#edgar bright x reader

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: edgar contemplates you.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: i cried three times while writing this idk!! also this got away from me hello 2k words??? SPOILERS FOR EDGARS ROUTE EVERYWHERE OK YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

TAGLIST: @vivislosingitagain obviously and @vioisgoinginsane meow!! @jade-s-nymph asked to be tagged too after learning i cried over this HE;PPL

Edgar isn’t sure what to make of you. Even now, even though you’ve decided to stay in Cradle with him, throwing your things and your only way back home into the rabbit hole that took you here, he finds himself wondering why you did that. You want to stay with him, that part is obvious enough, and you’ve always been so earnest with what you think that he has no reason to doubt you. But even so, he holds onto the hope that you really do want to stay, that you want to love him and you’ll choose that every day for as long as you two shall live, and that this isn’t some dream that he’ll inevitably wake up from and be forced to go back to the way he once was.

There’s an ache in his chest when he thinks about how he tried to use you, how he only viewed you as a tool. You always tell him that doesn’t matter now, that he’s done more than enough to prove that he cares for you in ways that far surpass viewing you as a tool, but some nights your words aren’t enough and he wakes up in a cold sweat, visions of the Magic Tower and his long-imprisoned uncle flashing in his mind. He finds solace in you, your arms around his waist and your face pressed against his back, and on those nights you wake up with his forehead pressed against yours so he can see your face first thing in the morning. You always know why he’s facing your way, and you always ask if he wants to talk about it.

By morning, Edgar is usually okay. He’s gone through night terrors enough to be able to chase them off on his own. He doesn’t want to burden you with things that he did to hurt you, actions he took that led to your suffering. It would be horrible to complain when you were the victim in that situation, and he doesn’t want to be horrible to you.

But all it takes for him to break, to crack just a little, is you taking him into your arms, pressing sweet kisses to his forehead, letting him know that he can talk to you about anything, anytime, and that all he needs to do is call because you will always come, no matter what. And for the first time in a long, long while, Edgar feels like he could cry.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t, but with every passing day he feels like he can be more honest with you. The sun rises above the horizon and dips below it, day after day, and you’re still here. You still bring him pastries you made and jellybeans you picked up from his favorite candy shop when you run errands. You still bring him a blanket when he falls asleep at his desk because he is working too hard, and you always pull up a chair right next to him so that when he wakes up, the first thing he will see is still your face. You still sing his praises when he spars, you still shine down on him with that beautiful smile when you run into his arms. You still place sticky notes on the wall above his desk, reminding him to take care of himself and that his favorite pastry is in the fridge if he needs any food while you’re away. Your notes form a mosaic of love and care and sweetness above the space that he used to slave away in. Now, because of you, instead of a desk full of paperwork signed by bloody hands, it feels like sitting on a fluffy cloud overlooking a flower-speckled meadow.

Edgar doesn’t know how he can even begin to repay you for what you’ve done for him. He knows without a doubt that he will love you every day, for as long as his soul will allow. Promising to love you with his heart isn’t enough, he thinks, because his heart could stop beating any day and a love that dies like a heart is no love at all.

You’re the most special person in his life, without a doubt. For far too long he thought his love wasn’t enough, that it wasn’t worthy, and yet you’ve tried (and are still trying) to convince him that it is. You cradle his hands to your chest and you say they’re warm, you kiss his scars when the memories hurt, and you allow his bloody hands to touch and hold you. You’ve allowed him so much, you’ve spoiled him rotten, and he couldn’t go on living without you

 He doesn’t know what pulled you into Cradle, but he prays to every star in the sky that whatever leads you here doesn’t change its mind. Whether it’s fate or just you (beautiful, radiant you), if you were to slip from his grasp, he doesn’t know what he would do.

And so, when you come back from running errands with a sleepy stumble in your step, when the sun dips beneath the sky, when your eyes and fluttering shut and you can’t stop yourself from yawning, Edgar catches you. His eyes are soft as he takes you in, your fingers curling around his bicep as you smile. Your head falls against his chest, and you allow yourself to slip into his embrace, your ear right against his heart. An explosion of emotions swell from within him, starting from the very pits of his stomach and blooming into a beautiful flower as they hit his heart. The happiness he feels, just holding you, knowing you trust him enough to let down your guard around him, fills him with the greatest joy he's ever known.

“Welcome home, dumpling.” he teases, voice soft and quiet as he brushes your hair away from your face, “Had a rough day?”

“Mhm.” you answer, nodding. Your hair scratches against his shirt, and his heart pitter patters in his chest, “Jonah ran me ragged.”

Edgar tsks, swooping you up into his arms. He’ll have to let Jonah know not to get too overzealous with his love, even though he knows all too well how easy it is.

It’s familiar, carrying you to bed and falling asleep at your side—in fact, Edgar knows it's never been easier. Waking up the next morning is just as easy, and even though he wishes he could stay there till the afternoon, he gets out of bed and gets ready before you can convince him to come back.

He’s out the door before you open your eyes.

The day passes like any other, with him running around headquarters and organizing paperwork, starting the occasional sparring match with Zero or one of his soldiers just so he doesn’t get bored. He makes sure to go into town and get the present he wanted to get for you, his heart set on giving it to you by the end of the day. He’s sure you’ll love it, and he’s certain this is what he wants.

He just hopes you will want it as well.

By the time he gets back to headquarters, it’s time for dinner. You’re waiting in the dining room for him, two dishes placed in front of you, and he delights in the way your smile glimmers when you see him. You perk up completely at the sight of him, and it's enough to fill him with butterflies.

You really are too sweet to him.

Dinner passes in the blink of an eye. He talks about his day and you talk about yours, observing your hand gestures and facial expressions like they’re the most interesting thing in all of Cradle. No, even more so—they’re the most interesting things in this world and the next and the next, because no matter how many worlds and universes there are, they wouldn’t hold a candle to the person who found him at his darkest and dragged him out with their own two hands, allowing him the mercy of clawing at their palms and grasping for their wrists and crushing their fingers when the darkness latches onto him and tried to yank him away from the light.

The walk back to his room is quiet. He can tell you’re sleepy, your hand wrapped around his wrist loosening and tightening every few seconds. It’s cute how you walk side by side but still insist on holding onto him. It makes him feel so loved, even when he opens his door and lets the two of you in and you have to let go.

“You seem excited about something, Edgar.” you comment, slipping your arms out of your shirt and changing into your pajamas.

He snickers to himself, shooting you an indifferent smile. You can read him so well, better than anyone else, and wow he really loves you.

“You’re right. I picked up a little gift for you while I was in town.” he says, coming closer to where you stand, tired from the day's events and in your pajamas but looking so, so lovely.

He cups your cheeks, and that hand slides away when he drops on one knee.

Your hands fly to your mouth, covering your gasp when he pulls out a small black box and presents it to you. Your eyes are already watering, and even though he wants to wipe your tears he knows those are the happiest tears he’s ever seen.

“When you first fell into Cradle, I couldn’t have imagined what you would end up becoming to me. You’re my everything. I love you more than anything, and you’ve given me more love than I ever could have hoped for. Marry me, and we can spend our days happy and in love for as long as we both should live.”

My precious Alice.

Your yes is so loud he’s certain you just woke up half of headquarters as you throw yourself into his arms, crying into his shoulder as he slips the ring on your finger. You clutch it to your chest like it's something precious, like it's something you can't bear to lose, and Edgar clutches you in much the same way.

His suspicions are confirmed when Jonah kicks down the door, looking frantically into the room to make sure you’re safe (and Edgar knows he only came for you, his now fiance, because he knows full well Edgar can defend himself.) Zero comes soon after, lured by the commotion Jonah makes after learning you two are engaged, and if Edgar didn’t know any better he’d say Zero is just as happy as he is.

Leave it to his student to always look out for him. It seems sometimes Zero becomes the teacher himself when it comes to Edgar’s happiness.

If there was any sleepiness in your eyes it's gone now, especially when Jonah orders everyone into the dining hall for a celebration. Tears gather in his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall, not even when you point them out and ask if Jonah is okay and he snaps that he’s fine, that he’s just tired and that the two of you screaming ruined his beauty sleep. Neither of you comment on his choked-up voice or his sniffling. You know that’s what's best.

The chefs are all too happy to bring out the alcohol (which lures Kyle from his office, who then offers you his sincere congratulations even though he’s very much out of it.) And before you know it, it’s like nighttime hasn’t fallen and most of Cradle isn’t asleep, because you’re with the man you love and all of his friends and everyone is smiling and laughing and it makes you tear up again.

You had no idea your happiness would make people so happy. You had no idea your shared happiness could make everyone this happy. You had no idea you two had so much influence on other people’s lives, even though it seems silly to comprehend it now when you’ve changed everyone’s lives in some way just by being here and loving one of their own.

You were part of a family now. A huge, dysfunctional, reckless, loyal family.

Edgar’s lips find your cheek and he kisses you like it’s the first time. You turn to him with watery eyes and he smiles at you, the crinkles around his eyes and in his brow making your heart pound.

“Thank you for saying yes.” he murmurs, “I love you so much.”

He kisses you, in front of everyone, and you cling to his collar like you want him to stay there forever.

Because you do, and you always will.

Because your love is felt with your whole soul, and if it died with your heart it’d be no love at all.

#auburn's fics <3 #auburn talks ikerev <3 #edgar bright #ikerev edgar #ikerev edgar x reader #ikerev edgar bright #ikerev edgar bright x reader #edgar bright x reader #edgar bright fluff #ikerev edgar fluff #ikerev fluff #ikemen revolution #ikerev #gn reader

[starslooklikediamonds]

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 

You pretended to be dead. 

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 

Missions were rarely a failure. 

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 

“None. Just us.” 

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 

This couldn’t continue. 

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 

On the second week, it got easier. 

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos. 

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #call of duty #mw2 2022 #call of duty mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw ghost #cod smut #call of duty smut #x reader smut #x female reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #simon riley call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #mw x reader #cod mwii

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  HERO OF THE HALF-TRUTH

SUMMARY : “I'm a hoe for Soldier Boy (I'm past hiding it😅) so I thought maybe you write one smut fic where he seemingly picks up reader from a bar, where he is at some promo event or something like that, and they go for a quickie behind a bar and after when she wants to go home, he forces her to sit through rest of the evening with his cum dripping down her legs, and if you're comfortable with it- there could be some degrading, hair pulling, roughness, choking?” — @k-slla 

PAIRING : soldier boy (ben) x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

TAGS/WARNINGS : explicit(18+), tiny canon divergence, depression, trauma, ptsd, degradation, i made soldier boy a sad little puppy, hair pulling, roughness, choking, unprotected p in v, cum kink

WORD COUNT : 3.7k

A/N :  title from an august burns red song. this fills the secret relationship square on my @jacklesversebingo card. I almost forgot to post this lmao 

Soldier Boy, he can’t seem to escape Vought. 

Even breaking every rule Stan Edgar enforced didn’t get him released of the steel strings keeping him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted. 

After being tortured for forty fucking years, it was the least he thought he deserved. He was old as fuck, he could feel the heaviness of it every morning when his eyes opened up to the bright sunlight. He was exhausted and everything looked dead. 

On top of everything, there was a dull ache that remained attached to him like a parasite from the betrayal of his teammates. Even though they’re all dead, even though they didn’t matter to him as he ended their lives—or even before that—his life layers around the hurt and pain left behind by the Crimson Countess. 

There was an emptiness that pressed into his soul like a black hole that no amount of drugs, sex, and alcohol could fill. It got sucked up like it was nothing, unseen, forgotten. It’s how he felt, too. Like nothing, forgotten, thrown away like a useless piece of trash by the very company that struggled to keep him under their thumb now, once again.

He had dreams and hopes before everything that happened. He could have had it all, but all of that evaporated in the same way he had eviscerated his old lover, the Crimson Countess. 

More often than he liked, Ben woke up to nothing, to no one—completely alone, unloved, unimportant. Forgotten. 

Still, here he was, at a ridiculously expensive bar for a promo event. Rich assholes surrounded him, faking smiles and faking laughter, shaking hands and making stupid small talk. They wore expensive suits and held glasses of alcohol that they hardly drank from the whole night. 

Don’t even get him started on the Supes that were on their best behaviour for the night. Pretending to be the good guys. Ben thought they were worse than him. Every single one of them were pathetic, useless, and weak. He didn’t like a single one, but he smiled, too, faking for the night knowing all the annoying cameras that were snapping shots of everyone at any given moment, and that irritating journalists were eavesdropping on every conversation to get the juiciest stories. 

He rolled his eyes as soon as he was able to get away from a journalist who refused to take his ‘no comment’ for an answer. Instead, she was hounded by the Deep who was told which people to talk to in order to continue rewriting his image. 

Ben grunted when he sat on the barstool and the bartender greeted him with a flirtatious, red-lipped grin. He wasn’t in the mood for anything tonight, but he mustered a smile when he ordered a whiskey. But otherwise, he stared into the golden liquid after taking a small sip, ignoring the woman when she brushed her fingers with his. 

Life went by around him; pop music played in the background, people’s voices made a hundred symphonies from laughing and conversation. And the bartender took Ben’s rejection with pride and continued to speak to patrons, reporters, and other Supes. 

His attention drifted away from the glass containing golden liquor when his skin prickled, a shiver running up his spine. He looked to the one side and then the other, there’s only one person who could make him feel that. 

And there she was, sitting on a barstool at the edge of the bar top laughing it up with A-Train, rather awkwardly. It’s like she called to him, somehow, without words. Not a single look had been exchanged just yet. His body felt her before he even laid eyes on her beauty, or touched the softness of her, or caught a whiff of her floral scent. 

Ben stood up to make his way to her. A-Train left instantly when Ben stood behind her with a scowl on his face. He watched her shiver with a tiny smirk, her sentence halfway complete by the time A-Train made it halfway across the room. 

Casually, she spun around in the stool to face him. Her expression was guarded—to everyone else, they were strangers. 

“Hey,” he grunted, deciding to take a seat next to her.

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly, looking away from him to drink the sweet Cosmo she ordered for herself. 

“I should be asking you that,” he shook his head and gave her a sideways glance. He caught the tiny smile on her face for being caught and bit his lip to stop himself from mirroring it. 

She paused and took a slow, short sip of her drink. He resisted the urge to look at her for taking so long to respond. He could feel her hesitation and her quiet sigh made his smile drop slightly.

“I haven’t seen you all week,” she murmured, finally admitting what had driven her to see him in a place filled with people he was hoping to keep from entering her life. They had no privacy now with all the Supes and Stan Edgar around, and he wanted to be angry at her for risking their… relationship, but most importantly her safety. 

He kept her from Vought, from Supes, from anyone who could hurt her or use her to get to him.  

He felt bad. Even though he had good intentions. He couldn’t deny that he was neglecting her. Making her wait for him as Vought dragged him here and there either to play hero or to do shit like this. Promo events. Fucking movies, songs, advertisements. 

It was exhausting to pretend so much. 

He wished he could see her more often. 

If he could, he’d like to return home to her. To lay in bed with her while she runs her fingers through his hair and while they watch another important movie he missed while he was… yeah. 

