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say-al0e · 2 years

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Put Up or Shut Up

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Steve hadn’t been looking for love when he drove to Eddie’s, certainly hadn’t expected to find it in the shape of you perched on the soft couch with kohl rimmed eyes and chipped black nail polish, but maybe that’s what made it so special. | ft. “You’re really not together?” “No.” “You wouldn’t mind if I asked her out, then?” requested by anon.

Pairing: Steve x fem!Reader

Warnings: Set in season 4 but no spoilers aside from Eddie/Hellfire’s existence. No physical description of reader other than dresses in black/alt style, Eddie’s the annoying best friend who is enjoying seeing Steve suffer (in a friendly way, of course), and, uh, I think that’s it?

Word Count: 6.1k

Stranger Things Masterlist

“No, man, you gotta tilt the - here, let me help.”

Steve huffed, the sound exaggerated and infinitely exhausted, as Eddie - who’d been content criticizing the decorations from the sidelines instead of actually hanging them for the better part of an hour - pressed his cigarette into the ashtray and crossed the backyard to reach for a corner of the homemade banner.

The paper was filled entirely with a hodgepodge of drawings - the only ones with any sort of artistic merit belonged to Eddie and Will - all in celebration of you. It included scribbled messages, little well wishes and inside jokes, as well as a handful of stick figures drawn in your favorite colors. Eddie was right, it was mostly crooked, as were the other decorations Steve had strung up since stepping into his backyard, but Steve knew it would make your day.

A small part of him hoped you might tear up - happy tears, never sad, elated at the thought and love that went into making the day special for you - just so he would have a chance to pull you into an embrace. It would give him an excuse to hold on to you tight, to wrap you in his arms and keep you close as you attempted to keep the others from seeing your red-rimmed eyes, and as pathetic as it was, it was all he could think about as he tacked his edge of the banner a little higher up the fence.

Though silence was unusual for the both of them, a hush that Steve had learned to anticipate when left alone with Eddie befell them as they worked. Their friendship was still uncharted territory, not exactly uncomfortable but not quite established enough to be completely at ease as they were both so different.

It was built around a shared fondness for a group of outcast children - no longer children, teens, edging into that age they both recalled with a grimace as they anticipated the hell they would soon be put through - and had moments of understanding, moments they were completely on the same page, but Steve was often reminded that Eddie had the upper hand.

Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will all deemed Eddie significantly cooler than Steve - Max called them both losers, El liked both well enough - and Steve blamed it all on Eddie’s hair and metal and fondness for Dungeons and Dragons. Still, that was of little significance when something even more devastating was happening.

Somewhere between driving Dustin to Eddie’s for what the fourteen year old menace deemed to be the most incredibly important conversation of all time - it wasn’t, it was about a one-off campaign Dustin wanted to DM, with Eddie’s blessing - and Eddie crashing into Family Video in search of a new horror film with you in tow, Steve developed a crush on Eddie’s best friend.

That first trip to Eddie’s trailer was the first time you met - not really; Steve was reminded that you were in his graduating class, that you sat a row over from him in at least two classes, but he spent most of his high school career with his head so far up his own ass that it was a miracle he’d remembered anything at all.

When Steve first saw you, you were perched on Eddie’s couch, dressed mostly in black and grinning as you watched Eddie and Dustin roughhouse in the living room. You looked markedly different than the last time he saw you - something he realized after taking a look through a high school yearbook when he couldn’t sleep, flipping pages until he came across a familiar face - but you still smiled at him, friendly in a way he hadn’t expected, and greeted him by name.

There was nothing there at first, other than an acknowledgement on Steve’s part that he found you attractive. Something about your look - messy eyeliner, dark nail polish, and silver rings all topped with a sunny smile - caught his eye in a way it never had before. The shorts and skirts you wore were different than the modest, muted tone pieces he’d seen you wear in high school and he could admit that he appreciated the change.

The more Steve was able to interact with you, however, the more smitten he became.

At first, your interactions were fleeting. Steve saw you with Eddie whenever he dropped Dustin off or picked him up, felt his heart beat just a little faster when you smiled at him and laughed every time you leaned in to share conspiratorial whispers about how the pair of you were being replaced by your respective friends. He saw you when you ventured into Family Video with Eddie, laughing as the metalhead sorted through the abysmally understocked horror shelf with a pout, before you seated yourself on the edge of the counter and asked about his day.

Slowly, and almost without his notice, you became a bigger part of his life. Dustin dragged Eddie - who, in turn, dragged you - into movie nights, all stuffed into the Wheeler’s basement or scattered around Steve’s living room. Robin invited you to swim with them, sat with you under the umbrellas on the deck and laughed as you watched the children gang up on him and Eddie. You began to wander into Family Video on your breaks from the music store across the street, usually with some kind of treat in hand for both him and Robin, just to spend a few moments with people your own age.

Steve imagined you all got along so well because you all lacked friends your own age - he had Robin, now he had you and Eddie - but he soon realized that he genuinely enjoyed getting to know you. It had nothing to do with wanting to expand his social circle beyond a group of children, he truly liked having you around. He enjoyed your company, soon realized that seeing you was the highlight of his days, and was almost upset when he realized that his initial observation that you were attractive had developed into a full-blown crush.

Initially, Steve tried to keep his crush to himself. It would go away - the feeling of liking someone again was novel, juvenile, something he hadn’t felt since Nancy, and he just needed time to get it out of his system, just as he had when he’d initially crushed on Robin - so there was no need to make things difficult. He was glad to have another friend, someone he could count on, and the more he was able to observe you and Eddie, the less likely he deemed it that you would be interested in him, anyway.

However, Steve’s poker face was dreadful, almost nonexistent, and the more time he spent with you, the more obvious his crush became to everyone.

Robin realized it first, not long after Steve did - a realization he felt certain was due to how difficult he found it to just be normal in your presence, how hard he found it to stop thinking about kissing you or holding your hand after he realized his feelings truly were less platonic and more romantic. She’d seen enough of his attempts at flirting over the course of their friendship to recognize the look in his eyes when you wandered in, could see the way his gaze followed your form as you flitted around the store, and was the one who broke the news to Steve that you were single.

Upon learning that you were just friends with Eddie - physically close, comfortable with one another, but just friends - Steve fell even harder and Robin resurrected her scoreboard from the dead. Each interaction with you seemed to earn Steve a tally mark on the ‘you suck’ side of the board but he decided he would take it, just so long as he was able to see you smile.

Eddie was next, slower to realize but able to catch each of Steve’s tells the moment he did, and was delighted by the turn of events. He wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of them together but he was amused beyond belief and made it his personal mission to irritate the hell out of Steve any time he had the chance. Eddie dropped hints so large they may as well have been anvils, hints that landed at your feet but never seemed to make you blink while Steve was constantly on the verge of an aneurysm.

The friendship you shared with Eddie was always physical - one of the reasons Steve initially assumed there was more than friendship between you - but he played it up any time you were in Steve’s presence, always keeping an arm around your waist or shoulders, and grinned each time Steve rolled his eyes.

If you noticed, you never said anything. Though, as time wore on, Steve began to imagine that you simply hadn’t realized. Like him, feelings weren’t exactly your thing - you joked that you sometimes felt like an alien, not quite in touch with them in a way so many other people were - and Steve knew that if anything were to happen between you, he would have to make a move.

And the more time you spent together, the harder it was for him to keep from acting on his feelings.

To everyone around you, it was obvious that you had more in common with Eddie. You shared the same taste in movies, music, books, hobbies; your sense of humor was the same, a little odd and a little sarcastic; you both looked like darkness incarnate, dressed mostly in black, but smiled more than nearly anyone else. Still, you and Steve complemented one another in a way that made his heart soar.

The pieces that were so different - the hobbies, the taste in music and movies and books, the general disposition - filled gaps that had evolved due to your respective comfort zones. Steve could count on you to introduce him to new things, things he would’ve never given a second thought otherwise, while he gave you a glimpse into more popular culture. You brightened his day, gave him reasons to smile that would’ve never occurred to him otherwise, while he encouraged the sarcastic streak he’d only seen you use with Eddie.

Time spent alone, together without Eddie or Robin or the kids, began to happen more often and Steve knew that he was fucked. He didn’t need to remember that he was throwing you a surprise birthday party, hidden away in his backyard with your best friend - with whom he had so very little in common, other than you and the friendship of a wayward teenager -, to be reminded of that.

Still, Eddie never passed up the opportunity to remind Steve of just how bad his crush had gotten.

“Y’know,” Eddie hummed, breaking the silence that had grown suffocating as they worked to string lights along the edge of the fence. “A pretty little birdie told me you like Bradbury.”

Steve wasn’t much of a reader - that was a fact most people knew - but you were and he could hear the implication in Eddie’s tone. A small part of him was elated that you talked about him, overjoyed that you’d talked about him to Eddie, potentially in the same way he talked to Robin about you, but the bigger part was embarrassed that he’d been caught.

The only reason he’d picked up a Bradbury book in the first place was because he was your favorite and Steve knew that was a fact Eddie also had tucked away in his memory. Eddie’s snicker made Steve roll his eyes, even as he felt an embarrassed heat creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks. “I know this might surprise you, Munson,” he huffed, a little too defensive as he focused on tracking a strand of lights to the fence, “but I can read. I graduated, remember?”

“Ouch.” From the corner of his eye, Steve watched as Eddie recoiled dramatically and threw a hand to his chest. Ringed fingers clutched at the denim and leather, gasping all the while, and Steve sighed as he turned to face him. “Low blow, Harrington,” Eddie declared, though he was grinning as he spoke. “I’m just saying, I never took you for a contemporary American literature kinda guy, let alone a sci-fi kinda guy. I Sing the Body Electric! isn’t exactly a part of Hawkins High’s English curriculum.” Steve spared a glance at the worn paperback - sitting abandoned on the table, left where he’d tossed it the moment Eddie stepped into his backyard with a bagful of supplies - with yellowed pages and dogeared from his attempts to read through it, as Eddie snickered. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

Eddie was right - Steve knew that, had admitted it to himself - but he’d never dream of speaking that aloud. Eddie had enough ammunition as it was, could see right through Steve without him admitting what everyone already knew to be true. Instead of huffing something witty, snapping back with a quip that would make Eddie laugh, Steve turned his attention back to the remaining decorations.

“Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and help me get the lights up, dude. Everyone will be here soon.”

The party was a joint effort, something he and Eddie decided to do for you with little discussion, and he was glad this was where they’d ended up. As much as Steve loved spending time with you alone, he truly enjoyed seeing how seamlessly you fit into the group of misfits that he loved so much.

Though you were a relatively recent addition to his life, it seemed as if you’d always been a part of it and, as he waited for you to walk through the gate, he knew that he wanted you to continue being a part of it for as long as you’d have him.

Everyone loved you, a fact that was made evident by the effort they all put into helping prepare for the party, and he could practically feel the excitement as they all began trickling into the backyard. The kids had a gift for you - a walkie of your own, just like the one he’d been gifted only a year prior - and nearly blew the entire surprise the moment they heard your car pull into the driveway.

Robin had been charged with keeping you distracted, something Steve knew she would do well - though he’d questioned it when Eddie first proposed the idea, wondering if she would distract you so well she forgot about the party or accidentally let it slip - and stepped through the gate first. He could see the struggle to hide her smile, the way she lifted her hand to her mouth to cover her face, and would’ve rolled his eyes had you not followed so close behind.

The moment you stepped through the gate, the world around him disappeared. You were all he could focus on. The dress you wore was one of his favorites - a dark blue one, just a little shorter than most of the others in your closet, that was always accompanied by that denim jacket covered in patches and pins - and he was left to wonder if you’d worn it because Robin told you you’d see him later. Each time he saw you, he was struck by how beautiful you were; could feel it weighing on his chest, heavy and warm, and curling around his lungs in the most pleasant way.

