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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part One) (18+) | SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.7K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Phoenix had been the one to give you the final push, and right now you’re glad she did. You’d hemmed and hawed over the booking details for weeks, but when the cruise was only three weeks away, she’d insisted you finalize the paperwork and clinch one of the last available rooms.

“Come on,” She’d given you a knowing look, thin brows raised and lips curled into a smirk, “You need this.”

You do need this. Walking onto the cruise ship feels liberating, like you’re free from the shackles of the U.S Military and living a normal life. You’d been pleasantly surprised to have been granted leave by your commanding officer for the entire week, because Spring Break was a term typically foreign to the Navy. But your squadron's leave fell so perfectly in between late March and early April, so you’ll take the time off and enjoy it.

You’re really going to enjoy it. The cruise you needed oh-so-badly isn’t just an average, run-of-the-mill ship, it’s a program specifically targeted towards those wanting easy hookups.

A sex cruise.

You’d almost been scared away by the no refunds, no rearrangements notice on the cruise’s website, letting you know that you wouldn’t be offered the courtesy of a swap if your random roommate didn’t work out. After all, the point is to get over your reservations, and have a good time. But, you think, it’s only a week, and none of the people you’re seeing around the ship so far look like anyone you’d refuse to have sex with. Do you feel ashamed for signing up for a sex cruise? Slightly. But you can feel slightly ashamed after getting your back blown out by whoever you’re lucky enough to room with. Right now you just need sex, something hot and heavy and rushed, the fervent slapping of skin-on-skin to release the stress pent up inside of you for months now.

Work is tough. You’re no longer the starry-eyed aviator that you’d been at the beginning of your career. You’re older now, you’re starting to exit the honeymoon phase of your job, and to top it off, you haven’t been able to score in months.

You used to have no problem picking up a date here and there around the Hard Deck, but all of a sudden, it’s like Penny had shut off the tap of men pouring out into your lap. You can’t fathom why the entirety of San Diego suddenly decided hookup culture wasn’t for them, but you haven't been able to get laid in months, so you need this cruise. You’re partially terrified that word might get around to your squadron about your vacation, and that the slight shame you're feeling might multiply into something you'll never be able to face. Heaven forbid they change your callsign to Cruiser, or Hookup, or some other derogatory indicator that you're about to have the week of your life.

Hangman already teases you for not being able to take anyone home anymore, you can’t imagine what he’d do if he found out you got on a sex boat. You’ve always been able to bicker and banter with Hangman, dishing out as much as you take, but if he gets wind of what you’re doing this week, you might lose your never-ending stream of competitive banter once and for all.

You shove Hangman out of your thoughts; this is to get away from all of that. He’s a pest, the way he lays out teasing remarks with that saccharine grin on his face, like he’s the cheshire cat and he’s told you a particularly hard-to-decipher riddle. He’s a cheap rival at best, always poking and prodding about being number one, and how you’ll have to hike up your big girl panties if you want to be on his level, despite your record being neck-and-neck with his own. He’s never given you something you can’t return in full-force, but it takes effort to fire back the way that you do, and you’re eager to let your guard down this week and relieve your pent-up frustration.

You pass through the archway they’ve opened to the dock, big double doors angled inside over short, stubbly carpeting. It looks like what you’d find in an 80’s bowling alley, all clashing colors and wacky patterns. The railings to the stairs just in front of you are gold, and they spiral downwards elegantly over the 3 floors below you. They extend upwards 11 more, which is a scary thing to think about; being 15 decks high in the middle of the ocean. The carrier ships you’re used to aren’t small by any means, but their decks are mainly tucked away beneath the surface and shut in so that, if you ignore the rolling waves that toss you side to side, you can pretend you’re on land. Several mostly open upper decks are new to you, but if you’re lucky, you’ll stay centralized to your cabin, tucked away neatly on deck eight, getting your world rocked.

You’ve packed light, a single suitcase rolling behind you as your purse tucks over the handle. It’s an easy way to travel, and you thank basic training for the way that your muscles easily support your luggage as you drag it up a flight of the spiral stairs.

There’s noise everywhere, lights everywhere, people everywhere; it’s complete chaos. But it’s thrumming with excitement, with the promise of sex, and lust, and getting laid, and you fight to stop a grin from growing on your cheeks as you approach the registration desk.

There’s a man in front of you that’s arguing with the receptionist, something about incorrectly filed paperwork, which you don’t exactly blame the guy for. There had been about 35 forms to fill out, STD Test Results here and Consent Questionnaires there. You understand why they’re necessary on a sex cruise, and you’re glad they’re keeping their passengers safe, but they were a pain to fill out.

The receptionist sees you file in line behind the man, looking all too grateful for the distraction.

“If you could just step to the side here,” He gestures, waving the man to the left of his place at the counter, “I’ll call someone down to help you with that, sir.”

The man looks displeased to be put on hold, but you take the opportunity when it comes to you, handing over your printed email confirmation that’s got your room number inked in bold black lettering.

“Ah, 838,” The man smiles, “Your roommate’s already gotten his key. Maybe you’ll meet him down there. But if not, you’re welcome to explore the ship. Here’s a map, we have plenty to do if you’re not quite ready to get started.”

The man hands you both a stiff key card, printed with your name and general information, and a map of the ship. It really is huge, and you marvel at how much there is to do besides sex. Maybe if your roommate doesn’t work out, you can hang out in the piano lounge.

The instrument makes you think of Rooster and his attention-grabbing routine at the Hard Deck, whenever he’s in the mood to go home with someone that night. Ladies love a piano player, and if this cruise doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll pick up the instrument yourself. If it were any other voyage, you’d probably be wishing your fellow aviator was on board to serenade the ship, but you’ll count your blessings that he’s not here to see your desperation.

You decide on the elevator rather than the stairs for the sake of your luggage, not wanting the suitcase to get battered hitting each step on the way up. There’s a crowd formed at the doors to the lifts already, humming with conversation and dripping with sex appeal. Two of the three men there are already shirtless and in swim trunks, and you hope you look half as stunning in the bathing suits you’d chosen to bring with you. One of them catches your eye as you sidle into the elevator and the quick wink he sends you lightens your mood. Even if your roommate doesn’t work out, maybe you can branch out and get Elevator Guy's number.

The ride up is cut off by someone on the sixth floor who manages to squeeze into your elevator. Then someone steps out on the seventh, and finally, you make your departure on the eighth. You mourn the loss of Elevator Guy, but you’re excited to meet your roommate, whoever he is.

There’s not a long walk from the elevator to your room, but it’s a bit of a maze figuring out which hallway to take. You’re the third door down the corridor furthest left, and you slide your key card into the door with excitement brewing in your stomach.

Will he be handsome? Will he be drop-dead gorgeous? Will he have a six pack? Will he have a dad-bod? Will he have a beard? Will he be a brunette? Will he… be invisible?

He’s most likely not invisible, which means he’s just not in the room. The door swings open to a lovely space, portholes showcasing the dock and a single, queen-sized bed against that wall. There’s a suitcase stacked against one side of the bed, but no passenger to accompany it, and the bathroom light is off, too.

There’s a hat resting on one of the pillows, a blue-and-white patterned thing you recognize as rooting for the Dallas Cowboys. It’s the team Jake won’t shut the fuck up about when the game is on, so you’re well accustomed to seeing the color combo. Jake always accentuates his southern drawl when he talks about the Cowboys, just to remind everyone that he’s a certified Texan, as if anyone might have forgotten in the time it’s been since the last game. You hope that whoever your roommate is isn’t just a fan, but a southerner as well, because Jake’s twang would be ridiculously attractive if it wasn’t coming out of his arrogant mouth. But the hat has no owner in sight, so you can’t analyze their accent, and for that you heave a sigh.

He’s not here.

You’re a little let down - does he not want to meet you? - but you suppose that gives you time to go find the buffet, as well as explore the ship. You’d elected to skip lunch on the way to the port and eat on the ship instead, hoping for a debrief with your roommate before you hit it off tonight. But eating alone isn’t the worst thing in the world, and you can muscle through one meal. You take a moment to admire the room, a bright, clean space that you’re going to love messing up. The sheets are crisp and white, but there’s an imprint of your roommate on one side, like he’d stretched out for a while before heading back out. The dip in the bed looks large, and blossoms of excitement bloom in your stomach: he’s beefy.

