#anyways here's the least angsty thing for this month

[flowercrowngods]

based on this post, because at this point i think it's safe to say @unclewaynemunson is actually my muse or something (hi anna i hope this is okay even though it’s, like, way angsty and way too long huh)

🤍 also on ao3

Two days after Starcourt, concussed and beaten, Steve has a seizure.

His ears are still ringing when the doctor gives him a stern glance over the rim of his glasses and pronounces him unfit to drive. No, in fact, he claims Steve poses a real danger to himself and others if he sat behind a wheel again.

Immediately, Dustin and Robin jump to promising that they won't let him do that, and in another life Steve is sure he would be grateful, or at least reasonable about it, but in this one he has a horrible second where the floor falls out from under him and he wishes, for just one second, that his head had been shaken a bit more, just enough to–

It makes him nauseous even thinking that. Everything does, lately. He closes his eyes against the offensive brightness of the hospital room and lets the sound of Dustin's and Robin's voices wash over him as he takes a moment to really take in what the doctor's orders entail.

He can't drive anymore. No more late night drives to watch the street lights pass and lull him into a safer state of mind than his bedroom walls could. No more driving the kids to their DnD sessions, no more taking Robin anywhere at the drop of a hat, no more bickering, no more reign over the music, no more stern glances through the rearview mirror, no more "Shut up, Wheeler, or you're leaving the car."

No more "Thanks, Steve!", no more "I'll bring some of mom's cookies if you drive us to the arcade", no more "You're the best" or "You're a lifesaver" or "I owe you one".

No more place for him in the group, no more use for him, no more...

No more. Nothing. Now he's just Steve, would-be lifesaver, 'has-been babysitter', 'could-have-been somebody until he lost his license to drive because he wasn't quick enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough'. Just Steve.

He doesn't know how to be that. Who is Steve Harrington without his car, without the one thing he was good for anymore?

The pit in his chest is deep enough, dark enough to pull him in, and for a moment the very thing he is good for is misery.

He waits until a nurse makes everyone leave for the night, and then he cries. It makes his head hurt, pressure building behind his eyes, but he's used to being in more pain than any teenager should be in, so he curls in on himself and hides underneath the blanket.

Here's to hoping the others won't notice just how useless he is now. Not too soon, anyway. He wants another month. A painless month filled with laughter and hugs, and then they're free to leave, to pull back slowly. Calls unanswered, radio channels changed so he won't reach them, sheepish apologies and rain checks, because now Nancy will drive them. Or Jonathan. Hell, maybe Max will take the risk just to avoid him.

---

He gets a week of daily visits in the hospital, the doctors and nurses insisting on keeping him here, a watchful eye on his vitals, scanning his head three times during his stay, insisting he has head trauma of a severely worrying degree.

Nancy picks him up from the hospital and it's awkward, tense, too much left unsaid between them but there's no one else to do it. Steve's hands are shaking, gripping the seatbelt the whole way home – and then his heart falls when he sees his Beemer in the driveway. The glorious, trusty, wonderful, best fucking car anyone could wish for. His baby. His.

He throw up into the brushes when he realises that he won't get to take it on one last ride. Maybe he shouldn't be so attached to a car. Maybe he's being pathetic about it. At least he can explain away the fat tears in his eyes now, and Nancy doesn't press.

The first thing he does when Nancy is gone is calling Robin, and she's excited when she says, "I'll come right over!" and Steve wants to ask, how, but he keeps his mouth shut, biting his lip. It's stupid, but the thought of someone else driving Robin over makes his skin crawl.

"Alright," he says instead, his voice raspy, and he hangs up before she can detect something in his voice.

After that, he goes outside again and runs his hand along his Beemer. It's shining in the sun; he had it cleaned the other week, the full program, every step in the book to celebrate four years since he got her.

"Four years, huh," Steve says, his nail catching on a minor scratch that isn't even visible but might be more familiar to him than even his home. "Damn good four years."

He's talking to his car. God, it's so stupid, it's so stupid, it's so stupid–

Steve's knees give out and he gives in to the desire that's burning under his skin sometimes, the desire to just sit down and ignore the world. Because everything is less real when you're sitting down somewhere you're not meant to be, and the ground is warm, and Steve just wants the world to go. His head is leaning back against the warm metal of the driver's door, and he closes his eyes for a while, his head still spinning, his ears still ringing, everything still awful.

After a while, there’s a shadow followed by a weight settling down between him, a head landing on his shoulder, a hand taking his.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Robin says. The lack of dingus makes it more real, somehow. More tragic. More pathetic.

"I'll live." And it feels a bit like a lie.

---

He gets his month. A month filled with barbecues in his backyard, the kids coming by after school to check on him, and Robin has practically moved in. Joyce picks him up on Friday nights for dinner at their house for a change of scenery.

It’s a good month, though Steve feels trapped. Caged. A bird without his wings, a boy without his car. Steve without his one purpose, the one thing he was good for. He has to be picked up because they don’t trust him walking, or they have to come to his place. And soon the worried glances that are thrown his way are too much, caging him further, reminding him of what this is. A pity party — quite literally. No one trusts him anymore, there’s always someone jumping to help him, not caring or listening to his protests.

And he can’t leave, because “What if you have a seizure in your room?”

It makes him want to scream.

Maybe it shows, or maybe everyone’s just fed up with him now that he can’t provide his taxi services anymore, but after summer the Byers dinners stop and the kids pull away.

“Told you that’s all I’m good for,” Steve says with a mean, pained huff as he hangs up the phone. Claudia said Dustin isn’t home, but he could hear the kids in the background. It hurts more than it should.

“What is?” Robin asks from her place on the floor with her back against the wall.

“Nothing.”

She frowns. “Come on, dingus, you can’t start and then—“

“No, I mean it. Nothing. That’s what I’m good for now that I can’t drive them anymore.”

“Bullshit!” she says, and it comes out so harsh that it makes Steve flinch. He swallows. Right. Robin isn’t hear to listen to him whine about how he feels like he has no place in this town, in this group, in this life anymore now that his head is so fucked up he can’t even be trusted to live alone.

That’s why Robin is here, right?

The babysitter becomes the babysitted… or something.

She doesn’t care, not really. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t ask.

“Steve, they’re kids.”

“Yeah, well. So am I.”

He turns away from her and ignores the tears threatening to fall. The door to his room falls shut and he would love to lock it just to make a point to the world at large, a point that it can’t shut him out if he shuts himself in, but he knows it’s too risky. If he has a seizure, Robin needs to get in.

He can’t even stay in his room alone without supervision anymore. What kind of a fuck-up is he becoming, where does it end? He’s already managed to chase away the kids, even Dustin only checks on him sporadically anymore, and it hurts. He wants to know why, wants to know what he did, how to take it back, how to get them back.

But then he remembers how it all started. Dustin needed a ride and someone to take a beating. Both of which he can’t do anymore without risking life and death of himself and others. He’s a safety hazard. He’s useless. He’s Steve fucking Harrington, which doesn’t mean anything anymore.

---

And then it’s spring, and Chrissy Cunningham is found dead in Eddie Munson’s trailer. The group is back together again, the Party assembled once more. And Steve, for a just one second, hopes that he can get it right this time, that he can do this again. One last time. Because Vecna slash Henry slash One surely is it.

But then they turn on him — even Eddie looks confused, which is a rather adorable look on him — the moment Steve tries to get a word in.

“You’re not coming with us, Steve.” That’s Dustin, and Steve just rolls his eyes, but then Robin joins in.

“Yeah, no, I’m with the gremlin on this, dingus.”

“Hey!”

“Oh shut it, Henderson.” She turns to him, her eyes softer but no less burning another hole inside Steve. “We can’t risk it, Steve.”

“Risk what?” It’s a challenge. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched, he’s challenging her, and it’s cruel.

She holds his eyes, her expression icy, like he’s stupid. “We can’t risk you dying. We can’t risk you getting a seizure mid-fight or just by being in the Upside Down.”

“Hey, woah,” Eddie tries to get a word in, but Steve won’t hear him as the desperation, the loneliness, the feeling of being caged like a bird and still the only human left on a desolate planet, all that breaks free.

“We all know that dying in a fight is the only thing I’m good for anyway.”

The silence among their war council, as Max dubbed it, is deafening.

“What?” Lucas sounds small when he asks that, and Steve closes his eyes. He hadn’t meant for him to hear that. Any of them, actually. They weren’t supposed to know.

“Steve, that’s not true.” Dustin’s words are filled with disbelief and worry, and Steve hates the worry, it makes his skin crawl, it makes his heart race, it makes his fists clenched and it makes him want to scream again.

“What else then, huh?” he asks weakly. “What else is there? None of you even talk to me anymore since Starcourt. Since summer.”

“Because you were pulling away,” Nancy explains, though her words are weak and her mouth clicks shut when Steve looks at her.

“Because we’re scared.” Max this time, and Steve doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to tell a child that she’s not allowed to be scared for him— not more than he is, anyway. It doesn’t make sense for him to be hurt. They don’t want him to die. That’s a good thing, right? They didn’t want to see him hurt, so they looked away. It makes sense.

But it also hurts.

Steve shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose before all but running from the trailer. He doesn’t make it far (“Stay close so we won’t have to worry”), just needs some fresh air and to sit down somewhere the world will become a bit less real again.

The stairs it is. He tries to breathe through the lump in his throat, clenching and unclenching his hands to get rid of the anger and the hurt and all that excess energy.

He doesn’t want to die, is the thing. The very thought makes him nauseous and panicky. He wants his life back. His car. The freedom to just jump in there and get away. He doesn’t want the cage or the worry or the hovering or the loneliness when he isolates himself from all that.

Face buried in his hands, Steve almost misses it when someone comes to sit beside him. The thick smell of leather and cigarettes tells him who it is without looking up.

Eddie doesn’t speak for a while, just sits with him as Steve calms down.

And then, after a while, he lights a cigarette and asks, “You get seizures, Harrington?”

Steve nods. “Sometimes.”

Eddie hums. “That sucks.”

He nods again, and then that’s that. But even though it was a rhetorical question and Eddie didn’t even need an answer, it feels pathetically good to be asked about something. About himself. It only makes the pit inside his chest deeper, cutting into his soul with a sharp edge, this tiny little moment of normalcy. He wants to cling to it. He wants to talk to Eddie. God, he hasn’t really talked to anyone in so long.

“Before Starcourt — remember, the mall? The fire? Yeah that was, uhm. More monster shit. And Russians who thought I was a spy and then… yeah. Anyway. Uh. We used to be friends, I think. The kids and I. They used to care — or I like to think that they did. And then I got one too many head injuries, and the seizures started, and then they… It became too much. For them, for me. And the caring stopped. And, like, it’s fine or whatever, but I still care, and I can’t let them do all that alone. I know that all I was good for was taking them somewhere with my car, but I can’t drive anymore, so now I’m just… I’m just Steve. No titles attached, no use or function or point.”

Eddie just stares at him, puzzled and intrigued and even a little sad, and Steve wants to laugh it off when the silence stretches.

“Sorry, that’s kind of a sob story, you—“

“Wait here,” Eddie says, stubbing out his cigarette before disappearing back into the trailer. Steve watches him with a confused frown but stays put. A minute later, the door flies open and a scandalised looking Max appears, followed by the rest of the crew.

“You what?!”

“Uh,” Steve blinks. “I what?”

“Eddie told us you think you’re useless and that we don’t like you and that all you were ever good for is driving us from A to B with, like, no personal value whatsoever,” Dustin fills in, sounding no less bewildered. “Is that true, Steve?”

And God, the kid is so good at making all his questions sound like dares that Steve instinctively wants to swallow and negate it, tell them that Eddie misheard, that he’s fine, that everything fine.

But then Robin’s whispered little, “Steve” stops him from doing that. In fact, the sadness and confusion on their faces makes the dams break once more, confronted with months of spiralling and no one to drag him out, no one to listen.

Tears spring to his eyes and he gets up from the stairs to properly face them. He shrugs. It’s as much of a confirmation as anything.

And then Dustin sprints forward and tackle-hugs him, burying his face in Steve’s chest with no intention to let go anytime soon.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt and Steve runs a hand through his hair immediately.

“It’s okay, Dustin.”

“No! It’s fucking not okay, Steve, stop saying that. You’re my big brother, you’re my best friend, you’re my hero! You’re the coolest guy I know and nothing’s gonna change that, okay?”

“Then why’d you leave?” His voice is so small, but Dustin only hugs him tighter.

“Because you were hurting and I was… I feel like all of that is my fault.”

“Why would it be your fault, Dustin?”

He shrugs, and it breaks Steve’s heart. Dustin thinks everything is his fault just like Steve thinks it’s his.

“It’s me who got you into the thing with the Russians. I insisted. And you were tortured for it, Steve! You… You told us to go, and we did, and then we came back and you were— you-“

“Hey,” Steve whispers, curling himself around and over Dustin. “Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. None of that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I pulled away, Steve,” Dustin sniffles and looks up at him. “I swear it’s not because I think you’re useless. It’s just… I’m so scared.”

And it makes sense, somehow. The anger leaves Steve when he whispers, “Me too. And I don’t like it when you’re all scared and worried. I hate it.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up.”

And then they’re both laughing with tears in their eyes. Lucas and Max join them with their own promises that Steve isn’t worthless to them.

“Did you read my letter? You know, the one if…”

“No,” Steve says. “You told me not to.”

“Right. Anyway, read it. Whatever happens, I want you to read it. Because you’re my brother and you mean too much for me to, like, never let you know. But, uh. Billy died. And I hated him, but it fucked me up. And then you almost died, and then you almost died again; and then you just… collapsed. And I thought, I cant do this again, not with someone I actually like. Not with you. And I didn’t wanna watch. I watched Billy. I… I can’t watch you die, Steve.”

She’s crying by the end of it, and Steve pulls her against his chest. Shit, he hadn’t meant to make anyone cry like that.

“It’s okay, Max, I get it.”

“Not okay,” she shakes her head again. “I know it’s not. But—“

“I know.” He’s stroking through her hair. “I know.”

“Uh, guys? I hate to break up the heartfelt confession time,” Eddie chimes in. “But I think our window is closing.”

Right. The end of the world.

With one last squeeze to Max’s shoulders, he lets her go and they gather their things. Discussions about Steve’s joining their mission have been put on hold while their window is still open. They can continue this later.

Nancy drives while Max holds Steve’s hand in the back. They don’t talk and she has her headphones on, letting Kate Bush work her magic, but it’s fine. It feels a bit like healing.

He catches Eddie’s eyes on the other side and holds them for a while. Eddie smiles before looking away, and Steve does the same.

---

In the end, Steve doesn't climb the rope with them. He stays behind in Eddie's trailer even though every fibre of his being screams at him to join. But Nancy has a point when she explains to him that she and Robin got this. It's the first time he stays behind, and he hopes it will be the last.

They hug him before leaving, all of them. Promises are made to talk about this later, after, and he nods.

"Go save the world for me," he tells Robin, holding her tight, unwilling to let go.

"Only for you," she promises, and kisses his cheek before pulling away. "You better be right here when we come back."

He shrugs and gives her an encouraging smile. "I've got nowhere else to be, Buckley. Now go." The last words are whispered and it feels like goodbye. Steve should join them, he should be there! But his head is pulsing and he knows that one wrong move could leave him half blind with a migraine, and they don't need one more handicap.

The one thing he can do, though, is helping them climb the rope, and it makes him feel ridiculously proud, seeing them land safely on the other side, smiling up (or down?) at him. Robin and Nancy wave one last time before heading off.

That leaves him alone with Eddie and Dustin. The latter is already climbing the rope, itching to finally do something, preparing the trailer for their plan.

Only Eddie is left, and Steve looks over at him.

"Will you be okay, Steve?"

"Sure."

Eddie sighs and looks up at the gate, disbelief and resignation and even a hint of fascination in his eyes.

"It should be you," he says, and Steve frowns, confused. "You're the hero here."

"No," Steve huffs, smiling at the metalhead. "No, I'm no hero. The real heroes are already up there, and in California. The real hero died after Starcourt. I'm just the driver who lost his license, the boy with the bat. The protector who needs to be protected."

Eddie looks at him again, that kind of intense stare, the one that shows Steve that Eddie sees something in him. He wonders what it is, but isn't sure he wants to know.

"I think you're wrong, Steve." He says it with such gentle conviction that it takes Steve's breath away for a second, and something passes between them as they hold each other's eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but then–

"Eddie!" Dustin is calling for him from the other side, and the boys snap out of their daze.

Steve steps into Eddie's personal space and pulls him to his chest. "Make him pay," he says. "But stay safe. Come back, okay? First sign of danger, you abort mission. Come back, Eddie. I'll be right here."

"Yeah," Eddie rasps, and he squeezes Steve once more. "Catch me when I fall through that gate in two hours?"

Steve laughs, a sad little thing, and he pushes Eddie away from him, hands steady on his shoulders. "Sure, big boy."

"Hey, that's my part."

"Say it when you come back, then."

This thing passes between them again, and then Eddie goes to climb the rope. Steve's hands find their way to his hips, steadying him, but Eddie is strong enough to pull himself up without problem. Huh.

"In the meantime, wrap your head around the fact that you're the one I'm coming back for, pretty boy."

And then Eddie is gone. Steve watches as he falls through the gate, landing on the mattress with more elegance this time, and then he, too, grins down (or up?) at Steve.

He gives a little wave, and then he is alone.

Plenty of room to think when your friends have gone on a suicide mission and you're the one who has to stay behind. The one who will have to do the explaining when things go south. The one who will have to watch and listen, helpless.

It makes him regret the past few months, the self isolation, all the times he pulled back, all the times he didn't push for an explanation or a conversation, all the times he hadn't asked the kids if they're alright because he was too caught up in all the ways that he wasn't.

God, he wants them to be okay. He wants to talk about this, wants them to tell him he's more than the driver without a license, more than the protector who needs protecting. He wants Eddie to come back and explain what he meant, say what he wanted to say. He wants...

He wants his old life back. But more than that, he wants them in his new life just as much. He wants to be brave enough for this new life and find a new purpose. Create one if he can't find it.

But he can't do it alone. He refuses to do it alone even one day more.

"Come back to me," he whispers, looking up at the gate from where he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall. "Come on guys, you've got this. Please work. Please, make the plan work."

And then, miraculously, it does. Eddie falls into his arms with an undignified squeal and the rest of the Party soon follow. They're unscathed, miraculously, and Steve cries as he holds them, all of them, in a group hug that makes the trailer smell like relief and grief and a new life ahead of them. Slowly, with an unnatural sound, the gate above them closes, and then silence reigns.

They cling to him now. Refuse to let go. Good thing he has nowhere to go as Lucas gasps and sobs into his chest, explaining what happened, that Jason almost destroyed the walkman, that Max could have died. And Steve runs shaky hands through his hair, pulling in Max, too, so the three of them can just hold each other for a second.

Dustin and Eddie are hugging beside them, and Nancy and Robin hold hands, a different kind of horror in their eyes, but they smile wetly at Steve as their eyes meet.

It's over. It's done.

They did it. They really did it.

Steve closes his eyes and holds Lucas and Max tighter. They don't complain.

---

Three days later, Steve's house is brimming with life again like it hasn't in months. Turns out, Hopper survived, and he hugged Steve for a whole five minutes, telling him he did good, he did great, he's a hero. Again with that shit that Steve doesn't believe, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Hop, so he just buries deeper into their embrace.

"It's good you're alive," he tells him, and the Chief sobs out a laugh.

"You too, kid. This town would be lost without you."

"Yeah, right," Steve laughs back, and then that is that.

Except, it isn't, because when he returns to the living room with Hop, Joyce and El in tow, everyone's standing, looking at him with timid expressions. Robin and Eddie are holding hands this time, and so are all the kids. They all look like they have something to say, and the only thing missing is a large banner that says INTERVENTION.

"Uh, what's going on?"

Dustin is the first to clear his throat, but only after Erica kicks him. "We wanted to apologise. For leaving you when you needed us the most."

Oh. Steve's shaking his head, placating words already on the tip of his tongue, ready to explain to them how that's not their fault, how that was all him, he could have said something, he could have asked, he could have–

"Steve," Nancy says, effectively cutting off any protest he could have voiced. "Just listen, okay? Don't say anything."

He looks at Joyce, who nods, and Hopper who looks about as lost as he feels.

Dustin continues then. "You deserved better, Steve, you really, really did. We all did, I think, but you... You put yourself in harm's way from the get-go."

"Yeah, you came to protect me when you didn't even like me." Jonathan this time. "No thoughts, just protection. I owe my life to you. Every single one in this room does, y'know."

"And what you got for it is severe head trauma and... us abandoning you." Nancy.

"You're not just the driver, Steve. You never were just a driver to us." Hell, even Mike is in on this? "You're annoying, you suck, and you don't even try not to act like you're everyone's big brother."

"You're family, Steve." Oh, baby Byers. That's what gets his eyes stinging and his lip trembling, so he bites down on it so they won't have to see. It's futile with the way they're smiling.

"Yeah. You're so much more than our babysitter," Lucas explains. "You're the best basketball coach."

"You actually listen to my music and read comics with me," Max continues with a smile. "You suck just a little less than everyone else in this town."

"Hey!"

"No, she has a point."

Steve's not keeping up with the who's who anymore, he's trying too hard to keep it together.

"You teach me new words," El says, smiling. "You give me your clothes, you take me shopping, you teach me how to deal with meanies."

And the list goes on. Everyone has something to say to him, something beyond the ways he can be useful. Something that he is to them, something meaningful, something that sounds a lot like purpose and family.

"And we were so scared, because you were hurt. Because of us. You were protecting us, and look where it got you. You're a hero, Steve. As real as they get, you are one."

"More than Wonder Woman," Max agrees. "More than Superman. You're Steve! And that's... He’s our hero."

"He’s our brother," Dustin says.

"He’s my son," Joyce adds, taking his hand.

"He’s our friend," Erica, Mike and El say in unison.

“He’s the one we stay for.” Robin’s eyes shine as she smiles.

“And the one we come back for.” Eddie’s smile is gentle, confident, and captivating. Steve can’t look away, even through his own tears.

---

In the following months, Robin gets her license and Eddie develops a sixth sense for whenever Steve needs to just sit in a car and ride around town, watching the street lamps pass and letting them lull him to sleep. There’s an upside to being a passenger, he finds, because he falls asleep like this a few times, always waking when Eddie kills the engine. He drives for hours sometimes, admitting with a blush high on his cheeks that he didn’t want to wake Steve.

Somewhere on the highway to Indianapolis, between three and four in the morning, Steve looks at Eddie in the soft glow of the night, and finds that he’s fallen in love.

And in the weeks and months and years that follow, he realises that that’s something new he’s good at.

#stranger things #steve & the party #steddie #steddie fic #but also not really. steddie is just something that happens along the way #this was meant to be short but uh. uh. whoops? #hi anna i am sorry feel free to ignore this i could have made this easier in everyone but they’re teenagers with trauma dammit #dio words #actually i just wanted an excuse to make steve sad. if you know me you know

[karajaynetoday]

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings:  i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs. 

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either. 

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely. 

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing. 

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you. 

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?” 

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.” 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. 

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session. 

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in. 

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.” 

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?” 

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans. 

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control. 

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out. 

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack. 

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx 

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

Xo

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out. 

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before. 

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied. 

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there. 

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator. 

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit. 

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished. 

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone. 

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be. 

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window. 

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called). 

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast. 

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes. 

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh. 

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended. 

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head. 

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix. 

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.”  Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing. 

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands. 

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension. 

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands. 

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten. 

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

 

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home. 

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes one shot #nhl imagine #jack hughes fanfic #nhl #my writing #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #all star weekend #jack hughes x reader

[mysaintkitten]

hi g!! firstly i have to tell you how much i love your work, you’re incredibly talented and i’m always so excited whenever you post something.

i have this idea for a story: you and neil have dated for months but you recently split up and neither of you seem to get over the other, so one night after a failed attempt on forgetting him you somehow end up in his bed again. old habits die hard…

hope u have a nice day :)

first of all .. thank you so much !! you are so incredibly kind !! second of all, i made this a liiiiiittle bit angsty and fluffy but still smutty !! i loved the breakup sex idea so i was so eager to write about this :)

Break Up | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

prompt: you and neil split up (NSFW!!!! NO MINORS!!!!)

WARNINGS: (brief) fighting, (brief) mentions of mental health struggles, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie

word count: 3.8k

the break up was messy. both you and neil shot vile, unnecessary insults at each other as he scrounged around your shared apartment to gather his belongings before leaving.

“you’re pathetic, neil. absolutely fucking pathetic.” you spat, desperate to make a dig that’ll hurt him.

“you know what? you aren’t even worth all this anyway.” neil snarls before swinging the door open, “you’re a cold-hearted cunt and i hope i never have the displeasure of seeing you again.”

you scoff, “feelings mutual, sweetheart.”

before he’s even fully out the door, you violently slam it shut, bumping neil in the process. he mumbles a few more profanities before finally leaving.

moments after this altercation, you’re left pacing around the living room. your mind flooded with him, the memories, the pain. what starts off as vicious rage, quickly switches into overwhelming despair. you just collapse. your knees falling to the ground as you sob into your hands. how did this happen? how can something so good sour so quickly?

neil fell victim to the same fate. he kept his composure until he got into his car. as soon as he shut the door, he was hit with a subtle waft of your essence. he wasn’t sure what exactly he was smelling, whether it was your detergent, or body wash, or perfume, but it was your smell. and it hit him like a ton of bricks. he teared up a bit, but he tried his best to stay calm until he found somewhere to stay for the night.

he drove to some miscellaneous pizza place and cried in the parking lot. god, he thinks, this is almost worse than crying in front of you. he feels pathetic, angry, depressed. he wipes his face and heads into the pizza shop, orders himself a pizza, and calls jonathan while he waits.

“hey dude, i know this is short notice, do you mind if i crash at your place for a bit? (y/n) and i broke up, it was really bad man ..” neil asks while pacing around outside the shop awkwardly.

“yeah, dude, of course. however long you may need. plus, while you’re here i need to discuss some things to you about a shipment that lucien and i picked out.” jonathan responds.

neil appreciates jonathan’s hospitality, but the last thing he wants to talk about is business. he wants to crawl onto jonathan’s couch and sleep, at least for a day or two, just avoid the world all together. but he’s an adult man, a business man at that, depression won’t pay the bills.

“yeah yeah,” neil answers, “sounds good. i’ll bring a pizza by too. maybe i’ll pick up some beers.”

“sick!” jonathan says eagerly, he appreciates the bare minimum, that’s what neil likes about him, “let me know when you’re here i’ll buzz you up.”

they say their goodbyes and neil hangs up, continuing to linger outside the store. he basks in the silence of the streets, the cool breeze, the dull and numb feeling that’s stuck in his chest.

once the pizzas ready, he thanks the workers and tips them graciously. he then picks up the beers for him and jonathan to share, before quickly speeding over to jonathan’s apartment, trying to get there while the pizzas still warm.

he arrives to jonathan’s place and they do as expected, eat, drink, watch movies, discuss business. neil feels as though he’s watching himself through some sort of film, like he’s not in control of his body. it felt uneasy. he believes the severity of the breakup has caused him minor disassociation, in some way. he’s desperate to vent. he has thousands of pent up feelings boiling within him and he needs to let out even the slightest bit of steam.

neil swallows harshly, “you know, man, i just really think i screwed it up with (y/n) ..”

“yeah, chicks are crazy.” jonathan retorts while grabbing neil’s empty plate from in front of him. jonathan doesn’t like to talk about feelings very much, that’s what neil doesn’t like about him.

but neil gets the hint. no sense in rambling to a man who won’t listen. so he grabs his beer and chugs down the rest, almost immediately proceeding to crack open another one.

jonathan puts on a movie that he knows neil likes and the two sit in near silence and watch. jonathan’s silent because he’s paying attention, neil’s silent because his mind is reeling. all he can think about is what he said to you, what you said to him, what it’ll be like to see you out in public. it branches into what’ll it be like when he sees you out with someone else? he can’t stomach the thought right now, he needs to go to sleep.

neil sits through the movie, trying his hardest to pay attention to what’s on screen and try to forget what had happened earlier. he wasn’t successful. but he tried.

the movie ends and jonathan pats his knees before standing up, “well, i gotta crash,” he yawns, “help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. use the tv if you’d like, just keep the volume at a decent level.”

“no yeah, definitely. thanks again, man.” neil responded.

the entire night he lays awake. he tosses and turns trying to sleep, but his mind won’t rest.

he stays this way for a few days.

he starts to slowly move on, little by little, until one day he hears that you were spotted with a guy. as soon as those words hit his ears, he feels a lump form in his throat. that’s it. that’s his breaking point.

without much thought, he storms off to his car and drives over to the shared apartment that you have now taken basically full ownership over. he hurriedly rushes inside while being bombarded with visuals of you with other guys, you fucking them, them using you, and worst of all, them just being affectionate with you. thinking of you holding their hand, them kissing your cheek and making you giggle, you dancing in the kitchen with them. just like you used to do with him.

before he’s even realized it he’s ended up outside your door. he stands there for a few seconds to gather his thoughts, he didn’t really come over with a plan, he just felt compelled to come.

neil raises his hand and knocks on your door. he can hear your footsteps approaching. but what if it’s a guy coming? your new boy-toy? he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if he sees your new partner right now.

you swing the door open, confused and shocked to see neil on the other side.

your eyes widen, “uh .. neil .. what ar-“ you say before he nudges you lightly out of the way, “i forgot some things ..” he mumbles before quickly making his way to your bedroom.

“neil? what did you forget?” you call out, trying to catch up to him, “hello? what did you forget?”

“oh, am i interrupting something? just give me a minute.” he groans rudely

“interrupting? what are you implying?” you question, feeling even more confused.

“oh, nothing, i just didn’t know if your new boyfriend was over, or whatever.”

the confusion starts to become anger, “what? neil, what the fuck is wrong with you? who said i have a new boyfriend? and what business is it to you anyway?”

he turns to you and laughs, “we’ve been broken up for less than a month and you’re already moving on! did i not matter at all to you?”

“again, even if i was seeing someone new, it’s not your business.” you snap, crossing your arms in front of your body.

he just scoffs as he feels tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes, “i’ll get what i forgot and i’ll leave. you’ll never see me again.”

you can hear something in his tone, “neil? are you alright?”

you’re fuming, he’s infiltrated your space and now he’s attempting to start a fight? but simultaneously, you still feel a deep sense of empathy for him. you’re still in love with him after all.

“i’m f-fine.” he stammers, actively keeping his back towards you while sifting through piles of clothes, he can’t bear to see your face right now.

“are you sure? you don’t sound alright ..” you reply softly, placing a hand on his shoulder soothingly.

“i’m fine! jesus, (y/n)! just let me look, please!” his voice cracks as he swats your hand away, he knows he can only keep up this front for so long.

