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roosterforme · 2 days

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 9 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley never felt like this before in his life. As soon as he spent a few minutes in your presence, he needed to keep coming back for more. Your touch and your voice were already making this homecoming something he was hoping to repeat, and he decided to keep pressing his luck.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley getting handsy

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley promised he would pick you up in an hour. That gave you essentially no time to get yourself ready to go out. At least you didn't have those typical first date jitters, because you and he had already taken the time to slowly get to know each other over the past few months. All of the emails from him that you'd archived into their own folder in your inbox felt precious now that he was home. Now that he surprised you at work. Knowing what he felt like and seeing the way he moved in person seemed to be the only missing pieces, and now everything fit perfectly in your mind when it came to Bradley Bradshaw.

While you weren't nervous about getting to know someone new, you were a little antsy about trying to make yourself look as nice as you could in an hour. After you'd worked all day. For your first date with a man you already couldn't get enough of. He reminded you that he wanted to take you to the beach, as if you could forget the splendid details he'd divulged over the phone a month ago.

He told you he was going to wear jeans, nothing fancy, but when you looked in your closet, everything seemed tragically terrible. You could practically feel time ticking away as you yanked a simple sundress from its hanger and pulled it on over your cute underwear set. Not that he was going to see that tonight, but it made you feel good regardless. It also made your skin feel flushed as you thought about the photo you'd sent him where you'd gone topless under your bedding, and you squeaked when you heard knocking on your door.

When you pulled it open, he was there, like a dream. Earlier in your classroom, when he interacted with your students, it felt like you had imagined the whole thing. But nothing felt as real as the warmth in his voice when he softly said, "Hey, Gorgeous," as he filled your doorway with his broad shoulders.

"Hi, Handsome," you replied, even as he leaned in closer until your lips were met with a kiss as sweet as the ones he treated you to earlier. He seemed to be taking your desire to be kissed as soon as he saw you to heart. Either that or he just couldn't help himself, and you were more than okay with either scenario.

Your fingers ghosted along the buttons of the loud tropical print shirt he was wearing. The fabric was soft as he deepened the kiss enough to let you feel his rough mustache against your skin before pulling away. All of the teasing kisses from a few hours ago made you want to pull him inside toward your couch, but he was already reaching for your hand.

He looked a little tired, and once again you got butterflies knowing he wanted to spend his first evening home from a very long deployment with you. As he smiled and wrapped his big hand around yours, he asked, "You ready for me to show you why deleting that dating app was the best decision you'll make all year?"

Your lips parted in soft surprise at his confidence and his little smirk. Granted, so far, he had no reason to behave otherwise. You let him guide you outside, and you locked your door as you said, "I thought getting my students to send mail to a deployed Naval aviator was my best decision?"

He hummed softly. "Seems as though you can do no wrong."

It was like floating on a cloud, having his attention and gaze fixed on you. How in the world this man wasn't already locked down was mystifying. As his rough thumb trailed back and forth across your knuckles, the butterflies started up again in a big way. It was actually happening. The first date that you'd been daydreaming about on repeat was here. He was following through with it, and now you were expected to act normal.

When he unlocked the door and helped you climb up into his insanely cool truck, he said, "It looks like you can't stop smiling, which is great, because it's a beautiful smile."

You laughed softly and covered your eyes before groaning softly. "I'm just still kind of in shock." You peeked at him from between your fingers. "When I woke up this morning, I was convinced something terrible had happened to you... or that you ghosted me."

Bradley looked truly concerned as he coaxed your hands away from your face and said, "Baby, you thought I ghosted you?"

You gave him a little shrug and said, "The thought crossed my mind. I know you said sometimes they shut off communication from the aircraft carrier when-"

He silenced you with his lips on yours, cupping your cheek with his big hand before breaking away to say, "I've been thinking about you since I unfolded the first letter you sent. And I've been thinking about today since you gave me your personal email address. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm definitely not going to ghost you, Gorgeous." Just as you felt embarrassed for having admitted that much to him, he kissed you again and said, "I want to get you Thai food and take you to the beach. It only took me thirty-seven minutes to get here in traffic, and it should be even shorter now. Since we're going to be doing this drive with frequency, I want to learn the best times for it."

You made a soft sound as his thumb continued to stroke your cheek, and you nodded as you said, "Let's do it."

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Bradley laced his fingers with yours as he drove down along the coast back to Coronado. The time it took to get to your place was really no big deal to him, but he didn't want it to seem insurmountable to you. Traffic in San Diego could be a nightmare at times, especially in the evening, and he didn't want you to think he wasn't more than willing to do this. Especially after you thought he may have ghosted you. And especially since he was planning on asking you to be his girlfriend.

You and your students got him through his deployment in a way nothing else ever quite had before. Your letters and emails were informative, funny and thoughtful, and you had this addictively subtle way of always letting him know he was on your mind. After months with Vanessa, all he got was a bad attitude, a partner who clearly wasn't invested, and an email about a water bottle.

You were singing along to a song he happened to love when he chuckled to himself as he changed lanes. "What's so funny?" you asked, giving his hand a little squeeze. "My singing voice isn't that bad."

"Your singing voice isn't even slightly bad," he replied easily, glancing at your face in profile as you smiled. "I was just thinking about my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh," you said as your smile vanished, and your hold on his hand loosened.

"Shit," he grunted. "Not like that," he promised, tugging on you gently while trying to focus on the road. "You and I had exchanged more emails halfway through my deployment than Vanessa and I did in seven months. And I'm hoping you'll keep emailing with me on occasion, even though we can text and talk on the phone right now, too. I associate my inbox with you now."

"Vanessa?" you asked, avoiding the rest of his statement. "Isn't that the name of Jayden's dog?"

Bradley nodded. "It sure is," he replied with a laugh. "One of the reasons I always liked his notes the best."

You were looking out your window now as the pretty coastline started to give way to a view of North Island across the bay. "I'll keep emailing you. How could I not? Texts and phone calls would be a bonus."

"I told you, you're going to get sick of me soon, Gorgeous. That's how many of my texts and phone calls you're about to be on the receiving end of." Bradley kissed your fingers as he turned to cross the bridge that led to Coronado, and he murmured, "Start thinking about what you want to eat for dinner. We're almost there."

He would erase all doubts about him from your mind. Your hand already felt like it belonged in his as you and he walked into the takeout restaurant while you listed off some of your Thai favorites. The two of you seemed to translate well from interacting through screens to physically being together, and the fact that he already wanted to put a label on this was a bit surprising to him. But there was still a lot he wanted to ask you about and tell you first, which was proving difficult when you looked up at him with bright eyes as a beautiful smile. He practically blurted out the world girlfriend as you told him you couldn't decide what you wanted to eat.

"What are you getting?" you asked. "I'm torn between Pad Thai, Yellow Curry and Tom Yum Goong."

"Let's get all three," he replied before kissing you.

When he pulled away, your eyes were still closed as you asked, "All three? I can only finish one."

"Yeah, we can share them," he whispered, kissing you softly again. "My appetite is huge." When the person who was working at the counter had to clear their throat to keep Bradley from pulling you closer to his body like he had earlier in your classroom, he begrudgingly ordered not three, but four entrees while you laughed.

"You weren't kidding," you mused as he paid for dinner.

"Listen," he told you as he put his credit card away. "There are three things I'm never going to joke about. Food is the first one. My mom always made me clean my plate, and I never outgrew that. If I'm willing to eat two servings of dinner from an aircraft carrier mess hall, then I'm probably going to eat at least that much if it's food that actually tastes good. And second, if I say there's a spider and that I need you to come quick, there is absolutely a spider that I need you to take care of for me." You laughed and bit your lip as he said, "And third, I'm never going to joke about how attracted I am to everything about you."

Bradley tried his best not to cause a scene in the small restaurant, but when you ran your fingers along the scars on his face and up into his hair, his hands found their way to your hips, and your body was snug against his. He didn't say another word, and you didn't either. Neither of you moved any closer for a kiss. You just brushed your fingers gently through his hair, occasionally tugging a little bit, and he thought he could lose his mind this way. With you smiling softly at him, silently and unknowingly showing him that your touch was uniquely something he'd been craving for so long.

"I'll take care of the spiders for you. Don't worry," you told him as you grinned.

"Baby, that's like dirty talk," he replied, his words making him think of that one photo you sent to him of you in bed. You dipped your head, trying to hide from him as you laughed, and he leaned in to kiss your jaw just as his name was called. "You ready for dinner?" he mumbled, knowing he was about five minutes away from his stomach growling loudly even though standing here with you was one of the nicest feelings in his recent memory.

"Let's get you fed," you told him, patting his firm stomach and accidentally snagging one of his belt loops with your finger. He had to bite the inside of his cheek against the growing need he felt for you as you reached out to grab the bag of food, and he followed you back out to his Bronco like a lost puppy.

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After some debate about where you wanted to sit since the wind was starting to pick up, you chose a blanket on the sand over the back of his Bronco. You honestly weren't sure Bradley could even fit back there comfortably with you. He was so tall and broad, and his legs were so long, you'd practically have to be on top of him so he'd have room. Your mind wandered to the idea of him spilling off of his couch while you snuggled with him, and you could feel the warmth rising in your face as he helped you down onto the sandy asphalt of the parking lot.

With your hand in his, Bradley led you around to the back door where he pulled out a picnic blanket and a cooler. The wind picked up and you shivered a bit, wondering if he would let you curl up against his warm chest and his tropical shirt.

"I brought this just in case," he told you, turning to reach back inside and grab a well worn, gray sweatshirt that said TOP GUN across the front. He held it up, and you nodded, and then Bradley pulled it over your head for you, his fingers skimming down your sides as you pushed your arms through the sleeves.

"Thanks," you murmured as the oversized garment kind of swallowed you up. It was so soft over your sundress, you couldn't imagine ever wanting to take it off. And the look Bradley was giving you as you stood before him in it warmed you up as much as the shirt itself.

"I like the way that looks," he said, voice a little raspy as the wind pushed at his wavy hair.

"Bradley."

He shook his head, brown eyes fixed on you. "And I like the way that sounds."

You didn't need to eat anything. You could be sustained on making out in the backseat. You thought about telling him as much when he groaned softly, handed you the beach blanket and picked up everything else. "If we don't get settled, we'll miss the sunset, and the food will be cold."

He pressed one hot and heavy kiss to your lips before nudging the door shut with his hip, and you scampered after his long-legged gait to catch up with him. When he asked you to pick a spot for the blanket, you spread it out near some tall dune grass, away from some of the other couples who seemed to have been lured out by the promise of a pretty sunset. And just as you predicted, Bradley sprawled himself out and took up most of the space, leaving you sitting right at his side.

You helped him open up the containers of food and the disposable utensils, and then you watched him reach into the cooler and hold up a bottle of Prosecco and a bottle of a local craft beer. You pointed to the Prosecco, and he opened it for you as you said, "I know you told me you don't have much family, but you mentioned your mom? And how she always made you clean your plate?" You couldn't help but be curious, especially since you'd already told him a bit about your own family through email.

"Yeah," he replied evenly as you took a sip of Prosecco right from the bottle when he didn't hand you a cup. It was sweet and cold, but you almost choked on it when he said, "She died years ago. So did my old man. He was in the Navy, too."

"Bradley," you gasped, sloshing some of the wine onto your fingers as you tried not to drop the bottle. "I'm so sorry." He just shrugged and waved you off, but you ended up with your arms around his neck and the cold bottle pressed to his back as you whispered, "Is that why you didn't really have anyone writing to you other than me and my class?"

His big hand found your lower back through the sweatshirt. "Baby, the only other person who ever writes to me is my best friend, and even that is pretty sporadic."

You pulled away a little bit to meet his eyes as you asked, "What about Vanessa? The human, not the dog."

Bradley laughed and said, "The dog would make a better pen pal than the human. Probably be nicer to me, too."

You were completely taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He kissed your cheek before getting you settled at his side again, and you watched him scoop some noodles onto his fork. "Means she's not like you. And I'm going to try my best to prove that I'm not like your ex boyfriend who didn't like it when you talked about your job. Shouldn't be hard since I already think your kids are so cool, and I probably read at about a fourth grade level."

"Bradley," you balked as you laughed that he remembered what you told him about your ex, but he was already holding the food out to you.

"Try this and tell me what you think." You took the fork from his hand, tasted the dinner and moaned in appreciation. "It's pretty great, right?"

"Oh my goodness," you told him, digging the fork into the container for more. "It's even better than the place by my school."

You tried the curry next as the sun just about hit the horizon, and Bradley casually said, "We can do this all the time. Or I can surprise you with dinner after work."

"It's not a surprise if you tell me that," you told him before taking another sip of the wine.

"You don't like surprises," he said with a smile, and you realized for the second time tonight that he probably remembered everything you ever told him. The butterflies were back in full force as you and he chatted while you shared the meal. It wasn't like a first date at all. It was like some highly romantic reunion where he kissed you with a bit more frequency as the food containers ended up empty and the sky turned purple.

He was so warm as you snuggled up against his chest with your head on his shoulder. As the first few stars appeared in the clear sky, his big hand came to rest on your thigh, his fingers dipping inside the hem of your dress as the breeze made you cuddle even closer to him. "Was your last mission dangerous?" you asked, remembering how apprehensive he looked and sounded over the FaceTime call.

When he didn't respond right away, you thought perhaps he didn't hear you, but he squeezed your thigh and cleared his throat. "All of them are, Gorgeous."

Your heart clenched. You had him here with you after months of wishing and dreaming. You didn't want to seem pushy by asking, but you couldn't help yourself. "I never thought about what it would be like to... be with someone who deploys for work. Not until we started talking. But now I think about it a lot." His soft grunt next to your ear had you quickly asking, "Is that what it would be like? Always worrying if you're okay? Always wondering if you miss me as much as I miss you?"

He took your breath away as he kissed you, parting your lips with his and tasting your tongue. His lips were sweet from the wine, and his nose bumped yours as his big hand slid around to the back of your thigh. All you could do was hold onto him as he treated you to kiss after toe-curling kiss. You shamelessly moaned his name when he finally let you take a breath, but then he was right back on you. Your fingernails scraped softly along his faded scars before digging into his hair, and he broke the kiss and held you to him.

"You would never have to worry about the last bit. I would make sure of that. But yeah, Baby, the rest of it would kind of suck."

The only thing you could say was, "Bradley," as his eyes searched your face in the darkening evening light.

"I would have been miserable," he whispered. "If you never sent that first package, I would have had nothing to look forward to each day and nothing I was excited to come back to San Diego for." His voice was impossibly deep and alluring as he said, "I thought about that a lot. What if you never sent it? Or what if someone else got it instead of me? What if I didn't somehow manage to earn your attention? I don't like thinking about that. And I don't like the idea of you worrying about me even though, at the same time, it feels really fucking good knowing that you would."

You were melting. You were going to turn into a puddle for this man. This lonely man who had an ex who hadn't been nice to him and never emailed him enough. This man who cleared his calendar today to bring you flowers and visit your kids as soon as he got off of the aircraft carrier. You wanted to say so much as you pushed gently on his shoulders, and Bradley slowly leaned back until he was laying flat with you on top of him.

"Gorgeous," he crooned in the moonlight with the sound of the ocean behind you and his big hands on your thighs.

You pushed his hair back from his forehead and whispered, "You just got back today, and you gave all of your time to me."

His cheek was warm and rough with some stubble as your lips found his scars. You kissed them just like you told him you wanted to as he said, "It was just me being selfish. I wanted to be around you so badly. I'm already dying for more. Please go out with me again tomorrow?"

It took you all of a split second to agree. And maybe you were being selfish too, but you weren't prepared for the way your heart was racing in time with the butterflies. And how warm his big hands were as they inched up your legs while you tasted his tongue. And how much you knew you were going to want him to stay when it was time to say goodnight.

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Your hands were all over his face and shoulders and in his hair, and Bradley was nothing short of delighted by this. Your lips drifted from his mouth down to his chin, and he had to try very hard to focus as they grazed his Adam's apple. He had your apartment keys in his hand, with which he was also squeezing your hip though his sweatshirt. It felt serendipitous that he was the one who got your letters, especially since he went from halfway in love with you to most of the way there after one day in your presence.

"Baby, you need to go inside," he warned, but something in his tone of voice just had you clinging tighter to him. "I need you to go inside."

You broke free from where your lips ended up on the side of his neck, and you whined. "I know, Bradley."

"God," he rasped, releasing you completely and taking a step back. "Say it one more time."

You unlocked your door, turned to look at him over your shoulder, and your kiss-swollen lips curled into one of those simply gorgeous smiles that earned you your nickname. "Bradley."

It sounded so fucking good. "I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered. "Lock the door behind you."

You did as you were told with one more little smile just for him, and then he was left standing there alone, trying to catch his breath while he got his phone out and worked on taking date number two from daydream to reality.

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Why is he like this? They are going to get even more handsy on their second date, and I can't handle it. And he can't even go more than a day without seeing her? He needs to be locked away. Thanks for reading! And thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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soapybutt17 · 2 days

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The Doctor Is In

Summary: Simon was not one to look to get himself involved with women that was also part of his line of work. May it be women also in the field or anyone working in the background. But somehow, even he would eat his words at times as he was now dealing with the fact that he is far too enormed with the infamous doctor in scrubs that liked her coffee with tons of sugar and a dash of cream who also happens to be the little sister of his ever gruff of a Captain, John Price. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Price!Female!Reader Word Count: 3,958 Chapter Warnings: General Chaos. Sibling Bantering. Unedited. Lol. Author's Note: for @glitterypirateduck;s #Ghost Challenge Scenarios:

Soft Simon

A Kiss on the inside of the wrist

"They are right behind me, aren't they?"

You're Price's sister

Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist

“You good?”

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley was a big tough man, but in your care, with your touch he was the biggest baby. If he knew you would be the one attending to any injuries he might accumulate during missions, he would showcase each and every single wound or bruise he might have in his entire body, some imaginary ones to just to prolong his time with you. You knew as much and you enjoyed the fraction of time you get to spend time with him because of it.

“Just one thing left.” Simon finds himself answering, eyes peering along the now empty medical room. When the coast was clear, he had lifted his mask halfway off to showcase his lips. “You missed a spot, Love.” He smirked, full of himself at this point.

“You’re impossible, Riley.” You rolled your eyes making your way to the door and locking it just for safe measures before making your way towards him.

Arms rested on his shoulder before you pull him in for a kiss. Simon has had his fair share of kisses in his life, some memorable and some that he wished never to remember, but nothing could truly compare to your kiss, your lips were soft and tasted so much of the coffee that he was certain filled your veins. Overly sweet with a hint of cream—just like what you always want in your coffee. It was you and he would not have it any other way.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Smirking into your lips as you left out a surprised yelp for him as he continued to consume you with his lips. He took everything from you in that moment, your voice, your breath, and your bloody sanity as you moaned further into his kiss.

The sound of the knock on the door and the voice of his Captain had you pulling away and fixing yourself up from his lap. You glared at Simon then even with shit eating grin on his lips as he finally pulled his mask back on as you opened the door to the sight of his Captain—and your older brother.

“What is it now, John?” You questioned your brother and to this day it still amazed him how easy you could return back to this little character of professionalism to anyone that might come your way—even after the make out session that just occurred between the two of you.