In the flickering fairy lights and fading sunlight, Steve could see the warmth illuminate your eyes. Just at the sight of all your friends, before anyone could even yell surprise, he saw a burst of something fond and so grateful it almost hurt cross your face as your lips parted in surprise. And when the disjointed yell filled the night air, rang in his ears and settled heavy on his chest, he could see that he’d gotten his wish.

Even in the low light, it was obvious that you were blinking back tears - as tough as he considered you, as tough as everyone saw you, you had a marshmallow heart, easily dissolved by those around you, and it only made Steve fall harder - and Eddie was the first to reach out for you. Though he only held you for a moment, Steve felt anticipatory jitters fill his stomach as you turned to him with a watery smile.

Before he could so much as blink, you closed the gap and tossed your arms around his waist. Steve exhaled at the contact - relieved to feel your warmth bleeding through the layers of your dress - as his own arms wound around your shoulders. His hands pressed to your back, fingers dipping beneath denim to pull you in closer, and he laughed quietly as you buried your face in the cotton covering his chest.

“You’re gonna get makeup on my shirt, you crybaby.” The tease came out softer than he intended, a whisper into the breeze and so fond he knew there was no way you’d take it to heart, as his hands brushed along the expanse of your back. He’d let you ruin every shirt in his closet if it meant having you this close, though that went unsaid as your shoulders shook in quiet laughter.

“M’not sorry.” Though he couldn’t see your face, Steve could hear the grin in your voice - a little watery and just as fond as his own teasing had been - and laughed a little louder as you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist. He was grateful you couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the pink dusting along his cheeks or the red tips of his ears, as you whispered, “Thank you. This is really nice, Steve.”

Desperate to regulate the beat of his heart, calm it to a reasonable hum, and swallow the butterflies swarming in the pit of his stomach, Steve squeezed your shoulder. “It’d be a lot nicer if you took a look around, sweetheart. I decorated.”

Behind you, Eddie scoffed and reached for the pack of cigarettes stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket. When Robin shot him a look - one Max and El mimicked and held with a conviction that made everyone else snicker - he huffed and returned them as he clarified, “We decorated, Harrington. It was a joint effort, man.”

Steve felt the shake of your shoulders as you laughed, the puff of your breath warming his skin even through the fabric of his shirt, and never wanted to release his hold on you. You fit perfectly in his arms, as if you were made special for him, and the warmth of your body pressed to his filled his chest with an ache he hadn’t felt in years.

Still, there was a party to be had and the knowing smiles of all of your friends made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten anything done without your supervision, Munson.” Steve squeezed you once more, his fingers pressing into your hip as you laughed, before he released his hold on you and gently nudged you away. “Everyone helped with the banner. Go check it out so you can cry some more,” he ordered softly, grinning as he caught sight of your glittering eyes.

The smile on your face grew tenfold as you caught sight of the banner. It was unlike any Steve had seen from you before, so bright and happy that he’d gladly throw a thousand more parties just to see that smile again, and he couldn’t help but laugh as your eyes watered.

“I don’t expect gifts, but I hope someone got me a box of tissues. Talk about useful.” The joke earned a round of laughter - everyone was starting to realize just how soft you truly were, how easy it was to dissolve you into tears - as the kids wandered closer to point out their contributions to the banner.

Though you weren’t looking at him, Steve still raised a brow as he leaned against the small table filled with the widest selection of junk food Bradley’s offered. “We were supposed to get gifts?”

Steve grinned as you shot him a look over your shoulder, eyes narrowed playfully, and watched as you shook your head. “You’re the worst, Harrington.”

“Only for you, babe.”

The conversation tapered off then, left with fond smiles shared across the back yard and faded into a buzz of overlapping chatter as the kids swarmed you. He caught bits and pieces as they began recounting details of their day - little moments that earned a comment from Eddie when they mentioned Hellfire or a teasing gasp from Robin when teenage drama became the topic at hand - and he watched fondly as you took it all in stride.

There were gifts, he’d made sure of that. The walkie was the biggest - all the kids chipped in and, when they fell a little short, he, Robin, and Eddie picked up the slack - but there were a handful of little parcels, all badly wrapped, stacked behind the piles of junk. Eddie got you a cassette, some metal band you both loved; Robin, a new bracelet from the thrift store you both frequented. Will painted you a beautiful nature scene, inspired by a photograph you’d taken, Dustin had worked with Eddie to build you your own Dungeons and Dragons manual, and Max refused to tell anyone what her gift was but Steve knew it was bound to make you tear up yet again.

An increasingly familiar warmth, one he only seemed to feel in your presence, settled in the hollow of his chest as he wandered over to a lounge chair. It nipped at his skin like the warmth of summer - fitting, given the scent of your perfume, the way it always reminded him of a warm summer day - and crumbled the remaining desire to try and hide his smile as he observed the scene at hand.

Like him, you had a small family. Your parents were around, always eager to welcome him, Eddie, Robin, and the children into their home, but no siblings and few close friends outside of the people inhabiting his backyard. You once confided that you found solace in the chaos, found it comforting to be confronted with the chatter of a handful of children and a few seemingly out of place young adults, and he swore that was the moment he knew his heart belonged to you.

“You’re staring, Harrington. It’s getting creepy.”

Eddie fell onto the lounge chair beside Steve, soda in one hand and a cigarette in the other, as the kids competed for your attention. You’d been talking to Max, spent most of your time listening as she filled your ears with words he’d never even attempt to guess, and Eddie pointedly kept his gaze on you - eyes following your every move, watching fondly as you moved to ruffle Dustin’s hair - while he glanced down at the Coke in his hands.

There was no way to pretend he hadn’t been caught - no way to pretend he hadn’t spent the last hour observing you, watching from a distance as you relished in the time you were spending with everyone - but this was a conversation they’d had a thousand times already. Eddie caught Steve staring, poked and prodded until Steve got annoyed, and ultimately ended up leaving with you instead of leaving you with him.

Tonight was going to be different, though.

Steve ignored Eddie’s observation, deemed it unworthy of a response, and instead turned to him with a concentrated frown. “You’re really not together, right? No feelings, no secret crush, nothing more than friendship?”

A question repeated a thousand times, asked one too many times to be excused as casual interest on Steve’s part, that never failed to make Eddie roll his eyes. He took a sip of his soda before he sighed. “No.”

It was a conversation they’d had a thousand times by now but that didn’t stop Steve from asking a question he knew the answer to. “Then, you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?”

Eddie scoffed as he finally tilted his head to fix Steve with a look he couldn’t quite read. Eddie sized him up, eyes narrowed in a concentration Steve wasn’t exactly used to seeing from him, before he laughed. “I wouldn’t,” Eddie assured him, “but it’s not like you’re going to. You were going to ask her to see a movie. Then, you were going to ask her to go to the diner with you. Then, it was that museum in Indianapolis she kept talking about. We’ve had this conversation so many times, I think I can have it entirely by myself at this point, Harrington.”

Steve knew what Eddie meant. The conversation was routine at this point, something they both expected to happy nearly every time they occupied the same space, but he still huffed as he cut his eyes at Eddie. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Eddie declared, standing and poking an accusatory finger at Steve, “that it’s time for you to put up or shut up, Harrington. Ask her out or stop asking me the same questions. Not to be a dick, man, but everyone knows. If you’re serious, it’s time to do something about it.”

As Eddie walked away, wandering in the direction of the group - eager to claim the attention of the children and buy you a moment - Steve reminded himself that the touch love act was just that. He’d tried being nice, coaxing and encouraging, and Steve was grateful that Eddie hadn’t given up yet.

Though he could annoy him to no end, Eddie loved you and had grown on Steve in a way he’d never expected. He wanted the best for both of you, his best friend and the guy who - he begrudgingly admitted - made her happy, and Steve was grateful for the push as he watched Eddie nudge you in his direction with a raised brow.

Robin met Steve’s as you crossed the concrete deck, brows raised and the question of whether this would be the moment burning bright, but he ignored it - rolled his eyes, even as his cheeks flushed a warm pink - and let his attention role solely to you.

Before he could so much as blink, you settled into the chair Eddie occupied only moments earlier and tilted your head to grin at him. The night had gone dark around you all, the air had grown cooler, but in the twinkling string lights, Steve still marveled at the brightness of your eyes.

“Hi, stranger. I feel like I haven’t seen you all night.” You hadn’t - Steve knew that - and he was partially to blame. As much as he’d wanted to monopolize your time, spend the night celebrating by your side, he’d been selfish. There were so few moments he was given to just sit, to observe without fear of being caught, and he’d taken full advantage of the chance to watch as you floated around his backyard.

“The kids have been glued to your side. Think Henderson’s annoyed Eddie gave you an out.” From across the deck, Steve could see the suspicious look in Dustin’s eyes as he watched the interaction. As much as Dustin loved Steve - and Eddie - he’d lamented Steve’s crush on more than one occasion and made it clear that if Steve fucked up, there would be no help as he sought redemption. “They all love you. You know that, right?”

That knowledge wasn’t the most important thing in the world and it changed very little - there wasn’t much to be gained from the love of a group of teenagers you known less than a year - but Steve was grateful that you treated it as if it was.

The curve of your lips, a soft smile that you reserved for him, blinded him. Nothing else existed, nothing else compared, and he nearly missed the soft laugh that escaped as you tilted your head to glance at the group who’d since set their sights on Eddie. “If I didn’t before tonight, I totally do now.” He caught the way your eyes lingered on the small mountain of treasure, the few little trinkets you’d been gifted, and felt his skin heat despite the cool night air. “I’m gonna have to stuff the walkie under my bed to get some sleep, though, huh?”

It was a moment of levity, needed as the air suddenly began to feel a little too stifling, and Steve laughed. “Oh, yeah. Can’t tell you how many times Henderson’s radioed me in the middle of the night because he was bored. He spent thirty minutes talking to me about Suzie last week.”

“It’s sweet,” you cooed, grinning at him as you reached out to grasp his forearm. “Young love and all. Max has gotten to the point where she’ll say something about her and Lucas before she realizes what she’s said. It’s too much for my heart.”

Steve’s mouth felt a little too dry, full of cotton and words he imagined should remain unspoken, as your fingers trailed over the back of his hand. He had no idea what shapes you were tracing against his skin, couldn’t focus long enough to decipher them, but that didn’t matter when you glanced at him from beneath your lashes and smiled.

“Who would’ve thought,” he hummed, a little breathless and with far less bravado than he intended, “that the pretty metalhead would be such a hopeless romantic.”

“I wouldn’t call it hopeless,” you teased, grinning as your eyes met. “Hopeful, maybe. An optimist, despite the black clothes and metal. I don’t think you have much room to talk, though, Romeo.”

The thud of his heart against his ribcage sounded a little too loud, felt a little too hard, as you shifted closer. The creak of your lounge chair and the scruff of metal against concrete should’ve grated on his nerves but when you shuffled close enough for him to smell your shampoo, everything outside of you ceased to exist.

“No, I think I’m pretty hopeless,” he teased, light but self-deprecating in a way that made you frown.

“Steve.” The chiding was soft, lacking the necessary heat, but he still flipped his hand to brush his thumb across your palm in apology, anyway.

“You didn’t let me finish, babe.” He levels you with an unimpressed look, lacking any real disappointment, as you shake your head. “Hopeless, but a little optimistic, too, especially when it comes to love.”

“That why you keep going on all those dates?”

Weeks had passed since Steve had last gone on a date. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t really fathom the idea of going out with someone who wasn’t you. But, maybe you had a point. He’d gone on a thousand dates - not really, but that’s what it felt like some days - in search of love, someone to hold close and make laugh.

As his eyes returned to yours, bright and warm even in the dim light, Steve smiled. “Maybe, but I think I know what people meant when they said you find love where you’re not really looking for it.”