“neil, we were together for months, i know you better than you know yourself, tell me what’s wrong.”

we were together.

those three words made him nauseous to hear, he knew the two of you were done, but to hear it hurt on a different level.

he loses it, the tears start to pour out from his eyes.

you hear him begin to cry quietly, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“what is it?” you ask one last time as your voice begins to break, you had been struggling as well. but you, like neil, kept it mostly to yourself. you rotted away in your apartment, barely even showering or maintaining yourself. but today he saw you on a relatively good day, you felt motivation to shower and clean. if he had caught you on any other day, you would’ve been absolutely mortified.

neil finally turns around, his face red and cheeks wet with tears.

“what happened to us?” he sighs, “we were so good, (y/n),” your eyes are nearly welling with tears. “i thought i was going to marry you.” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

you’re at a loss for words, you didn’t know what happened either. it’s like one day something between you just switched. you were both stubborn, but that had never been an issue, until it was mixed with unexpected changes and outside stressors, you eventually just couldn’t stand each other.

you can’t hold it in anymore, you begin to sob in front of him.

“i loved you, neil.” you walk closer to him, “i didn’t mean what i said. i just felt hurt, and i wanted to hurt you back.”

“i know,” he chuckles through the tears, “i know. i felt the same, i didn’t mean it either.”

you missed neil, so so dearly, and you wished that he could come back to make amends. now here he is, and here’s your opportunity.

you swallow your pride, “i miss you.”

you see something shift within him once those words leave your mouth, “i miss you too.” he mutters.

he grabs your face and runs his thumb along your cheek before planting a kiss on your lips. you’re shocked, but you wanted this. you’ve been craving this. you kiss him back.

he pulls away briefly to see your expression, but you lean forward immediately to kiss him again more passionately.

he groans into your mouth, bringing his hands down to the dip of your back.

“missed you so much ..” he whines into your mouth while wrapping his arms around your waist, clenching you close to his body. you bring your hands up to your head and run your fingers through his hair, occasionally bringing your hands down to touch his shoulder blades.

neil slips his hands under your shirt and unclasps your bra.

“mmh .. neil, we can’t ..” you groan between kisses, although you aren’t making much efforts to stop him

he slips his tongue into your mouth and makes the kiss sloppier, moaning softly in the process

“let me make it up to you .. please ..” he begs, creeping his hands down to your ass.

he grips it gently and feels himself growing hard. since the breakup, he’s had a lot of pent up sexual tension. he’s been couch surfing, which isn’t exactly ideal for private intimate times, so he was rarely able to get off. so now even just the sensation of your ass has him popping a chub already.

as you kiss, he starts to slowly guide you towards the bed. eventually the end of the bed meets the back of your legs, and you stumble back with neil on top of you.

you detach from his lips and shuffle your body back, neil follows your lead and moves his lips down to your neck, kissing and sucking softly. his lips on your neck and the warm friction of his body is causing you to get undeniably wet. this isn’t the best way to go about things, you and him should’ve maybe had a civil and thoughtful discussion. but you suddenly feel his bulge graze against you, neither of you are in the right state to sit and talk.

his kisses begin to move downward to your collar bone, almost to your chest, but he halts.

“can you take off your shirt?”

without responding, you slip your shirt and now unclasped bra off. he resumes his kisses down your chest until he gets to one of your nipples, he swirls his tongue around the harding bud, suckling on it gently soon after while moaning lowly.

you gasp and arch your back, “missed these tits ..” he groans against your skin, bringing one of his hands up to knead your other breast.

before long, his kisses trail down your torso, sliding his hands down your sides to grip your hips. his kisses stop at your navel, where he looks up at you from between your legs, slinking his fingers down to your waistband where he hooks his fingers in. he tugs them down lightly, but stops. watching your face attentively for your approval.

you raise your hips and allow him to continue to pull your pants and underwear off. he moves out of the way briefly to efficiently tear them off, before quickly going back to where he was originally, directly between your legs. he groans at the sight of your wetness.

neil places small kisses along your inner thighs while latching his hands beneath them, his lips inching closer and closer to your pussy. he plants a wet kiss on your lower lips, making you whine at the sudden, but much needed gesture.

he continued to kiss, sloppier and sloppier, until the kisses become blatant licks against your clit.

“mmh! ne-il!” you whimper, rutting against his face slightly. he hums, gripping your thighs harder, “missed this cunt so much ..”

as you moan and rut, neil gets more determined to make you come on his face. he laps you up, occasionally dipping down to use his nose while he prods your hole with his tongue, or using his chin to rub your clit while he stares at you twitching in bliss. he’s utilizing his face in ways he never has before, he seems nearly ravenous.

he sucks on your clit gently before detaching his mouth, “use my face t’come, show me how much you want it.”

“i want it,” you moan breathily as you lock your fingers into his hair, “i want it so bad!”

he smiles against you. sucking, rubbing, and licking all of your sensitive areas. you using his face purely to get off gets him unbearably hard, he begins to grind against the mattress beneath him for some sort of relief

your gasps and whines progressively get louder and louder, to the point where your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs slightly slack, neil just watches. he missed you as a person, as a partner, but he also missed watching you be pleased. the way your body and face contorts, knowing it’s all from his touches, it just couldn’t compare to anything else.

his jaw is sore, his scalp hurts from your pulling, and the entire lower half of his face is dripping wet with a mixture of your arousal and his own saliva, but he has no intentions of stopping. not until you come on his face.

your ruts start to get quicker and needier, your thighs shaking and tensing in the process as you gasp and beg for neil to make you come.

“please, please, please,” you babble quietly, “i’m so close.”

neil can barely breathe, and he’s so incredibly hard he’s afraid he may faint from the loss of blood and oxygen flow. he groans against your pussy, crude sounds of moans and slight squelching fill the room.

your orgasm is inching closer and closer until it finally hits. your mind going blank and your hips movements coming to a stop, your thighs clench around him and twitch around his head. you’re quiet as you come, as if the air has been sucked from your lungs. neil licks you through your high, until you’ve become too sensitive and have to push him away.

“too much .. too much ..” you whine, neil hesitantly pulls away. he could stay between your legs forever.

he places small kisses on your inner thighs and sighs deeply against you. once he catches his breath, he trails back up your body with kisses. eventually his lips end up at your neck, he places a small lick onto the shell of your ear while sneaking his hand between his legs and palming himself.

“nothing else compares to you .. nothing .. no one ..“ he mumbles, hastily unzipping his fly and pulling his pants down with one hand, “i think your pussy was designed just f’me ..”

you whimper and place your hands on his clothed back, “this .. off .. please-“

he places one more wet kiss on your neck before sitting his body up. his eyes are glossy and his lips are a rich pink colour. he takes off his shirt and you can’t help but compliment him,

“you look so handsome.” you chuckle

he smirks, “thanks, i think eating pussy gives you some sort of natural glow, or so i’ve heard.”

you roll your eyes playfully and hook your fingers into his boxers waistband, “take these off, too.”

neil laughs breathily and removes his boxers, his hard, sensitive member springing free. his tip glistens from his arousal, you bring your hand to his cock and grip him weakly while pumping him.

he moans and his eyes shoot down to between his legs, watching you pump him, “oh, fuck ..”

his moans enable you further, you begin to pump him quicker. he huffs and whines before gripping your wrists and stopping your movements, “stop, stop”

you let go, “if you keep going i’ll come on your hand, i need your pussy.” he mewls as he lowers himself between your legs and aligning his cock head with your opening.

your pussy is extremely slick from the combination of his spit, your orgasm, and your persistent arousal, so he slides himself in with no issue. making the both of you groan at the sensation. as he bottoms out, he just sits inside you for a few moments, simply enjoying the embrace of your warm and wet cunt. you whine at the fullness you had been missing, while neil was away you’d attempt to finger yourself, but your own fingers didn’t compare at all to his cock. the feeling reminds you of what neil said, “i think your pussy was designed just for me”, maybe it’s truer than you thought.

his hips shift back and he slowly thrusts himself out, before quickly snapping back in. his pace is quick and needy, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fuck you so desperately.

“neil-l .. mmh!” you gasp, swinging your hand over your mouth to cover your loud moans. neil chuckles and swipes your hand out of the way, “let me hear you, your noises are so pretty.”

“o-oh, stop ..” you tease, having just enough composure within you to still banter slightly with neil as he fucks you

“‘m serious ..” he moans, “hearing how good my cock is making y’feel .. so fucking sexy ..”

his pace gets rougher, and you almost instantly lose whatever snarky response you had in mind, “god, f-uck!” you cry out, bringing your hands down to your sides to grab the duvet beneath you.

as he thrusts into you, his eyes dart between your fucked-out face and your tits, which are bouncing slightly from his force. he places a hand onto your hip and the other onto your tit, both hands gripping harshly on whatever they’re grabbing. you whine at the aggression, feeling it get you hotter and wetter.

neil huffs and glances down at your pussy, whimpering at what he sees, “jesus, so fucking wet”

“you got me t-this wet ..” you stammer, feeding into neil’s neediness.

he moans, “y-yeah?”, his voice high and shaky, normally he’d want to come off as dominant and basically stoic, but right now he’s absolutely pussy-whipped, he couldn’t pull himself together if he tried.

hearing the pleasure in his tone makes you hum, your legs wrapping around him and squeezing him lightly.

he laughs and gulps, “so desperate to keep my cock inside.”

you nod quickly and snake your hand between your legs to rub your clit as you clench around him involuntarily. neil whimpers small sounds of approval, knowing how close you are to coming. his breaths are heavy and he’s having a hard time keeping up the quick rough pace, both of you are approaching your orgasms rapidly. the aesthetics of it really don’t matter, the pleasures your bodies are giving each other is what matters above all else.

“gonna come ..” neil swallows, “gonna come ..”

you wanna tell him you’re going to come too, but you physically can’t vocalize it, but you assume your whimpers and clenching and wetness is telling enough.

moments later, you’re coming on his cock, “n-eil!” you shout as your body convulses slightly from the overwhelming sensation. watching you come pushes him over the edge completely, “yeah, yeah, fuck!” he rambles, his brows furrowing and mouth hanging slack as he comes while continuing to pump himself inside you.

you ride out your orgasms until it eventually becomes too overstimulating for the both of you, he pulls out his softening cock and huffs. your thighs twitch at the feeling of his and yours come begin to slowly drip out from inside of you. neil smirks proudly “i missed seeing this too .. so goddamn much ..”

after that, you and him sit in silence for a little. you don’t really know what to say, and you don’t know what you are. still exes? friends? partners?

instead of pondering, you think fuck it and just ask;

“what are we now?”

“what do you want us to be?” he responds

“i want us to get back together.”

“i want that, too.”

——

back to my old reliable .. neil !!!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #hope y’all like this #:)

[missjomarch]

Josephine - Luke Hughes

A/N: This is the longest thing I have ever written. Like actually. I heard the song Josephine by Pony Bradshaw and my brain was begging me to do something creative with it, so I wrote this. But I'm on my period so it turned very sad and angsty quickly. So now you all get to suffer along with me! With that said please please read the warnings and if at any point you feel uncomfortable click away.

Word Count: 3.7k 😳

Warnings: Grief and angst with no real happy ending or comfort. Cursing, crying, mentions of blood and pain. A half second on 18+ content but no explicit details.

(Portions in italics are flash backs. Enjoy, lovelies. 🫶)

Luke Hughes sat sprawled in one of the cushioned armchairs spaced across the rooftop bar the New Jersey Devils currently resided on. His view of the New York skyline was fuzzy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the beer in his left hand or the smoke from the joint in his right. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to be here, and he damn sure didn’t want to be sober. Luke could feel the pitying looks from his brother and captain all the way across the bar, but at least they hadn’t made any comments tonight. 

The team had won the game earlier in the day by a large margin and Luke wasn’t beating himself up over minuscule mistakes like he used to. No, that wasn’t the issue. In fact, Luke was playing some of the best hockey he had in years. His on-ice performance was probably the only reason he was even still on the team, considering that he had been skipping most morning skates and all public appearances for the past few weeks. 

He had seen the therapist the team provided and taken the weeks off that the trainers had suggested, so he isn’t sure why they insist on continually doing mental checkups on him. It was irritating. Especially when he didn’t give them the answers they wanted, so they sent Jack to pester him instead. All it did was remind him of you. 

“Luke.” 

His head snapped towards where you sat in the passenger seat of his car, eyes shining and a soft smile on your lips. 

“The light has been green for like 30 seconds, babe. What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?” 

Luke always swore that your sweet voice could melt 20 feet of snow in the dead of winter. It was like coming home from a long day to a warm house. It was one of his favorite things about you. So, because he knew you’d ask the question again, he simply shrugged his shoulders in response. He fully planned to keep his troubles to himself in an attempt not to worry you, but then your manicured hand was running through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me about it, Lu. What’s wrong?” 

With your use of the nickname, he was gone. Suddenly all the world’s problems were spilling from his lips, and he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. You tended to have that effect on people. You were just so damn easy to talk to. And the best part? You almost always knew how to make it better. A quick kiss and a Band-Aid, and Luke was back on his way with a smile. 

“Luke,” you mumbled, “Luke…” 

“Luke.” 

Jack stood in front of his brother, shaking his shoulder to break him from his trance. 

“You okay?” Jack questioned, not missing the shine in Luke’s eyes as they were torn from the skyline view. He watched as Luke took a deep drag from the joint in his hand, exhaling the smoke as he attempted to clear the lump from his throat. 

“Fine, Jack.” 

“Bullshit,” Jack couldn’t help the scoff he let out, “Get up, we’re going home.” 

Luke didn’t have it in him to argue. Not that he would have, anyway. He never wanted to leave the house in the first place, especially after the situation Jack got him into the last time they had gone out. 2 months ago, his brother had dragged him to this same rooftop bar insisting that it’d be good for him to get out there again. It took all of 30 minutes before Jack was pushing Luke in the direction of a random girl. “A good fuck will fix you right up”, Jack had claimed. 

“Luuuuke,” the girl below him moaned as he kissed down her neck. He didn’t know her name, didn’t particularly care to either. He was a bit too busy resenting his brother for setting him up with this random girl in the first place. 

He tried to ignore the hot anger flowing through him, tried to focus on the heavy breathing of the blonde and the way her nails were raking down his back. Luke’s hands dipped under her shirt, quickly finding her bra and giving it a harsh tug downwards. His fingers fumbled deftly until they gripped her tits, drawing a sharp gasp from the girl. 

“Oh! Lu, please,” she whined. When he didn’t respond, she went to pull his face to hers. But Luke had froze, brain short circuiting at the nickname he hadn’t heard in over 8 months. 

His throat was burning. His breath turned ragged as he yanked his hands from beneath her shirt. He stared at her with wild eyes, chest heaving. 

“Get out,” he ground out. His heart was pounding. What was wrong with him? 

“Are you okay?” The blond started back at him with a horrified expression, and Luke had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting out any malicious words. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Leave, please.” He begged, unable to look her in the face.

“Luke, I don’t understand,” she tried to reason, “Luke…” 

“Luke.” 

Jack was looking at him expectantly from the driver’s side of his sleek BMW as he navigated the late-night New Jersey traffic. Luke blinked slowly, trying to clear the bitter memory from his foggy mind. 

“Sorry, what’d you say?” Luke questioned, choosing to ignore the concern blaring in his brother’s eyes. Jack seemingly decided to let it be, instead jumping back into whatever he originally asked. 

“I was asking if you thought the stadium series would be a good time to introduce Sydney to mom and dad? I know it’s only been a few months, but I don’t know when they’ll be in town again.” 

Luke nodded, “Are you just going to do it at dinner? Or the hotel?” 

Jack hesitated, clearly contemplating the options before lighting up, “What if I brought her to the family skate? She’s been wanting to learn anyways! It be just like when you brought jo-” Jack choked on his words, immediately recognizing his mistake. He turned towards his brother, attempting to get a read on his face in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. But Luke had already shut down, face turned to stare blankly out the window. 

Jack reached over to give a comforting squeezing to Luke’s left shoulder, “Luke.” 

“LUKE!” you squealed as your hands white knuckled his sweatshirt. He giggled at your skating stance before pulling you to his chest. 

“You alright there, Bambi?” He smirked down at you as you sent him a glare. 

“I’m new to this, asshole. It’s not my fault my teacher is no good,” you threw back at him. It was your turn to smirk as Luke’s mouth hung open in mock offense. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve taught hundreds of kids across the state of New Jersey how to properly skate.” 

“Those poor kids,” you quickly retorted, sticking your tongue out as he scowled at you. However, that scowl quickly faded into a look of mischief and your face dropped as his arms loosened around you.

“Fine. Suit yourself, Bambi.” Luke let you go, giving you the lightest of shoves backwards. Then you were stranded. Forced to watch as your boyfriend skated backwards away from you, leaving you wide eyed and terrified as you froze on the ice. Your fear quickly turned to anger, and Luke marked the shift in your demeanor with a laugh. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, you come back here and get me right now.” 

“Nope. Come and get me, baby.” Luke winked at you as he skated past, only serving to further frustrate you. You’d never admit that his plan was working, but the anger was motivating. You let out a strangled groan before starting to shuffle forward, sliding your skates like Luke taught you. You were doing well for a while, slowly making your way towards where Luke was taunting you from the boards behind the net. That was until two kids flew past you, knocking you off balance and sending you scrambling to regain it. 

“Luke! Luke, Luke, Luke,” you called, too focused on your slipping feet to notice if your boyfriend was coming to your aid. Then you lost balance completely, tumbling down towards the ice. You closed your eyes as you avoided flinging your arms out to catch yourself, still heeding Luke’s warnings even as he got you in this mess in the first place. You prepared yourself for the cold hard burn of your backside hitting the ice, but it never came. Instead you landed in a pair of unfamiliar arms, barely recognizing that you weren’t on the ground before being hauled to a standing position. You carefully turned around and were met with Jack’s smiling face. 

“Knight in shining armor, at your service,” Jack grinned, adding a small salute for effect. You rolled your eyes, scanning the ice for Luke. 

“How long have you been following behind me?” 

“Ever since Luke pretended to leave you stranded. He planned the whole thing, I was behind you the entire time to save you from your inevitable demise,” Jack poked you, smile growing impossibly wider at the annoyed look gracing your face. 

“Big words for someone who never went to college,” you shot at him, needing anything to level the playing field between you. It was then that Luke finally returned, skating to a smooth stop to your left. 

“What’d I miss?” 

“Your girlfriend was insulting my intelligence after I graciously saved her precious be-hind,” Jack spoke, adding a bit more than his usual sassiness into the bit. Luke turned to tsk at you. 

“Now, now baby. We can’t make fun of people just because they’re less fortunate than us. It’s not Jacky’s fault he’s stupid,” Luke joked, loving the way your eyes lit up when you realized that he was joining your side. Jack, however, stood slack jawed across from you. 

“Now what the hell, Luke? I went along with your little plan, and this is how you repay me?” You and Luke just blinked at him, silly little grins sitting on your face. “Go to hell, both of you,” Jack scoffed before skating off. Once he was gone, you turned towards your boyfriend. Your pout returned, but it was quickly kissed away. 

“I promised you I’d never let you fall, baby. I just never said it’d be me who caught you.” 

You scowled, “you’re such a smart ass.” 

“Love you too, Princess,” Luke grinned. You begrudgingly allowed him to pull you into his chest, the warmth he radiated melting the glare right off your face. 

You turned your head to press a kiss into his jacket-clad chest, right over his heart. A warm smile graced your lips, “I love you, Lukey.” 

“Lukey!”

John Marino stood before him on the ice, stick poised to do the defensive drill coach had instructed them on. 

“You’re out of it today, kid. Are we going to do this drill or not?” 

“Yeah, my bad. Let’s go,” Luke nodded his head, once again trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He had just barely cleared his vision before the puck was dropped, and John was racing towards him. Practice continued like that, Luke losing focus periodically until one of his teammates pulled him back into the moment. 

When he trudged into the locker room an hour later, he was more than ready to go home. These were usually the days he would most appreciate having you to come home to. Leaving a hard practice and coming home to fall asleep in your arms was the best feeling. He tried not to think too much about the gaping hole that memory left in his chest as he untied his skates. 

Once he was dressed in his sweats he rushed from the locker room, hoping to escape the arena before anyone could question his mental wellbeing. Luke made it to the car without any hounding from the guys or trainers, but he had to wait for what felt like an eternity before Jack finally made his way into the parking garage. 

“What the hell took you so long?” Luke questioned, hopping into the passenger seat as Jack unlocked the car doors. 

“Coach wanted to talk to me for a second. You could’ve gotten the keys from my bag, yknow.”

“Yeah, but then I would’ve been tempted to leave you here,” Luke smirked at his brother. 

Jack only rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Luke’s teasing. His mind swirled with the reminders his coach had left him with after their brief post-practice discussion. Coach was getting extremely concerned about Luke and the lack of focus he displayed at practice and games. Jack was also concerned, and so was most of the team. He knew he should bring it up, but the joy in Luke’s eyes was so rare these days that Jack couldn’t bring himself to disturb it. He just wanted to support his brother the best he could, but Luke wouldn’t open up to him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not his mom, not Quinn, not even his old teammates from Michigan. Luke wouldn’t talk to anyone about you.  So Jack took what Luke gave him. Watching late night hockey, Door Dashing dinner, or playing video games for hours on end. Anything to keep his brother occupied, and make him realize that he wasn’t alone. 

Luke finally made his way into his room at 11 pm later that night, feeling relatively okay after eating dinner and watching a Canucks game with Jack. He had felt so unlike himself lately that any small reprieve from reality was a welcomed gift. He also knew that it helped Jack worry about him just a little bit less. 

Luke had just turned out his bathroom light after brushing his teeth when his door creaked open, revealing Jack standing in the doorway. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to check on him before bed, but it had recently become more frequent. 

“You good to leave for practice at 8 tomorrow?” Jack questioned. 

Luke nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be up.” 

“Better be. I’m not in the mood to drag your ass out of bed in the morning.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but the wary look on Jack’s face made him hold his tongue on the snarky response he was about to shoot back. 

“Promise, I’ll be good to go at 8.”       

Jack deemed that a good enough answer, and went to shut the door.

“Alright. Night, Luke.” 

“Luke…” you shakily whispered on the phone. Your voice was wobbly and high pitched, the tears streaming down your face evident in your tone. 

“Baby?” Luke spoke into the phone, “What’s wrong?” 

It was an hour and a half until puck drop, and you should’ve been on your way to the stadium by now. Luke’s furrowed brows caught the attention of Jack in the next stall over, stopping his movements from where he was lacing up his skates. 

“I was on my way to the arena, and I…” a broken sob escaped your mouth, startling Luke as he tried to fathom what could’ve possibly happened after he left the house. 

 “Someone hit me.” 

Luke jumped to his feet, “What do you mean hit you? What happened?” 

“I don’t know. Someone ran a red light or something and they hit my car. I think I spun into a pole,” your breath was growing ragged as you recited the wreck. 

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming to get you,” Luke rushed out as he began grabbing his clothes back out of his bag. Half the locker room was staring now, all with varying looks of concern. 

“I don’t know what to do. I’m bleeding,” you squeaked. “Lukey, there’s so much blood.”              

This sent Luke into a panic. He was stripping his gear as fast as humanly possible while simultaneously yelling at Jack to give him to car keys. Jack’s concerns fell on deaf ears as Luke undressed, and he finally decided that following Luke was the safest option. 

“No. You’re okay, baby. I just need you to tell me where you are, okay? I’ll be there so soon, just tell me where,” Luke begged. He knew logically that the cops would arrive before he could, but he needed to be there with you. 

“Don’t know. But my head hurts so bad,” you whimpered out. Luke tried to ignore the way he could hear your voice weakening as you spoke. 

“Just stay on the phone with me, love. I’m on my way to come get you, yeah?”

Luke tried to reassure you as he shoved his feet into his shoes and rushed from the locker room. Jack was hot on his tail, car keys in hand. 

“ ‘m sorry, Lu,” your whisper was barely heard by Luke as he sprinted down the hallways of Prudential Center. 

“For what, love?” 

“I wanted to be at your game tonight,” you mumbled. 

“It’s fine, baby. There’ll be a million more games for you to come to, yeah?” 

Luke attempted to comfort you as he searched for your location, plugging it into the GPS as Jack pulled out of the parking garage. Luke could only hope the pregame traffic wouldn’t get in the way. 

“Mhmm. Lukey?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

Your voice was barely a whisper, “I love you.” 

Luke swore he could feel his heart shatter at the crack in your voice. There were tears streaming from his face as he pushed Jack to drive faster. 

“I love you too, princess. So much. Jacky and I are going to be there so soon. I just need you to hang on for a few minutes. Can you do that for me?” 

Luke’s voice was frantic and only grew more so when he heard your phone tumbling out of your hand. 

“Baby? You’ve gotta stay awake, okay?” Luke pleaded, as tears streamed down his face. His hands shook where he held the phone to his ear. 

“Baby? Please tell me you’re okay. I just need you to say something.” 

Luke’s begging continued until the line went dead. 

“Fuck,” Luke muttered, sobs beginning to wrack his body. Jack looked at him frantically as he continued to navigate the streets of New Jersey. 

“Luke? What the hell happened?” Jack kept spitting questions, but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. “Snap out of it, Luke.” 

“Luke.” 

Luke awoke to Jack shaking him violently, and he tasted the salty tears streaming down his face before he felt them. ‘No. Not again,’  Luke thought. He shot up in bed, sending Jack scrambling backwards to avoid knocking heads. Luke’s head whipped back and forth wildly as his eyes searched the room. ‘Please, please, please,’ he begged the universe. He ignored the way his brain reminded him of the truth, ignored his brother’s pitying look, ignored the cold bed beside him where you should’ve been. It was if the whole world was pointing and laughing at his grieving heart. ‘Look at this idiot,’ they all seemed to say, ‘He still thinks he can save her.’ 

“Fuck,” Luke exhaled, finally giving up his futile attempts at disproving what he knew was his reality. 

Jack stared as his younger brother lost himself to grief once again. Watching as Luke’s hands disappeared into his curls, head bowed as sob after sob wracked his body. Jack felt helpless knowing he couldn’t take this pain from his little brother. All he could do was hold him and promise to be there through it all. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Luke whispered into Jack’s shoulder. “Every time I wake up, I lose her all over again, and I can’t do it anymore.” 

Jack hesitates, unsure exactly what to say in this situation. You were always the one with the best advice, the one who could handle anything. 

“We’re going to get you through this, okay? You’re not alone in fighting this,” Jack paused, contemplating how to suggest his next thought. “I know you think you’re fine, but I really think you need help Luke. She would want you to get help.” 

Luke nodded, knowing his brother was right. You would hate to see him like this. Ever the caretaker, you had always been the first person to chastise him for not taking proper care of his mental health during hockey season. If you saw him like this, you’d pull him into your arms and then absolutely rip him a new one until he promised to take care of himself. 

“I know,” Luke mumbled, “I’ll start seeing a therapist. I think I need to step away from hockey for a bit too. It’s not fair to the guys that my mental health is affecting the team performance.” 

“I think that’s smart,” Jack agreed. “The guys might not understand what you’re going through, but they know it’s not your fault Luke. They want you to get better too.” 

Luke could only nod, trying to accept Jack’s words as the truth and fight the part of his brain that was saying this was all his fault. Luke was so tired, but he wasn’t willing to go back to sleep when he knew memories of you was what awaited him. 

“I’ll call the trainers tomorrow. I don’t really want to go back to sleep, can we watch a movie or something?” 

“Of course,” Jack agreed, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. “I’ll even let you pick.” 

A slow, knowing grin spread across Luke’s features, “Even Secretariat?” 

Jack’s sigh could be heard all the way in New York, but he smiled nonetheless. Just happy to see that Luke was making small steps towards returning to himself. 

“Even Secretariat.” 

So that’s how Luke and Jack spent their evening, watching movies and eating obscene amounts of popcorn. Luke had smiled to himself for most of the night, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He knew the process would be slow and that he might never truly get back to ‘normal’. But admitting his pain and asking for help, that was enough for now. 

#jay writes #luke hughes #nj devils #hockey

[sister-lucifer]

When It Rains

Tim Wright/Masky x Gender Neutral Reader 

READ THE FIRST PART HERE 

READ PART THREE HERE

Genre: Fluff, a bit angsty but has a happy ending, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and the gloomy weather has you thinking about what could’ve been, and especially what never will be.

Content/Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of death/suicide, it’s a little sad, I guess? But that’s it. Reader just speculates on how life would’ve been if the Operator hadn’t fucked them over and gets down about it, but theres a happy ending. 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

It’s raining again. Not that that’s new. Springtime out here sees its fair share of storms. Normally you’d observe the rain from inside, but today something inside was gnawing at you for some fresh air. 

The old rocking chair creaks beneath your weight, moving to and fro softly as you watch the rain. It comes down in sheets off the sides of the cover, splattering to the muddy ground and making a shallow moat around the patio. It lands loudly on the old tin roof, rattling and groaning in a manner that is far too dramatic. It obscures anything beyond the perimeter of the cabin and hides everything in a misty haze. 

It’s going to be foggy tomorrow, you think. It usually is when it rains like this. It’ll be cold for the next few days, too, and the ground will be soggy for weeks. Miserable weather, that is. Not that that’s new. 

It’s a good day to wonder, that’s all. You’ve been doing plenty of that lately. A bit too much, maybe, but there’s no helping that. 

You’ve been living out here with Tim for…shit. How long has it been? Almost a year, you think, but your perception of time is unreliable at best. It’s just one of the many things you lost when your world turned upside down.

That’s what it’s really about. The loss. Tim doesn’t like to talk about it, but you know you both feel it, him even more so than you. He was going to go to college, get a degree, and he’d be damn good at it, too. He was going to find a place of his own, maybe adopt a dog, a big old Saint Bernard like he had when he was a boy, the only type of housemate that wouldn’t annoy him. That’s what he’s told you, anyways. Not sober, of course, not even close; he’d never tell you anything that personal without at least a bit of alcohol in his system. He’s been drinking less since you showed up, though. You noticed he was cutting back a couple months after you moved in. You wonder if you’ll ever get him to open up like that again.

But those were Tim’s plans. He was already in his mid twenties when things really went south, you were barely out of high school when everything started. You didn’t really have plans. So…what are you mourning, exactly? 

You don’t really have an answer to that. 

You didn’t really have a set path for yourself. Your plan barely existed, and it’s feeble skeleton was little more than an intention to simply float around until something caught your eye. You’d find your way eventually, there was no need to worry. At least, that’s what you used to think. 

Now where do you go?

You didn’t have any real plans, no, and you can’t mourn something that never existed, but it there’s this heavy feeling that comes with knowing you’ll never be able to choose. 

That’s what it comes down to, you realize. Choice. 

No, you didn’t have any plans, but that was because you had all the options you could ever want. Now, you don’t have any plans because you’ve only got one. 

Tim does everything he can to keep you entertained out here. Hell, he risks his life every time he walks down the path to his truck to go to town for you, or when he just steps off the porch to refill the bird feeder he knows you love to watch. Nothing outside of these walls in these woods is safe. If it weren’t raining so hard, he’d tear you a new one for even sitting on the porch. 