“Wanted to check if Ghost would be indispensable for the time being?” Price inquired turning his attention away from you and right back to Simon that was still seated on the chair, didn’t even bother with the pleasantries.

“All cleared, just double checking for any hidden wounds he might have under his sleeves.” You answered turning your attention towards Simon too. “Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Doc.” He nodded. A good thing he has his mask on with the smirk resting on his face.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” You spoke turning towards your own brother now. “Both of you.”

That was Simon’s cue to stand in his full height, he looked right down at you. A knowing was shared between the two of you before he followed his Captain out of the room.

“Bloody woman thinks she could boss the both of us around.” Price muttered under his breath as the both of them walked away from the medical area of the base.

“She does, you know.” Simon supplied.

“Whose fucking side are you on, Lieutenant?”

“Happy Doctor, happy soldier.” Simon shrugged knowing how true that statement truly was.

You tried your best to comb your hair after the mess that one Simon Riley had caused your current state and your entire life to be more specific. You were uncertain how and when this relationship with the Lieutenant had started but you had decided since then that it wasn’t something you’d want to deal with knowing anymore.

You were happy with this relationship with the man and that was more than enough and what was important.

“Will you be bringin’ that boyfriend of yours home for Mum’s birthday?”

You practically jumped at the voice of your brother. You turned, glaring at the man and slapping him on the arm for surprising you. This was what you hated about him, even with how different your lives has turned out him being a man that took lives if the circumstance was needed and you being the person that save lives whatever means necessary—he felt no separation between the two of you because of it. It only your sibling relationship with him grow stronger. You trusted him as much as he trusted you with his own life. It’s just too bad that you had your own secrets you weren’t so ready to admit to him just yet—or if ever.

“Who said I had a boyfriend?” You quipped subtly trying to fix the shirt you had on.

“I think the hickeys and the whispers around base is indicator enough you are seeing someone on base.” He spoke calmly, but you know him enough to understand that he was anything but calm.

He was being an overprotective older brother.

“John.”

“I want to know the name before you even think about letting the family know about him.”

You raised a brow at him, unfazed by the underlying threat in his words. You weren’t scare of his threats and you were more certainly sure that neither would Simon be. You were both consenting adults and were more than certain that whatever relationship you might have would never affect your work.

“No.” You answered.

“No?”

“What is it with men and not understanding the word no?”

“Give me a name.” He repeated.

“Really John?” You looked at him in disbelief. “Will this be the hill you die on, Jonathan?” You questioned him.

“You are my sister and you are the sister of the Captain of the Taskforce. What goes in this base is my problem.”

“I will cut you off for less, John. Do not make me do so.” You warned him, walking away from him without giving him even a single about the identity of the man.

But you knew your brother, you know him well enough to understand that he would not heed into your warning, instead finding himself getting his most trusted men involved. Little did he know that one of his most trusted man was the very person they were looking for.

“You really sure you’re not set on letting your brother know?” Simon had inquired the moment he had arrived in your apartment—shared apartment now that you both decided he could move in here on a more permanent basis.

“And give him the satisfaction of me agreeing with him? No.” You answered already handing him his tea. “And I love see him suffer from time to time.” You grinned knowing that Simon was getting bolder with the hickeys and making your brother more agitated.

“One of this days, a bullet would be placed on my head because of you.” He granted pulling off his mask and pulling you in for a kiss, a welcome home kiss. “Hi, Love.”

“Hi, Handsome.” You smiled, rubbing his chest before pulling away and plopping down onto the sofa with your boyfriend following besides you, his free arm wrapped around your waist. “Any new gossip I need to hear about?” You inquired.

“Your brother is zoning in on some poor private and I am washing my hands from whatever shit he has planned for the bastard.” Simon muttered taking a sip of his tea.

“You really have the actual balls to join him on this witch hunt?” You snorted knowing the man wasn’t innocent in all of this.

Your brother trusted every single one of the main members of his taskforce—Simon most especially, but to have him be the very man he was haunting down was just ironic for so many reason.

“Until you tell me otherwise.” He admits. “And I think it’s good to have me cleaning my tracks when I can along the way.” He pointed out.

You nodded, diabolic this man was when he wants to be.

“I wanted to ask…” You trailed off remembering the conversation you just had with your mother before he got home. “My Mum is inviting me and my secret boyfriend for her birthday and I wanted to know if you’d want to join or not?”

You looked at him more intently now. It was a subject you didn’t truly want to have with him especially when you had both decided to begin your relationship. But at the same time, it’s just been a long time coming. You loved your family, but you wanted to set a new boundary when it comes to your boyfriend and how he would be comfortable with interacting with your family going forward—especially when it comes to his past.

“If you’d have me, then I’d love to go.”

You smiled kissing him on the cheeks.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to force you into anything you are not comfortable with.”

“As long as you can promise me that your brother wouldn’t place a bullet in my head, then I don’t think we’d have much of a problem.”

“Can’t promise that, I’m sorry.” You giggled but knowing the worry was all the more lingering in you at the possibility. “You think if I bring Johnny and Gaz along, it wouldn’t be as awkward?”

“I’d actually like that.”

Simon Riley did not fear anything in his life—well, he had a few that were more irrational than anything. But something that he truly feared in this moment was the fact that he would be meeting his girlfriend’s family—who one-third of the member wasn’t so much of a stranger to him. His superior, more specifically.

“You alright?” In the car ride from your shared apartment to your childhood home, the question was almost like a broken record in your lips. Always ensuring his comfort and safety when you could.

“I’m fine.” Simon tried to reassure, hand tighten around your own. Both of you stood in front of your childhood home, a home he was certain held so much good memory of yours—something he never truly had in his own.

“Fucking hell you two, you beat us here!”

He pulled his hand away from your own as the sound of an all too familiar Scot’s arrival. Soap and Gaz had arrived as late as the two of you had. He wondered if to this day the two have yet to know about him and you being in a relationship even with the few unintentional slip ups.

“I drove that’s why.” You had quipped immediately wrapping an arm around Gaz’s waist with a smile. “What took you two so long?” You inquired.

The duo lifted a gift wrapped box on each of their hands. A playful smile resting on their faces.

“Can’t join a birthday party without a gift for the Mum.” Soap explained all too proudly.

Simon looked back at you, a playful eye roll escaping before you had pulled away from Gaz to finally open the door to your childhood home. The smell of food consuming him and making it all the more evident that he hasn’t even had breakfast because of his nerves for being here.

“Darling!” A older version of you stepped out of the kitchen. She was shorter but was a spitting image of you that scared him for a moment. “And you brought friends too!”

He watched you wrap your mother into a tight hug before ushering everyone into the living room to the sight of your father that was a spitting image of the Captain and the Captain himself surprised by the sight of not only him, but as well as Soap and Gaz.

“What are you Muppets doing here?” John questioned, it spoken to be amused by his tone, but the look on his eyes was showing something else instead. He was hiding his annoyance from the looks of it.

“I invited them, John.” You were quick to answer hand holding onto Simon’s own.

“I’m surprised you didn’t invite that plaything of your instead.”

That certainly hit a nerve out of you but you were quick to wear a smirk on your face.

“I brought three of them.” You quipped right back in the same breath that your parents began scolding your brother for his words.

“Why don’t you introduce your friends?” The Head of the Price household had interrupted what he was certain would be a cat and mouse fight between siblings.

You did just that, introducing Soap and Gaz fairly easily before your attention solely turned to him and what would now be the very reason why this small celebration for your mother’s birthday would turn to the worse.

“And this is Simon Riley—my boyfriend.”

“WHAT?” All three heads turned to you in question even in the delight and humor that laced in both of your parents’ face. This was the first time that you had introduced a boyfriend to them from how they talked.

“Let’s eat. It’s a good thing I made food for an army—pun intended for this.” Your mother insisted, dragging both you and Simon along as an excuse to help her with setting the table for everyone else.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Simon.” Your mother explicitly states handing him the plates to set up the table. “And I’m happy to see my daughter happy again.”

Those words shot straight to his heart. He did his best on most days, if you weren’t patching up his injuries, you were the comfort he had in the nightmares of his past. He never thought that you would be happy with someone like him—sometimes he even wonders why you would be with someone like him.

“She makes me happy too.” Simon admits, the blush was all too present in both of your faces at his little admission.

“When can I begin expecting grandbabies then?”

“Mother!” You were quick to protest, the blush on your face grew deeper.

You’ve just moved in together, began a routine for yourselves, a child might not be in the picture just yet.

“Maybe marriage first, Ma’am.” He placates instead.

“Call me Mum, Darling. You are now part of our family.” Your Mum spoke and the way his heart tighten almost had him in tears.

It’s been years since he had his Mum in his life and how easy it was for her to give him such a privilege. He will put a ring on your finger one day. He already knew when or how, it was just the opportunity to deal with everything else that he needed to fix beforehand.

“Thank you—Mum.” He whispered his eyes glazed turning away and focusing with setting the plates on the table, hiding away the tears that were fighting to fall as you began arguing with your mother about such things so early on in your relationship.

“Your brother and that girlfriend of his are taking it too slow and if I can’t have him give me grandbabies, you might have hope before me and your father are long gone?”

“Girlfriend?” Simon smirked at that. Your brother, his Captain had been so deadset in the secret relationship you had but somehow he had his own secret that was unintentionally spilled.

The pot calling the kettle black.

“I don’t understand it with you kids this days. You’re both already showing a few grey hairs, but no kids. You two will be the death of me.” Your mother continued to rant playfully as one mother does and you were left to just deal with it.

He wasn’t much help, the revelation of the Captain hiding his own girlfriend was still had him reeling in at the moment it was something he will be making good use of if the need arises—which would be today now that the cat was out of the bag.

Your mother announced it was time for lunch and immediately the rest of the men was barreling into the dining room. He could feel the intensity in the eyes of his Captain but you were quick to pulling him besides you, as far away from the man and his peripheral.

“So how long have you known each other?” It was your father that finally broken the ice of the little secret Simon was keeping with his daughter.

“When he first stumbled onto the infirmary with an open bullet wound to the shoulder.” You answered without a hitch.

“Where are your table manners?” Price immediately retorts.

“Oh shut up, we fucking talked about worst.” You quipped right back not taking your brother’s shit.

“Children.” Your father’s voice was quick to stop the banter that was about to come between the siblings. “Behave, we have guests.”

That was quick to halt the two siblings from their argument.

“Now, once this meal is over, I would like to talk to you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Simon was quick to answer realizing it wasn’t his Captain that he needed to actually worry about, it was your father that would do so much worse.

Lunch would be any longer as Simon now finds himself in the garden with you trying and failing to convince your own father not to go through with his talk with Simon and your own brother giddy and wanting to join in on the mess.

“Inside. Now.” Your father’s voice boomed had both you and the Captain running with your tails between your legs back inside the house. Who would have ever thought that at your ages, you both still feared your father?

“Now, where were we?” The man smiled, a sheer contrast of him in front of his own children only moments ago. “I’ve learned so much about you from my son, how much he cares for you after your own past.”

Simon was left wordless wondering why his Captain would even think it was a good idea to ever tell anyone else about his life. He had no right whatsoever, as a captain, a friend, nor the brother of his girlfriend.

“My son, he might not show it as much as he cares for you lot and he treats you like his own sons without even realizing it.” He chuckled and it irked him why he would continue this conversation.

“And I know for a fact that my son would not place you on his team and his circle if you weren’t good at your job and a genuinely good person.” The man’s smile slowly fell as he got more serious with his words. “But I want you to also know that if you even think about hurting my daughter in any shape, way, or form, you do not need to worry about what my son or my daughter might do to you when I find you.”

Now Simon understood where his Captain got his personality and aura from.

“I promise I won’t hurt your daughter, Sir.” Simon finally had the strength to answer. “I love her too much to even think of hurt her. I want to marry her someday and I’m doing my best to ensure that when I ask her to marry me, she would never have any doubts about me and my love and devotion to her.”

He still didn’t have the ring, nor did he think it was the right time or place to say such words especially to your own father, but it was what he felt needed to be said. He loved you, more than he would have ever loved someone in his life and after all the shit he has experience in his life, all he would have ever wanted was to have his own peace and his peace was with you.

“Well, you have my blessing, son.” The man’s face lit up now at his words. “I don’t need to tell you how much my little girl means to me and I still think no one would ever deserve her, but you’re close as it could possibly get.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Please, call me Dad.”

Again, his chest ached. The connotation of a father only brought so much bad memories for him and his childhood, but in this very moment it was a new memory and a new family he never thought he would ever need in his life.

“Thank you…Dad.” Simon spoke hesitation still lingering in his words.

The shared smile between the two men were finally interrupted by you and your insistence that you wanted some private time with your boyfriend before throwing him to the fish (the rest of the taskforce). This time, your father had happily accepted heading back inside leaving him all alone with you—finally.

“You good?” You asked, immediately cupping his cheeks and looking for any visible signs of injury on him. The pros and cons of dating a doctor.

“Took it like a champ.” He tried to downplay everything including the threat that was somehow all too common for fathers to make when it comes to their daughter.

“Tell me if its too much and we can leave, alright?”

He nodded arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Simon…” You warned.

“I’m okay.” He reassured holding onto one of your hands still on his cheeks. He placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist, he was still uncertain if this was an appropriate place to pull you in for a proper and much needed kiss. “I promise.” He continued to reassure you.

“I’m sorry we have to spring our relationship out of the blue but I honestly just wanted you to meet my Mum and Dad.”

“It’s fine.” Simon smiled down at you, swaying you slightly in his hold. “At least now I don’t need to deal with your brother at the base with everything out in the open.”

Simon knew he would deal with something worse now but he dealt with worse and he has you, if it comes to him getting beat up by your brother he has you to tend to the wounds and bruises like you’ve always promised.

“You’re gonna tell me if he ever does anything to you.”

“He won’t.”

“I think you and I know how petty that bastard could be.”

Simon rolled his eyes being reminded of such a moment in their earlier times on missions together.

“I can handle it, I promise.” He continued finally pulling you in for a kiss taking your breath away in the process.

Simon’s heart skipped at beat at your kiss. There was always something special about you and your lips against his own, and without hesitation he gently lifted your chin and pressed his lips deeper into your own. His arms wrapping around your tightly.

“I owe you tonight.” You gasped for breath as he finally pulls away. “For keeping up with me and my entire family’s shit.”

“You keep up with my shit and more and your head is to die for.” He quipped wanting to end all the seriousness.

Unfortunately the moment was ruined at the sight of you looking over his shoulder with widen eyes.

“They’re right behind me, aren’t they?” Simon resigned knowing what was bound to happen now that he can hear the Captain’s array of profanities all directed at him.

“You good?” You asked ready to defend his honor.

“I’ve got it, Doc. Just tend to the wounds after.” Simon sighed finally turned to see his Captain fast approaching with Soap and Gaz trying and failing to keep the man at bay.

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #fem reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x female reader #cod fic #mw2 fic #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #ghost riley #simon riley fluff #GhostChallenge

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jewishvitya · 3 days

Text

I'm annoyed, I need to vent. I keep seeing this "a few bad apples" kind of attitude:

The reply isn't wrong. Yes, he's considered an extremist. Just like Ben-Gvir is considered an extremist. Just like Smotrich is considered an extremist.

Ben-Gvir and Smotrich got 10% of the votes in the last elections.

Just a bit ago someone sent me a video of Smotrich calling for genocide and asked me "are those subtitles real?" Because people check with me for Hebrew. And it was real. He said, explicitly, "Rafah, Deir al Balah, Nuseirat, total extermination." None of this is surprising from them. They've always been like this, this isn't new, and they won 10% of votes.

Often on posts by myself or other anti-zionist Israelis, especially posts showing protests, I see people saying "remember the people aren't the government" and yes, that's true, we're not, it's so important to remember that. But it's so infuriating to me when I see people talking like Israeli society wants to reach fairness and justice and coexistence and politicians are getting in the way. Like we aren't in line with our government on a lot. Why, because we hate Netanyahu?

Hating Netanyahu means nothing. I know people who hate Netanyahu so they voted for Bennett, who is further right than him. I know people who hate Netanyahu because he isn't brutal enough for them, they think he's holding back, they'd want someone like Ben-Gvir or Smotrich to be Prime Minister. I don't know many people who hate Netanyahu for being too far to the right. The biggest group are on the same page as him in terms of what the goal is (no Palestinian state), they just think he's doing a bad job of it and he's too corrupt. They're good with the Likkud, they just want to get rid of Netanyahu and his people, and then the party will be fixed in their eyes.

That's why, for me the next question I always want to ask is, who are we voting for. Which policies are we voting for. And the left-leaning political parties don't get voters.

In Israel "left" and "right" are practically decided according to opinions about Palestine. You could be pro-LGBTQ, pro socialist policies, pro all sorts of lefty ideas, but if you're right wing on Palestine you'll call yourself a right winger in Israel. I knew an antifeminist pro-capitalist MRA incel who considers himself a leftist because he supports a Palestinian state. I am not exaggerating, I'm not making up a character, I met him a few years ago through shared friends, he visited my apartment at some point.

So when I'm saying leftist parties don't get votes, that's because Israeli society broadly agrees with the right wing ABOUT PALESTINE. It's the first priority most of us have when voting. And we don't vote for anything that has a chance to improve their lives, because we're scared. We want to keep them in check.

Israelis are in denial about the fascism in our own society, so those who are too explicit about it, too outspoken about being nationalist, are just... "who can take them seriously?" All while they have the support of 1 out of 10 Israelis.

I'm not saying "assume that every Israeli is evil, you should want us all dead." Just... we're in denial about our own society, and it drives me crazy when people pretend like the problem isn't as big as it is.

#riki babbles #venting

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luveline · 6 hours

Note

oooh what about hotch's sister calling spencer to pick her up at the hospital after an accident or something because she doesn't want hotch to know since worry and go into protective big brother mode, but spencer tells him anyway and they both show up and lots of fluff ensues :)

adopted fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for panic attacks

You should call your brother.

You think about it, even pull up his contact, he’s the first person you go to when you need help and he always has been, but lately Aaron has been so stressed you hesitate, clicking the text button by mistake.

You read back his last message.

I can feel myself being spread too thin but there’s nothing I can do to fix it, he’d text. I guess I’m frustrated. But how are you, working girl? New jobs are scary. I bet you’re doing better than you think already. Jack and I are super proud of you

You’d sent him a meagre response. You aren’t always sure what to say to him. Sincerity is easier in person, but even then, he can be terse and deflective; he looks after you and no one looks after him.

You didn’t tell him about work, and you won’t tell him about now. You call Spencer instead. This is a good way to test the almost dating thing, right?

He doesn’t answer. When you call again, he answers on the first ring. “Hey, are you okay?”

“No. Are you busy?”

“I’m not busy if you’re not okay. Two seconds.” There’s a pause where you assume he’s moving from one place to another, perhaps closing a book around his hand, or closing the lid on an early lunch. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m, uh, in hospital. I had a huge panic attack at work and I… thought I was having a heart attack, so I–” You’re so embarrassed your voice turns to a thread. “Sorry, I know it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, that’s not stupid. How do you feel now?”

“Like someone hit me really hard in the chest.”

“Are you calmed down?”

“Mostly.” You wince. “They want to talk to me about medications. Uh.” You clear your throat. “I want to go home.”

“Angel… I’m on my way, okay? I’ll get Hotch and–”

“You can’t tell him.”

“What?”