Steve hadn’t been looking for love when he drove to Eddie’s, certainly hadn’t expected to find it in the shape of you perched on the soft couch with kohl rimmed eyes and chipped black nail polish, but maybe that’s what made it so special. There was no forcing it, no expectations beyond getting to know someone he should’ve known a long time ago, and though Steve was terrified to fuck it all up, he hoped you’d give him the chance to explore the warmth filling his chest.

“You think you’ve found love?”

The raise of your brows was wary, cautious, but a little amused as your fingers drifted higher to trace the band of his watch. He wondered if you really had no idea, if you really couldn’t see the way he looked at you, especially when it seemed so fucking obvious to everyone else.

“I’m not sure.” His answer was syrup slow, nearly a whisper in the darkness as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “But maybe you could help me figure it out, let me take you on a date.”

Wide eyes, blinking slow and a little dazed, lingered for a moment as your lips parted in surprise. Steve could see the flicker of emotion as you processed his request but before he could grow nervous, afraid of what your response might be, your mouth turned up at the corners.

“Depends, Harrington. Where’re you takin’ me?”

Steve’s grin matched yours, a little blinding and a little giddy, as he shifted his body just enough to reach for the small box he’d hidden. “This was going to be the plan for our first date. It gave me a deadline,” he explained, only a little heat flooding his cheeks as he passed you the box, “but it’s in three weeks and I don’t think I can wait that long. Maybe our first date can be at the diner, or the drive-in?” He missed the warmth of your hand immediately, wanted to chase it with his own, but knew that could wait as he studied you.

“The diner sounds nice, but so does the drive-in. Honestly, I think we could just sit in the park and I’d be happy to call that a date.” The honesty was not new - Steve expected blunt, soft but straight to the point - and felt a little dizzy as your words rang in his ears. “But now I’m curious.” He barely remembered the gift, a rectangular box that was lighter than anything else, until he heard your gasp. “Steve, holy shit.”

Two small pieces of paper - pieces he’d gone to Indianapolis to pick up, nervous all the while on the chance you turned him down - peeked out over tissue paper. They were tickets to see Tom Petty, an artist you both agreed on and listened to amicably in the solitude of his car, away from the teasing of Eddie and Robin and the kids, and he could see the glittering of your eyes as you raked a finger over the paper.

“It’s not metal,” he teased, grinning a little as he pressed his hand to your knee. “But I thought it could be fun. Neither of us have seen him so I figured we could make a day of it. Go to that museum and walk around the city a little, just to explore, before the concert. What d’you think?”

“I think I’m going to cry again. You gotta stop reducing me to tears, Harrington, s’not nice.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a marshmallow heart, babe. C’mere.”

Steve grinned, heart light and head fuzzy, as he pushed himself into a seated position on the lounge chair and held open his arms. With no hesitation, you closed the gap and settled on his lap with your arms thrown around his neck. He could feel your breath fan across his skin, sticky and warm and a little dizzying, as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo.

“Thank you, Steve. I’m so excited.” The words were muffled by his skin, spoken into his neck in a way that made him shiver, and he tightened his arms around your waist as he hummed. “Is tomorrow too soon for a date? I know we’ve both got to work but, you know, maybe after?”

“If I wasn’t worried the kids would trash my house, I’d take you out right now, babe.” He wanted to, would have were it not for the children shouting across the deck, but tomorrow would do. He’d waited months already, could wait less than twenty-four hours, and you seemed to be of the same opinion as you lifted your head to glance at the rowdy bunch as they cornered Eddie.

“That’s fair. Tomorrow, then. The diner, after work?”

When you looked at him like that, soft and sweet and so fucking pretty, Steve would’ve said yes to anything. So, he nodded. “It’s a date.”

As hard as he tried, Steve couldn’t keep the smile off his face the rest of the night. No matter where you went, it was never far and his hand rarely left yours. He was grateful that the teasing had been staved off - likely a kindness granted for your birthday, one that wouldn’t be extended beyond the night - but knew he wouldn’t be so lucky when you were out of earshot.

The next morning, when Steve wandered into Family Video with a spring in his step and a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, he was met with the sight of Robin standing behind the counter. She held her board in one hand and a marker in the other. When he raised a brow, she drew a single tally under the ‘You Rule’ heading.

“Way to go, dingus. You got the girl.”

Steve Harrington got the girl and he was going to do all he could to keep you.

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Author’s Note: I’m playing softball for the first time in like ten years and I think I have heat stroke, send help. Or Steve. Either one works. I always get so nervous to write Steve. I feel like he’s so ooc. Ugh. I’m trying my best, I promise.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

If you’re not tagged, it’s because Tumblr wouldn’t let me!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #v's fics

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terrence-silver · 22 days

Note

Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

---

I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

#high school sweetheart!beloved #terry silver #terry silver twig #twig terry silver #tw; vietnam #tw; soldiers #tw; military life #letters #tw; pow captivity #tw; vietnam war #john kreese #captain george turner #captain turner #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #fluff #dark fluff #angst #ponytail

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obsessedtomone · 2 months

Text

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 15 - Doll▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤“And to think that all I had to do was take you the way I originally wanted to, huh? Here I thought I’d wait for you to come around,” he exhales and begins sliding your pants down your waist.

“Fuck—Slow down!” you mewl weakly, digging your nails into the rim of your desk and feeling your legs almost buckling under him.

“Like hell I will. I’ve seen your hand now, slut.”◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Very Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ???, Toxic Romance Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Past Child Abuse, Bullying, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Eleven • Twelve • Thirteen • Fourteen • Fifteen • Sixteen • Updates every Monday!

Chapter 15 - Doll “Hoooooly fuck! Look at this! Hahaha!” His voice bounced against the walls of the room.

You panic, mentally going through all the options you have in the span of a second.

Unplug the cable to your computer or go for the power button and shut it down.

One of the options being under the desk in the back—and you’re not about to get in dick-sucking position for gamers 101 with him right now—and the latter being hooking your hand over his leg and holding the button pressed before he catches you.

Both options were out of the question, so you pick for option number three, going in to alt+f4 the fuck out of your browser.

As it turns out, your little mental dilemma was completely unnecessary when you realize Shigaraki—as always—is too fucking fast for you, grabbing you by your waist harshly and sitting you down on his lap while promptly restraining your wrists.

“There’s no point closing it. I’ve already skimmed through half of them while you were ignoring me, loser.” He grins, pulling you closer to him and away from the keyboard, while he could still reach and click around. “Don’t squirm too much unless you’re trying to get me hard.”

You think you could die right fucking now and you’d be fine with it.

But then again, weren’t you always?

“Let’s see,” he starts, and you try really hard to get off of him again, unable to bear the fucking shame of what’s to come. “Told you to stop moving, moron. Now pay attention here,” he orders, keeping you close to him. “Oooh, praise kink! You want me to call you my good girl?” Shigaraki coos really close to your ear with a sickly sweet voice and it sets your face on fucking fire, rendering you absolutely speechless.

“Oh my god, you do!” he exclaims, giggling. “What else? Dirty talk, degradation—fucking creampie?! Mmmh, you filthy slut. Should I fill your tight little pussy up with my cum?” he moans obscenely next to you and suddenly you feel way too hot, too fucking embarrased, so you shoot your hand to cover his mouth and wish you could grab the keyboard and beat him to death with it, picturing little bloody keycaps flying all around the room.

Shigaraki wakes you up from your brief coping daydream by licking your palm sloppily in retaliation, immediately grossing you out and making you pull your hand away. You wipe his saliva against his shirt, your body still still going through the after-shocks of repulsion.

When you look at him again, he gives you another one of his half-lidded smirks.

His leg shifts, holding your waist even tighter against his lap and you feel something hard pressing against your ass.

“S-Stop that! Let me go!” you plead, but his arms won’t loosen up.

“Look.” He drags the mouse and highlights a word on your screen. You glance at it and then promptly look the other way, the ugly white paint on the walls of your apartment suddenly being infinitely more interesting. “What does that say? Hm?” He rocks you against him. “Speak, slut.”

“No! Fuck off and let go!” You claw at his hand, scratching and pinching at him to let you go but he doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he grinds his erection against you again, groaning and nuzzling into your neck—any previous inhibitions about letting you off the hook for now were gone right out of the window.

“My precious little slut is always fucking lying to me,” he says in a sing-song tone, biting the back of your sensitive neck harshly and causing you to whimper. “You fucking freak,” he pants, “Mindbreak? Breeding? You want me to breed you, make you scream on my cock until you can’t even think anymore? Is that it?”

He slides his hand up your back and pushes your shoulder forward and down—hard enough for you to have to bend and grip your desk in order to catch yourself from falling altogether.

“Hahaha,” he laughs darkly, scrolling the website and reading through more of your favorited fucking tags, “Dubcon, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, emotional manipulation—Jesus. Even rape? Holy shit,” he snickers, standing both of you up but keeping you nice and bent for him.

You shudder, making a strangled noise when he thrusts himself against your sex roughly.

“You’re so fucked in the head,” he cackles. “Is that why you provoke me all the fucking time? You want me to get mad? To break you? Make you—ahh, fuck—my own personal cocksleeve?” Shigaraki breathes heavily, bending himself over your back and using one arm around your waist to lift your hips, high enough for him to be perfectly slotted against your backside.

You moaned at the repeated cruel drag of his length against you, the raspy sound of his voice shamefully sending electricity all the way to your clit.

“And to think that all I had to do was take you the way I originally wanted to, huh? Here I thought I’d wait for you to come around,” he exhales and begins sliding your pants down your waist.

“Fuck—Slow down!” you mewl weakly, digging your nails into the rim of your desk and feeling your legs almost buckling under him.

“Like hell I will. I’ve seen your hand now, slut.”

“That doesn’t fucking count! You—You can’t compare fantasy with fucking reality, Shigaraki!” you cry his name out, when you feel him snake his digits below the band of your underwear and sliding two rough fingers against your slit, the pads brushing firmly against your sensitive clit, gliding past it until he reaches your opening and teases it.

He feels the resistance and pushes both of his fingers inside you at once, the sudden stretch feeling really uncomfortable at first. Your back arched in response, hips involuntarily jerking against his hand and he begins lazily fucking his long fingers into your cunt.

“You’re such a fucking liar. Look at how wet you are for me, fuck.” He takes his hand out of your panties, splaying his slick-covered fingers in front of your face and presenting them to you proudly.

Your head turns around, face flustered and you glare at him through glossy eyes as he licks them off, starting all the way from the tips, then pushing them knuckle by knuckle inside of his mouth and making a great show of sucking on them.

Shigaraki’s eyes fluttered closed and he groaned like he’s never tasted anything better before in his life.

And maybe he hasn’t, because to him there was nothing sweeter tasting than victory itself, making you his hard-earned prize.

“What, you wanted some too?” He leans in and whispers huskily, completely drunk on his lust—on you, “Shame, because I don't feel like fucking sharing today.”

Then all of the sudden, his warmth leaves your back and you gasp, immediately feeling yourself missing the contact. You curse at yourself for folding so easily.

He doesn't leave you for long, though, can’t afford to when there’s so much he wants to do to you now.

“Take them off, sit on the chair and spread your legs wide for me,” he commands in a low serious tone, making you feel just how fast your heart was pounding. “I’m going to fucking devour you tonight, slut.”

It briefly crosses your hazy mind to refuse him and run out of the house, never turning back—but you were extremely turned on and… and there’s never been someone so eager to have you the way he does, especially when the electricity between the two of you, among the hatred and the violence, was undeniable.

You, broken enough to let him have his way with you.

Him, fucked up enough to claim you.

It was a line you didn’t want to cross, not with him, not really. But the way your hands had a mind of their own as you reached for the waistband of your pants, sliding them down your thighs while you were watching him palm the outline of his erection through his clothes, told you your answer.