It’s a miserable existence, but it’s so nice to have someone to be miserable with, even if he can’t change anything. 

You just wish that was enough to push away that yearning for more, that subtle thrumming ache that only wells up in your stomach late at night, that want that urges you to just take the truck and leave, to forget this cabin and Tim and everything in these godforsaken woods. 

But you can’t. 

You’d die. And even if you didn’t, the guilt of stranding Tim would eat you alive, especially knowing he’d kill himself before letting that thing get him. 

You don’t want to think about that. You push the thoughts away before they can take root in your mind. It’s better to just not consider that possibility at all. 

You jump when you hear the front door open. You look back to see Tim standing there, one hand buried in his pocket and the other still on the door handle. 

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” He huffs, “I been yellin’ for ya, thought you up and ran off.” 

You give him a weak smile, but you can’t keep it up for very long. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, curling up as if trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You mumble an apology, but don’t look at him. 

He pauses, then, and you can imagining his expression changing to confusion and then concern before he covers it up again. His footsteps come up behind you, the wooden porch creaking beneath him. His hand grabs the back of the rocking chair and forces it to still before he pulls it backward to get a look at you.

“…What’s up with you, kid?” 

You shrug. It’s an easier response than an explanation, but it doesn’t satisfy him at all. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s bullshit,” He says with a dry chuckle, and he’s entirely correct. “What’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, thinking for a moment about your answer. 

“…It’s just…I dunno. Do you ever, like…think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…you know…”

It’s a stammering, stumbling attempt at explaining yourself, but he understands. He nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against the house. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replies, scratching at his stubble, “But if I’m bein’ honest, it ain’t gonna do you any good. That sorta thing only gets ya down.”

He’s right about that, too. If only it were that easy to just stop. It’s just so hard not to wonder at least every once in a while, it’s human nature. You just wish you knew when to stop. You just wish you were able to ignore the ‘what if’s that piled up in the back of your mind until they couldn’t stand anymore and toppled over into a pathetic mess of rubble. They’ll crush you one day if you aren’t careful, but such an idea seems almost inevitable. 

“Do you think—“ You start, but stop short before you can get any further. Tim quirks a brow, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s making that skeptical face. 

“…Do I think what?” He asks. 

You hesitate to answer. Is this really a question you want to ask? If this starts an argument you won’t be able to take back, will it ruin the comfort you and Tim have finally managed to establish with each other? You can’t just not tell him now, though, or you’ll just piss him off more. He doesn’t care for secrets, but he can’t stand when someone wusses out of a conversation at the last second. 

“…Do you think if you had the chance you would…like, go back in time? If you could make it to where none of this ever happened, would you?”

You feel stupid asking that, and it doesn’t help that Tim is silent for far too long before he answers. You’re already regretting this. 

Tim finally opens his mouth, and he stammers for a few moments before his sounds turn into words.

“…I don’t really think I can answer that, kid. That’s a tough one.” 

He sounds monotone, almost uncaring, but you can tell he’s doing it on purpose

to conceal whatever he doesn’t want you to know he’s feeling. You finally turn to look at him with a look that says ‘Can you please try?’ 

His eyes widen for a moment, his shoulders tensing in that subtle way they only do when he’s scared. His lips part slowly, and it sounds like he’s forcing his next words out. 

“I don’t know. Maybe? I…”

He trails off, and you turn away again. Then there’s silence for another few moments. 

Then he’s beside your chair, slowly lowering himself to sit down and doing that annoyed groan he does anytime he has to strain his back. He takes a moment to get comfortable, and you see him reach for his pocket to grab a cigarette only to sigh in disappointment when he realizes he left them inside. You feel bad for smiling, but at least he won’t be able to hide behind his smoke the way he likes to when a conversation makes him uncomfortable. 

He accepts his fate, leaning back on his hands and staring out into the rain with you. 

“I might,” He finally says, “But it wouldn’t be an easy choice.” 

“Why not?” You ask, and for some reason he chuckles at that. 

“Good question. This isn’t how I expected things to end up, no one does, but…I couldn’t just up and leave this.” 

‘This’ he says. ‘This?’ That hardly answers your question. You quirk a brow at him, and he begrudgingly continues. 

“You know, I just…I’ve gotten attached to all this—“ 

“What’s this, exactly?” You interrupt, and he winces like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. “I can’t imagine there being anything here worth sticking around for.”

“…There wasn’t. Not for a long time,” He says, and now it’s your turn to pause. 

“…What did you say?” 

“There wasn’t,” He repeats, “Not until…not when I was alone. But now…” 

‘You,’ you realize that’s what he’s trying to say, ‘You are the only thing worth staying for.’ 

For some reason, that hurts. Maybe you feel guilty that you ever thought about leaving him, or maybe you feel bad that you of all people are his only friend. The bar for happiness is really low around here. 

You slowly unfurl from your spot on the chair, letting your feet rest on the porch as you slump down a bit. 

“So…you’re saying you wouldn’t?”

You expected an immediate answer. Stupid of you, really. He’s hesitating again. You’d thought you’d get a quick yes or no. You’re not sure if this is better or worse. 

“I’m not…saying anything,” Tim assures you, “I’m just saying that…I’d at least have to think about it.” 

“Yeah, but you have to make a choice,” You say with an eye roll, and the words coming out more forceful than you intended. Fortunately, his stoney exterior deflects any vitriol you could spew at him. 

The silence that settles over you this time is heavy. It makes you slump even further down in your chair. You hate the silence that always follows when you say something that turned out far too mean. 

You don’t breathe until Tim speaks again.

“Okay, yeah…I would.” 

You don’t know how you feel about that answer, but you don’t have much time to think before he continues. 

“But only because I’d know where to find you this time.” 

That surprises you. You sit back up in your chair, looking down at him with an unmistakably confused look. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, and your cheeks warm a bit when he chuckles at your noise of bewilderment.

“I’d do it, yeah, but I couldn’t just leave you to fend for yourself,” He explains, “I’d do it, but I wouldn’t abandon you. Now I know who you are, what you liked to do, where you’d hang out, all those things from before shit hit the fan. I just don’t want you to think I’d, ya know…forget about you like that. I’d come find you, that’s all. I think we’d find each other anyways, though.”

Something in your chest aches as he speaks, and it makes you want to curl up again, but you can’t move. You stare at him for a long few moments, and you’re lucky he doesn’t look up at you because you wouldn’t be able to pull your eyes away. You can’t even blink. 

“I told you kid,” He adds, “I care about you. I always have.”

What do you say to that? 

You don’t know, so you stay silent. You want to say something, to return the monument of emotion he’s just offered to you, to somehow express reciprocity, but you don’t know how. You’re silent. 

You don’t move as Tim stands back up, cracking his back and stretching his legs. He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving a small, affectionate squeeze. 

“I gotta go start dinner,” He says curtly, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Don’t spend too long out here. If you get sick, Imma say I told you so.” 

You nod, but give no further response. He pulls his hand away, and you think that’s the end of it, but just as you realize you haven’t heard him go to leave you feel him leaning over you. 

You tense. You’re not sure why, but you do. 

You feel him press a brief kiss to the top of your head before he pulls away again. It wasn’t even a kiss, really, he just pushed his lips against your head for a moment, but for that moment it was like everything you’d ever worried about up until that point was arbitrary. It doesn’t last long, but it lingers in the air like the smoke from Tim’s cigarettes as he pulls away and walks back into the house. 

You’re alone again.

Now what? 

You weigh your options for a moment, but once Tim’s footsteps disappear into the house it feels far too quiet out here, even with the rain beating down on the roof above you. 

You wait for only a few moments more to make sure you won’t seem too eager to follow him before you get up, lazily making your way back inside. 

You find yourself wondering again, this time about what Tim is making for dinner tonight, and you take a second to appreciate the pleasure in such simple problems. 

There are things that will never be now, and there’s no changing that.

But for tonight, this is pretty damn nice. 

#gender neutral reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta angst #marble hornets fluff #marble hornets angst #fluff #angst #tim wright #masky #tim wright x reader #masky x reader

[reiding-writing]

HI AT FIRST I WANT TO SAY CONGRATULATIONS, AND I REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS, LITERALLY ALL OF YOUR WORKS OMGGG

can i get a fic for number 22 and 23 of the general dialogue prompts for the climacteric event? maybe with a little angst at first but end it with a fluff?

THANK YOU SM, ILY ANGEL<3333

REUNION [CLIMACTERIC]

22. “I think I missed you more than you missed me.” 

23. “I thought I’d lost you.”

WARNINGS: minor spoilers for the prison arc, bro is just a little guy who needs a hug fr

spencer x gn!reader | hurt/comfort | 0.8k | climacteric event!!

a/n: THANK YOU <3333 a little less angsty than originally planned but full of wonderfully sad emotions 😭

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ event masterlist!!

After 84 days of damn near radio silence, you were finally standing in front of Spencer Reid again.

He looked thinner than before, dark purple bags collecting under his eyes and cheekbones more prominent under the harsh florescent lighting. His hair was longer, curling over his forehead and at the nape of his neck, and there was no spark in his gaze anymore, his scleras a blank slate of absolutely nothing; Like all human emotion had been washed away in those short three months.

Except it didn’t feel short.

It felt like the longest god damn three months of your life and you weren’t even the one in the prison. You can’t imagine how long it felt for Spencer.

But at least now he was home.

Home and safe. For the most part anyway.

“Hi,” You speak almost breathlessly, wringing your hands together behind your back to suppress the urge to just throw yourself at him in relief that he wasn’t suffering behind bars anymore.

“Hi,” God how you missed his voice, flowing through your ear canals like silk and making you melt at his greeting like he’d recited some niche romantic poetry in your ear.

He looked like he was holding back just as much as you were. His fingers tugged the cuffs of his sleeves against his palm, and he traded gazes between you and the floor as he swayed ever so slightly on his feet in an attempt to relive the nervous tension running through his body.

It was like the two of you were locked in a stalemate, neither wanting reach out under the shared knowledge that you’d both break if you do.

But you’d waited eighty four days to see him again, and god would be damned if you had to wait any longer.

“I missed you…”

You swear you can see Spencer’s self-restraint shatter the second the words leave your mouth, and he takes a step forwards to anchor his hand around your back and pull you against his chest, his head pressed securely against your shoulder as he breathes you in.

You return his efforts fervently, bringing your arms up to rest over his shoulders with one splayed in his curls as you hold him tight to you, like you’re afraid it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance to do so before he disappears again.

“I think I missed you more than you missed me…” His words are muffled against the cotton of your shirt as he buries himself as deep into your embrace as he can, his hands connecting together behind your back as he squeezes you as securely as possible.

You wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold if you tried, but that was the last thing you were worried about.

“That’s not true,” You shake your head against the side of his, sighing next to his ear as you turn to speak into his hair. “I really thought you weren’t coming back… I thought I’d lost you…”

You swear Spencer sinks further into your arms as you confess your lingering worries even though it isn’t humanly possible with ho tightly you’re holding onto each other already. “I’m here… I’m okay…”

“I’m so glad…” Your voice cracks, and that’s it.

You knew you’d break once you finally got him in your arms again, but this has gotta be a record.

Your shoulders begin to tremble softly as the first tears leave your eyes, and Spencer unlinks his hands to rub them in lines over your back.

And then you’re sobbing into his shoulder. Your tears dapple the beige-grey of his blazer, leaving dark stains in their wake, and the hand wrapped around his back leaves wrinkle in the fabric from how tightly you’re holding onto him.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to mirror your emotional state as he turns his head into your neck, the moisture of his own tears falling down the line of your neck and under the collar of your shirt.

In any other instance you’d probably find it mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t exactly have the mind to care right now. You finally had Spencer in your arms again, that was worth anything.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg #climacteric 🪶

[strawburry01]

Northern Attitude

Summary: The team goes out to a small Montana town facing a random string of murders pointing to a new cult forming in the woods around town. Only once they get there does Hotch realize he recognizes the assistant chief for the town force- someone from his university days.

Word Count: 3k

No smut just angsty, maybe not entirely canon compliant but nothing crazy.

Authors Note: Let me know if folks want a part 2 (you may get one anyway, but my brain hasn't decided yet), or any one offs from Hotch and the characters time in uni. I have ideas...

It was another cold morning in your room. You refused to go to bed if it wasn’t comfortably cocooned in at least three blankets, but it did mean getting out of bed in the morning was particularly dreadful. You groan as you stretch your back hearing it pop as you twist. Eventually, you push yourself out of your warm pile of blankets and pillows to take a shower to wake up and start the day.

You worked as an assistant chief in your small Montana town. Things were slow for the most part. Nobody beyond the average population, except for the summers when the tourists came in for hiking and camping, but even then, it was never too much. A few rambunctious teens some nights, the occasional robbery of the convenience store downtown, a random carjacking every other month, but this had all come to a screeching halt when a random string of murders popped up over the last few weeks. Unfortunately, based on the scenes and your analysis, it seemed cult related, bringing a lot more attention, specifically from the government, to your once quaint town. 

Shuffling back to your room after your shower you throw on your average attire, black slacks, blue button up, and boots. Being a woman in a small town police force wasn’t easy, but you’d done your time. It only took a few cases before the men started realizing you meant business, and often would run the opposite direction in the office whenever they saw you walking in with a bad mood knowing you would make their life a living hell. Graduating from university with both electrical engineering and criminology made you stand out when you entered the workforce all those years ago, but the quiet side of you still yearned for silence and a work life balance, which is something you did get all the way out here. Well, at least before this all. You’d been working overtime every night into the late hours trying to figure out what you were dealing with. All you had was your bed every couple hours at night before your brain would wake you up again with a flood of new theories and ideas. You’d be happy when this was over, for all the reasons.

You jump into your truck and quickly blow onto your mug of coffee to cool it down as you head out to the latest scene. You swear out loud as you nearly spill it onto your lap as you take a turn too sharp. You crank the volume of your radio up to help wake you up and try to put you in a good mindset. You never tried to come to work in a bad mood, in fact you tried to come in on the cusp of being annoyingly positive and cautiously optimistic. You knew this line of work was easy to get sucked down into and spiral, you’d seen it before, hell you lived it before when you were fresh out of university. It’s what got you out working in a big city, or for a bigger federal office. 

You pull into the parking lot alongside the other police vehicles that had already shown up for the day. This latest murder scene was unfortunately in an empty field behind an abandoned high school. Definitely not creepy at all, you thought to yourself as you got out and eyed the several busted windows on the second floor. You grab your backpack and mug as you make your way to the tent set up with the team’s temporary office with laptops and files from the case.

“Morning boys,” you hum as you step underneath the tent, observing the open screens. You get a few ‘good mornings’ back. Some of the guys had been working since the scene was called in and you could tell. Dammit you should have brought coffee or doughnuts for them.

“Cheers boss”, one of the officers, Carter, sighs to you as he walks into the tent, clinking his coffee with yours. Carter had always been one of your favorites, he was young, wide-eyed, but still meant business. He’d grown up in the area so he knew all the folks like they were family. You let out a small smirk as you sip your coffee, starting to map out the plan for today.

You’d have to scour the entire field. And the entire school. You didn’t want a single potential lead or clue or mistake from them to be lost. The team would hate it but it needed to be done.

“Alright team find a friend and meet back here in ten minutes. You’re going to be split between the school and the field and I need all of it thoroughly searched. Heard?” you said, leaning on the table facing the team you had. They all nodded or chirped back a complaint which you laughed at, “you got ten minutes to warm up”.

You leaned back on the front of your truck as you took out a cigarette and placed it between your lips. Lighting it up you stared out into the field. Dappled with yellows and oranges, you can’t even see the ground through the wheat and piles of ancient dirt. Why here? Any other day this would be beautiful, but knowing a murder happened right here made it such a tragic scene. There’s a crackle of gravel from an incoming car behind you. Probably the chief coming in, albeit uncharacteristically early since he usually stayed in the office until things got really hairy. You sighed as you let a cloud of smoke out of your lips, staring up at the sun. Your phone buzzes against your hip and you lazily slide it out before checking it. 

It’s a text from the chief. “Federal Bureau coming in today. Play nice.”. Your stomach flips. FBI? Well shit. Also how rude of him not to text you any earlier than right now. “Who?”, you texted back. You see the cursed three dots pop up and down a few times before the text actually sends. “BAU”. You nearly drop your cigarette out of your mouth at your jaw dropping. 

As if on some otherworldly cursed cue.

“Y/n?” a terribly familiar voice says from behind you. You take a sharp inhale, before taking out your cigarette and turning your head, trying to look charming as hell.

“Hello dear Aaron,” you say with a smile on your face, seeing the man who’d been stuck in your thoughts since the day he left your side. 

It’s his eyes that never changed. They still scrunch up as he smiles at you.

“I didn’t know this was your town,” he said as he moved beside you. You look up at him, placing your cigarette back between your lips and shrugging with a smirk plastered on the side of your face. You catch his eyes quickly flickering over you, just as you look over him. He used to be skinny, studious, almost a nerd, but the man that stood in front of you now was built, stern, and serious. 

“I got told a few seconds ago that you’d be here at all. Chief keeps me on my toes,” you remarked, internally thinking about how you actually wanted to wring his neck for not telling you sooner. 

When you woke up this morning you did not- in a thousand years-  expect Aaron Hotchner to show up at your work. At your crime scene. It was a tumultuous mix of excitement, nerves, intrigue, and still a bit of anger. You hadn’t seen him in years, let alone reached out. Ever since ending on a sour note you never tried, mostly because you knew he wouldn’t respond- not out of spite but just because he was so busy and focused on work. It was admirable, but also so annoying.

“You smoke now?” he asked, snapping you out of your mental musings. He was eyeing disapprovingly the cigarette still hanging in the corner of your mouth. 

“You wear contacts now?” you retorted, raising an eyebrow. He sharply laughed and looked back to his team as they approached.

“Have for a while” he said, turning back to you.

“Haven’t known for a while” you snipped before throwing your cigarette butt onto the ground and smashing it out with your heel to free yourself to meet his team. “We’ll talk later Aaron” you said with a nod which he nodded back to, ending this conversation, knowing more pressing things existed than-

your-

university-

situationship- 

showing up again in your life. 

Aaron’s team pops up behind him and brings you back to focus. Dammit there was a murder on your watch and you could only think of this fucking man. Grow up, you swore in your head as you forced a customer service smile onto your face. 

“Team this is y/n l/n, a friend from university,” he said as he gestured to you. He couldn’t make eye contact when he called you just a friend. You noticed two of the men on the team elbowed each other, no doubt in shock their boss actually had friends outside of work at some point in his life. 

Aaron introduced you to his team and you tried to run through their names in your head as you shook their hands. You were terrible with names. Agent Reid was the twiggy one who looked perpetually deep in thought, Agent Morgan was the one with the tight black shirt who who had an air of confidence about him, Agent Jareau was the sweet blonde who acted like the unofficial mother of the group, and Rossi who was the tired old dad of the group. I’m sure Aaron loved being bossed around by him, you thought to yourself as you shook his hand. He seemed nice, but Aaron had never been one to not be the one in charge- the little control freak. 

You brought them to your tent to introduce them to your folks, trying to get everyone on the same page with daylight burning. Later than expected due to the guests everyone was ready to actually start looking through the field and school. You felt Aaron’s eyes on you as you told everyone to pair off, but you nabbed Carter before he could object. 

The search of both areas wasn’t as successful as you had hoped. The school had some ominous latin scribbled onto the walls in red, which had been determined to be blood on the scene, although it wasn’t the latest victims. Reid had somehow been able to translate the latin- you could see in an instant why they kept him around.

“So what’s the deal with you and the FBI guy?” Carter asks when you get to the smack dab middle of the field. Your neck hurts from craning over the ground, trying to not let a speck of earth go unseen. 

“What do you mean?” you ask back, not looking up as you continue scanning the ground.

“I’ve never seen you flustered,” he quips as he pauses, “you actually like-I don’t know it was just weird” he said and half heartedly shrugged as he looked back at the group that had begun to reform by the tent. 

“It’s complicated,” you said, knowing that the young adult in him would eat the drama up. Sure enough, he perked up.

“Yeah? What is it? You got an ex?” he said, nudging you.

But that was the problem. He wasn’t an ex. He wasn’t really an anything. He was a friend, sure, but friends also didn’t make out in the corners of parties as much as you two had. And friends didn’t stay up until sunrise testing each other for the upcoming exams every single finals week. And friends didn’t invite each other to spend weekends at their family vacation cabin alone. 

“No, no, no, just-” you tried to explain to no avail, not even knowing how to justify this to yourself, “okay maybe,”. Carter let out a low whistle.

“Hey if my ex showed up to work I’d be flipping the fuck out, you’re handling this really well,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. You chuckle at the kids joke.

“Sometimes it’s just nicer to see a familiar face, you’ll get it when you’re older,” you said, knowing hated when you pulled the you’ll understand when you’re older card. He rolled his eyes and groaned. 

Once the sun started setting you made your way back to the huddle that was forming of everything theorizing and laying out the evidence. Tomorrow would be busy in the office working to get everything categorized and bagged. You leaned up against your truck again, just like you did this morning, and pulled out another cigarette, flicking the lighter onto the end. You waved your team over and told them to head home for the night. You knew a lot of them had families at home, and you tried to be respectful of it all, even if you didn’t have your own. Some of the security officers watching the spot for the night stayed and mingled with the BAU team a ways away from you, and you settled your sights on the pink hue of the clouds as the sun lowered.

A familiar body moved next to you. You didn’t have to turn to know it was Aaron. You blew a cloud of smoke out the other side of your lips and stayed quiet, waiting for him to start. He had his hands jammed in his coat pockets, his shoulder grazing against yours. People used to laugh at the height difference back in university, and it had only gotten worse it seemed, or at least Aaron walked around with much more presence these days. You were leaning up against the front grate of your truck and felt Aaron slowly move his arm behind you, holding onto the grate on the other side of your hip. Feeling his arm behind you felt so familiar. 

“There’s Latin at the other scenes too,” he said, facing straight ahead into the sun.

“Shit,” you said as you slowly nodded, realizing that the scribbles would not just be nothing. There was a moment of silence before he broke it again.

“Do you hate me?” he asked, glancing down for a second, but long enough for you to meet eyes before you looked away.

“You know I could never hate you,” you said begrudgingly, knowing it was the truth. His arm got closer to your back at that and you leaned further onto it, “it’s really annoying honestly” you halfheartedly laughed. You heard him laugh under his breath. You swallowed your pride and leaned in, resting your head on the side of his torso, letting out another cloud to try and soothe your nerves. 

“It’s nice out here,” he said, looking out at the sunset still which had only gotten deeper pink and orange. 

“ ‘S quiet,” you agreed, “I don’t know how you do it in the big leagues,”. 

“You know you could’ve too,” he said, looking down. You stayed staring straight ahead.

“I’m not doing this argument again Aaron,” you said curtly, as you eyed him back. He shrugged and turned away again. 

“You know you could have that’s all,”. 

“You ever think I’m okay with it out here? You ever think I don’t need to kill myself over every case with the fate of the world hanging on it?” you said, raising your voice a little.

“I’m just saying you were one of the best and you could do a lot in the bureau,” he said back, “in the BAU,” he tested. You let out an angry air of smoke from your cigarette.

“Dammit Aaron don’t do this again,” you said, cutting him off before he can say anything else. You throw your cigarette onto the gravel and kick some rocks over the smoldering residue, “I’m happy here, can’t you just be okay with that?”. Aaron watched you and sighed and shifted in his spot, taking the second to move his hand from the car to your waist. 

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he said, and he meant it. You sighed.

“I’m not going to be able to convince you to stay huh?” you asked, trying to joke, but inside you really did mean it earnestly. His thumb rubbed your side. It had been a while since you felt like this.

“I don’t think you’re able to,” he responded, sadness tinging his voice. The two of you stood, leaning into each other watching the sun finally dip behind the hills in the distance.

A few yards away Morgan stood on the phone, peeking around a car before ducking back. Garcia was not going to believe this shit.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #bau team

[tea-stained-notes]

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader – One Last Summer

Y/N is many things: Daphne's best friend, gifted artist, new money, honorary Bridgerton – and hopelessly in love with Benedict. But when she finds herself suddenly engaged to a brutish army captain stationed in India, she is faced with the loss of everything she has grown to adore. With time running out, one last visit to Aubrey Hall will decide her fate.

Months ago I had a random phase of obsessing over Benedict Bridgerton (don't we all at some point) and dove head-first into this – then somehow took an eternity to finish it. It's angsty af, but don’t worry, there’s also plenty of Bridgerton shenanigans and tooth-rotting fluff because Benny is too adorable for this world

Warnings: angst and anxiety

Word Count: ~8400

A warm summer breeze caresses my heated skin as I finally emerge from the carriage and lay eyes on Aubrey Hall. Lush flowers and greenery adorn the inviting front and I am still taking in the sight when I notice Eloise and Penelope rounding the corner, the Bridgerton sister gesticulating in what must be one of her political rants. Behind them, Gregory and Hyacinth emerge, chasing each other and screaming in delight. My stomach swoops at the sight – how I have missed them all. “Good morning!” I call over to them, waving with an excitement I would scarcely allow myself to display anywhere else. But here, everything is different. Has always been different.

“Y/N!” They all rush over to me, enveloping me in hugs and chattering over each other. “Finally! It’s been ages!” “Daphne has been insufferable without you around!” “Come play with us!” I laugh, begging them for a moment to breathe after the journey. Daphne appears in the entryway, closely followed by Violet. I walk quickly towards my best friend, arms wide open. “Daph!” “Oh thank Goodness you have made it!” She hugs me tightly, her familiar perfume mingling with the smell of grass and sun-warmed skin. “Have you been playing croquet without me?” “Oh, has Anthony already come moaning to you about his well-deserved loss?” “I can smell it on you, along with your smugness” I say with a grin. “And your brother has grown quite even-tempered since the wedding.” “Well, unfortunately he is still the sorest loser I know.” “Which is a feat in itself amongst this competitive bunch,” Violet says with a twinkle in her eyes before taking my hands in hers and looking me up and down. “Welcome back, darling. You look thin, please do not tell me that you’re trying to fit into one of those outrageous wedding gowns that seem to be made for dolls.” I wince at the mention of my upcoming nuptials but hastily cover it up with a chuckle. “Quite the opposite, at the last fitting my seamstress was rather disgruntled that she would have to take in the waist even further. It is just a bit of a nervous stomach, with all the impending change.” “But as a young bride you should be more happy than nervous, no?” “Mama,” Daphne scolds softly, while Eloise openly rolls her eyes. “I suppose I should.” “Why not at least wait until dinner with such questions?” comes a voice from my right, “Your forwardness single-handedly erodes our renowned British reserve.” I grin at Colin before pulling him into a hug and ruffling his coiffed hair. Being a year older, I have always indulged in playing big sister with him. He sighs in feigned annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s good to see you but I am already regretting that sentiment.” “Liar,” I snicker. Violet’s glance dances between us. I believe she once suspected a blossoming romance between Colin and me, but while I love him dearly as a surrogate brother, he has never made my heart flutter. Not that I could have ever betrayed poor Penelope anyway, whose bright eyes are locked on him as always. And not that I would ever actually marry a Bridgerton. I may have dared to dream of it ten years ago, when I first met Daphne and immediately became fast friends with her despite our age difference. When her family welcomed me into their home with such fervour and warmth that I could hardly believe my luck. With my mother having died from influenza when I was little and no other siblings to grow up with, the Bridgertons became the family I could have never imagined for myself. And the idea of marrying into it one day, of making my bond with them all official, that was the greatest aspiration I could envisage. But the one brother who has always fascinated me is nowhere in sight and I try to be glad for it. “Come, let’s get you settled before the rest of the battalion descends upon you.” Daphne pulls me inside while I give a grateful smile to the servants hurrying after us with my luggage. “So where is your charming husband?” I ask as we ascend the staircase. “And little Amelia? I have been dying to see her again.” “Simon was held up by business, he will arrive in a few days. And the little one is in the gardens with her nanny. I will call for some lemonade and once you have freshened up, we shall go out to see her and catch up. You have so much to tell me.” “I last saw you two months ago and we write constantly,” I laugh. “But all the things that have happened in those two months! Your engagement first and foremost. I simply must know everything, I certainly require more detail than the few lines from your letters.” My insides squirm at her eagerness but I manage a somewhat enthusiastic nod. She comes to a stop in front of a door. “Your usual guest room is having some work done, so I had my old room prepared for you – I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all, it will be nice, I haven’t been in there since your wedding.” “And Mama has kept it exactly the same, you know how sentimental she gets.” Daphne sounds teasing yet her smile is nothing but fond. She gives me another hug. “I am so glad you are here. I’ve missed you. We all have.” “And I have missed you.”

Once my bags and I are safely inside, I inhale deeply and take in the stillness for a moment. Arriving at any Bridgerton residence always feels like being caught in a whirlwind and as much as I love them all, it can be overwhelming at times, especially after the often stifling silence of my own home. I wander over to the window, letting my eyes trail over the gardens, alive with an abundance of colours that makes my heart sing. Until it stops abruptly. There he is. Deeply lost in his brush strokes as he recreates the wonders around him. His vest is unbuttoned, his shirt carelessly gaping open at the top, his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Even from afar, Benedict Bridgerton ignites a well-known fire inside of me. Whenever I am away from him, I can almost convince myself that this age-old infatuation is nothing but a figment, a silly flight of fancy. Sometimes I can almost forget about him entirely, distract myself with my artistic pursuits, with other friends or travel. But then I notice a piece of melody flowing from my fingers that somehow reminds me of him or look down at a drawing in surprise, having unconsciously once again traced his familiar features. Still I repress it, abandon the fantasy of someone so far above my station. Someone who sees me as a family friend and nothing more. And now that I am engaged to be married I should purge my mind of him entirely, yet especially in these last few weeks I have scarcely thought of anything else, convinced that my longing could not possibly grow stronger. But the mere tangibility of him unravels me completely. I long to rush downstairs to see him and at the same time it is the one thing I fear the most. After a long moment I tear my gaze away and turn to the washing bowl. To my dismay, the cool water does little to calm my racing pulse and thoughts. Clean and unpacked I head towards the door, but halt half-way. Because as always, when I am in Daphne's room, my eyes fall on the painting of us. It is wonderfully serene, the two of us sitting on a picnic blanket in the gardens. She is engrossed in a book, but I am looking over my shoulder, smiling softly at the artist. It was Benedict of course. I remember vividly how I turned around to find him crouching with a sketchbook in his hand, capturing the scene in quick strokes. His face lit up and he winked at me before deftly outlining my expression. Later he transferred the motif onto a proper canvas, so I never got to see the original sketch. I have always wondered whether I had really looked at him like that. So openly enamoured.