“Please, Spencer, he gets so worried, he’s worried enough. And if he finds out I had a panic attack he’ll try and make me take time off of work and that’s just another thing on his plate he didn’t ask for–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, “please don’t panic. You’ve had a hard morning, panicking again is really gonna hurt. Try and think about things that don’t wind you up, alright? Is there anything you need me to get?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“That’s why you called me, right? I’ll be there.”

You can’t know that he says goodbye and ducks straight back into Hotch’s office, where he’d been, to tell on you. It’s not to hurt you and it isn’t because you told him not to —it’s two parts concern, and one part self preservation. Aaron needs to know and you need him with you, and he also can��t imagine things going well for himself if he kept the news of your stay a secret. The shovel talk plays in his mind.

Aaron’s shovel talk being, You won’t do anything to hurt her, said simply, and with an impassive expression that bordered terrifying. Not overly unaffected, just casual.

You’re laying in your hospital bed with your hands clasped across your stomach when Spencer arrives. He frowns at you in your bed, worse when he sees your smudged makeup and the chafed inside of your wrist where you’ve picked and squeezed at your own skin. Your panic has left a physical mark, your chest aching as you force yourself to sit, and it hurts doubly so when your brother lets himself in behind your nearly-boyfriend.

You don’t have it in you to complain.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, reaching down to give you a quick hug as you sit. “I had to tell him.”

Aaron’s hug is similarly apologetic, though much longer. “You weren’t gonna tell me?” he asks quietly, his hand settling at the place between your shoulders. “How do you feel now?”

“I’m fine, I– I really thought I was having a heart attack.”

“That’s common,” Spencer says, “it’s the feeling of impending doom, thousands of people mistake anxiety for medical issues every week.”

Aaron holds you by the shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says. “Was it a doctor that checked you out, or a nurse?”

Aaron probes the name of your nurse from you and promises to be back soon. He seems to have gleaned that the quickest way to get information today won’t be from you.

Spencer goes in for another hug when he leaves, and then, to your delight, a very quick kiss pressed to your cheek. He ducks away after that and sits on the side of your hospital bed, his knuckles gracing the outside of your thigh. “Thank you for calling me,” he says, smiling at you, and better when you smile back.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. I know how it feels, okay? If they want to talk about medication it’s a good thing, but everyone has moments like this.”

“I can’t believe you told Aaron,” you say, giving a weak but playful glare.

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to. He loves you, he wants to know what’s hurting you, no matter how much stuff is on his plate.”

You bite the inside of your lip, contemplative for a few slow seconds. “You think so?” you ask finally.

The hair flicked under his ears wobbles as he nods. “Absolutely.”

You lean forward to readjust his collar and tie. He’s wearing one of his cutesy waistcoats, dark grey over a light blue shirt. His tie has patterns you trace with your thumb, like fish scales. “Sorry, I know you were working,” you murmur.

“I think my boss will forgive me.”

You let your hands fall. Spencer, perhaps picking up on a hint you hadn’t meant to give, takes them both into one of his and squeezes reassuringly.

“It’s harder than I thought,” you confide softly.

“It’s an adjustment period. But maybe it’s not right for you, there. That’s what started it, right? Your job.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I get panicky about all sorts of stuff, but I’ve never had one this bad before. I was a miserable kid, you can ask Aaron, but I really thought I was better.”

He rubs over your fingers with his thumb. “I think we all have stuff that messes us up. Doesn’t mean you’re not better. You don’t even really have to be better. And I… I am here for you, I promise. I know you have no reason to trust me with it yet, but I’ll listen whenever you need me to.”

You think about kissing him. Spencer kisses like he’s suffocating and your air, it’s cliche and undeniably true. Whenever you kiss him it’s like a shock —he steals your breath, he can’t stop himself from grabbing your face, and any other time you’d love it, but right now you just need a peck. You’re hoping he can do those kinds of kisses too.

“Will you kiss me?” you ask tentatively.

He gets the memo on gentleness. You shouldn’t be surprised, your very first kiss was tame, his hand running up your arm as he encourages you forward. Your eyes shutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours, and the exhausting thrumming that’s lived beneath your skin since you woke up numbs to a more manageable ache.

Spencer breaks away. He cups your cheek quickly, dropping it immediately when the door opens.

You shuffle backward nonchalantly.

Aaron gives you a sarcastic look. Really? it says. I wasn't born yesterday.

“They want to give you a prescription for Paxil, honey, what do you think?” He turns his attention to Spencer reluctantly. “What’s her best option here?”

“Paxil could be fine. They didn’t suggest a benzodiazepine? Paxil is an SSRIs, it slows down the rate of serotonin reuptake, basically increasing the effectiveness of your bodies natural serotonin, which could decrease the risk of another attack, but taking it won’t stop her from feeling like this,” —he frowns at your location— “very quickly. Ideally she should have a medication for general anxiety and the option for quicker relief if this happens again.” He smiles at you suddenly, nearly shyly. “If that’s what you want, that is.”

“What are you thinking, honey?” Aaron asks you.

You have the two of them here to look after you while you decide. You take Spencer’s hand gently, desperate for reassurance. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay, we’ll work it out,” your brother promises.

Spencer squeezes your hand.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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pynkfairyheart · 1 day

Text

pairings: older!reiner x reader

warnings: smut 18+, age gap (old enough to be readers dad)

Congratulations

Reiner didn't typically consider himself the most neighborly. Sure he'd wave when in passing, or occasionally comment on his neighbors’ yard, but that was it.

It wasn't like him to walk across his lawn to offer help or introduce himself.

That was until he saw you, pout resting on your pretty lips as you struggled to open your door with the large box in your hands.

Maybe it was that he hit multiple aces while golfing or maybe it was your ass peeking from your shorts. Whatever it was it prompted him to approach you, offering to help you inside.

Any other time you'd have declined, aware of the horror stories of seemingly kind men but something told you to trust him. Maybe it was the prominent muscles along his six foot frame, or that he was old enough to be your dad. Whatever it was you accepted.

He helped you bring all of your boxes and furniture in. Happily rearranging your room for the third time and even helping you fix the wobbly leg of your coffee table before wishing you a good night and returning to his house.

That night he jerked off to the memories of you bent over and the small sounds you made when lifting a heavy box.

You talked with him once after that. When you finally settled into the house that was too large for one girl, you went knocking on his door to bring him thank you brownies, praying he didn't notice your eyes lingering on the prominent v-line of his bare torso before you finally handed him the dish.

Of course, there were the occasional waves whenever you two happened to pass by each other but your schedules rarely mixed. That was until he decided to take a day off.

While in the middle of mowing his lawn, he saw you leave your house, gown in hand, and dripped in colorful cords and stoles, your decorated graduation cap sparkling in the sun as you rushed to your car.

He thought about you the entire time you were gone, busying himself with housework, and keeping a close ear by the door. When he caught the sound of your car pulling in your driveway he immediately jogged his way over to you, stopping in the same place he first introduced himself.

“Hi, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. I saw you this morning but you seemed to be in a rush” He smirked, hazel eyes skimming your bare legs that appeared elongated in the heels you wore.

“Aww thank you, I was, but I'd have loved to talk to you anyway” A nervous giggle escaped you. Despite the low interaction, you couldn't help but grow a small crush on your older neighbor. The sight of him in his suit or tight golf shorts being the star in all of your late night fantasies.

“Would you like to come over to have dinner? Today, or sometime this week? I'm sure you have some plans later but if not, I'd love to have you over.” He rubbed his beard nervously as he awaited your reply.

You did. But you were convinced your friends and family would understand that you just had to take up the opportunity to get to know your hot neighbor.

At least that's what you told yourself when you accepted his invitation.

And let him teach you how to cook a steak.

And maybe when you allowed him to pull you down onto his lap as you watched the sunset.

And definitely when he carried you up his stairs before fucking you senseless.

You lost count of how many orgasms you've had. The moment he laid you on his bed, his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of you numerous times, and fingering your pink walls till tears stained your cheeks and you shook from overstimulation.

You thought you'd be safe once he bullied his fat cock into your aching walls. Surely a man of his age didn't have the best stamina, right? Wrong.

He quite literally laughed in your face at your disbelief when he fucked his first load back into your sopping pussy.

You'd never been so full, his tip ramming against your cervix whenever he fully pounded into you and the outline of his dick as he pressed down on your tummy having you drool.

“Rei, too much” You cried. Ass in the air and face buried into the mattress as he pounded into you from behind, hands tied back with your lacey panties. Whines barely audible over the slapping skin.

“Why are you complaining, bunny? Isn't this what you wanted? For daddy to ruin this pretty pussy” He whispered in your ear. The new angle reaching spots you never knew existed.

“Ouuu, yes, please, daddy” You whined, turning to give your signature pout. Oh, how you looked so pretty to him. Face stained with tears and your pouty, plumped, glossy lips looking so soft. He found it cute how you tried to convince him to let you cum.

“No” He pecked your lips before pulling out fully, only to ram his cock back in. A harsh slap landed on your ass cheek at the same time, red bruise forming on the brown skin from his previous spanks.

“Oh my gaaawd please, I can't hold it in anymore” You resisted against the restraints, desperate to slow his movements

“Yes, you can, princess.” He taunts, as he continued his relentless pounding.

You wanted to believe him. You really did as you tried to focus on anything other than the pleasure he was providing you. You tried and tried but nothing stopped the knot from snapping. A string of curses flowing from your pretty lips as your body found the strength to push out the clear stream of squirt, your walls clamping around his cock.

He hissed, unable to resist the pressure applied as his sticky cum decorated the insides of your walls, pounding into you before pulling out to watch it drip onto his sheets.

Confusion settled into your brain as he untied your hands and flipped you over, whispering praises into your ear as he blessed your skin with soft sweet kisses.

“Reiner, I'm sorry I really tried” You started

“I know, baby. I forgive you, it's okay. You did perfect” He engulfed you in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring the path down each others throats.

You were almost convinced he did, until he reached into his nightstand, pulling out a blindfold and a vibrator from the drawer.

“I thought you said you forgive me” Pout once again resting on your lips as he opened your legs, cool air stimulating your already throbbing clit

“I do. But even the prettiest of girls don't get out of punishment”

wheres my dilf neighbor??? also congratulations to anyone who graduated. nothing but love to my fellow class of 24 graduates. even if you didn't get to graduate or you're currently still in school I'm still proud of you nd wish you nothing but success in life. mwah <3

#aot x black reader #anime x black!reader #aot x reader #black reader #attack on titan #chubby reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #aot reiner #reiner smut #reiner x black reader #reiner braun x black reader #aot smut #aot fic

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artyandink · 2 days

Text

maine coon

Summary: Dean initially hated your small touches. He used to feel weird with them on his skin. But now he craves them. He craves the high of feeling like a human, and you’re the best hit he’s ever had.

TW: Mentions of borderline dehumanisation (cause we hate John guys for making those two beautiful boys soldiers/mindless machines), two idiots in love, tooth rotting fluff! Thought up this little drabble :)

A/N - Maine coon because they’re a very friendly cat breed! Plus, a little comfort for Dean cause he needs it :) set in s1

Little touches.

It started like that. Just small brushes of your hand on his shoulder and ruffling of Sam’s hair. The younger Winchester would brush you off politely, fix his hair but wear an affectionate smile anyway.

Not Dean.

Dean would grumble, pout angrily, act as if he was wiping off the invisible trail your hands left and claim that he wasn’t a baby. All at first. But slowly, like an ice lolly in the sun, slowly melting, he found himself less inclined to brush you off. He’d get jumpy and irritable if you didn’t show him that affection for too long. He even found his nightmares appearing less frequently after being lulled to sleep with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair because he couldn’t sleep.

You slept better too, knowing he was ok and he was able to turn to you, even though it was wordless. All it took was a flash of puppy eyes and you knew what he needed. The comfort that he deserved, after working himself to the bone protecting Sammy and you like his father taught him. Like a good soldier.

He didn’t feel like that with you.

Sleep was gently coaxed out of him by the sensation of nails on his scalp, a groan muffled by his face in his pillow as he instantly recognised the cool sensation of the ring on your finger as your hand smoothed down his hair. “Wake up, Dean.” You murmured softly, your thumb tracing his ear, and he almost smiled at the sensation. Almost.

The aroma of coffee hit his lungs, and when your hand ran down to gently press against his shoulders and massaging down to his shoulder blades, he didn’t feel so inclined to sleep further. So he sat up. He wanted to see you, your gorgeous face, with the eyes that told a thousand stories and those lips that were worth a thousand dollars when they were pursed in anger. Which only came out when someone hurt him or Sam.

He didn’t feel like he had a sword and shield in his hand in moments like these. Instead, he had a warm cup of coffee and your hand briefly petting his hair, which he leaned into before it even touched his head. “Mornin’.” He rasped out, voice crackly and hoarse from the morning, smacking his lips to get the morning taste off before taking the first heavenly hit of caffeine. And relishing in the aftershocks of the second euphoric high of your touch. “S’some damn good coffee, darlin’.”

“Black, two spoons o’ sugar, and a dash of beer.” You gave him a small smile as you stood up and moved to the kitchenette of your small motel room, looking beautiful to Dean even in your oversized shirt and sleep shorts, complete with black ankle socks. You had bed head that you were yet to sort out, but Dean was dazzled by the halo he could see over your head.

His mom said angels were watching over him. Maybe this is what she meant.

“Just how you like it.” You added, working to make some breakfast. The smell of cooking eggs and frying bacon filled the space, a small smile on your face as you contently cooked food for the man who was approaching you, coffee cup raising to his lips as his eyes followed you like a lost puppy. The cup clinked as it was set down on the counter, Dean’s tongue darting out to lick his lips before biting the bottom one as he tentatively made his way over to rest his chin on your shoulder from behind, his eyes closing slowly like a cat when your hand reached behind to gently play with his hair.

“Smells nice.” He murmured, almost like a purr as he leaned into your touch.

You chuckled, your fingers rubbing over the silky, spiky strands of his morning hedgehog hair. “That’s ‘cause I’m an amazing cook.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Dean added with a contented groan, wanting so badly to tell you how he felt. So much that it was threatening to burst out of his chest.

“What did I tell you about saying that?” You chastised, piling his plate with a bit extra of everything that he liked before sliding it closer to him. “C’mon, eat.”

“Thanks.” He cupped your cheeks, leaning in.

It was meant to be a simple kiss on the forehead. That’s all it was meant to be. But by some miracle (or maybe his eternal bad luck), his lips pressed against yours. Soft, slow, sweet. He puckered up, eyebrows raising in surprise, his eyelashes fluttering but staying closed before he decided to pull himself away, but it felt like yanking. Tugging. Practically peeling himself off, cause he didn’t want to let go.

His eyes didn’t open for at least a few second. But when he did, he saw yours. Your shining eyes, with a small, amused smile on your lips. Your gorgeous lips, that he just wanted to see swollen with all the kisses and love he could give you.

“What was that for?” Came your voice, quiet and docile as you looked at him in a way that only you could. Only you.

“I don’t know.” He murmured, eyes flicking to your lips again, itching for that high again. That hit. So he let himself taste you again, let himself lose his way in the labyrinth that came with your hand on the side of his neck and his cradling your cheek. The taste of coffee, the different ways you both liked it sweetening your palettes in a beautiful mix of sweet, sour and alcohol. The smell of old leather gracing you while the scent of your lavender body wash flooded him and sent him past cloud nine.

You pulled back slowly, because you also wanted to savour him. But when you saw the look on his face, his slightly swollen lips and the way they were parted in awe, you couldn’t help but melt and thumb his bottom lip.

“I think…” You paused to kiss his cheek softly, whispering against it, “I think I know.”

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TAGLIST: @k-slla

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist

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chosows · 1 day

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FIRE ON ICE 🏒

Ice hockey Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Hockey—a sport that had taken over his life, and yours. Every day of the past month has been dedicated to his performance for the upcoming game; this game determines their position in the tournament as the rightful victors.

Sukuna takes great pride in his preparations, often neglecting you in the process to ensure his focus is entirely on the game. Whatever the fate may be, he is aware of his absence in the relationship. He swears that given this victory tonight, he will share you a fix of his undivided attention.

Word count: 5.5k

Contains: Smut, established relationship, teasing, public displays of affection (brief), top!Sukuna, bottom!reader, cunnilingus, penetration, brief aftercare

Note: i keep getting hockey edits plastered over my social media feeds and it’s taking over my life, so now it can take over yours too. this is also my first post on tumblr + first oneshot (not my first time writing—i typically prefer my long fics); this may be a little rough

Saturday, September 14th, 11:00 AM

With a few hours remaining before the match begins, you attempt to settle down in the hotel room they had provided as his accommodation. It was ridiculously fancy, decked out beyond belief; the closet has its own room, something even your apartment lacks. The view was exceptional; you could see the arena from the floor-to-ceiling length windows. The building that would decide the fate of his career could change both of your lives if his team succeeds. Though Sukuna would never admit to his emotions, you could sense the tension and dread growing inside him each passing day. His anger becomes out of control when he is overwhelmed; he struggles to process his thoughts and allows them to overflow, spurting whatever hurtful words they harbour at you. You know he doesn’t mean it, he could never harm you; you’re his good luck charm—his motivation. When tensions are heightened, you figure it’s best to stay out of his way; he regulates alone, any other input will add kinder to his raging flames. Fans have been highly active in the media, small video and picture edits of the team are blowing up—especially the ones of your boyfriend. Herds of women flock to these hockey matches despite admitting they only attend to see the player they deem most attractive. Many of the older men had found your social media accounts through Sukuna and would send you direct messages, expecting you to have the latest scoop on the team. In reality, you pay little to no attention to the logic behind the sport; all you do is support Sukuna with no other thought in your mind. He has attempted to explain the process but it doesn’t register in your brain; a brick wall would take better understanding than you do. Buzzing sounds and your phone vibrates on top of the wooden bedside table, casting your attention to the lit-up phone screen. A Facetime call is coming through, so you quickly do your best to shape up your appearance before answering.

“Hey,” The camera shows Sukuna alone in the locker room, his jersey resting beside him on the bench as he rests his head against the cool metal, “Only three hours left, you excited to see me out there?”

“You know I am; you should see what it’s like on social media. They’re all talking about the game, there’s been a few thousand posts under the team name in an hour.”

“Good, we’re going to give them something to talk about.”

“I can’t wait for this to be over, I feel like I haven’t spent time with you properly in months.”

“I know. It’s been tough, you’ve gotten through it quite well though.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to steal you straight after the game?”

“Don’t know, they might have us do some interviews. I’ll try my best to make it quick.”

“How come you’re not dressed?”

“Started sweating so I took everything off, it’s been a mess over here.” He pats his hand against his abs, then tilts his head slightly to the side to reposition himself more comfortably.

“You’re stressing yourself out again, Sukuna.”

“You think?”

“Give yourself a breather, don’t let it weigh too heavily on your mind. You don’t want to let your emotions mess with you mid-game.”

“That’s easy for you to say, it’s far harder than it looks.”

“I believe in you,” You smile at him through the screen, and his eyes drift to your mouth, “I’ll be there yelling your name, cheering you on louder than everyone else.”

“That’s all I need. I’ll see you soon, baby.”

“I love you, go win us that game.” He takes a final moment to glance at you, the grin on his face visible before he ends the call.