“Hurry the fuck up, before I lose all of my patience and fuck you into the floorboard instead,” he growled, a dark glint in his eyes while he watched you bend over, slowly taking your clothes off like a tease.

And you listen.

You take your pants off in a way it left no room for interpretation on whether or not you wanted this, stumbling back and sitting on your chair, watching his lustful gaze lock in on your hips as you shyly lift your legs up and get into position.

His head was reeling, taking a tentative step forward, watching your reaction before he kneels in front of the chair, grabbing your ankles and rolling you closer to him.

He slides his trembling hands across the surface of your legs, all the way to your waist and hears you gasp when he leans in closer to your heat, the plainest pair of panties covering it with an obvious wet spot in the middle.

“Fuck,” he whispers, intoxicated when he sees your legs trembling in anticipation, his confident streak slightly dampening now that you’re letting him actually have you, submitting to him so naturally. “Such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” Shigaraki’s piercing eyes turn to look at yours through dark lashes until his gaze falls on your bitten lip.

“Please, as if you c-could ever get me off,” you challenge and he grins dangerously, feeling warmth spreading inside his chest. He presses his cheek to the cold skin of your thigh and nuzzles it, soft hair tickling you as he peppers you with soft hungry kisses.

You look down at him and feel your mind become hazy, unable to breathe more than shallow breaths, so you slide your hand in his hair and rake your fingers through it, pulling a groan from the depths of his soul, his eyes screwing shut, brows angling downwards, an incredible sight for sore eyes—

Until he fucking bites you.

He bites down on your skin so hard you let out a pained cry, fingers twisting in his white locks, pushing him away but he keeps pressing in until you can’t help but spill hot painful tears, blurring the way his possessive eyes were locked in on yours.

“I-It fucking hurts, please,” you beg, and because it sounds like heaven to his ears, he listens, flattening his tongue and licking the bloody mark he’s left on you, kissing it as if he could nurse it. “W-What the fuck was that for, asshole?” You release the grip on his hair, hooking your other leg atop his shoulder and sniffling when he wraps his arm around it, bringing his face closer to where you wanted it to be.

“A reminder,” Shigaraki states with underlying excitement in his voice. Strong, rough arms pull you closer and your ass partially slides off the seat in the process. He pushes your legs upwards, nodding towards your hands. “Hold them up properly.”

“A reminder,” you repeat, hooking your arms under your thighs and holding yourself up like he’d asked you to, looking away and feeling shame racking through your body as you shrink under his impossibly sinful gaze.

“Tch. Don’t you dare look away from me,” he orders you, low and careful and once again, you listen, swallowing empty and looking back at him.

A deep growl escapes his throat, sitting back on his knees to admire your obedience for him. Your quivering body, teary eyes and a stubborn needy pout, all on display for him to enjoy. Shigaraki leans in and reaches to swipe away at your almost-dried tears with a thumb, bringing it to his mouth and licking it off, watching you with desire and making you pant heavily in anticipation.

“A reminder that you’re mine,” he promises, lowering himself and placing a soft kiss above the waistband of your panties before continuing, “And that I’m in charge now.” He runs his thumb against the already painful wound he’d created and presses his nail into the coppery dent his teeth left behind, making you hiss in pain and your hold falter.

“Keep holding them up,” he warns and you whimper as he goes to kiss and suck in purple marks all over the expanse of your thighs, blatantly ignoring the ache between your legs and your weak moans.

Fucking finally gracing you with some mercy, he hooks his fingers around your panties and slides them off, until they’re only hanging on one ankle. Shigaraki shudders, swallowing hard, now standing and watching you from above like a predator.

You move your hand to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrist and pries it away forcefully. “No you fucking don’t.” He thumbs at your wet slit roughly and you shiver.

After pondering something for a second, he sinks back on his knees and dives right into your cunt, licking a long stripe from your clenching hole to your clit.

You moan brokenly but he doesn’t relent, blunt nails scratching your sides as he eats your pussy sloppily, listening carefully to every noise you make. Your fingers dig into the plastic handle of your seat, free hand finding purchase in his messy white hair once more.

He’s as greedy for your sounds as he seems to enjoy giving, hands sliding to part your lower lips and honing in on the bundle of nerves that seems to make you lose your mind every time he’s flicking his tongue in that particular way.

The barren room echoes with filthy sounds of your cries, his groans and your increasingly wet cunt, muscles in your legs twitching involuntarily and you struggle between keeping a steady position on your chair and giving in to the pleasure.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, because he dips two of his fingers in and starts finger-fucking you at a brutal pace, one strong arm moving to keep your lower body pinned for him, and judging by the heat pooling in your lower abdomen, you know you won’t last much longer.

His normally rough lips, now softened by your arousal, close around your sensitive clit and it’s him sucking on it roughly, combined with him repeatedly curling both his fingers against your most sensitive spot that does you in. You clench around his fingers hard, locking your thighs around his head and he whimpers against you, fucking you through your orgasm and licking the mess of your climax hungrily.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises when he lifts his mouth with a devilish grin, still rubbing soft circles on you , pumping his fingers lazily and watching you whimper in overstimulation.

“Tongue out,” he commands and you look at him with a half-lidded look. He slips his soaked fingers out of you and smacks your pussy playfully, earning him a moan. “Don’t make me repeat myself, c’mon.”

You whine and open your mouth, tongue peeking out just slightly, when he stands and drapes himself over you, making your heart beat faster.

He places his slick-covered fingers on top of your tongue, pressing down on it for you to open wider, giving you the idea that he wants you to suck on them, but before you can close your lips around them, he spits into your mouth.

“Swallow.” Shigaraki orders and your nose scrunches, but you close your mouth and swallow. “Show me.”

When you do, his face breaks into a creepy smile, sliding his fingers in and forcing you to taste yourself.

“Good, right?” he giggles, voice filled with unrestrained giddiness and you roll your tongue over his fingers, giving him more than he asked for. His jaw falls slack and he stares at the fingers in your mouth, taking them out and leaning in to replace them with his moistened cracked lips instead.

The kiss is sloppy, hungry, wet and messy. Shigaraki wasn’t kissing you, he was devouring you, and every time you pulled away for air, his mouth would follow yours, his hands gripping the handles of your chair and pushing you until the backrest is pressed firmly against the wall where he has you caged in.

You groan into his mouth in complaint and he finally breaks the kiss, your lungs filling with delicious oxygen once again.

When you glance down, you see a string of saliva connecting you two, lips shiny, mixed with both your wetness and his own spit. He looks dazed, eyes clouded as he breathes in deeply. Breathes you in deeply and he finds that it’s not enough, he wants to have you, all of you, all at once.

“I’d love to shove my cock down your throat and fuck your face right about now,” he whispers low, corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk, hand reaching down to rub more circles around your clit and you shudder. “But that’s for next time.”

Next time?

“Look at you. You’re a fucking mess,” he muses, kissing your cheek softly—too softly—and you frown, getting ready to bitch at him.

He sees it and pinches your bundle of nerves harshly making you whine again, “Ah–ah. Don’t give me an attitude now. Come on, get up.” He slides his hand to your hips and squeezes, using his other one to grab your wrist and hoist you out of the chair. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Your eyes fall on the tent in his pants and you can almost feel him stretching you out with how painfully hard he looked, length lined down his left leg.

Before he could push you along, you reach and run your curious fingers across the bulge, feeling your chest flutter with strange butterflies.

It takes him by surprise and his whole body shakes, knees trembling and he slaps your hand away as he scrambles to hold himself up against the desk, eyes blown wide and breaths coming out heavy.

No fucking way. That sensitive?

You smile deviously and he glares at you.

“D-Don’t fucking do that, I almost—ugh, just move!” he grumbles defensively, grabbing your shoulder, turning you around and shoving you forward.

Fuck, that was hot.

You find yourself wondering again if he’s done this with other people like he seems to have had.

You might’ve thought he was a virgin before, but how could he be with the way he acts? How many men have you met to be confidently inexperienced before? How many of them actually cared to get you off?

Fucking zero, that’s how many.

There wasn’t time to ask, because you suddenly heard the front door slam shut behind the two of you, followed by a violent thud of Taylor’s paper grocery bag spilling against your floor.

Eyes wide, you fumble to pull your shirt down, trying to cover yourself and frantically picking up your clothes. You sober up immediately, realizing you were about to let Shigaraki Tomura fuck you stupid tonight—part of you disappointed not at yourself but… at the prospect of it not happening.

You look at your friend, feeling deeply ashamed and then at him who was already running a hand through his hair, huffing irritatedly at the unwanted interruption.

So fucking close, he thinks. Tomura really wanted to rip your friend’s fucking head off.

“What the fuck do you two think you’re fucking doing?” They stomped forward, absolutely fuming.

“Get the fuck out. Can’t you see we’re busy?” he snaps back, reaching to hook his arm possessively around your waist and pushing your body flush against his own. You smacked at his chest to let you go, cursing him repeatedly, but he wasn’t paying attention, opting to cautiously eye your friend’s presence instead.

“Like hell you are!” Your friend yanks him by the collar of his shirt and pries him away from you. “Think I forgot the shit you pulled at the party, creep?!”

Anger flashes across his face and he’s not beyond beating the fuck out of your friend for so much as daring to touch him—but he knew that doing it would set things back with you.

Tomura really fucking liked the new stage of this relationship he’s unlocked with you, and he wasn’t going to let his temper ruin it for him this time.

You however were none the wiser.

So you cut right in the fucking middle when Taylor decided to hit him, the only person ending up getting slapped by unnecessarily expensive acrylics being you.

“Ow—fuck!” You glare at your friend, who looked absolutely mortified. Shigaraki scrambles to assess the damage and your friend is already tearing up and apologizing, both of them immediately crowding you.

“Get. Out. Both of you. Now,” you whisper angrily, prompting them to give each other a death stare. “I want to be alone, so—fucking please.”

To your surprise, they both (very reluctantly) back off.

Shigaraki, who looked defeated, made an odd sound of disapproval, grabbed his shit and angrily stormed out first.

Taylor on the other hand lingered, trying to pry, to apologize, to ask why you didn’t answer their texts all week, but you were only able to snap back and make them cry harder.

When everyone finally left you the fuck alone, you began breaking down, absolutely burnt out by this horrible series of events happening in your life.

You throw yourself on your bed, and realize you’re still able to smell his soft lingering scent against your bedding. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you also realize he forgot his fucking hoodie at your place.

Why the fuck were you about to let Shigaraki have his way with you earlier?

Why did you listen to him? Were you that fucking sexually deprived to let another psycho fuck you?

They were questions you could not fucking answer, not when you know that you’re falling right into his trap.

So you pull his hoodie over your head and inhale deeply into the collar.

Then you proceed to replay the earlier events in your head and do something you swear you’ll take to the grave with you. ───────── The following days, including your whole weekend, were completely Shigaraki-free. That meant you got to study your ass off for your exam week and you didn’t have to deal with him at all after the incident.

You didn’t speak to Taylor either, and Taylor avoided you like the fucking plague.

It was fair in a way that you didn’t like to admit.

You deserved it. You were a shit friend. So now you’re studying in the main cafeteria at lunchtime, when he casually slips into the seat next to yours with a tray of food in his hands.

He pushes a box of juice to you and you stare at it.

“Hey,” he rasped, dragging his chair to be as close to yours as humanly possible, seemingly nothing changing in his Shigaraki branded demeanor during the few days that he went MIA.

You clicked your tongue but didn’t reply otherwise, deciding to completely ignore him instead.

So he does what you should’ve expected he’d do and grabs the spoon on his tray, angling it perfectly in your direction and flicking a disgusting wet fucking pea at your face.

It hits you, falling on your rented notebook and fucking stains it.