I wander down the halls towards the open French doors leading into the garden when a voice pulls me from my reverie so suddenly I almost trip over my feet. “There you are.” I look up only to be met with a dazzling smile, gleaming eyes and a hint of spicy aftershave in the air. My stomach drops. “Mr. Bridgerton.” His smile falters briefly. He always insists on me calling him by his first name, yet I have never been able to. When we met he was already eighteen, a grown man at first sight. It had felt only right to address him with the same courtesy as his older brother. And even as we grew closer, as I learned of his boyish temperament, often bordering on immaturity, I never found the courage to simply call him Benedict. If only to keep up the semblance of a wall between us, a desperate attempt at shielding my heart. Not that I have ever succeeded in that endeavour. “Everyone’s been speaking of your arrival. How wonderful you have found time to join us.” “The pleasure is all mine, as always,” I reply, ignoring the pull in my chest. “Have you finished your painting?” I gesture at the art supplies in his arms. “Not quite, but I’m afraid duty calls. Some business I need to talk over with Anthony.” “Ah, I too have an enormously urgent appointment with your sister.” We share a light chuckle. “I am sure she has scheduled three hours at the least to learn all about your… plans.” The word comes out strangely forced but he catches himself quickly. “Will I see you at dinner?” “How could I ever miss one of Mrs. Brodie’s delicacies? I have had actual dreams of her rosemary chicken.” “You are not a true Bridgerton until you’ve had one of those dreams,” he says with a grin but it wavers slightly as the words sink in. He knows as well as I do that no number of dreams will ever make me a true Bridgerton. I swallow thickly before putting on a smile. “If you will excuse me, I am quite parched after the journey and Daphne has promised lemonade.” “Oh, of course, yes. Don’t let me keep you.” “Goodbye, sir.” “Until tonight, Y/N.” Something in his tone, in the way his lips curve around my name, sends shivers down my spine. With a swift curtsey I turn and practically run out into the open air.

I manage to ward off Daphne’s inquisition well enough. Yes, Captain Parker will be able to provide for me. Yes, he is handsome. Yes, my father approves of him. Luckily, we are regularly interrupted by the various Bridgerton siblings and distracted by little Amelia who is perfectly content as the centre of attention. “I am quite certain one day she will be the diamond of the season,” I declare, ruffling her hair. “Do you really think so?” Daphne is all too happy to swoon about her firstborn and I gladly steer the conversation away from my upcoming wedding. Eventually, I propose another game of croquet, having missed the previous one, and before long the dinner bell is rung. Everyone settles into the dining room and I sink into a comfortable chair, Daphne and Eloise on either side, Benedict across from me. I only notice now that we have always been seated like this during my visits and wonder if it was I who once sought out this particular arrangement. He quickly engages me in a conversation about art and music, the topics that have always connected us, and minute by minute I grow more comfortable in his presence. We fall into passionate discussions and light-hearted banter, only occasionally intercepted by the others around us. And I cannot help pondering if he has ever felt it, too. The sparkling potential between us. The mere idea of what we could have been. No matter how unrealistic, as long we were both unwed, a tiny part of my heart remained reserved for that hope. And every time I arrived at the manor to find him seemingly carefree about the future and with no bride in sight, I was flooded with relief, simultaneously blessed and cursed to hope for a little longer. Until a few weeks ago when those dreams were finally shattered. “So, are you looking forward to India?” Colin suddenly asks. “I would love to visit you there sometime, it must be incredible.” “Surely it would not be proper to interrupt their honeymoon,” Benedict says, somewhat strained. “Oh, it’s not for our honeymoon,” I reply. “My… Captain Parker will be permanently stationed there.” Benedict’s fork clatters onto the plate and we all flinch, the chatter around the table coming to a halt. “You will move to India?” He has gone frighteningly pale. “Yes. Has Daphne not told you?” “I must have,” she sputters, “when I was last in Lon–“ “No, you haven’t.” His words come out unusually harsh and my stomach twists. Everyone is staring at either him or me and Daphne’s eyes flicker between us before she forces a casual smile. “Brother, don’t be silly, I am certain I have. And either way, I shall be the one to miss her the most, no?” She puts an arm around me while giving a pointed look at Kate who quickly collects herself and pulls Anthony and Violet into a chat about their plans for the nursery. Slowly, the usual bustle recommences and I turn back to Colin. “Once we are settled in, you are more than welcome to visit. You all are, of course.” Benedict’s lips are pressed tightly together, his food forgotten.

I find little sleep that night, the image of Benedict imprinted on my mind. He seemed so genuinely upset. I expected him to miss me, of course, but the hint of melancholy I had detected in his features even before the revelation of my upcoming departure to India now haunts me. Losing him was always going to be torture but realising how it might affect him as well has doubled the pain and I start to regret this indulgence of coming to Aubrey Hall for one last summer. When the first sun rays filter through the half-opened curtains I inhale deeply, trying to infuse a little hope and joy into the beginning of this new day. And when Daphne surprises me with the idea of a relaxed breakfast in bed I almost believe it has worked. A while later we find ourselves in the parlour, Eloise engrossed in a book after Penelope’s earlier departure, Daphne rocking a fussy Amelia to sleep in her arms, and I sketching absently. I startle when Benedict walks in, slightly more dishevelled than usual. “Daph, Y/N. Just the pair I’ve been looking for.” “Good morning to you as well, dear brother,” Eloise says with a smirk. He bows excessively in her direction and I cannot help but smile at their antics. “Good morning, my darling sister.” They share a grin before he turns back to us. “I wanted to apologise for my little outburst at dinner. I was tired and the news took me by surprise.” He clears his throat. “I do hope you forgive me.” “Of course, sir,” I hasten to reply. “One could have almost suspected you of being jealous of a certain Captain Parker.” “Eloise!” Daphne chides but she too eyes her brother and me curiously. Before I can try to decipher either my feelings or his expression, Violet walks in, rubbing her hands enthusiastically. “Good morning, children! Who of you will kindly join us for a walk?” Daphne rises as Amelia starts crying once more and Violet immediately offers to take her. While they deliberate on the benefits of a walk for the baby, Benedict settles beside me, merely a few feet between us. I try to ignore the goosebumps forming on my skin at his soft smile. “May I?” He points at my sketchbook. I press it shut with hurried force. “No.” “Oh.” His face falls a little. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” There is dejection in his eyes, but also confusion. I have always shared my sketches with him, just as my compositions, needlework and poetry. We have always valued each other’s opinions and advice. So naturally he is taken aback by my sudden reservedness. But how can I explain the shift from peaceful, colourful motifs to the utter gloom that has been dominating my sketches lately? The impending thunderstorms, the dark forests. And possibly worse, the countless drawings of him. Sometimes just his fingers, delicately holding a paintbrush, sometimes his entire silhouette, but mostly his boyishly handsome face that my eyes unerringly find the second I enter a room. If it scares me how much of my waking thought he is taking up – how much would it scare him? “I– I’m sorry, sir. I have not been feeling very… confident about my work lately.” “I can hardly believe that to be justified in any way. You have always possessed a raw talent I can scarcely dream of.” “That is not true.” “Well then, I challenge you.” Mischief sparkles in his eyes and an inadvertent giggle escapes me. “You mean it? We have not done that in ages.” “All the more reason to do it now.” “Y/N, are you coming?” Daphne calls across the room. “She is otherwise engaged,” Benedict grins before I can reply. “Is that so?” “Your brother has thrown down the gauntlet and I’m afraid I shall have to pick it up.” Daphne rolls her eyes, amusement playing on her lips. “Are you having one of your silly art competitions again? What is it this time?” “Portraits,” I say hastily. “We will paint each other. Fifteen minutes, as usual.” I wonder what possessed me to choose Benedict’s face as the subject, of all things. Most likely pure masochism. I do not dare gauge his reaction although I can feel his eyes on me. “Well, Amelia needs her walk now.” Daphne glances at the crying baby in Violet’s arms. “I suppose we shall see you both later. I’ll be happy to choose a winner then.” “You’re hardly impartial,” Benedict grumbles. “Neither are you when it comes to Y/N,” she retorts. Before I can begin to untangle her accusation she has breezed out the door.

Eloise is as bad a chaperone as ever, engrossed in her book a few yards away in the shade, while Benedict sets up his canvas beside me. Mine is leaning up against my chair. Despite my excessive practice I was not quite able to capture his essence. Perhaps because it felt so strikingly different from the other times he sat for me. I had asked him not to speak, as to not strain my jittery nerves even further, and he had obliged, albeit reluctantly. But with every passing second the silence between us grew heavier, along with his expression. It weighed down my piece of charcoal, making it impossible to find my usual ease in sketching. Just when I feared it might crumble between my tense fingers, Benedict murmured, “Time’s up” with a glance at his pocket watch. Before he could peek at the result I hurriedly asked for a lunch break which we spent with an unusually talkative Anthony. Now we have returned to our previous spot and he sets up his own work. “May I ask,” he says after the first few strokes, “why the quick engagement? Did you know immediately that he was the right man for you?” His jaw clenches while he firmly stares at the canvas. My hands grow clammy, clutching his watch tightly. “I could hardly afford such luxuries anymore. At four-and-twenty my chances of finding the ‘right’ man have been dwindling about as fast as my father’s faith in me receiving a proposal at all.” “You make yourself sound like an old spinster.” “Well, in the eyes of the ton I am. I should consider myself lucky to be engaged at last.” “But you don’t?” His eyes search mine intently until I drop my gaze, scared of what he might find in it. “Of course. Very lucky indeed.” Once more a long silence hangs between us. I suddenly feel impossibly tired. And as much as I want to blame the summer heat and sleepless nights, I know this weariness runs much deeper. The exhaustion of holding up the pretence that I am even remotely content with my lot. “Look at me, please,” Benedict murmurs and I follow his request without hesitation, taken aback by the deep concern in his features. He thanks me softly before resuming his quiet work. “Will you not be terribly lonely in India?” he finally asks. I bite my lip. “Not for long, I hope.” What I cannot say is that I am almost glad to go. To miss them all from so far away they will hardly feel real. To not see them fall in love and lead lives I will barely be a part of. To not sit and watch Benedict await his bride at the altar, breaking inside because it should be me walking down that aisle towards him. To not look at the children who have his wild hair and lopsided grin and not find a single trace of me in their faces. I blink away tears, desperate to change the subject before he manages to poke even more holes into my façade. “And what of your plans for the future, sir? Anything exciting on the horizon?” He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether to indulge me. “You will think me foolish, but lately I've been thinking about opening my own academy one day. One where your wealth and sex do not matter, where you are accepted on merit and passion alone. And perhaps when you are a personal friend of the owner.” He winks at me and I stare at him in feigned indignation. “Are you saying my merit and passion would not suffice?” “Not at all. If anything, you possess too much of both, so I would have to keep you in a private class as to not discourage the other students.” I glance down at my lap, hiding both my smile and the blush forming on my cheeks. “Well, I think, it sounds anything but foolish. You could grant opportunities to so many people who will never find them anywhere else. Promise you will write to me when that dream becomes a reality.” I look back up at him, surprised at the soft wonder in his eyes, then let mine travel down to his lips as they curve into a half-smirk. “When, not if? You flatter me.” “I believe in you. I always have. And I dearly hope that one of us will be allowed to live his dream.” Benedict swallows, all traces of mirth erased from his features. “Y/N, you–” “Time’s up,” I say, without a single glance at the watch. He bites his tongue while an entire palette of emotions flits across his face. “Here you are!” We both startle when Daphne appears beside me, placing her hands on my shoulders with a wide grin. “Brother, stop capitalising on my dear friend's time. She is my guest after all.” “And here I thought she liked to spend time with all of us,” Eloise comments and I suddenly wonder how much of our previous conversation she has eavesdropped on while appearing lost in her reading. The other Bridgertons trail behind Daphne, evidently tired from their stroll in the sun. Colin immediately snorts as he peeks at the canvas. “You cannot be painting Y/N again. Do you not have an entire portrait gallery of her already?” “Well, none of you little gremlins ever hold still for even a minute.” “I've sat for you plenty of times,” Daphne protests. “Yes, and you look like you'd rather hang every single time.” “Benedict!” Violet scolds gently. “Well, let’s see them then. You do need a few judges after all.” Despite my weak protests, both sketches are propped up beside each other a few moments later. The Bridgertons remain unusually quiet. “They are both fine works,” Violet says eventually. “But you two seem so…” “Gloomy,” Kate finishes. Everyone nods. “Did Eloise bore you with an excerpt from her book while you were drawing?” Colin quips and ducks as said book comes flying at his head. Within seconds the family is caught in familiar chaos and I let myself be dragged off to another lunch despite feeling so queasy I might never eat again. When I glance back at Benedict he only manages the barest of smiles.

The week and a half of my stay at Aubrey Hall passes in a turmoil of emotions. As much as I love spending time with the Bridgertons and try to fully revel in their company, it unnerves me. Feeling their observant eyes on me, the underlying tension in the air, I have been growing more short-tempered and nervous, increasingly avoiding the presence of the people I love the most to escape their questions, both voiced and unspoken. The portrait of Benedict lies buried in his studio. I could not bear having his charcoal eyes stare at me with the same apprehension as his soft green ones. Being around him has lost all the ease we used to share despite my infatuation. I am glad when Simon joins us, creating a distraction for Daphne and thus some room for myself. But no amount of wandering the familiar halls and gardens, hiding away in the library or furiously filling page after page of my sketchbook can calm my racing mind. Anxiety has nestled deep inside my chest, constricting my lungs and churning in my stomach. And then it arrives: My last day at the manor. They surprise me with a picnic under clear blue skies and despite my incessant sorrow it turns out rather lovely. Before long, the little ones are running around and I find myself pulled in all directions, playing and frolicking in the sun. The adults disperse as well, picking up games or strolling through the gardens in deep conversation. Eventually, I sink down onto a blanket next to Daphne and Amelia, out of breath and surprisingly cheerful. My friend looks over at me, a wistful expression on her face. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your time with us,” she says softly. “Of course,” I reply automatically. “I always do.” I let my eyes wander over the scenes around us and the despite the joy in the air, panic and despair once more rise in my throat. Cotton fills my ears, then my entire skin starts to tingle. And suddenly it comes crashing down on me. The intense finality of these last few days with the Bridgertons. The very real possibility that I might never return to Aubrey Hall, never again chatter with Daphne, joke with Colin, debate with Eloise. Never chase the younger siblings across the rolling greens or laugh at a seething Anthony after an eventful croquet match. Never have a single moment alone with Benedict. I have been a fool for believing that distance would make me miss them all any less. Because at this moment I am certain that I will be longing for these days for the rest of my life. Still, the sob that rips from my mouth takes me by surprise. “Y/N?” Daphne turns to me, little Amelia on her lap eyeing me warily. I want to reassure her but instead tears start flowing uncontrollably. “Oh my dear!” Daphne sets her daughter down on the blanket, then throws her arms around me. “Y/N, whatever is the matter?” I cannot find my voice for several minutes, overwhelmed by the most intense sorrow I have felt since my mother's passing. When I finally speak, the words come out raspy and broken. “I am going to miss you all so much.” “Well, how awful would it be if you didn't?” Daphne says, a half-smile on her lips but it fades as she inspects my face. “Is it more than that? Are you truly not looking forward to marriage at all? I know it can be daunting, Simon and I have had a rocky path as well, but now I cannot imagine a life without him.” “Because you love him!” The words come out rougher than intended and Amelia winces, her mouth curling into a frown. I quickly cradle her in my arms before she can start crying as well. Nuzzling her soft hair I avoid Daphne’s eyes. “You've always loved him, Daph. Even when you could not yet admit it to yourself, even when you did not know that he returned your feelings.” A tense pause stretches between us. “Do you truly believe you will never love Captain Parker?” she finally whispers. I bite my lip, unable to answer. “Y/N, why on earth did you accept his proposal if you cannot see a happy life with him?” I want to scream at her, want to rage at her naiveté, her inability to grasp the gravity of my situation. But I cannot. Not at my best friend who does not know and can never know how this engagement came about. “If you do not want this, I can help you,” she says softly now. “We will find a perfect match for you next season. Who knows, maybe even somewhere along the way until then?” Daphne attempts another soft smile and my tears start flowing again. If only it were this simple. She reaches for my hand while I am pressing Amelia closer with the other, relishing in her warmth and quiet babbling. “It pains me to see you like this. There must be something I can do. I realise that Anthony and I have been very lucky to have found our partners, but if it is not love that persuades you to marry, it should at least be mutual respect and fondness. I am certain we can find such a man for you, if only–” “No,” I say determinedly. “I am grateful to you, Daph, but it is too late.” “Too late because you're afraid to break off the engagement or because your heart is already taken?” I gasp. “Daphne–” “Is it someone I know?” “No, it's no one. There is no one.” I press a kiss to Amelia's head, then place her in her mother's arms. Wiping my face, I rise to my feet. “I am sorry for my outburst. Do forgive me. I just need a moment to myself.” “Y/N–” “Thank you for the picnic.” Brushing away fresh tears I flee the picture-perfect scene that now only breaks my heart.

Hours later everyone is bustling about in the parlour, impatiently awaiting dinner. I have claimed the piano in the corner and let my fingers wander over the keys, following a soft, melancholy tune. My gaze loses focus in the middle distance as I calculate the number of hours I have left here. There is no clock in the room and yet I can hear an unrelenting ticking. “Is that your latest composition?” I flinch before my eyes find Benedict's, his lacking their usual sparkle. “I– I am not certain...” I clear my throat and Daphne briefly glances over at me, worry in her features. “I'm still working on it.” “It's beautiful.” “You do not sound quite convinced,” I say with a weak attempt at a smile. “No, I mean it. Every piece you compose is beautiful. It's just... It sounds so deeply sad.” I suddenly sense how the atmosphere in the room has changed. Even the little ones have gone quiet, with everyone stealing looks of concern at me. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to ruin the mood. Please carry on.” I chuckle nervously and the Bridgertons are kind enough to return to their antics, albeit slightly forced. “Y/N, are you alright?” Benedict's voice is low but strained. I turn back to the keys, once more biting back tears. “Of course, sir. I am perfectly fine.” “You do not seem like yourself,” he murmurs. “You are usually.... softer. But also stronger. With such a zest for life. I've never seen you like this, so burdened, so sombre.” I raise my chin, attempting to look challenging rather than heartbroken at his astute observation. “And what about you, Mr. Bridgerton? These past few days you have hardly been the carefree man I've come to know.“ “Then you must know that you are the cause.” We both still. Blood is rushing in my ears as I try to steel myself for something I fear and crave in equal measure. But after a long moment he shakes his head, swallowing heavily. “I worry about you, Y/N. We all do. I know things have not always been easy for you but until now I believed our family could provide you with comfort. And if that is somehow no longer the case, surely the prospect of starting your own family should excite you.” I hopelessly rifle through my mind for an answer that might assuage him once and for all. “Dinner is ready, my lady.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Wonderful!” Violet smiles at the servant who has appeared in the doorway, then claps her hands. Her offspring rises from floor and sofas, muttering about being starved while jostling towards the dining room. I stand up so quickly the piano stool topples over and I reach for it at the same time as Benedict. Our hands briefly touch in mid-air, sending a spark through mine before I can pull away. He stares at me, the ticking even louder than before. “Y/N, you must know that you can confide in me.” “There is nothing to confide, sir.” “Benedict.” My face runs hot at both the insistence on his first name and the multitude of my confessions boiling so close to the surface. His features soften as he subconsciously draws closer and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding wildly. “We should go, everyone is waiting.” Before he can reply I rush out of the parlour, pressing clammy hands to my cheeks to soothe the fire in them.

Dinner is strangely quiet and whenever I glance over at Benedict I find him already looking at me. For the millionth time this week I wonder if I should not have discredited his motives so quickly, should not have dismissed his attempts at forming a tighter bond between us for the fear of falling too far. Is it possible I might have misread him all these years? Too blind in my self-deprecation, too caught up in worries about money and class when he never seemed to care much for these things, when perhaps he could have easily seen beyond them? Should I have rather flown too close to the sun than never have flown at all? When the children have gone to bed I linger with the others, barely engaging in the conversation over drinks but unwilling to embark on the hours of anxious brooding in the dark ahead of me. Eventually, the yawns become more frequent and one by one the Bridgertons retire until at last Daphne and I make our way upstairs as well. I halt as we pass the library. “I’m not quite tired enough for bed. I am going to peruse the books for a while.” Daphne turns to me, deeply mournful. “Y/N, I so wish you would tell me what is going on.” I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver and shake my head vehemently. “I can’t.” “Why ever not? Are we not confidants? I have always told you everything.” “And I am so grateful for your trust and friendship.” I envelop her in a tight hug. “I will be alright. Do not worry about me.” “How can I not worry when my best friend is so clearly unhappy?” She draws back to examine me once more. “I have had my happiness. With you, with your family. That shall be enough. Not everyone finds a happy ending.” “But you so deserve it,” she says, grasping my hand. “Both you and–“ She stops herself abruptly. “Who?” “Never mind.” I want to ask again but nod instead. She seizes a candleholder from a side table and lights it with the flame of her own. “Take this. And don’t stay up too late. We will speak again in the morning.” “Goodnight, Daph.” I slip into the dark library and carefully close the door behind me. After a few deep breaths I walk around the room, lighting more candles, until I am startled by a soft knock. With a sigh I move to open the door. “Daphne, please, can we–“ The words die in my throat. Benedict stands before me, carrying a grave expression. “I need to speak with you.” “Sir, you have to leave,” I splutter. “What if someone sees us? Daphne might still be nearby.” “She was the one to tell me where to find you.” “What, why?” “Because she knows.” “Knows what?” A long pause. Then he carefully pushes past me and presses the door shut. I can do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. “Sir, you–“ “Are you fond of your...”, he clears his throat, “your fiancé?” “Excuse me?” “It's a simple question.” My chest tightens as panic once again seeps into my veins. “I am hoping I can learn to be.” His eyes burn into mine, brimming with concern. “Y/N, are you scared of him?” “Sir–“ “Benedict, please. Please.” “No. I– I'm sorry, I...” I am so tired of crying, so I bury my nails painfully into my palms to hold back the tears. Still, I am shaking before him. He slightly raises his arms, as if wanting to pull me into a hug, and I wish more than anything I could let him without risking to fall apart entirely. “You must break off the engagement.” “I can't.” “Y/N, you're terrified. That is not a life you're entering, it is torture. And it’s killing us to know that you are hurting, that you might not be safe – it’s killing me. Is he choleric? I swear, if he ever laid a hand on you, I–“ “He already has.” “What?” “At the midsummer ball. He seized me in the gardens and touched me... Kissed me. Lady Clementine saw us and reported to my father. Father claimed that we were engaged and thus we were.” Benedict has turned to the nearest bookshelf, lips in a tight line, knuckles white from grasping the wooden board like a vice. He is trembling and my stomach sinks even further. “Did you explain the situation to your father?” he presses through gritted teeth, eyes boring into the volumes before him. “Of course. But he is deathly afraid of scandal. Our standing in the ton is on such thin ice as is.” “That's not true.” “Yes, it is.” Frustration starts boiling within me, one that I have been harbouring since I first set foot into their manor on Grosvenor Square ten years ago. All this splendour, so nonchalantly taken for granted by the entire family. All those visitors so obviously enchanted by the grand Bridgertons, never questioning their rightful place in this world. “You have no idea what it's like. Your father wasn't just barely rich enough to gain some footing in the ton but not to provide you with an appealing dowry. You have never been an only child, never had to be scared that your family's legacy might crumble if you ever step out of line for even a second, even when it's not your fault!” I am vibrating with restrained anger but quickly run out of steam when his face falls along with his shoulders. “You're right,” he whispers. “Please forgive me.” “I have to apologise as well. You have been born with an array of privileges from your sex to your wealth but I know that you do not flaunt them. However, my options aren't as wonderfully unlimited.” I swallow thickly. “So you see, I cannot end this engagement. My already slim chances would be ruined, who else would make me an offer after this?” “I would.” His reply is immediate, certain, and it crashes into me without warning. My mouth is dry, every nerve in my body alight. “That is incredibly kind, but I could never accept.” My voice nearly fails me. “You deserve a grand life, Benedict.” His eyes widen at the name finally spilling from my lips where I have kept it hidden for so long. “You will be a renowned artist, a gift for society in so many ways. And you deserve a woman you adore by your side, one who will never leave a stain on your good name.” “I have already found her.” His words hit me unexpectedly at first, an instant stab of jealousy in my chest. Then a lump forms in my throat as realisation sets in. A realisation I have never allowed and am not ready for still. “But I cannot seem to make her see that she has held my heart for an entire decade. That her smile and wit and artistic endeavours captivate me more and more with every passing year. That I could have lived with her romantic disinterest in me, had she found someone whose soul matches the beauty of hers.” “Benedict...” “That my name from her lips is the sweetest sound in the world.” “Please stop.” He pauses briefly. “Are you scared of me as well?” “Yes,” I blurt out, “I have been scared of you since the moment we met because you make me forget myself. You make me forget that you are entirely out of reach, that no matter how much I love you, I–“ My hand flies to my mouth, heart slamming into my ribcage. I stumble backwards while muttering senseless apologies. Benedict is stunned into silence. It feels like years pass between us. When he finally speaks, his words are hoarse and quavering. “You... You love me? All these years every advance of mine seemed futile because you thought–“ “Please forget everything I have said. Promise me you will.” “Forget? Forget the most wonderful words I have heard in my life?” “Benedict, I’m begging you…” I give into the tears at last. Whether they are born of desperation, frustration or simple pain, I can no longer tell. He walks towards me, a barely-contained storm on his face. “I refuse to live in a world where I do not hear you say my name every single day. Where I see you but once a year, your light slowly dimming in a loveless marriage. Carrying the children of that... bastard.” Now he is crying, too. “Please do not do that to yourself. Do not submit yourself to such misery. Whether you choose me or not, I will support you. I will do whatever I can to give you a good life. The life of an artist if you want it. That I can promise you. You will always have me.” He sinks down on both knees, his fingers carefully closing around mine. “And if you do choose me... I will do the same and more. I will give you everything I've held in for so long. My love for you will never falter.” I am frantically searching for reasons to deny him because none of this could ever be real, his skin on mine, his unbelievable offer in the air. My mind is reeling, trying and failing to catch up with everything that has transpired these past few moments. Years of dreams and longing, so briskly swept aside to reveal a glimpse at a reality that must be impossible because it always has been. “What would your family say?” I say shakily. “What would everyone say?” His hold on me tightens. “You know my family adores you and would accept you with open arms, no matter the circumstances. And I could not care less about anyone else. The gossip would die, it always does. Lady Whistledown would surely distract them with something else within a week.” A rivulet of hope trickles across my heart. “Could this... could this truly be?” “Tomorrow you will meet him in the city. All you have to do is talk to him one last time. I will be there if you want me to. Heavens, the entire Bridgerton clan will be there if you want us to.” We both chuckle through the tears. “You are not alone in this, Y/N.” I let his words sink in for a long moment. “And what if I choose you?” “Then we can go into town right after to pick out a ring and speak to the vicar.” His thumbs caress my knuckles reverently. “Will you? Will you do me the incredible honour of accepting my hand?” My knees buckle and I lower myself onto the floor before him. The blazing anxiety I have grown almost accustomed to has faded into glowing embers. After having wandered through hell for weeks, I find peace in his hopeful gaze, comfort in the soft contours I am so intimately acquainted with. A kaleidoscope of memories flashes before my eyes, all tinted in new colours. It has always been there, right in front of me: He loves me. And all I have ever had to do was say yes. “The honour would be all mine, Benedict Bridgerton.” A strangled noise escapes him before his eyes frantically scan my face as if they might find a single trace of doubt there. They could never. Not anymore. His hands come up, hovering beside my cheeks. “God, I really want to– Is it alright if I–“ “Yes!” He grins, breathless and blushing. “I haven't even–“ I lunge forward and press my lips to his. It is clumsy and overwhelming but also everything I have ever wanted. He almost tumbles over in surprise, but seconds later we are completely entangled, seeking each other's mouth over and over. Heart pounding, skin aflame, I am certain this is the happiest I have ever been. Because while my body nearly gives out with the strange exhilaration of it all, I also feel perfectly safe. As if this is exactly where I belong, where everything finally makes sense. In between kisses he whispers my name like a confession of love. It is from his lips. When we finally part for air we stare at each other with endless wonder, then start smiling deliriously. I reach out to cradle his face in my palm and he leans into it with a sigh. “Ben,” I murmur, the name unfamiliar but sweet in my mouth. He beams at me. “Come here, darling.” Without hesitation I let him pull me into his lap, just as desperate to be close. I no longer care if anyone finds us like this, am no longer terrified of scandal. Not when I know for certain that I will marry the love of my life, unfazed by gossip and propriety. I nestle into the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling his scent, revelling in the warmth and solidness of his chest. His arms encircle me as I feel his heartbeat slow. Knowing it was I who made it race in the first place fills me with a fervent glow. “Do you have the slightest idea how incredible you are?” I say quietly as I lean back a little to look at him. “I cannot believe you would have provided for me if my father had turned me away.” “Without hesitation. You're everything to me, Y/N.” “What would your future wife have said?” “I cannot imagine there ever would have been a wife.” My eyes widen. “Oh Benedict…” “Never mind that.” He gives me a half-smile. “I would have had my family. And hopefully you in some way still.” My heart aches for the unhappy people we would have almost become and I pull him in for another kiss, assuring him and myself that will never be us. Then I am hit with one more realisation. “Wait, when you said that Daphne ‘knows’, did you mean...?“ “About my utter adoration for you? Sweetheart, they all know. Always have. You were the only one who never seemed to see.” “But no one ever–“ “I made sure they wouldn’t bring it up. Although you can imagine how excruciating it was for them.” “But why? Maybe one of them could have pulled me out of my head for once.” He gently caresses my face. “I wanted you to find your own way. Whether it would lead to me or not.” My heart swells with love as I lean my forehead against his. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For waiting. For saving me from myself. For everything.” “You have always been worth it.” We once again lose ourselves in a long kiss and I wonder how I would have made it through life without even a fraction of this bliss. Eventually, Benedict draws back, pure warmth in his eyes. “As much as I would like to stay here forever, I’m afraid we have to leave. Daphne may or may not still be standing guard outside.” I raise a hand to my mouth, trying in vain to suppress the giggle spilling out. He grins widely, then releases me and lets me pull him to his feet. “She is truly the best friend one could ask for.” “Oh, make no mistake, she will use this against us for the rest of our lives.” I smile up at him. “And I will cherish every second of it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

MASTERLIST

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton fluff

[softtdaisy]

🌲 a walk in the past l Charles Leclerc

summary. this Christmas market has been your favorite for years. today, it's just a reminder of what you lost. of who you lost.

words count. 1,895

a/n. this is the story that inspired the whole angsty Christmas series. it's massively inspired by Cindy Lou who (please listen to Sabrina's ep). it's sad. it's Charles. I hope you will love it 🫶

a very angsty Christmas l masterlist

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

Ever since you were a child, you used to go to the Christmas market every year. It wasn’t even to buy a present. Just the pleasure of walking around this stall, hearing Christmas songs and seeing the pleasure on everyone’s face when they won a game, sharing a sweet and seasonal meal or just this magic thing that seems to make all the people here happy. It was one of your favorite moments of the year and you couldn’t miss it. 