With little time left to spare, you take action and begin dressing accordingly. Since it can get cold being so close to the ice, you’re advised to layer up. You select one of your sweatshirts and a pair of pants that will ideally match the outfit you crafted inside of your mind, praying that it will look better when it’s on your body than it does laid out in front of you. Pairing the sweatshirt with one of Sukuna’s jerseys adds to a cosy yet stylish outfit; you have to look your best since there are chances that the cameras, at some stage, will be on you. It doesn’t have to be formal, but it must be presentable—that’s what Sukuna always tells you. If you wouldn’t wear it for a job interview then you shouldn’t wear it in front of the camera, so you take those words into careful consideration while dolling yourself up. You do your usual makeup routine and style your hair in your preferred way, aiming to keep the casual look to not overdo yourself. To finalise your appearance, you slip on a bobble hat and scarf which matches the colour of the team; your pace increases as you catch the time, sliding into your shoes by the door.

Travel has already been arranged for you; there’s a car waiting outside to take you to the stadium to avoid the hassle of fans. Since you are the girlfriend of a team member, they allow you to enter earlier. Driving through the city spotting civilians wearing the rugby jerseys and merchandise sends sparks of exhilaration through your soul; it’s a thrilling experience and you are more than grateful to be in the position you’re in. Many women would kill to be you; Sukuna is just as dreamy as they make him out to be, but they will never gain the true experience of being his lover. His appearance is what gets them hooked; he’s brooding, standing at around 6’7” tall. Fierce eyes, proportional features, and cocky mannerisms make him the man he is. You can’t blame them for drooling over him, he’s everything any woman could ever want. His career isn’t what you chased him for; you initially had no idea who he was when you first met him at that party. The car comes to a halt and you step out, cluelessly approaching the stadium until you wait for someone to guide you. Sukuna’s personal jersey makes you stand out, fans would never be able to attain one like this; he had signed your name under his, a true limited edition. Two of the event managers spot you and escort you through the back, now passing through the hallways where all the players are situated before the game starts. You attempt to peek around corners in hopes of catching a glimpse of Sukuna before the game, but your luck runs dry.

Front row, in a seat beside the wife of the coach; you are more than familiar with Kenjaku, considering yourselves as friends due to the interactions you share outside of the sports world. Her seat was empty but his jacket was draped over the chair, signalling his return shortly. A few other women were here, though you aren’t acquainted with them; a majority of the men on the team switch their girlfriends far quicker than you can keep up with. Sukuna is teased for his long-term relationship, especially for the fact that he still hasn’t proposed to you. Their words are a nuisance to him, nothing but fodder; when the time is right, he will make his move. Peer pressure could not affect someone who has always stood out amongst the crowd. You settle down and shove your hands into your pockets, eagerly waiting for the fans to begin piling in. The sound elevates when the main doors open, and then the hordes of people flock to their designated areas. Life is what makes the atmosphere of these games so mesmerising, you wonder if Sukuna still feels that awe while on the ice. Kenjaku slips past and takes his wife’s seat momentarily, handing you a pair of gloves Sukuna advised him to give to you.

“Good afternoon, hockey fans!” The commentator blasts out on the speakers, diminishing the build-up of chatter into silence. Kenjaku pleads with you to keep a keen eye on his wife’s personal belongings while he dips back to the player bench, awaiting the arrival of his team.

“Welcome to the final game of the tournament; a great day to show up and support your favourite team!”

On the giant screen, the camera pans to the players exiting backstage. There he was, taking steps onto the ice and gliding as though he were still on land. Sukuna was breathtaking, your eyes are trained on him as though he were a deer you are hunting in the wild. The commentator continued to ramble on with the general procedure of announcing the lineups of both respective teams and introducing the coaches to the fans. You stand up from your seat like the others around you and clap, joining in with the chant before the game officially begins. Sukuna spots you in the crowd, shaking his head at how clueless you appear; he tries his best to suppress the chuckle attempting to burst out—he can’t shame you for trying. He settles down, now shifting his mindset to the main goal—securing this game as a victory. This team may cause a problem, but he’s confident enough that this win is in their hands.

“Good luck to both teams, may the game commence!” The voice fades out and then both teams launch towards the puck, battling for ownership.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening as all you can see is the mass amounts of various players whizzing past your eyes. Sukuna is determined to take the lead, so he does. He manoeuvres his way, breaking the opposing team’s line of defence and sending the puck directly to another one of his teammates, only to have it stolen back almost instantly. This battle has been ongoing for the past ten minutes, and Sukuna’s fury is beginning to bubble up. His team are unable to maintain security and control of the puck, rendering his efforts useless. You glance over at Kenjaku near the team bench and notice him holding his head in his hands; his team is falling apart in front of his eyes, and there is little hope for them to obtain a goal anytime soon.

Crashing, cursing, and tumbling are all that have happened so far. Sukuna’s performance is becoming more aggressive, nudging players out of the way as though they were ragdolls and sending them crashing into the barrier. Kenjaku’s screams register over the rowdy crowd, urging him to stop before the referee targets him for fault. Frenzied turmoil had possessed him as he turned a deaf ear, now taking the game into his own hands. He secured the puck and denied making the same mistake he did before; he kept the puck close and eased his way through the obstacles, acting as crowd control amongst all the other players. They were struggling to catch up to him as he approached the opposing goal, their goalkeeper springing to action as he saw Sukuna heading his way—rapidly. That sight alone is enough to make anyone begin to falter, and before he knew it, Sukuna had made his shot, sending the puck straight into the goal through the space left unprotected. The crowd roars as the commentator announces Sukuna’s name and number as the unassisted goal scorer. He sticks his tongue out as the camera captures his face, skating backwards to return to his original position.

Shortly after, the opposing team had matched the scores just before the first intermission commenced. While other members of his team were escorted off, he swiftly made his way over to you, banging his hands against the barrier to grab your attention. You run over to him from your seat, catching a glimpse of Kenjaku scolding him in the background. Sukuna points at you and you cock your head aside, confused as to what he could be wanting to say. You point at yourself and he nods, then he changes the positioning of his finger to himself. You copy his motions and he bobs his head with approval, a knowing smirk painting its way onto his face. He bites his lip and spins in place, rolling his eyes back to make a dirty innuendo. The people behind you were puzzled at the interaction taking place in front of them and you motioned for him to cut it out, hearing his laughter descend as he made his way to catch back up with the members of the team. Before he disappears to the locker room, he points at the area where his heart resides and then back at you, leaving you with a stupidly big smile presented as your current expression. Sukuna deserves this win more than anybody else on their team does.

Behind the scenes, Kenjaku devised a new approach. Since Sukuna is the fastest and most offensive on the ice, he’s their best shot at scoring, meaning the opposing team will have their members on high defence around him. With the idea shared of deceiving them with who their main shooter could be, the other team will not know exactly who to target or when. Sukuna is going to remain off the radar until he’s required to strike, a simple approach that fools typically fall for. While the discussion dies down, they are shortly announced to arrive back on the ice to continue the game with an equal score of 1:1 for both teams.

A new energy radiates and overtakes the rink, Sukuna’s body language is shifting and his eyes darkening. As soon as they began, someone had already shoved into him. In turn, Sukuna manages to subtly take him to the floor, avoiding a penalty since he cannot be pinned for the fault. Several of the opposing team are hounding him, hardly allowing him any free movement even when he isn’t in possession of the puck. It’s incredibly hard to play a game when you are boxed in, especially in a sport where movement plays a key factor in success. In a sudden outburst, Sukuna shifts his position and sends two people into the barrier. The referee intervenes and pulls them to the side, a possible penalty on Sukuna’s behalf. The chants increase in volume as the game picks up pace, yet you can hear the sound of Sukuna’s voice overpowering the chaos unfolding around him. He was furious, battling the violent thoughts plaguing his mind. If he wasn’t so strong-willed, he would’ve lost control of his hands and swung the hockey stick against the skulls of the pests who have been harassing him. Upon final decision, he was sent to the penalty box and was unable to participate in the last two minutes of the period.

No goals were scored as the game shifted to the second intermission; there were zero rational thoughts left inside Sukuna’s mind, he was a walking hazard. While he was exiting the rink, he swung his stick against the metal pole and snapped it in two, tossing the remains aside as he stormed past the rest of the team. Kenjaku informed the group that he would temporarily bench Sukuna since it would give him time to recollect and focus his attention back on the game—and he had no other option but to agree with this decision. Sweat was rolling down his face and the veins on his hands were threatening to burst; riling himself up like this is never a position he wishes to put himself in, especially in important scenarios such as this. When intermission finished, Sukuna had switched out with a member of the bench and sat there bouncing his leg, a new hockey stick by his side. You scoot to the end of the row and shout over to him, catching his attention by pure miracle. Though in a terrible state of mind, the sight of you had twisted his lips up into a subtle smile. He raises his hand to wave until he’s suddenly switched out, now making his way back to the ice. There was an opening and he didn’t hesitate to take it, he checked the puck away from the imbecile navigating it and was making his way swiftly to the goal. Rather than taking the shot, he passed the puck to Kashimo; their secret weapon. While they rushed to Sukuna, Kashimo had taken the opportunity to score the goal, adding a point to the team on the leaderboard. Sukuna grins widely as the other team realises they had been outsmarted, relishing in their failure.

Kenjaku stands up from his seat and claps his hands while the camera zooms in on him and splits screens between Kashimo and Sukuna. The final intermission had arrived with a score of 2:1; the last round would determine the winner, and at this rate, this would leave their team victorious. While they’re in the locker room, you send Sukuna a text. He won’t be able to read it until the game is finished, but you feel it’s only fair to let him know how proud of him you are. Watching him out there while understanding how hard he works is rewarding, especially when it goes in his favour—he puts his soul into this sport; no one could work harder than him. Sukuna is a legend in the making, a fire that will only burn brighter. You’ll be there throwing gasoline into the flames, making sure he doesn’t die out.

5:20 PM

2:1, the final score was announced and the stadium celebrated the victory of Sukuna’s team. It warmed your heart to see the wide variety of individuals supporting him; from children to elders, Sukuna was able to please all of his fans on this special day. Most importantly, he had pleased you. You watched as they placed a medal around his neck and cheered his name, holding your hands together in the shape of a heart. When the award ceremony had concluded, many fans were flocking out of the stadium, preparing to camp outside and say their farewells to the players. When the arena had cleared out, most players went straight through to the back. Sukuna strides over to you, dropping his helmet while you wrap your arms around him. He had lifted you off of your feet and squeezed you, almost crushing you with the sheer dumb strength he harbours. You gaze up at him and pout, an unspoken demand for a kiss. Who would he be to deny you? He pressed your back against the glass barrier and held you there until the sound of a voice behind caused him to break away, placing a final peck on your cheek before he turned to the source.

“You’re in public, you know?” Kenjaku points at his tongue, mimicking a gag as he picks his jacket up. “You need to behave, you had me on the ropes that entire game. Are you serious, Sukuna? I can’t keep—”

“We won, didn’t we?” Sukuna takes your hand into his, though there was no skin-to-skin contact you could still feel the heat he radiates.

“Don’t be arrogant, and don’t make a total fool out of yourself in the interview. I’ll be in the room, I’ll make sure I’m sitting right beside you to keep you in place.”

“I can’t believe you’re the same man who gets shitface drunk every weekend; I’ve babysat your kids and you still hound me.”

“I’m a man of many wonders—endless possibilities. Come on, this interview is about to start,” Kenjaku turns away to head through the back, then addresses you in his final words, “You can come too, they have seats behind the cameras.”

Sukuna waits until Kenjaku is out of sight before he pulls out the puck used for the match. He closes your hands over it and links your arm with his, dragging you towards the room where the interview will take place. Walking through the hallways filled with pictures of local legends is bone-chilling; perhaps Sukuna will be on one of these walls someday. When you reach the interview room, you take your seat and beam at him, proud to see him amongst his members with medals hanging from their necks.

8:30 PM

Left on the back wheel of the team, you had become burned out from their excessive amount of celebratory activities. Interviews, photographs, autograph signing, and the list goes on. You were forgotten about, struggling to remain patient for much longer; all you want to do is go back to the hotel room and sleep. Sukuna steps out of the locker in his casual attire, pushing you out the exit doors with him to the cab he booked. It was silent on the way home—in your case. You had dozed off while he muttered about the game, unintentionally exhausted from so much hockey. You don’t intend to be disrespectful, but when it’s the only thing you hear constantly for a month, your brain begins shutting down at the trigger word—hockey. You’re surprised you are able to escape it in your dreams; it’s a mosquito you cannot kill, nipping at you and draining your energy.

Thump. Your eyes flutter open as the mattress sways. Sukuna had carried you to the room and had fully prepared himself for the evening. His hair is still damp and his skin is clammy, your hand had intertwined with his the second you recognised his presence. It had been a long day for both of you—more so him, you were just the spectator. You scoot closer to him and place your chin on his shoulder, coming into contact with his eyes that possess a devilish glint.

“You tired? It must be so much work cheering me on.” His nail scratches under your chin, causing you to scrunch up from the sensation.

“It is, it’s a lot of work. Unpaid too.”

“How should I pay you?” It was a rhetorical question—he already had his answer, he just wanted to hear it from you.

“Some attention would be nice, we haven’t cuddled properly since last month. You always come home late and—” Before you can finish your complaint, he lifts you and places you on top of his chest. His hands rest on the small of your back, sliding under your sweatshirt.

“Poor you,” He coos, his fingers tracing lines down your skin the lower his hands venture, “You must feel so neglected.”

“I forgot what your touch feels like.” You mumble into his bare skin, the vibration of his raspy laugh causing you to stiffen up.

“Has it been that long? Or are you just that desperate?” His thumb toys with your lips, your breath fanning his hands while he waits for you to reply, “What one of the two is it?”

“Both. It’s been three weeks since we had sex, I started to believe you fell out of love with me. You wouldn’t even kiss me properly.”

“I couldn’t afford any distractions, you know that.”

“But it’s not fair, Sukuna. You can’t just kick me off to the side, I won’t distract you—I promise. It’s been horrible for me, I hate it when you have to play these big games.”

“Didn’t know it was that bad for you, I never meant to make you feel like shit. Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Sukuna pushes you off of him and looms over you, unbuttoning your pants, “I’ll make it all better, you shouldn’t have negative thoughts in that pretty little head.”

“Should be me, I’d take it all from you if I could. You’ve been there for me through it all, my most loyal supporter. My number one girl.” He tugs your pants down, revealing your panties and the wet patch that had formed in them.

“You’re—”

“Turning you on? I can see that.” He pokes his finger on the patch and your legs clamp shut, tramping him in between them.

“—Making me flustered! Slow down—” You’re cut off when his lips graze your inner thigh, planting pecks down the strips of exposed flesh.

His teeth attach to the thin fabric and slide your panties down slowly, the heat from his breath interacting with your cold skin causing goosebumps to rise. When he drags them past your knees, he slings them off to the side and spreads your legs, keeping your most vulnerable region in view for his prying eyes. You’re there in his jersey, eyes unable to meet him and hands gripping the sheets—he had almost forgotten how pleasant this view could be. He lowers his head and his hair brushes against you, smearing some of the moisture it withheld from his shower. Rather than diving straight in, his index finger slips between your folds and coaxes your clit with slick. You were far too easy—getting this soaked when he had hardly even touched you. You must’ve been fantasising about this moment all day. While he could give you what you want, he decides to drag it out further, testing your limits. Your patience has already broken and the weak pressure he is applying to your clit isn’t enough to stimulate you, it’s just enough to make you aware of his presence.

“Are you grinding against my fingers? You’re so needy,” He cackles at your desperate attempts to receive satisfaction and pulls his fingers away, slipping them into his mouth and indulging in your taste, “You’ll wait until I’m ready.”

“Please don’t do this to me, it’s been so long—don’t you think I deserve it?”

“I do think you deserve it, which is exactly why I’ll give it to you in a way you won’t forget. You’ll get what you want if you are patient, can you do that for me?” His hands knead your thighs, and you nod in response, “Good.”

Dominance came naturally to Sukuna, in both his hobbies and his sex life. It’s what he knows best, and is certainly what he excels at. He makes you weak just by the touch of a few fingers, melting slowly as his buttery words raise you to the pedestal he sits you on. Held so highly in his life only to be belittled by his condescending words—humiliating you and taunting you for becoming so aroused. You find your gaze fixed on his heaving chest, eyes daring to lower and come in contact with his highly defined abs. Sukuna’s physique resembles a hand-carved statue, chiselled with all the fine details a true creative could only dream of. He lowers his face and stares up at you, his eyes fluttering gently making him appear innocent–you both know that’s not the case. Kisses are littered on your abdomen, and your body wriggles, silently begging for more. Your body was heating up and your stomach was in knots, anticipating the moment he finally made contact with your clit. Sensing the urgency, he drags his tongue between your folds, sending a shudder through your core. Since he started, he can’t turn back–he’s hooked on your taste, and he’s starved; a luxury he had forced himself to miss out on. He got lost quickly, but you had been far gone for much longer than he had. Your hands are tangled in his ashy, strawberry-coloured hair, fingers wrapping around strands doing their best to bring him closer. Sukuna’s tongue was toying with your clit, repeating the same circular motions. Wriggling due to the pleasure didn’t affect him, he had you locked in a position where you couldn’t move. Breathy moans fill the atmosphere as you near your climax, though your release is yet to be granted as he pulls away. Your slick is smeared across his lips, his cheeks possessing a hardly noticeable twinge of pink from his lack of oxygen intake.

“I’ve missed you, you know?” He wipes his face clean with his forearm and drags you into a longing kiss, his eyes flickering with adoration as he distances himself, “Do you think I stop thinking about you when we aren’t together?”

“I missed you more.” He pins your arms behind your head, a sultry smirk twisting his lips up. All you can do is gawk at how heavenly he looks; he’s an angel with the personality of a devil, a wolf in sheep's clothing.

“That’s impossible,” Using one hand to restrain you, his other ventures down to his boxers, stroking his dick through the fabric, “You have no idea how much you mean to me—I don’t think you fully understand the lengths I’d go for you.”

That’s the truth—you don’t know how far he’d go for you, and you’re unsure if you want to find out. His struggles with regulating his fury place him in treacherous territory; there is no doubt in your mind that he could take a life just by using his bare hands, there are times when even he is unaware of the extent his strength can reach. With his boxers now discarded, he lines his tip up with your entrance, teasing your hole while he prepares to thrust in. Though he is completely bare, your top half remains covered with his jersey. In a sudden snap of his hips, he forces his way in, your plush walls massaging the length of his dick. Allowing you time to adjust, he slowly inched his way deeper, being careful not to overstimulate you. All of his six and a half inches being consumed by you, taking him in nicely. Getting you wet is no struggle, and it certainly helps with the penetration; your body has adjusted to his girth and size, similar to a lock and key mechanism.

Thrust after thrust; sweat was pouring from Sukuna. The bed would creak at any given movement and the two of you were far from quiet, giving this floor of the hotel an insight into what you were doing. His groans would cause knots to tie in your stomach, your walls clenching around him only adding to the pleasure he receives. You are beautiful when you are sprawled out like this for him, muttering and whispering his name under your breath, assuming he wouldn’t hear it—but he heard everything. He heard how good you said it felt, he heard you chanting his name as though you were handing yourself over to him, he also heard those pleas for a release. It was nearing your breaking point, your climax had been toyed with, but now it is threatening to reach its peak.