He just wanted to settle down with her, but Vought was a danger to his dream with her. 

Ben drowned the whiskey in one gulp and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, inhaling softly. He could feel her watching him, and he eyes subtly followed as he stood up and stomped away from the bar to get outside.

He hoped no one would follow him, except her. 

The night was dark, and cool enough that the sky was clear and the stars fought to shine against dark blue-violet skies despite the bright city lights. There was no breeze, the air didn’t bite at his skin and made his cheeks and nose turn red. 

It was perfect.

As perfect as the back of a bar could look during the evening. Cars zoomed by at the very end of the alley and colourful graffiti covered posters of Supes in the wall. Slander and hatred were sprayed against the walls, against Vought, a majority of the Supes. Others wanted Maeve back or defended Starlight, or Homelander. 

People were twisted. Cruel. Pathetic. Hypocritical. As they always were. They never changed, from what he remembers. Not really. They always think they are right, that they know better-

“What?” He heard the heavy door slam against the wall. The door shut slowly behind her when Ben turned around to see colourful pink and blue lights from inside form a shape around her body. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, her face was sadder, but still careful. She knew better than to drop her guard. That fearful glint in her eyes told him that she knew better than to think she was safe. Or that he wasn’t being watched.

That didn’t stop Ben from wanting to hold her. To kiss away her doubts, to smooth the worry lines on her forehead with his fingers, to melt away the tension from her muscles. 

“Sorry,” he whispered instead, his fingers twitching before clenching into a fist. He stepped towards her once the door clicked shut behind her, but she stood where she was as if her feet had grown roots, preventing her from reaching him. “You know I’d like to go everywhere with you in my arms, but-”

“You don’t need to explain it to me again,” she interrupted him softly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to make herself warm. She looked down at the intricate designs on his suit rather than looking into his big, pleading, green eyes. “Did you miss me… At least?” She blurted out, embarrassment blazing up her face for needing that reassurance, for asking it out loud.

Ben took the final steps to close the distance between them and cupped her cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “I did, you know I did,” he mumbled softly against her.

Ben could feel her relax in his arms. She breathed out slowly and he wrapped his arm around her waist to bring her as close as possible. She clung to the buckles on his vest and closed her eyes as the sounds of the city at night faded into nothing around the two of them.

Part of Ben still felt guilty. Probably more now that he was holding her than before.

Here she was, all dolled up and glamorous for him. Because she missed him. Sure, he thought of her way too much the entire week, but she doesn’t know that. He was so overwhelmed with his job and doing what was expected of him, reshoots and interviews, so many things that came with his contract with Vought. 

If he trusted the damned company, he’d include her and her safety when it gets renewed. He’d request a meeting tomorrow, or tonight, to have it changed. So he wouldn’t have to sneak around with her. He’d like to quit to have all that without being under Vought, but he wouldn’t feel safe, and therefore, she wouldn’t be safe either. 

If he could, he’d fake his death and run away with her. But unlike him, a man who simply doesn’t belong in this time, she was the tree at the centre of a garden that everyone loved to gaze at and be around. He couldn’t just uproot her and leave an empty space where she once was in everyone’s lives. She was loved for who she was—genuine, kind, feisty. But Ben was just liked for his looks, for what he was good for—except for her, he loved him as he was, for all that he was.

Every ugly part. Every bad part. And there was a lot of that. He was an asshole and he was insecure, he already knew that. Who was he kidding besides the people who seemingly adored him? Fans?

“Come on,” she whispered, pulling away to kiss him on his bearded jaw, “let’s get back inside so I don’t freeze out here.” Ben’s fingers dug firmly into her hips to keep her in place.

“What makes you think I’m letting you leave so quickly?” His rough voice caused a shiver to run up her spine. She smiled softly against his mouth and pushed up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. “I missed you and you look gorgeous. And now that I have you here… I’m going to make a mess of you with the time I have.”

She inhaled sharply, excitement speeding up her heartbeat. Ben walked her backwards until her back hit the cold wall and she gasped softly once she was pressed against the painted bricks. Her flushed skin made her more sensitive to the cold surrounding her and almost instantly, before his luscious mouth even landed on hers, she felt a tingle of excitement followed by a flood of wetness between her legs.

“Are we really gonna fuck here?” She whispered against his lips. His beard tickled the soft skin of her chin when he hummed a ‘yes’ against her lips, pressing softly at first. “What if someone sees us?” She asked, burying her fingers into his soft, brown hair. 

Ben smirked, his tongue teasing the seam of her lipstick-painted lips. The dull flavour of lipstick hit his taste buds, but his mouth still watered. Her lips parted just slightly, her shaky breath made his lips tingle. “You should know better than to think that would stop me.” 

“Fuck,” she exhaled, his voice alone was enough to make her moan. His fingers clenched her dress, slowly dragging it up her legs, slowly pressing his knee between her legs. To tease, his knee grazed her clit, their mingled breaths made his mind hazy with arousal.

“Now, be a good little slut and give me your panties,” he ordered, releasing her dress to smack her ass with both of his hands. She moaned softly and brought his lips down to hers for a deeper, sensual kiss. 

His fingers tangled in her hair and he tilted her head to slide his tongue into her mouth, licking, sucking, desperately looking for a way to fuse himself with her. Her fingers blindly pulled and tugged at the buckles around his hips and then she whined uselessly when she couldn’t get a single one undone. 

He stopped kissing her to laugh softly, “I told you to focus on you.” 

“Please,” she laughed shyly, pecking his lips. She cupped his cock over his trousers and he gasped, rolling his hips against her hand. 

“We have to make this quick,” he told her, stepping back to work quickly on the buckles. He was faster, pulling out straps expertly, habitually, from years of practice. He didn’t even have to glance away from her flustered face, but unlike him, she clumsily dragged her seamless panties down her legs.  

He hadn’t removed anything, not enough for her to see how hard he was, and he wasn’t giving her a chance to. “I’m keeping these, doll,” he grinned, snatching her underwear and shoving them inside his armour vest, right where his heart thundered against thick metal. 

“Can I keep anything of yours?” She pouted. 

“You can keep my cum?” He offered with a smug smirk, his hands moved from where they were to grasp her hips and spin her around faster than she could process. 

“Okay,” she replied with a smile, hesitantly setting her hands and cheek against the wall. He laughed against her shoulder and hiked up her dress again, his fingers trailing up her sides. 

“You just love being a fucking cum-dump for me, dontcha?” He teased, his voice dripping over her like honey, deep and hot. She moaned softly in response and wiggled her hips impatiently. 

“Fuck.. anything for you, Ben.” He sank his teeth into her neck and guided his cock to her dripping entrance. The tip of his cock circled her entrance and slid through her wet folds slowly. The feeling of her bare heat against his skin made his grip tighten painfully around her hip.  

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet already,” he groaned, the length of his dick teasing her clit with every back and forth, “and I’ve barely even touched you.” He slowly pushed himself into her, shuddering at her delicious warmth wrapped around him. Her walls fluttered around him and she pushed her hips back into him, adjusting to the size of him. “That’s my needy little whore,” he praised degradingly, dragging his calloused hands up the front of her dress to palm her breasts. 

She moaned softly and reached back to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands until he groaned deeply against her back. The sound shook through her body like an earthquake and sent ripples of pleasure to her clit and pulsing walls. 

“Beg for my cock, needy little slut, show me how much you missed me,” he whispered into her neck with a smirk. He was all smug and sexy, hard and firm, and each touch woke something in her that she would have otherwise been too embarrassed to show anyone else.

“Please, fuck me,” she begged pathetically, pulling harder at his hair if she couldn’t convince him with her pleas. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pressed his fingers into her palm until she relaxed her grip. “God, please, Ben… I need you so bad,” she whispered needily, extending her hands back to grip onto any part of him that she could easily reach when he let her hand fall.

“Come on, let me hear you,” he panted, slowly thrusting into her. He bit his lip, digging his fingertips harder into her hips. She gasped at the pain and squirmed, but a tingle of pleasure began to bloom as he bruised her skin and dragged his cock slowly through her walls. “My pretty little slut,” he growled, smoothing his hands up her sides to bend her forward slightly.

“Please, Ben! I need you!” She whined, allowing him to roughly pull her up again against his chest. He pressed a hard kiss to her jaw, snapping his hips forward once as he groped her chest. Ben pulled the top of her dress down and didn’t hold back with the painful pinch of her nipples between his fingers. He ground his cock into her, driving himself deeper as she moaned and squeezed him. 

Her toes curled inside her heels and her breath hitched, but Ben continued to mouth at her cheek and her shoulder, his breath as uneven as hers. She could feel the grin on his face, the tickle of his beard fueled her arousal and she was dripping around his cock like a desperate whore.

“Please! I-I can’t take it!” She cried, pulling hard on Ben’s hair to make him move faster. He growled against her flushed skin and delivered another rough thrust in response. 

Ben’s teeth grazed her jawline and he grunted softly with each unhurried, deep, hard thrust. Her soft pleas and loud moans echoed against concrete walls, carried into the dark nothingness of the city. Her pussy clenched tighter around him and he was almost out of breath from how amazing she felt.

She clung to him as best as she could and his large hand ended up wrapped around her throat. He was waiting for her to finally fall apart and beg him to make her come. All she could do was ride along the tiny edge of her orgasm, so close to toppling over, but never having that pleasure wash over her.

“Faster, Ben! Let me come... Please… make me come!” She cried out, trying to move her hips to desperately meet his deep, slow pace. He squeezed her throat, pressing his fingers around her throat until her vision turned nearly all the way black.

“Christ, you’re perfect when you beg for my cock,” he chuckled. Be  relaxed his grip and she inhaled sharply, her brain getting fuzzier, like static. A moan slipped from between her lips and Ben finally began thrusting into her faster, sharper, precisely. Short quick gasps made their way past her swollen lips and his name hung in the air when it was stuttered lovingly. 

She found it easier to hold onto the wall, bending herself over once again as her knees became weak and her heels became difficult to stand in. Her mind evaporated from her skull, all she could feel was him, Ben. His suit brushed against her sensitive skin, hard armour pressing into her soft body. His beard scraped against her flushed neck, causing her to shudder and clench around him.

His lips were wet and warm against her skin, his breath adding to the heat to combat the cold that engulfed them. His hands touched and grabbed at what he could reach before tangling in her hair. He gripped her hair in one hand to breathe clearly into her ear, and he pulled at the strands so she stood up straight and couldn’t move away from him again.

Her scalp stung at occasional harsh tugs but his fingers on her clit distracted her enough to find more pleasure than pain. “You always do the stupidest fucking things for my cock,” he grunted in her ear, and despite how irritated she was from being edged she couldn’t help being amused.

Maybe it was all the pleasure that put her in a good mood or maybe it’s that she was finally where she wanted to be, with Ben. The man behind Soldier Boy. 

Her body had a pin-point focus on all the pleasure induced by everything he did to her. Taking her ability to breath with his grip tight around her throat, holding her to him with her hair wrapped around his fist. She felt like an overfilled balloon, overwhelmed with pleasure, love. She missed him more than anything and he was intoxicating.

She felt her orgasm wash over her, a scream of Ben’s name that he was partially able to muffle with his hand squeezing the side of her neck. She gasped, strained and strangled sounds that could barely move past his tight grip and then he let go before he could finish.

She was cold and empty for a few moments, her pussy clenched sound nothing and then a breath was punched out of her chest when he pressed her back into the wall. She was up in his arms, back to moaning and shaking when he slammed back into her.

A few quick thrusts with rough kisses pressed against her lips before warmth bloomed inside her from spurts of his release. Warm cum trickled down between her thighs and Ben laughed huskily against her shoulder when she held him tighter. 

“I missed you,” she whispered breathlessly, slightly disappointed when he pulled his cock out of her and set her back down. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath and recompose herself. She closed her eyes when he dipped down to kiss her cheek.

“Me too,” he murmured, his lips ghosting across her flushed cheeks. She fixed her clothes and tried to keep her focus on him, but she felt exhausted. Weak. “Tell you what,” he began, pulling her back in to keep her warm, “Sit like this through the night and I’ll take you home with me,” he proposed, smirking at the laughter that shook her body. “That’s what you’re good for, keeping my cum safe inside that needy little cunt of yours,” he brushed his lips against hers, collecting sticky strings of their release with his fingers to smear them across her painted lips. He bit his lip and watched her lick her mouth clean. 

“Yes, sir, Soldier Boy,” she smiled, entranced by the lascivious way he sucked on his fingers. 

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[milunalupin]

Hi! It’s so cute what you’ve written about Regulus. Could I request a blurb about Regulus being so smitten with reader that he pretty much forgets how to breathe and therefore never answers whenever she talks to him? Either with them already dating or just being classmates ☺️

Hope you have a lovely day!

sorry for the wait lovely, i hope you enjoy !! :)

— take my breath away

regulus black x reader ★ 1.1k words

Divination is shit. A complete load of dragon shit. There's no hard research behind it, no factual information, just conclusions based off of feelings. Regulus doesn't understand visions and wanting to know what's to come. He's has his future planned out for him, so what were tea leaves and crystal balls going to do for him?

Continue the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black family legacy, be the perfect son and the top student in every class. Easy enough for Regulus, except for being 3rd in Divination because he "lacked natural aptitude". How ridiculous. Lucky for him his parents were far more focused on him doing well in Charms and Potions than reading tarot cards and interpreting dreams.

The one thing he doesn't mind seeing during this period was you, someone he could never dream of having the pleasure to call his. You weren't born into a pureblood family, and weren't even close to rivaling him academically. He doesn't ever recall seeing you at a quidditch match either, at least not when Slytherin was playing. With your effortless beauty and blinding smile, he's confident he would have noticed you among the others in the stands.

Regulus doesn't know when he started to crush on you, it just kind of happened. One day he started to notice small things about you, from your baby blue nail polish to your lavender perfume that did everything but calm his heartrate. He would pass by your table on the way to his own and see you reading what he assumed to be muggle poetry. The quiet Slytherin would look for those same muggle poetry books in the library late at night. He liked it when the sun sometimes shone right on your face, your eyes squinting and nose scrunching adorably. You would often mumble haikus and villanelles to yourself during class, plush lips moving quietly as you stared out the window, in your own world.

Just like today, you hovered over your parchment, your quill moving in a way that it was obvious that you were not taking notes on the lecture being given. The professor noticed your distracted state, calling your name out. "Please tell us all what ovomancy is."

"It's.. erm.." you giggled nervously, your face flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry Professor, I wasn't paying attention."

Regulus held back a lovesick sigh, smiling to himself as you continued to doodle on your parchment as soon as the professor sighed and turned their back. As lucky as he wished he was, he wasnt daft enough to believe he was your only admirer.

Edgar Bones was a charming guy. Regulus wonders what was so funny about him that he had you giggling behind your hand, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his quill a little too tight. Every table was assigned a different method, so while he and his partner were busy taking notes on capnomancy, you and Bones were having fun with palmistry. The bitter Slytherin supposed the smoke he felt coming out of his ears meant jealousy, watching Edgar asking to hold your hand to see if he can read it that way.