“HEY! I have an exam in an hour and this is a fucking rental! Cut it out, dickhead!” you snap at him, wiping your face with a grimace but he only smiles.

“There we go! Was worried you forgot how to speak.”

“My god, you’re seriously the worst fucking asshole on this planet, I swear.” You snarl when you look at him.

“So they say.” His lips curve upwards.

Shigaraki lets you be for a minute and starts eating his lunch, but notices—because he’s always observing you—how deep the circles around your eyes are, figuring you haven’t been able to sleep much lately.

“You look like a zombie. Did’ya miss me so much you couldn’t even fall asleep?” he asks in an upbeat tone, elbowing your side and making you mess up the words you were writing. Then he snorts at the way you clutched your pencil tighter in irritation.

“Drop it,” you hiss, feeling more on edge than usual.

None of the information you’re forcing yourself to fucking remember is sticking to your brain. This never happened before and it really, really unnerved you. You’re not allowed to slack off. You can’t afford to slack off.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” He leans into you, becoming genuinely concerned. You snap your head at him, looking livid.

Feeling already fed up, you grab your stuff hastily and stand up.

He, of course, has none of your fucking bullshit and forcefully grabs your arm, pulling you back down.

“Sit. I won’t ask twice,” he warns coldly, clenching his jaw.

The look you gave him was one of defeat, so you crumple your study notes and then aggressively drop your bag on the table, half of its contents landing on the floor together with the box of juice he shared with you.

Your lips started quivering and you rubbed at your eyes.

“The fuck you so pissy for? Are you on your period or something?”

You deliberately ignore him again and he grunts, choosing to grab you by the roots of your hair really hard and making you gasp. “Fucking try ignoring me again, bitch,” he spits at you, eyes full of contempt and feeling betrayed that you reverted back to treating him like shit.

There were a lot of students looking at you whenever you were together, because Shigaraki had a reputation—and by extension, so did you.

But you felt that him being openly violent with you right now and in public of all places, pushed you too fucking far in this moment.

Academic stress.

Mind games.

Fighting with your best friend.

Feeling lonely.

Wanting to die.

Wanting to die so bad it suffocated you. The thread snaps and the tower of your sorrows finally topples over, crashing over the entirety of your soul, the acid raindrops of all the emotions you’ve been suppressing this entire time raining on your consciousness until all you could feel was nothing. You can’t focus on your studies.

Can’t handle their attention.

Can’t do this anymore.

So maybe you should—

Just obey. ”You don’t have to think about anything else other than how to please me, bunny. Do you understand me?”

SPANK— “Yes, Sir.”

He lets go of your hair almost immediately, red eyes widening and you lower your gaze like you’ve been taught to do. “The fuck did you say to me?”

“My apologies, Sir,” you reply robotically. “Would you prefer I called you Master or Daddy instead, Sir?” Tomura’s brain short-circuited. Was this another one of your weird fucking games?

He glared into your eyes and could only find a dull submissive look in return.

“What is wrong with you?” He frowns, voice wavering.

“I’m extremely sorry, I do not understand the question, Sir. Could you please explain?”

He runs a hand over his face and scrunches his eyes shut.

“What is this—What the fuck are you doing right now?” He uses his pointing finger and circles it at you.

You just stare at the floor.

“Answer me, moron.”

“My apologies, Sir.”

“Stop calling me that. Explain what’s going on.”

“I’m just your dumb slutty bunny, Sir. I’m yours to have, yours to breed, yours to break,” you say and he almost has a fucking brain aneurysm at how willingly you’re humiliating yourself.

Did you seriously completely fucking break—right here? Like this? In the middle of the fucking cafeteria?

Not in the bedroom where he’d be making you scream his name until your throat was sore and you couldn’t speak anymore? Not by you provoking him and him having to put you in your place, but because of him getting annoyed with you once today?

It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

Tomura’s grin spread wide, resolving to immediately test this newfound control over you, feeling excitement bubbling in his gut at the prospect of you finally becoming an ideal toy, accepting him fully.

How far would you go, he wondered.

“Get on your knees and under the table. Now,” he barked at you—and to his surprise, there really was no bratty remark, no comeback, no hesitation.

You stood up, got on your knees and slipped under the cafeteria table, keeling all over the disgusting floor and still avoiding his gaze submissively.

“Look at me.” Shigaraki snarled and you obeyed, eyes distant and devoid of any expression.

The students were catching on, whispering in the background. You waited patiently for his next command, blankly looking up at him through your lashes.

“Tch. Give me your hand.” And you did, without any resemblance of your usual resistance.

He grabbed it for you and pressed it flat against his semi-hardening cock. “Now go ahead and fucking use it. Show them what a dumb bitch you are,” he orders, looking down at you coldly. You do as he says and start stroking it the way you were taught to—not the way you were with him that evening, eager and curious, but trained, expertly wrapping your digits around the rising tent in his pants and stroking against the fabric. It wasn’t the same.

It did fucking nothing for him.

There was no trace of the sparks he felt in the pit of his stomach every other time he’s made you squirm before. Every other time you made him squirm.

Instead, he felt hollow. “So fucking useless,” he hisses, covering your hand with his own and pressing it harder, rocking his hips against your palm and feeling incredibly frustrated when it only seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

It pissed him off how you weren’t worried about catching a sex offender case anymore. It also pissed him off that he can’t even enjoy this half-assed victory.

You were looking at him in a daze, but not the daze that betrayed how much you wanted him to fuck you—how much you wanted him in the hallway when you had him pinned under you. How your eyes sparked with flickers of desire he saw in-between your apprehension or even fear, at the party. How wet you were last week at your place, bent over your desk and soaking just for him. How he almost got to feel the warm fluttery insides of your cunt and finally made you his.

God were you hot, every single time.

Instead, you were now staring through him and mindlessly following dumb orders like a brain dead fucking sex doll. He somehow used a cheat code to break you like he’d always fantasized to in the beginning.

But isn’t this exactly what he wanted?

Is it fucking not?

Wouldn’t it be great for you to leave every decision in your life to him?

So then—

SO THEN WHY THE FUCK WAS HE FEELING THIS WAY?

Like he’s made a huge fucking mistake. Again. Tomura swallowed hard, unable to keep the inner turmoil at bay. His shoulders became tense, his free hand scratching red angry lines against the scarred skin of his neck.

“Fuck!” He slapped your hand away and you just stared back. “STOP looking at me like that, dirty fucking whore!” he yelled at your face, voice cracking. You look down at his feet again. “Apologies, Master. Please feel free to punish—”

“NO! FUCK! Don’t EVER fucking call me that again!” He grabs you by your arm before you could finish your stupid fucking sentence, roughly pulling you off the filthy floor and knocking the chair out of the way for you.

He takes your bag and chaotically shoves all of your things inside of it, together with the stuff that spilled on the floor earlier.

Tomura throws it over his shoulder along with his own and shoves you forward. “Walk.”

Useless NPCs gathered around for the theatrics, but he was having none of it.

“If any of this comes out, I’ll fucking kill every—single—one—of you. Am I clear?” He turns around and barks at the circle of idiots that surrounded the two of you, gawking and recording the scene like they usually did whenever Shigaraki publicly did something unhinged to someone on campus.

The only difference was, that this is the first time he’d ever shut it down, taking everyone in question by surprise.

“Am I FUCKING clear?!” his voice booms again, as he’s grabbing one of the chairs in a fit of rage and smashes it repeatedly against the floor, plastic parts flying in all directions from the impact and throwing whatever chunk was left of it at a random cluster of individuals.

He then fixed a piercing gaze at the room, waiting expectantly while breathing erratically.

Some of them were frozen and nodded quickly but most had already hurried off. Fuck.

Everything was so fucking itchy and all of it was your fucking fault.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #emotional hurt/comfort #shigaraki tomura #unhealthy relationships #dead dove do not eat #trigger warnings #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #college au #reader is female #tomura shigaraki x reader

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mymreaderlibrary · 5 months

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Hey buddy, gotta say, fucking LOVE your old man yaoi post with price and reader. It's also one of my favorite things and shit if you'd like could you write more about them? Like I need these two old men to finally own up and kiss damnit 😭

I wanted to get this out way earlier but ANYWAYS IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT AAAAGHHGH I honestly wanted to write about it a lil more but I wasn’t sure. I hope this is good, no beta cause I’m a looney toons of a writer who’s stubborn as hell.

[old friends to lovers, slight angst, injury ment, laswell is so fuckin annoyed by being the only smart person, use of y/n though they’re kinda treated more like an oc sorry, the ramblings continue]

[length: 1324 words]

They didn't speak of the night before, but they honestly didn't have to. Y/n and Price could tell their feelings were mutual, or at least stronger than a typical friendship, but instead they chose to be stopped by an invisible road block.

For y/n it was the feeling of lost time. They weren't young anymore, they didn't have the energy nor time for things like relationships and... well he wasn't sure if Price would want to be stuck with an old fart like himself. Price aged in a way that'd make any man jealous meanwhile y/n? Not so much. He was greying, his bones ached more often than not, he spent half of his time drinking shitty liquor that made his teeth reek, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he's just not handsome anymore. Price deserved to be with someone who still had life to them. Maybe a spunky military gal who could keep him on his toes or private operative with an infinite list of missions to complete. What he didn't need, however, was someone who already had their chance and wasted it. Y/n should've told him just how much Price meant to him, how much he envied the people who got to stay by his side. He should've searched for him, got on his hands and knees and begged to come with. Convince whoever had them separated to change their mind. He didn't care if he still went through the same pain he did when he was alone, if he had to amputate his own damn leg again, or deal with the loss of his parents one more time. As long as he could've done it by Price's side he would've been happy or at the very least satisfied. But that was the past and the current y/n could never catch up to the man Price had become.

However for Price it was guilt. He remembered the days that y/n and him felt invincible. Like every little thing was just a stepping stone in their grand journey to glory. No matter the pain they persevered, found solutions where others would've given up, made names for themselves amongst crowds of soldiers all baring the same purpose. Too bad those names couldn't stop them from being split up, from losing their friends, their families, from being sent all across the world with no way of knowing if the other was even alive. Those names couldn't stop y/n from losing his entire calf... (Price hated that he only knew of his friends injury due a rumor involved with y/n's discharge). Y/n shouldn't even be here, his time in the military was over, he paid his penance, he should be at home watching tv on a leather couch with a beer in hand. Nothing on the mind but whatever sore loser couldn't figure out tonight's Jeopardy categories. But no, Price had to go and drag him out from retirement, right back onto the front lines. Straight back into trouble. Even if he wasn't on the field that didn't mean he was away from risk. His mere association with the 141 planted a target on his back that wouldn’t be removed by simply walking away. Price didn't feel he deserved y/n's affection not when all he ever did was put him in danger.

So they both stayed like that, infinitely stubborn, hellishly avoidant, and not nearly as sly as they thought. The 141 didn't have a full understanding of what was going on between the two, but they could tell there was some unfinished business. Gaz thought maybe one of them slighted the other and neither have taken the step to apologize for it. Soap thought y/n perhaps betrayed Price and that's why he's missing part of his leg. Ghost had... almost the right idea, thinking there was a strange tinge of romantic tension between the two though he assumed it was from something like a love triangle. Maybe y/n and Price loved the same woman and had some unfinished rivalry? Regardless, it was not his problem so much as it didn’t effect the mission.

Laswell however, she knew. She wouldn't have the position she did if information like this just flew past her radar. She knew of their history, she saw how they reacted to one another. Laswell wasn't blind for god's sake, in fact she felt like the only one with eyes at the moment. She wasn't so crass as to demand them to make up and get it over with, but having no one to complain to was definitely testing her patience. Instead she stuck to subtly, casually chatting with Price about y/n and dropping questions in regards to their past missions together and how close they were, hoping to make some wheels turn in his rusted head. She wasn't gonna do more than that however, they were two grown men and if they couldn’t figure it out that was their problem. Could they just be a little more subtle though?