“Tell me everything that’s been on your mind, let it all out.” Sukuna continues to wind his hips in those rugged motions, hitting sweet spots you weren’t aware existed. It took you a while to process his words, too fucked out to think straight.

“I hate how— How you distance yourself from me—” Your mouth hangs open while whines roll from your tongue, head lolling back and your eyes closing over, “And I hate how you never listen— You always— It’s always what you think is best.”

“And?”

“I wish that you’d just— That you’d—” You can’t fight your release and you cum, allowing yourself to come loose. Your breath hitches as he continues, chasing his own release.

“That I’d what?”

“I just want you to myself, ‘Kuna.” A tear slips from your eye as your overstimulation turns into a second orgasm; the presence of his lips on yours catches you off guard, resulting in you moaning in his mouth.

What once started strong becomes sloppy; his forehead is pushed against your shoulder while his groans become silent, the huffs of his breath now creating more sound. His core tightened as he pumped his cum deep inside you, your hands rubbing up and down his back while he lay down. All of the pent-up tension from his mind and body dissipated, replaced by the lust shared with you. His teeth nip at the skin on your neck, nuzzling his head further into the crook to latch on better. Your nails had etched their mark into his flesh, and his teeth had imprinted their shape into yours—a fair exchange.

“I am all yours. Every day during this break will be dedicated to you.”

“It’s the worst feeling knowing other women wish they were yours.” That’s the biggest con of having a boyfriend known in the media; it drives you insane seeing what others say about him online—especially when they find a way to criticise you for being the one he chose to settle for.

“None of them could ever compare to you; they’re spiteful. Who wouldn’t be? You’re a gorgeous young woman who is successful. They have to take their anger out on the people who are better than them. You have everything they will never obtain.” He squeezes your hand, intertwining your fingers; a symbol of remaining linked for eternity.

“I have you. I think I’ll keep you forever.” You plant a kiss on his forehead, watching the smile spread across his face; the shift in his tone was noticeable, his voice huskier than it was before.

“Who said that was a choice? You’re never leaving my side.”

#jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #oneshot #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk smut #alternate universe #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna

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yanderederee · 22 hours

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Orange Theory

Bofurin Edition

concept: The Orange Peel Theory is from a viral trend where you ask your partner to bring you an orange. If they bring it to you peeled and ready to eat, it indicates that they're thoughtful and caring. If they bring it to you with the rind still on, it could indicate a lack of consideration.

a/n:I tried sticking as closely to their character colors as I could٩( ᐛ )�� I also tried including as many characters as I could, even lesser written characters like Tsubakino/Taiga/Kiryu/lowkey Kaji too lol… I hope you like and agree!♡

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Sakura Haruka

Poor boy would be so lost.

“I’m really craving an orange…” you mumbled to yourself.

“There’s some in the kitchen.” Sakura would reply casually, popping another grape in his mouth.

You’re silent for a while. Eventually he picks up on it and looks at you with a raised brow. “What’s up?” He’d ask.

“Can… you bring it to me please?” You’d ask. Sakura wouldn’t mind. He’d simply nod and hoist himself up, walk into the kitchen, and return with two unpeeled oranges. “I kinda want one too…”

He hands you one, distracted by the group chat on his phone as he began to peel the orange in his hand.

You were beginning to give up on the test, looking down at the unpeeled orange solemnly. “You haven’t touched your orange, you okay?” He’d ask, cluelessly.

“Im fine..” you’d reply, feeling silly for feeling so distant.

Sakura knows something’s up, so instead, he leans over, and takes the orange from your hand, replacing it with orange he had just peeled from his other hand. “If you wanted me to peel it for you, ya couldn’a said somethin’.”

Overall; 4/10. He sees you as a person who can do simple things for themselves, and may only feel the need to act more considerate if he notices you having a hard time.

Suou Hayato

The two of you decided on having a movie night at your place, and Suou thought it’d be courteous to bring a bag of oranges with him as a gift.

“You know what they say, oranges being good luck and prosperity.” (I was the one who wrote this and I still expected to proof-read ‘an orange a day keeps the doctor away.’)

Before you even had the chance to ask for one, he’s asking to use your kitchen to fix one up for you.

You agree, trying to watch him from the kitchen entrance. He smiles sweetly at you and politely asks you to wait for him in the movie viewing area.

It’s curious, but you do as he says.

He returns soon with a plate, neatly peeled and decorated.

Also asks if you would prefer a fork, if you didn’t want to risk getting your fingers sticky. It’s a little over the top, but he’s only trying to be considerate.

Overall: 11/10, He even saves the peels for Umemiya to use as compost. Encourages you to eat the entire plate, but will indulge in one if you insist.

Nirei Akihiko

Nirei asked if you’d like to binge your favorite show that night. As you both stopped by the store to pick up snacks for the binge, you remembered a couples trend, centered around the oranges in front of you.

You bought a couple, the excuse for them being one of your snacks for the night. Sweet Nirei praises you for making such a healthy snack choice, and even inspires him to put back some of his own snacks to live up to your example.

Just as you were about to begin the binge, you got very comfortable on the couch, and batted your eyelashes at your sweet boyfriend. “Can you bring me an orange please? I forgot them in the kitchen..”

Immediately agrees and hops up from beside you and to the kitchen.

He’s very happily humming to himself as he’s concentrating on the orange, walking back to the couch trying to get a good peel started.

Poor Nirei is so bad at it though, only able to peel off little bits of rind at a time. Half way through the first episode, the orange is crudely peeled, and he’s holding a slice out to you for you to eat.

Overall: 9/10, while its poor, he peels the orange with no indication you need him to, and feeds it to you one by one. ♡

Sugishita Kyotaro

Oh no.

Umemiya led you to Furin’s back yard area, eager to show you and Sugishita the fruits(haha) of his labor; a freshly grown baby orange tree.

Sugishita is immensely proud of his senior, and praises him for his hard work. Umemiya sends you two off with only one orange, since he needs to share the few he did receive from this harvest with the others.

At first, Sugishita doesn’t want to eat it. He wants to preserve it for as long as he can because it was something his previous Umemiya grew.

After a few comments like “It’ll go bad soon, you wouldn’t want Umemiya-san’s efforts to go to waste, would you?”

No way in hell would Sugishita allow that.

Sugishita hands you the orange, perhaps too nervous of accidentally crushing the fruit with his immense strength.

If you’re too slow on the take to peel it, he will accept the task. However, his worries are warranted, you discover, when he shares a slightly soft and dripping orange with you.

Overall: 5/10. He’ll initially wait for you to peel the orange, but he’s too impatient and will offer to do it instead. It’s slightly crushed, but that’s okay.

Hiragi Toma

You asked Hiragi to come over and help you with some yard work. Of course he’s happy to help.

During a break from the work, you lazily asked him to bring you an orange while sitting in front of the box fan.

He chuckles, kisses your sweaty cheek, and walks off to fulfill your request.

It takes him a minute, until he asks from the door way, “Can I go ahead and make some juice outta these?”

You blink wide at him, unexpectedly. “If… if you want to.” You mumble in response.

He nods, hustling back into the kitchen, before he begins peeling multiple oranges, and blending them up and straining them to make a fresh orange juice.

He returns with two full glasses and a half pitcher resting in your fridge. “You’ve worked hard today, hopefully this helps.”

Overall: 11/10, one of Hiragi’s love languages is acts of service, and of service he is to you all the time. Mr. “You want it? I got it.”

Kiryu Mitsuki

Sweeet sweet baby.

The two of you are just hanging out in his room, listening to whatever bedroom-pop song he put on while you both scrolled on your phones.

You come across the orange theory while on a social media app; and grin.

“Mitsuu~ I’d like an orange~.” You singsong to your boyfriend.

Kiryu looks up from his phone, and lazily hums. “Good idea~ can you bring me up one too?” He asks.

Your mouth almost hits the floor at his casual tone, but it ends when you see him hoist himself up from the bed, laughing “Just kidding angel~ I’ll be right back.”

Holding one of his many plushies close to your side, you wait for your boyfriend.

Kiryu returns with an unpeeled orange and a knife. The knife takes you by surprise at first, but once he sits at his little table and begins working on the orange, you realize he’s cutting it into sections with the rind on.

He offers you a slice with a lazy smile. Once you take it, he quickly pops a slice into his own mouth, making a cute wide orange smile.

The unexpected action sends you into a fit of laughter, your adorable boyfriend only grinning wider and blushing at how cute you are.

Overall: 10/10 I guess? He loves seeing you smile and actively does things to make you do so.

Kaji Ren

Oop

The two of you will be chilling on the Furin rooftop, enjoying the cool breeze and quiet hours, now that everyone was finally gone.

The only sound coursing through the air was the music escaping from his headphones, which lay carefully by his side, instead of his neck, so you could both enjoy the tune.

A bag of snacks lay between the two of you. You felt a bit peckish, so you glanced over at the bag and spotted an orange. Quickly, you get the idea to test the orange theory.

“Re~n, could you give me the orange?” You ask, feigning your inability to get it yourself as he was closer to the bag than you were.

Kaji looked over and spotted the orange from the bag. He reached over with ease and made a gesture like he was preparing to underhand throw it at you.

You quickly crossed your arms to show you did Not want him to throw it. He considered his options for a second, before huffing, sitting up, and leaning over so the orange was just a few inches from your reach.

‘Damn.’ You frowned. ‘Maybe this wasn’t the right opportunity to ask?’

Kaji noticed the disappointment on your face, but even after staring at you and trying to figure out what was causing your sour mood, he couldn’t imagine why. He gave you the orange just like you asked, and didn’t throw it.

“What?” He asks bluntly, causing you to flinch. “Nothing.” You replied back, closing your eyes to enjoy the evening breeze once again.

However, your answer was unsatisfactory, and your orange was left untouched. He really had no idea what he did wrong.

Kaji walks over to you, and squats to glare at you. “Quit lyin’ ‘n just spit it out.” He’d press. If you kept being stubborn, he’d just tickle you ruthlessly until he got his answer.

“T-the orange..! Aha—it, ehe… it w-was a test!” You yelped. Once you came clean, Kaji would stop just for a second to let you explain further.

Once you explained it clearly for him, his expression only soured further, tickling you even more sternly. You screamed for him to stop but he refused.

“That’s so dumb, of course I care about you. If you want me to peel a damn orange just say so, ‘n I’ll do it.” He huffed, finally releasing you and sitting by your side.

Overall, 1/10. Kaji is extremely caring and indeed will do anything for you, as long as he knows what’s expected of him. He’s doesn’t much appreciate his affections being tested in such a lame way though.

Taiga Tsugeura

Sweet angel child

You agreed to come over to his house and spot him as he did his usual muscle training routine.

Once he’s finally tired himself out, he begins talking about wanting a healthy snack. He’s going through the options he has while raiding through his cabinets.

As he does this, you notice a load of fruit in his fruit bowl. “You should eat a banana Taiga. Would you mind getting me an orange while you’re there, please?” You’d ask him nicely.

He grins as bright as the sun at your suggestion. “Great thinkin’ Y/n!!” He’s quick to grab both the banana and orange from the bowl. Before he can hand you the orange, his grin becomes more mischievous.

“Check this out,” he says with pride, holding the fruit in both hands. Then, with a quick snap, he rips the orange in half.

You’re BAFFLED. mouth agape and simply, STUNNED. Your shocked expression is all he wanted. He laughs hard, and displays the two halves face up, his own face in the middle.

“Cool huh!” He asks, before doing the same thing with the banana. “Want me to break the rest up for ya?”

Honestly, you aren’t sure what to say.

Overall: 7/10. He… does? It? But it’s more because he wants to show off a cool skill of his than he’s doing it for your sake. He also always asks you if you want him to peel your oranges, so… the thought is there.

Tsubakino Tasuku

Aaaaahh! (I am choosing to use she/her pronouns)

You were cuddled up with Tsubaki in her bed after a long day. After a well deserved nap, you woke up when Tsubaki gently slid out from under you, assumingely to use the bathroom or something necessary.

Groggily, you reached out your hand to her, and whined. “Dar~ling~ ‘so snacky… can.. you bring me back… an orange… pleeeeasssse…”

Tsubaki thought you were the absolute cutest. “Of course my dove~” she would kiss your forehead and pat your hair down sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”

You fell back asleep, but when you did wake up, you saw Tsubaki only a few feet away painting her nails. “Ah! You fell asleep before I got back, you know!” She pouted.

You giggled an apology, and looked around for the orange you’d asked her for. “On the nightstand darling.” She helped direct you.

You are not expecting to look over and see a dazzling fruit assortment waiting for you. Halved grapes, thinly sliced strawberries, heart shaped banana slices, and bite sized mandarin oranges, all neatly assorted in a bowl…. With a sprinkle of sugar making the entire display shine.

You’re stunned, gasping at the beautiful display. “It’s so cute!! All for me?” You asked, glazed eyes seeking your partner out. She giggled back. “Of course all for you~ enjoy!” She blew you a kiss.

Overall: ∞/10. Are you kidding me? She ABSOLUTELY would go ABOVE and BEYOND for the ones she loves, ESPECIALLY her partner. PUT SOME RESPECT ON MY GIRL’S NAME RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME!!!

Umemiya Hajime

As much as your boyfriend wishes he could grow a fruit tree of his own, he knows that they take time. So, he settles for easy to grow vine fruits like Strawberries and blueberries.

He loves making you an assortment of berries, and presenting them to you with love. It’s so so very sweet.

ALWAYS encourages you to eat vegetables and fruits, even if you’re not in the mood for them. “They’re super good for your health y/n!”

So you indulge him.

When it’s you who’s asking instead, “Can you bring me an orange please?” He’s elated.

“YES MA’AM!” He all but yells, rushing to get you just that.

Umemiya returns with two imperfectly peeled oranges. He’s a little clumsy with it, but he’s just excited.

Loves sharing food with you and will hand feed you them like a goddess.

Overall, 12/10. The assignment is to gauge one’s thoughtfulness, and Umemiya blows it out of the water. He wants nothing but the best for you and aims to give it to you tenfold.

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 2 days

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Alright, so there's been a lot of chatter about some of the most common racist takes in the fandom lately, and I know most people aren't engaging in good faith but I'm gonna spell some things out anyway. Here's a handy-dandy White Fan's Intro to Racist Fanon 101

Why is it racist to depict Ed as uncontrollably violent?

Because he's not actually depicted that way in the show. OFMD goes out of its way to depict Ed's relationship with violence as complex and intensely traumatic for him. Because he has so many hangups around violence, Ed is one of the least violent characters in a show full of violent characters. He is always shown giving people many chances before they're able to push him into reacting with violence.

Even if you think you're just doing a character study on a guy who is really very complex and nuanced, please take the time to consider if you're assigning more weight to Ed's violent actions than those of other characters or assuming he's worse than he actually is (for example, Ed never physically hurt the crew during his kraken spiral, just Izzy. His crime was being a shitty boss, not going on mindlessly violent rampages).

What do other common fanon depictions of Ed that are racist look like?

The biggest ones are depicting Ed as untidy/messy, as illiterate, and as needing a white man (most often Izzy) to clean up after him. I hope I shouldn't have to spell out why these are racist, but please keep an eye out for them in the fanon you consume so you can be critical of how you respond when they pop up.

Are you saying that all Izzy fans are racist?

Liking a character is morally neutral. Insisting that the viewpoint of an antagonistic character is the lens through which the show should be understood, though, especially when that antagonistic character's whole deal in the first season of the show was trying to control the behavior of the brown lead so he could gain power for himself, however...

Just please consider - why do you find Izzy's tears more deserving of sympathy and compassion than Ed's?

But my hot take/fic/meta doesn't say anything about Ed's skin color!

It doesn't have to. Most of the racist takes/fic/meta out there don't mention Ed's skin color explicitly. Racism doesn't just look like saying "this character is a brown man so he's bad." Everyone who grows up in a racist society (that's everyone on the planet, btw, you included) has biases to unlearn, and those biases impact how you interact with the world around you, including with the media you consume.

The thing is, OFMD isn't a subtle show. It's very consistent with telling us who Ed is, how he responds to situations, and why he behaves the way he does. If you find it easier to throw all that aside in favor of believing what a white antagonistic character tells you about him, then you should really take a bit to examine that.

And here's the most important thing to keep in mind:

This is not about you.

Trust me, it has to be pretty damn bad for fans of color to call out racism in fandom. Every time we do, we know we're gonna harrassment and just some truly awful shit in our inboxes. But you, random white fan who Did A Racism? No one is out to get you. No one thinks you're an awful person for including a racist trope in your stuff, we just wish you'd examine it so we can make this fandom a better place for everyone.

I have had amazing discussions with white fans who saw my posts on fandom racism and wanted a sensitivity read or a check so they could fix an instance where they uncritically included a racist trope. But most people who make similar mistakes will just double down and insist they didn't do anything wrong, and that makes fandom a worse place for all of us.

Fans of color deserve to feel safe and included in this fandom, and we're just tired of feeling like we have to beg to get some circles to see poc as people. You can do your part by being critical of these tropes and your reactions to them when they pop up.

#ofmd #our flag means death #fandom discourse #fandom racism

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the-kr8tor · 2 days

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Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

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042502 · 3 days

Text

𐏋̫⃟🩷 𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 ᵃⁿᵈ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 🌷⃤̶̤

@ summary ♡ !! Some cute moments of Chris with his little princess.

@ content ♡ !! Dad Chris! Several cute moments, not suitable if you have Daddy issues. Unnamed daughter, nickname princess, baby, among others.

@ Writer's note ♡ !! I swear my uterus has revolutionized writing this. It's so cute, I was inspired thanks to some cute tiktoks that came out to me, by the way English is not my first language. If you notice any errors, you already know why, I leave the masterlist here so you can read more things similar to this.

When the little princess was just beginning to babble, there was a great debate over what her first word would be.

You had her in your arms and every day you helped her to give her ready words.

"ma-ma" They repeated it over and over again, but she only babbled. "Come on darling, like your dad says, ma"

Chris teases you as he puts on his deodorant, his hair was flattened and wet, he just got out of the shower. His chest is exposed. He approaches you from behind.

"Let's go again, ma... Ma"

Chris looks at the girl and she laughs when she sees him. Chris's lips open and mime "dad." The little girl moves restlessly, babbling.

"Come on girl" you encourage her a little.

"Bu... Da... Dada" You hear her babble and Chris celebrates behind you. "Dada" the little girl repeats and you give up.

Chris is always doing crazy things to entertain his little princess, he himself would be in charge of setting up a small private party section in the room.

"Mom" Te You were in the room you shared with Chris, finished reading some work documents when the little princess appears, wearing a princess dress that of course Chris gave her.

"Wow! How beautiful you are my life" the little girl does a little twirl showing off her dress. "What's with your cute outfit?" you put the documents aside as you look at the girl.

"Dad told me he would have a party in the living room, so I went to get ready for the party." She explains excitedly, extending some pigtails to you. “Can you fix my hair?” You sit her on the bed and start combing her hair.

Once it was ready you accompanied it to the "party". You were surprised by the great work Chris had put together in the room. The lights were off and there were only colorful rotating lights illuminating, She had used the karaoke toy that Nick had given the girl a few years ago and had a DJ console, on the floor there were many decorative cushions and rugs.