You deposit your suitcase in the closet, filling out the hangers with your outfits and setting your lingerie on the shelf. You want easy access; you’re probably not going to look very sexy rooting around in your suitcase on all fours for a bra.

You refrain from changing, already in a weather-appropriate sundress that’s a pretty mix of pink and baby blue. You do a quick check in the mirror: no flyaway hairs, dress laying right on your hips, gloss properly lining your lips. You make sure you don’t need to reapply deodorant, perfume, or any other nice-smelling substance, and then you’re off in search of the buffet, eager to see the soft serve machine they’d advertised on their website.

The ship really is crowded, and you appreciate the unique atmosphere that comes from everyone knowing they’re only there for sex. You’re there to fuck and be fucked, and it means you can ogle the man that emerges soaking wet from the pool, slicking his dripping hair out of his face as he prepares to dive again. A woman eating with who you assume is her roommate gives the hem of your sundress a once-over, catching on your thighs beneath the fabric, and glancing back up to your face to level you with a momentary smirk. Confidence flows through your veins as you make your way out towards the wood-lined deck of the ship, looking out over the bright ocean illuminated by sunlight.

A gust of wind blows the hem of your sundress to the left, but not enough to raise it, so you don’t bother catching it. The sea is beautiful, and you’re thrilled to have a relaxing time on one; you don’t normally get those on giant carrier ships.

There’s no runway here, no reserve of jet fuel, there’s just sun, fun, and lust.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in, uh, room 624, would you?” A voice pipes up from your right, and you turn to see a slightly younger man, clearly sun-drying from a dip in the pool. His hair hangs past his ears but he runs a hand through it backwards, and it means you get a better view of his face, adorned with an impressive scruffy beard, the same brown shade as his hair. However, there’s a ring of slightly lighter hair around his mouth that you hope is from what you think it’s from. His face is more squarish than long, skin a tone darker than the impressive tan Rooster sports after a day at the beach.

“Ah, no.” You laugh lightly, and the overexaggerated slump of his shoulders hints that he was expecting your answer. You take pride in the fact that he’d wanted to ask anyways, and you flash your key card at him, “838.”

“You mind if I remember that?” He leans against the railing of the deck, and once more you appreciate the open, bold atmosphere of the crowd you’re in, “If my roommate doesn’t mind not being exclusive.”

“I don’t mind at all,” You smile, feeling a slight flush come to your cheeks. This is going to do you a world of good. If your roommate has even half of this guy’s good qualities, his charming smile, his toned arms, his slight southern drawl, you’ll be more than happy to share your week with him.

“Daniel,” He sticks a hand out, fingers thick and rough-looking. You wonder what he does for work; something laborious by the look of his hands.

“Y/N,” You smile back, turning to shake his hand. He takes you by surprise by raising your knuckles to his lips, and you remind yourself once again that this cruise is geared towards romance. Or, at least lust, but you’re flattered he’s throwing in the extra component.

You try tamping down your obvious grin as you turn back to the ocean, “You haven’t met your roommate?”

“Nope,” He grabs a shirt from a nearby lounge chair, patterned with a faded band logo that you can’t place, what must be a waterproof watch gleaming in the sunlight that hits his wrist. “I was hoping to get lunch with’er. Hey, have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, I haven’t.” You straighten from where you’re leaning against the railings, “I was waiting for my roommate too.”

“Well,” Daniel holds out an arm, toned and muscular, and you hook yours through it, “Fuck ‘em.”

You laugh at his bold choice of words, still having to remind yourself that you’re in a strictly adult environment. You don’t need to worry about your sailor’s mouth, there’s no kids to overhear, nor parents to get upset.

Daniel’s arm is strong where he leads you to the dining area, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fixating on the feeling of your bicep locked to his side by his own. The buffet is a little classier than you’d expected; instead of all-you-can-eat french fry stations there’s trays of pastas, stews, and meat for the taking, thin silver utensils laid out neatly over each container.

You keep it light with only foods you know won’t upset your stomach with the rocking of the boat. That’s the last thing you need, and you manage to find an open table while Daniel waits in line for pizza. You’ve barely had a chance to spread your napkin over your lap, your sundress putting forth a valiant effort to cover your upper thighs, when Daniel sits across from you and smiles through his beard.

“So, where are you from?” He questions, biting off the end of his pizza slice so that you have a chance to reply.

“I live here,” You attempt to pick up one half of your sandwich, lettuce and tomato making it slick and difficult, “I’m actually, uh- stationed here. With the navy.”

His eyes bulge for a second, and he swallows while nodding, “Wow. Okay, that’s cool. I’m guessing that’s why your arms are practically bigger than mine?”

You try not to spit out your sandwich laughing along with him, grateful for the flimsy paper napkin you’d snagged to hide a smear of tomato juice along your lip.

“You should see one of the other guys from my squadron,” You think of Jake- Jake who’d famously torn through a t-shirt (albeit, a flimsy one) by just flexing the muscles in his biceps, “I swear his arms are bigger than my neck.”

I’m sure you guys need ‘em,” Daniel muses, sipping at his drink. He’s listening to you with rapt interest, something men don’t usually do when they find out that your job is something traditionally masculine. He’s not boasting about his own job, he’s not rattling off gym stats: “So you’re a sailor?”

“Aviator,” You correct him, used to the misconception, “I fly.”

“I don’t think I knew the Navy had planes,” Daniel admits, crunching a potato chip between his slightly crooked teeth, “I thought that was just the Air Force.”

“Everyone thinks it’s just the Air Force,” You grin, stacking two pickles on the end of your fork that had somehow escaped your sandwich.

“Sorry,” Daniel looks bashful now, his smile sheepish, “I bet you’re tired of correcting people.”

“No! Don’t worry about it,” You’re absolutely tired of correcting people, but you’re not about to tell that to a man who’s mustache has lighter ends than the scruff of his beard against his jaw, “What about you, what do you do?”

“I just work at a post office, I sort mail.” He divulges, and you’re instantly more fond of him; a civil service worker who wears tight little shorts? You’re not quite sure if Daniel has a downside.

“Are you local?”

“I’m in Oceanside. Not too far,” He muses, “I only drove an hour here.”

So, he’s good in bed, he’s good in uniform, and you could easily make weekend visits. You’re starting to lament the fact that you’ll be sleeping with someone else for the week.

“Are you sure you’re not in room 838?” You tease, “Maybe they misprinted your card, or something.”

“Believe me, if I could get it reprinted, I would,” He confesses, setting his fork down to brace his elbows on the table. He leans forwards, his chin propped against his clasped hands, “I know they’re all strict about not changing roommates, but listen, if yours doesn’t work out, I’ll propose an arrangement to mine. And- uh, even if yours does work out,” He stifles a smirk, stuffing a chip into his mouth instead, “-ask him if he wouldn’t mind swapping for a bit.”

You both admire and appreciate his desperation. You’re used to aloof sailors, or men in bars who wish you had less muscle and more tit. Something about the way he’s leading the conversation, not forcing himself on you but begging for a chance, makes your stomach flutter.

“We’ll work something out,” You promise, nudging your foot against his beneath the table, “Coming straight out and asking is working on me, if I’m being honest.”

Daniel laughs, so you elaborate: “So many of the guys I meet try pretending like they don’t care. Or- or maybe they don’t, I guess, but it’s still frustrating. It’s nice that you care.”

“Of course I care,” Daniel blinks incredulously at you, cheeks stuffed as he struggles to swallow before speaking, “You could choke me out with your thighs, babe. I’m not stupid enough to lose that opportunity.”

Your cheeks burn. Evidently you’re still acclimating to the brazen atmosphere of the ship, and you struggle to hide your sheepish smirk as he kicks his foot against yours beneath the table, the same as you’d done to him.

Daniel’s only gaining more popularity in your mind when he takes your plate to the trash, scraping away the remnants of the lettuce and condiments from your sandwich and stacking his own on top of it where they’re about to be washed. He sends you a dazzling smile as he gestures for the doorway, and you’re honestly surprised that he doesn’t say ‘after you’ when he lets you go first.