"Merde, ça n'a rien à voir avec.." he hissed, his anger turning to yearning as he craved to be the one holding your hand.

Ah, less-- less bright

Are the stars of night

Than the eyes of the radiant girl!

And never a flake

That the vapor can make

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,

Can vie with the modest Eulalie's

most unregarded curl-

Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's

most humble and careless curl.

Regulus Black feels pathetic, writing love notes like a little schoolboy. Especially if his parents found out he was quoting muggle poetry. But there he was in the corner of the library, copying down yet another poem to leave on your table at the beginning of your next shared class.

He arrived early to Divination, quickly setting his folded parchment on your table and then sitting at his own. It's been weeks since he began to anonymously leave you poetry, too shy to talk to you face to face. You always read the letter and put it into your school bag, so hopefully you were keeping them and not tossing them out later when no one was watching. Regulus' knee bounced under the table as the other students started to file in, his eyes darting between the door and the folded parchment he left for you. He decided to get started on his next letter, hunching over his parchment to get the words just right.

Regulus was too distracted by perfecting his penmanship to notice you walk into the classroom and watch as he gently placed today's poem on your table. You smiled to yourself and went to your seat, tracing your beautifully written name with your finger. You had felt flattered when you first started receiving the letters, assuming that it had been your flirty class partner Edgar, but quickly realized that he wasn't the type to do such a thing.

"Your cursive letters weren't this perfect when you first started leaving me poetry, have you been practicing for me Regulus Black?"

Regulus gasps a little too fast, choking in surprise at your discovery. He turns away to cough into his sleeve like the proper boy he is. You grinned at the young heir, picking up his newest letter he had been working on.

His eyes widened and frantically waved his hands, trying to take the letter back but you held it behind you out of his reach. "You don't have to read th—"

"Shut up Regulus."

He placed his hands back in his lap, his ears burning red as you read his letter in front of him, the corners of your mouth turning upwards. Regulus felt himself holding his breath, knowing he had to say something now or sit there looking like a fool. He took a quick breath and kept his eyes on the parchment as he rushed his words out. "Perhaps, we could go to the library one day and read poetry together?"

He shouldn't have looked up because he felt himself lose oxygen again when he saw your enchanting self was smiling cheekily down at him.

"Or we could go down by the lake and you could read me some of your favorites?"

Regulus agrees with a shy nod and makes a mental note to use the Bubble-Head charm in case he forgets to breathe. He'll forget all about the charm later when your head is laying sleepily on his shoulder as he recites old poetry from his journal.

#marauders era #marauders #marauders x reader #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black #regulus x reader

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Devil's night [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is excited about his Halloween plans and you join him.

Directly based on episode 6x06, because I felt so bad about how the team behaves with Spencer that I needed to do something

“I see someone’s feeling spooky today,” Morgan smiled, looking you up and down.

You were wearing a cardigan knitted with various prints related to the time of year; pumpkins, ghosts, black cats, and candy corn, over a bright purple skirt and tall boots. Normally you would dress more formally due to the implied dress code the FBI operated under, but it was the weekend and Halloween was around the corner, so you could skip a suit day to wear one of those many scary-related items you had. After all, Halloween was your favorite holiday of the year. It was fun for everyone when you were a child, but as you grew up, your love for said celebration became a little weirder for others, so when you became an adult, you didn't think anyone shared such excitement about the date. Well, that is until you met Spencer Reid.

“It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treating, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity” you heard him say, as he walked in with an already quite annoyed Emily Prentiss.

You knew that sometimes Spencer talked too much, but you hated that the rest of your coworkers got upset like that when he was talking about something that he was passionate about. Now the subject was, clearly, the next date.

"All I asked was what he was doing this weekend" she complained to Rossi. Spencer ignored her and continued with his cathedra as he settled into the empty space next to you.

“I'm toying with the notion of either going to the Edgar Allan Poe Shadow Puppet theater or the re-enactment of the XIX century Phantasmagoria,” he said and your heart did a little skip. You and Reid had argued on a few occasions, outside of work, about Poe’s works and although you didn't know what the second thing he had mentioned was, it sounded very interesting.

“What is a Phantasmagoria?” you asked nicely and when your partner noticed your presence he smiled widely, as if he was just noticing you in the room. The others all pouted in anticipation of the explanation to come and you hoped Spencer hadn't noticed.

“Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre-cinema projected ghost shows invented in France, where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic” he explained to you, while he took a seat and waved his hands from side to side. You were completely unaware of the term so you slightly parted your lips in astonishment.

"Sounds interesting"

"I have an extra ticket, do you want to come with me?" he asked you, almost immediately, with the biggest smile of all. Honestly, the invitation took you by surprise, especially who was asking, and Spencer seemed to see it on your face. “I mean, if you don't have plans this weekend. You can say no if you want."

“I'd really love to,” you exclaimed, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea, and watched his eyes sparkle with joy as he nodded.

The others wanted to make fun of it a bit, but Garcia didn't give them time to when she handed you the case files. When Hotch told you that you were going to fly to Detroit, your partner complained loudly and his gaze inevitably went to you, since you were supposed to have made plans together literally three minutes ago, but knowing that the unsub only attacked during these three days of the year. You had no choice but to accept your fate. You have never gone from feeling completely happy to being so disappointed in such a short time.

"I guess you better forget what I just told you," Reid sighed, as you left the conference room.

"Maybe we'll make it on time, when is the show?"

"This Sunday. The puppet theater is at 9:00 pm, the last Phantasmagoria show is at 11:00 pm. None are sold out yet"

"If we get back in time enough, I'll accompany you both, what do you say?" you muttered, trying to be as positive as possible, as you took your friend's arm with both hands and gave it a friendly squeeze. Spencer was taller than you, but thanks to the boots you were wearing and the extra inches they gave you, your eyes were almost at the level of his “Don't be discouraged.”

"I like your clothes today," he suddenly murmured. Sometimes he would give you those kinds of sweet compliments, perhaps as thanks for the kindness with which you always treated him, and you would almost always blush "The drawings are beautiful. Do you know why pumpkins became so representative?"

"Jack-o'-lantern," you replied, rather proud of yourself for knowing the answer.

"But did you know that in the original story it wasn't a pumpkin but a turnip?" he said and you were silent. But he didn't make fun of you for it, instead he saw a new opportunity to impress you "Yeah, you see, in the original legend Stingy Jack..."

The rest of the team, who was in front of you, shared knowing looks as if they were pitying you for having activated the doctor's rambling mode, but the truth was that you were fascinated with every word that came out of his mouth. Sometimes you couldn't believe how there was someone as intelligent in the world as your cute companion and as he spoke you prayed, perhaps with all your might, that you could catch the unsub in time to be able to fulfill the plans in the ones he had included for the weekend.

Almost as if by divine handiwork, the case was solved just in time for the plane to land and you two to rush home to get dressed for the theater. Hotch was even sympathetic to you and told you that the paperwork could wait for Monday just because he had heard of your plans, which you were immensely grateful for.

Spencer was happy that you agreed to go out with him, especially since the idea of asking you out was completely impulsive. It was true that he had an extra ticket but he never thought of having the courage to ask you to accompany him, much less did he think that you would be interested in it, since he was regularly ignored by his colleagues at work. It was something he had never discussed with anyone, only his beloved and gone Elle, but it haunted him almost every day.

Luckily for him, Spencer had prepared the wardrobe he wanted to wear in advance, and all he had to do was take a warm shower, shave, and put on some cream and cologne to get ready. In addition to, of course, styling his short hair as best he could.

He felt particularly concerned by his appearance that night and he pondered whether you would think he looked silly wearing a 19th century French suit. He had bought it last month and it was stored with his costume collection, which no one on the team knew about yet and he didn't intend for that to change.

He had offered to pick you up and when he got to your building, he felt strangely nervous. The doorman was a kind older man that he had seen a couple of times, so when he said that he was looking for you, the man called you on the phone to let you know.

They were silent for a few moments and he began to rock on his heels to kill some time.

“Will you take her trick-or-treating?” the doorman, Tony, joked. Spencer didn't take it the wrong way, instead he laughed it off.

"It's not the plan, but if someone takes pity on us and gives us some I won't complain" he replied and now it was the employee's turn to laugh.

"I've seen you before, are you her boyfriend?"

“Coworkers,” Spencer clarified, with a smile.

"Ah, so you're also a policeman?" although it wasn't the proper term, Spencer didn't know if you had hidden your real job for personal reasons, so he held back from explaining to the man that you were actually a profiler.

"Yes, something like that"

Tony wanted to ask more questions, but the sound of the elevator caught the attention of both men and revealed your figure.

"No fucking way," you breathed, looking your friend up and down and if he hadn't gone dumbfounded, he probably would have said the same thing "Look at you!"

"Where did you get that?" he asked in amazement. Although Spencer had thought that you would show up in a costume, he hadn't expected to see you like this. 

"You don’t like it?"

"No, I love it" he hastened to say, when he heard the insecurity in your voice "It's just… I didn't expect to see you as a 19th-century French lady"

You were wearing a beautiful black dress with lace details that obviously alluded to the fashion of the time, black satin gloves, plus a discreet hat on your well-groomed hair and boots that Reid had seen before, but they made a great combination with the outfit. The man's surprise was because he had invited you with such short notice and yet you had gotten the perfect costume and not only that, but one that conveniently matched his.

“And I didn't expect to see you as a French gentleman either” you laughed, as you reached out to wrap him in a hug "I guess it was pure fate"

“Or the fact that we are going to see a recreation of a 19th-century show. Our brains thought the same thing.”

“It doesn't sound so charming when you say it like that" you complained amused and he realized it was true "Shall we go? I don’t want to be late"

Spencer nodded and immediately offered you his arm to hold onto as you walked, a gesture that made you believe you were really entering a time tunnel.

“Enjoy your night”

"Thanks, Tony! Don't scare too many kids and don't eat too much candy,” you waved, blowing him a kiss as you followed Spencer out the door.

He guided you to his car and opened the passenger door for you and then he got in himself to start the engine and get going.

"I really can't believe that we got a couple's costume by pure coincidence"

“Couple costume?”

“Yes, they are those costumes of the same theme that you use with a couple. You know, like the people who dress up as Fred and Daphne or Morticia and Gomez”

Spencer didn't know the last couple, but he did have a vague recollection that the first ones mentioned were from Scooby Doo due to the cartoons he came from as a child.

"Oh" he sighed "Yes, get it”

“Honestly this was a last-minute thing. My downstairs neighbor studies theater and we are good friends, so I asked her if she had anything in her curiosities bag that could help me and she pulled out this dress. It was enough to adjust it a little" you told him, putting both hands on the neck of your dress and smiling from ear to ear "I couldn't believe it, it was really a stroke of luck”

"It looks so pretty on you," he said suddenly, looking away from the road just for a moment to check that you had heard him. "I don't think I told you when I saw you, but that's what I thought."

"Thank you then," you smiled, feeling your cheeks warm a little.

Spencer started talking to you about the creation of puppet theaters and, of course, the Poe stories you were going to witness, with you interrupting him only to point out some decoration along the way that you thought was cute. On Halloween you almost always preferred to stay at home to watch horror movies or go down to the hall to distribute candy to the youngest children, with very discreet costumes to avoid the evil looks of adults. But now you were excited to be doing this with Spencer, who was maybe the only person you knew who wouldn't make fun of you under any circumstances. Your relationship was based on a certain complicity, perhaps more than you had with any member of your unit.

Arriving at the site, he reopened your door and offered you his hand to help you down, which you took without complaining. Once you were outside, he repeated the gesture from when he picked you up from your building and in this way you walked to the entrance, where a woman disguised as who you assumed was Berenice (a Poe character) sold you a couple of tickets.

It was a lovely show and when you weren't looking at the puppets you took the time to admire your companion, whose eyes revealed the emotion of a child. You never thought the doctor was fond of a thing like this and now that you had discovered it you found it quite adorable. As you left you asked him if he was a Muppets fan by any chance and, to your surprise, he was. Spencer even told you that he had a couple of Kermit the Frog items that his mom bought him when he was little, but he also told you not to tell anyone or he'd be embarrassed and you pinky promised him.

You still had an hour between the two shows so you decided to go to a nearby park where there were lots of food stalls: candy apples, popcorn, candy, lemonade, and you even got to one where a Hispanic woman offered you pieces of candied pumpkin. You had to take off your gloves (which he kept carefully in his jacket) when you bought a few pieces of this last one for the two of you and when you tried it you agreed that it was delicious. The woman told you that in Mexico, her country of origin, she always served them to her children with a glass of milk.

Spencer spared no expense just to fulfill all your cravings, even though you refused, so when you got in the car to go to the Phantasmagoria your stomach was pretty full. The place where it would take place was a gray tent in the open air, with a dais in front and several wooden benches arranged so that enough people could fit in. As you had arrived with some time, you took a seat on a bench in the second row and waited patiently for the show to start.

Suddenly all the lights around you went out, leaving only the ones pointing to the front of the stage, and a presenter dressed as a magician appeared.

“For many centuries, wandering spirits have inhabited the world unseen by the human eye, always confined to the world of shadows…” his voice was mesmerizing and kept you on the edge of your seat, watching him carefully “but for a certain time of the year, their magic grows and they are able to cross the barrier that separates us…”

The entire tent was filled with smoke and the audience, including you, looked around trying to figure out what would happen. The presenter continued giving his gloomy monologue and, although you didn’t imagine how, you even felt that the temperature decreased a little with each word he said. Suddenly even the lights that were pointed at him began to dim and by the time he finished explaining to you the whole place was in complete darkness.

There was silence for a moment to build tension and then there was an explosion that made you jump in place. To tell you the truth, you didn't expect much from the show, you thought that being a recreation it would have many shortcomings, but when the first figure appeared on the roof your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't a scared person under normal circumstances and your resistance to the horrifying images you saw at work on a daily basis shows this, but this time perhaps all the environmental components of that night were what made you feel that way. A loud laugh resounded and then another pair of specters appeared, this time flying at the height of the audience and even passing through some of you.

Spencer's reaction was nothing like the rest. Despite his fear of the dark he was totally fascinated by all the images, his mind already working to decipher the magic trick that was being performed. What finally got his breath caught was the feel of your hand searching his. He was still shielding your gloves so he could feel the cool temperature of your fingers, as opposed to how warm he was in comparison. Even knowing that doing that was a reflex act due to fear, he stopped paying attention to the show to look at your hand on top of his, with that noticeable difference in size.