The little girl approaches the entrance which had a small lanyard, she extends her ID to Chris and he takes it, that's when you noticed that he had your false nails on. You laugh at that, her hair was covered by a long old wig that you had among your things, she even had improvised makeup, the little girl would have probably done it for her.

"Oh no. There's only four up hunty" Chris hands him back the ID.

"I'll be four in two days"

"I'll let it side. I'll be our little secret. Come on in" Chris removes the cord from the door and lets the little girl inside,

Chris played DJ, playing some fun songs for the little girl to dance to. Of course she had gotten Chris's dance moves.

"Thank you for coming tonight to have a good time, this is the great DJ Chris." Chris takes the toy microphone to say thank you. "And the apple juice is flowing!!!" luego de eso coloco una canción de el abcdario y comenzó a rappearla.

Then you give your little one a carton of apple juice and she starts drinking it as if it were alcohol.

"I'm drunk!" He screams and you laugh. Then Chris took one too.

"hey y'all get the new time trap" Chris speaks into the toy microphone again. "I'm sorry y'all I lost my subscription. so I got these ass y'all just hang with me. we're gonna get a hit on the way"

The mail boy always comes at the same time, you knew this because your daughter had taken it upon herself to memorize the time he arrived.

You were in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the family, it consisted of hot milk with waffles and coffee for you and Chris.

"Good morning Ma" Chris enters the kitchen and connects his lips with yours momentarily.

"You already said good morning to me in bed," you remind him as you clean one of the porcelain cups.

"I like to say good morning" he gives you that beautiful smile that you loved so much. "Where is the princess?"

You pour the hot coffee into the porcelain cup smiling, you turn around and carefully extend the cup to Chris. He receives it and when he takes a sip you explain that he is in the living room looking out the window.

Chris frowns confused by the answer, it was a warm morning, but he still didn't understand why she would be in the room.

"You can go get her, her breakfast is almost ready" you ask and Chris leaves his cup of coffee on the table and goes in search of the girl.

Indeed, once he enters the living room he sees her on the back of the sofa sniffing through the window.

She was only about six years old, she had quite a personality. She is so charismatic and fun.

Chris comes over to see what she was looking at so much out the window, it was the mail truck.

A young boy gets out of this and is in charge of lowering the boxes with the corresponding mail.

The boy opens the back of the truck and begins to lower some large boxes, you could see his muscles working. His shirt rested nicely around his biceps. "I need to see him without a shirt."

"I mean without any clothes" Chris looks down and sees that those words came from his little princess, who did not take her eyes off the boy for a second. "Not even with socks" she leans even closer to the window pane.

That's when Chris intervenes, he couldn't believe that his little girl was saying those words and that above all they were directed towards that boy.

"Ok... Ok... Wow... Wow... Wow" the little girl moves restlessly in her place looking at her father in surprise. "Wait, wait, wait, wait for me" The girl looks at him with doe eyes. "Your father is right here with you! Thank you! shit..."

"I'm sorry dad, I'm in love with that man" she looks out the window again shamelessly.

"That man? What are you saying girl?!" You could hear Chris shouting from the kitchen so you walked over to them. "This girl is provoking me" he takes her in his arms, moving her away from the window, placing her on his shoulder like a little daddy's sack.

"No! No! Dad! I want to see him!" She kicks her feet and stretches her short arms toward the window. You laugh amused and walk behind them.

Chris really spends as much time as possible with his princess, he always finds a way for them to do anything together.

"Hi Nick, I'm sorry for calling you but I'm dialing Chris and he's not answering. I just want to know how they are doing" you explain when you contact Nick.

You had to go to the supermarket with Matt who offered to take you while Chris stayed with Nick taking care of the girl.

"They're hanging out" Nick focuses his cell phone on his brother.

Chris was in front of the computer, on one of the screens he had Fornite open and on the second screen the Rapunzel movie was playing. Chris had his headphones on and on his lap was the little girl enjoying the movie.

Chris grabs a small container of yogurt, grabs a spoon for himself, and then grabs another for the little girl.

"They're fine" Nick speaks to you again.

Chris places the container of yogurt on the desk and picks up the joystick again to continue playing.

On special dates you and Chris do absolutely everything to create a beautiful memory in the little girl's memory. This time we are talking about Easter, Chris has bought an exaggerated amount of chocolate eggs.

You didn't really agree with the amount, since you didn't want the girl to eat so much chocolate. But Chris convinced you to leave them in moderation.

During the day they took the opportunity to cut out a mold of a large rabbit's foot. They used it as a stencil to make a rabbit footprint with a little flour in the mold on the floor.

The footprints lead to the backyard, where you and Chris were responsible for hiding the chocolate eggs.

Once everything was ready, they both left to look for the little girl at school.

You open the back door of the car and help the little girl put on her seat belt. Chris shifts in his seat looking at the little girl, waiting for her greeting.

"Hello Dad!"

"Hello baby" Chris gives the little girl a cute smile.

"How was school today?" you ask him and he starts a long talk about what he has done in class.

She has shown off her new knowledge and some anecdotes of the day. Then Chris tells her that the Easter bunny has stopped by the house while she was away, so when they get home she prepares for the big chocolate egg hunt.

The girl screams excitedly and strongly requests that Chris drive faster.

When they get to the house, the girl runs to the door, you open the door with the key and she enters, throwing her backpack on the floor and runs through the house.

"There are footprints!" She screams in surprise. "Mom! Mom!" The little one calls you so you can see the big footprints.

"Wow! Those are some big footprints!" You look with excitement at your daughter.

Chris enters the house, picks up the backpack, closing the door, walks where you are and observes the girl in the backyard collecting the chocolate eggs.

"We did it" you look at him and hug Chris's arm as you watch the little girl have fun.

"Are you happy?" Chris asks the girl in front of him.

"If he responds. It's been a long time since we last came to a restaurant for breakfast" he looks around.

Chris has been very busy working lately, especially being away with the recent tour. They have currently taken a break, so he decided to take his cute daughter to have breakfast with him alone.

"Do you know what you want for your birthday?" The girl sinks into her seat. "You can call me baby. We can have anything." Today was her ninth birthday, so Chris wanted to give her a nice gift.

"I would like... I would like you to be more at home with me and mom" Chris's heart shrinks at his girl's words.

"Alright. I will be with you and mom for the rest of my days." Chris extends his hand and the little girl takes it. Chris gives her a little squeeze. "You know I love you? I love you too much and you will have everything you want, I will not leave again for so long, I don't like being away from you either."

At that moment the waiters arrive with a small piece of cake and a sparkler. They leave the plate in front of the girl, the people around begin to applaud excitedly. The girl's blue eyes begin to burn and tears appear. He stands up and runs to hug his dad.

"I love you Dad!"

@ Writer's note ♡ !! I hope you like it, thank you for reading, remember to leave your like and share with your friends. If you want to be part of the taglist to receive notifications every time I update, leave me a comment.

@ taglist ♡ !! @luverboychris @l34n @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @adirtylittleheart @melonjollyranche @sssoniaswiftt @ecliphttlunar @jetaimevous @khxna @aliceloveschris @kiliaisinnnthehouseee @starlace111

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i-yap · 19 hours

Note

Hello how are you? I love everything you write and I'm obsessed with Dick Grayson. You could write Dick being obsessed with his pretty girlfriend (we readers) I like these stories where he is obsessed in a way that is not crazy and violent. Usually when they write Yanderes it ends in violence, I don't want anything crazy or violent. Can't a man be obsessed with his girlfriend without ending up like that? please

Heyy im doing well, thank you for asking. I love "pretty girlfriend (we readers)" lmao yes we are pretty readers

Obsessed Dick Grayson x reader

Once dick realizes that what he has with you, what he feels for you and what you mean to him is so much more than his past relationships. Like those relationships don't even come in sight to what this is. He loses it a little.

All of a sudden his easy charms, flirtatious nature and playboy game is just gone and that too when he needs it most.

He gets flustered easy and its really weird for him aka Mr most desirable man in dc.

But don't worry , he learns how to work around those palpitations and blushing-by throwing himself into acts of service. Bringing you water without you even saying by realizing you've been swallowing more than average. Making you dinner which comes out of the oven the second you walk into your home by timing your "I've left work" message and the time on google maps ( or maybe just a tracker on you with your permission)

On the same note..HE IS SO OBSERVANT!! like how did you know that y/n wanted chocolate muffin when she likes trying different flavours every day? oh you analyzed her taste pattern and since she had a fruit in the morning, she will want chocolate? oh okay not weird at all dick

That cringey ginny scene from harry potter of her tying his shoelaces? Yea he sort of does those type of things really often. YOU CANT BLAME HIM OKAY ITS YOUR FAULT MAN HAS LOST ALL HIS RIZZ.

He gets so much more jealous. Like in his past relationships, the girlfriends were jealous not him. He was the one being hit on by everyone. People don't even hit on him as much cause rather than him making charming talk he is just standing behind you, head on your shoulder talking sweet to your ear. In fact it has happened on multiple occasions where he just didn't hear someone because he was busy looking at you in the dress you were wearing. also if you guys ever had a fight in the beginning of your relationship about you being insecure ...he will make sure there is a 4 foot stick between him and any other girl who tries touching him. Will jump onto a chandelier rather than let another girl touch him and risk your relationship . you tell him that its okay and you know he isn't reciprocating their feelings and that he doesn't have to jerk away while loudly saying "no no where's y/n WHERE IS MY Y/N" but he doesn't care nothing comes between him and his baby.

He drops stuff too, forgets whatever line he was about to say and um he has giggled when you complimented him once( but you guys don't talk about that anymore)

He just sort of learns to live with it since this just shows how much he loves you and well..there's no fixing it. And he'll find new ways to fluster you.

i hope this was somewhat you were looking for, have a good day!

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thisissirius · 1 day

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spoilers, spoilers, spoilers. i'm obsessed with the idea of eddie's breakdown.

supplication eddie/buck, chris (past tommy/buck). stylistic depictions of eddie's mental state. hurt, hurt, hurt and comfort. in which eddie loses chris, himself, and his tentative hold on his mental state. buck's there for him, for them, as always.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Buck doesn’t answer.

Eddie doesn’t know who he is without Chris. Actually. He does. He does know. He’s been without Chris and he doesn’t want to be that person again. Except this time it’s Chris that leaves. Chris went with his parents, looking back once, Eddie’s heart breaking at his feet. With Buck’s hand on his shoulder, his father’s admonishments ringing in his ears, and his son walking away, Eddie didn’t think there was much farther to fall.

Frank stares at him.

Eddie stares back.

“Eddie. I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”

Eddie says nothing.

A sigh. “Perhaps Buck—”

“No,” Eddie says immediately.

Buck is happy. Buck and Tommy, two of the best guys Eddie knows, are together and happy. Buck smiles more, lives more, and feels more comfortable in his skin.

Now that Cap’s out of hospital and recovering, everything as close to normal as it’s gonna get, Buck’s living for himself for the first time in—Eddie doesn’t even know.

What he does know is this; Buck can’t help, shouldn’t help.

Eddie can fix himself, can make this work without crawling to his best friend to help.

The house is too empty? Eddie will just make sure he’s rarely in it. Carla checks in on him? Eddie will just make sure he misses her calls. His parents messaging to tell him—well, those he’ll at least look at, because it might be something about Chris.

Eddie is fine, fine, fine.

Eddie remembers standing in a shop with Chris and Ana and feeling his heart race, pound, cascade away from him. He remembers thinking heart attack and being so mad at himself when he realised it was a panic attack instead.

Now, standing at his kitchen sink with a hand pressed to his chest, he’s just as mad at himself. He can’t even keep control, can’t stop himself from feeling Chris’ absence, from the press of loneliness.

Frank looks him in the eye when he says, “I can’t sign you back to work, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t snap until he’s sitting in his car. There’s Chris’ discarded bag on the floor on the passenger side. A takeout carton shoved into the gap between door and seat. Touches of his son everywhere. Touches of Buck, still, in his car.

He can’t go back to work. He doesn’t have a son. His best friend is—

Eddie is fine, fine, fine.

“The station will still be there, Eddie,” Bobby says gently.

Fuck you, Eddie thinks silently, because it’s not Bobby’s fault. Nothing will sill be there.

Buck glares at him. “When were you going to say something?”

Two weeks leave. For now. Until Eddie can figure out what the hell is going on.

“I’m going to see Chris,” Eddie says, injecting enough enthusiasm into his voice that he hopes Buck can’t read it. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but—"

He’s lying to Buck.

To Buck.

God.

“I’m sure it’ll be good for you both,” Buck says, frown giving way to a smile. He has a date with Tommy in about twenty minutes. Eddie knows because he saw the plan in his phone. “I’ll have to join you next time. I miss him.”

Eddie nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Buck will have to leave soon if he’s to make his date with Tommy and—

“Right,” Buck says, slipping his phone into his pocket. He pauses, because of course he does, looking at Eddie. “You okay?”

“I will be.” It’s not a lie; one day, probably, Eddie will be fine. “Go, have fun.”

Buck grins, laughs a little, bashful, and god, Eddie loves that he’s so happy, that he’s secure. He deserves it. “Thanks. I’ll speak to you when you get back?”

Eddie pulls him into a hug, because what else can he do. Maybe he clings a little too hard, maybe Buck presses back just as tight because some part of him senses something. Forcing himself to let go, Eddie finds his smile a touch more real because it’s Buck. “Go. I’ll be alright.”

“You better,” Buck says quietly. He gives Eddie one more glance and then bounces out of the house. Bounces. Child.

It takes a while for Eddie to move away from the door.

The house is quiet.

The house is lonely.

The house is empty.

Eddie’s empty.

Eddie’s lonely.

Eddie’s quiet.

Eddie’s phone is cradled in his hand.

The screen flashes and he knows he should answer, knows he should do something. Pick up? Speak to whoever it is?

Chris?

Buck?

Eddie closes his fist around it and drops it onto the floor.

It’s fine.

Eddie’s fine.

Eddie’s

fine, fine, fine.

“Eddie?”

Something bangs, a splinter of wood.

Eddie’s door, probably.

Did he lock it?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

“God, what—”

The voice is familiar. Cherished.

“Eddie, I need you to open your eyes.”

Why.

“Please. For me?”

Who.

“It’s Buck, Eddie. It’s me. Look at me. Please, look at me.”

It’s an effort to open an eye.

“That’s it.”

Buck looks—good. Panicked, desperate. Good.

Eddie doesn’t feel good. He doesn’t feel right.

“Buck,” he croaks.

“God, Eddie, you,” Buck looks over his shoulder. The bag is still by the door where he left it. “Chris called. He said you hadn’t called—you lied to me? About going to see him?”

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Buck shakes him a little, fingers against his chin. “Eddie?”

“I miss him,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “But I—I can’t let him see me, not like this.”

“It’s been two weeks.” Buck looks stricken. “Eddie, Eddie, tell me you haven’t been here alone for two weeks?”

Eddie can’t. It would be a lie and he doesn’t want to do that to Buck again.

“Eddie.” Buck’s face crumples, tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re happy,” Eddie whispers. He touches Buck’s face. His hand is shaking. Why is it shaking? “I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“God,” Buck says again. Eddie should tell him he shouldn’t blaspheme, but then he’s being manhandled into a sitting position. Arms come around him. They’re strong, Buck’s strong.

Eddie opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“Buck,” he manages eventually. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Buck sobs, a hand coming to rest against the back of Eddie’s head. He’s cradled. Held. Loved. “I’m here, Eddie.”

Eddie breaks.

His feelings cascade, break, and he folds into Buck, buries his face in Buck’s shoulder and cries.

Buck holds him, protects him, whispers.

I’ve got you.

Let it out.

It will be alright.

Buck is watching him.

Eddie’s skin crawls. “Buck—”

“If you ever lie to me again,” Buck starts, cuts himself off.

“You remember that puzzle we did with Chris a few weekends ago?”

Frowning, Buck nods. “Yeah.”

“There were pieces missing,” Eddie says, staring down at his hands. They’re curled around his glass, but it feels like he’s not touching anything, like he’s not holding onto it at all. Maybe it will fall. He tries not to let it. “I feel like the missing pieces.”

Blowing out a breath, Buck looks down at his phone. He holds it out to Eddie. It says Frank and the betrayal is swift. Before Eddie can say anything, Buck says, “Eddie, take it,” and his voice is strong, unyielding.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t know who he is without Chris.

He doesn’t want to learn, but he has to. Has to listen to Frank, to speak, to unwrap himself, to talk, to talk, to listen.

Buck is waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the car.

“You have a date with Tommy,” Eddie says slowly.

“Nope,” Buck says, standing straight. He looks happy, still, but the words coming out of his mouth; “I’m a free man.”

Eddie panics, feels something else cascade away from him.

Immediately, Buck is in his space. “Eddie, no, hey no.”

Hands on his face, thumbs against the curve of his cheeks. Buck’s eyes boring into his. “Buck.”

“Tommy and I, what we had was fun, good for me, but you, god Eddie, you’re everything to me.”

Everything.

Can he be everything when he doesn’t even know himself?

“Let’s go home,” Buck says, “call Chris.”

Chris.

“Dad!” Chris is smiling, clutching he iPad and looking happy.

Is it Texas?

Being away from Eddie?

A hand rests on the back of his neck.

“Buck,” Chris says, just as enthusiastic. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, buddy,” Buck says, dropping into the seat next to Eddie. “Eddie?”

“Chris,” Eddie says, and feels something slide into place. He’s still a father, still here. “Are you having fun in Texas?”

Chris goes quiet, eyes dropping. “They said you were in hospital.”

Eddie closes his eyes. “Chris—”

“He was,” Buck says quietly. He’s done this before. Too many times. Eddie owes so much, so much, he can never be worthy of whatever brought Buck into his life. “But he’s home and I’m taking care of him.”

“Good,” Chris says decisively. “I want to see you smile, Dad, and mean it.”

Choked, Eddie doesn’t know what to say. The fingers on his neck stroke, soothe, and Eddie breathes. “I will, Chris. Promise.”

Chris beams. “I wanna come back home soon, Dad.”

“You will,” Eddie promises, because he may have broken, scattered, but slowly he’s piecing himself back together. “We’ll have a party when you get back.”

A cheer and Chris is off, talking about Texas and their family, and it washes over Eddie. He grounds himself; Buck’s hand, the steady cadence of his son’s voice, the house that feels comfortable in the moment.

Buck kisses him softly, cradles his head in his hands.

Eddie feels cherished.

Safe.

“Buck,” he says.

“Sweetheart,” Buck replies, like a benediction. “Let’s go get our son.”

Yes, Eddie’s heart sings. Yes, yes, yes.

.the end

i'm so emotional dlshfdsjfhkj.

ao3 link

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #fic by me #i love them #911 spoilers

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dinogoofymutated · 1 day

Note

Omg I love your headcanons/fics!! I really need to ask if you'd be willing to write an addendum for the jealousy headcanons for Wolverine? Of course no pressure if you can't/don't feel like, just thought I'd try to ask! :) Hope you have a nice day/night, and keep up the good work! 💗💗💗

Jealousy Headcannons!- Multi/GN!Reader - Wolverine, Morph, Angel, Sabretooth. You got it man!! Had a version of this requested for Logan so many times lol. I went ahead and added more characters to round it off into a full multi character hcs. Logan doesn't explicitly punch anyone in this one, so sorry if anyone was looking forward to that! (Sorry though, his is pretty similar to cable's) I'm also testing the waters while writing for Morph. I know everyone is starving for fics with them, but I'm not really used to writing for they/them characters (despite the fact that I try to avoid pronouns for the reader, weird I know, but its mostly due to me using you/your.) forgive me if I slip up with their pronouns, and let me know if I do so I can fix it! TWs: Violence (not towards reader, but some pretty mean names are called tho) Men can be creeps/harassment. Unnecessary changing scene with Warren bc I love non-sexual intimacy like that. Flirting, Barfights again but this time it's a little bloody (sabertooth) Drinking mentioned.