“Eighth floor?” Daniel verifies when you step through the doors of the elevator, and it’s much less packed than when you’d been there before. You nod, and he presses only 8, not 6 for his own room. You’re almost nervous that he might try to come into your room with you, because you’re not sure whether your roommate is there, and you don’t know how kindly he’ll take to you bringing another man in without meeting him first. But you swallow your nerves as the doors slide shut, leaving you in the elevator with him alone.

You can feel him staring at you, and you meet his gaze with a smile. He smiles back, and you lock eyes for a tense moment, then all of a sudden you’re both lunging forwards, frenzied as something in the air tells you to jump each other. Your hands sling around his neck as his lips press to your own, the scruff of his beard grating against your skin. It stings slightly, but it’s delicious as his lips fit between your own, and your back presses to the cold metal wall of the elevator. You suppose you should be a little ashamed, letting your tongue ghost over his bottom lip, making out with a man you've just met in an elevator, but it appears everyone is either boarding or eating, and no one bothers you on your journey up.

To add yet another thing to Daneil’s list of perfect traits: he’s an excellent kisser. He lets you lead, and when he feels your tongue prod at his lips he groans, gladly licking over your top lip. You open your mouth, seized by the moment, and he ventures inside without hesitation, his tongue hot and wet as it laps over your own.

You’d moan if you could, spout some breathy expletive or test out his name on your drool-coated tongue. But you can’t, he’s a presence, an enigma, and you let him occupy your mouth so much that words won’t.

You’d been on the fourth deck when the doors had shut, and it’s not a long trip to the eighth. When the elevator jolts to a stop you reluctantly push Daniel away, not wanting to expose yourself to the hall of deck eight.

“Uh,” You breathe, wiping at a smear of drool on the side of your mouth, “Fuck, that was-”

“Yeah.” He agrees, similarly breathless as he runs a hand through his hair that you’d tousled slightly, “I’d love to do that again sometime.”

“Me too.” You laugh bashfully, “Uh, maybe not in an elevator, though.”

“Like- like in a bed.” He concludes as the doors slide open, revealing a safely empty hallway. “Or- or just a room, or something, like a- a couch, if you don’t want- not a bed.”

“A bed,” You assure him, endeared by his caution, “I’d love to do it again sometime in a bed, Daniel.”

“Alright,” He grins, reaching out to catch the doors before they can close on you as you depart, “838’s right there. I’d walk you, but,” He points at a door only two down from the one directly in front of you, and you wave him off with a grateful grin.

“No worries.” You laugh, “Thanks, Daniel. Uh- I hope I see you again.”

“Me too,” He smiles, and it might be the most charming sight you’ve ever seen, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The doors slide shut on him, and you feel like the next appropriate step for you is to go into your room, close the door, and slide down the backside of it. You can’t fathom reacting any differently to the mind-blowing, butterfly-inducing kiss you’d just engaged in, especially with the excitement of doing it in an elevator. The desperation you’d felt and received back was exhilarating, and you’d be happy to get off the boat now and savor the feeling.

Coincidentally, the ship’s horn sounds, and an announcement comes over the loudspeakers, “Passengers, brace yourselves for some slight rocking,” You hold onto the wall, just in case, “Because we are on our way! We’ve just set sail, and for a day and a half, you’ll be at sea. Then we’ll dock on beautiful white sand beaches by Wednesday morning. I hope you enjoy yourselves, and I wish I was one of you, because I do not get a roommate. Unless- Rick, you feel like- no, no, okay! Okay,” The captain laughs, “My co-captain isn’t interested. Well, folks, enjoy yourselves, and please don’t make messes in the pools.”

You’re feeling generous, a bounce in your step from being kissed stupid in the elevator, so you let out a light chuckle at the captain’s humor. Any other time, you might have found it corny, but you’ve just been made out with, and everything seems better than it would have before. You hear muffled cheers from the rest of the ship, and dig into the pocket of your sundress for your key card. You retrieve the smooth plastic, slot it into the door labeled 838, and take a deep breath.

If he’s anything like Daniel, you’ll have a great time. And if he isn’t, you’ll see Daniel again.

With that, you push down the silver handle, hearing the door click with the motion, and you step inside.

The first thing you see is a pair of socked feet sticking off the end of the bed. The bed is perpendicular to the doorway, and the upper half of it is hidden by the bathroom. You clock the pair of toned, tan, mouth-watering legs that rest on the mattress, a sight you already want to sink your teeth into. You’re shocked that you’re bold enough to think that you wish he didn’t have briefs on, especially considering the sizable bulge in their fabric. You take a step closer, and a similarly toned torso comes into view, impossibly muscled and something that belongs in an art museum. There’s a pair of thick, bulky biceps raised above the man’s head, and when he turns his head to look at you-

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

You freeze in your spot. One foot planted in front of the other, your weight distributed between them equally. Your eyes go wide, your stomach twists awkwardly, and you damn near drop your keycard.

“Hangman.”

Your fellow aviator's face is equally as shocked, but it curves into a familiar cocky grin all too soon, “What do we have here? Y/L/N?”

“No fucking way. Jake?”

“Y/N,” He matches your pattern with a hearty chuckle, “Oh, this is too good.”

“You’re in the wrong room.” You decide, “This is 838.”

“That’s what it said on my key card, darlin’.” Jake snatches the card from the sleeve stuck to the back of his phone, flashing it at you where you can see the clear print of the numbers, “Guess we’re fated or somethin’.”

“Shut up.” You snap, knees easily bending as you fall back against the loveseat opposite the bathroom, “Shut the fuck up, Hangman. There’s no way I’m staying here.”

“No room changes,” He grins, and you want to smother the expression off of his face with a pillow, “And no getting off, either. We just set sail.”

You bury your face in your hands. There’s no way you’re surviving this vacation. Not with Hangman- Hangman who acts like a toddler and pulls your hair whenever it’s not in the regulatory bun. Hangman who snatches food out of your hand if you hold it up for too long without eating it because you’re speaking. Hangman who delights in insulting you over the comms in the air, offering you flying lessons ‘’cause that move was pretty rusty, darlin’.’

There is absolutely no way in hell - which feels like your current location - that you’re taking a sex cruise with Jake Seresin, end of story.

“So, sex cruise, eh?” He muses from his spot on the bed, and you shoot him a glare so vicious you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead.

“Yeah? You’re on it too, Hangman.”

“Easy,” He holds up a placating hand, “Wasn’t an insult. Just didn’t think you were the type.”

“To fuck?”

“To be desperate.” He shrugs, “Y’know, Y/L/N, if you wanted to have sex with me this bad, you could have just asked.”

“Stop it right now.” You insist, “This was not my doing, and so help me god I’m considering ripping that stupid porthole out of the wall and jumping ship. Clearly I’ve done something to upset the universe, so do not fucking expect me to enjoy this, Hangman.”

“You’re very pissy,” He notes, only making his observation more clear as your scowl deepens, “Relax, Y/L/N. I’ll give you a good time.”

“All you’re capable of giving me is a migraine.” You spit, a headache already brewing behind your eyes, “God, and why are you naked? Have some fucking class.”

“Class?” He repeats incredulously, a chuckle shaking his stupid, exposed chest, “This is a sex cruise! I’m near naked ‘cause I thought we’d fuck!’

“I’m not having sex with you.” You vow, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I’ll cycle through this entire ship twice before I even think about letting you at me, Hangman. Do you understand?”

“I understand’ He salutes, and the tease pisses you off, “Y’know, Y/L/N, I think you should let loose. Live a little, don’t be so uptight the whole time.”

“I’m uptight because you’re sprawled out over my bed without clothes on.” You groan, and then your brain comes late to another earth-shattering conclusion, “Oh, fuck, that’s the only bed!”

Hangman laughs, the sound thick and full of that cockiness you despise, “Damn right it is, darlin’. You gonna snuggle up next to me tonight?”

“No!” You gush, readjusting yourself on the loveseat so that you’re curled up on its cushions, “There, see? This is my bed. I’m sleeping here.”