Just as you had admired him during the puppet show, he took the time to observe your expressions now. Your face lit up from time to time by the illusions around you and every time you startled you squeezed his hand harder, in addition to adjusting your body against his as if you were looking for some kind of protection. Spencer had gone out with friends many times and of course with the rest of his female colleagues at work, however none of them had behaved like you were doing. He wasn’t bothered by your behavior, but rather intrigued, since you seemed quite comfortable taking refuge in him to feel safe. Although he knew how to identify qualities in people, he sometimes had a hard time crossing the line of identifying them to really admire them. When he thought of JJ, he thought of a charismatic woman. When he thought of Emily, he thought of intelligence. And when he thought of Penelope, he always saw joy and optimism. But when he thought of you, there were too many qualities to focus on just one: he thought of kindness, calmness, creativity, wit, beauty, empathy... what a big heart you had and how at the end of the day you were perhaps the only one who could make him smile. When he invited you to join him, he did it because he knew you had the same feeling towards scary things, but now that you were there, looking so pretty and holding his hand tightly, he thought maybe there was something else going on between you. You were the closest thing he had to a best friend, though he had never said so verbally, and that night he wanted to be nowhere else but by your side.

Only when the lights came back on did he realize that the spectacle had been forgotten to him, since the whole time he had been looking at you.

“That was all for today, my friends. Thank you for these wonderful performances and remember to recommend us to your friends the next time we're in town. Have a spooky night, all of you."

“I can't believe it, did you see all that? It was just awesome! I didn't think it was going to be this good” you said, completely excited, as you turned in his direction. Apparently you weren't even aware that your hands were clasped until he got up from the seat and helped you imitate him with that grip. Though you thought of apologizing for that, you didn't, fearing to embarrass yourself further.

“It was amazing, even for me it was hard to figure out the trick”

“Why do you want to figure it out? admit it's only magic, doctor. Sometimes life is” you laughed, grabbing his arm for the third time like a happy wife would her husband.

You are something magical, he thought, with the words on the tip of his tongue, but not daring to say them to you. 

Although the night was late, the movement in the streets was still the same and Spencer considered asking if you wanted to go somewhere else, but the yawn that escaped you made him think that the best thing for both of us would be to go home to rest. After all, the case had exhausted you.

"Back to your house, right?" he asked, just to be sure and you nodded with a smile.

The road wasn’t long, you only had to take care of the naughty at night so as not to receive any damage, so when you least expected it, you were already in front of your building. Although you intended to say goodbye, Spencer told you that he would accompany you to the door of your apartment just to make sure that you arrived completely safely, because he knew better than anyone how much could happen to a woman alone, even if it was such a short journey, and he didn't want to risk you. Tony was still awake and greeted you nicely as you walked in, so you could then get on the elevator and press the necessary button.

“I seriously have no words to thank you for today, Spencer. Except for that one time I ended up in the hospital for eating so much candy, this has been my best Halloween ever,” you admitted with a laugh, as you leaned in for a big hug.

"Thank you for accompanying me. I'm really glad you had fun, because I had a great time too”

There was a dead space between you, in which you just looked at each other with a smile. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the night had been wonderful and maybe it was just that you two were trying to drag it out as long as possible.

“Spencer”

"Yeah?"

"Before you go, can I ask you something?"

"Whatever" he responded immediately. He got a little nervous thinking that he wouldn't be able to satisfy your curiosity by ignoring the topic you were going to ask him about and hoped that wasn't the case.

You waited another second before speaking.

"How frowned upon do you think it was for 1800s society for a woman to steal a kiss from her companion?"

Spencer's eyes danced a little in his sockets and you thought he was processing your request in disguise, until he looked at you again and spoke with complete assurance:

“Very frowned upon, surely. At that time, it was usual for men to court women, who were very repressed from making their own decisions or living their sexuality as they pleased. A woman who kissed a man was considered indecent."

You wanted to correct him, tease him or, as a last resort, simply pull him by his shirt and plant the kiss you had wanted to give him all the way. But you didn't do any of that, you just laughed softly and enjoyed his smirk for telling you the right answer.

“I was afraid of that. It's good to know” said this, you carefully approached him and placed a small kiss on his cheek, seeing him slightly surprised by the act “See you tomorrow at work. Call me when you get home”

"I will do that. Rest and see you later"

"Bye”

Just as he said, he called you a few minutes later to announce that he had arrived at his destination so you could sleep peacefully.

Spencer didn't realize that you had explicitly asked for a kiss until Morgan told him and while his friend laughed, he felt like the luckiest guy of all and, at the same time, the dumbest.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #criminal minds 6x06 #devil's night #devil's night criminal minds #spencer reid halloween #spencer reid fluff

[hxney-lemcn]

Heart to Heart — Edgar Allan Poe x gn! reader

summary: reader meets Ranpo's rival at Kyouka's welcome party, and seems to keep running into him. What happens when they both realize their feelings?

tw: mentions of suicide (Dazai smh), Poe thinks reader is pretty/beautiful (I do think these terms are gender neutral), mentions of death (?) (they're on a murder case with Ranpo)

a/n: I LOVE HIM! But it's so weird to write for Edgar Allan Poe as I had a unit about him for one of my English classes (this is why I mainly refer to him as Poe 💀).

wc: 3.7k

Master List

Your eyes trailed over to the mysterious man who sat where the clients normally sat. You had seen Ranpo greet him before swiftly leaving. You also noticed the mischievous gleam in his green eyes as he passed you by. The man, whose brown hair had a purple tint under the office lights, had been left sitting there with his adorable pet raccoon for over thirty minutes. You weren’t the most extroverted person, but even you felt a slight tug to include him in the party that was currently being held. 

You dearly hoped he liked cake as you approached the awkward man with two plates with a slice of cake on each. You had briefly recalled Yosano speaking of encountering a Guild member who met this man's descriptions. He had the power to entrap others in his novels and seemed obsessed with Ranpo. She had spoken of him comically, brushing him off as someone who wasn’t a threat towards anyone, and seeing him now you couldn’t help but agree. Although for the life of you, you couldn’t remember his name (or if Yosano had even mentioned it).

“Uhm, hello,” You greeted him. You couldn’t see his eyes through his bangs, but you were still able to see the comical surprise that shifted over his features. His face flushed a bright pink as his head shifted to look anywhere but you. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” You pointed towards the seat across from him. His shoulders scrunched up, causing his raccoon to fuss and jump down. 

He began to stammer over his words, mumbling things you couldn’t make out for the life of you. Placing his hands over his face, he stopped trying to speak and shakily nodded his head. Against your better judgment, you found yourself endeared to him already. You found his fashion choices worked for his aesthetic well, and his bangs covering his face seemed less like an edgy choice, and more of wanting to be hidden from the world. His shy personality and pet raccoon had also made him easier to adore. 

Sitting down, you placed the plate on the table in front of him, “I hope you like cake, if not, there’s tons of other snacks.”

“Th-thank you,” He stuttered out, picking up the plate with a reverence you didn’t understand.

That was how you met Edgar Allan Poe. You found yourself enjoying spending time with him, asking him about his pet to find a connection. It was weird, where you normally had trouble keeping a conversation with someone, it felt easier with him. You suspected that it had something to do with the fact that he was the one struggling in this situation. Conversation flowed easily, as your topic had switched from pets to mystery/horror novels. You both had more in common than you thought, and he even offered you a novel to read (that alone took up most of his courage…and you hinted that you’d like to read one).

“The Tell-Tale Heart,” You repeated. “Sounds interesting.” It seemed like any form of praise, even the tiniest, had caused Poe to short circuit. You had just said that the title of his work sounded interesting and he felt his heart pound faster. He was quickly forgetting why he was here in the first place, enraptured by your attention. The first time in years, he felt like beating Ranpo had taken the back seat, as he now wanted your approval as well.

“Wuuaaa~” Loud coos had grabbed both of your attention. Kyouka was currently holding Karl, the other members crowding around her to also see the raccoon. Poe ran over, hiding behind the other side of the table, trying to coax Karl away. A bright grin took over your features at the display before you. Joining Poe by his side, you patted his shoulder, hoping to comfort him a little. After all, Karl seemed to be loving the attention.

It didn’t take much time for you to see the recluse again. After the welcome party for Kyouka, you missed the chance to exchange numbers to stay in contact. Poe had managed to slip away in the chaos of cleaning, which left you feeling a bit downtrodden. But being Ranpo’s work partner had its perks…sometimes. To your utter surprise, Poe was at the end of your destination. Ranpo had snuck up behind the poor man, scaring the daylights out of him. Poe had become even more flustered when his eyes met yours. You waved at him in greeting, but he had quickly switched to asking why Ranpo was here.

That was how Poe ended up joining you both. You noticed how Ranpo gave time for Poe to figure it out. You had a hunch at the party. The fact that Ranpo had invited Poe, only to leave him, and now how he was trying to help Poe solve the crime. They were friends, or as friendly as it can get for a riverally. They almost seemed like siblings, bickering about who was better. 

“What do you think?” Poe asked, softly calling your name as he turned to you. You paused, you hadn’t paid a lick of attention to the current case, as usually Ranpo would solve it quickly while boasting about his ability. But now that Poe was here, and Ranpo was giving him a chance, he was looking to you for confirmation. 

For being someone in the Armed Detective Agency…you weren’t much of a detective. Yes you enjoyed reading mystery and horror novels in your free time, but you had joined the agency due to having nowhere else to go. Your ability had caused you too much trouble when you were young as you couldn’t fully control it. Even under Fukuzawa you still would have troubles. That’s why you were partnered with Ranpo, as your use of your ability was only used in emergencies. 

As much as you didn’t like to be chalked up to a mere guide, you found yourself more as a mediator since Ranpo would tend to upset others. Ranpo and you worked well together, your personalities complimenting each other well, and if someone took their anger (originally aimed at Ranpo) out on you, Ranpo would quickly shut them down and leave. 

You glanced at Ranpo, hoping he’d give you a slight hint at what was just said, but he only chuckled as he watched you both. With an anxious tone, you asked Poe if he could repeat himself. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind too much, repeating his process and conclusion with pink cheeks. If only you could see his eyes, the way the dark purple shined with hope of your approval. Perhaps an awed look would take over your features at his brilliance. 

“But then she would’ve had to be alive at 2pm, didn’t they say the time of death was 1:30pm?” You asked, genuinely confused. Scratching at his cheek, Poe gently informed you of how the suspect managed to kill her. It was quite convoluted and hard to imagine actually happening, but Ranpo clapped, approving of the conclusion (albeit a bit backhandedly).

“Wow,” You blinked in awe. “You both are so smart.”

“You should expect nothing less from the world's best detective!” Ranpo exclaimed, already leaving the scene. Suddenly, your praise for Ranpo evaporated. Turning to Poe, you hadn’t expected the blissful expression that painted his face. Karl rested around his shoulders, also seeming pleased. 

“C’mon,” You gestured to Poe to follow you with your head. “Let’s celebrate this together.” Poe had never felt this warm before, the way you smiled at him so sweetly made him feel warmer than the sun that was shining down on you both. He followed you (quite obediently might I add), feeling himself fluster further as you pulled him to walk beside you instead of slightly behind. You continued to point Ranpo where to go as he led the three of you to your usual cafe. 

You ate your favorite dessert, trying to ignore how flustered you currently felt. Ranpo was rambling about something or another, you were more focused on the raccoon that was currently nuzzled into your cheek (you knew Karl was begging but you could indulge yourself in his furry affection). Although you slowly felt your attention drift to the dark brown haired man that sat beside you. His gaze felt like it was piercing through you, and you weren’t sure how to react. Even though it set your nerves alight, you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention of the pretty author. 

Poe really didn’t mean to stare…I swear. He just couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every instance he’s with you, you seem to be more beautiful than he remembered. He wasn’t sure why, this was his second time talking with you after all, but each glance at you and his breath seemed to be stolen all over again. Not to mention how Karl seemed to favor you over him already. Poe understood, as from what he’s seen of you, you’ve been nothing but sweet. He’d nuzzle against you if he were a raccoon too. 

You had managed to get his number that time (more like Ranpo made a scene about why you both should switch numbers). Yet you found yourself hesitating. What would you even say? Then, like a light bulb went off, you remembered a certain promise Poe had made. Quickly, you texted him, asking him if he was free. You wanted to read that short story he mentioned the first time you met. 

Poe on the other hand, anxiously awaited a text from you. He couldn’t even focus on the novel that he was writing to challenge Ranpo. His eyes kept drifting to his phone, hoping it would buzz. Though the longer you took to text him, the more he started to doubt himself. Why would someone as amazing as you be interested in someone as lowly as him? You were Ranpo’s work partner, you already were surrounded by the best, what could he offer you? Poe slouched as these thoughts consumed him. You had shown him a light, and now he felt like he was drowning in his darkness once again. 

“Meow~” Poe’s phone buzzed. He perked up, quickly fumbling with the phone to open it. He had changed your ringtone and message notification sound the instant you mentioned you liked cats (this made him almost swoon as he also likes cats). As Poe read your text, he felt himself fluster (a feeling he was starting to get used to in your presence). Scrambling, Poe quickly made sure he had the story, a giddy yet nervous feeling consuming him. You were to both meet this weekend, and he was going to give you a copy of The Tell-Tale Heart at a cafe (similar to the one you went to before but a bit more quiet). 

…

You sat idly in a seat, watching the crowds pass by through the window. Tapping mindlessly at the table, you only looked up when a gentle bell chimed throughout the small shop. You smiled brightly as you waved Poe over. He shuffled over, taking a seat across from you, head bent down shyly. The waitress quickly swooped in, taking both your orders before leaving. An awkward silence fell over you both, and you realized that this was your first time together alone (in a sense). 

“This is for you,” Poe muttered, sliding a small book over the table. You lit up, picking up the small work and admiring the cover.

“Thank you so much!” You thanked, paging through the book briefly before closing it once more. You kept in mind the fact there was a personal note in the front, you’d have to read that later. 

“There’s a few other short stories as well,” Poe rambled slightly. “Th-they’re only a few pages in length so it wouldn’t have made much of a book alone.”

“You’re spoiling me,” You teased, placing the dark covered book aside (not wanting to accidentally ruin such a heartfelt gift). Both your food and drinks were placed in front of you not much longer. Poe felt his heart set aflame as you treated his work so gently, like it was something you genuinely cared for. If this counted as spoiling, then he’d write you anything you could ever ask for. 

It was that same night that Poe started to finally mull over his feelings for you. They had grown and had grown quickly. He felt himself shrink as he hunched over his current work in process, mind drifting towards you. There was no way he could’ve fallen for you (and so quickly). He’s a reclusive author trying to prove his worth, he had no time for silly distractions. (Who was he kidding, he was already dreaming up domestic moments he’d die to have with you). 

…

Ranpo found it funny at first. For the best detective, he was quite oblivious about others feelings (if he even cared), but even he couldn’t deny the fact that you both were head over heels for the other. It started to get grating over time as Poe was no longer focused on his rival. How Poe would blush as he looked towards you for approval, how he would stutter at your praise. It was so foolish, Ranpo really didn’t understand why Poe acted like such towards you. You were just another baby like the rest of the world, you just happened to be a baby that Ranpo cared about (not that he’d ever admit that).

Soon, Ranpo found your actions boring. The way you’d beat around your feelings, never admitting the obvious. It reminded Ranpo of how he felt before he met the President. How everyone was so sneaky about the truth, until the President made him realize people were really just that stupid. Ranpo couldn’t help but sigh at that thought, you both were terribly idiotic. 