Wolverine

Okay, so Logan here is a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to jealousy. I really feel like it depends on the situation? In general, he trusts you more than just about anyone. When someone flirts with you, he's generally just very grouchy and most of the time, quiet. He glares a lot, and if you meet his gaze he'll raise an eyebrow, basically asking if you need an out, and then he'd act accordingly.

Buuuttt. If he's in a bad mood or has had a tough day, he's more likely to resort to threats and intimidation to handle any romantic attention you might receive. He gets more physically protective and will usually have an arm slung around you at all times.

That's not to say he only gets jealous of romantic attention though. I feel like he also get jealous of anything and anyone taking up your time, really. he'd probably stay quiet until he just kinda snaps and drags you away from whatever has your attention for smooches and cuddles. Don't let him fool you by telling you he's not cuddly, he totally is.

"Back. Up. Bub." Logan's rumbling voice is venomous, a growl of warning as he bows up on the man in front of you. The two of you had been out on a mission together, which normally would have gone perfectly fine. Unfortunately, you'd ended up running into some old acquaintances of his. Both of you were bristiling at the contact, but you knew that coaxing Logan into a fight was just what he wanted. The man had been making moves on you the entire time- and although you were practically an expert in ignoring the flirtation from asshole guys, you were beginning to get more and more uncomfortable with it. It was when the man had started to make sexual comments about your body that Logan snapped.

"Who you callin' bub, pipsqueak?" The man smirks, looking down on Logan with arrogance. Anxiety had begun to worm it's way into your stomach.

"You better learn to watch your mouth." Logan growls. His fists flex as his claws unsheath, the adamantium practically itching to dig into the guy's skin. This was escalating fast, and you needed to stop it now. You both needed to complete the mission without any complications, extra fights included.

"Logan, Please, can we just go?" You say, grabbing his wrist and tugging before he can launch himself at the man. Logan's angry face remains intact, but you can see the way his shoulders slightly loosen. He glances at you, before backing off from the man with a snarl. You sigh in relief as Logan turns to follow you as you drag him away, just thankful you've avoided a problem at that point.

" 'bitch's got you on a hellava tight leash. Who knew the wolverine would be so whipped over some cheap whore." Logan stops abruptly at the words, sighing deeply as he looks at you, rage burning in his eyes. Whatever reserved attitude you had about this fight was basically gone, evaporating at the insults. You let out a long sigh, before you pull your hands away from him and shrug your shoulders. Logan grins at you wickedly.

So what if he came home with a few more bruises than normal? His knuckles would heal- but the ass whooping he gave out would damage that guy's ego forever.

Angel

Warren is the silently jealous type. No matter how bad he's being cooked with jealousy, he's really just going to keep an eye on you from afar. Growing up as a rich kid, I feel like his dad was very strict on manners and how not to make a public scene, which has kinda carried over into his adulthood.

If someone just won't give it a rest and keeps trying to pursue you, Warren will be not low-key about it. He'll come over and set his hand on your back, or sling his arm around your shoulder, or if he's feeling really cocky, Shake the person's hand and introduce himself as your boyfriend/husband. He'll only outright tell them to back off if they start to get out of hand and he knows you're getting really uncomfortable.

"I just don't like him." Warren says, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. He's still in his suit from before, the red and bright white standing out starkly compared to the muted warm tones of your shared bedroom. You laugh at him as you begin to change.

"What? Why? I think Pietro is kinda funny." You ask, beginning to take off your shirt. Warren sighs in a petty way.

"Yeah, exactly." He mumbles under his breath, walking over to help you when your head gets stuck in the neckline like it always does. You give him a kiss on his cheek when you're free, not quite having heard him.

"Can't I dislike him just to dislike him? I don't need a reason." Warren speaks up this time, and you can't seem to hold back your amused smile as he digs his hole deeper. "-but, if I did, I'd say he's just too friendly with you. I don't like it." You can't help but laugh at that as you finish changing into more comfortable clothes. He turns around on autopilot, letting you unzip him from his suit- careful not to catch his blonde hair with the zipper.

"It's not like he's taking me away from you, Warren." You say, pressing a kisses to his exposed neck and back as you help him navigate his wings through. Warren huffs a little, his wings twitching as his voice goes soft.

"I never said that. I know he's not. I trust you enough to know so. I just..." He trails off, stepping out of his suit and left in his boxers. He lets you pull his shirt over him, stretching his wings in the confined space of the bathroom when its on correctly. You cock an eyebrow at him now that you're facing him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn't, simply looking away from you to avoid your knowing gaze. You let out an amused chuff before closing in on him.

"It's okay to be jealous, Warren, but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere." You say confidently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He sighs again, but smiles as he looks at you with a soft and loving gaze. His arms wrap around your waist as he rests his forehead against your own, closing his eyes as the two of you begin to sway a little.

"Yeah, I know."

Morph

I really think that Morph is more of an insecure jealous type, but they're more likely to hide it behind humor. If you're being flirted and don't seem to be overly uncomfortable, they're probably going to fade into the background. They know that you love them, and they trust you, but they're so used to being second best for everyone they know that they just feel like they're bothering you. Later on, when whoever is flirting with you leaves, Morph will shift into them and start joking about it. Don't let the humor fool you, they're hurting right now. Just give Morph some extra love and kisses and reassurance and they'll feel better eventually.

Now, if it's clear that someone is bothering you, Morph won't be afraid to roast the everloving shit out of them. They take the moment to really embarrass the person, and if you're in a bar he'd totattally shift into the dude just to offer a drink to everyone and then dip, sticking the asshole with the bill.

You really didn't like clubs. They were busy and loud, but you had a friend celebrating her birthday in one, so who were you to turn down the invite? You certainly couldn't go without your favorite shapeshifter by your side either. The only problem was that Morph wasn't the only one who had eyes for you that night. Morph hadn't said anything in the moment, but you knew stuff like this bothered them. Even while walking home from the club, they still seemed to be trying to brush it off.

"Hey, Good-lookin. You interested?" Morph says, having shifted into the guy who had been flirting with you earlier. They're leaning against the side of the payphone like a goofball, having waited there as you called the school to let the others know you were finally on the way home, tipsy, but still hoping the fresh air would sober the both of you up. You roll your eyes as you giggle at them, shoving their shoulder and sending them stubiling.

"In that guy? No way!" You laugh, walking past Morph before they quickly catch up to you.

"You gotta admit, he was pretty handsome for a POS." They joke, puckering their lips and making kissy faces at you.

"Mmhm. suuureeee." You hum, pushing their face away from yours as they laugh.

"Come on, you saying' that tall dark and handsome isn't your type?" Morph shifts from the man at the club, and into the blonde, blue-eyed Warren worthington, wings hidden underneath the supposed coat. "-Or maybe you'd prefer blondes. I hear Warren's quite at catch." You huff at them, and shake your head again. Something in their tone of voice just seems to set off alarms in your brain, and they doesn't seem to be acting as genuine with you anymore, a vulnerability creeping into their voice no matter how hard they were trying to hide it. This goes on for a rather solid minute, Morph shifting into different people you know and asking who you prefer with a laugh and a fake smile. You shake your head every time, but it's starting to become more than just a bit. You begin to lose your patience, your own hurt seeping through the cracks.

"You're into the gruff, muscly, Logan, right? Hafta' be if you're still-"

"Kevin." You finally cut them off with a stern tone of voice, grabbing their wrist as you abruptly stop walking. They flinch at the name, eyes blowing wide with concern as they shift from logan, then to the dark haired version of themselves- before then settling on the form you know so well.

"... Not the government name." They mumble, more caught up in the strict way you said their name rather than the words themselves. You grab them by the collar of their leather jacket, pulling them close to you as you look into their eyes.

"How many times to I have to tell you I love you for you to believe me?" You whisper after a moment, voice coming out a little broken. Morph's seems to panic a little, making a concerned face as their hands catch hold of your wrists gently.

"I- no, that's not what I..." Morph says, trying their best to fix the situation. They can't seem to come up with the right words, their eyes avoiding your gaze as their mouth opens and closes with no luck. You cup the side of their face, bringing them back to face you.

"I. Love. You." You say purposefully. "Not some guy at the club- you, Morph. Any part of you that you want to give me, Any form you want to take. As long as it's you, I don't care." Morph relaxes at your words, sighing as you bring them closer to you, resting their forehead against your own.

"Yeah?" They ask, eyes fluttering closed.

"Yeah." You reply, finally leaning in to kiss them lovingly. They return the kiss softly, only separating from you when you begin to drag them down the sidewalk with you once again, hand in hand.

Sabertooth

He does not handle jealousy well at all. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him to put someone in the hospital. It doesn't matter if they're just flirting, or if they're actually bothering you, he's going to start some shit. The man loves to start fights, and he couldn't care less what the reason is for. I will say though, he's gonna be a lot less smiley if the person insults either of you. He may be a shitstarter, but he doesn't take disrespect, especially not disrespect towards his S/O.

He's never mad at you for it. If anything, he's glad you gave him the chance to take some anger out. He'll encourage you to wear sexy and revealing outfits because he wants to see you wear them, and also because he's gonna beat the shit out of the first guy (and every guy, honestly) to look at you the wrong way. ESPECIALLY if you have boobs. Those are his boobs. He wants them to be popping out of your clothes 24/7 but no one else is allowed to look at them. Did he just see someone glance at you? Say goodbye to your teeth, motherfucker. (and your balls too.)

Victor loved shitty dive bars, as gross and unsanitary they may be. He liked to bar hop a few of them every other night, and although you weren't necessarily the dive bar type, you did enjoy spending time with him. Normally you'd just wear casual clothes, but today you had wanted to dress up a little bit. Nothing too fancy, but your shirt was a little low cut compared to what you normally wear. Victor had been loving it, especially since he got to have you as his eye-candy. That was what you were going for, and you succeeded! The only problem was that he wasn't the only one appreciating the view.

You were sitting at the bar, watching Victor win another round of pool while sipping on your drink. A man had sat next to you earlier, but you didn't think anything of it at first. It was a busy saturday night, and there weren't that many seats open at the bar. At most, you had a uneasy tingling on the back of your neck, feeling that someone was watching you.

"What's a fine thing like you doing in this shitty place?" The man suddenly asks. You send him a questioning glance, almost baffled at the flirting. He must be new here, because every other regular of this place knew for a fact who you always come here with, and no other man is stupid enough to try their luck with you while he's lingering around.

"Who, me? Enjoying some peace and quiet, obviously." You say in a sarcastic tone. The man chuckles next to you.

"Aw, not interested, sweetheart? I swear I'll make it worth your while." You make an obviously disgusted face at that, beginning to wonder who this guy thinks he is. The tingling feeling you feel hasn't let up, in fact, it's only gotten stronger. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, and you can't help but feel like something is seriously wrong here. You brushed it off on the alcohol, but Victor had always been a bit more perceptive than you. He barely glanced over in your direction before he was storming over. For a split second you think he's mad at you, until he violently grabs the man next to you by the collar, his claws scraping across his collarbones and causing him to yelp as he shallow cuts begin to bleed.

"Did I just see you staring?" Victor huffs, glaring so hard you swear the man shrinks underneath his gaze. Every bit of confidence he had a minute ago had vanished completely.

"W-what? I... Uh..." The man stutters, unable to say a complete sentence through his fear. Victor turns to you slightly, his grip not letting up for a second.

"He say something to you, Doll?" He asks, and you wonder if you should tell him the truth. You almost felt bad for the guy in his grip, knowing that he was probably just stupid and new to this bar. You shake your head in response, even though the stranger had been giving you off vibes since the moment he sat down. Victor grins at you, a loving excitement in his eyes as his grip only gets tighter.

"Aww, you don't have to lie, sweet thing." Victor chuckles, and you grimace when you realise that he totally saw that lie coming a mile away. Vic turns back to the man, his smile dropping instantly as his other hand slips the guy's phone out and slams it on the counter of the bar. "Open your camera." Vic snarls. The man starts to panic now, squirming to get out of his grip.

"N-no! Let go of me Man!" The man stutters. Vic only begins to grin again.

"Nuh-uh. I want you to show my baby the photos you've been taking all night." Photos? You didn't know anything about any photos. Your brows furrow as the man begins to whine and panic, squirming to no avail. Vic smirks at you as he send you a nodd, and you grab the phone and open the creep's gallery. There has to have been over thirty photos of you from just tonight, sitting at the bar, ordering your first drink, even one from when you had gotten up to use the restroom.

"Oh, gross!" You say, recoiling from the phone and wiping your hands on your shirt, not wanting to know where this guys hands had been all night. The man in Victor's grip has gone completely pale, freezing at the sight of Vic's terrifying smile. He reaches over towards the phone with his free hand, picking up the device before crushing it with his bare hand.

"Why don't you head outside, honeybee. I'll take out the trash while you're gone."

127 notes · View notes

gravehags · 3 days

Text

crimson headache, aching blush

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: panty stealing, panty sniffing, pillow humping, first date, champagne consumption, dry humping, grinding, possessiveness, copia being a little sex freak as per usual, tenderness as per usual

Words: 5,758

Summary: When he asks you on your first real date with him, this is not the outcome you anticipated.

a/n: hehehehe hohohoho we're almost there folks

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

He shouldn’t have done this.

That’s the thought running rampant on repeat in his mind as he lays in his bed, staring at the illicit goods in his hand. He’s filled with shame at committing such a violation of your privacy and yet…he turns the piece of black mesh over in his grip, relishing the way the fabric feels sliding against his bare knuckles. He heaves a sigh - he’s dragging this out because he’s scared what will come to pass once he does what he’s longed to do all afternoon. It’s been balled up in his pocket all day, you completely unaware beside him on the couch and in the dining hall as he surreptitiously fingered it.

It was an impulse theft from when you were in the bathroom post-nap fixing your hair and he was left to his own devices in your bedroom. He saw the hamper tucked away in a corner and he swore that in that moment his heart stopped. He could hear you humming something familiar as he skittered over to the basket, reaching a hand in to flick through your dirty laundry. Under a t-shirt he found it. His prize. His breath caught in his throat and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized you were softly singing “He Is” in the other room. He snatched it up in a moment of impulse and almost doubled over in shame but before he allowed himself to fully process the feeling and put your underwear back, he shoved it deep into his pocket. You emerged a moment later, smiling and ignorant of his crime, and grabbed him by the hand to tug him towards the couch. There you spent the rest of the afternoon curled into his side watching paranormal shows while his eyes stared forward but his mind was chaotic. He’s more ashamed of the way he ignored you for the rest of the evening, even as the two of you sat across from one another at your table in the dining hall. You had finally stopped trying to engage with him but by then the damage was done. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of you as you kissed his cheek with a quiet “goodnight” before leaving him standing there with only the static of his busy mind for company. By the time he called out your name in the empty cloister you were long gone and guilt sat heavy in his stomach. He shuffled back to his rooms and disrobed mechanically. When he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror he jumped - he was so distracted by his little secret he didn’t even bother to reapply his paints before he went to dinner with you. He turned off the faucet with a sigh and slumped out of the bathroom to plug his phone in. Climbed into bed and now here he is.

He wants to text you, to apologize for his horrible, neglectful behavior but it feels even more shameful when he’s holding a very private part of you captive without your knowledge. He takes a deep breath - in, out, in, out, in - then raises his fist to his face. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he curls onto his side, the tantalizing scrap of fabric with your scent pressed against his nose. You smell…cazzo, he doesn’t know how to properly describe it in this state…earthy and feminine and hypnotic. Dirty. His cock throbs against his sleep pants, aching for contact. Normally he’d take himself in hand and get the job done but he knows it’s not going to be enough. Sitting up he reaches behind himself to grab a pillow and swings his leg over to straddle it. It’s too late to strip himself fully so instead he yanks down his sleep pants until his cock springs forward, bobbing in front of him with pre smeared down the shaft.

“Amata mia,” he groans as he spreads his thighs and lowers himself. He brings your smell back to his nose and his hips jolt forward, sliding across the cushion and leaving a damp drag mark on the red pillowcase. As he begins to rut against it he falls forward and plants a fist into the mattress to steady himself. He imagines it’s you beneath him, your pliant flesh and your tight wetness he’s fucking into. The thought makes his mouth hang open, drool pooling in his jaw and threatening to spill over onto his bed.

“Nnngh bellezza mia,” he grunts, hips picking up a frantic pace as he humps desperately into the pillow, “So soft a-and willing for me. How you t-tease your Cardinal. Soon I’ll h-have you. I’ll–ah–ruin you, amore mio. P-piccola vergine mia.”

The bed creaks beneath him from the force of his thrusts, his fist flying from the mattress to grip the headboard. He’s close and his rhythm is becoming sloppy as the strings of his self control are slowly cut away. He can almost hear your voice speaking to him so sweetly - yes Copia, please, fuck, don’t stop - and for a final time he raises the gusset of your underwear to his nose as he hears you say it–

I love you.

He cums with a hoarse moan, painting the pillowcase and mattress with ropes of his seed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His hips don’t still afterwards, continuing to rock against the cushion desperate to wring out the last dregs of his orgasm. By the time he forces himself to stop, tears are dropping onto the pillow to mix with his mess and he sniffles miserably in the silent room. You fool, his brain hisses, risking everything to get yourself off. She must hate you now - must be sitting in her room wondering why she ever wasted a moment of her time and energy on you. The last part makes him sob aloud, doubling over on himself before angrily tearing the pillow out from under him and flinging it to the rug. He doesn’t bother to clean up his mess, instead choosing to curl into a fetal position. His hand twitches with the desire to grab his phone and call you, text you, anything to explain himself but instead he heaves a shuddering sigh.

Why bother, he thinks to himself, messily wiping his snot with the back of his hand, you deserve better anyway.

—

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed in your pajamas with your phone in your hand, cursor in the text box flashing up at you tauntingly. You could settle this in a matter of seconds if you really wanted to. But do you want to? Do you really want to know about how he’s changed his mind about you, how he regrets ever bending to your annoying little advances? The thought makes your gut roil with nausea and you blindly set your phone back on your nightstand and flop backyards onto the duvet, running through everything you said to him today. He was fine up until…up until after your nap. After he had time to ruminate on your confession of love. Numbly you sit back up and finagle yourself under the covers, feeling embarrassed, hurt, and…angry? You’ve never been angry at Copia, never thought you could be but the blank look on his face as he sat in silence for the entirety of your meal that night while you chattered away makes something raw burn in your belly. Every moment between the two of you since last night has happened at your insistence. Every conversation, every confession, every action. What if this was just a game to him? What if you were just a conquest he could lord above Terzo, finally succeeding where the Papa had failed? What if Terzo–

Stop.

Fucking stop.