It took until a, quite literally, explosive scenario for them to finally get it together. A bullet had gotten lodged into Price's shoulder after an enemy made a lucky shot. It was far from the worst thing the Captain had faced but it still wasn't great, hurt like a bitch for one. And secondly it seemed to send y/n into a spiral. He was practically fuming when Price got back, going on some sort of rant about hygiene and wound care. Y/n demanded to be the one to dress Price's shoulder with a tone that had the others knowing they were not invited to watch unless they wanted to join in on the incoming lecture. And lecture he did, through the whole process Price could barely get a word in. Y/n paced and raved, threw his arms in the air and even knocked over supplies on accident. He was a complete mess and it wasn't until y/n was literally out breath that the Captain could finally speak.

An explanation of what happened was given, it was just luck (bad luck in regards to Price) that he got hit. This wasn’t overly common and the team knew how to deal with these wounds. Everything was okay, it was going to be fine. This just came with the job, risks were inevitable.

They were quiet, looking at each other and letting the silence permeate the room. Price reached his hand out to touch y/n’s but was caught off guard as the other man suddenly leaned it. Knocking his head against Price’s good shoulder and breathing heavily, y/n shuddered a silent cry. A plead for Price to be safe. Whatever false version of safety he could promise, just please don’t die out there.

The Captain raised his outstretched hand to cup the back of y/n’s head, running a thumb over the stubbled hair. Letting his hand slide to his face and pushing him back just an inch.

Another moment of silence. Hearts beating like rabbits.

“You gonna actually do something or do I-“

Price shut him up as quickly as he could. It was clumsy, a bit shaky, and definitely desperate, but the moment their lips touched it felt like pure ecstatic relief. Relief that this was finally happening, relief that the invisible barrier they built around each other was so weak, but mostly relief that those moments, all those touches and lingering stares weren’t for nothing.

They breathed in each others scent, something they’ve come to know so well and yet in this moment it felt brand new, and infinitely stronger. The spice of a cigar, the sting of sweat, and- oh right, sterile wipes. Price was left to chuckle awkwardly and y/n backed away. Any childish excitement felt would have to wait but at the very least they had this.

#sorry was stuffing my mouth with turkey today so I didn’t finish it when I wanted to #insert video of dude fuckin up that dry ass chicken sandwich #didn’t know if I wanted to add this but was listening to drunk drivers/ killer whales by carseatheadrest for a lot of this #my writing #mw #male reader #x male reader #john price #john price x male reader #probably ooc 😭😭😭😭😭 AURHHFJGNFJFN #im so shy about this help #cod #cod x male reader #price cod #ramblings #old man yaoi

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st-dorothy-minority · 9 months

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Just learned a possibly reason why I don't like HFIL.

Taka only wrote on the first 3 episodes.

For a show rather centered around Cell.....🤷

#my thoughts on hfil #hfil #tfs hfil #hell for infinite losers

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whomst-the-hell · 2 years

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steddie buzzfeed unsolved au. the boys explore various true crime cases and supposedly haunted sites across the country and fall in love along the way (not to imply anything abt shane and ryan /gen) ive seen a few but they all get one key detail wrong: steve is shane, eddie is ryan.

eddie is passionate about all of their cases— he started the show, originally with his friend gareth who decided to pursue other opportunities. he wholeheartedly believes in all the things that go bump in the night. he is also a self proclaimed coward who tends to scream, curse or even flee when shit gets real. he’s dedicated to the cause though and works through his fear

steve is passionate too, of course — he absolutely pulls his weight in the show and cares a lot abt it all and is genuinely very proud of their content. he just… doesnt believe in the supernatural. its all bullshit, so there’s nothing to be scared of. he takes joy in calling all sorts of ghosts, ghouls and demons “nerd ass punk losers who get no bitches” and doing comedically deranged shit like stealing a bridge or laying on a pentagram or whatever while eddie hyperventilates across the room

except the upside down shit all still happened (excluding eddie, obviously) so steve is 100% aware of the supernatural shit that does exist in the world. after alternate hell dimensions, he wouldnt Really be surprised by ghosts, though he is genuinely sceptical of most evidence.

eddie is infinitely confused by his cohost — he staunchly rejects even the most damning supernatural evidence, but he is a member of the most bizarre group of people eddie has ever met. and he’s superstitious abt the weirdest shit as well — flickering lights, faulty magnets, broken compasses. he once hurried them out of a building during an investigation because they heard a weird clicking sound, spent about 15 minutes on the phone with someone called owens to confirm that “everything was still shut off” (and what the actual fuck does that even mean????) before apologising for the ‘false alarm’ and suggesting they just continue the investigation and cut all that shit from the video. it was the first time any of the crew, including eddie, had ever seen steve scared.

eventually, once theyre together, steve tells eddie about his own experiences with the supernatural, with a handy demonstration from el to really sell it. eddie is horrified, especially when steve tells him he still doesnt believe in demons.

#steddie #steddie bfu au #buzzfeed unsolved au #listen even in the fics where steve is shane #eddie still takes up the demon shane headcanon??#like did you not watch the show that was his whole story arc #but whatever #you could even make it a broader supernatural au where (after the upside down) the party become general monster hunters (when necessary)#so you still have the dynamic where the sceptic is subtly making ‘ill kill you’ faces at ghosts and scaring away their evidence lol

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sashi-ya · 1 year

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𝕰𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖙𝖊 +18. Aizen Sōsuke x F! Reader

✦ requested by Anonymous for the free requests ➜ heyyy sashi^^ maybe some stuff about aizen, especially muken version? ➜ Of course! he is such an amazing character to me, the way he is written is pure poetry. I hope you enjoy this fic ♡ ✦ tw: playing with your mind. mouth restriction. bondage. suspension. violence (aizen pushes reader to the ground). fingering. vaginal penetration. deep mind fuck and feelings exposed. ✦ wc: 2.9k

“(Name)-san… I have to ask you to keep this in between you and I” Kyoraku Shunsui, General Captain of the Gotei 13 requests you with a serious tone.

“I’m not telling this to anyone, Kyoraku Soo Taicho. I’m extremely grateful for what you are allowing us to do, and I will never betray your trust” you say, bowing before the laid-back captain.

“Heh…betrayal is not a proper word to use in this particular case. But what’s fair is fair. However, kid, I must warn you… and forgive me for repeating this to you, but please be careful… Sosuke Aizen is the spawn of Hell”

The mustiness and the darkness of Muken hits you once the ten thousand locks let the doors open. They say this is worse than hell, and they are right. It’s endless. It’s dark, cold, humid, lonely. The sadness creeps through your bones. It whispers the inevitable destiny of going against the rules some have stated as fair.

But, you were a revolutionary. And so it was him. You always saw that man like the one who dared to break the pattern, the endless inhibitions, and the path of those he called losers. Aizen didn’t want to be mediocre… winners don’t ask how the world is, but how it should be…

Yet, he forgot that even gods have weaknesses. Solitude and love. There is, still, no higher being able to scape the unstoppable force of their own human nature, the heart that he thought he lost and the need for your skin… oh so sacred velvety flesh that once felt so soft on his palm, against his body melting with yours.

“Aizen-sama…” you whisper, in pure darkness. Kyoraku Taicho has already left -or perhaps it’s what you wish he did-.

Lights turn on, like the stelas that guide even the blindest person, on each side of an immeasurable scaffold. He is there, hanging, vertically. As if he had been crucified, like the God of some humans in the world of the living.

You can’t see his face; it’s covered in black ties. His arms, his wrists. There is no single showing of that skin you miss so much. Where have the sweet captain of squared glasses gone? Was that just a total façade, or maybe, in all that innocent play was at least a hint of his inner self?

“(Name)… why are you here?” he asks. You are sure he isn’t talking with his mouth. That’s most probably Kyoka Suigetsu helping him do it.

You gasp. Why is he asking? Isn’t he intelligent enough to understand the reason why you are here?

“Sosuke… I was allowed to visit you for what you have done for the Soul Society” you whisper, it’s enough for him to hear. “I couldn’t help it… I’m sorry”

You mourn in the silence he explicitly chooses to surround you with. The purple gaze of the lights that barely kisses his restricted face feels not enough to avoid you from shivering. You aren’t scared of him, you are scared of the immensity and wilderness this place has. Is this really necessary? He betrayed them, sure but… He helped them, right?

“You are thinking of how unfair this place is, right (Name)-san? You are mad because you believe I shouldn’t be in here… but, it’s just twenty thousand years… I’m immortal, you know that” he calmly informs you, as if you didn’t know… As if it wasn’t exactly the infinite pain that that brings you daily.

You fall down your knees. Your mind can only focus on that number. Stop repeating it, Aizen!

“Stand up. I can’t tolerate to see you kneeling that way” he scolds you.

“Aren’t you a God, Aizen-sama? Shouldn’t I pay you entirely and exclusively respect to such a higher being?” you ask. Was it really what you thought? Yes. Indeed, it was.

Your mind goes blank for some seconds. You don’t know exactly when it happened, but, you see Aizen breaking with his strong hands the seals that prevent him from scaping.

You gasp, in awe.

“Why are you here, exactly? Did I ever ask you to become some kind of devotee? Which God stands on top of the rests while being restricted and stopped from changing this unfair world?”

Was that Aizen just mourning about his current state?

He comes closer to you, so close that you can see the tip of his boots with clarity. They told you being even near him without at least one of the seals will make your soul body explode in a million pieces… but you aren’t exploding, much less can feel any reiatsu around.

Aizen’s gloved hand reaches for your chin, and with his index he delicately makes you look up at him. “Tell me, (Name)-san… are you that in love with the death?” he asks… Is he the Death?

Your pupils dilate, as big as the hollow that hold the hogyoku in the middle of his chest. “I adore you, Aizen-sama. I’d wait for you and even die for you” you tell him. You know, better than anyone that your life means nothing to him. He has never asked you to die for him.

Aizen caresses your cheek. His eyes look at you like an inferior creature, feeling pity for such an ignorant being driven by love… Oh, but how hypocritical he can be. Him, who had fused his existence with something that expresses the true desires of the heart. Didn’t he know that?

“Let me ask you again, why you waste your time in here? Waiting for me? I’m immortal, you aren’t. Are you that dumb?” Aizen inquires, helping you stand up.

You scoff. You have never laughed at him. You wouldn’t dare… but, this time… “Aizen-sama… you are still so naïve… you, a genius still can’t understand the most basic and yet beautiful feeling in this and all the worlds… Love”

It’s clear that you have offended him. How dare you call him naïve? How dare you doubt of his intelligence?

He pushes you back to the floor. His right eyebrow lifted; his chocolate brown eyes infused with desperation. He is not mad, he is just scared, like a little animal that’s been caged… you have exposed the only trait that still makes him human, the one he tries to reject, to deny from his own self… the one the who can’t recant of.

“Love? Do you think I am capable of loving? That’s the lowest form of humanity, and I’m not a human. Stop your daydream, (Name). You should get away, and never come back. Go live your live with someone. Experience what you call love with someone capable of” Aizen orders, but in reality cries.

You, who are now sitting on that cold floor, with your hands scrapped and your body like floating, smile kindly. “If you are incapable of love… why, then, are you asking me to leave? To live my life with someone else?”

He takes some time to think. Looking up and down at you, with his chin lifted and his head slightly tilted to the side. “Because you wanna be happy, there is no happiness in here…” he whispers.

This time your beam grows bigger. It’s all you needed to listen. He is, indeed, capable of loving you. “You want me to be happy, because you… care about me, Aizen-sama… and that’s called love”

How much he would have loved to contradict you. To go on a deepest raid of logical thinking, to debunk the basic thought that lead you to believe it’s that simple… but, indeed, even for him… it was so simple.