“They’re just too caught up in their own feelings,” Dazai sighed, holding his head up in his hands. “How I envy Poe, to have someone to commit suicide with so readily.”

“I’m not commiting suicide with Poe,” You walked in with a deadpan. You weren’t sure why you or Poe were the topic of conversation between Dazai and Ranpo, but you didn’t like where it was going.

“Your tale of love is so-”

You swiftly slapped the back of Dazai’s head, warmth blooming on your cheeks. Were they saying you and Poe were romantically inclined? The thought alone made your entire body heat up (it would be hard to deny you felt affectionate towards the quiet man). 

“I’m sorry to disappoint but my love life is still as dull as ever,” You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of the snack you grabbed.

“It’s so obvious how you and Poe feel for each other,” Ranpo complained, a bored look on his face. “You’re too busy looking at your phone to witness my brilliance.” 

“Shut up!” You grumbled, face feeling like it was on fire. Were you really on your phone that much? 

“Ahhh~ There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dazai teased, a carefree look on his face. “Love is an extraordinary feeling. It’s only a shame when you don’t act on it.”

“That’s why a double suicide-”

This time Kunikida threw a pen at Dazai’s head, cutting him off. Kunikida’s glasses shone under the light as he pushed them up. “Stop trying to get them to commit a double suicide and do your work.”

…

Dazai’s words rung in your head. Although the context was spurious, they had some truth. It would be a shame if you and Poe had feelings for each other and neither of you acted on it (Lord knows Poe wouldn’t). So you decided it would be up to you, and what better than to write a love letter? It would be easier than to say it in person. Which is how you ended up hunched over your desk at home, once again viciously erasing what you previously wrote.

You couldn’t put your feelings into words. You weren’t terrible at writing, as writing reports on the daily had made you try different styles to keep your brain from turning into mush. Yet at the moment all your knowledge seemed to flow right out of your mind. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but you didn’t want to undermine your feelings either. You felt frustrated as the paper crumpled at the amount of times you had written and erased it. 

After what felt like forever, you finally settled on what you had written. It was short and sweet, it got your feelings across and it couldn’t be misinterpreted as anything but romantic (you literally ask him on a date at the end). 

You gave it to him when you met up in your weekly hang out. You both had agreed to it, greatly enjoying each other's company. It wasn’t always out in public either, as sometimes you’d go to his place (or vice versa). You were going over to his place, as he wanted to continue to work on his novel (but he didn’t mind if you joined him). It was a perfect opportunity to not only reread his book, but to hide the letter somewhere he would find it. 

Everything was going well, Poe had made some tea (mainly for you but you forced him to join you). Karl was resting on your lap, making happy chattering noises as you gently pet him. The atmosphere was warm and comforting, you couldn’t ask for better company (don’t tell that to Ranpo). You didn’t notice anything was off until Karl jumped off your lap, making you pause your reading. A white envelope was clasped in Karl’s jaws and you felt your heart drop. It was too late, the raccoon was faster than he looked. 

Adrenaline rushed through your veins, fight or flight reactions kicking in. Of course yours was freeze (you couldn’t be more grateful for the President’s ability as otherwise yours would have activated by now). Poe paused in his writing, setting his fountain pen down as Karl sat on the desk, placing your love letter down in front of his owner. You silently glared at Karl, what a little traitor. Poe’s head rose slightly towards you, and you quickly shoved your nose back into the book. 

Poe hesitated, unsure of what to do. Was this yours? Had you sent Karl as a messenger or was Karl up to his mischievous schemes? Poe didn’t want to invade your privacy, but perhaps you wanted him to read whatever was inside? Was this even yours? Maybe it was something Poe had written and forgot about (he could be quite forgetful). Once again, Poe looked over at you, and once again he caught you watching him. He felt himself fluster, deep down enjoying your attention on him. 

You hadn’t said anything, and you clearly acknowledged he had the envelope…so perhaps it was okay for him to open it. Hesitantly, he grabbed his letter opener and cut through. With shaky hands, his mind came up with ideas of what could possibly be written (his favorite idea was a love letter). He felt himself get giddy at the thought of you pouring your feelings for him out on paper for him to read. His heart beat faster as his eyes took in the lovely letter you had written. He felt like he was going to burst into flames at the forwardness. You wanted to go on a date with him? His mind felt like it was melting, how could someone like you be interested in him? 

You, on the other hand, watched from the safety of your book. You bit your lip to suppress your smile at Poe’s flustered state. You don’t think you could ever get over how cute he was. It felt even better that it was you he was flustered over. He buried his face into his hands, Karl tilting his head curiously. You on the other hand were sitting on the edge of your seat. Would he respond? Would he ignore it? It felt awkward that you were in the room when he read it, it was supposed to be when you were away!

“I-is it true?” Poe asked weakly. You almost missed it if you weren’t so tuned in to his reaction.

“Yeah,” You nodded, finally closing your book and placing it in your lap. “Don’t…feel pressured to feel the same way. I understand if you don’t.” You weren’t sure where your doubt came from, even you couldn’t deny how Poe acted around you. Yet you still felt like he might not want something like that. 

Poe fidgeted with the papers that laid before him. Suddenly, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper, quickly writing something down. You watched in slight wonder mixed with anxiety. What was he doing? Was he really ignoring you? Or was he replying? You fidgeted with the pages of your book, saying nothing as Poe handed the paper to Karl. Without hesitation, Karl made his way back to you. Standing on his hind legs, Karl placed his paws on your knees, paper resting in his mouth. You grabbed the paper, eyes stumbling to read over the words.

Poe really had a way with words. You thought his short stories were amazing, yet it was hard to breathe as you read his feelings for you. Your skin warmed at the sweet words he wrote of you. Finally, at the end, he had agreed to the date. You tried to take in deep breaths to compose yourself, you felt as flustered as Poe looked. 

“Show off,” You pouted, unsure how to react otherwise. You tucked the paper into your book, you would be sure to keep that safe to reread again. It wasn’t fair how he managed to make you feel fluttery and turn your insides into mush. 

Poe shrunk into himself, covering his face with his hands once more. He was just so cute…you couldn’t let him get away with such a crime. Standing up, you stood on the opposite side of his desk, leaning over while dragging his hands away from his face. Poe began to stutter, fumbling over all his words as now he felt like his brain was not only mush, but draining out of his head. 

Finally, you placed a short kiss on his cheek, “I look forward to the date.”

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #edgar allen poe x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #edgar allen poe #x reader #edgar allan poe x reader #edgar allan poe

[cumulo-stratus]

01- Lover

pairing- Spencer Reid x Male!reader summary- slow burn story of how spencer reid fell in love with Y/n L/n warnings- profanities, some arguing, lemme know if theres anything else! wc- 2k

a/n- Guys!! im so excited about this idea, orginally it was going to be short blurbs for each time all in one fic but i got carried away and its turned into a series now. And i know im still a little behind on Flufftober ficus but i needed to take a break from writing things to fit a prompt, i was feeling kinda creatively burnt out from it so i just wanted to write something off the top of my head and the song came on my headphones and then i blacked out and here we are lmao, hope you like it! (P.S. so much credit to @avis-writeshq for the inspo around some of it , totally a great writer and you should totally go check them out!)

Notes: (E/C) = Eye color | (H/T) = hair type (curly, wavy, thick, thin etc.)

part 1//part 2

spencer stepped onto the same train he took every morning; the green line for 5 stops, and the red line for 1 after that. Spencer prefers his first leg of the journey though- but thats only because of The Boy. Who’s The Boy, you ask? Well, The Boy is a man on the train, and this man on the train spencer had seen everyday for last 6 months. everyday, 1 stop after spencer gets on The Boy would get on. He would sit in the same seat near the back, put his olive green backpack between his legs, and put his headphones in his ears. he would sit, one leg crossed over the other and read anything from Poe to Austen.

Spencer always stared, now to be fair The Boy was very naturally handsome. He had striking (E/C) eyes, and (H/T) hair. His style often resembled spencers, slacks and button ups with cardigans and sweater vests, The Boy tended to lean towards more bright colors ad fun patterns then spencer.

Today, spencer noticed he had started a new book; A Collected Works of Edgar Allen Poe. Yesterday he had been reading a book on the history of witch craft, spencer thought it went well with the the witch hats and black cats on his knitted sweater, very fitting for October he may add.

And once again spencer was staring (nothing out of the ordinary) but today The Boy looked up at just the right time and caught spencer in the act. He immediately looked down, blushing profusely. But if he had looked back for another second spencer wouldve seen The boys sly smirk, and the slight tinge of warmth on his cheeks. Spencer decided the best possible course of action was to pretend nothing had happened and bury his silent admiration of the mystery boy on the train. But that plan was thrown completely out the window when The mystery boy got up from his seat, picked up his bag and plopped down next to spencer in an open plastic seat. Because little did spencer know but The Boy had done his own fair share of staring at spencer from afar, admiring his natural beauty and book choice. He had been toying with the notion of finally approaching this mystery man, and this was the final push he needed to approach spencer.

“so, you like Poes works?”

spencer looked up to find The Boy looking at him expectedly with a friendly smile. The same boy he had fantasized over for almost 6 months but never even thought of approaching, had just walked up to him and started a conversation.

spencers mind was reeling, to say the least.

but he still managed to squeak out “Yes, he’s one of my favorites” But add in a dash of stuttering and blushing. What can i say? It was an awkward interaction for and awkward guy. But this didnt deter The Boy, who then lit up at spencers words (which also caught spencer off guard and left him reeling for a moment) and said “Me too! but my favorite has to be ‘Annabel Lee’, everyone thinks its the documentation of a man going insane over his obsession with a girl named Annabel Lee. But i personally think its just a guy who’s madly in love, and people are a little jealous of the pure, intense type of love that Poe was writing about..” The boy looked down and blushed, trailing off. spencer looked at him confused and with a surge of confidence said “what-?” with confusion. The boy looked back up, almost surprised at spencers words, at spencers encouragement. This said encouragement gave him the confidence needed to say “im sorry, i realized i was rambling to a stranger on the train and i didnt even introduce myself; Im dr. Y/n L/n, whats your name? Spencer chuckled to himself at how who he now knew as Y/n, managed to say so many words in so little time. “I also have a habit of talking too fast when im nervous, sorry about that” Y/n added, taking care to speak at a slower pace. Spencer didnt mind it and was mostly focused on the fact that Y/n was nervous, did spencer make Y/n nervous? but he wasnt caught up in his thoughts for too long and remembered to respond to Y/ns question “its okay, i ramble a lot too, i dont mind. And im spencer. Dr. Spencer reid-“ spencer cut himself off to finally look at y/n before continuing- “but im not a medical doctor, I have doctorates in Math, Chemistry and Engineering.”

Y/n had an almost proud smile on his face, And said “wow, smart cookie!” his tone was joking of course but spencer still blushed profusely, despite his many attempts to stop it. Y/n continued, not noticing spencers flushed state, much to spencer’s relief. “Im not a medical doctor either though, i have PHDs in both math and physics. I always thought i was above average, but ive been outdone!” Y/ns tone was joking as he said it.

They continued their introductory conversation for another couple minutes when Spencer, in an effort to keep the conversation going, had asked what Y/n was listening to.

“im listening to Ours, by taylor swift, and im not a swiftie, im a taylor swift enjoyer.” Y/n said with a definitive tone. But spencer only looked at Y/n with confusion written across his features. “Whats a- swiftie…?” spencer asked. Y/ns faced seemed to almost drain of color at this statement. “Whats a swiftie?!” his tone was incredulous, as if spencer had committed some heinous act, which he was pretty sure he hadn’t. “swifties are people who thoroughly enjoy the music of none other than the greatest pop musician of all time!” spencer was a little embarrassed, he didnt want to miss out on something Y/n enjoyed so he held his hand out and asked, “maybe i could listen to it with you, and learn about her music?” Y/n grinned at the idea, and handed spencer one of his airpods and restarted the song.

and so for the rest of their train ride, they listened Y/n’s taylor swift playlist. But After hearing Ours, it remained his favorite.

And so, for the next few weeks it continued on like this. Y/n would get on the train at spencers first stop, and B-line straight to the back of the train where spencer had saved a seat for him. And then they would sit and talk, about anything from literature, to art, to science. But one thing always remained; Taylor Swift. Everyday Y/n would have a new collection of song for him to listen to on his airpods as they talked. But Ours still remained his ever favorite, although Cardigan and Willow were close seconds.

Today, however, was different. Today, after much encouragement and much teasing, spencer was going to ask Y/n out. His team couldnt deal with anymore gushing about Y/n, the guy from the train.

spencer waited impatiently for Y/n to step onto the train at his stop. He almost missed and almost ran into at least 2 people on the way to his seat. Y/n plopped down into his seat breathlessly and started his normal routine of pulling out his airpods and queuing up the music. But he was stopped in his tracks, the airpod he was about to offer to spencer, when the latter blurted out “Hey would you maybe wanna go get coffee with me on Saturday afternoon at perfectos?” Spencer had spoken so fast Y/n barely caught it. But he was amazed at spencers attention to detail. Y/n had never even told him he liked perfectos cafe (he was of the firm belief that they made the best coffee in DC). He had just walked in with a cup of coffee from them almost everyday. It made his heart swell at the gesture, and his cheeks redden at spencers question.

that reminded Y/n to answer, instead of just sitting there wide eyed like a deer in headlights. And said; “i’d love that spencer, thank you”

spencer had been so caught up in his thoughts, and worries over the words that had just spilled from his lips moments ago that he was caught off guard at Y/n’s positive response. They both beefed at each other like children for the rest of the ride until Y/n got off, and not even when spencer arrived for work could he wipe the smile off his face, much to the delight of Morgan and JJ.

To Be Continued…

#bau #criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid series #cute #fluff #series #train ride #meet cute #taylor swift #swiftie #ours by taylor swift

[justsomerandomfanfic]

We Have Time - Tenth Doctor X GN Reader

Title: We Have Time

Tenth Doctor X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Edgar Allen Poe? (Mentioned)

WC: 2,368

Warnings: Reader has overwhelming thoughts?, depression?, Tenth Doctor may be ooc idk, flirting?, banter, sad thoughts, thoughts of death, crying, comfort, slight angst, and fluff

The Doctor was worried. Worried about you. You were somewhere in the TARDIS, and he couldn't find you for the past two hours, seventeen minutes, and six seconds; not that he was counting or anything... For him, time wasn't an issue. But he had been wandering around the TARDIS, trying to find you. He felt as if he had checked every room. every nook and cranny. Every possible place. And yet, there was no sign of you anywhere in the TARDIS. 

He almost felt like giving up, almost. But as he wandered down a corridor, and turned into the next room, he let out a breath he didn't even know that he was holding. There you were, sitting in a chair reading something. Only obvious, you were sitting in the TARDIS's library. There were multiple soft throw blankets spread on top of you, draped over your lap. You looked so tired, eyes blinking slowly. He tried to ignore the fluttering of his two hearts as he walked over to you, a small smile growing on his face. 