Even if this year, you were close to skip it.

“If you think I would have let you alone in your apartment instead of enjoying your favorite time of the year, you were barking up the wrong tree.” your best friend replied, putting her arm around your shoulder to bring you closer.

You laughed at her gesture and appreciated this feeling of being loved. And not alone.

Something you sadly lacked these past months.

The reason you almost didn’t come this year was simple. It was Charles.

When you started dating three years ago, the Formula One season was coming to an end. You had met through mutual friends in Monaco and he always managed to see you when he came back home, sometimes even skipping time with his family for you -something you were arguing with him for.

Once he was finally free, this Christmas market was one of your first official dates as a couple. You were living a literal teenage dream, walking hand in hand with him, showing him all the places you had memories with -meaning almost everything. You let him buy your favorite sweet and a scarf that you never left after that.

And you did that every year. It was always the first date you had after the season ended. The first time you could act like a normal couple again. And even if Charles met some fans there, very few thanks to the beanie and the scarf hiding him, it still felt intimate. 

One night, after you drank too much wine and were watching the fireworks, Charles told you that at least he knew where he could propose to you. 

It has become your place.

Until he left.

Now it was only yours, alone.

Everything reminded you of him now. The stall with all the puppies where you were talking about adopting one and even thought about the name. The big pine tree where you added your own decoration together, like the tradition says. The photomaton where he kissed you and the picture that was still somewhere in your apartment because you couldn’t get rid of it. Or just every couple, being happy like you used to. You hated feeling jealous about these poor people who didn’t ask for anything but to spend a moment together.

It was hard to walk on the path of your biggest heartbreak.

“How about a hot chocolate?” Your friend asked you. Well pulled you because she didn’t really wait for your answer before walking to the stall. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t like you felt like making any decision anyway. You apologized to the little girl that collided with your legs and followed your best friend until you had to wait because there were too many people.

You looked around and noticed the stall with handmade Christmas decorations. You always bought something there, like your own tradition. “Do you mind if I go there while you wait?” your best friend agreed and you walked there with stars in your eyes.

Not thinking for a single second that going there would wreck your heart into millions pieces.

“Oh, miss little red beanie.” The seller laughed when he saw you, remembering the little girl you were before with your favorite red beanie, until you grew and it became too small for you. You started to look around the decorations, already noticing some new ones that you loved.

Until you heard a laugh. A very distinct laugh that you could have recognized everywhere. You still turned around to make sure you didn’t dream.

Oh how you wished you did.

Because there he was. Still looking as beautiful as before. With his outgrown brown hair hiding in his black beanie, a scarf you used to steal when you couldn’t find yours, eyes so shiny because of the cold and a red nose that you loved to tease him about. No doubt. Charles was there.

And he wasn’t alone.

You weren’t sure you wanted to look at her. To see who she was. How she could be better than you. Why did he choose her over you? Knowing would be hard. Ignoring it wouldn’t be that much better.

But before you could ever decide what you wanted, Charles turned his head. He felt a look on him.

No he had the same feeling he used to have when you were together. There was something different with you. Something magnetic that would always let him know that you were there, looking at him, even if he couldn’t see you. And it was back.

Your eyes met. And suddenly, your heart was breaking again. 

You couldn’t handle the idea of being around him with his new girl. So you did the first thing that came to your mind: running away. 

The perks of knowing this market by heart, you knew exactly where you had to go to avoid people and be at peace.

The con was that Charles knew it too.

“Please wait!” you heard him in your back. What a wonderful idea to have an athlete as an ex, especially one you’re trying to run away from. 

You ended up stopping, not able to go anywhere else without turning around and meeting Charles. With nothing else to lose, you accepted your fate. The terrible fate that you feared these past weeks. 

You really wondered if you would see Charles now that the season was over and he was around. Were there any chances that you would run into each other in such a big city? You thought you wouldn’t. You really thought you would be lucky enough to avoid this confrontation. 

Apparently the universe wasn’t a fan of this narrative.

“I had no idea you would be here, I wouldn’t come otherwise.” 

You laughed. How dare he? You had no idea what you hated the most. The fact he really thought you wouldn’t be there this year because of him. Or that he used this sweet and comprehensive tone like he was really sorry for you. If he was, then he wouldn’t have broken your heart out of a stupid boredom.

“Oh I’m sorry Charles” you said, turning around to finally face him “Do I bother you by being here, at my favorite place, the one I come to every year, the one I showed you because I wanted to live that moment?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” he sighed, putting a hand on his neck and biting his lips. 

You used to love this tic. There were always some moments in your relationship when you had a hard time distinguishing Charles the driver from Charles your boyfriend. Sure, it was the same person in the end. But the media and his PR team were creating a whole entire character around him, one that wasn’t entirely faithful to the real Charles you knew. 

And then there were moments like this where he wasn’t that overly confident driver that couldn't do no wrong. He was the man that you love, scared of saying the wrong thing, conscious that everything could come to an end one day. 

“So what?” you added, taking a step closer to him. It was a dangerous limit, because at any moment, the feeling of being that close would make all your feelings come back. From hate to love there was indeed one step, one you better not take if you didn’t want to come home with a heart even more broken. “If you knew I was there you wouldn’t have brought your new doll?”

You saw the change in his eyes when you said that. And oh how you hated seeing this look on his face. Because you knew it too, there was not one thing you didn’t know about him. And this one hurted, again. It was the exact same look Charles used to give when someone talked badly about you.

Suddenly, you weren’t the one being protected. You were the one he had to protect his new girl from.

“You’re being mean.” he added, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“I am mean?” your voice broke at that last word. “You fucking brought her here Charles! It was our place! It is my safe place and now you ruined it! Again!” this time you couldn’t resist and hit his chest with your fist. “Why do you have to ruin everything in my life?”

It wasn’t a real question. Or at least, you didn’t expect any real answer. What could he say? Because he wanted to? Because if you can’t be happy together, you shouldn’t try to be now that you are no longer a thing? Or maybe the worst one: he just didn’t think this through. It would mean you were never important enough for him to think about the consequences.

There was no world in which Charles truly thought about you when he broke up with you at the beginning of the year. When you thought everything was alright, when you were looking for an apartment together, when you had that stupid conversation about having a family one day. He dropped it. The “I’m not sure I can’t do this anymore.” Just like that.

Did he really think about you when he couldn’t give a simple explanation as to why he couldn’t do you anymore? 

A single tear fell from your eye and Charles watched it run slowly on your cheek. “I just wanted to apologize.” he whispered, taking your hand between his. But you immediately dropped it.

“That would have been a first.” 

You both stayed silent for a few seconds before you started to walk back to the market. This time, Charles didn’t try to stop you. It was worthless and he knew that. You wouldn’t stop. You had enough. And even he knew that it would be unkind to try again.

You whipped the tear right before you met your best friend, standing in the middle of the road looking for you. You grabbed a chocolate cup and kissed her cheek to thank her. “Where were you?” she asked, more concerned that you thought she would be. How long did you disappear for her to have the time to buy these drinks?

You turned around and saw Charles coming back too. You watched as he grabbed her hand and gave it a kiss with a big smile. Yes. Something he used to do with you too. “Such a gentleman” you used to say when he did that. But now you weren’t the one getting your hand kissed.

“No way…” you heard your best friend say when she saw them. “This can’t be true right?” she asked you. And you wished you could reassure her.

But the truth was there. Charles broke your heart at the beginning of the year.

And he broke what was left at the end of it.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc story #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 story #f1 angst #my writing #a very angsty Christmas

[adamstnheights]

Second Chances - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Ever since your unit merged with Task Force 141 one year ago, your dynamic with Ghost had been confusing to the others. At first, it just seemed like the two of you didn’t get along. Then, it was clear that you and Ghost didn’t like each other at all. But in the last couple of months, Soap has noticed a shift. Sometimes he catches you staring at Ghost during briefings, with some sort of a sparkle in your eye. He notices the way Ghost moves to position himself between you and someone who might not be trustworthy. He sees how you rush to Ghost’s side when he’s injured in combat and the way you whisper reassuring things to him as you tie a bandage around his wound. Surely… something must have happened between the two of you, right? Soap decides to find out for himself.

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Past relationship, Angsty flashback where Ghost is kind of really mean, Ghost not feeling like he deserves love, Near death experiences, Angst with a happy ending, Supportive bestie Soap, Talking about feelings, Making up, Reassurance, Soft Ghost

Word Count: 5.5k

Soap finally finds out the deal with you two during a night out drinking with the rest of the crew. You weren’t there, because you weren’t really one for drinks, but surprisingly, Ghost was also absent. He never would get as rowdy and excited from a night out as the rest of the guys did, but he’d usually never pass up drinks. Soap wondered if he was with you.

Soap thought back to earlier that day at training, how he noticed Ghost’s hand on the small of your back. With his other hand, he had patted you on the shoulder in a more friendly ‘Good job’ way, but the way his other hand brushed along down your back was certainly something different. Soap had stared wide-eyed from across the workout room, unashamedly, because he knew both of you were too caught up in the other to even notice. And he needed to commit all of his evidence to memory, anyways. Now, as he looked around at the table, conveniently missing both you and the lieutenant, Soap thought he might as well ask the question—see if he’s crazy for the things he’d noticed recently.

“So… er, anyone know what the deal is with Y/N and Ghost?” He asked.

Soap thought there’d be laughter or at least some smiles amongst the group, because there was absolutely no way that only he had picked up on the ways Ghost’s edge would soften around you. It seemed like a right opportunity for the rest of the guys to tease Ghost for acting all soft and sweet, but instead, the group fell silent.

“What the—um, did I say something wrong?” Soap scrambled. “I mean, come on, there’s no way I’m the only one who sees the way they make ‘fuck me’ eyes at each other during training, right?”

Gaz almost choked on his drink. Everyone else at the table looked over at Price. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“They— Uh— Look, you know the Lieutenant doesn’t like his shit being talked about,” Price said lowly, “But I think everyone here must have some idea of what their deal is… Well, they used to be together. Together together, probably about five or six years. The both of em were in the army for years, just in different units and such. But a… near death experience really got him fucked up. And around that same time, Y/N had been talking about getting married, but however jumbled up Ghost’s brain’d got from what happened—he said no. Told her they couldn’t get married because… for some reason he was absolutely convinced that he’d get killed in action and he didn’t want to hurt her like that. As if breaking things off with her wasn’t a million times more hurtful. And things were manageable when they were in different units, but two years back, her squad merged with ours, as you know. I think they were forced to confront what had happened. It’s fuckin’ obvious that Ghost’s feelings haven’t changed ’bout her. I’m sure he knows what he did was a mistake—he just doesn’t know how to admit it. They basically act like they’re married anyways, or at least, still together. It’s ridiculous.”

Soap couldn’t believe it. He’d seen Ghost make some poor decisions on the battlefield before, and the way he would always refuse to get medical attention after a particularly hard mission annoyed Soap to no end, but saying no to getting married to you was certainly the stupidest thing he’s done—Soap now knew that for sure. His heart broke just a little more for the secretive couple; the sweet, fleeting moments he’d caught between them now seemed even more bittersweet knowing their history. He wondered how on fucking Earth you’d put up with him for the past two years, seeing him practically every day you were on active duty. You were a strong woman for not punching Ghost in the face for what he’d done; Soap was greatly considering leaving the bar, finding wherever the fuck the lieutenant went, and doing just that.

“Fuckin’ Jesus… And… she’s just okay with that? And with being around him all the time after that? I would have requested a fuckin’ transfer the moment I realized,” Soap fumed, anger rising in his chest on behalf of you.

“I think…” Price stopped for a moment, really thinking about it. His mouth formed a somber smile and he turned more towards Soap. “I think she would rather see him every day, even if it hurts, just to have the reassurance that he’s alive and well.”

“What a right fuckin’ bastard,” Soap cursed. 

———

When the group returned to base, Soap passed by Ghost’s room on the way to his own. The door was closed, as always, and he couldn’t hear anything coming from the other side. It looked dark, except for a bit of dim light shining through the crack under the door, leading Soap to believe he was probably in there. He always betted on the Lieutenant living off of only an hour of sleep a night. Maybe he was just laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling like the strange fucker he was.

Soap slipped into his own room, hanging up his jacket in the closet. He hesitated, only for a brief moment, before stepping back out into the hallway and making his way over to the other side of the building, where your room was. Unlike Ghost’s eerily quiet room, soft music could be heard from the other side of your door as Soap approached. He knocked.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“Jus’ me,” Soap announced, knowing his accent was enough for you to know who it was.

You turned the music off and unlocked the door, opening it. 

“Hey, Johnny,” you smiled, moving aside to let him in. “Weren’t you and the guys out at the bar? D’you want to use one of my face masks again?” Whenever Soap got drunk, he enjoyed raiding your skincare collection. The last time he’d stumbled into your room after a night of drinking, Ghost had walked by your room as well (now Soap knew why he was stopping by) and saw you and Soap putting the scented, damp masks on your faces. Ghost had shook his head and mumbled something about the two of you looking ridiculous, to which Soap had said that they actually looked a lot like him! (Hey, L.T., there’s even little eye holes in this thing, kind of like your mask!)

Soap shook his head, much more sober than any of the nights that he came by for his silly shenanigans. The ride home thinking about your and Ghost’s history certainly sobered him up a lot. He knew it was truly none of his business, but the two of you had become so close over the years, Soap almost felt offended that you’d never told him before.

“Not this time,” he said softly, “I, er, wanted to talk to you, a’tually.”

You suddenly became serious, not knowing what he’d want to talk about. Was something wrong?

“Of course, what’s going on?”

Soap sighed. There was no easy way to ease into the subject. “Price told us about you and Ghost. I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but I pried and and we were all kind of drunk and he told us.”

“Oh.” You choked out quietly. “Right. I mean— He… everything?”

“Mostly,” Soap replied, “About you two being together for a long time before… and then something happened with Ghost and he pulled back from you… and him saying no—” You buried your head in your hands, a small whimper leaving your lips. Soap shut up and went to sit next to you on the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

When you dropped your hands from your face, your eyes were shiny with tears, and a few had run down your cheeks. You wiped them off with your sleeve quickly, looking at Soap with a pathetic smile. “I knew you were looking at us weird the other day,” you said, “When we were in the hallway talking, and you came up behind us and gave me a look… I didn’t know what you were thinking… I didn’t know if you’d seen the way I was looking at him.”

“Can I ask you something blunt?” Soap asked slowly, unsure if he should even be asking at all. You nodded. “Why… why’re you acting all civil ’round ’im? I mean… how can you stand to be around him after what happened?”

You remember back to what was the beginning of the end.

———

He’d been captured and tortured—almost to death—for a week before 141 found him. Price had called you the moment Simon was loaded into the ambulance, and you had rushed off of the base you were on to the hospital. You were in a different unit, so you had no idea what kind of a mission 141 had been on or what had happened. Even Price didn’t know everything—only Simon knew what happened in that torture chamber, and even then, a lot of it was lost from memory since he had faded in and out of consciousness. All Price had told you was that he was tortured (but that he was a good soldier, he didn’t give up any information) and that it was all too close. Simon had a fair amount of violent exchanges under his belt, more than you could count. But you could tell from the somberness in his voice that this time, it was really too close. You’d shuddered at the reality that Simon could have died. You’d pushed past everyone else and ran into the hospital room where he was.

He was groggy, mostly unconscious. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, slowly beating. You’d run to kneel at the side of the bed, resting your forehead on his arm. You were sobbing. Simon was awake enough to realize your presence, but he could barely move. His body was riddled with stab wounds, his skin was still stained with dirt and blood. As much as he yearned to sit up and hold you, he also wanted to push you away, not allow you to see him like that. He didn’t want you to cry. He didn’t want to feel helpless lying there while you worried. Somehow, he felt painfully guilty as you stayed in the hospital room with him without question, leaning against your jacket to fall asleep in a chair placed next to his bed.

Of course, Simon had insisted he go home the moment the doctor said it could be allowed—not a second later. You tried to convince him to schedule an appointment for physical therapy and he refused. You mistakenly suggested he take some time off, since the mission was over and he wasn’t actively on duty. He also refused. He said if something came up the next day, he needed to be available to go. You chalked up his refusal to Simon just being Ghost. You knew that side of him, the side that refused help and pushed on, past the pain. What you didn’t know was that laying in that hospital bed for almost two weeks created some kind of ugly rage inside of him, a mix of self-preservation and selfishness and self-sabotage. The moment the two of you got back to your apartment, he was different.

You knew damn well not to baby him, but you just thought that getting some take out from his favorite place would help him feel better, after having to put up with the hospital food and all. You suggested it, and Simon only grumbled and retreated to your room. You assumed he wanted to shower and get changed. After an hour passed, you pushed open the door to see him lying on the bed, back towards the door.

By the next month, his initial coldness seemed to wash away. He was seemingly back to normal, cuddling and kissing you in the mornings and cracking his usual jokes. But deep down, Simon still felt unusually gross. He felt disgusted by himself. He hadn’t felt that way in years, not since he met you. Now, he was having nightmares about being held up in that cell, taunted and stabbed and starved. Over the years, you’d coaxed him to open up to you about any nightmares he may have, any sadness or anger that may be creeping in. But this time, somehow, was different to him. He didn’t want to let you in to what he endured. He didn’t want you to be stuck with him and all of his burdens anymore. So, he would do what he did best: put on a facade.

Another two months passed by and soon it was your six year anniversary. You’d suggested setting up the dining room all fancy, since Simon wasn’t one to go out to eat. You lit candles and used your fancy plates and you put on an outfit you were saving for a special occasion. He had been quieter than usual, but you understood completely. You couldn’t imagine what he had gone through. You would try to get him to open up about his feelings another day. All you wanted was for him to feel loved on such a special day. You did most of the talking at dinner, and you began rambling about how much you love him and how you were grateful for him. As you became more emotional and sentimental, you felt as though it was the perfect time to bring something up. Nothing final or definite, necessarily. But it was something you and Simon had talked about before.

“...And maybe one day soon, we could think about really settling down…you know?” You’d looked up at him with wide, eager eyes, but met with an unfamiliar, blank look. A cold silence filled the room for an uncomfortable amount of time. Simon’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to.

“What? Are you askin’ me to marry you?” He sounded more angry than excited, and it made your stomach turn.

“I— I mean—” you began to falter, “I don’t have a ring or anything, no, but I mean, before you left a couple months ago we were talking about maybe getting married, and I just thought—”

“That was a long time ago,” Simon said.

You blinked. “So, what, you’re saying… you’ve changed your mind?” Tears began stinging your eyes.

“I’m saying that a lot of shit has happened since then,” he practically spat. You know what he meant, that the last mission—the torture—was going to weigh on him for a while; hell, it would probably affect him for the rest of his life. You weren’t one to expect trauma to be pushed to the side, simply “gotten over.” But you didn’t think it would take him away from you. You thought that you could be there for him, to support him, for the rest of your lives.

“So… what, y–you don’t want to be with me?” You choked out, desperate for him to just say what he meant.

“I don’t think we should get married.” Simon paused, looking down at the table. “And… I don’t think you should be with me.”

You froze. You’d heard him say that before, many times before actually, but it never had that much edge to it. He would say it quietly, when he was feeling self-conscious or sad and thought that he didn’t deserve you, and you would rub circles on his back and kiss him slowly and tell him how much you love him until he felt better. Before, it was a cry for help, a way for him to tell you that he needed your reassurance. But this time, it was a statement, a demand.

“You— You don’t mean that,” you tried to rationalize what he was saying. But Simon was too good; he didn’t break. He shook his head and even though you saw tears run down his cheek he was still being so mean.

“I’m only going to hurt you,” he pushed, “You shouldn’t be with me.” The stitches in his side were hurting him.

He was hurting you, he was right about that. You wanted to let out the sobs that were rising powerfully in your throat, but unlike every time before where Simon would hold you and soothe you, he definitely wouldn’t this time. So you choked back the sobs in an attempt to look slightly composed.

“Are you… asking me or telling me?” You asked.

“You’ll move on,” he continued, as if you hadn’t said anything, “You’ll be okay.” You hated him for not being able to just say the words I’m breaking up with you. But you understood the message loud and clear.

“Simon—” you cried out, desperately, asking him for anything more to work with.

“I think I should take a walk, get some air,” he said quietly, getting up from the table.

“Please don’t do this,” you begged. “We can– We can talk about this more, a–and work something out!”

“I don’t want… I don’t want to raise my voice or yell, love. Please… just let me go.”

You let him walk out of the front door. You had to hold yourself back from shoving everything off of the table. You cried and sobbed into your hands and curled up into a ball. Everything had changed.

Then, just like he predicted, Task Force 141 called him back onto base two days later. He didn’t even say goodbye but you heard him trudging out the door with his military bags that morning. When you got out of bed, you saw he left an envelope of cash on the dining room table. ‘Please take care of yourself,’ he had written on the envelope. You’d wanted so badly to hate him, but you couldn’t.

———

“I love him, Johnny,” you replied simply. Soap looked at you, almost in disbelief, but after observing you and Ghost for the past couple of months, he fully believed you. You continued, “And that’s not to say that we’ve always acted this way. For the first year or so afterwards, it was dead silence. We were in different units anyways, and after we split up I wouldn’t have been able to even see his face. But then our units were combined and I just had to accept it. It was almost easy to pretend like nothing happened. I just focused on my work and if I needed to address him, I only called him ‘Lieutenant.’ I was able to push back my feelings for almost a year and a half. But then I found him one night in the common area some months ago. He always had trouble sleeping, and I just kind of stood next to him and leaned against him. I thought he would shove me away, but he didn’t. There was…some kind of understanding. We kind of just started acting like we were together again, like nothing ever happened. It felt right, it felt natural to slip back into old habits. You know Simon’s not a man of many words, and I’m too scared to ask him what he’s thinking. I’m scared of driving him away again. He’s here, he lets me care about him and for him, and that’s really all I could ask for.” Soap coughed to stop himself from saying Bullshite.

“Well why don’t ’cha then?” Soap inquired, “Ask him, I mean. Force ’im to actually communicate for once. You deserve to get some sort’a closure, sweetheart. Truly, I mean, when Price told us about how it went down, I thought’a comin’ back to base and beating the shite out of him for being such a bastard.”

You sighed. Soap was right—nothing would ever come of this unless you took the initiative.

“I mean… What the fuck am I supposed to say?” You asked, breathing out heavily.

“Tell ’im exactly what you’re thinkin, how you’re feelin,” Soap said simply. “Somethin’ tells me that he’s probably thinking the same exact thing you are, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly, shaking your head and looking down at your feet. “I just… he just… didn’t want me anymore.”

“That’s what he told you,” Soap said, “Not necessarily what he really meant.”

“How do you know?”

“Jus’ do,” Soap smiled, “I promise ya that he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Price even said that you two already act like you’re married anyways.” You smiled halfheartedly.

“I doubt he wants that anymore,” you whispered, “I… I don’t even know…”

“It’s okay not to know everything right now,” Soap gave you an encouraging nod, “But if you still feel the same way about Ghost, and God knows he still feels the same way ’bout you, then what’s the harm in talkin’? It already looks like you’ve rekindled a lot, so if anythin’, you two only gotta make it official by putting your feelings out there. You’re allowed to ask for what you want.”

You nodded slowly, as if you were trying to convince yourself that it would work. Your mind flashed back to every fleeting moment you’d had with Simon since that one late night together, and you know, even if it’s hard to believe, that he still cares about you. Maybe he even still loves you. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, then,” you decided. Soap smiled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

Soap broke out into a grin. “So… what does he look like?” You snorted and punched his arm.

———

Later that night, you snuck off into the dining area to get a glass of water. The barracks were practically dead silent, as most of the other men who came back shitfaced were soundly sleeping. As if, somehow, Simon had overheard your and Soap’s conversation earlier, you found him standing by an open window in the common area. Almost exactly like the night you fell back into his arms.

“Hi,” you whispered, standing right up next to him, your sides touching. You looked out into the night sky, too, at the stars he’d been staring at.

“Hey yourself,” Simon replied softly.

He had a thick, black sweater on, along with his normal work pants and boots. He was wearing an all black balaclava. You missed buying him new ones for his birthday; sometimes you would try to get him to wear a different colored one, and he would oblige once or twice because, well, it was you. You also missed being able to see the locks of dirty blonde hair that the balaclava covered. Sure, you’d seen him full-faced multiple times over the past months. It was one of the ways that you knew he still trusted you. Maybe he didn’t like you anymore, but he trusted you. Some nights, you let him into your room when he couldn’t sleep, and you barely had to exchange any words. You’d lift up your blanket and he’d crawl right next to you. You’d tug at the balaclava gently and he’d take it off himself, letting you wrap your arms around him and massage your fingers into his scalp. It helped him fall asleep without fail. It looked like tonight was another one of those nights.

“Can’t sleep?” You offered.

Simon shook his head, still looking out the window. “Negative.” You smiled. He was always so formal.

You both stood there in silence for a few minutes, the wind outside blowing fresh, cool air into the room. The proximity of your bodies made your face flush. Simon reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He opened it and held it out to you, first. You could almost cry. Simon, ever the sweet gentleman, despite the reputation he made for himself, or the way he was convinced he was as a person. You took a cigarette out and placed it between your lips. He leaned closer to you, partially shielding you from the breeze coming from the window as he lit your cigarette.

After you took a drag, you held it out to Simon. He looked at you, through you, for what felt like the longest split-second, before taking it in between his two fingers and taking a drag himself. He blew out the smoke towards the open window. You tried to get yourself preoccupied with the stars in the sky again. He passed the cigarette back to you.

“They know about us,” you finally said, looking straight ahead of you.

There was a beat, but he didn’t flinch or make a sound. He turned his head to look at you. “Who, Price?”

“Not just him. Everyone knows now. Soap was the last one to find out, tonight.”

“Fuckin’ Johnny…” Simon sighed, his eyes not leaving you. You had to muster up the courage to turn and look back. “You okay? Did he say anything to you?”

“He told me to… ask for what I want,” you spoke slowly. Simon’s gaze was intense but concerned. You put the cigarette out on the brick of the windowsill, hands trembling.

“And… what is it that you want?” He asked, suddenly and somehow much closer to you.

“I want… you.” You turned to face him, nervous to make eye contact.

Simon laughed softly. His hand grasped the side of your arm gently and trailed down to hold your hand. “You already have me, love.”

You swallowed hard and took a step back from him. Your hand dropping from Simon’s left his hand cold and his eyes darted around your face, trying desperately to read it. You shook your head. “No,” you said, “Not like this. I don’t want any more of this sneaking around. I don’t want you like this, like we’re just trying to forget everything that happened, everything that we’ve been through. I don’t want this in-between limbo shit where I don’t even know what you’re thinking! I want you, truly, fully, a hundred percent. Like… like we used to be.”

Simon winced and he was grateful most of his face was covered by the balaclava. He knew you weren’t spitting at him, but he knew that you were implying that he was the one to have ruined it all. He was the reason there was a way things used to be. He thought about it every day. How he was the one to pull back from you, under the guise of protecting you, but he knew even then that it was bullshit. He was scared of himself, of hurting you, of possibly being responsible for hurting you. And—

“Simon?”

Your gentle touch to his arm brought him out of his mind. He looked down at you, your eyes were shiny with tears but you gave him a sweet smile. It only broke him more. “Say something,” you pleaded softly.

“Fuckin’ hell… I– I’m so sorry for everything. I mean it.” His own eyes were now brimming with tears.

“I don’t want to lose you again. I have you back in my life again and I’m so grateful, but we’ve just been dancing around it for the past two years, and I can’t—”

“You have me, I promise,” Simon reassured you. “Look, I ran away from you, from us, because I was a coward and couldn’t deal with my own feelings. I feel like— I felt like I just hurt everyone around me. And I don’t want to hurt you, so I thought that’s what I was supposed to do but I was stupid.”

“I thought you… didn’t want me anymore,” you whispered to the ground. “You were shutting me out, Simon.”

“Fuck, every day I was without you, I regretted everything I did and said. I wish I could go back and change it, be a little braver and hold your hand a little tighter and tell you that we would get through it together. I… If I’m being honest, I felt so out of control after 141 rescued me. The torture and all of that shit made me feel like the most useless person on Earth and I felt embarrassed that you still wanted to be by my side afterwards. I almost died. That was the closest call I’ve ever had in my life and it was fuckin’ scary. And I just thought about when I came home and saw my mum and Tommy and… the reality set in that you could come home one day and I’d be dead and I’d have hurt you. And… in my mind, family is a curse. If you’re my family, you get hurt. By me, inevitably. If you’re tied to me, you get killed because I’m too useless to save you in time. And marriage would mean that you would be tied to me. And my mind just— I couldn’t do that to you. In the hospital I’d have nightmares that you were the one being tortured instead of me. I convinced myself that you needed to get away from me, far away. So I gritted my teeth and I was mean to you and I was so fuckin’ horrible and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But I never… I never didn’t want you. I just thought… you’d be better off with someone else.”

You stared up into his eyes. His black eye paint was completely smudged by tears and he was almost trembling as you held his hands tightly.

“I’m not better off with someone else,” you shook your head. You leaned up and gently wiped away his tears with your pointer finger. The paint smudged onto you, and more of Simon’s skin was exposed to you. “I only want you. I want to be with you through everything, even the shit. I wanted to… after what happened… I wanted to help you. I wanted to be the one you could turn to. I don’t want to give up on this, on us.”

“I— I love you,” Simon whispered so softly, like if he said it too loud he would somehow ruin everything. “I never stopped.”

“I love you, too,” you broke into a smile, breathless, as he leaned down to bump his forehead against yours.

“Marry me.”

You almost choked. “Simon, come on, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “Marry me. Like we always said we would. Before I was a fuckin’ bastard to you. You don’t have to answer now, but I promise, I’ll spend the rest of our lives makin’ it up to you. Please?”

You felt like you were going to cry, you were so overwhelmed. Your composure broke and you let out a laugh and then a cry, falling forward into Simon’s arms. He held you tightly, resting his head against yours. He rubbed circles on your back and you clung to him, as if you might lose him again in an instant.

“You’re okay, love,” he whispered, “I’m here. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

Simon brought two fingers to your chin, slowly tilting your head upwards, inches away from his. It was as if the world stopped. You’d kissed him before, since joining 141. One night when he was lying in bed next to you, and you were both on your sides, facing each other, you had slowly inched closer and closer until his slow breath was tickling your face. His eyes were closed but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You’d nuzzled your nose against his and his eyes fluttered open, a small smile spreading across his face looking at you. He’d leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against yours. Your lips had moved against his, slowly and sweetly. And when you pulled away, he had smiled and held you close until the two of you fell asleep.