Aizen took the patch that covered up until now his right eye. The white cape over his shoulders ripped in a violent swing. The black, heavy coverings sealing him ended up in the floor and it seems to evaporate with the darkness around. There is nothing but pure infinite around a little spot of light that cover you two with its cold mantle.

His skin, oh… his skin pale and with the eternal marks of strong devices carved to stop his limitless power presented right before your eyes. Those same eyes that got flooded endless nights with tears, remembering the way it felt to watch him sleep right next to you...

His hair, dishevelled that has grown a little longer and now covers his nape. His lips, semi open, letting haste breathe come out of his mouth. His eyes, injected in fear and need, and pain and regret and pride, and every human passion…

“Come here, (Name)” he calls you, with his hand stretched to you. Those fingers that were once coated with your arousal are now calling you to touch them.

The god of death luring you to his grave. Oh, the deadly lust that could kill you. Oh, the deadly need that could destroy you.

Don’t touch Aizen. Don’t get any closer, they said. He could kill you if you dared to take a further step more than what it’s needed, they warned you.

But he needs me. Me. Only me. But he is so alone… he begs, he yearns, he cries for my touch. For mine, just mine.

“Come (Name)” “Yes, Aizen-sama…”

The grazing touch, the bare caress of your fingertips against his. Everything becoming dark again. A blink of an eye, and you are a few centimetres off the ground. Red seals have been carved on your chest and are holding you against a wall where he was. You can’t speak. There are black strands of heavy material covering your mouth, sealing your lips. A single tear runs through your cheek. Is this it? How is he even capable of doing this to you…

“Take my place and tell me… do you still think this is love?” he asks, knowing well that you can’t speak and barely emit any sound. But eyes speak louder than words.

You fix your orbs into his. This is love… Accepting my faith, for you. Taking your place, for you. Go walk free, go make them your devotees. Make them bow, crush their bones, their souls, pulverize them. You are free if I’m allowed to take your place. Yet, loneliness will ever, never go away.

Aizen swallows. His smirk has faded away. His eyes, that reminds you of a lamb walking into the slaughter, remain.

You close your eyes. You really don’t have the resources to comprehend this, but you understand him. After all, he has always ran away from the things he wanted the most… being alone pained him, and yet, he did everything to make his solitude even bigger.

A sudden touch that makes you jolt, or barely as you are immobilized, scares you. But there is no doubt, his scent and the delicate graze of his fingers cannot be mistaken for anyone else’s. Aizen hasn’t ran away this time, he has stayed for you.

You open your eyes, slowly, watching with blurriness the chocolate eyes you love the most. “You didn’t leave me here…” you think.

“Why would I?” he answers back, as if he could listen to your thoughts… of course he can.

He peels the coverings on your mouth, leaving just one over your lips. It’s the string that creates more pressure, separating your lips, carving marks on your cheeks. You let your hasty breath slip through it, caressing Sosuke’s lips that are so close, so near.

“You have come here. You wanted me so bad, and here I am” he murmurs, with that deep voice that’s both sexy and dominating and also intimidating and scary.

You nod, with whimpering noises that are ripped by Aizen’s hand crawling through your leg. You haven’t noticed up until now, the way your body was presented to him… you were completely naked, like a painting for him to enjoy like in a museum. You, his muse, and work of art, for him to appreciate while hanging on a wall.

“I missed your legs… I missed your smell. I missed your skin… have you missed me, (Name)?” he asks, with pleading tone that makes you shiver, that makes your skin turn bumpy and overly sensitive.

Tears run through the commissure of your eyes. It’s beautiful to hear him say that he missed your body, even if maybe it’s not true.

His lips reach for your collar bones, placing those sweet butterfly kisses that are probably as dangerous as a double-edged sword. It’s so tiring to submit to a man like him, who smiles and kills, who hugs you just to stab your heart… that is what it takes to love him… A big heart that you will need to lose a thousand times.

The tip of his tongue taste your nipples, getting hard, expectant for him to devour them. With a hand he squeezes one of your breasts; they are turgently presented to him as your arms are opened, stretched, and pinned to that wall.

You can barely focus your eye sight down to where he is. His caramel hair, absolutely dishevelled, the warmth of his mouth surrounding one of your nipples… He inhales your scent as he sucks, he nurtures from your moans and body spasms.

His free hand reaches for your core. Folds that drip, folds that can’t be ignored no more. You plead with your eyes for him to touch you, to at least graze you with his fingertips.

Aizen ignores your needs, or perhaps he plays with them, pushing you to the extreme where it’s even painful to your body. He enjoys the way your wetness create a tiny pool right under where you are. It is for him pure art, the way your arousal honeys submits to gravity, in litmus strings that reflect the poor lighting of Muken.

“You haven’t changed a bit, (Name)… which version of me do you prefer? The gentle one, the soft and loving captain, right?” he asks, so sure you have fallen for his lies.

You deny with your head. With the pressure of the seal on your mouth, you try to speak. “Thef realf you ~ ”

He smirks. He understands what you want. You want more of this torture, you want the real treacherous menace that both put the skies on their knees and then helped them stand back again.

A sexy scoff over your lips, a kiss that you cannot reciprocate. And a kiss that he places either way. The sudden intrusion of his fingers into you, hitting the deepest place where they can reach.

You moan, muffled by that tight seal. He inhales, he sucks the pleasure noises with his mouth open in an O shape. His chin against yours, the tip of your nose pressed against his fine one.

Beckoning motions, making you tremble, making you even wetter. His forearm also covers by a thin runny layer of your body’s orgasmic responses, pleasing the masculine side of his inner self.

“Come from me, come…” he commands, as if you were made to choose. You nod, desperately, panting. You plead, you wish you could say all the things you wish to say, but you can’t. Aizen, perhaps, also controls your ability to speak, to communicate. You have been turned to a simple being whose mind went blank and a body is a slave of his hands.

Hands, fingers, brutally burying in and out, back, and forth. It hurts how much you squirm, the ties around your body pull and carve deep into your skin. You can’t escape; you don’t want to either way.

And without a single warning, without something that could let you know … or maybe yes, but you couldn’t hear, you couldn’t process- he impales you. The warm contact of his hardness with the velvet surface of your entrance, sliding inside of spasming walls. Lubricated by dripping honeys that pool in the base of his sex, he begins to pump in and out of you. It goes up and down, violently, brutally, pushing hard, making you jump.

“I’ve waited for this for so long… the tight embrace of your femineity. The way you mourn as I go so deep inside you. Are you mine, (Name)? Are you completely mine, (Name)?” he asks, in between the gasps and grunts coming from his throat.

“Mghhj… yes” you whine, feeling how your body gets freed from any seal, any material keeping you trapped. Your arms fall on top of his shoulders, like dead weight. You can touch him, every bump of his back, that soft manly muscular frame that you remember oh so very well.

Carved your nails into his flesh, your legs trap his waist as he holds you from yours. Aizen keeps fucking you until you feel like passing out, until you drool just a little from a brain killer pleasure on his neck.

His scent, the perfume of his skin. The warmth of his body against yours. The way his reiatsu is only perceived when his guard has been let down enough as his mind turns off and becomes a total slave of lust. The solitude of his eyes, that maybe there, in such short moments of connection, fades away…

“Don’t you ever go away, eternity won’t be ever enough” “I know, Aizen-sama… I’ll wait you forever…”

A sudden heavy touch on your shoulder wakes you up. “(Name)… were you able to speak to him? Are you ok?” Kyoraku Shunsui’s voice breaks the enchantment.

You open your eyes. The doors of Muken, right were you were the moment you step inside, appear open. The blinding lights from the outside hit your eyes.

“It’s only been a minute… but I was worried I couldn’t sense your spiritual pressure… Did he speak to you, after all?”

“He did, Kyoraku Taicho. Aizen Sosuke spoke to me”.

#aizen sōsuke #aizen x reader #aizen sousuke #aizen sosuke x reader #sosuke aizen #aizen bleach #bleach x reader #bleach #bleach anime #bleach x reader fanfic #bleach fanfic #muken aizen #sashi ya #aizen smut

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astridthevalkyrie · 5 months

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chand ko chakor dekhe, tujkho naseebo wala (the bird looks at the moon, a lucky one looks at you) | hawks x reader | chapter 6

“You’ve died twice? From clocks? “I know you’re not blind to the rocks and debris flying literally everywhere! The world would be better off without you in it!” you scream at the villain. The machine is even louder as it breaks and jams into the ground. “Flying building pieces or something, I don’t know—one hit me yesterday. The first day I got knocked into a wall, and then I woke up hugging my body pillow. Same thing the next day. And the next, and the next. Did my number three pro hero partner save me? No, he let me get stuck in a fucking time loop!” Or, you’ll do a lot of things with infinite time on your hands, but falling in love with Keigo Takami isn’t one of them.

a/n: yesssss update's out have a fun time reading!

warnings: suicide attempts (with the understanding that she will reset), hawks pins reader to a building, rudeness, icky romantic stuff 🤮

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“Whoa.” Your hands come up in front of your chest as the kid’s arm crackles—crackles?—with lightning. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa hang on, I don’t fight children!”

You don’t think the nerd hears you, because he’s jumping forward with wide, fearful, despaired eyes. “Detroit”—of course he’s an All Might copycat, USA lover, star spangled stripes, would still smash their number one hero, though more like she’d smash you because she’s super strong—”SMAAASH!”

Fuck your life. Truly.

—————————————————

You go back to the beach the next today. Not to kill All Might again, even if you did cheat and break the vow you’d made to yourself the first day you officially started training to be a hero (haha your soul is broken you’re going to hell except you’re not because you’re stuck in a time loop and ohmygosh maybe this is hell maybe when you got hit by the rock that first day you died what the shiiiiit). No no, you won’t kill him again, because you’re just far more interested in who this tiny little green loser is and just how he KOed you with one punch.

That’s not, like, easy. You killed the top ten heroes minus the dumb bird! By right of passage, that makes you the number one! Or at least the number two if Hawks is de facto one even though he totally isn’t. He admitted MULTIPLE times that he would have just let you kill him. Who needs a flimsy number one hero like that?

Speaking of flimsy number one heroes.

You’re probably losing your mind more than you thought. Why are you looking at a chibi version of All Might?

Goddamn are heroes stupid! You’re perched up just barely out of view and neither the LITERAL NUMBER ONE or his protege have noticed you as they eat and yap about CLASSES of all things!

Okay, so when you killed All Might, he wasn’t exactly himself because he hasn’t had his Snickers bar yet or whatever. Which means you didn’t really kill the number one, and so the right of passage still leaves you at number two (yeah yeah, de facto Hawks number two, then you).

So if Small Might (good one! that’s original!) can’t fight you, that would mean the real foe you’d need to defeat is YOUNG MIDRORIYA! Only problem is that YOUNG MIDORIYA! is a child and y’know, you’re not quite that comfortable in your amorality yet. Already you feel queasy every time you think about the way you killed LightMight.

Still, one doesn’t just go around California Cabana-ing every single person they see, so when YOUNG MIDORIYA! starts walking back to whichever hovel he crawled out of, you follow him until you see someone trip in front of him, large drink in their hands.

What would have soaked his shirt now completely coats his face with just a liiiiitle bit of wind.

Respect your elders, kid. You’ll never be the next Mini Might with that attitude. Although, that isn’t any reason to apologize that profusely to the lady that spilled the drink. No, there’s no need to buy her a new drink either, your face got soaked, not her’s, she was the one not looking where she was going. OFFERING AN AUTOGRAPH FROM ERASERHEAD? HUH? DID SHE LOSE HER DRINK OR DID SHE LOSE HER WHOLE GODDAMN FAMILY?