He circled around you, stopping at the back of the plush armchair, your eyes never moving or lifting from the pages of the book in your hands. From what he could guess, the book had to be pretty entertaining for you to not even notice his approach. "What are you reading?" He finally spoke up, leaning to rest his forearms against the back of the chair, looking at the book in your hand and back to your face.

At his words, you jumped slightly, one hand coming up to your chest, breathing deeply and staring wide-eyed at him before you calmed down almost instantly. You cleared your throat, closing your book and pushing it away from you onto your lap, before speaking up, voice soft, but still full of emotion, "A book with some old poems in it." You smiled softly at him before grabbing the book and showing him the cover, making the Time Lord's eyes widen. 

"Oh! The Tamerlane and Other Poems!" He looked back at you, "Did you know, Edgar Allen Poe gave me that copy when I met him?" He asked, and your jaw dropped. 

"You met Edgar Allen Poe?" You asked, shocked. The Time Lord nodded, and you looked down at the book again before turning your head back to him. "What was he like?" You then asked as the Doctor pushed off of the back of the couch. 

"Well, why don't you see for yourself?" He asked with his usual bright grin, walking out of the room as you scrambled to uncover yourself from the blankets.

Pushing past the doorway, you huffed, "Wait, Doctor!" He was already gone. Sighing deeply, you hurried to the control room, seeing him almost press a button. "Doctor... I think I want to stay in today..." You spoke, gaining his attention.

"Stay in? Do you not want to meet him?" He asked, a bit confused.

You leaned against the console, arms crossing, "I do, but not today... If that's alright... I mean, if you need to get out and move your feet, you can go somewhere without me." 

With that, the Doctor shook his head, waving his hand in the air dismissively, "No, I don't want to go anywhere without you."

Your heart seemed to skip a beat at the Doctor's words, making the corner of your lips twitch slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Positively." He answered quickly, moving around to stand beside you, mimicking your stance. "It wouldn't be as fun if I went anywhere without my favorite human." He grinned down at you.

You met his gaze, unable to stop the smile from growing on your face as you shook your head, "I'm flattered." However, as you looked off in front of you, your smile dwindled, and the shine in your eyes dimmed. 

The Doctor noticed this, this shift. He had noticed for the past couple of days how your mood would change. The Doctor wondered what was going on inside your mind, what your brain was telling you to cause you to fall into a sort of depression. He frowned, eyebrows wrinkling the middle of his forehead as he stared down at you, trying to figure out what was wrong. He knew better than to crawl into your mind and find out what, so he raked through his own mind for anything that he may have said or done in the past week, month, and year, but nothing came up. If it wasn’t him, then what was it?

Looking down, he watched as your fingers seemed to grip your upper arm from where you had them crossed against your chest, knuckles whitening under the pressure. "Is something wrong?" He finally asked, his voice low, concerned. 

You shook your head slowly, looking up to meet his eyes, "Nope..." You answered quietly, you couldn't lie to him. He'd find out anyway. You quickly looked away, your throat threatening to close up as your eyes burned. Your hands clenched tighter, nails digging into your skin, as you fought the urge to cry. You couldn't tell him, you couldn't risk losing him. Not now, not ever. That just wasn't going to happen. You'd only be putting more pain on yourself.

For the past week and a half, you had been worrying about the future. You spent so many sleepless nights thinking about what would happen when you got older. Would the Doctor drop you off at home once you become a liability? You weren't like him, you were going to get older and become more weak. Soon you wouldn't be able to run as fast as you could now. You'd slow him down, and endanger him in the process. And if you die, when you die, the Doctor would end up alone. You didn't want him to be alone. After everything he went through, after everything, you never wanted him to be alone. He wasn't human, you would remind yourself often. And you were human. It broke your heart.

At your silence, the Doctor sighed, pulling you gently towards him, wrapping his arms around you, and resting his cheek on your head. You froze briefly before instantly melting into him. The Doctor pulled you closer, rubbing one of his hands up and down your back. "You don't have to, but I heard that talking about your feelings helps." He whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, your cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his dark brown suit. You shut your eyes, looping your arms tightly around his midsection, hearing the beating of one of his hearts. "My brain just won't shut up." You muttered, your voice thick with frustration and sadness as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His scent, which usually made you feel calm, comforted you, and you found that it helped you relax and focus.

He hummed softly, stroking your hair as he moved to look around the TARDIS's control room in front of him, "You humans and your complicated, squishy brains..." He spoke softly, teasingly, which made him smile as he heard your small laugh.

"You shut up." You responded, muffled by his neck. He chuckled lightly, feeling your smile against the collar of his shirt. And after a moment, you finally spoke up again, "I can't stop thinking about the future..." You began, voice soft as you shifted, moving your head to rest your cheek back on his chest. The Doctor said nothing, allowing you to continue as he continued to run his fingers through your hair. "What's going to happen when I get older?" You asked, and the Doctor hummed.

"What do you mean, love?" He asked, awaiting your answer.

You let out a deep breath, albeit shaky. "I'm going to get old... Too old to travel with you anymore."

Your words sent the room into a cold silence. Everything seemed to freeze. The Doctor tensed immediately, and all color seemed to drain from his face. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to utter a single sound. He couldn't help it though, every word that escaped him sounded like a death sentence. His mind raced with thoughts of you dying. Of having to watch your body grow weaker, thinner, and shorter. You were right, you would leave him. It was only a matter of time. 'Time? He had all the time in the universe with you.' The Doctor wanted to lie to himself, but he knew that it wasn't true. You were right. He'd be forced to watch your body wither away until there was nothing left of you. Though, in the back of his mind, he knew… He knew that this conversation was going to come up sooner or later. He’d admit to himself that he did think about it from time to time.

But the Doctor didn't want it to be true. He wanted- no, needed you to be wrong. For the past year that you had been traveling with him, he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side. He loved you too much to let you go, especially when you were just starting to make real progress in your travels. He couldn't lose you. He had lost so many, but he wasn’t going to lose you. "You have time..." He eventually managed to choke out, his voice hoarse and strained as he slipped to the metal ground with you in his arms. You were practically in his lap, but neither of you said a word about it as he tightened his hold around you, digging his face into your neck. You did the same, ignoring the ground that was pushing against your legs uncomfortably. "You have time..." You finally let the tears that you were holding go, sniffling as they spilled down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want you to have to see me die, D,” You muttered, “It might be better for you to just drop me off at home.”

‘Home.’ The Doctor thought. No, this was your home. The TARDIS was your home. You were his home.

Both of your collective hearts were breaking, and your heart seemed to shatter as you heard the Doctor's next words;

"This is your home…" The desperation made you break even more.

"I know," You promised, tightening your own embrace.

“I’m not taking you back there,” He muttered, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. Why would he take you back? Though the thought hurt, he knew that having you there with him, for as long as you could be, was better than none at all. “I won’t take you unless you ask me to.”

"I don’t want to leave you, Doctor, ever. Ever.” You sniffled, reaching a hand up to run your fingers through his already messy hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, “Not even when you get tired or me. I’m sorry for upsetting you… I shouldn’t have said anything."

His hold on you loosened only slightly as he pulled his head from the crook of your neck. His own eyes were wet, as he wiped away some of the tears that fell onto your face. You shut your eyes, pressing your cheek into his hand as his thumb brushed the tears away. The Doctor let out a shaky breath of his own, his eyes wandering around your features as his hand ran over your cheeks, wiping any remaining traces of your tears away.

After a few moments of staring into each other's eyes, you both slowly leaned forward and pressed your foreheads together. "I'd never get tired of you." He breathed, closing his eyes to keep any tears from falling. “And don’t apologize… I- I’m glad we talked about this.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly, "I'll never get tired of you either. If that helps." You admitted, your voice quiet and gentle. He smiled a bit at the sound of your voice, your words soothing his worries. "It would be impossible." You finished, pulling back to look at him once more.

"Exactly." He smiled warmly at you, his hands cupping your cheeks. You returned his smile with one of your own. You rested your hand atop one of his, giving it a light squeeze, "I'm simply irresistible." He murmured softly, your voice laced with amusement.

"I know," You muttered softly, reaching out to brush a stray tear from his cheek in return, "That's why I travel with you." You teased, letting out an inward sigh of relief as his smile grew wider. "That and your incredible sense of humor."

The Doctor only hummed, nodding his head as he pulled you back into his chest, allowing you to shift to more comfortably sit in his lap, snuggling against him. He rested his chin on top of your head, smiling as he felt you wrap your arms around his waist. His grin slowly fell as he spoke though, "We have time..." He muttered, "We just have to make the most of it..."

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head up, meeting his gaze. "We will." You agreed, with a nod before he pressed his lips to your forehead, making your cheeks warm once more. A small pause passed between the two of you before you broke it once more, this time speaking quietly as you reached for one of his hands and threaded your fingers through his. "Do you want to stargaze with me?" You asked, looking from your intertwined hands to look up into his dark brown eyes. 

His lips curled upward in response, his grip on your hand tightening as he nodded, "Yes, that sounds like a brilliant idea." He replied, his expression turning into a bright, adoring smile. “Simply brilliant, love.”

The Doctor felt both of his hearts race as you smiled back, all the while he thought about how beautiful you looked in that moment; the TARDIS lights shining down upon you. He looked into your eyes and saw all the amazing adventures that the two of you would go on together, he saw a bright future ahead of the both of you. He was right, you both had time. All the time in the world. 

#cute #fluff #x reader #slight angst #fanfiction #fanfic #x you #x y/n #x gn reader #docto who #tenth doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x gn reader #tenth doctor x you #tenth doctor x y/n #dw #doctor who tenth doctor

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you call some of the ikerev suitors a pet name for the first time.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: FIRST PIECE FOR IKEREV LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO um is zero's the longest?!??!?! how did that happen?!?!?!??!?!

also im . only including teh routes ive done so far AHJSDGJASH

a soft “can you pass the salt, angel?” makes zero pause. his eyes are wide and his lips part, surprised at the sudden pet name. you’re gazing so lovingly at him, brows furrowed and pretty lips pulled up into a gentle grin. you’re so pretty. zero feels his hands shake as he clutches the tablecloth, his mind running haywire as he tries to process what you said. you’d wanted something, right? zero sucks in a breath when every else you said finally makes sense. salt, you want the salt. he feels heat rising to his cheeks as he grabs it, passing it to you. “uh, yeah.” he fumbles, your voice in his ears repeating the pet name over and over. angel, angel, angel.

“you’re so mean to me, jellybean.” you stick your tongue out at edgar, his usual serene smile plastered on his face. “oh? alice, if i didn’t know any better i’d say you just called me something new.” he grins wider, leaning closer to you as your face flames up. you’re just about to tell him that he’s imagining things and that the cheesy pet name did not just pass through your lips, but the words get caught in your throat when he presses his lips against yours.

“you’re working too hard, darling.” you muse, placing a gentle hand on kyle’s back. he’s completely zoned into his work, shut off from the rest of the world. of course he didn’t hear you. you’ve always found yourself expressing your concerns to yourself before making sure he has a nice bowl of soup to eat when he’s finally done for the day. you turn to make your way to the kitchen, but the loud slam of a book closing makes you whip around. “wait, what did you call me?” kyle asks, eyes now glued to your form. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think his cheeks were pink.

“welcome home, apricot!” you beam the second harr walks through the door. his heart jumps into his throat when you wrap your arms around him, face buried in his chest. his hands float around your back before he presses them to your clothes, hugging you softly. he averts his eyes from you as his cheeks burn up, your little nickname having much more of an effect than you’d thought. it’s so sweet that you pay attention to what he likes. he loves you so much.

#auburn talks ikerev <3 #ikerev #ikerev zero #ikemen revolution #cybird #ikemen series #ikerev harr #ikerev kyle #ikerev edgar #harr silver #kyle ash #edgar bright #ikerev zero x reader #harr silver x reader #kyle ash x reader #edgar bright x reader #ikerev fanfic #ikerev headcanons

[zenphiaaa]

Control (Ranpo Edogawa)

Yandere!Ranpo x Reader Headcannons

<> It all started when you decided to be nice to Ranpo and give him a discount when he was short on change

<> It wasn't a big deal, only 15 cents off a milkshake. Wouldn't hurt the bank or get you in trouble with your boss

<> From that moment on Ranpo is completely memorized by you

<> Keeping tabs on you and tracking everyone you ever make contact with

<> Once he finally gathers the courage to actually have a converation with you, he practically memorizes the info that you are hand feeding him

<> It's just the appetizer for him, once he gets his hands on your latop he'll get to enjoy the entree

<> Once he figures out how you work, he devotes his time in wining you over

<> If he becomes the perfect spouse, you won't have any reason to leave him right?

&lt;> Nevermind that the two of you aren't even dating yet, he's already finding ways on keeping you by his side

<> Once the two of you start to get closer, Ranpo takes it upon himself to hold your hand whever the two of you are out running errands

<> You don't want him to get lost now, do you?

<> Now he won't get his hands dirty, nor will he turn to anyone in the agency for help

<> Instead he turns to Edgar Allen Poe for that

<> That mean co-worker? Trapped in a horror book until they learn some manners. Some random guy being inappropriate to you on the train? Now he is surrounded by zombies with only a bebe gun for a weapon

<> You won't see them again for a hot minute

"Hey what way are we going again?" Ranpo questioned, he lightly squeezed your hand when you didn't immediately reply.

"Oh! Just take a right by the lampost. We should see the building in a few minutes." You gently smiled at the male. "We should be done by lunch right? Want to stop by that cafe again? Maybe they will have those scones you like!"

Ranpo quietly watched as he felt his cheeks turned a bright red as you chatted about the cafe that you loved so much. He hoped his plan will work. He just wants you.

#ranpo x y/n #bungou stray dogs ranpo #edogawa ranpo #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #bungou sd #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #yandere ranpo #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader

[lostarchivesoforpheus]

Hi ! Can u do hcs of Edgar Valden x fem reader who is basically his muse. And they're completely the opposite but Edgar slowly finds him falling for her? I hope you have a good day <3

`•- Portrait of My Heart

edgar valden x fem reader

summary: even despite your differences, edgar valden can't help falling in love with you.

warnings: none that i know of

a/n: ebgr valdn, also this is more of like a little blurb scenario thing instead of headcanons but i had an idea and ran with it so i hope that's ok

He always had an eye for beauty.

When Edgar first took you under his wing as a painter, he was unsure how to feel about you. Your skill and talent was remarkable, yet your loud and rowdy personality threw him off. You were a mystery to him, and he always had a hard time trying to understand you as a person. He often found himself avoiding those with a boisterous personality such as yours, yet he couldn't help but find himself drawn to you for some strange, unknown reason.

At first, he doesn't notice the way he worries for you when you get sick. He brushes it off, saying that it's only natural that he wishes to help take care of you until you get better.

He doesn't notice the way his heart seemed to soar every time you smiled at him after finishing a new painting. He says it's only natural for him to feel proud of his apprentice.

He doesn't notice how his heart seemed to beat just a little bit faster when he gently guided your hand along when you were having trouble painting something. He doesn't notice how butterflies erupted in his stomach when you presented to him a painting that you were particularly proud of. He doesn't notice anything at all, telling himself that it's only natural that he's grown accustomed to your presence as his muse.