“Oh, relax,” He scoffs, patting the space beside him. He’s turned towards you now, propped up on his elbow and boring into you with his stare “There’s plenty of room here. I’m just messing around.”

“I’m not.” You insist, “I’m not sleeping with you, Jake. Either way.”

“Well, you called me Jake,” He notes, shrugging his broad shoulders and settling back onto his pillows, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re getting nothing.” You hiss, turning onto your back on the loveseat, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?”

“A week on a sex boat with me? Must’a bought a homeless man some groceries, saved a starvin’ puppy, caught a runaway baby stroller, that kinda thing.”

“It must have been the time when I scratched that Tesla and didn’t leave a note,” You groan, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Jake’s never been one to take insults or teasing gracefully. He retaliates with his own, his eyes still burning holes against the side of your face, “So, Y/N. Seen the shops yet?”

“No.” You grumble, “Didn’t know they had any.”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice stuff,” Jake drawls, “Y’know, lingerie, vibrators, sex chocolates, all that stuff.”

Your cheeks blaze and you honestly think you’d rather be back on base than here, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I’m not lying!” And to his credit, you believe him. But lying isn’t the issue, it’s teasing, and you’re not sure you can handle seven days of it non-stop.

“I wonder if Daniel’s seen the shops,” You grumble, maybe just a little smug that you’d already hit it off with someone, assuming Jake hadn’t had the time to make out with anyone in an elevator yet.

Your brag works, and the muscles in his jaw tighten ever-so-slightly, such a small movement that you wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t been studying him.

When he speaks, there’s a familiar tension in his eyes, one you're used to seeing when someone ignites his overinflated sense of competition, “Daniel? That the guy you tongued in the elevator?”

You let out an incredulous cry, as if he’s wrong, “What? What- how did you know that! We didn’t tongue,” You scoff, reminiscing on the heavenly feeling of Daniel’s tongue smoothing over your own.

“Mhm. Sure. That’s why your lips are all swollen and shiny. ‘Cause you two stood six feet apart.”

You feel judged opposite Jake’s narrowed eyes, and you retort, “Okay, fine. We kissed. Is that a bad thing? This is a sex cruise, I’m supposed to get lucky.”

“All I’m sayin’ is you were snappin’ at me to have some class, but I’m not the one who frenched someone in a public facility. Did you even wait for it to be cleared out, or did you just go at it in the crowd?”

“It was empty.” You huff, practically slamming your head back down onto the couch cushions, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I bet he pushed all the buttons to make it take longer,” Jake snickers, “Or- or did he back you up against ‘em? Smash your back into the panel and light the whole thing up like a Christmas tree?”

“Shut up!” You gush, taking one of the cushions from the couch and jamming it over your head, blocking his irritating voice from your ears.

You’re fucked.

Actually, you’re not fucked, and that’s the problem. You’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, but if you had your pick, you’d be in a different room, with a different roommate. One who wants to spread your legs and feast on what’s between them, one that wants to jam your throat with his cock until you’re begging for air. But you’re here instead, bunched up on a stiff loveseat, an itchy pillow over your face, and enemy number one lounging on the bed you have to share with him tonight.

You’d rather be fucked.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

2K notes · View notes

paracosmic-murdock · 2 months ago

Text

give you my wild, give you a child

john arrives at the tower with his son for the weekend thanks to the custody arrangements and is greeted with a last minute mission. as a favor, you helped him with taking care of his toddler while he was gone, which altered bucky's brain chemistry to the point of insanity. because it sure was insanity to look at you and picture you with one of those but that belonged to you and him; it was insanity because he believed he could never give you the peace you deserve. but there you were, of course, to kiss his insecurities goodbye.

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x new avenger!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, insecure bucky barnes, reader is a speedster like the flash and quicksilver, i made up a name for john's son, his kid is younger here than he actually should be according to mcu timing but idgaf, bucky has baby fever he's fighting to end, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, breakup and reconciliation, reader is good with children, reader wants to be a mother in the future, both reader and bucky want to have a family, but it's more complicated than that, song: peace (taylor swift)

3.8K words

✰ becky's upsetting father's day card (unplanned part two)

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

It all started when John took a bullet for you. Now, you owed him your life and said you would do him a big favor as payback if he ever needed you.

That's how you ended up being the mediator between him and Olivia, his ex-wife, in the shared custody arrangements. You went with him to pick Nathan, his toddler son, spoke to Olivia on his behalf whenever he had a last minute mission and couldn't take care of the baby on his weekend, or just about anything because their relationship was appalling.

You used to tease him, saying he calculated the whole thing so you could owe him one. In reality, and when he would just bring your favorite dessert to thank you, you just tell him that you would have done that even if you didn't owe him your life. He laughs and thanks you again.

One time, Olivia was adamant that John had to keep Nathan for that weekend since, for the last two times, he had missions and couldn't have him.

And it happened again.

“Mel, I can't go,” John told Valentina's assistant. “I have my son for the weekend.”

“I get it, I'm sorry, but Val-”

You sighed. “I'll go in his place, let him stay.”

Mel shook his head. “Sorry, Val said-”

“I know it's not your fault, but can you please-”

“She said it had to be John because he knows the target already.” she told you.

“Okay,” John nodded. “I guess I'll talk to Olivia.”

“Great,” Mel smiled and continued detailing the mission, clearly in a nicer tone than Valentina's usual.

Once the meeting was over, you stopped John before he left the briefing room.

“John,” you called him. “I'll stay with Nathan, we'll figure it out later.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You must’ve your stuff.”

“Don't worry, it's just filling out some mission reports. I can do that while he naps,” You smiled. “And he's a little angel, you know he never gives problems.”

“God, I don't think I can accept that.”

You shook your head. “It's okay, remember what Olivia said.”

“Yeah, yeah, but-” He groaned tiredly. “Thank you for this.”

“You're welcome.” You curved your lips in a kind smile.

“You called me, doll?”

You looked up and hushed him softly to show him the baby was asleep in your arms. “Yeah, baby, thanks for coming. I need your help.”

“Is that John's kid? Why are you babysitting?” Bucky asked in a lower volume, taking a seat on the couch next to you in the rocking chair.

“Valentina had John go on a mission last minute, but if he called Olivia to ask her if she can have him again, she'll change the custody situation and he might not be able to see Nathan much. Or at all, so I offered to take care of him for the weekend and take him back on Monday… He's been working so hard for this and I wanna help him however I can.”

“You're telling Olivia?”

“Up to John,” You shrugged. “It's like a dad leaving their kid under the care of their auntie Y/N.”

Bucky nodded. “One wouldn't believe that's John's kid. So peaceful.”

You pouted. “Sure he is… my little baby.”

“What do you need me for, then, doll?” he asked, a soft expression on his face at the sight of you, there, acting as if you were in your natural habitat.

“I wanted to ask you for a favor, of course if it's okay with you… Could you take Nate's crib to our room for the weekend?”

“To our room? Why don't you use the camera thing?”

“He's still getting used to this new environment, not to mention that he doesn't come very often. I don't want him to feel alone in John's room without his dad.”

“What if he cries and all that?”

You sighed. “Buck, if it bothers you, I'll sleep in John's room with the baby.”

“No, no, it's fine,” Bucky replied. “I've never been so close to a baby, that's all.”

“Wanna carry him while I look for the diaper bag with his things? He's a little too heavy but I don't want him alone.”

He raised his eyebrow, hesitant to answer. “Something tells me you're too attached.”

You hushed him. “This is my baby for the weekend. All mine. Don't ever tell John I said that.”

“Okay, give it to me,” Bucky opened his arms to carry Nathan.

“It?”

“You know what I mean.”

A soft laugh left your lips and you gave him the kid. Nathan stirred a little, and Bucky made a panicked grin at the thought of the baby waking up and crying in his arms. “Uncle Bucky is gonna take care of you while I get your stuff… Will you take care of Uncle Bucky for me, too, my baby?”

“He's asleep and doesn't understand what you're saying.”

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes.

You wouldn't lie: seeing Bucky carrying Nathan made your uterus explode. You were probably ovulating because your mind was plagued with ideas you wouldn't entertain otherwise.

