could only play the violin. But he was wrong, and Y/n proved it. Then Y/n had a request.

“May I borrow a guitar too?”

Kyoya nodded, as he went to look for a guitar. Honey looked super excited. All the hosts did as they gathered around where Y/n was sitting. Even Mori's eyes showed excitement.

“What are you going to sing Y/n-Chan?”

Y/n thought on his answer, not knowing how to respond. He then thought of the answer, and it was perfect.

“A song that reminds me of my mother.”

If Y/n was going to join this club, then he had to get over the tears that fell when he sang. Everyone froze again. From the way Y/n's e/c eyes had looked, they knew it wasn't something of happiness. And this whole scene was why Tamaki wanted Y/n to be a host.

(Play the 2nd song now)

Once handed the guitar, Y/n gently strummed it to make sure to tune it. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. Then Y/n plucked the strings of the rough guitar as he placed his fingers on the board. Tamaki was reminded of how Y/n beautifully held his violin and played each note. Then his voice started singing the melody. This caught all the hosts' attention. Each one forming a blush on their faces. Then he started fully singing.

This love it is a distant star Guiding us home wherever we are

The tears started to well, but it was faint. His tone was that of a sad one, but Y/n kept going.

This love, it is a burning sun Shinning light on the things that we've done

Everyone was enchanted by his voice. Y/n had kept singing. Only ever looking at his audience only faintly. The emotion was clear in the playing.

I try to speak to you every day, But each word we spoke The wind blew away

The intensity had grown, then came the chorus. This was when the tears started to threaten to fall. Y/n tried to hold it in. And they all noticed.

Could these walls come crumbling down? I want to feel my feet on the ground And deep behind this prison we share Step into the open air

As the chorus ended, the tears fell. Y/n's gripped the finger board as he pressed harder into the instrument he held. It hurt, but it didn't stop him. The hosts had noticed Y/n's face as it shifted. They all felt sympathy.

How did we let it come to this What we just tasted we somehow still miss

Y/n's voice was still smooth, even when he was crying. The guitar had tears slightly pooling, and it was beautiful in a way. The strumming became faster as more emotion was put into the playing.

How will it feel when this day is done? And can we keep what we've only begun

The hosts had focused so much on Y/n. They noticed his state and all looked at him with sympathy in their eyes. They were all amazed that such a simple song could cause so much emotion in them.

And now these walls come crumbling down And I can feel my feet on the ground Can we carry this love that we shareInto the open air

Here it was, Y/n's least favorite part. The ending of his song. He didn't stop, though. His voice slowed and the strumming of the guitar did too.

Into the open air

There was a slight release of the finger board, and the strumming wasn't as harsh. But even when it was, it was still very delicate. The boys around Y/n were all amazed with the talent Y/n possessed.

To the open air

Y/n's voice softened more as he opened his eyes. He looked at the audience as the final lyric came from his lips. The boys in front of him looked even the more amazed.

This love it is a burning sun

And with that, silence fell as the ringing of the last string being plucked ran through the room. It was only for a moment as the whole host club applauded Y/n. Honey was crying and jumped into Y/n's lap across the table. Y/n held the boy in a very motherly way. This caused everyone's blush to deepen.

“Wahh! Y/n-chan! That was so sad!”

Y/n smiled at the small boy he was holding. He couldn't believe Honey was a 3rd year. He learned about this while Kyoya went to get the guitar for him. Honey looked up at Y/n.

“I'm sorry it had made you sad, Honey-senpai. I'll give you my cake if it'll help you feel better.”

Before he could do anything, Tamaki lunged at Y/n which startled Honey and Y/n both.

“That was beautiful, my little prince! You did wonderful!”

Even if Tamaki had tears in his eyes, it was replaced with a big, bright smile that gave Y/n more comfort. Tamaki was now rubbing his cheek against Y/n's as he brushed his tears away. This made Y/n blush a bit, but everyone around him had this jealous aura. Well except for Kyoya, because he went to get the tea he promised Y/n. The twins were quick to react, however. They pushed Tamaki to the side, which caused him to feel rejected, and put Y/n in the middle of them.