He only noticed when you gifted him one of your paintings, as a thanks for taking you under his wing and teaching you everything you could ever know about painting. The painting you had given to him was a delicately crafted picture of himself, drawn with every little detail and attribute. He couldn't help but admire every little bit about your work, and as he looked up at you with the slightest tint of pink on his cheeks, he couldn't help but admire every little bit of you.

He only noticed when he began to paint portraits of you, meticulously drawn and beautifully decorated with stunning bursts of colour. He painted you again and again, always aiming to capture your essence perfectly so he could gift a portrait back to you after that day.

He only noticed when he realised he wanted to gift you a painting, something he would never do with anyone else. He only noticed when he subconsciously started glancing at you during painting sessions, when he was normally focused on nothing else but the brush in his hands and the canvas in front of him. He only noticed when you began appearing in his dreams, with a smile so bright it was blinding.

After one year and six months of you becoming his muse, Edgar Valden finally noticed how he cherished you like no other. After one year and six months, Edgar Valden finally noticed how much he treasured and cared for you. After one year and six months, Edgar Valden finally noticed he was in love with you.

a/n: the best ideas for fanfic always come to me at 1 am

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

#`•- second floor in the archives: fluff #fanfic #fanfic author #fanfiction #fanfiction author #x reader #identity v #identity v x reader #idv #idv x reader #edgar valden #edgar valden x reader #idv edgar #idv painter #identity v edgar #identity v edgar valden #identity v painter #do you think edgar valden would like blue cheese yes or no

[kimpossibly]

🪐 ; planet: send me this emoji + a character on my writing list + any word of your choosing and i'll write you a ficlet using the word as a prompt!

cats + wednesday addams !

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS + CATS

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi hi hi this is so cute!! I'm not a cat person in the slightest (I'm one hundo percent a dog person tbh) but I can soooo imagine Wednesday having a black cat. I didn't know if you wanted me to add romance into it so I just tried to keep it plain simple, just using the prompts! I'm so sorry this took me so long to get to, I had some family emergencies come up really recently and so I haven't had much time to really sit down and work on anything other than school or family stuff. Hope you enjoy and thank you my love for the ask!

PAIRING: wednesday addams x gn!reader WARNINGS: cats (?? idk if that's a needed warning but I figured I'd list it anyway haha)

Wednesday didn't take in strays. She was usually too busy with her own endeavors to really have time for them — you were the exception of course. But she liked having you around, and that made all the distance. So when the black cat appeared on her doorstep, staring up at her with big green eyes, she didn't need to think twice.

"Shoo. Go," she said monotonously, staring at the creature with disdain. When it refused to move, she made a shooing motion with her hands. "I said leave."

You appeared around the corner, your face twisted in a frown. "Who are you talking to?"

Wednesday stepped aside to reveal the cat on your doorstep and, to her surprise, you broke out into a massive grin. "Aw, look at the little guy!" you swooned, running over to pet the cat. It appeared friendly, nuzzling into your palm. "I wonder if he's lost?"

You searched for a collar, but none was found. "He might've run away," you suggested.

And Wednesday, who saw a new problem arising, was quick to shut you down. "He can find his way home. Leave him be."

A sudden crack of thunder rattled the window panes as the first drizzle of rain began to dot the sidewalk outside. The cat looked around at the worsening weather, then back at you, its wide eyes frightened. You looked up at Wednesday with a matching expression, your own eyes pleading her to let the cat stay. She let out an almost imperceptible sigh, then nodded for you to bring the cat in.

You smiled at her as you scooped the cat up, bringing him inside. Within a few hours the cat had been bathed, fed, and given a place to sleep. All the while you'd led him around the house, giving him a tour (as Wednesday watched, fuming, from the side). You'd murmur "Here, kitty," you coax him to room after room, speaking to him like he could understand you perfectly.

After a while you walked about the house, holding the cat in your arms like it was a baby. It seemed to enjoy this time of treatment as it pawed at your hair and clothes and nuzzled its head into the crook of your neck.

"I feel like we should give him a name in the meantime," you mused aloud, "so that we don't have to keep calling him kitty. I get the sense that he doesn't like it."

"Perhaps we should let it go, then." Wednesday said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "Wouldn't want to wound its pride."

You ignored her, suddenly having a bright idea. "Why don't you give him a name, Wednesday? Just one that we can use before we go out and find his owners tomorrow."

Wednesday kept her stoic glare forward, causing you to pout. "Come on, look at this little face!" you said, turning the cat toward her and squishing its small cheeks. "This is the face of a cat that wants to be properly addressed."

Wednesday did not want pets. But she couldn't resist you.

"Poe," Wednesday said finally. "After Edgar Allen Poe."

You grinned at her. "I think it suits him."

You floated away then, Poe in hand, to introduce him to Thing. The two did not get along at first, with Thing being slightly afraid, slightly jealous. But, within minutes, Poe was chasing him around, playing a lighthearted game of tag. Wednesday watched as you sat on the floor, playing referee to the game, smiling all the while. She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to enjoy the sight, but even she had to admit — the cat was kind of cute. Or maybe it was how much you liked the cat that was cute.

The next day, you went out about the neighborhood, knocking on doors, asking around, and putting up flyers that Thing had helped you make. No one claimed the cat, and no one rang your line to claim him. You had to negotiate with Wednesday to let Poe stay another day. Then another, and then another. No one asked after the cat.

Four days later you were on the couch, reading and drinking coffee, the cat curled into your side. Wednesday came and sat next to you, eyeing the cat carefully. "They've been known to eat their owners after they die," she said.

"That's only if they're starving," you replied without a beat. "Dogs could do the same thing. Or humans."

"Don't get so morbid with me — I'm not in the mood for romance." she said.

Poe suddenly stood, crawling away from his perch next to you and found his next interest in Wednesday, brushing his cheek against her black sweater. She looked down at him with disdain. "This won't work out for you."

You just chuckled to yourself. "You're communicating with him. It's the first step."

Wednesday looked up, alarmed. "First step to what?"

You just got up to refill your coffee mug, humming as you did so.

The days dragged on and Poe became a fixture in yours and Wednesday's house. More than once you had woken up to find him curled at the foot of your bed, purring softly as he slept.

And Wednesday was, against her own will, warming up to Poe. You'd catch her mindlessly petting his head when she thought you weren't looking. She'd even slip him treats secretly just to gain his favor.

Within a week, you were nearly convinced that Wednesday loved Poe just as much as you did. So you had to put it to the test.

One day you walked into the living room, where Wednesday was sat writing her novel, Poe curled at her feet. You sighed sadly. "Wednesday, I've been thinking, and you're right — we can't take care of a pet. I think it's time we take Poe to a shelter, don't you think?"

Wednesday turned, eyes wide. You blinked. "Do you disagree?"

Wordlessly, Wednesday bent down and scooped Poe up, holding him tightly to her chest. "He stays."

You just smiled in satisfaction, nodding once. You sat down next to her, petting Poe softly. "How could I have seen that coming?"

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesday addams fic #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix

[aquagirl1978]

Wicked Game - Edgar Bright x Reader (Ikemen Revolution)

A/N: Part of Visions of Temptation 2023 hosted by @xxsycamore

Pairing: Edgar Bright x Reader

Prompt: Day 10 - cockwarming

Word Count: 745

Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; cockwarming; public sex; dirty talk; praise kink; sex against the wall; quickie; creampie; female-bodied reader ("good girl" is said)

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Edgar growled, his hot breath tickling your skin.

Wriggling on his lap, you tilted your head to meet his. “How do you expect me to stay quiet with your….oh, there’s too many people here,” you muttered through gritted teeth, your voice low, hoping no one nearby could hear you. Averting your gaze, you were unable to finish your sentence out loud – that Edgar’s cock was buried deep inside you.

“You look so beautiful when you make that face.” Edgar caressed your warm cheeks with his thumb; your eyes closed at his touch. Soft and gentle, you loved the feeling of Edgar’s fingers on your skin.

“Let’s play a game,” he whispered, his eyes alight with mischief. “First one to moan is the loser. Winner picks the prize.”

Without waiting for your acceptance of the terms of the game, Edgar wrapped his arm around your waist, his fingers splayed across your belly. “How deep inside do you think I am?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb traced a line just below your belly button. “Do you think I am this deep?”

You struggled to stay silent as he continued to tease you, his fingers coaxing the flames inside your core to burn brighter. Not ready to go down without fighting, you squeezed his cock within your walls, hoping he would show his frustration. 

“Nice try,” he whispered, his lips hovering above the soft slope of your shoulder. Clearly at an advantage, his tongue darted out, tasting your sweet skin before pressing his lips against you in a biting kiss. He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling your body closer to his, providing just enough friction to make you moan.

Without a word, he shifted your body, removing his cock from your core so gracefully the partygoers were none the wiser. He took your hand, nudging you to stand up, and with a wicked grin, led you down the hallway.

“That was an evil, wicked game you played, Edgar,” you pouted, the party now a quiet buzz in the background.

He  covered your mouth with his, silencing you. “I won, my rules.” He pushed you roughly against the nearby wall; his free hand hiking up your skirt.

Pushing your panties to the side, he slid a finger inside you. He grinned at you as he withdrew his hand. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he licked your arousal clean off his fingers. "Looks like you're just as excited as I am."

You nodded your head, words escaping you as your knees went weak. In a flash, he freed his erection; the layers of your skirt lifted, Edgar spread your legs, preparing you for his cock.

He shoved his thick length inside you in one hard push, your cries muffled by his mouth. 

“I'll have to fuck you properly later,” he said as he began to thrust inside you, “but for now, it will have to be quick.”

Edgar was merciless as he railed you, impaling you on his cock over and over again. You knew you wouldn't last long at his brutal pace. 

“Good girl,” he praised, guiding your legs around his waist, allowing him to penetrate deeper. “You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, his mouth nibbling on your neck. 

Your body was on fire and no one could save you but Edgar.

Your eyelids drifted closed as his hips pounded against yours; he was so rough, so raw, you relished how he was ravaging your body. Your lips parted, his name repeated over and over as the fires inside continued to consume your body.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his lips dangerously close to your mouth. “I’m so close.” He took your hand in his, pressing your arm against the wall as he began to tremble inside you, your body already wracked with pleasure.

“I hope you're ready for a big load,” he said as he came deep inside you. You bit your lip, suppressing your cries of passion as you came on his cock.

“That's my good girl,” he whispered, easing you off his softening cock. He withdrew something from his jacket pocket, your body too blissed out to notice or care what he held in his hand. 

That is, until he gently pushed a bullet shaped plug inside you.

“Don't want you making a mess at the party,” he teased as he took your hand, guiding you back to the party.

Tagging: @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @alixennial @redheadkittys @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @kpop-and-otome @ikehoe @lordsisterxotome @lucyw260 @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @itsjudesfault @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu

#visions of temptation 2023 #ikemen series #ikemen revolution #ikerev #edgar bright #ikerev edgar #ikemen edgar #ikerev fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Love to Spare - Part 6 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Warnings (?): Angsty feelings, smooching Word count: 2k Part 5 Part 7 Masterpost

Summary: You receive a proposal at a moonlit ball.

The ball the following night was being held, of all places, at Bridgerton House. The viscountess’ chosen theme was ‘Midnight’, and the dress code called for dark hues of blue, the Bridgerton family color. You were outfitted with a gauzy navy gown smattered with sparkling silver embellishments, long silver gloves, and a glinting crystal tiara, filigreed with shapes of stars. You acknowledged how beautiful you looked, but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to appreciate it when you knew it was done to appease your new husband and make you worthy of display when your engagement was announced. Your stomach was rolling with anxiety all day and it only increased as the hours grew later.

Walking up to Bridgerton House was surreal. Seeing the elegant mansion that was Anthony’s property somehow made you feel small. Your nerves were at fever pitch contemplating what awaited you inside. This had been the entire purpose of your entry into society. It was what was necessary to protect your family’s welfare, it was what you had been readying for for weeks. And yet, now that it came to it, something inside you was trembling and not with excitement. You needed to see Anthony. You needed to tell him about Sir Edgar’s proposal and get his perspective and his blessing before you made the most significant commitment of your life. You needed to borrow some of his strength. But he would be playing host. You couldn’t take up too much of his time. And Benedict…you couldn’t even think about Benedict, or the cruel irony of getting betrothed to a Graham while in the Bridgerton home. 

Your head was spinning so much by the time you entered the main hall, you felt faint. You begged off your mother for a moment of fresh air and stumbled out onto a small terrace that overlooked the back garden. The clear night was participating famously with Lady Bridgerton’s theme, as a large moon shone bright in the sky, casting stark shadows everywhere. You tucked yourself into a wisteria-choked corner away from the windows and wrung your hands, just trying to breathe.

A familiar voice broke through the stillness as if on cue. “Miss y/l/n?” Benedict, devastating in a dark blue ensemble, walked up the terrace steps from the garden, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You look…” He shook his head, gaping. “Tell me I’m awake because I fear I may have strayed into a dream.”

The poetic cheek did force a small smile from you. “You’re awake, Mr. Bridgerton. But please, the flattery isn’t helping my nerves.”

You resumed tugging at your gloves while his brow furrowed. “What is there to be nervous about?”

There was so much you wanted to tell him but couldn’t. Like the fact that the very sight of him, looking as handsome as he did, was only adding to your distress. You heaved a shaking breath. “I am expecting tonight will be…consequential.”

He paused and something seemed to shift in his eyes. That fathomless depth you had seen the night before was back. His voice reverted to that honeyed tone which made you lose all sense of time. “What a coincidence, I am expecting the same.”

You had no idea what he could mean. Was his family making some announcement? Would he be making his own proposal that night? Something icy clamped around your throat envisioning a smiling young woman taking his hand amidst applause. You silently chastised yourself. These thoughts simply had to stop. You tried to keep your voice cool and even. “And what consequences are you anticipating, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He stepped toward you, his long shadow starting to rise up the length of your dress. “Significant ones.” His voice had somehow lowered even further to a rumble. 

“That my joy is multiplied.” Another step closer.

“That my heart is unburdened.”  And another.

“That my very life is altered from this night forward.” He was looming over you, crowding out the moonlight as your back pressed against wisteria and brick, his dark eyes locked into yours.

Oh god…he couldn’t…this couldn’t be…he wasn’t… 

But you could sense what was coming in your very bones, and despite how you knew you should protest, you didn’t. You swallowed thickly, offering up your last feigned attempt at ignorance in a choked whisper. “Significant indeed. What event could occur that would have so great an impact?”

“One which includes you.” Then his large hands gently cupped your face and his lips descended to yours, and colors exploded behind your eyelids that you had never seen in the natural world. You sank into the flowers behind you and his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady against him as his lips caressed softly.

When he pivoted his head, you panted, “Mr. Bridge…”

“Benedict.” He murmured against your lips, his voice reverberating into your chest. “Call me Benedict.” Then a second kiss, stronger, needier. You drank him in, savoring every detail, your body drawing you into him while your heart and mind warred in confusion.

He pulled back, his eyes alight in a way you had never seen.