You’ve kissed him many times, quiet and sweetly, but it was always cautious. You weren’t sure if you were crossing a boundary or setting yourself up. Now, as his fingers cupped your chin gently and you looked up at him, you felt nothing less than confident as you leaned up and tugged the balaclava up over his nose. He smiled and leaned down as you leaned up and your lips met his. You melted into him and his other hand held your waist. His hands were shaky; he was nervous he may break you with all the love he had for you.

Breathless, you pulled away, your foreheads still touching. Your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck, toying at the back of the balaclava. Simon raised his eyebrow slightly, smiling down at you.

“My room?” You asked, a light playfulness in your tone.

For once, Simon felt like he could let out a sigh of relief. He had you back in his arms, a hundred percent this time. He held your hand, small in his, and squeezed. It would take work—every relationship does—but he was ready for it, the talking, the vulnerability, the opening back up, if it was you. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Yeah, love, your room,” he said lowly, “But not for sleepin’ this time, yeah?” He smirked and pinched your waist.

“Don’t get too cocky, Riley,” you cooed, yanking the balaclava back down over his chin, earning a laugh from him. You grabbed his hand and pulled him behind you.

Simon smiled. “Lead the way.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #mwii #mw2 #cod ghost #simon riley x you #my stuff

[soolarity]

Five Hargreeves SFW Alphabet

Five Hargreeves x gn!Reader - 5.6k words

Warnings: general spoilers for season 3, mild violence, food mentions, pretty angsty stuff five went through

Summary: An alphabetic collection of Five Hargreeves headcanons before, during, and after the apocalypse with you.

Here's my Masterlist!

A/n: Another work in the same month?? what a shock! This is sort of redemption for the sheer angst of my first five fic; out of time. I had so much fun writing this! But I’m also drained because holy fuck it’s a lot of headcanons. If you do want to know more headcanons though about five, feel free to send a request or an ask in my inbox! I’ll be more than happy to write short Five headcanons because he’s just so fun to write. Anyways, enjoy and please leave comments&lt;3

A – Affection

“how do they give or show affection?”

He would definitely be closed off and distant at first and especially around other people. It would take a long while, possibly even years to gain his affection. But once he does, he shows it through acts of service, small yet still important. Maybe he’d make you another cup of coffee or your preferred beverage, or he’d remember small details and interests about you that he’d bring up later on. He would also bring with souvenirs from wherever he goes, pushing it into your hands and grumbling that he had it and didn’t want it even though he actually bought it specifically for you. Behind doors, he would occasionally show physical affection especially when he’s stressed or jittery and needs someone to ground him to reality.

B – Beauty

“what would they find beautiful in their s/o?”

He would definitely find intellect beautiful. It doesn’t matter if you’re academically gifted or more street smarts, he would just love an s/o that is smart and knowledgeable about their passions even if it didn’t exactly align with his. Although he would appreciate it if he had someone to talk and debate about math equations and physics to, he also appreciates someone who listens to him madly rambling and add input into his ideas, no matter how relevant or not.

C – Comfort

“how would they comfort them? how would they like to be comforted?”

Five spent his entire childhood homeschooled in the academy and his adulthood in the isolating apocalypse so needless to say his empathy and comforting skills aren’t the greatest. He would be a listener, maybe not the best because he would interrupt to give (well-meant) solutions to your problems. He wouldn’t know how to act through physical comfort at first, instead he’d hover around you and sit beside you like a cat. After a long, long while he would be open to hugs but you’d usually have to initiate it. He’d grumble about how your tears would ruin his shirt but he doesn’t move away.

would have a hard time accepting comfort from others at first since he had to basically deal with the apocalypse by himself for more than 40 years and then the whole commission spiel. He gets antsy with any kind acts at first, expecting it to be fueled by a deeper nefarious motive. Once he does actually accept comfort, he’d appreciate someone who listens to him earnestly because most of the things he says sounds surreal to other people and he isn’t often taken seriously. He would be averse to physical comfort at first, nearly going to fight mode the first time he receives a hug, but later on he wouldn’t mind a hand on his shoulder or in his own hand, especially during difficult apocalypse flashbacks because it grounds him to reality.

D - Dance

“do they like to dance? how would they dance?”

Five would absolutely know how to dance, after all, Reginald forced them to learn how to formally dance in their rigorous training. Would he like to dance though? Definitely not sober, he’d have to at least be halfway through blackout drunk to even consider dancing. Or at the end of the world, seeing as how he had both at Sloane and Luther’s wedding. Once he has enough liquor in his system to make a regular person barely upright, he’d be pulling out the moves left and right. 50’s rock n’ roll, salsa, waltz, you call it he’ll dance it. Well, before he throws up from dizziness and passes out in an elevator. Outside of drunk dancing, I think he’d only dance if it’s required in the mission to blend in with the crowd or if he truly feels safe and in a sappy mood, he’d slowly sway with you once the apocalypse is finally over and his family and you are safe.

E - Excitement

“how do they act when they’re excited?”

He would vibrate at a volatile speed and a single poke to him would send him bouncing around the walls—I’m kidding. He would definitely be jittery though, bouncing his leg nonstop and grinning happily that’s slightly also unnerving due to the menacing glint in his eyes. He had lost hope countless of times during the apocalypse so he learned to stop hoping and being excited, but once he could finally be excited about something, he would stop at nothing to achieve it.

F – Future

“what are their plans in the future?”

13-year-old him would have probably planned to successfully implement time travel and become the world’s greatest professor or physicist in a prestigious university but 58-year-old Five wants nothing more than to retire. For the past 41 years, his future plans had just been to survive, figure out the equation, and go back home, he didn’t think about the rest. Now once the apocalypse is finally resolved, he’d plan to retire from it all. He’d love to travel around and do road trips with you while also nagging every time about any inconvenience like an old man (because he is). He doesn’t see himself settling down and having a child, mostly because he think’s he’s quite old to have a child and the unresolved family trauma still haunts him every time. He wouldn’t mind getting married, he’d love the tax benefits. Maybe the two of you would be the constantly traveling relatives of Claire, giving her cool presents and souvenirs from your travels together. And after a year of travelling around the world, he would want a suburban house with a picket fence and a nice wide garden. He’d have a field day gardening, planting flowers, and maybe even building a koi pond in the corner.

G – Gifts

“what gifts would they give you?”

He’d give you things you randomly said you needed or wanted some days ago and hand it over to you without a word. It could be a hobby gift or a handy item for your job or maybe something related to your interests. He’d also give you things that he likes and just pass it off as a gift even though he’d probably use it more than you would. He would also gift you acts of service like teleporting to get an item you missed or doing a chore you’ve been procrastinating to do without you asking.

H – Hold

“how would they hold you? how would they like to be held?”

He usually keeps his distance towards others, respecting their boundaries and at minimum only touching them to push or pull them in a certain direction out of frustration. He had done a lot of fucked up shit with his hands so he isn’t the type to give pats or hugs in affection. Although a scenario where he would be most likely to hold you would be if either of you were in a near-death encounter. It can be almost getting shot by commission agents or the impending apocalypse but he would roam over you with his hands, checking frantically for any injuries before holding you desperately. He’d grasp the back of your shirt tightly and slump over you in relief and desperation that you were alive and whole. After retiring from the apocalypse, there would be more fleeting touches such as a brush of hands or a protective hand on your back.

As to how he would like to be held, he definitely wouldn’t want to be treated like fragile glass. He’s a 58-year-old assassin, he doesn’t need pity or caution (or at least that’s what he’d say). Five would appreciate a solid hold, one that isn’t hesitant or scared that they might break him into pieces. He wants someone to hold him together and tether him to the ground on the occasion he jumps too far. He’d appreciate hand holding and the occasional hug when things get too much. As for cuddling, Five doesn’t have the time to cuddle in the midst of the apocalypse, but after successfully retiring without another apocalypse or the Commission hunting him down he’d be more open to the idea. The years of isolation definitely made him touch starved so the first time the two of you cuddled he’d toss and turn to adjust to the new sensation of being held. He’d like to be the big spoon but when he gets nightmares (which are frequent) he secretly craves to be the little spoon. He’d also cling to your side like a koala in his sleep with his face in the crook of your neck but vehemently denies cuddling you once he wakes up.

I – Ideal

“what’s their ideal date like?”

Due to the apocalypse, he has no time to consider planning any dates with an s/o, but after he retires, he would plan a simple yet cheesy dinner date under candle light. He doesn’t have much ideas about dating and courting due to being stuck in the apocalypse since the start of his teenagerhood but he distantly remembers having small dinner dates with his previous wife Delores whenever he’d scavenged a particularly good wine or food in the rubble. Now that he’s with you, he’d definitely struggle a bit with the whole dating thing but just give him a nudge in the right direction and he would quickly pick it up. He'd like private dates such as dinners or movie marathons at home to catch up on all the media he couldn’t enjoy before. He would be less open to public dates such as museum dates or zoo outings or pottery and painting classes, since he would always be hypervigilant and on the look out for any Commission goons despite being retired, or he’d pick a fight with the museum curator or art instructor. It's a flaw he works to fix but Five feels most at ease with only you in the safety of your home.  

J – jealousy

“do they get jealous easily?”

Five would have an immense amount of trust for his s/o to the point where he’d consider you his close confidant, best friend, and partner, so he wouldn’t get jealous easily. He trusts that whoever you interact with that it’s just platonic and just in case the other person did indeed have other motives such as flirting with your or something, he would trust you to put a stop to it or walk away from it. If by chance you were oblivious to the other person’s advances, he would step in civilly and bluntly tell the other person that you’re taken, not out of jealousy but more out of concern for your safety. If by the smallest chances you actually flirt back (which is a dumb decision honestly) he would just immediately cut to the chase and tell you ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ Depending on whether it was just your accidental over friendliness or something other he would either tell you that he didn’t like it and it seemed like you were actually interested in the other person or he would break the relationship with you if you weren’t actually faithful to him.

K – Kisses

“how would they kiss you? how frequently?”

Five isn’t really comfortable with PDA so kisses weren’t frequent, especially with the threat of the apocalypse onto them. At most he’d kiss your temple or forehead quickly as a habit before turning back to whatever equations he’d be solving. Although if Five was drunk, that was a completely different story. Five is an unpredictable drunk, but most often than not he’d toss all of his pride out of the window and show affection openly to you even in front of all of his siblings. Behind closed doors, he would be more comfortable kissing you. He’d be fond of temple and forehead kisses or if you were taller than him, he would do hand kisses, especially on your palms if he was feeling extra sentimental (which was a rare occurrence).

As for you kissing him, he would turn tomato red if you ever tried to kiss him in front of others and grumble or yell in embarrassment. Don’t take it to heart though, as much as he’d love to keep up his cold and unaffectionate act around others, he’d melt into a puddle when no one’s looking.

L - Love language

“how would they show that they love you? what love language do they enjoy to receive?”

Five’s language would be acts of service. Usually, he considers his time very precious and he always tries to make the most out of everything, discarding anything else that wasn’t relevant to his mission. For you though he would take time out of his day to check up on you and your well-being, especially in grueling times like running from an apocalypse. He’d also use his powers to fetch items for you and always arrive on time whenever you asked.

For receiving love language, he likes it when you spend quality time with him. It doesn’t matter if its brainstorming the next plan or frantically scribbling formulas on walls or drinking coffee in the morning in the kitchen. Five really treasures small quiet moments where there is nothing he can do but sit down with you and accompany each other in silence or soft conversation. It’s a rare break from the bumbling chaotic tornado that was his family.

M - Melt

“what are the things you do that makes them melt?”

He’s a tough person to get through and crack, but one thing that makes him melt every time is watching you fight. The reason why he would have you as an s/o in the first place is because he trusts you enough with his secrets, his heart, and his mind. He is constantly worrying about whether his family was alive or not and whether they could live beyond a few days, so seeing you fight and defend yourself puts his mind at ease and reassures him that he chose the right person to trust. Five also melts whenever he sees you interact with anyone of his siblings, whether you’re entertaining Klaus’ insane tangents, bond with Luther over his records collection or softly chatting with Viktor about anything, he adores it when you get along with his siblings and he definitely sees you as a part of the umbrella family now.

Another much more niche sight that makes his cold walls fall down and his insides uncharacteristically gooey is watching you stand in front a wall full of complex equations with your back turned from him. He doesn’t know specifically why the sight of you frowning in confusion at the lines of numbers affected him much but it took him a while to recover and stop looking at you with adoration. Although you might have not understood the complex formulas he’s written out, you try as you roam your eyes throughout the whole surface. It was like as if he exposed his entire heart and mind to you in a tangled-up ball of equations and you’re trying to untangle it, which made it even more complicated and caught you within the threads. Five often thinks back to it with a fond smile before frowning again once Klaus asks him what he’s smiling about.  

N – Nickname

“what would they call you? what would they like to be called?”

Five has always been blunt in refusing any other name ever since Grace gave them ‘regular’ names when they were children. For some reason Five sticked to him and he refused to change it. He wasn’t even that hung up on the whole ranking system either, he couldn’t care less who was the leader or number 1 among them. Five just had a certain ring to it. So, he’d be generally opposed to any over-the-top nicknames like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ and hearing ‘darling’ gives him flashbacks to the Handler and he’d rather not relive the things that woman did to him. He unwillingly has nicknames from Klaus, always unamused at whatever new name the séance would create for him. Although after a long time of being with him and possibly in retirement he wouldn’t mind ‘honey’ or ‘hon’. It was sweet but not overly and he responded to it whenever you say it from a room in your shared home. Once though when you accidentally slipped up and called him honey in front of his siblings his ears turned firetruck red in embarrassment but teleported to you nevertheless. Allison and Lila never let him live it down.

O – Obvious

“how obvious would they make their love for you?”

To the untrained eye, it was subtle, almost silent. He’d casually brush arms with you or hand you an item when you asked. He’d steal glances at you but he was a trained assassin so he was sneaky. To his siblings who know him and his habits well though, it is more obvious than Five would like it to be. Diego would catch Five’s eyes sometimes lingering a bit longer than usual on you. Viktor often saw Five prepare coffee exactly for two people. Lila once barged in a room searching for Stanley to catch the two of you talking in soft voices and softer looks, she had never once seen Five so un-hostile before. The entire family watched in a mix of fondness, shock, and slight disgust (lovingly) as Five became softer and more considerate around you.

P – Pets

“would they want pets? what pets would they have?”

Five hasn’t really though about adopting a pet before because he was so preoccupied with apocalypse after apocalypse after another apocalypse. When he finally retires though, having a pet wouldn’t be his top priority but he wouldn’t be entirely against it either. He would be the type to have unusual pets such as reptiles or maybe fish (although with Carmichael, maybe not fish). In the comics, Five has a small dog named Mr. Pennycrumb so he would most likely adopt a small dog, maybe a senior dog, and it would be the exact opposite of Five. There’s just something about seeing Five, the greatest assassin in the entire timeline, with a tiny hyperactive dog that couldn’t weigh more than 18 pounds. He is neutral towards animals but he would absolutely have a soft spot for Mr. Pennycrumb and let him run around his garden even though a flower will be uprooted by the excited tornado that is Mr. Pennycrumb. Five would carry Mr. Pennycrumb often and reluctantly let him back to the ground once he realized he needed his hands to do something. A favorite past time of Mr. Pennycrumb and Five is teleport-chase where Mr. Pennycrumb would chase Five as he teleports around the house until the both of them wear each other out.

The Hargreeves family would definitely get whiplash when you bring Mr. Pennycrumb to any holiday family gatherings. Klaus would rub his eyes repeatedly, questioning whether the dog was real or another hallucination, Luther first thought it was a stray dog that randomly waltzed into the mansion and try to adopt Mr. Pennycrumb before being heavily threatened by Five. Allison would just stare in shock while Claire would adore Mr. Pennycrumb, spoiling the dog with endless pets and belly rubs.

Q – Quiet

“how are quiet moments with them?”

Quiet moments are rare when all Hargreeves siblings are gathered together, some mischief or argument would always spiral into a rambunctious event. Fortunately, Five had the power to teleport anywhere he pleases which made it much easier to sneak away from Diego and Klaus fighting over a donut and into a much calmer place. If it was outside, you and Five would sit beside each other in silence, he would drink in his surroundings, bask at the intact buildings and sulfur-free blue sky, and mostly you, alive and breathing. Indoors, he would have some sort of physical contact with you, whether it be a hug, holding hands, or laying his head on your lap. Your presence away from other prying eyes made Five more relaxed and less likely to bounce around and wear himself out by thinking too much about everything. Your scent and your touch would silence every anxious intrusive thought that dared to interrupt his moment of peace.

R – Romantic

“how romantic are they?”

Five isn’t a romantic, he doesn’t know shit about modern dating and pet names and PDA, the closest he’s ever had to romance was his previous wife Delores but she was a coping mechanism he formed to keep himself from going insane in the apocalypse, and she was a mannequin. So, Five isn’t the most romantic, sappy, sentimental person, that title goes to Luther, but he when he loves, he loves the deepest and most intensely. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone for you, hell he won’t hesitate to die for you. When Five Hargreeves loves, he loves them with everything he has, even if it meant little to nothing but himself and his weary hands. He would risk everything to make sure you’re alive and safe and he wouldn’t know how to function if something happened to you. Although he isn’t the most perfect romantic partner, he would get the sun and moon and every star in the sky for the person he loves.

S – Safe

“how safe would they feel around you?”

Five was overly cautious to the point of being almost paranoid constantly and for a good reason. He had to fight ever since he was a child and endure the tortuous training from Reginald, survive by himself in an apocalypse for the other half of his life, then kill for a shady organization he had no choice but to join in. Now he was back with his family but constantly under threat of some sort of apocalypse and the Commission at the same time, he hadn’t had a second to relax and feel safe. Whenever Five was around you, as much as he’d like to say he’s comfortable around you, there is always a part of his mind overworking in the background for any threats or surprises. It would take him a while after the apocalypse to fully relax, but luckily with you by his side, he willed himself to ease into life without constantly looking behind him for a bullet or a knife. He would feel safe whenever your hand is in his, giving him comfort despite running away from enemies. He would feel safe when your arms are around him, fully trusting you not to stab him in the back like so many others did before. He would feel safe together with you in your shared home with Mr. Pennycrumb after the apocalypse. It almost felt too good to be true, almost like a dream or a figment of his imagination before you’d show him it was reality by squeezing his hand and pecking his cheek.

T – Take care

“how would they take care of you if you’re injured or sick? how would you take care of them?”

He’d immediately nag you about not taking care of yourself, which is bold considering he has been running for 45 years on nothing but caffeine, adrenaline, and sheer spite. He’d immediately wrestle you to bed, confining you until you get better and you know that there’s no way you could sneak out of the door without him immediately teleporting in front of you and bringing you back to bed arrest. Five would rush immediately to patch you up or place a cooling towel on your forehead. Even though his actions might be a bit rough, the concern and care bleeds through his actions and you don’t mind if he dabs antiseptic a little bit too hard or if he covers you with a blanket a little bit too tightly.

Due to the Hargreeves’ enhanced physiology, they rarely get sick. Oftentimes it would only be a small cough that would last less than a day but once a year they fall with the worst cold known to man. Five has it the worst, especially with how the stubbornly pushes himself to the limit until his eventual crash and burn. It would be difficult to take care of Five, he constantly tries to teleport himself out of bed until he falls from exhaustion. Luckily in retirement he has all the time in the world to recover and heal, even though you have to remind him more often than not. As a child he was picky with food whenever he was sick, often being forced to eat Grace’s chicken soup after numerous futile attempts to reject it. Now with you, Five eats whatever soup you make without hesitation, thankful that he had you to take care of himself even though he found it hard sometimes to accept it. Five would be torn in being extra clingy and wanting to cuddle with you and wanting to stay 50 miles away from you because he’d be scared that you’d catch the cold that he had and also become sick because of him. Until eventually he gives in and surrenders to the cuddling (you fall ill after a few days like how he predicted and he returns the favor of nursing you back to health).

U – Unique

“what is a trait that is unique to them?”

He is an absolute neat freak. He loves having all of his items in order and would dust everything until not a single spec of dust was left. When the Hargreeves’ visited your shared home (much to Five’s dismay), they were impressed by the sheer cleanliness and organization of the place, almost resembling an Ikea display house more than an actual lived-in home. Ever since Five was a child he was one if not the most organized of the umbrella children. His childhood room was immaculate every time, not even a single physics text book out of place. You would have assumed for it to be an adult’s room if it weren’t for the toy airplane model hung on the ceiling and the small twin sized bed. Since the apocalypse, his cleaning habits have gone to possibly concerning levels. He had to survive in a desolate apocalypse, anything sanitary or clean of rubble was a luxury Five rarely encountered. So, once he was able to retire with you and have his own home, he made sure to take care of everything and never once take the intact house for granted. The only times Five would be caught with scattered items or a messy environment was when he was under extreme stress. Five would be too preoccupied in stopping the apocalypse to care about cleaning any mess and would just start scribbling on the walls frantically. Luckily you picked up on the habit and only stocked up on washable or whiteboard markers in your home, just in case Five needed to go on another math marathon.

W – Wish

“what is their greatest wish?”

Five’s greatest wish is for his family to live long, healthy, and happy lives. It was what kept him going through all those years, to have the opportunity to warn his siblings about the future and save them from their deaths. As much as he loves to complain about his brothers or roll his eyes at his sister, he would sacrifice anything for them, and he technically already did. Five’s survival instincts were held together by the glue that was the thoughts of his family, it had been a long 41 years and it would be more than impressive if he hadn’t thought about giving up at least once, but he kept on running back against the tide of time to save the ones he loves.

X – Xmas

“how would they spend their holidays with you?”

Five’s memory of his childhood was foggy, it was impressive he even remembered bits and pieces of it considering his age and the trauma from his childhood, but Five never once remembered celebrating Christmas as a child in the Umbrella Academy. Reginald was a man (or monster) of logic and thought that holidays based off of religion and culture was unnecessary and stupid so he just remembered spending Decembers with his siblings looking wistfully at strangers decorating across the street or walking with gifts in hand.

In the apocalypse, Five had no reason to celebrate holidays, he barely even knew what day it was half of the time. He tried to keep track of time through clocks and calendars but no other calendars went beyond 2019 and most clocks were broken or eventually stopped working. Five didn’t want to waste resources celebrating alone in the apocalypse, so he eventually forgot of it entirely.

After retiring, Five had to adjust to normal life again, but not alone. You had introduced him to celebrating milestones and holidays. You made hot coco (although Five found it too sweet and swapped it out with coffee with a festive whipped cream), you watched cheesy hallmark movies, and you decorated your home. You had also convinced the Hargreeves siblings to arrange another gathering despite the horrors that might unleash having all Hargreeves siblings in the same place once more. Five and you were finally the ones decorating their house across the street and walking home with heavy bags filled to the brim with gifts. Five surprisingly was an amazing gift giver. He had a talent in knowing exactly what the other person wished for, whether the gift was an item said in a passing conversation or something useful to them. In the celebration Five was lovingly suffocated (Five’s wording) by his siblings for his gifts and most importantly his presence that brought the group together as a family.

Y – Yearn

“what do they do when they miss you?”

Five was bitterly familiar with the feeling of yearning, he had a whole 45 years to be friends with it in the apocalypse and in the Commission. He had a love-hate relationship with it, if you will. With that many years of yearning for his family and his past, Five had developed a system to overcome it. Was it a healthy one? Probably not. He would toss himself into his work, figuring out equations or assassinating targets to distract himself from the aching pain of longing. For you, Five surprisingly hasn’t had much opportunities to yearn yet. Although Five doesn’t look like he’s clingy, he most definitely is. Wherever you are, he also appears. He cannot be further than a 4-meter distance away from you. When in the rare case that he is, he tosses his entire focus onto his work and his mission again, frantically finding the quickest way back to you. Once you finally return from what you had to go to, he’d visibly slump in relief. He would casually ask you how it went before checking if you had been injured in any way, but internally he would be so relieved that he wouldn’t have to yearn for you to come back because you were back and you were with him.

Z – Zzz

“how do they sleep?”

He has two sleep modes, A. He sleeps with basically his eyes open and even the smallest noise will immediately send him to fight or flight mode, or B. He sleeps like an old man and is dead to the world until 6am when he punctually wakes up every single time.

The first sleeping habit wasn’t fully there during his academy training childhood but it fully hammered into him once he worked as the Commission’s temporal assassin. He had to be ready at any moment and never let his guard slip, but if often lead him to be more worn out and tired. In his more youthful days, he would’ve turned sloppy and could have been almost overpowered by his opponent, but now he has trained himself to work with even the smallest amount of energy just for survival.

The second sleeping habit was from when he was truly a child, before the grueling missions and training. He was always the last of the siblings to wake up and would have been the last ones to arrive at the table if it wasn’t for his teleportation abilities. After retiring it would take him a while but eventually, he started sleeping like that again. He could finally rest easy with him clinging onto you like a koala and not be woken even by Luther’s heavy footsteps. His habit of waking up precisely at 6am came from his age, (well mental not physical) he woke up exactly at the same time the sun rose.

Although he was an insomniac due to going for days without sleep to try and stop the apocalypse, now that he was retired, he had no reason to skip sleep, he had all the time in the world. He also surprisingly isn’t a night person despite his insomnia, he would much rather sleep at 9pm after reading for a bit and wake up bright and early (which is very old man of him). If you were a morning person, he’d spend a few minutes in bed with you, basking at the new sunshine before shuffling the both of you to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. If you weren’t a morning person, he would wake up first and stare at your sleeping self with so much love and adoration that Five would rather die than be caught in the act. You would wake up to an empty bed in slight panic but the smell of pancakes and the clanking of pans in the kitchen would quell your anxieties as you go to the kitchen to greet a cooking Five good morning. :)

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves angst #five hargreeves fluff #five hargreeves headcanons #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #five x reader #five x you #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves oneshot #five hargreeves x y/n #five x y/n #tua #number five #the umbrella academy imagine #tua x you #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #aidan gallagher x reader #five hargreeves fanfiction

[jae-bummer]

It's Only Lunch

Request: I just binged through My Idol Season 1&2 within a day and I’m in love with the way you write!! Then I saw your requests are open and I was even happier, cause I’m in desperate need of some idol!DK x nonidol!reader fluff :( I don’t have anything specific in mind you can do whatever you want, it can be angsty too if you want, just please give him a happy ending. There’s just not enough DK on this app in my opinion :( I hope you’re doing good and have a great day and if you ever actually write this then tysm!! 🩷🩵

Pairing: Seventeen DK x Reader

Genre: Fluff

.

"Hey, Y/N."

Looking up from your desk and towards the door of your office, you smiled. "DK, what brings you here?"

As soon as his name left your lips, you could see a bashful expression cross his face. Glancing down to his shoes before looking back up to you, he offered a tentative smile. "I just happened to be in the building and thought maybe you'd like to grab lunch with me?"

Blinking back in surprise, you cleared your throat. Technically, you and Dokyeom were coworkers, he an idol (obviously) and you working in the lower levels of management at Hybe. You had been part of the production crew for many a Seventeen project, so you had grown familiar with the guys over the years.

DK, more often than not, was the member that seemed to naturally gravitate toward you. When ordering lunch, passing out water, or resting on a break, he seemed to subconsciously seek you out. His shyness was adorable your first few run-ins, but once you realized he may have had a crush, you were already in far too deep yourself.

"I brought my lunch today," you managed, the words tasting sour in your mouth. "I was hoping I could take it at my desk to work through some things I'm behind on."

It wasn't a lie. You did need to catch up, but you also couldn't admit that hanging out privately with DK scared the crap out of you. He was gorgeous, side-splitting levels of funny, and completely unattainable. You knew if you spent more time around him, it wouldn't be long until you caught feelings.

"Oh," he chirped, beginning to nod. "Yeah, of course, I understand."

"Maybe next time though?" you asked, desperate to see that smile light up his face again.

"Of course," he hummed, giving you what you hoped for, but not nearly as genuine. "I'll stop by again when I'm back in the building."

And that's how the new routine began. At least once a week DK would show up in your doorway and you would think of a new and creative excuse not to fall in love with him.

Nearly a month after his original visit, you were typing out a relatively important email when your favorite nuisance showed up.

"Y/N," he drawled, leaning against the door frame. "I think I know your answer, but I'm here anyway."

You smiled sheepishly, ducking your head in an attempt to cool the heat scorching across your neck. You knew he would likely catch on to your MO, but you hadn't realized how embarrassing being confronted would be. "I'm sorry, DK. Things are so busy with your upcoming promotions and-"

"Can I at least grab your lunch for you from the common area?" he asked, tilting his head. "It'll save you a few steps."

"Sure," you nodded. He was incredibly sweet, which made it suck even more. "It's in the purple bento box."

"You got it!" he smiled, giving a quick spin before launching down the hallway.

You really did need to suck it up and either tell him to quit coming by or accept his advances. Just because you were a coward didn't mean that he needed to suffer. You were better not being perceived by anyone at his level of attractiveness. It would only be a matter of time before you somehow did something mortifying and turned him off forever.

After plugging away at the email for a few more minutes, you furrowed your brow and looked toward the hall. Surely, he should have found your food.

Just as you were about to hit send and head out his way, he appeared again. Holding your bento, his face was twisted in confusion. "This is yours, right?"

"Yeah," you said slowly. "Why?"

"Well," he sighed. "I looked for it everywhere in the fridge but couldn't find it. I moved everything around and was about to give up when I noticed it out of the corner of my eye. It was sitting in the communal sink, empty."

"Empty?" you muttered, standing. Crossing the room toward him, you took the lunch box from his hands. Sure enough, there was not a trace left of the food you had packed that morning. "I bring the same box every day. Who would eat out of it?"

"Did someone new start?" he asked, tilting his head. "Someone could have done it by mistake?"

"I guess," you sighed, dropping it on your desk. "I guess I can order in..."

"Why don't you let me go grab something?" he asked. "We can eat together in your office, so you don't even have to step away."

The hopeful look in his eyes crushed what little self-preservation you had left. This option really provided no wiggle room for an excuse. "I don't want to make you go to all that trouble..."

"No trouble at all!" he smiled, already turning away from you.

"Wait," you sighed, teetering on the line that you had drawn for yourself. "Let me send this email and I'll come with you."

"You will?" he gasped, but immediately schooled his features. "I mean, sounds good."

Mentally preparing yourself to rip off the Band-Aid, you may have spent a bit longer on the email than you had intended. It was difficult to think clearly with DK wandering around your space, peering at every framed picture and book you had haphazardly stacked around.

"Ready?" you asked, after reading through what you had written for probably the thirtieth time. At this point, you would just hit send and hope for the best.

"Born ready," he smiled, his eyes disappearing into crescents. "There's this really cute noodle place right down the street. I was thinking we could go there?"

Your brain fished around in its recesses for the restaurant he was talking about. If you could recall correctly, it was a notorious spot for couples. The thought made you swallow, hard. "Sure."

"Perfect," he hummed. "Madam?"

Offering his elbow to you, you hesitated before taking it. So, this was really happening. You were going to break down and go on a not-date with Dokyeom. He had labeled it as just "grabbing lunch," but why did you feel like it was so much more?