Either way, his faux reluctance was almost ridiculous… It was clear that he was carrying the two-year-old with a tenderness rare to watch in a man his size, and it was making you melt.

“What am I seeing?” Ava asked, appearing suddenly from the wall. You flinched.

“We're-” you began talking, trying to say you're babysitting John's child as you said before.

Instead, Yelena spoke from the other side of the room while eating cereal. “They're clearly playing house.”

“We're not,” Bucky declared, irritated, giving you the baby back. “I'll do what you asked.”

You smiled and held Nathan tighter, rushing to John's room where Bucky would be to pick the crib.

“Yeah, John, he's doing great,” you said through the phone, watching The Backyardigans with Nathan on your lap. “Don't worry.”

“This is killing me, I need to get back,”

“I need you to be at peace with this,” you replied after letting out a frustrated sigh. “I had Bucky move Nate's crib to my room so he wouldn't be alone at night. I spend every passing second with him, I take speedy showers while he sleeps, and I'm back to him in like a millisecond. He's never alone, I think he's not used to this place yet and I don't want him-”

“I appreciate so much what you're doing, but you're making him consume you completely and that's not good for you,” John noted. “Also, you're making him codependent.”

You scoffed. “Come on, don't be like that!”

“I'm sorry. I am so grateful for this but I just don't want to stop your life for a favor you're doing,”

“Think of it as an appetizer to motherhood for when I have my own children.”

John chuckled. “Oh, tell that to Bucky.”

“Not telling Bucky is a better one.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Don't even mention it, dad,” You smirked.

You heard him groan in annoyance. You could even feel him rolling his eyes. “Could you send some pics of Nate so I know he's safe and sound?”

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed. “Now go to work, you're making me miss the pizzeria in the ancient Mexico episode.”

“You're not serious,”

“I so am.” You hung up the call and straightened Nate's position.

You looked up and spotted Bucky staring at you from afar.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Bucky frowned and walked to you. “I can't look at you now? You're my girlfriend, may I remind you.”

“Well, you can look every once in a while, not stare like you're a lioness plotting how to kill your prey, me, and feed me to your family.”

“I can't do that because we're sharing our room now, but I will on Monday right after you drop the baby with his mother.”

“After we drop him. You're driving, sir.” You smiled, already excited to see him with the baby, acting like a whole dad in front of you. It's important for you to see how well he plays the role, since you do want to be a mother and you don't really want your baby's father to be someone that's not Bucky.

“I don't owe John my life unlike you, it's better if you leave that to him when he's back. Or at least leave me out of it.”

“Well, I said I'd do it. Nathan has to be with his mom before she goes to work in the morning, and I don't know if John will be here by then,” you replied.

“Aren't you doing a little too much? That's not your child.”

You sighed. “I know he's not my child, but he is my responsibility for the weekend. It won't kill me to take him back home.”

“I know, but I think it's too much.”

“I'm taking care of him as if he were mine, so whatever I do is the bare minimum, Bucky, not too much. This is like… an introduction to motherhood.” You looked at the kid fondly and then back at Bucky. “And I'm lov-”

“Doll, you're not a mom and you won't-”

You rolled your eyes before he finished the sentence, genuinely dreading the end of it. “You know what, Bucky? Just go. I'll call an Uber or whatever. And I'll be taking the crib back to John's room and I'll sleep there if it bothers you so fucking much. If you won't help, at least don't get in my goddamn way.”

“That's not what I meant, doll,”

“But sure it is what it sounded like.”

Before he could say anything more, you turned off the TV and rushed to John's room with the baby. Nathan laughed once he saw himself somewhere else that suddenly.

It made you smile warmly and wonder whether or not it would be a good idea for your future kids to be speedsters like yourself. A small part of you stopped worrying about the supersoldier part, which you hated to see happening.

To clear your mind, you took the pictures of Nathan that John asked for and sent them to him.

You: He's the cutest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You: I love him sm 🥹

John: He is

John: Thanks for this

You: Don't worry ab that

You: I'll put him to sleep for his afternoon nap :)) Take care

John: Thank you ❤️

“What if we go to sleep now?”

Nathan frowned.

“You know you have no choice. It's nap time.”

Bucky was in the kitchen, watching a food tutorial on his phone that explained step by step how to make apple compote for Nathan as an attempt to make it up to you.

He wasn't meaning to be rude at all, he just wanted to see you with the baby the least possible because he was getting weird ideas. You truly looked the happiest you've been in a while, at ease. The baby got along with you very well, as if you were his mother, and his laughter mixed with yours always lit up the room. He even catches himself smiling fondly at the sight, imagining you with one that belongs to you and him.

But that couldn't be.

He would be lying if he said he didn't want a family with you, but he knows that there must be peace to have a family.

And peace? He doesn't have it in himself to give you peace. In his perspective, you were always the one to give, and him the one to take. And he can't spend the rest of your lives taking so much from you without giving anything back at all.

“Let me know when you're done in the kitchen,” Bucky heard you say as you saw him and then tried to leave, clearly not wanting to share space after what happened.

“I- uh… I'm about to finish,” he replied before you left. “I'm making Nate an apple compote. Wanna try it?”

You frowned, surprised, but approached Bucky.

He smiled softly and offered you a new spoon filled with the food; you accepted it, taking a hesitant taste of the compote.

“It's good,” you curved your lips weakly. “He'll like it, thanks. I can take it from here, though, so you don't have to do more.”

“No, look, I-” Bucky exhaled tiredly, turning the stove off. “I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to be rude or upset you, I just chose the wrong words.”

“An honest mistake, I guess.”

He nodded slightly. “I think we have to talk about this.”

“Can we leave this conversation for later? I am exhausted and the last thing I need right now is for you to keep choosing the wrong words.”

“Yeah, sorry,” He sighed and covered the pot. “Here's the compote.”

“Thanks.”

As you finished dressing Nathan to take him back to his mom, you couldn't help but feel a bit sad at the thought of not having him for a while. Like, two weeks.

Bucky was right: you got too attached.

John was right: you are now codependent.

And you also got too involved. You even got a potty for him and started training him.

“I'll miss you so much,” You kissed his forehead and carried him in one arm and the diaper bag in the other. “But your dad is gonna bring you back soon and we'll play again, and watch cartoons…”

You noticed the Uber was already outside, so you left John's room.

“Where're you going?” Bucky asked as he saw you pressing the elevator's button.

“I told you I'd take Nate to his mom's today,” you answered, your voice serious. A bit passive-aggressive if anything.

He pursed his lips. “Alright, let's go, I'll take you.”

“There's a car waiting, Bucky,” you explained. “And you already said you wouldn't take us, so why do you care all of the sudden, huh? You don't have to get involved in any of this.”

“I just want to help, come on,”

“No, you don't wanna help, you just want to be on my good side again,” you accused him, seeing the elevator door open. “We'll talk when I get back.”

“Doll-”

“Don't call me that, Bucky. Not now.”

He nodded and took a step back, giving you space.

And knowing he had cosmically fucked up.

You spent the whole day out: ran some errands, had lunch with Mel, visited Pepper and Morgan in the afternoon, and then went back home.

When you returned to the Avengers Tower, everyone was gathered. John and Alexei had arrived from the mission not too long ago.

“Hey,” John stood up to receive you. “There's nothing I can do to thank you enough for this.”

You smiled. “It's okay, John. That's what friends are for.”

“Not at all,”

“Of course, Yelena would've done it.”

“No, I wouldn't have.”

John shrugged. “See? Just tell me what I can do.”

“I'll let you know when I come up with something,” You took a seat between Bob and Ava. Everyone was surprised you were away from Bucky but said nothing. “How was the mission, boys?”

Alexei began recounting everything that happened like a Greek epic, telling every detail and exaggerating much of it. To this day, you all were used to it, even entertained by it.

Bob hushed at you softly to get your attention meanwhile. “Hey.”

“Hey, Bob,”

“Are you alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Well, I did the dishes today.”

“Attaboy,” You smiled widely.

Bob turned around so he could sit as if you were in front of him. “You're sitting a mile from Bucky and he looks more like Grumpy Bear than ever. What happened?”

“We just have a… pending conversation.”

“A bad one?” he inquired.