“Benedict…” You breathed. The name so precious to you, used for the first time.

He held you, brushing his knuckles along your jaw as that crooked grin spread across his face. “Y/f/n, would it still your nerves if you spent the night on my arm as my fiancée? If this house suddenly became your family home?”

For just a brief moment your heart soared. Your most daring dream was yours for the taking. But then you thought of Anthony, of his reaction the night of your first ball, of all the help he had given you in securing an engagement from Sir Edgar. You began to stammer, feeling yourself torn in half a dozen directions.

Benedict stepped back and held your hands in his. “I can’t bear it any longer, this game of ours. You are a learned woman, trained to seek the truth. I believe you know my truth.” Then he sank to one knee, his grey eyes piercing in the moonlight as he looked up at you with a smile. “I want you to be my wife. I want your future and I want to make it everything you desire. Marry me, y/f/n.”

You couldn’t breathe. Nothing had prepared you for this. Somehow being offered the thing you wanted most in the world was only serving to break your heart. Though your lungs were struggling to work, your mind somehow snapped into focus. You were trained to untangle life’s messes by following the logical path, stating the facts, making your case.

“Benedict, I am courting Sir Edgar.” You said breathlessly.

His face fell a bit, but he shrugged off your statement. “You are not engaged to him. You can turn him down. Do you love him?”

You almost snorted at the simplicity of his question. Love was the last thing you had been worried about in your criteria for a husband. “Love is not the only factor in a successful relationship.” 

At this he chuckled and stood again, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Spoken like a true solicitor.” Then he leaned in and whispered, his tone the very definition of seduction. “Consider these factors. My every waking thought is of you.” He kissed the skin below your earlobe. “Your name is on my lips every night.” Another kiss, lower on your neck. “And your face is in my mind every morning.” A kiss on your collarbone. “Every time we part, I’m driven mad waiting to see you again.” A final kiss just above the neckline of your dress. “I know that we suit one another.”

You shuddered at the heat of his lips and how he was reciting back to you all of the ways you felt about him. Your voice was shaking, “How do you know that?”

“Because of how you treat my brother. You care for him the same way I do. I didn’t know I’d ever meet a woman with the spirit and smarts to put up with the likes of him.”

Anthony. You had to remember Anthony and how he had forbidden this. You simply could not marry Benedict. Despite everything your body and heart were screaming for, you wouldn’t allow it to happen. It was too much entanglement. You didn’t want to be the cause of spite between these men that you cared for so deeply. You felt bitterness at being forced to choose and mocked him. “So a marriage would be convenient because I could help you look after him?”

He was taken aback. “No, no, it’s more than that.” He shook his head and took your face in his hands again. “You are so much more. You were building a life for yourself outside of all this.” He gestured vaguely back toward the house where the sounds of the party could be heard. “Do you know how rare that makes you? A jewel among pale stones.” He ran a thumb across your cheek and looked at you in that marvelling way again. “That is all I want too. Let me take care of you and we can build that life together. With passion, direction, a sense of purpose! Let me share in the beauty of your mind and your soul.” His hands travelled down the length of your arm and he brought your hand to his lips. 

“You are exceptional.” His voice grew soft as he kissed your glove, the same way he had when you first met. “And I have felt exceptionally happy spending time with you.” He turned your hand and kissed your palm. “I love you, y/f/n. And will do so until my heart stops beating.” Then he held your hand to his chest.

Everything within you was shattering. You had never heard such beautiful words, and they were uttered by the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He could be yours, for the rest of your life. But at what cost? Your feelings for Benedict ran so hot, but you knew that your feelings for Anthony ran deeper. You could not betray your oldest friend, not even for a chance at what seemed to be perfect happiness. For all of your long years together, Anthony had always been a loyal friend. You owed him the same in return. Tears began to sting your eyes. 

“Benedict, we can’t.”

He let your hand fall, pain creasing his brow. “Why not?”

Your voice was hoarse as you tried to keep from sobbing. “We would make a mess of things. It’s too complicated.”

“It’s not complicated at all!” He threw his arms wide, desperation cutting into his words. “Do you have feelings for me or not? It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not.” You were crying freely now.

“It is!” He shouted, his voice wounded. “Either I’m mad or you’re not being honest. Look me in the eyes.” He closed in on you, searching your face. “I know you’re too ethical to lie to me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you have felt nothing between us. Tell me how you truly feel.”

Blinded by your tears, all you could see was his anger. But you knew that if you were going to have one Bridgerton brother despise you, you would rather it was him. You needed to get out of there. 

“I’m sorry.” You gasped, then tore away back into the house. 

You somehow managed to find your mother and make it to a carriage before you broke down sobbing. She didn’t press you for an explanation, likely assuming that you were mourning your independence as you approached your engagement. All she did was soothe you and promise to sort everything out tomorrow. You hadn’t even seen Sir Edgar that night, nor Anthony, and you didn’t know when you would again. You didn’t know what you should say, or who you should say it to. You laid awake, tears running into your pillow, letting your sense of reason silence, for the final time, the protestations of your heart.

Tagging: @venomsvl @colettebronte @faye-tale who are following along so sweetly; and @makaylan @chaoticcalzoneranchsports to whom I apologize again for pain <3

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #female reader #regency #regency era #regency romance #fluff and angst

[creative-frequency]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Bargain

Summary: Bloody and bruised from the nautiloid ship crash, forging a contract with a devil becomes your best and only option for survival. This is the first flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. The poem is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Word count: 2197 Notes: Dealing with a devil, canon-typical blood and injury.

My writing masterlist

Bottles of Ithbank and mugs of red ale rose up to meet the bright stars embroidered into the velvety midnight sky. Comforting and familiar voices of laughter and cheer bubbled around you. It was a night to remember, reminisce and celebrate. In destroying the Absolute you had faced the impossible and lived on to tell the tale. You had gained allies and most importantly, you had met people, who you proudly called your friends.

Deep in thought, you fiddled with the ring on your left hand’s ring finger. A vexing lark from the gift giver, as the ring would fit no other digit. You had bet your soul on never removing the stupid piece of jewellery, at the same time dooming yourself to the eternity of answering delighted queries about a presumed marriage.

Every time you took a sigh to explain you were, in fact, not married, you heard the devil over your shoulder laugh somewhere deep in the Hells. Out of sheer spite, you wished you could hate him. But he had given you this life and this victory, so you endured.

Wyll, the freshly appointed Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, sat next to you by the large table and noticed you twiddling with the ring.

“So. Do you know what became of Raphael?” he asked cautiously and nodded towards your hands.

You shrugged, not exactly keen on discussing the devil even though the wine had already spun your mind into a pleasant, relaxing buzz. You had been prepared to answer this particular question during the course of the evening and it was no shock Wyll was the one to voice it. You had met with Wyll from time to time after your travels together, but had always avoided the subject. Luckily the Grand Duke was a busy man. 

“I guess your pact still stands then. I’m sorry,” Wyll said and took a swig from his goblet.

“Don’t be,” you corrected him and opened your mouth to justify why, but Wyll just looked at you with compassion.

He was the only one of your companions who truly knew what you had been through since he had made the same choice – albeit your reasons were initially more selfish than his. The only difference was that he had found a way to outwit his devil patron to get out of his pact. The Duke Ravengard still had horns, but no longer even a tiny bit of the infernal power of a warlock was coursing through his veins.

Wyll changed the subject: “It feels like the whole thing happened in another life.” 

“It really does,” you sighed and raised the bottle to your lips again.

“I’m glad you decided to stay in Baldur’s Gate, though.”

“Don’t say anything about being a hero, please,” you exclaimed and Wyll grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back at him.

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured you.

“I’m done playing the hero for now. I need time to put my feet up” – you lifted your boots and planted them on the table – “and enjoy just being alive.”

Wyll shot you a humorous look, but decided against noting how the heroics usually had happened when you had tried to avoid those situations the most.

Six months earlier

Hidden behind wreckage, you dared to inhale a shallow breath and barely held back a cough. Unknown parts of the nautiloid ship and horrifying, giant flesh pods laid scattered and broken around you. Their colourful liquids were mixed on the ground into sickening pools. There was a reek of burning something you didn’t want to think about and it made breathing even harder.

A couple of your ribs were likely broken from being thrown around by the impact from  exploding tubes. It had not been one of your finest moments or the best aimed fire bolt, but at least you had lost the pursuers, for now.

You prayed to every known god and goddess under your breath. You had survived the nautiloid crash and found yourself alone again amidst the debris – only to be attacked by a group of pathetic, random looters. It was five against one and you didn’t even have a weapon on you. It would’ve been a tough fight on a good day, but you were seriously injured, bleeding and delirious from the environmental hazards affecting your senses. So you had attempted to cause as much chaos as you could to hide.

If you had thought getting taken by mind flayers was bad enough, it had been pure downhill since then. The inevitability of this one becoming your last adventure started to settle in.

You sat on the broken floor, leaning into a crevice in the debris and listened to any voices. The looter group was not far, but unfortunately they were not foolish enough to make noise as they were tracking you down. You had maybe minutes to live and there was literally nothing you could have done about it.

So you prayed. Incoherent words tumbled from your mouth under your broken breaths.

You would give anything for the power to smite those pathetic thiefs.

Anything for the power and means to save yourself from the predicament.

You closed your eyes and focused on listening to the approaching final moments of your existence.

Anything to live and die on another day.

A soft step. Then another. Your pulse surged. Someone was coming, but nothing about him was what you had expected.

A man you would have eagerly described as mysterious and handsome walked towards you. His steps were leisurely, his pace unhurried and his expression tinged with curiosity.

Maybe some poison gas had finally addled your mind and you were seeing things.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—” he recited carefully with graceful cadence, pacing closer.

A poem? So you were either dead or poisoned. Your head lolled to the side, trying to see his face clearly in the midst of the smoke and floating embers.

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” His voice was smooth, almost drawling. It sent a warm shiver down your back. His hands motioned in rhythm with the words.

The stranger paused right in front of you and continued: “’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—”

He leaned down to have a closer look at you and his expression turned unreadable. His eyes were chestnut brown, cunning and framed by dark lashes. The high cheekbones were tinged with healthy red.

“Only this and nothing more,” he ended the verse with a contemplative note.

You blinked in confusion, openly staring and wondering could he have been one of the looters, because he certainly didn’t look like one. His clothes were fancy: a blue doublet, ornamented with gold trimmings and a frilly collar. His brown hair was combed back and waves of light curls gathered behind his ears.

Maybe you had gone mad or lost consciousness already.

“Are you really here?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“Is that not why you were rapping at my door?” he returned the question.

Delirious from the smoke and blood loss, you couldn’t understand what he meant.

“Please, you have to help me…” you pleaded, still unsure if the man really even existed.

“Wouldn’t you rather help yourself?” he remarked, tapping his chin in calculating thought. His gaze was evaluating you.

“What? I don’t…” you spluttered with desperation.

“Come.”

He took your hand and pulled you up from the floor. His touch was almost burning, or maybe your hands were just that cold from the loss of blood. A consuming inferno of bright flames swallowed you both and instantly you reappeared in an entirely different place.

The warm air and the general, faint smell of fire and sulphur ravaged your senses. Avernus.

“The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed,” the stranger presented dramatically with a flourish motion of his arms – an invitation for you to look around at all the lavish glamour. Paintings of devils hung on the walls and the large fireplace was lit with the most mesmerising, hungry fire you had ever seen. A massive table right next to you was loaded with mouth-watering delicacies and you were overwhelmingly reminded how hungry and weak you were.

Your legs were shaking and every muscle in your body ached, resisting the notion of staying up on your feet. Every breath now made your lungs sizzle, the air burning on its way inside.

“So you’re a devil?” you asked feebly.

The stranger crooked a smile at your quick wit and answered: “Raphael. Very much at your service.”

A devil – out of all the names of the gods you had taken in vain, this was the one to save you. The irony stung deep.

“Forgive me that I don’t drop a curtsy. I’m feeling so…” you fumbled to find the proper word and focused your energy on staying on your feet. You glanced down and realised that you had already smudged the floor with blood and dirt.

Raphael noticed the stains too and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, you felt better and stopped gripping the table edge, knuckles white. Air poured effortlessly into your lungs without any pain and although shaky, you felt that you could stand properly. Your posture eased.

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured in surprise, but at the same time your pulse started quickening. As little as you knew of devils, you knew for a fact that they didn’t give anything for free.

“You’re welcome.” Raphael bowed lightly and pulled a chair for you.

“Please, sit, partake. You and I have much to discuss,” he mused and when you were comfortably seated, he circled around to the other side of the table.

Now healed, you were positively ravenous. You hesitated only a second before starting to fill your plate with pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables. Raphael’s crooked smile deepened, but he only watched, evaluating.

“How did you find me?” you asked, when the silence began feeling too oppressive.

Raphael tilted his head to the side, gauging your refreshingly lame reaction to the revelation of his nature. He replied: “That delicious life or death predicament you were in did the knocking, but you, my dear, were the one to push the door open.”

You swallowed a mouthful of food. “I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”

Raphael hid his smile, which felt even worse than seeing it widen. He leaned over the table on his elbows, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

“Oh, but you did. You wanted to survive. You craved the power to burn those insignificant worms,” he explained with an intensive look in his eyes. Then he leaned back in his seat and continued: “Unless, you’re saying there has been a mistake? I can send you back with an apology.”

“No!” you interjected.

The devil’s eyes glinted. With a nonchalant wave of his hand, a piece of parchment manifested into the air. Red letters in the language of the Hells were seared on the surface. A quill hovered next to it.

Your pulse quickened again as comprehension snaked its tendrils around you: You had prayed to give anything to save yourself. Anything, including your very soul as if it were a mere trinket to be traded off. But, what else was it in this transaction between life and death? You would lose both your life and soul, if you didn’t take the deal. A soul didn’t do much good for you if you were dead already.

“Tell me, what is your name, mortal?” Raphael asked.

“Tav.”

“Well then, Tav. Let’s bargain,” said the devil in the most complacent tone you had ever heard. “I can grant you the ability to manifest my power. The power to tear through your enemies, to guile the unworthy and cull the weak – the power to survive.”

You set the utensils down and drew in a shaky breath. “You want my soul?”

Raphael cocked a brow, entertained, and leaned over the table, closer to you. He said: “Lest you have something else to offer for your salvation, but I promise you this: I take good care of my clients.”

You stared right into the chestnut brown eyes of the human facade of the devil, who was after your very soul.

And nodded slowly.

“I accept,” you said simply, forcing your tone even. “We can go over the details after I’ve killed the fuckers.”

The devil barked a laugh.

“Excellent.”

You signed off the contract for your soul. It would take a long time until the gravity of what you had just done would settle in. In the meanwhile, you would enjoy the patronage of Raphael and the benefits of the warlock pact.

In a swirl of flames, you were returned to the wreck of the nautiloid ship, right at the feet of the looting mob.

“She’s here!”

“Indeed I am,” you snarled as infernal energy crackled and surged on your palm.

There would be only cinders left when you were through with them.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #the devil wears house slippers