As you would realize later, it was because if you gave an inch, Dokyeom would take a mile. It wasn't long into your walk before he started complaining about it being sweltering outside. The weather was only 24°C, so it was hardly balmy. After peeling off his jacket, he quickly switched up to holding your hand.

Glancing down in surprise to see his long fingers intertwined with yours, you looked back up to him, wide-eyed.

"Is this okay?" he asked cheerfully.

You gave a silent nod before fixing your eyes in front of you again. You were so screwed.

.

Against your better judgement, lunch with DK was a blast. Being around him was so effortless. As you talked over jajangmyeon, it was easy to open up and show sides of yourself that you only reserved for those closest to you. You didn't realize you were even doing it until after you already had, making you go into an overthinking spiral of whether or not you were sharing too much.

In the end, it didn't really matter because Dokyeom seemed to like it that way.

When he returned you to your office, he gave you a long hug before insisting on coming by again soon. After everything, you sat behind your desk, a bit numb in the aftereffects of all things DK.

He hadn't asked for your number and aside from holding your hand, he really hadn't made any advances. His body language was overwhelmingly flirty, but you weren't sure if that's just how he was naturally or not.

"Accept it for what it is," you muttered to yourself, shaking off the cobwebs in your brain. Even if things didn't cross over into "more than friends" territory like your heart was already considering, just having him as a close friend would be fulfilling enough.

No matter how many times you told yourself that DK was just displaying normal, friendly behavior, it was all thrown out of the window when he showed up again the next week.

Carrying a bouquet of what looked to be a mix of wildflowers, he strode up to your desk and sat on the edge. "Now, we've made remarkable progress last week when you had no other options but to have lunch with me. Can we defy the universe and have it happen again?"

You let out a surprised snort. "Maybe if you gave me an idea of when you were coming, I'd be more prepared to leave the office."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked. "These are for you by the way."

"I would have been only a little heartbroken if you came into my office with flowers that were not for me," you smiled, taking them from his hands.

"So, are you setting me up for a gentle letdown?" he asked, quirking a brow. "Or are you wanting to try the new burger place a block down?"

"I really-"

"Need to finish up this project, so I'm working at my desk," he finished with a soft smile.

"But this time, I really do mean it," you laughed.

"You didn't before?!" he gasped.

Shit. You didn't want to let that little factoid slip. See, this is what happened when you let your guard down around him.

"I may or may not have been avoiding your lunch invitation for a few weeks," you winced. "But you're intimidating!"

"On what planet?!"

"Earth!" you groaned, hiding behind your fingers.

DK sighed before sliding off of your desk and facing you. "I'll forgive you if you come eat with me."

"Well, that's not fair," you pouted.

"Fine," he harrumphed. "I'll just have to take it into my own hands like last time."

"Like last time?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Covering his mouth with his hand, DK stood as still as a statue.

"You know," you grumbled, crossing your arms. "You're not going to get out of this by hoping I forget about you because you're not moving."

"It would work if you were a t-rex," he muttered, dropping his arms to rest at his side.

"Spill it, Seokmin," you sighed.

"I accidentally ate your lunch last week," he said quickly.

"I'm sorry," you laughed. "You what?"

"When I was grabbing your bento out of the fridge, I had a lightbulb moment," he whined. "I thought if you didn't have your food, you'd be forced to eat with me...so I just...inhaled it. You make excellent bibimbap by the way."

You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or smack him. "You set me up!"

"Because you were avoiding me!" he exclaimed, sending an accusatory finger your way. "You said it yourself!"

"Because you're intimidating!" you repeated.

"How?! How am I intimidating and why is this news to me?!"

"You're incredibly dreamy!" you blurted. "And I was scared that I was going to fall for you, alright?"

DK took a small step back as if you had actually chose to smack him. He kept quiet as his wide eyes blinked at you.

"Please say something," you whispered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

At a painfully slow rate, a smile spread across his lips. "You think I'm dreamy?"

Plopping into your rolling chair, you leaned against your desk, and hid in the fortress of your arms. It was not physically or mentally possible for you to be more horrified.

"Y/N!" DK cooed, immediately stepping around to where you were sitting. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he rested his chin on your head. "That is the cutest thing I have ever heard."

"I hate it," you muttered into your sleeves.

"I don't," he chuckled. "And if you haven't figured it out by now, I think you're pretty dreamy too."

"Really?' you squeaked.

"You think I offer to buy lunch and flowers for Mingyu once a week?" he asked. Nuzzling his face into your hair, he laughed again. "I guess we were both hiding something from each other."

"I can't believe you ate twice just to get me to go out with you," you muttered, finally sitting up.

"You're worth the stomachache I had afterwards," he smiled. "I was scared that if I tried to kiss you, the nerves would make my stomach pop."

"Please tell me you didn't eat my lunch again today?" you joked. DK's lips fell into a flat line as he looked away from you. "You didn't!"

"I was prepared to do whatever I had to do!" he gasped. "Now are you coming with me to lunch or not?!"

"Yes," you laughed, shaking your head. "I absolutely will."

#lee seokmin #dokyeom #dk #seventeen #svt #seventeen seokmin #seventeen dk #svt dk #seventeen dokyeom #dk x reader #dk fluff #dk fanfic #dating dk #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt fanfic #seokmin x reader #seokmin fluff #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom fluff

[wolfjackle-creates]

For the ask game, I feel like #1 and #13 go really well together. Cuddle curse plus drugged/cuddle drunk confession. Maybe with just a dash of #3 Misunderstandings if the recipient thinks it's just the cuddle curse talking.

Perhaps in the flavor of platonic Dead Serious (Danny/Damian)?

Since you specifically said Platonic Dead Serious, I hope you're okay with a Twin AU. Because I've had one on the backburner for almost a year now that's never been written. This wouldn't technically fit that fic, but it's still a trope I adore that I haven't written.

This will be about a month or two after Danny ends up at the manor. No secrets have been revealed yet. The Waynes only know that Danny wasn't safe where he was and came to Bruce for shelter. Danny only knows that they know about the League of Assassins but nothing about their nightlife.

Okay, wow, this got long. It has no right to be as long as it is. Anyway, enjoy the 2.8k of shenanigans I wrote! (It's way less angsty than I expected, tbh.)

-----

Danny walked into the library only to see Damian and freeze.

Damian stared back at him, neither moving a muscle.

Danny was the one to break the silence. "Damian."

"Danyal," was the curt reply.

Danny glared at his twin who ignored it and turned back to what he was working on.

"That's it!" shouted Dick.

Danny jumped. He hadn't seen the man standing off to the side; he'd been too focused on Damian.

"You two have been dancing around each other ever since Danny got here. Now, I don't know what history you have since neither of you will talk about it, but you have to at least be civil to each other. So you're going to have a bonding day tomorrow."

"Richard!"

At the same time, Danny said, "No!"

Then the twins were back to glaring at each other.

"He won't even call me by my name," protested Danny. "I hate Daniel and Danyal. I'm Danny."

"You are a Wayne and grandson to the Demon Head. It is beneath you to go by such a ridiculous diminutive."

"Oh yeah, because I want to be reminded of Ra's every time someone talks to me."

Dick physically moved between them. "Enough. This is what I'm talking about. Come on, there has to be something you both enjoy and can do together."

Danny shrugged. "I enjoy lots of things. Just not weapons and fighting because I spent too much time doing that when I was little. Now I just want to be a regular American teen."

"And the interests of 'regular American teens' are banal and insipid. I will not waste my time partaking in them."

Dick looked between them with his eyes narrowed. "You know what, there's a carnival in town right now. You will both be going there tomorrow for the morning. You can compete at the games if you need to compare skills, Damian. And there's junk food and sweets for you, Danny. Then after, I'll take you to the animal shelter to do an extra volunteering shift. That way you spend some time alone together to figure out your differences, you'll be in public the entire time so I don't have to worry about anyone being stabbed, and it caters to both your interests."

"I do believe that is an excellent idea, Master Dick."

Danny jumped again at the unexpected voice of Alfred behind him.

"In fact, I will drive you to the carnival myself. I expect both of you to be downstairs and ready to leave by nine thirty tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Pennyworth," said Damian. But based on his frown, he was not happy with the discussion.

Danny looked between Alfred and Dick, but couldn't think of a way to back out. "Fine."

---

Not even half an hour after they'd arrived at the carnival, Danny was ready to tear his hair out. And had sent several messages to Dick stating as much.

Damian was sneering at the people, at the food, at the very mud on the ground.

"It's mud, Damian. It won't hurt you."

"It will require me to do more work to clean my shoes before we can enter our home. For no benefit, either. This place is horrendous."

Danny sighed. "Can't you just relax, Dami? You're safe. No one is going to beat you if you let go a little bit."

"No. I can't." Damian moved faster, forcing Danny to half-run to catch up.

"Look, the game booths are up ahead. Let's see if we can't win some prizes. I'm sure Dick would love it if you gave him something you won."

"Everything is cheap and ugly."

"Exactly the sort of things Dick likes!"

"Very well."

With Damian next to him, Danny didn't dare cheat. For his first prize, Damian selected a large, stuffed elephant. Though after he'd received it, he stared at it with no idea what to do next.

"You carry it around with you! We want to have so many prizes between us we can barely walk."

"That seems idiotic."

Danny nudged him. "Look, they're stuffed animals. I'm sure the shelter will take any you don't want to keep."

Damian hummed just like Bruce and made his way to the next booth. Danny won that round and the competition was on.

The next half hour passed much more pleasantly than the first. Until the ground started moving under them. Danny and Damian were two of the few who kept their feet as vines shot up from the soil and wrapped around the rides and huts and trailers.

Poison Ivy rose above them all and began screaming about how this meadow had been home to an endangered flower before the fair destroyed the habitat.

Danny and Damian both moved towards the woman rather than away like everyone else.

But Poison Ivy wasn't done with her monologue. Buds swelled on the vines. "Now, to distract you while I destroy this corporate evil."

"Come on, Damian!" called Danny. A bud burst open into a flower in front of him and Danny tried to duck, but it released a puff of pollen.

Both he and Damian got a face-full. Instantly, Danny could feel a tingling spreading out from his lungs and he reached back to grab Damian's hand.

"Any idea what that was?"

Damian gripped his hand just as tightly and the two continued to fight their way forward, now close enough to bump shoulders.

"Dr. Isley has many pollens with different effects. What symptoms are you experiencing?"

Danny shivered and pulled Damian closer. "Cold which is weird. Cold hasn't bothered me for years now. And I feel itchy. Are you feverish? Your hand feels warm."

Damian moved in closer until their arms were pressed together and Danny felt some of the cold recede. "No, but I know what we have been attacked with. It is a pollen to promote physical closeness."

"Cuddle pollen? Seriously? Sounds like something I would've had to deal with back... Just before. Isn't Gotham known for things like fear toxin or whatever? Cuddle pollen seems out of character."

"Dr. Isley is more concerned with her plants. If she can keep the humans preoccupied and stop them from interfering, she doesn't much care how it's done. And it is hard to fight her when you are desperate to hold onto each other."

Danny slipped on the moving ground and ended up pulling Damian down on top of him.

Oh. He understood now. With Damian pressed up against him more fully, the stuffed elephant squished between them, nothing could have enticed him to let go. He wrapped his arms more securely around Damian.

Danny sighed and dug his fingers into Damian's shirt. "We should call the others. Let them know to stay away for a bit." And then he remembered how much his brother hated him. "Or, I suppose, come sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you don't like having me around. I can't imagine being forced to cuddle me is pleasant for you. If the others get here, you could go to Bruce or Dick."

"I do not like touch regardless of who it is. Dr. Isley's pollen is one of my least favorite toxins to be affected by, though it causes the least amount of damage. But you... are not the worst to be here with."

Danny watched as vines destroyed more and more of the carnival around them. After a while, he said, "High praise from the Demon Heir. Then why do you leave whenever I walk in a room?"

"I killed you. I did not think you would wish me around."

Danny's mouth fell open but it was only a moment before he was laughing so hard he had to stop breathing. He clutched Damian tighter and buried his face in his brother's neck as laughter shook his shoulders. His lungs would be screaming if he were still alive.

Damian tensed in his arms and pulled an arm away from Danny to fumble for something in his pocket. The cold rushed in which allowed Danny to finally draw in some air as he pushed closer to Damian.

"Richard! Yes, we're caught in the attack. Dr. Isley is using her ridiculous pollen. But, I think there might be something else in it, Danny is laughing as if he's been hit by Joker Venom. I feel no such affects as of now and we were dosed at the same time."

"No, no," Danny gasped out. "Not venom. You just— You think I'd be mad over a little murder?" Danny couldn't help but fall back into his laughter.

"You're... not?"

Danny shook his head into Damian's neck. "No, 'course not. What's a little murder between family? 'Sides, you didn't have a choice. I'm dating my second murderer, you know. She didn't have a choice either and the nightmares still keep her up some nights. And if you hadn't killed me that first time, resulting in Talia reviving me with the pits, I never would've survived my second and third deaths. Though... technically due to reasons, the second death never really happened which is why Sam had to kill me the third time. She knew I'd come back."

Dick's voice came through over the phone speaker, clear enough for Danny to hear it with how close he was. "What do you mean you've died three times!"

"I wish to know as well."

Danny shrugged. "Damian killed me when we were eight. I died in an accident at fourteen. That death was undone by a genie a few months later and my girlfriend had to recreate the accident to keep the town from being destroyed. It is what it is."

Dick's voice was horrified. "You can't just 'it is what it is' your own death!"

Danny chuckled. "I grew up in an assassin cult and now I have cool ghost powers. I think I'm more than justified in having a unique view on death. Mine just... doesn't bother me anymore. Though I don't really care for electricity. I can be around it, don't get me wrong, but I don't like it."

"Ghost powers?" asked Damian.

"Yeah. Wanna see? I can get us out of here. Where can you meet us, Dick?"

"Why have you not revealed these powers before now."

Danny shrugged again. "I had to keep them a secret from my adoptive parents because they were ghost hunters. Just got in the habit. Then you were acting so stand-offish I didn't know if you'd want me to open up. But if it was just misplaced guilt? Showing off might help you get over that."

"I have a secret I've been keeping from you as well. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to share it, but I shall once we get home, whatever Father thinks."

Dick broke in then, "Baby Bat, are you sure about this?"

"I am."

"Okay, well then, Alfred and I are about a half mile south of the south parking lot. Are you sure you can get here?"

Danny scoffed. "Easy." He reached over and hung up Damian's phone for him. "Ready for the ride of you life, Dami?"

"You do not know a fraction of what I have done over the last eight years. That is a high bar."

"And you don't know a fraction of what I've done, either. I bet I can cross that bar."

Damian hesitated. "What do you bet?"

That response brought Danny up short and then he was laughing again. "Okay, I like this version of you. I bet my share of dessert for the next three nights."

"I find those terms acceptable."

"Great." Danny moved his head from Damian's neck to look around. Poison Ivy was facing away from them and most of the people around them were similarly cuddled together and keeping their heads down. No one was around to see them.

Danny let invisibility wash over them both before raising into the air. He kept them tangible, however. He didn't think the pollen would've let him turn intangible if he'd tried.

"We are flying."

Danny grinned. "Yep. This is my favorite thing about being dead. Flight. Now, let's go find your other brother." From the air, he could see the batmobile pull up to the scene and Batman, Red Robin, and Signal rushed out. They were wearing modified costumes that covered all skin and came with respirators.

"Looks like the cavalry's here," Danny commented as he flew in the opposite direction.

"Indeed. Let us hurry to Richard and Pennyworth." After a moment, he added, "How does your flight work? It is like I cannot feel the pull of gravity at all."

"That's exactly it. I'm part ghost. That means that I'm part interdimensional being. Which means the physics to either dimension I belong to only affect me when I want them to. So for flight, I just decide that gravity doesn't affect me. I can go intangible and pass through objects as well because static and the repulsion of electrons doesn't have to affect me either, if I don't want it to." He couldn't help but show off with a few loops and barrel rolls.

"Hmm. Intriguing. May I request your assistance with some tasks I've been working on in the near future?"

"Course, brother-mine. Anything."

"How fast can you fly?"

"Fastest we've measured was over two hundred miles per hour, but it's been a while since we've checked. I only fly that fast when I'm intangible, though. Otherwise the air itself hurts. And don't get me started on what it's like to fly into a bug. Gross."

Below them, the jungle that had been the fairgrounds passed away, then the parking lot. Damian asked question after question about Danny's powers.

But Danny had barely started answering before he spotted Alfred and Dick and the car. He covered Damian's mouth with his hand, effectively silencing him.

"Wanna see if we can get one over on both of them?"

"Nothing phases Pennyworth."

"Which is why we have to try!"

"Very well, what do you have in mind?"

And so, Danny flew them down silently and invisibly until they were right in front of both Dick and Alfred.

Serendipitously, Dick was even asking, "How long do you think it'll take them to get here?"

So Danny dropped their invisibility. "About this long!"

Dick screamed and even Alfred's eyes widened slightly.

"I see, Master Danny," he said, "that does appear to be a useful skill."

"Holy sh—" Dick glanced over to Alfred and cut himself off. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"I told you," said Danny. "Since I died when I was fourteen. Been about two years now." He and Damian were still wrapped around each other with the stuffed elephant squished between them. "Damian has something for you, by the way. He won it and not even a rogue attack could make him drop it."

Damian reached between them and pulled out the elephant, shoving it in Dick's direction. "Here."

Dick was staring at them open mouthed but shook himself and took the toy. "Thanks, Baby Bat. I love it."

As soon as his hand was empty, Damian wrapped his arm back around Danny. "Now, let us get home. I despise dealing with this particular pollen of Dr. Isley's and wish to suffer the rest of the duration in private private."

"How long do the effects usually last anyway?" asked Danny.

"A few hours, I'm afraid," said Dick. "Why don't the two of you take the back seat. We'll get you both home as soon as possible."

"Great! Dami and I have a ton to catch up on now that he knows my secret."

"And I must inform you of my own secrets."

Dick opened the door to the back seat and Danny floated them both inside the car so they were lying down on the back seat.

Alfred eyed them, "Will the effects of the pollen allow you both to sit up and buckle in?"

"Nope!" Danny grinned at him. "But I should be able to keep us in place if needed."

"I see. Very well then, I shall trust you Master Danny. But if it turns out you've lied to me, I shall be most displeased."

Dick shook his head and sighed. "Lets just get you both home and wrapped up with something hot to drink and good snacks."

"Richard," said Damian before Dick could shut the door.

"Yeah, Damian?"

"I do believe... Danny and I shall have no trouble getting along going forward."

Dick gave them a blinding smile. "Glad to hear it, Baby Bat."

"If that is all, let us be on our way," said Alfred.

Danny smiled into his brother's neck. "Love you, Dami. I've missed you."

"I am also relieved at the lack of distance between us."

Something inside Danny relaxed at the open acceptance of his brother. Maybe he could build a new home here more long term. Gotham wasn't so bad at the end of the day.

-----

Okay... So not quite drugged confessions, but kinda? They wouldn't have had these conversations if it weren't for the pollen! But I feel like it's more misunderstandings and secrets reveal than anything else. And got way longer than I planned on. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

#dpxdc #danny&damian #twin au #finally writing this trope! #my writing #prompt fill #ask game #cuddle pollen #secrets reveal #misunderstandings #drugged confession #(sorta)

[wifeyifey]

Hey how about something angsty for Wraith, Doctor, and Pyramid Head where they have a argument with their s/o so their s/s starts to ignore them but it ends in fluff like the made up again or something

Thank youu love your work🥰

I went a little ham on this one... especially for Wraith and Doctor... anyways, I hope you like it!! Thank you for enjoying my work!!

Since its super long it'll be under the cut

angst with fluffy endings! I changed the prompt very very slightly

Description: Silent treatments after misunderstandings

Wraith:

You and Philip never fight. At least not since you were both brought here by the entity. You had just started your relationship with him when he was working at the scrap yard. It was still pretty fresh as you guys were together for only 6 months. Obviously you were hearing about the rumors running around the yard and it made you nervous. Philip was always reassuring and tried to ease your tension with his job. However, one day, there was a huge incident at his job where his boss was found dead and Philip was missing. To say you were devastated was an understatement. You kept calling his phone, but he never answered and you were going crazy with worry. A couple weeks after him disappearing and being told the crimes he supposedly took a part of when the police told you they have no leads to where he is, you were depressed to say the least.

You were consumed by it and then all of a sudden there was a fog that swallowed you whole. When the fog cleared you were confused as to where you were. It looked like a run down version of the scrap yard that Philip worked at. Not really run down, more so unsettling version. You turned to look at the familiar building when you heard a bell ring and someone, or something, appeared in front of it before walking into it. It was huge! Who is that? Where are you? You started to back away from the building afraid that the thing would come out and get you. You saw the skull it was carrying and you were afraid of the possible outcomes. As you continued backing up, you tripped over some random scrap metal and landed on some tire caps. “Shit,” you whisper, knowing that was too loud for them not to hear. 

You hear the bell again and look at the man towering over you. You watched as he immediately lifted the skull thing as it was swung down near you. You managed to dodge it and got up to run away. He gave chase and was after you instantly. You weren’t too far ahead of him and with his long arm he grabbed you easily. You couldn’t help but cry out and turned to him with tears in your eyes, “Please. Please don’t hurt me,” you sobbed. Philip took a second to look at you and when you finally faced him he knew who you were. He was frozen. Never again did he think he’d see you. He gently loosened his grip on your arm as he dropped his weapon and grabbed your other arm softly. 

You looked up at him as he wiped the tears off your face. You were searching his eyes for any sort of answer. He looked down at the necklace that was delicately resting on your clavicle. The golden ‘P’ standing out against your skin. He remembered giving that to you on Valentine's Day. He gently grabbed the necklace between his fingers. You look down at his hand then back up at his face. “P-Philip?” He looked back into your eyes and nodded softly. The ones he missed so much and you still looked at him in fear. He almost killed you with that skull. Who’s skull is it? You didn’t want to know, but you didn’t want to leave just yet. You had questions but most of all you missed him so much. You held your breath as you slowly went in for a hug. Being in his arms took the weight off of the past few months off your shoulders. You were in desperate need of the safety he provided you. 

You stepped back and as you were about to ask where you were, you disappeared into a fog again. Now you were somewhere new but your blood was pumping harder than normal. Suddenly there was a man who ran into you making you both fall with a grunt. You both quickly got up and the man pulled you to a generator. “Listen, I know you’re new cause I’ve never seen you, but these are death trials. You have to do everything to survive and that’s by fixing these generators and avoiding the killer.” “Killer? What do you mean killer?!!” you were about to lose your mind. Everything has been happening so fast. “This trial is the creature with the bell. If you hear it you run. Once the generators are done, run for the exit.” You both finished the generator terrified of the concept of this place. You hear a scream in the distance and you look at the man in the police uniform that helped you. “Come with me and hold this med pack. We have to save the hooked people or else our chances of survival are slim.” You quickly followed him and you found another survivor on a hook and watched as the guy grabs them and shows you how to heal them. 

As you were wrapping up on that, you heard the bell. Wait? Bell? Philip? You watched as he appeared and hit the cop with the skull and lifted him up onto his shoulder. You look at Philip with fear as he slammed the cop on the hook and the other survivor ran off. You were scared and you ran off after Philip turned and made eye contact with you. He saw the fear in your eyes and this isn’t how he wanted you to find out and he certainly didn’t want you to think he’s doing this for his own entertainment. He tried to reach out for you but you turned and ran as fast as you could.

Philip went after you anyways. Popping up after every corner, after every turn, after every palette drop. He finally got you cornered, but you were shaking because all you could think was that maybe he did know the shady business at home. Maybe he was a killer back then. He certainly is now. Your chest is heaving and you can feel yourself getting light headed. The world starts spinning and there are spots in your vision.

You don’t know how you got out of there, but all you know is that you’re utterly devastated. It’s been almost a week since you’ve seen Philip. You know he’s been watching you from the forest. You’ve heard the bell anytime you’ve walked the perimeter of the camp. Any time you’re talking to someone you see his glowing eyes over their shoulder watching you from the forest. You’ve been trying to find some courage to approach Philip because you have so many questions. 

Leon was the one person who took his time to explain what the whole “game” is here. He’s the only one who has shown you some true kindness. He’s the only one who knew about your history with Philip and he’s been trying to talk you through your feelings about everything. He even admitted, from what you’ve told him about before being brought here, that he doesn’t think Philip knew what was going on at the scrap yard. You took that to heart and you’ve been trying to remember that every trial with Philip, he didn’t hurt you. Not once. He knew he had to give you space, but his heart yearned for you when he was brought here. He just wants to love you again even if it’s different than how it was before.

You were walking the perimeter of the camp again, lost in your thoughts. You heard that familiar bell again and looked for the familiar glowing eyes. You made eye contact with him and you couldn’t help but gravitate towards them as you feet started moving towards the forest and stopped in front of the towering figure. He got down on his knees as he knew it would be easier for him when he tried to ask for forgiveness. He was trying to figure out what he was going to do when you finally gave him the time of day. He couldn’t really talk in anything but small grunts. He happened to find some paper and used some oil from a car in his realm to try and write an explanation to you. 

Philip went to grab the paper from his pocket and handed it to you, but before you read it, you had to get something off your chest. “I’m sorry, Philip. I didn’t know everything about this place. I was scared because of everything that happened when you disappeared and I know the circumstances are different, but I missed you so much,” you softly said. He grunted and nodded to the note. While he was happy he knew you still had room for him in your heart, he wanted you to know the truth. He always was a truthful man before this place and he wasn’t going to change that now with you here. He wrote about the incident, being brought here by the entity, what’s expected from him here, and how much he missed you. He ended the note with his love for you. He was planning for that when you guys were both human, but he needed you to know. 

You started reading the note and Philip was still on his knees but finally let himself sink down and fully kneel down onto the ground after hearing a small “Oh, Philip,” come from you as you were finishing the note he put his hands on your hips and gently put his head on your stomach. 

Finally finishing the note, and now knowing the full truth from him, you felt terrible with how you’ve been avoiding him. You rested your hand on his head and almost cried at how he was trying so hard to get to you these past few days. You can’t imagine his fear and loneliness of losing you again. You gently lifted his head up and rested your hands on the sides of his face. “Philip, I’m so sorry,” you rested your forehead against his and let out a shaky breath, “I’m here with you now. I love you so much. I’m not going to leave you alone.” Philip was so happy to hear that you loved him back and wrapped his arms around your waist. He was so excited that he stood up with you still in his arms and started spinning. You shrieked at the sudden lift you were given, but you couldn’t help but giggle at the little happy grunts he let out as you spun. “Let’s go back to your place. I could use some alone time with you baby.” He didn’t hesitate and you guys were gone with the ring of the bell.

Doctor:

Herman is hard to deal with sometimes. His constant shocks he gives to see your reaction or when you’re talking about something stupid, annoying, or boring really bothers you. He’s been very controlling over the things around you lately, as if he was trying to change the variables around you like you were some rat in an experiment. It’s been way too much for you to handle and you’re getting very frustrated. You’re about to blow up on him, but you’re trying not to give into the anger because you feel like it’s something that he is expecting for whatever test he’s trying to run on you. 

When you first got with Herman you knew experiments were a part of the deal. However, after being together for so long, you expected him to lose some of his curiosity and he did! At least for a while. You had managed to talk him out of the painful tests and experiments and he even promised he wouldn’t do it. As of late, it seems like he’s forgotten that promise. Obviously, this is not going to slide with you. You were almost more hurt about him breaking the promise as you’ve gotten hurt quite a few times around him for it to just be your clumsiness. He’s been there to help you with your injuries every single time. It’s just this is more than your normal clumsiness and that’s what has made you question things. You notice after every injury, he’s watching you closely and making notes before he helps you and then making notes afterwards. Your observation skills have improved when it comes to him and you wonder if he even noticed that.

You were just pulled into a trial and you went to work on a generator immediately. You heard electricity in the background and rolled your eyes knowing who the killer was in this trial. You tried avoiding Herman the whole time. Even going as far to slam palettes on him. Which is something you usually don’t do when it comes to being in the same trials. This new development left Herman shocked. “Shit,” he sighed a little. You must've caught onto his antics lately. He’s been doing small things to test your peripheral vision because he knows that you’re clumsy and he’s been trying to test those limits to see how he could help you. Unfortunately, you’re not aware of his intentions. 

After he got the other survivors in the trial, he tried finding you again to try and explain himself. He really does care for your wellbeing and that’s the point of those little traps. He’s been trying to figure out a way to help you with your vision, or at least your spatial awareness. All the generators were fixed and he knew you must be on your way to the exit or already out of this realm. He had to at least do one run of the map before giving up on finding you for now. 

As he was on his way towards the exit, he heard your voice in the distance. “UGH!! I’m sick of this place!” you yell out exasperated. He slowed down his run to look around for you. He knew you must’ve tripped or got caught in something. He was rounding the wall near the exit and peeked over to see you trying to unwrap your ankle from some wires that were near the generator you were sitting next to. 

Herman slowly walked over to you as you gave up on trying to detangle yourself. You looked up at Herman with clear annoyance and some anger in your eyes. You didn’t say anything when he knelt down in front of you. He didn’t break eye contact with you until you rolled your eyes and looked away from him with a small pout on your face and crossed your arms. He tried not to let a chuckle out at how cute you looked in that moment. He knew if he did, he would’ve pushed you to your limit. 

He quickly went to work on the wires and freed you. He noticed your ankle was raw from the wires being wrapped so tight around it and sighed. He saw a med pack that was dropped around the corner of the wall before he found you and went to grab it. “Stay. Please,” he said gently as he squeezed your calf just above the markings. You looked him in his eyes and saw a gentleness you haven’t seen before and nodded as you uncrossed your arms and hugged your knees to your chest. 

Seconds later Herman was in front of you again with a med pack. “May I?” he asked, reaching out for your leg. You sighed and let him grab your leg to put some disinfectant ointment and wrapped it up. When he finished he gently brushed his thumb over the bandage and looked back into your eyes as you brought the leg back up to your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around your legs and rested your chin against your knees. You looked down at the ground and Herman was thinking of how to word what he had been doing to you. What he’s been trying to help you with.

He took a deep breath before speaking, “Darling, I want to apologize,” he started. You looked up at him when he rested his hands on your arms softly. “I-.... I have been running some… tests on you, but-” “But what? You promised you wouldn’t do ones that cause me pain. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been getting hurt a lot more than usual.” “Yes, but, it’s because you get hurt so often,” he added. There was obvious confusion in your eyes and he knew he had to explain before you shrugged his hands off of you. He squeezed your arms and put one hand on the hurt ankle and again gently ran his hand over the bandage. “Even before you and I started this relationship, I noticed that you were normally clumsy. I was thinking maybe that was just one of your quirks, but I know you’re tired about constantly getting injured,” Herman continued. You let out a little huff of a laugh. “It can get exhausting,” you said, “I know you’re always helping me with the aches and pains. I feel bad you’re always having to fix me up,” you softly added and put your hand on top of the one that’s still rubbing your injured ankle. “I’ll never get tired of caring for you, darling. That was the point of the little tests. I was trying to see if there was a problem with your spatial awareness due to maybe not having the best peripheral vision. I don’t know how to fix it without surgery and I wouldn’t want to do anything serious like that when we’re in a place like this,” Herman finally gave his reasoning.