“I think so, yeah,”

“Are you breaking up?”

You shrugged.

“Oh,” Bob grinned sadly. “I really hope you talk it out. Let me know how it goes?”

“Yeah, Bobby,” You squeezed his forearm. “Thanks.”

The rest of the conversation went between your efforts to ignore Bucky's stare and to understand Alexei's oral mission report. You could hear, but not actually listen, not when Bucky's piercing eyes were so uncomfortably fixated on you.

You didn't notice when Alexei finished his story, nor when everyone started drinking, much less when they all left and you and Bucky were the only ones staying there.

But he did.

“Hey,”

You looked up silently, then all around, then back at him. “Hey.”

“Is it time to talk?”

“I guess so,”

Bucky nodded and sat beside you now.

“I wanna apologize for what I said,” he began. “I know that choosing the wrong words isn't an excuse, but I guess that's what I meant to say. What… you thought.”

“What I thought?” You frowned. “What did I think, according to you?”

“You thought I didn't care about children.”

“So, you don't care about children?”

He stayed silent.

“You mean to tell me that you don't want children now or in the long term?”

More silence received you, but he nodded.

“And you didn't care to tell me before, why? You've known I wanted children for ages, Bucky. I told you multiple times, even in Wakanda before we were together. You knew this, and you knew you didn't want children all this time and still got in a relationship with me. And you waited until I was so in love with you to come clean and say so.”

“I'm sorry, I-”

You groaned. “You're sorry?! So what? What are we gonna do now? Because I don't know how much we're willing to compromise here.”

“That's the thing, you shouldn't have to compromise or give up on your dream of having a family one day.”

“Are you doing what I think you're doing, Bucky? You're breaking up with me?”

And he was silent again.

“Oh, my God!” you yelled at him and stood up. “What the actual fuck?! I- I've been beside you through every-fucking-thing, Bucky! I looked for you for years with Sam, I protected you and fought for you despite what you did, I went to Wakanda with you, I was beside you when Steve left… I had given up on fighting but came back for you when you needed me, I'm here because of you! And is this how you pay me? By… making me believe we'd be a family one day? By lying to me whenever I mentioned marriage and kids?”

“I didn't know for sure until now.”

You exhaled, visibly upset. Well, upset was the understatement of the century. “Fuck you, Barnes. Truly, fuck you.”

That very same night, you thanked God for your powers more than ever. Not spending more than thirty seconds packing up every single one of your belongings came in handy considering that Bucky was right there.

Once you finished, you went to Bob's room and told him everything that happened. You told him you would leave, but that he could still call you and you would answer. Whenever.

Soon, you were at Mel's place to spend the night, telling her what had happened.

“Okay, but are you sure that this wasn't something that came from an insecurity of his? Like, maybe he's scared to mess things up with you and decided to let you go,” she theorized. “I'm not saying you should forgive him and get back together with him, just to… give him the benefit of the doubt. As far as I know, he really loves you and isn't the type to do something like this.”

“Maybe that's right, but he still did it,” You exhaled heavily. “And now I can't help but feel that he made me waste all this time.”

Mel nodded. “Why don't you get some sleep? Maybe tomorrow morning we can think of all this with a clearer mind.”

“Bucky, you dick.”

He sighed. “Good night to you, too, Mel.”

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of your favorite breakfast, and it surprised you that Mel even knew, considering you haven't been friends for that long. You know about her daddy issues, she knows about your PTSD, but your favorite food or colors are off-limits.

However, instead of seeing her, Bucky was the one waiting for you on the dining table.

You rolled your eyes. “What did you come for, Bucky? To break me again? Let me remind you that I did nothing but love you all these years, and you're-”

“Can you let me speak?” You stayed silent. “I… thought it all through last night. Well, I had thought it through before talking to you yesterday, but I then realized that I took that choice away from you, and I shouldn't have. The truth is that I want everything with you, I honestly can't live with the thought of your future children having someone else's eyes, but I know that a family needs peace, and I don't have any of it to give you. I know this is your dream and I couldn't live with myself knowing that I took that away from you, or that you'll wake up one day and regret us. I'd rather miss you my whole life than make you let go of what you want.”

You frowned. “Bucky, you've given me peace since the moment you let me in when we were in Wakanda. You make me feel safe and loved, and if that isn't peace, I don't know what the hell it is. I just need you to stop pushing me away when it gets hard and fight for us.”

“That's what I'm trying to do,” He sighed and took your hands in his. “I try my best to not be intimidated by you, by your integrity, your beliefs, and everyday I feel like I do it all wrong and I'm just wasting your honor. I… I'd do anything for you, I always give you the best of me, but is it enough if I can't give you peace? Will… my love be enough?”

“Bucky, you've always been more than enough for me,” you muttered. “Your best is all that I need, but I need your best to include staying and communicating when something like this happens. We have been together for a while, and I must know if you're committed to this. To me. To us.”

“I am, and I'm sorry I got scared,” he replied. “I only want you to be happy no matter what.”

“Buck, I could never be happy with anybody that's not you. You are my peace and my happiness, and your love is all that I need.”

He curved his lips slightly and approached you hesitantly, not knowing what your reaction might be but not wanting to let the fear of rejection get the best of him.

But you kissed him, and he knew it was all worth it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #john walker

788 notes · View notes

ghstyles · 3 months ago

Text

Details | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 3.6k

Summary: Harry, drunk, calls Y/N in the middle of the night. The alcohol loosens his tongue, dragging out confessions he’d never dare say sober.

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The digital clock on Y/N's nightstand reads 2:37 AM when her phone starts vibrating incessantly against the wooden surface. She stirs from sleep slowly at first, then more urgently as the buzzing continues, her hand fumbling to locate the device in the darkness.

Without checking the caller ID, because only one person would call at this hour, she answers groggily.

"Hello?" she mumbles, voice thick with sleep as she pushes herself up to sit against her headboard.

There's a pause on the other end, then a familiar voice, though it sounds different somehow. Less controlled, the words slightly slurred around the edges.

"Angel." Just that single word, but Y/N immediately senses something is off.

"Harry?" she asks, now fully awake, concern sharpening her tone. "Is everything okay?"

A low, rumbling laugh comes through the speaker. Its not his usual calculated chuckle, but something looser, almost vulnerable.

"S'fine. Everything's...fine," Harry replies, his words running together slightly. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

Y/N frowns into the darkness of her bedroom, reaching to switch on her lamp. The sudden light makes her blink as realization dawns.

"Harry, are you drunk?" she asks incredulously. She's seen Harry drink before as he enjoys fine whiskey, expensive wine, but she's never heard him like this, his carefully maintained control slipping.

"Maybe," he admits after a moment, and she can almost picture him shrugging, that casual gesture he rarely allows himself. "Had a...difficult meeting. With Russians. Fucking Russians, always with the vodka."

Y/N sits up straighter, suddenly very alert. Harry never discusses his business with her, certainly not specific meetings with specific groups. The fact that he's mentioning it now confirms just how intoxicated he must be.

"Where are you?" she asks, already sliding out of bed, reaching for a pair of jeans.

"Home," Harry answers, and she hears the clink of ice against glass. "In my office. Alone."

Relief washes through her. At least he's safe, not wandering the streets or still out with dangerous associates.

"That's good," she says soothingly, pulling on a sweatshirt over her tank top. "Maybe you should get some water, go to bed."

Another laugh, this one almost bitter. "Can't sleep. Keep thinking."

"About what?" Y/N asks cautiously, sliding her feet into sneakers, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder.

There's a long pause, so extended that Y/N checks her phone to make sure the call hasn't dropped.

"You," Harry finally says, his voice suddenly much quieter, more serious despite the slight slur. "Always thinking about you. S'the problem."

Something in his tone makes her heart skip a beat. "I'm a problem?" she asks softly, grabbing her keys and wallet.

"The biggest," Harry confirms, but there's no malice in his words. "The best kind of problem. The kind that...that makes everything else seem less important."

Y/N pauses at her door, taken aback by this unexpected vulnerability. "Harry..."

"Do you know," he continues as if she hadn't spoken, "that before you, I slept maybe three, four hours a night? Always working, planning, watching my back. Now I sleep...better. When you're there. Like my brain knows it's safe to shut down for a while."