You reach behind you and bend the edges of your pillow up against your ears in an attempt to muffle the din in your brain. Copia would never. He would never purposely hurt you. You think of the raw expression on his bare face as you told him of your love, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his. Shame floods you, sick to your stomach that you could ever think such a thing of your beloved. That’s not the man you’ve gotten to know over almost an entire year. Something might have been bothering him tonight but it wasn’t you. You turn over and grab your phone, opening your texts.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

You set the phone down and hesitate before reaching for the prescription bottle. Might as well, not going to fall asleep like this. Swallowing the pill with the room temperature water on your nightstand you look hopefully at your phone, willing it to light up. When it stays dark, you inhale a deep sigh before falling back into your pillows. There’s a smoky smell lingering on them, warm and animalic, and you realize it’s him. You drag the pillow he slept on today towards you and breathe in, relishing the scent of his cologne and his hair pomade. It makes your heart so full and you can’t bring yourself to pull away so you curl yourself into it, letting the rise and fall of your chest lull you to sleep.

You have strange dreams where you’re dancing with a black goat with mismatched eyes.

You do not remember them upon waking.

—

When Copia wakes up at a miserable hour he feels like absolute dogshit. He abandoned his remaining pillow some time in the night and now finds himself curled on his side on the mattress, dick out with a pounding headache. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but judging from the lingering damp stains on his sheets he most certainly cried until he passed out.

“Cazzo,” he groans, putting his palms to his face and rubbing it roughly. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, angling his hips to finally tuck himself away and restore even a small bit of his dignity. He looks at the stained pillow on the floor and his headache worsens.

“Fottuto idiota,” he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s about to get up and throw his exhausted body into the shower when he spies his phone out of the corner of his eye. He hesitates for a moment before reaching for it. When he sees a notification on his lockscreen - from you - his heart rockets into his throat. Hands shaking he opens his messages, nauseous at what he might see.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

Love you. Love you. She still loves you.

He hops out of bed, overjoyed and types out, then deletes at least a dozen different messages to you. When none of them prove satisfactory he throws his phone down on the bed and stumbles over to his closet. He said he was going to woo you, damn it all, and he intends to follow through. He selects a freshly laundered cassock - red, he knows it’s your favorite - and tosses it on the bed. His mind is abuzz with all the tasks he needs to accomplish but first - a nice long, scalding hot shower.

—

You’re tucked away in your bed - your warm, soft, wonderful bed - when you hear a noise somewhere in the back of your consciousness. One of your eyes cracks open, views the blurry surroundings, and immediately slides closed again.

Then you hear it again. It’s louder. More insistent.

You groan and roll onto your back, opening both eyes against your will to stare at the beams above you. You’re about to roll back over when you hear it again and realize it’s knocking. At your door. With furrowed brows you turn over to squint at your bedside clock - now who the fuck–

You shoot up so fast it makes you dizzy and fling the covers back, your heart pounding. It has to be him right? You’re making your way to the door, bedhead be damned, and you swear if you open it and Terzo’s idiotic face is on the other side you’re going to deck him. By the time you make it to your destination, the person on the other side begins knocking sharply again but you swing the door open midway through their progress.

It’s him, like you knew it would be.

And he looks magnificent.

He’s in his red cassock, matching biretta perched neatly on his still damp hair and holding one hand behind his back. When he sees you, his shoulders straighten and he bows.

“Amata mia, please, please forgive me for my behavior last night. I–”

You don’t even give him a chance to finish his explanation, throwing your arms around him and pulling him close.

“It’s okay,” you say, voice muffled by the wool of his pellegrina.

“Amore, no it’s not. I was so caught up in my own head that I-I didn’t treat you like you deserve. I am a poor excuse for a paramour, eh? Not even the first full day and I’ve already fucked it up.”

“I can’t lie, I was a wreck last night,” you confess as you pull away, rubbing your eyes, “your brain isn’t the only one too full. I had almost convinced myself of some really horrible shit.”

His smile drops and his brows knit together as he cups your cheek gently.

“I’m so sorry, dolcezza. Next time I’ll tell you when I’m preoccupied, but know that my love for you will never be the source of my grief.”

You lean up and peck him on the lips before gesturing behind him.

“What’s this?”

“Ah,” Copia brings his arm forward and produces a bouquet of beautifully vivid orange roses tied up with twine, “for my amore.”

“Copia!” you gasp, accepting the blooms from him, “these are my favorite how did you…?”

“Primo told me,” he says with a smile, following you into your apartment as you pad over to the kitchen, “said he’d been growing them in his greenhouse ‘just in case’ we uh…” He trails off, blushing as you pull a vase out of a cabinet.

“I think the Papas might have been looking forward to us getting together more than we did at this point,” you laugh, filling the glass with water and placing the roses inside. The fragrance coming off them is heady and lovely. You put your hands on your hips and give Copia a wide smile.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or was this gorgeous display,” you gesture at his neatly pressed cassock and the flowers, “just your way of saying sorry? Wouldn’t mind you slipping up a little more often if these are the rewards I receive.”

His brows furrow and he glances at the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, moving over to him and placing your hands on his biceps, “I’m sorry, you know me and my stupid jokes. You’re good. We’re good.”

He raises his downcast eyes to look at you and you want to melt into a puddle at the pure adoration you see there. Like a Satanic puppy dog with heterochromia, a slight build and a nice ass. His little smile when he finally speaks makes you smile.

“I, eh, did have another reason to see you so early in the morning, cara,” he reaches up with a gloved hand and gently tames your flyaways, “I wanted to ask you on a…a date.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and lean forward, placing your chin on his chest.

“Mmm what did you have in mind, Cardinal?”

Not missing a beat his crows feet scrunch and he cradles your head in his hands, using his thumbs to brush at your temples.

“Dinner - in the village? I know a place.”

“Oooh…a night out on the town…”

He snorts, “I don’t think that sleepy little hamlet even counts as a town but it’s the closest we’ve got.”

“Hmm…an excuse to get dressed up and show you off? How could I refuse?”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs at your statement while you grin up at him.

“What time do you want me?”

The phrase comes out of your mouth so casually, you forget its double meaning until you see him swallow thickly and flush.

“H-how about 7? On Friday?”

“On New Years’ Eve?” you shrug, “Sure, and maybe you can come over afterwards to watch the ball drop or whatever. I’ve got another bottle of that chianti you like. Or maybe I’ll hunt down a bottle of champagne. I’ve never had anyone to kiss at midnight before.”

His eyes go a bit glassy and he looks over your shoulder as if considering something. Finally he nods to himself and meets your gaze once more.

“Sì, sì, that would be lovely.”

“It’s a date,” you say, unwinding your arms from around his body and scrunching your nose at him.

“I, uh…have some things to attend to today. I’ll text you later, sì?”

You shrug, secretly appreciative of the fact that he’s letting you return to your (now undoubtedly cold) bed.

“Mmhmm. Thank you for the flowers, my love. They’re perfect. And…if you want to talk about what was bothering you, you know I’m always here.”

He blanches and you look at him curiously before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“G-grazie, amata. I will, eh, keep that in mind.”

Turning on his heel he strides to the door and you follow him, watching as he departs. A few steps down the hall, he turns and gives you a weird little wave before pausing and continuing back down his path. You snort and shut the door with a sigh, looking over at the flowers he brought you. And to think last night you were convinced he hated you. Making a noise of contentment and yawning wide, you shuffle back to bed.

—

Standing in the entry hall, he fusses with his cuffs and straightens his suit jacket. It’s…tighter than what he’s accustomed to. Particularly in the lower half. He growls as he reaches down to adjust himself, cursing Terzo and Terzo’s tailor. You look good, fratello! It really highlights your attributes, huh? Idiota. He cuts a svelte figure in the snug black fabric, true, but all he really cares about is that you will like it. Every once in a while a sibling passes by and stares at him. You’re not late by any means but still he taps his foot impatiently against the marble, filled with nervous energy. When he reaches up to smooth his mustache he hears it - a thump and a soft “fuck!” coming from nearby. He would know that foul mouth anywhere and he straightens his posture and places his hands behind his back.

He’s not ready for what he sees when you round the corner.

You’re swathed in rich, burgundy velvet, the fabric clinging to your every dip and curve. The straps are thin and the hemline is short - tantalizingly short, he can see quite a good amount of your thigh tattoo. Gold stilettos are on your feet - he suspects the cause of the swearing earlier - and your hair is soft and loose. He knows he looks like a fucking fool, mouth hanging open as you approach but how could he look any other way when you stand before him looking like that. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes widen at his outfit, gaze lingering on his thighs and between his legs. As you step closer he sees the light glinting off his Yule gift, resting prettily on your clavicle. The sight makes him hungry.

“Copia, wow,” you breathe, giving him another slow once-over, “damn you look good.”

He’s jolted from the string of filth running through his mind by your assessment.

“Me? Dolcezza, you. You look…”

He knows the word he wants to use as his hands rest on your hips and before he can think better of it, it comes out.

“Delicious.”

The look on your face is well worth the bold step. Your painted lips part, eyes flicking over his features as he rubs circles with his gloved thumbs into your sides. You let out a breathy little laugh, placing your palms flat on his pectorals.

“Take me to dinner?” you ask, the lights in the hall glinting off your lip gloss. He nods.

“Eh…yes. Gladly. Shall we?”

He relinquishes his grip on you and steps back, offering you an arm which you take with a smile.

“Won’t you be cold, amore?” he asks, stopping mid stride. You grin and grab his arm, wrapping it around your waist nice and snug.

“When I’ve got you to keep me warm? Perish the thought.”

How he longs to feel the softness of your dress under his bare fingertips, and the pliant flesh underneath. For now he settles for holding you fast against him as the two of you exit the front doors and head to his ride. He rarely takes her out these days - too many responsibilities at the abbey - but he always has a ghoul make sure she’s in pristine condition when he can’t get to her. She’s in one of the garages and he motions for you to wait at the steps so you don’t have to make the treacherous walk in heels through gravel.

“Eh, I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he says before jogging off, fishing the keys out of the clever little pocket Terzo’s tailor sewed into the jacket. Unlocking the driver side door he slides in, praying to Satan she starts. She does, and she still purrs like a dream much to his satisfaction. Carefully, he pulls out and around to the driveway where you are waiting with a grin on your face. When he reaches your spot he puts the car in park and hustles out of his side over to the passenger door.

“Copia,” you say, giving both him and the car the once-over, “you continue to surprise me every day. A classic car?”

He shrugs, blushing as he opens the door for you and places his hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. When you’re seated and buckled he returns to the driver side and slides in next to you.

“Tell me about her,” you murmur, running your hands over the upholstery as he pulls out of the front gates.

“She’s eh, a 1968 Buick LeSabre,” he begins, heading down the dark road. It’s starting to drizzle.

“I don’t know shit about cars,” you say, smiling sheepishly at him, “but I love a good classic car. They have so much more character. Way sexier. I mean, who is imagining getting railed in the back of a Corolla?”

That makes him almost swerve off the road.

“You…you think about…”

“Well I do now,” there’s a slyness in your voice that makes his pants tighten and he’s thankful for the darkness masking him. You’ve got your arm resting on the back of the seat, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Oh, how he’d love to pull off the road and have you in the backseat. Make a mess of the leather and fog up the windows, your legs on his shoulders. His window starts to become cloudy and he realizes he’s mouthbreathing and you’re watching him very carefully. He needs to change the subject fast, or this date is going to be over before it even officially starts.

“H-have you been into the village much?”

You’ve stopped looking at him and turn your body to stare out the windshield, but a smile still lingers on your lips.

“Honestly? Only once and that was just to wander around. It’s so easy to rely on the abbey to provide everything, you kind of forget the outside world exists at all. Going home to see my parents was such a culture shock after being here so long. Does the outside feel…y’know…weird for you?”

He’s immensely glad you’ve diverted the conversation to something less stressful and he makes a little thoughtful noise.

“It did when I was younger, especially before I left Roma. As I traveled more, I got used to the stares my vestments would get. Most people just assumed I was Catholic. But…I never really fit in at the abbeys I was at, either. Too odd to really fit in in either world.”

He chides himself at the sadness in his voice - he would never regret being vulnerable with you but he would be lying if he said the thought of his life still didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth. You stay quiet, pensive, as the car enters the main street and pulls into a spot outside the restaurant. He shuts off the engine with a sigh, slapping his thighs. You’re looking at him with an expression he can’t quite read, and you nod minutely to yourself before unbuckling and getting out. He follows suit, jogging around the car to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders before opening the restaurant door.

–

Your date goes wonderfully: the food, delicious and the company even moreso. Copia’s friendliness with the owner, a woman in her seventies with a dyed bouffant, ensures that neither of you go hungry nor thirsty that night. By the time you finish your bruschetta, your risotto, your tiramisu, and several glasses of wine not only are you content, you’re practically buzzing. You’re not drunk - nowhere near it - simply just happy to be in this moment with the man you adore. Your boyfriend. Is he your boyfriend? It somehow feels too juvenile a term for the two of you. Eh, whatever. You’ll take it. You’re torn from your thoughts by a chuckling Copia, sipping at the dregs of his affogato.

“What? What?”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“Nothing, cara, nothing. You, eh, ready to go?”

You nod and slide your chair back, stretching, deeply looking forward to getting back to your quarters and taking these damn heels off. Lucia comes by for one last hug before the two of you walk out the door and Copia ushers you to the car. Fat drops begin to splatter on the windshield as you wait for your love to take you home. When he gets into the car you slide to the center seat to nestle into him as he pulls away and down the long road to the abbey. The two of you are quiet during the drive back, his arm wrapped around you as your heavy eyelids droop and the rain hammers steadily on the roof. He pulls around and stops at the front steps.

“Your…your heels?”

You smile and place a swift kiss on his cheek before exiting the vehicle and rushing to the dry entryway. He’s not terribly long behind you and the two of you hurry into the warmth. He holds your hand as you make the journey up to your rooms and when you open the door you sigh dramatically.

“Make yourself at home,” you murmur to him as he shuts the door. You’re currently preoccupied with removing your shoes and tossing them in a corner, to be dealt with tomorrow. He settles on the couch as you remove your earrings.

“You can put on Dick Clark, or whatever,” you throw over your shoulder as you pad over to the fridge and pull a bottle out, “I got champagne - well Terzo got us champagne technically - you interested?”

“Sì, sì,” he says with an enthusiastic nod, flipping through channels, “you say…Terzo gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” you reach in the cabinet for your flutes, “came by the other day with it, apparently it’s good stuff. I’ll drink the swill you get at the corner liquor store but I thought it was nice of him.”

“Hmm, yes. Nice.” Copia says, eyebrows pulled together. You step over to the couch and hand him his glass, clinking it with yours before settling in next to him with your legs tucked to the side.

If the wine at dinner didn’t go to your head, the champagne certainly does. The two of you have polished off the bottle - and just opened another, of the swill variety - and are laughing into one another on the couch.

“You did not do that to Nihil when you were a kid,” you gasp. Copia grins wide at you and nods, making you laugh all over again.

“It’s what the old man deserved,” he says simply, polishing off his glass.

“Listen, I don’t disagree with you but taking safety scissors to his hair…Christ, no wonder he’s always bitching at you.”

Your laughter slowly dies as you nuzzle into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne making you even more tipsy. He’s got his nose brushing against your hair and you wonder if he likes what he smells too.

“This is nice,” you murmur, as you lean up to place a slow kiss to his jaw. Your hand is resting on his chest and you feel his noise of agreement rumble through him. His hand comes up to cradle your head as you kiss your way to his lips. When you reach your destination he groans as you slip your tongue against his. You want this man so very badly, more than you ever have before. When you pull away briefly he looks befuddled as you stand up and look down at him. The way he gazes up at you as your fingers dance along his freckled cheekbone makes you feel far more tipsy than the champagne ever could. Without a word you kneel on one side of his leg and pull your other leg over to straddle him. His breathing is fast and rough as you scoot your hips so the two of you are flush.

“Dolcezza,” he finally breathes, “you…we shouldn’t…”

“But I want to,” you murmur against his lips, “I’ll wait. But let me have this. Please, Copia.”

There’s a slight whine to your voice in your pleading and you feel his cock twitch against you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you flex your hips experimentally. The catch of your underwear on your clit with the movement pushes you to repeat it, over and over. Copia growls, low, before sliding his gloved hands up your bare thighs, rucking your dress over your hips.

“Go on, cara,” he grits out, as if possessed “use me. Soak through these–” his hands toy with the waistband of your red lace underwear, “--and get your sweet smell all over me. Please. Please.”

His words knock the breath from your lungs as you grind against him. You don’t even have your hand on him but you can feel that he’s big and the curve of him nudges your clit so beautifully. You’re biting your lip as you ride him, his large hands pulling and pushing your body.

“C-Copia,” you whimper, and he bucks up against you, “feel so good. Fuck I–”

You can’t even get the words out before one of his hands grabs the back of your head and pulls you down. You’re panting into each other’s mouths even as you lick and suck and rut your hips. When you finally have to pull away for breath, Copia keeps his hand at the back of your head, pressing your foreheads together.

“I am going to ruin you, amata,” he grunts, thrusting sharply against you in time with each roll of your hips, “you have n-no idea. I will hold you down and take and b-bring you such pleasure no one else will ever sate you. Sei il mio tutto.”

You feel a gush of slick come out of you at his words, your pace picking up.

“Please, Copia,” you whine, “please I need it, need you, I-I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He’s gripping your thighs with greater force now, hard enough you know he’s going to leave bruises and the thought makes you even wetter.

“Bellezza mia,” he moans as your hips move frantically against him, your eyes rolling back at the way his cock bumps your swollen clit, “anima mia, you have no–ah–no idea what you do to me. Ragazza perfetta–ragazza amata–”

Your head tilts back as you breathlessly chant - right there, right there, yes, yes, don’t stop - and he ruts up against you, his thrusts erratic. When you cum you moan long and loud - far more wanton than any sound you’ve ever coaxed out of yourself while on your own - and you feel the two scraps of fabric separating you become drenched. He’s not far behind and with a hoarse shout his cock kicks against you and the warmth of his seed soaks his trousers. You’re both trembling as you brush noses with him and press your forehead against his. Muffled cheering comes from the TV behind you, breaking your bubble, and you move to look but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and softly brushes his lips against yours. It’s achingly tender and when the two of you slowly part he blinks up at you. You swear his white eye is glowing.

“Happy New Year,” you murmur, your arms still slung around his neck.

“Happy New Year, amore mio,” he breathes.

You could rest in his lap like this forever, were it not clear to you that he must be incredibly uncomfortable - both with the weight and the mess in his pants. When you scoot back and place your feet on the floor to stand, your knees nearly give out.

“I’ll um…” you begin, distracted by the way his gloved fingers toy with the hem of your dress, “d-do you want to stay? Not…not to…just to sleep.”

You expect him to recoil, to anxiously but gently reject you as he has in the past.

“Sì…yes. I would like that. I should…go shower…change…”

“Of course, me too,” you nod, giving him space to move. You’re overjoyed he’s agreed and smile at him warmly as he raises himself from the couch. He cups your cheek with his palm and drags his thumb along the skin.

“Some champagne, huh?” he says with a wry grin, making you snort.

“Powerful stuff,” you agree. Slowly, gently he closes the distance between you for another painfully tender kiss.

“I’ll be back, sì?” he tells you before placing another soft kiss on your forehead. You nod and reluctantly let him pull away, watching him walk towards the door and open it. He gives you one last smile before shutting it behind him.

This time, your knees really do give out.

#curator reader series #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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