“Herman. I-I didn’t know that was what you were doing. I knew there were tests, but I feel a lot better knowing it was because you were trying to help me,” you admitted. “I wouldn’t do anything like this if it weren’t because I was trying to help you my dear,” he said, reaching up to cup your cheek, “I love and care for you too much to not do everything I possibly can to better your life here.” You let out a small gasp and smiled as you put your hand over his that was on your cheek and placed a kiss on the inside of his palm. Herman took this as his moment to pick you up bridal style and walk you over to the exit. He felt much better that you understood where he was coming from. Of course you would. You are probably one of the smarter beings here. As he sets you on your feet in front of the exit, you turn to face him and smile softly. “Ya know. I love you too, Herman,” it was the first time you both told each other that. “When you make it back to camp, head on over to my place and I’ll take care of your delicate ankles.” You both chuckled at that. Before you turned to leave you pulled him closer to you and touched your forehead against his and touched your nose to his. You both inhaled deeply and Herman was the first to pull away as he brushed the back of his hand against your cheek and you hobbled through the exit and through the fog to see your lover in a more private place.

Pyramid Head:

Honestly… No fights. What are you even going to fight about? You’ve been marked as his and there’s no way he’d ever think of anyone in a romantic way the way he does you. There’s nothing for him to say that would make you mad cause the man can’t talk anyways. If you were to give him a cold shoulder, it would be just to test his limits. Communication isn’t always back and forth other than him nodding or groaning. Sure he sometimes does delicate touches as a form of communication from him, but that’s about it.

Sometimes you try to spice things up by trying little things here and there by trying to get reactions out of him. Nothing really bothers him that you do except for one thing. This cold shoulder you’re giving him all of a sudden is new and he does NOT like it. He doesn’t recall doing anything to upset you and keeps trying to get anything from you. He tried to get affection, you didn’t reciprocate. He tried groaning to get your attention, you didn’t look at him. He tried writing on your arm with his finger with the small acronyms and symbols you taught him, and you ignored his clear confusion. He tried not to let it bother him as he knows sometimes you like playing little games with him to get a reaction. But this time he was sure you just didn’t want him anymore.

Pyramid Head started giving you some space thinking maybe you needed it. Soon enough neither of you weren’t communicating with each other. Now it was him giving you the cold shoulder and you were not a fan of that. 

Realizing your mistake, you tried looking for him in the school. Unfortunately, it was completely void of your monster man. You think he must’ve been pulled into a trial and decided to wait it out. However, he didn’t show up after a couple hours. A couple hours turned into a couple days and you were on the verge of hysterics. You know for certain, he is avoiding you entirely. You were high strung and needed someone to talk to or else you'd lose your mind. 

You heaved a sigh and headed towards the survivor’s camp. Maybe talking to someone would make you feel better. You weren’t going to mention your relationship problems because you were a bit embarrassed at the fact that it was a problem you created.

As you were about to walk out of Pyra’s realm, you heard the dragging of his giant knife. You turned as fast as you could and ran after him. It started pouring rain on the way to him and you called out to him, hoping he’d hear you through the rain. You noticed hesitance in his step and you thought he would ignore you again. Once you got to the entrance of the building, you saw that he was waiting right inside the doors. His knife resting against the wall and him facing away from you. 

You were shivering from being wet and cold and walked up to him hugging him from behind. Pyramid Head slowly turned his head after feeling your soaking arms around his stomach. “‘M sorry Pyra. I shouldn’t have ignored you. Please. Can we cuddle? I’m so cold.” Pyra let out a short groan as he turned around in your arms and pulled you close to him. He tapped on your right arm and drew a heart on your arm with a question mark and a small point to his chest. Understanding the question, you widen your eyes and snuggle closer to his body heat with a quick, “No, I never stopped loving you big guy. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise,” you smush your face into his chest, and leave a few kisses as you hold him tighter. “Love you so much,” you mumble and you relax when his arms fully wrap around you and give you a good squeeze.

Hope ya'll like it!!!

Requests are open!!

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #wraith x reader #philip ojomo x reader #doctor x reader #Herman carter x reader #pyramid head x reader

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 13 - Walking in circles.

Summary: Fuck the summary, this is the last angsty chapter and it ends on a positive note, so if you were waiting for the angst to end, you can read now! (Warning: it’s 90% angst and 10% comfort though, so if you are hyper super sensitive, wait for the next chapter.)

Warnings: Swear words and a lot of tears and some sad suggestive stuff, because that’s a thing.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

To do list (Midoriya Izuku)

P.s - this bit is not medically correct for human beings. These people heal differently + this is a fanfiction, don’t forget that.)

After care (chest):

- Change the hydrocolloid dressing on Midoriya-san’s chest once a day for 10 days and use the provided ointment.

- Once the scar stops oozing completely, remove the bandages but use the prescribed cream three times a day to keep the fresh tissue moisturized and clean.

- Do not soak the scar but quick showers are okay after 3 days. Do not use soap, the cream has antibacterial properties anyway.

- Sudden, harsh movements can open up the scar so please refrain from doing anything excessive.

Aftercare (arms)

- Midoriya‘s left arm has a metal plate inside to stabilize the fractured bone and it also has a cast to protect it while it’s healing. Nothing here to do really, just keep the arm away from harm’s way. Do not scratch the skin underneath the cast, even if it itches because it might get infected. (No, you can’t scratch it with black whip. I asked - Ei)

Basics:

- Wheelchair for 3 days to keep the scar on the chest from being pulled.

- After three days, small walks around the house are allowed but nothing else.

- Rehabilitation starts after a week of rest.

- Lifting: small plastic bowl of food is okay, but no heavy plates, no actual workouts, definitely no cars and buildings until advised otherwise. Try to avoid opening doors for the first week. Use a small water bottle to drink, preferably drink with a straw. (Do not lift All Meowth! - Kacchan)

- Please refrain from sexual intercourse for at least until the scar gets healed, which is approximately 2 weeks. Do not lean on your arms. (What he’s trying to say is that you can still do it after 2 weeks if you are the bottom. Just be gentle. You should be fine with being on the top after a month if you are careful, yes, I asked, you are welcome. - Ei)

- Drink plenty of fluids, a healthy diet is advised. Take the prescribed medicine after meals and rest as much as possible.

~•🥦•~

“Welcome home!” Eijirou pops a party pooper as Inko wheels his son into the apartment.

“Really?” Katsuki facepalms himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop as Midoriya has an unpleasant frown on his face instead of a happy one and while you feel bad about siding with the other two instead of Eijirou on this, but… well… there is time and place for a celebration. “We are going.”

“Thanks for everything, guys.” Izuku gives them a sad smile but he doesn’t tell them to stay.

This is the first time when being alone with Izuku doesn’t sound appealing. It’s not because you need to take care of him, hell, you have no problems with doing that, it’s more about the fact that you already know he’s not going to let you do that.

You are terrified of being rejected by him, terrified to see that uncomfortable smile on his face, the one he usually gives to the overly enthusiastic fans when they come too close or ask questions that are too personal.

You know what Izuku needs now has nothing to do with his feelings towards you but there is a voice inside your head telling you that you are just not good enough, that you should just let his mother take care of him and give up before it starts to hurt even more but you try to think about Izuku’s words, about the way he looked at you when you two had a few minutes alone, about the touches you two have shared right before the accident… you know that deep inside, Izuku genuinely wants you here and even if you’ll need to hide in the bathroom to cry sometimes, you know it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Inko and All Might stays over until you get Izuku’s food heated up. You feel terrible for giving a grown ass man a plastic bowl of Katsudon but you managed to find an All Might themed set in the small convenience store just a few streets down this morning; it comes with a bowl, a plate, a spoon and a fork. You decide to give the utensils to Deku too, just in case it makes him smile a little bit. It’s probably easier for him to eat with a fork right now, anyway.

Just as you make your way out of the kitchen, All Might bursts out laughing at your shenanigans.

“That’s so sweet but also, why is my face so weird?!”

“I have a feeling the makers of this bowl did not pay for the license to use your actual picture so they… made their own version of it.” You smile as you point towards the kitchen. “There is more if you want to eat!”

“No, we are fine, but I do want to see how it turned out! Do you mind if I take a bite?” Mama Inko sneaks closer to the bowl in your hand and steals a piece of meat. “Hmmm, lovely! Good job!” Inko smiles and ushers All Might towards the main door. “We will leave you two, please keep us posted! Izuku, be a good boy and don’t make your Sweet Pea cry!”

“Mom…”

“Okay, honey, do not aggravate the kid.” All Might mutters and Izuku looks at him with an incredulous face, but there is a tiny smile on his lips as he watches the two leave.

“Will they ever stop treating me like I’m a big baby?” Izuku mutters with a fond smile on his face.

“You’ll forever be their baby, Izu, deal with it.”

“But I’m your baby now.” He mumbles under his blushed nose; he looks like a teen trying to flirt for the first time and it’s so fucking adorable you want to kiss him senseless.

“You are. But they don’t need to know that.” You smile back but you can barely finish the sentence before Izuku speaks up again.

“Are you okay, Sweets?”

You almost drop the cup of water in your hand. That question came out of the blue. Are you… okay? You have no idea. Your mind is a mess, you are so fucking worried deep inside you want to yell and cry and break something but you are also happy to be able to be with Izuku right now, to help him, to be close to him.

“A little bit shaken, I guess.” You admit. “It’s a lot but it’s also what I agreed to, it just hits different when you are actually in the situation. But overall, I’m just glad you are alive.”

“I’ll… need some time” He repeats his words from yesterday. “Can we stay in our own rooms for a while?”

It hurts. It really fucking hurts but you brace yourself to smile, making it look like it’s no biggie, even as the world crumbles inside you.

“We can… use the living room as a common space. If you ever feel like talking or just co-existing, just come out. Send me a message when you need any help and please, ask for help, because I will really miss you and if me helping with your dressing or heating up your food is my only way to see you, I’ll gladly take it.”

A few more minutes until Izuku finishes his food. You can do this. You are strong. You are still loved. This is not the end of the world. Just keep the act up for a little bit more for his sake. Please.

“I love you.” Izuku announces confidently. “And once I’m… better… mentally and physically… I’ll show you how much. I promise I’ll make it up to you, for all the pain I’m causing right now. I’ll bring you all the stars from the sky if I need to.”

“I love you too, Izu-Izu.” You try your best to smile but a few stray teardrops manage to escape. Izuku doesn’t comment on it, because Izuku’s face is just as wet as yours.

~•🥦•~

Izuku wasn’t lying when he said he won’t… communicate too much. He only comes out of his room when he gets hungry or when he needs help with the bandages. He’s more than capable to do his everyday things even in the wheelchair; it’s a super high tech one which can go up and down, making the change between sleeping and moving around quite easily manageable even alone. He could probably do his bandages alone as well, with no problem whatsoever but he asks for your help anyway, probably to be able to see you a little bit without the need of a conversation, to steal a few touches before he retreats to his room again, to let you have a bit of time with him even though the distant look in his eyes tells you he’s not ready to do that yet, but still, he gives you a chance every day, let’s you change the bandages and kiss his forehead after you are done. It feels like an atonement, like a silent way of saying “thank you”.

You cry a lot when he’s not around, mostly at night, before you fall asleep with tear-streaked cheeks. You even get some acne overnight, probably from sleeping with a dirty face.

Izuku doesn’t sneak into your bedroom like how he used to. Not on the first night, not the second and not the third but on the fourth night, you hear the door open and close, you hear the buzzing of his wheelchair, you feel the bed dip by your side but you are terrified to make a noise, terrified to scare him away so you keep pretending you are asleep, you let him snuggle closer and try your best not to shiver as Izuku’s lips find your nape and he starts peppering small, slow kisses there, to the only area he can reach. He stays for an hour, maybe two, he runs his nose through your hair, mumbles into your skin, words jumbled and incomprehensible, then goes back to his room and acts like nothing had happened when you meet up in the kitchen in the morning.

There are ink marks on Izuku’s hand the next day, his eyes dark and lifeless like he haven’t slept at all. You call the doctor that day, ask him if it’s okay for him to write. You should probably say something about his lack of sleep as well, but… you just can’t. It feels like a backstab to do so. Izuku have promised he’ll take care of himself so you can’t help but trust him for a little bit longer.

Izuku keeps coming to your room every night but he never stays. Some nights, he doesn’t say anything then some nights he mumbles up a storm, mostly about the villain gang or about how much he hates not being able to help with the investigation. Then he mumbles about missing you, mumbles about how much he wants to kiss you, to hold you in his arms, to carry you to bed like in the “good old days.” There is one time when you mumble back an almost silent “I love you”. Izuku cries. Then he leaves after he’d cried enough.

You change his bandages. You kiss him on the forehead. You give him something to eat. He takes the meds. He pets All Meowth and goes back into his room. There is even more ink smudged on his hand. He’s not sleeping well. He admits he’s been talking to a therapist through the phone. He gives you kisses at night. You change his bandages. He says thank you when you put the All Might bowl down in front of him. He takes a deep breath, his face buried in your hair as he cries, feeling safe to do so under the cover of the night. You silently cry with him. Then you change his bandages again. It goes on an on for a full week like a never ending circle of nightmares.

Something new happens on the seventh night.

It’s the first night Izuku can’t make himself to leave.

It all starts as per usual, with Izuku sneaking under your covers, peppering kisses on your nape and your neck, the touch so light it barely touches your skin yet it still sends thrills down your spine. Then starts the muttering, half-sentences mumbled into your your skin then comes the wetness, Izuku’s tears as he mumbles louder, unable to whisper, choking on his sobs but he does not stop peppering kisses all over your neck.

Then… it happens.

Izuku’s “healthy” arm snakes around your hip, his thumb playing with your hipbone, his body slowly shifting closer and closer until he’s flush against your back.

“I love your body shape so much. Have I ever told you that? Probably not. I love how I can just… do this.” He moves up, his hand finding the small of your waist, relishing in the softness, grabbing into the skin possessively and you can’t help but whimper.

Here goes nothing. Now Izuku knows you are up. This is when he usually leaves. Will he just stand up and go away now? You really don’t want him to. Would it be too much to hold his hand in place? You have no idea what to do, how to make your point across without scaring him away, but…

“I wanted to do this so much a week ago, when…” Izuku chokes on another sob.

“I would’ve liked it. A lot.” You admit, finally feeling brave enough to speak up.

Warning: suggestive. A tiny bit of… frottage? Is that the word? I dunno. It’s literally 5 seconds though.

“I also wanted to do this…” He whispers, his voice cracking; suddenly, he tries to move on top of you but he has nothing to lean on; he makes a frustrated noise which breaks your heart. With all the strength you can gather half asleep, you try to keep him up long enough so he can put his working hand on the other side of you, then you keep your palm flat on his chest, keeping him up with shaking arms. Izuku moves to his favorite place right away, face hidden in the crook of neck and his tongue pokes out to lick your collarbone only a few seconds after, tiny whimpers leaving your lips as he finally finds his balance and dips down, grinding between your legs a few times before he breaks down, his body falling into you without a warning.

“It was so perfect back then… you are so perfect, yet…”

There is no way any words can get into the man’s thick skull so instead of words you decide to speak with your body; it’s a little bit hard to breathe with his whole weight on you but that’s the least of your concern as you pull Izuku up by his chin and kiss him with so much fervor it takes him several seconds before he can even react.

After not being able to kiss him for so long you can’t help but devour the shaking man on top of you, your hips arching from the bed to be as close to him as humanly possible, all the love, all the adoration, all the lust loud and clear as you kiss him deeply, tongue massaging his own while Izuku whines frustratedly, probably from the fact that he can’t touch you and keep himself up at the same time. You try to soothe his troubled soul by caressing his side and his back with your one free hand, wandering around the areas where Izuku isn’t bandaged up.

It goes on for several minutes until both of you need a breather; Izuku looks at you with deep, dark eyes, the bags even darker under it, panting and tired but after 7 days of acting like a shadow of himself, finally, there is a glint of emotion on his eyes, an emotion other than sadness, a little half-happy shine that makes your heart leap out of your chest as you stare into them with the same intensity. There are no words strong enough to describe what you are feeling right now and by the look of it, Izuku feels the same; without a word, he slowly rolls off you, ending up on your side of the bed as he let’s out a big sigh and pulls you closer, his face hidden in his favorite spot. He takes a deep breath and lets himself relax for the first time this week, mumbling “I love you” as the sleep takes him almost right away.

“I love you too, Izu-Izu.” You mumble into his hair, your fingers buried into his messy curls as you follow him to the land of dreams.

~•🥦•~

It’s 10AM and Izuku is still fast asleep next to you. For the first time this week, your tears are happy tears. You decide to let him sleep in for longer, clearly, he needs it; there’s a week worth of insomnia he have to sleep off, a week worth of tears, a week worth of stress. You leave a kiss on Izuku’s curls, making the man scrunch his brows adorably then you leave the warmth of the bed to make some breakfast.

You decide on omurice. It’s filling and tasty and you can also make cute little All Might drawings on the top of the rice which will for sure make Izuku’s day a tiny bit brighter!

The clock hits 12 when you hear rustling from your bed so you start to make some eggs to finish the dish. Izuku opens the door but instead of coming to the kitchen he disappears in his room. You can’t help but sigh.

Are we doing this again? You were 100% sure this is over. Maybe you were too naive.

“Izu?” You try to knock on his door but there is no answer; hell, there isn’t even a movement in the room, no signs of a person being inside which makes you so worried you break your own promise to not bother your boyfriend until he’s ready to talk.

When you open the door, the room is empty.

Don’t freak out. - You tell yourself as you look around the surprisingly messy room just to find an opened notebook on Izuku’s desk.

Diary chapter 243

I want to see you. I really do. But my mind is a mess and I can’t stop hating myself for being so reckless when I promised you I’ll come back to you unharmed. I can’t help but hate myself for trying to make everything perfect, despite the fact that deep inside, I know that whatever I do, if you are a part of it it can’t be anything but that.

I hate myself because I promised you I’ll take care of myself but I still don’t. My eyes hurt, I’m tired and I can’t feel my fingers but I can’t help but move those books around, ruin the order until it makes sense again, open the door to another world and loose myself in the tiny details as I’m trying to decipher words and sentences I’m not supposed to read nor understand right now, in my weak state. I’m nothing but a shell but I still can’t give up, I can’t stop helping, even if my actions do nothing good to my body and they make everyone around me mad. It’s extremely selfish, really.

The world won’t crumble if I rest, but my own world will if I loose you.

Maybe… it’s time for me to let my friends take over. Maybe, I do deserve a bit of rest.

Maybe, after a few weeks of atonement, I’ll feel like I deserve you too.

I’ll keep my books in order from tomorrow. I promise.

“Move the books around? Keep them in order? What?” You mumble to yourself as you make your way to Midoriya’s bookshelf to take a peek.

“Y-you can sleep in my room, Sweet Pea. You… can. Just don’t touch the bookshelf in the middle. Please. I beg you.” You remember Izuku’s words from a few months ago; needless to say, you make your way towards the forbidden shelf, because at this point, you can’t give a single flying fuck. Izuku will understand.

Izuku’s collection of All Might books are uncomfortably out of order. It starts with the third volume, then it’s just a mess of random numbers. You have a slight urge to clean that up but you take a deep breath instead and start to think. There must be some kind of logic behind it. There is a reason why Izuku left his diary open today, there is a reason why it was so obviously left on the desk. When Izuku wants to keep secrets, he’s more than capable to take them with him to the grave. It took him months to tell you the truth about his quirk and he still managed to keep All Might’s secret safe until the man himself decided to tell you the rest of the story.

He wants you to find him. This is the last challenge.

You stare at the numbers for several minutes, trying to make a connection, to find some logic behind it but honestly, it just looks like a mess.

Maybe… it’s not the whole shelf you need to make sense of.

Oh.

There are 7 volumes next to each other in the middle, if you look at the numbers, they make out All Might’s birthday.

That’s it.

That’s the key to whatever Izuku wants you to find.

When you push the first book in, something clicks, so you decide to push them all in, in order. Suddenly, the whole shelf moves backwards and disappears behind the one next to it.

Your heart leaps out of your chest as you take a look inside.

There is a staircase running down to a creepy, barely lit hallway. You take a deep breath and make your way down just to find a single All Might themed note on the floor.

“Don’t freak out.”

Just as you read the note the “door” behind you closes itself and you can hear the books moving back to their original place with 7 little clicks.

Oh, boy.

Another deep breath. You can do this. You just need to find… a door? A fucking chamber? A pot of gold? Is it guarded by a basilisk? Do you need to play chess with your own life on the line? Wait, that’s two different movies.

Thankfully, there are no booby traps around here so you just keep walking, straight for a while then turn right then left then up the stairs again then there is a small door in front of you with a little panel, probably an electric lock next to it that opens with a set of numbers. There is another post it.

“Another date of birth, I know, it’s silly. Hint: The person I love the most.”

Well, shit. You have no idea when Izuku’s mother was born. You’ll die in this hallway. You try Katsuki’s; it doesn’t work. Fuck. It’s definitely not All Might’s because he already used that. As a last resort, you try yours; and for your surprise, the door clicks and opens by itself.

“You found me.” Izuku looks at you with teary eyes, fumbling with a bunch of paper he has thrown around the desk in the side of the room.

This room… is absolutely mental.

Think about that meme with the conspiracy theory guy but ten times worse.

“Holy mother of shit, Izuku, what the actual fuck is this room?!”

Izuku gives you an adorable giggle at that. You have a really strong urge to call the mental hospital on him or on yourself for enjoying this.

“If you tell anyone… I’ll need to kill you.” Izuku mutters with a blush on his face. “And I really don’t want to kill you so please don’t tell anyone. Actually, I wouldn’t kill you, I wouldn’t be able to kill another human being even if I tried and I can definitely not hurt you as you are important to me and you also take care of my place.. so…”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s so fucking adorable, goddamnit!

“Work on your threatening method a bit in the future will ya?”

Izuku gives you the fondest look you’ve ever seen on his face. Oh how much you love this man, it’s actually ridiculous.

“I really should.”

…Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- haha funny story so i completely forgot that Izuku is supposed to have an office And the secret room is supposed to open from there and not his room but I already had hints in the story about it being around Izuku’s room so I had to… well… improvise. 😂

- Izuku was able to stop using the wheel chair in three days so he was able to get down on the stairs without a problem, in case you wondered. He’s been writing his diary in the fist three days then he went into his secret room to continue with his conspiracy theories. There will be more info about this room and about his work in the next chapter.

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x y/n #midoriya x reader #Deku x reader #pro hero deku x you #pro hero deku x reader #midoriya izuku x you

[dckweed]

here's part two of jake and babygirl, i'm actually really really in love with them and it may or may not be because i constantly have baby fever. anyway, im thinking about making this a fun lil series that you guys can send in any prompts or requests for that come to mind ! silly, angsty, fluffy whatever doesn't matter, just figured that since this started off as a request that i could continue on its life that way as well..

i want to be completely honest with you guys, for the past two months now i have been in eating disorder treatment 3 hours a day 6 days a week..as of this week, ive been stepped down to 3 hours a day 4 days a week and will be completely stepping down from treatment by the end of the month..this has taken up alot of time, and alot of attention and typically by the time my day is over i am completely spent and mentally drained and haven't been putting much effort into you guys, but as part of my treatment i am going to start posting at least twice a week (if not every day) as a way of self care, because fic writing is genuinely a form of self care for me.

thank you for being patient with me, and please feel free to send in asks!

warnings: pregnancy! jake being completely soft for his babygirl but also being completely angered by her situation..morning sickness mentions, food aversion mentions, just floofy fluffness okay? use of y/n once, but other than that is just babygirl as usual. not super long but i love it. part one

'STAY WITH ME, PLEASE..' jake 'hangman' seresin

A week into your vacation Jake had convinced you to go to an obstetrician after learning that you hadn't seen one yet, concerned for your health and the health of the little thing in your womb, whom he was already attached to, even if it wasn't his. It was there that you learned that you were almost eleven weeks along, Jake sat in the room with you, holding your hand as the ultrasound tech dims the lights. He squeezes it as she squirts more warm jelly on your tummy than you thought necessary and digs the wand in at an uncomfortable angle, moving it and the gel around your skin. You were just barely showing signs of a baby bump, and you were shocked to find out just how big the baby actually was by this point.

"How is it already that big?" Jake asks exactly what you were thinking, making the tech chuckle. He was in complete awe, there was really a tiny little being inside of you, you were growing a life form and there was nothing more beautiful than that to him in that moment.

"They grow so much faster than you realize," The woman says, a pleasant smile on her face as she stares at the screen, typing a few things in with her free hand, Jake noted from his position that they were measurements. "Would you like to know the sex?"

"Yes!" He blurts out before you could even process the question, you stare at him eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why he was so eager and amazed by something that he hadn't helped create. You thought it was wonderful though that your best friend was wanting to be so involved and caring despite your situation.

"Well, dad, you're having a little girl.." She says, catching you off guard by the mention of Jake being the dad and by the fact that you were having a daughter. Jake squeezed your hand, and even in the darkness of the room you could have sworn that he was a little teary eyed.

"Isn't that amazing, babygirl?" He asks, looking over at you. Your eyes are glued to the screen, not bothering to correct the woman on Jake not being the father, it was a difficult situation to explain and you weren't quite sure you were up for it today. Tears form in your eyes as you think about the little girl growing in your womb, who would never know her daddy. You had to admit that that was probably a good thing, he didn't deserve either of you if his initial reaction was to just leave and never come back.

You knew Jake felt the same way too, you didn't even have to ask.

"This all feels like such a fever dream.." You say softly, your head leaned against the window of his truck as he drives through the streets, away from the obstetricians office. You had a print out photo of your baby in your hand, staring down at it as you rubbed your stomach absentmindedly, your mind running in circles.

"Why's that?" Jake asks, glancing over at you for a mere second, not wanting to take his eyes off of the road for too long.

You look at him, wondering if he realizes just how fucked up the situation is. "Jake, I am pregnant..my boyfriend, the father of my baby left me because he swore i was a whore and that you were actually the father, and that was before i even knew for sure that i was pregnant.." You say, word vomit spewing from your mouth before your brain could even process what was happening. "I've just found out that i'm having a little girl who's not going to have her daddy in her life, and honestly good riddance but..but..oh my god Jake what am I going to do? This wasn't part of the plan..my daddy is going to be so disappointed in me..oh my god my mama would be so fucking upset..."

You hadn't even realized that you were crying, or that you were starting to panic, the weight of the situation fully sinking in on you. "Oh my god Jake, she's never gonna meet my mama..oh my god.." Jake doesn't know what to do, but he knows he can't let you keep crying like this. He pull's over into a parking lot, right at the beach and near a bunch of shops, pulling his truck to a stop in the first empty spot he saw. There are tears streaming down your face at this point as the thoughts of your father and your dead mother run around in your head, he had never seen you like this before but he knew that it was probably just the hormones.

"Hey," He says, his voice soft and sweet, his warm body encompassing yours as he slides across the front seat towards you, having lifted the center console up. He unclips your seatbelt and pulls you towards him, holding your head against his chest, your ear pressed right where his heart is. He had done this with you a thousand times before, the sound of his heartbeat had always brought you back to earth when you would have moments like this. "you're okay, i got you babygirl, i always got you.." He whispers, his lips moving in your hair as he presses a soft, comforting kiss to the crown of your head. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wondered if he knew that these were the things that made you feel like he loved you in more ways than he let on, the things that gave you the smallest glimmer of hope.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat and the slight rumble in his chest as he whispered things to you, slowly but surely calming you down. After a while you let out a shaky breath, your eyes opening to see the people milling about the small shopping center. "Where are we?" You ask, voice thick from the crying. Your head hurt and your eyes were heavy, you wanted to go back to his apartment and sleep, preferably in his arms, like you used to when you guys were younger.

"We're not too far from home," He says. Home..You liked the way that sounded coming from his mouth, it was always nice to hear it. "Do you want to get out and walk around? Go sit on the beach." You shake your head, sniffling softly. He kisses the top of your head once more, rubs your shoulder with his large hand. "Okay babygirl, let's go home..you look like you need some rest." He wasn't wrong, between the morning sickness that had been plaguing you in recent days, and the stress of everything, you hadn't been getting enough rest.

You manage to stay awake for the rest of the ride back, letting the gentle breeze through the open window soothe you. Jake doesn't say a word, but you see a look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed like he was thinking really hard about something. "Jake?" You ask, turning to face him, wondering what was on his mind.

"Stay." He says, looking over at you as he pulls up to his apartment building, the truck rolling to a stop. "..I..You should be here with me, you should've been with me from the beginning, but I was too chickenshit to man up and ask." You're shocked, and start to open your mouth, wanting to stop him. "Let me finish, damn it!"

"I haven't gone a day without talkng to you or thinking about you since the day I met you, and it's not just because you were my best friend, because you always will be that, no matter what, it's because i've been in fucking love with you since day one. And maybe i'm dumb because it's taken me so long to realize it, because everyone i've ever dated knew it but dammit i know it now, and have for a long time.." He rambles, you're unsure of what to make of this, your brain still processing that you were hearing him correctly. "I..know that this isn't the ideal situation, and i know that that little girl isn't my blood, but dammit i don't care because i already think of her as my kid, and i have since i found out..I can't let you walk away, not without knowing how i feel..I want to be with you through this, and through everything else in life so i can take care of you the way that you deserve, because Y/N, nobody else in this world is ever going to love you like i do.." You feel yours well with tears and subconsciously you pinch yourself, hoping to god that you weren't dreaming. "So stay with me, please.."

"Oh, Jake.." You whisper, tears spilling once more from your eyes. You can't make any other words come out of your mouth so you just nod your head and you watch his body sag with relief before you unbuckle your seatbelt and rush forward into his already waiting arms. He squeezes you tight and presses a long kiss to the top of your head as you hiccup.

"Hey, no more tears, babygirl, okay?" He whispers, leaning your head back as he brushes the tears away with his thumb, you lean into the embrace, a smile gracing your lips as your arms go around the back of his neck.

"They're happy tears, i promise.." You say, leaning forward to press your lips against his. You had though about this moment so many times in your life, and none of your wildest dreams had every prepared your for the real thing. Jake kissed you like a man starved, his hand on the back of your head, fingers scrunching up in your hair as he presses you as hard against him as he can. You groan at the possessiveness of it, pulling back after a moment to catch your breath. You can't help but let out a chuckle, leaning your forehead against his. "You picked one hell of a time to finally fucking say it, Seresin."

"Hey! You could've said it first too you know!" He says and you can't help but laugh, relishing in the way he smiles at you.

Jake & Babygirl taglist: @bellaireland1981 @sky0401 @memoriesat30 @bat-luna-cat @memeorydotcom @mayhemmanaged

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