The admission strikes Y/N speechless for a moment. This is more personal insight than Harry has offered in months of their relationship.

"I didn't know that," she says softly, resuming her movement toward the door. "I'm glad you sleep better with me there."

"There's a lot you don't know," Harry says, and she hears the sound of liquid being poured, ice clinking again. "A lot I don't tell you."

Y/N steps into the hallway of her apartment building, locking the door behind her. "Like what?" she asks, hesitant yet curious about what secrets might spill from Harry's loosened tongue.

Another pause, this one filled with the sound of his breathing, slightly heavier than usual.

"Like how fucking terrified I am," he finally says, the words coming out in a rush. "All the time. Not of the business, not of the risks. Of losing you. Of you seeing...really seeing what I am, who I am, and walking away."

Y/N freezes on the stairs, her breath catching. In all their time together, she's never heard Harry admit to fear of any kind, let alone fear of abandonment.

"Harry, I know who you are," she says carefully, continuing down the stairs. "I've always known."

"No," he insists, his voice harder now despite the slurring. "You know what I show you. The...the filtered version. The version that might keep you around. Not the real thing."

She exits her building, the night air cool against her skin as she looks for a taxi. "Then tell me about the real thing," she challenges gently.

The silence stretches so long that Y/N thinks he might have hung up or passed out. Then:

"I killed my first man when I was seventeen," Harry says, his voice unnervingly calm despite the subject matter. "Not ordered it. Did it myself. With my hands. And I felt...nothing. Nothing at all."

Y/N swallows hard, spotting a taxi and waving it down. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because you should know," Harry says simply. "Before you decide...if you stay. What kind of monster you're with."

As she slides into the taxi and gives the driver Harry's address, Y/N takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

"I've never thought you were a monster, Harry."

A bitter laugh crackles through the phone. "Then you haven't been paying attention, angel. I've done things...terrible things. Things that would make you look at me differently."

"Try me," Y/N says with more confidence than she feels.

There's the sound of movement, like Harry is standing, pacing. "Last month, when that shipment went missing from the docks? I didn't just 'handle it' like I told you. I found the man responsible. Made an example of him. The kind of example that keeps others in line for years."

Y/N closes her eyes briefly, trying to process this information without letting her imagination fill in too many details. "I assumed as much," she says quietly. "I'm not naive, Harry."

"No? What about when your professor was giving you trouble last semester? The one who suddenly decided your paper deserved an A after all?"

This pulls Y/N up short. She had assumed her appeal to the department head had resolved that situation. "What did you do?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

"Nothing permanent," Harry says, and she can almost hear the dismissive wave of his hand. "Just a conversation. About his gambling debts. About how they might disappear if he reconsidered his grading policies."

Y/N feels a flicker of anger. "You had no right to interfere in my academic life," she says, her tone sharper now. "I can fight my own battles."

"I know," Harry says, surprising her. "That's why I never told you. You're...fierce. Independent. It's one of the things I lo—" He cuts himself off abruptly, and Y/N's heart hammers in her chest at what he almost said. "One of the things I admire about you."

The taxi turns onto Harry's street, the upscale neighborhood quiet at this hour.

"Is that why you called me tonight?" Y/N asks softly. "To confess your sins? To warn me away?"

There's a long sigh on the other end. "I don't know why I called," Harry admits, vulnerability seeping back into his voice. "I just...needed to hear you. To know you're real. That what we have is real. Sometimes it feels too good to be true. That someone like you would choose someone like me."

The raw honesty in his voice makes Y/N's throat tight with emotion as the taxi pulls up outside Harry's building.

"I'm coming up," she says, paying the driver and stepping out onto the sidewalk. "Stay where you are, okay? I'll be there in five minutes."

"You're coming here?" Harry sounds genuinely surprised, as if the possibility hadn't occurred to him despite calling her in the middle of the night. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Y/N confirms, nodding to the night doorman who recognizes her and lets her in without question. "Just stay put. Don't drink anything else."

"Bossy," Harry murmurs, but there's affection in his tone. "I like when you tell me what to do. Only you get away with that, you know. Anyone else tried, they'd be missing teeth."

Despite everything, Y/N smiles as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for the penthouse. "I'm aware of my special privileges."

"Special indeed," Harry agrees, his voice softening. "You have no idea what you do to me, angel. How you've changed everything. Before you, I was just...existing. Building the business, eliminating threats, accumulating power. But not living. Not really."

The elevator ascends smoothly, and Y/N leans against the wall, taking in these unprecedented admissions.

"And now?" she prompts gently.

"Now I have something to lose," Harry says, his voice suddenly clear despite the alcohol. "Someone to lose. And it fucking terrifies me. Makes me vulnerable in ways I can't afford to be."

The elevator doors slide open at the penthouse level, and Y/N steps into the private foyer, using her key to unlock Harry's door.

"I'm here," she says into the phone, then ends the call as she enters the apartment.

The main living area is dark and silent, but she can see light spilling from beneath the closed door of Harry's office. She moves toward it, hesitating only briefly before knocking softly and pushing the door open.

The sight that greets her is one she's never seen before: Harry Styles, the feared mob boss who commands respect with just a glance, sitting on the floor with his back against his desk, tie loosened, top buttons undone, an almost-empty bottle of expensive whiskey beside him. His hair is disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly, and his eyes, when they lift to meet hers, are bloodshot but startlingly alert despite the alcohol.

"You actually came," he says, something like wonder in his voice.

Y/N steps into the office, closing the door behind her. "Of course I came. You needed me."

A smile flickers across his face, not his usual controlled smirk, but something more genuine, almost boyish. "I always need you. That's the problem."

She crosses the room and sinks down to sit beside him on the floor, their shoulders touching. Without hesitation, she reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Needing someone isn't a problem, Harry. It's human."

He looks down at their joined hands, his thumb absently stroking over her knuckles. "Not in my world. In my world, it's a liability. A weakness others can exploit."

"Is that why you called me tonight?" Y/N asks again. "To remind yourself of your weakness?"

Harry is quiet for a long moment, still staring at their hands. "I called because I had a gun to my head tonight," he finally says, so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for the words to register. "Metaphorically speaking. A negotiation that went bad. Had to make choices I didn't want to make. Compromises that will cost us."

Y/N's blood runs cold at the casual admission of danger, but she keeps her voice steady. "Us as in...?"

"The organization," Harry clarifies, glancing at her. "Not you and me. Never that. I'd burn it all down before I'd compromise what we have."

The fierce declaration, spoken with such certainty despite his intoxicated state, makes Y/N's heart race.

"So you made a difficult business decision, and then decided to get drunk and call me in the middle of the night to confess your darkest secrets?" she summarizes, trying to understand.

Harry laughs, the sound surprisingly genuine. "When you put it that way, it sounds pathetic."

"Not pathetic," Y/N corrects him, squeezing his hand. "Human. Like I said."

He turns to look at her fully now, his gaze intense despite the slight unfocusing of his eyes. "Do you know when I realized I was in love with you?" he asks abruptly, the question so unexpected that Y/N's breath catches.

It's the first time he's used that word—love—in relation to what they have. She's thought it, felt it, but never voiced it, following his lead in keeping certain vulnerabilities unspoken.

"When?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

"That night at Thomas's restaurant," Harry says, a small smile playing at his lips. ""When you walked away from me."

Y/N shifts to look up at him, her hazel eyes catching the dim light.

Y/N remembers the night vividly. It was one of their first serious fights, early in their relationship when she was still establishing boundaries.

"Really? That was the moment? When I was furious with you and you threatened to exile me from the city?" She raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

Harry's lips curve into a small, private smile. The kind only she ever sees.

""That's exactly why,"" Harry says, his words still slightly slurred but his meaning clear. "No one had ever walked away from me before. No one had ever stood their ground like that"

He shakes his head, looking almost bemused at the memory.

“You were so fucking beautiful, standing there with tears in your eyes, refusing to let me treat you like everyone else." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I watched you walk toward that door, and something in me…broke. The thought of you walking out of my life—"

He stops, jaw tightening at the memory.