Oh, she doesn’t even know who Eraserhead is. Ha. That’s right, walk home with your sorry little green head all wet. That’ll teach you not to bribe civilians.

—————————————————

The next day, you wake up, ignore Hawks’ text first thing in the morning, open your window and jump out. Then you wake up in your bed again, and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It’s entertaining for all of six minutes before the nothingness and despair becomes passionless.

What’s left? What more is there?

Well, it was kinda fun taking Ryukyu up to space (no it wasn’t?). You could try that again. Opening the window, you go up this time, instead of down.

Today, you’ll try to reach the sun.

First, you’re shot by someone who must think you were a stray bird. First, rude. Second, still illegal. Rot in jail. You love being a pro hero, the police do whatever you say with overt rudeness but begrudging submission.

Second, you look into the sun too long and uh. Die. That one’s embarrassing.

Third, claws dig into your hips and yank you down.

“Hey!” You scratch at the hands assisting gravity in bringing you closer to the ground. “What the hell, what are you doing? You never get here this early!”

“What are you doing? Where are you even going?”

“I will kick you in the balls if you don’t let me go, you dumb shit!”

“You’re so nice,” Hawks drawls, and his legs wrap around yours too, one arm around your front to pin your arms to the side. Now it’s only his wings keeping you afloat, his air giving you flight. It infuriates you, appealing muscles aside. “Someone just took a picture of us, by the way. Have fun explaining that one.”

You growl as fiercely as humanly possible, wriggling in his grasp. “Stupid stupid stupid bird impedes justice, gets murdered for it.”

“Too wordy for a hashtag.”

“Okay, how’s about—” It makes your chest hurt when you do it, but you suck in wind towards you using your own breath, and shoot it down to throw his arms away from you. “Hashtag I Did Hawks’ Dad!”

His wings flap as he falls, but he catches himself in no time. You’re propelling back up already, clouds not even within touching distance yet. Not that you wanna touch them. They’re really cold. Might as well touch Endeavor’s heart while you’re at it.

“For your information.” His nails graze your nape this time, and he grips the back of your uniform. With a grunt, he pulls you back again, too strong for those weak birdy bones. You shoot downwards, gasping. “That would make you a criminal fucker.”

You’re sideways, hair twisting in strange ways as you glare up at him. His wings expand impressively, blocking the sun and giving you a good look at a world of crimson gold.

“Sorry about your dirtbag father. Can you get out of the fucking way?”

Hawks holds up a finger with a condescending look, pointing to his right, then his left. “See these? These are legitimate directions to fly in. Up is nothing. Up doesn’t have anything for you.”

“You’re a fake friend,” you spit, jetting up with a fist raised.

He blocks, immediately raising his leg to kick you, but you saw that move coming because sometimes you watch his fight compilations for entertainment (and his compilations in real life too, duh). His foot connects with your arm, and the sunlight gleams in his visor. “Is that so? Elaborate for me.”

“Do you know how fucking bored I am? Do you have any idea how much I hate every single fucking person on this planet?”

You land a square hit on his chest; the victory is short lived. Feathers sneak into your sleeves and pull you down, ignoring your kicking and screaming.

“Who could you possibly hate?” he sings.

“You, for starters, winged piece of shit! And Endeavor, yeah, that’s right, dickrider. Cry about it. I hate All Might too—did you know he’s a fraud? And his stupid ass sidekick, or ex boyfriend, or whatever, I paid him a visit and every time he’s about to tell me my future I end up dying, because life hates me just as much as I hate life! I’m not even allowed to know how I go out! Ryuku and Best Jeanist think they can appeal to my better nature, well, I DON’T HAVE ONE! Oh, I hope you get to marry someone someday, Hawks, and I hope they cheat on you and take all your money.”

It might look like you’re flailing, but you’re not. You’re just trying to air out your own clothes to get the feathers out. The man who had taken a picture of you is not full on recording the fight you and Hawks are having.

You flash him two matching middle fingers.

“Stop it,” Hawks snarls, apparently fed up now (one word against Endeavor and Fanboy Hawks comes out to play). “That shit’ll go viral, you know it will.”

“Sorry to ruin your perfect image, golden boy.” You finally rip the last feather out of your sleeve, biting it in half and spitting it out just to spite him. “Kiss my ass—fuck!”

You’re pinned. Fully against the building. The feathers aren’t under your clothes, they don’t need to be. They connect with each other to form a link that pins your ankles and wrists individually and before you can suck in any air a few more stuff into your mouth as a makeshift gag. Upside down. “I’m not worried about my image, songbird. Your popularity rating is at an all time low lately.”

Because you don’t pose for posers the way he does. And also maybe how not child friendly you are in interviews. Maaaybe because most of the other heroes don’t even like you enough to team up with you.

Not! That! It! Matters!

Hawks can read you well enough from your eyes. He maneuvers his body upside down to look at you face up, and looks into your gaze with a slight quirk of his lips. “What’s the matter, Nightingale? You hate hero society all of a sudden?”

NO SHIT.

“You wanna skip patrol today?”

NO.

“Why not?”

WE’LL BE CALLED TO FIGHT CLOCKINTHEHOLE ANYWAY AND IF WE DON’T GET THERE IN TIME PEOPLE GET INJURED AND YOU GET ALL SAD FOR THE REST OF THE DAY.

“Sorry, gonna need your mouth to transcribe that one.” The gag is lifted and before you can scream he covers your mouth with his hand, “Hey,” he coos, looking like his hair is flying up, “I’m serious. We can skip patrol, or I can do it on my own. I’ll cover for you, no problem.”

“Dude,” you choke, and the wetness running up your temple makes you realize you’re crying, “I wanna die.”

His face changes immediately, dropping every bit of his persona in an instant. The feathers loosen and release you, dropping you, and he catches you bridal style before you can turn on Aerial.

“Alright, hang on.” His face is pained as he nudges your window open, carrying you in. “Hang on.”

The blood rushes back to your head, and the tears fall normally. He places you against your headboard, right next to the body pillow you always wake up next to. The sight of it makes you cry harder.

“Hey, hey.” Just like he did every time you tried to manipulate fighting tactics out of him to use against Endeavor, Hawks’ thumbs come up to brush your tears away. He sits at the edge of your bed, as though he’s visiting you in the hospital. “Hey, pretty girl, c’mon. Talk to me. Tell me everything. Let me help you.”

Your hands tangle in your own hair and your eyes shut, looking every bit the crazy lady you’ve become. “I want to fly into the sun. Please, just let me do that.”

“I can’t,” he pleads, taking his visor off and setting it aside. His jacket goes next, and he drapes it over you like the two of you aren’t indoors. And not on a date. He’s watched one too many cheesy romcoms. His favorite is John Tucker Must Die. You think that’s because he has mommy issues.

“I can’t,” he repeats, nudging himself next to you and moving your hands from your hair to your lap. His own hands go up to pat your hair down, and brush your shoulders, touch as light as a feather.

He’s grooming you. Dumb bird.

A painful sob escapes you, and you fall into him as he rubs your arms, your back, your hair. His bodysuit quickly becomes wet with your tears, but he doesn’t seem to mind, lips on your temple and arms tight around you. He even leans down and kisses a tear straight off your cheek.

“I’ve been living the same day again and again. I’ve lost count of the days. I killed people and I manipulated you and you keep helping me but nothing works. Everyday I have to go through this. Everyday the universe finds a way to kill me. I haven’t—” Your own wail cuts you off, and he squeezes you closer. “I haven’t seen nighttime in forever! I’ll forget what nighttime looks like soon, I’m so sick of the sun!”

He doesn’t say anything. Sometimes he believes you straight away, sometimes he doesn’t, but either way he eventually takes it in stride. He cheers you up. He takes you places or he talks and talks and talks until you’re laughing, laughing so hard you almost don’t feel the pain when you die.

His lips burn on your skin. He keeps them on your temple, warming you far more than his jacket does.

“I hate telling you this every time,” you sniff, “I wish there was a way I could fast forward it.”

Still, he doesn’t talk. He moves instead, holding you to his heart like you’re.

Gold.

When Hawks does speak, his voice is thicker than normal, like he’s holding back something. Tears of his own, or a confession. Too many times he’s seen you vulnerable now, even if he doesn’t remember, and you don’t think you’ll ever see him in such a state.

“If you wanna fly into the sun, I won’t stop you.”

You look at him. No hint of a lie in those golden eyes. Pulling away from the safety you’d embraced for a second, you sit back and swallow. “Yeah? No lie?”

“No lie. You’ll come back, right? The day will reset. So it’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Unless today is finally the last day. But you doubt it. You’ll know when it is. If it ever comes.

“Then you can go. Or…”

A few minutes ago, you’d have jumped out the window the second he stopped holding you back. “Or?”

“Or.” His tongue pokes into the side of his cheek. Thinking face. One of the few people who doesn’t have a dumb thinking face. This one actually looks like he’s thinking. “You let me take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Surprise,” he says softly, “you’ll like it. Promise.”

And you figure you can always fly into the sun tomorrow. The giant ass star isn’t going anywhere.

—————————————————

He’s had a hand over your eyes for a couple minutes now, guiding you inside…somewhere. Every few seconds he makes a shushing sound, to who you assume are bystanders wondering why the rude hero who trended number one on Twitter this morning (#FrightingaleBreakdown) is wandering around.

“Are you taking me to a strip club?” you ask suddenly. “I really don’t wanna go to a strip club right now.”

“No, but that’s a good idea. Tell me that one later. Or, tomorrow, or whatever. Whenever you want.”

Yeah. Okay.

A door closes, and that’s when he finally moves his hand. You’d assumed you would have to shield your eyes from some ceiling light. But instead, you’re met by even more darkness.

Well. Not total darkness.

There’s a hint of white. A sliver of silver. And it’s everywhere.

You honesttoGod gasp, staggering back as you witness the night sky. The stars twinkle like shiny teeth (that sparkle, adding beauty to my faaaace, my shiny teeth that glisten, just like a christmas tree, you know they’d walk a mile, just to see me smile (woo!) my shiny teeth and me). Your hands tremble as they close over your mouth, and you don’t realize that you’re tearing up until Hawks’ fingers are under your eyes again, catching the tears before they can fall.

“I know a planetarium isn’t the same as the actual night.” He glows like this, how does one do that? What’s his skincare routine? “But…it’s better than nothing, and I’ll bring you here whenever you want. You say the word to me and we’re here. Or anywhere else. If you can’t get out of the loop, then you should take advantage of it. Have fun. Do things you’ve never had time to do before. I’ll help you.”

For all this trouble, you should stare up at the faux sky, not at him.

“And um, to speed up the process.” His cheeks dust pink, and he whispers, “Keigo.”

That’s when you find your voice. “What?”

“Keigo. My name. I’ve never told anyone, so, you know. I’ll believe you faster.” His face is red now, all the way up to the tips of his prickly ears.

“Kei-go.” You test it out on your tongue, eyes on him. “Well, what if I’m just messing with you and I’m not actually reliving today?”

He exhales in a way that tells you the thought didn’t even cross his mind. As if you’re sooo goodhearted you would never do such a thing. But you absolutely would.

“It’d be worth it.” Hawks—Keigo—shrugs. “To hear you say my name.”

Oh.

You step forward, you think, to kiss him, but before you get the chance the ground shakes, and then crumbles directly under your feet. You don’t even hear his cry of surprise. Is this an earthquake? No, quicksand? But that makes no sense—except the curse doesn’t make any sense at all, so yeah. Sure. You’ll go out like that.

You wake up with the taste of sand and good sense never to try and kiss your partner again.

—————————————————

“You’re early!” Hawks greets you at patrol.

“Yeah, well.” You sigh, blowing into the cup of hot tea in your hand. “We don’t all take our time like you, Keigo.”

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x you #takami keigo x you #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #boku no hero academia x you #ckc fic #valkyrie stories

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