“That was truly amazing, Y/n”

Hikaru spoke, as he took a plate in his hand. Then Kaoru spoke, causing Y/n to look at him cutely.

“Would you like some cake as a reward~?”

The tone was for two things. One was to upset Tamaki, and the other was the pure emotion both twins had felt for Y/n. It was small, and it formed rather quickly, which intrigued both of them. As Tamaki watched in shock.

“Here Y/n, let us feed you!”

Y/n was too flustered to move, and he just accepted them feeding him. Hikaru had gently placed a chunk of the vanilla cake into Y/n's mouth. As Y/n chewed, he was amazed with the flavor. This made Hikaru blush as Y/n chewed slightly.

'His facial expressions are so cute!'

Then Kaoru took a chocolate mousse and a spoon. He gently grabbed Y/n's chin to make him look into his amber eyes. Kaoru placed the spoon to Y/n's lips and fed him the mousse. Y/n was in utter bliss. This helped so much with his feelings directed at his mother. Maybe if he did join the host club, things wouldn't be so bad. Kaoru looked at Y/n's smile.

'That smile is so pretty!'

Both the twins wanted this moment to last forever, but Tamaki didn't. So he pulled the twins by the collars and had a talking to too them. Then came Kyoya with the brewed tea. He poured Y/n a cup and sat down In front of him.

“So, tell me, why were you crying when we first encountered each other?”

Everyone's ears perked up as they once again surrounded Y/n. They all felt panicked that the new boy they all gotten close to was put into tears. They were ready for a fight if anyone had caused it. Y/n froze, and then his story began.

He shared about his mom and his friend, though he didn't mention her name. He shared why he sang and why he stopped. He shared about his father and how they moved to America for a new life. Y/n shared everything and didn't realize everyone looking at him with sad eyes again.

This time Mori was the one who went to comfort him. He stood behind Y/n and pat his head gently. Y/n looked up at Mori and his expression had Mori blushing a bit. Then Y/n spoke again.

“I think.. I'll join your host club.”

Everyone was really happy. Tamaki hugged Y/n tightly, and so did Honey. Both were really happy that this musician would join them. Kyoya smirked, he knew Y/n would join, but it wasn't for the reason he thought. The twins then piped up.

“You'll need the school uniform if you're going to join Y/n”

Y/n giggled at what the twins said. Did they think he didn't have one? This giggle was that of sunshine when everyone around him heard it. They were all stunned.

“I have one, though I didn't plan on wearing it.”

“Why not?”

The twins had questioned him. This boy In front of him had piqued their curiosity in more ways than one.

“Because I quite like this suit better.”

They looked up and down on the figure. It was a f/c suit that fit the boy really well. But it wasn't all that eccentric. It screamed commoner.

"Nonsense my little prince! I'm sure you will look dazzling!”

Y/n blushed. And from just this interaction, he knew high school would be an experience. But a good one. Y/n decided to wear the uniform and left the room. Tamaki insisted on walking Y/n home, but Y/n gently declined his offer. However, the twins forced themselves on Y/n as to walk him home.

And Y/n couldn't escape them so he gave up in trying to refuse. They walked Y/n up to the apartment and they said their goodbyes. As Y/n got ready to sleep, he thought about all the boys he met, and how they treated him. Then his mind went to his closest friend, Haruhi. He missed her a bunch, and hoped to see her at school. They were in the same class after all.

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

#🪸.mermaid time #🪸.mermaid fanfic #🎵. Of a Melody there Once Was | Ohshc x male reader #ouran high school host club #ouran high school host club x reader #ouran high school host club x male reader #ohshc #ohshc x reader #ohshc x male reader #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #hikaru hitachiin #kaoru hitachiin #honey senpai #mori senpai #mitskuni haninozuka #takashi morinozuka #usa-chan #haruhi fujioka

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