"That's when I knew I was fucked," he continues. "Completely, utterly fucked. Because I wasn't just attracted to you, or possessive of you, or intrigued by you. I respected you. Admired you. Needed you in ways that had nothing to do with sex or status or any of the usual reasons I keep people around."

“So you fell in love with me because I told you to fuck off, basically?" she teases, though her eyes are warm.

Harry laughs, the sound low and genuine. A rare thing that she treasures each time she hears it.

"I fell in love with you because you weren't afraid to tell me to fuck off," he corrects, pulling her closer

"In the car that night, when you made me promise not to hurt you deliberately again..." he shakes his head slightly, still seeming amazed at the memory "...I realized I'd burn this whole fucking city to the ground before I'd let anything hurt you. Including myself."

Y/N feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by this unexpected outpouring of emotion from a man who typically keeps his feelings locked down tighter than his secure warehouse facilities.

"Why haven't you ever told me this before?" she asks softly.

Harry's expression sobers, vulnerability replaced by something harder, more familiar. "Because saying it makes it real. Makes it a weakness others can exploit. Makes it something that can be taken from me."

He reaches up with his free hand, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belies the callousness of his words.

"Everything I've ever loved has been taken from me," he says, his voice low and intense. "My mother. My childhood. My chance at a normal life. If I admit how much you matter—how much I need you—then the universe knows exactly where to hit me hardest."

The raw pain in his voice breaks something open in Y/N's chest. Without hesitation, she leans forward, pressing her forehead against his.

"The universe isn't listening, Harry," she whispers. "Just me. And I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, they stay like that, breathing the same air, the scent of expensive whiskey and Harry's cologne surrounding them. Then, with a movement that's surprisingly coordinated given his state, Harry pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face against her neck.

"I don't deserve you," he murmurs against her skin. "Never have. Probably never will. But I'm too selfish to let you go."

Y/N runs her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. "It's not about deserving," she says quietly. "It's about choosing. And I choose you, Harry Styles. All of you. The good, the bad, the terrifying."

He lifts his head to look at her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that makes her breath catch. Then, with a vulnerability she's never seen from him before, he asks:

"Even knowing what I am? What I've done? What I'm capable of?"

Y/N meets his gaze steadily, unflinching. "I've always known what you are, Harry. I've seen the blood on your clothes, the bruises on your knuckles. I've watched you take phone calls that end with people disappearing. I'm not naive."

"And yet you're still here," he says, something like wonder in his voice.

"And yet I'm still here," she confirms, running her thumb along his jawline. "Because I see all of you. Not just the mob boss, not just the businessman, not just the lover. I see the man who brings me coffee exactly how I like it when I'm studying. Who remembers the names of all my friends even though you pretend not to. Who sits through my rambling explanations of literary theory even though I know you'd rather be doing literally anything else."

A small, genuine smile tugs at Harry's lips. "Your enthusiasm is...endearing. Even when I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

Y/N laughs softly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "That's why I love you," she says, the words slipping out naturally, without calculation. "Because you listen anyway. Because you care anyway."

Harry goes very still at her declaration, his eyes widening slightly. "Say that again," he demands, his voice suddenly rough.

Y/N meets his gaze steadily, unafraid now. "I love you, Harry Styles. All of you."

For a moment, Harry just stares at her, as if trying to determine the truth of her words. Then, with a muttered curse, he captures her mouth in a kiss that's desperate, hungry, almost bruising in its intensity. His hands tangle in her hair, holding her to him as if afraid she might disappear if he loosens his grip.

When they finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Harry presses his forehead against hers again.

"I won't remember saying this tomorrow," he murmurs, his words still slightly slurred but his meaning crystal clear. "So I need you to remember for both of us. I love you, Y/N. More than I've ever loved anything or anyone in this godforsaken world. More than power, more than money, more than life itself. And it scares the shit out of me every single day."

Y/N's heart swells at the raw honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he's allowing her to witness.

"I'll remember," she promises, cupping his face in her hands. "And maybe someday you'll be brave enough to tell me when you're sober."

A flicker of regret, perhaps, or resignation, crosses Harry's face. "Don't hold your breath, angel. Some walls don't come down easily, even for you."

"That's okay," Y/N says, surprising herself with how much she means it. "I know the truth now. That's enough."

Harry studies her face, as if memorizing every detail despite the alcohol clouding his system. "You're too good for this life," he says softly. "Too good for me."

"That's not for you to decide," Y/N counters, her tone firm despite the tenderness of her touch. "I make my own choices, remember? Even when they involve controlling, overprotective mob bosses who wake me up at 2:30 in the morning with drunken confessions."

That draws a genuine laugh from Harry, the sound rich and unguarded in a way she rarely hears.

"Speaking of," he says, glancing at the nearly empty whiskey bottle beside them, "I'm going to feel like absolute shit in the morning."

"Probably," Y/N agrees, sliding off his lap and standing, offering him her hand. "Which is why we're getting you some water and aspirin now, before bed."

Harry takes her hand, allowing her to help him to his feet. He sways slightly, steadying himself with a hand on his desk.

"Bossy," he says again, but there's nothing but affection in his tone.

"You love it," Y/N reminds him, slipping under his arm to help support him as they move toward the door.

"I love you," Harry corrects her, the words coming easier now, as if having said them once has broken some internal barrier. "Everything else is just...details."

As they make their slow way through the penthouse toward the kitchen, Y/N can't help but wonder if he'll remember any of this tomorrow. Part of her hopes he won't, that she'll get to keep this version of Harry to herself, a secret glimpse beneath the armor he wears so constantly.

But another part of her, the part that loves all of him hopes that something will linger. That maybe, just maybe, this night will crack open something that can't be fully closed again.

For now, though, she focuses on the present: on getting water into him, on helping him to bed, on being there when he wakes with what will undoubtedly be a spectacular hangover. On loving him, exactly as he is, with all his darkness and his light.

Because that's the choice she's made. And Y/N, like Harry, doesn't back down from her choices, no matter how complicated they might become.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

a/n: If I forgot to add anyone to the Taglist please remind me 🫶🏻 hope you enjoyed this one. Didn’t turn out how I was hoping but it’s 1 am and I want to sleep :’(. But I promised you guys I’d post today.

I love you 💕

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl

#ghstyles #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #one direction #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut

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delphi-shield · 11 months ago

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SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.

#leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #jill valentine x reader #ada wong x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff #resident evil headcanons #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #chris redfield x you #jill valentine x you #leon kennedy #jill valentine #chris redfield #ada wong #leon kennedy fluff

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natewriteslol · 1 year ago

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Delicious In Dungeon Having a Crush on You HC's!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:

Summary: Just like the title says, how they would act if they had a crush on you including how you find out!

Pt.2 w Kabru, Shuro and Falin!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*°☆.。.:*

Senshi:

-I'm not going to lie it is going to take a fat minute for him to fess up his feelings for you let alone for people to notice because it is the little things that stand out.

-Senshi is really good at keeping secrets and is a really private person and fights for his peace

-So what if he may slip a little bit more food onto your plate, make your favorite dishes only for you if the ingredients for it just so happens to be in his bag, is always the first person to get you out of a dangerous situation? It's all out of convenience and being kind

-But his lack of casualty is also really telling like when giving out compliments he sometimes has a tinge of shyness to his voice, "You look...very nice y-yes"

-The way you find out he has a crush on you is because he eventually comes to a realization that he cannot keep running away from his problems because that has never ended in anything good and confesses his feelings for you

-It happened whilst everyone was asleep and it was just you two alone by the fire, the embers were crackling and you always enjoyed watching it ablaze while talking with Senshi. Eventually he piped up after staying silent for so long and having you take the lead in talking,

"I don't mean to corner you, nor do I expect you to feel the same but...I have feelings for you, genuinely Y/N. And, meeting you in this party means the world to me, as you all are unique treasures but you. I couldn't imagine just walking away without letting you know how much you mean to me."

-Honestly, Senshi is one of the least in denial about this predicament with his feelings and will come to you sooner

Marcille:

-A person who completely avoids her feelings for you like the plague and will deny like her life depends on it

-She swears to others that it's just because you're an amazing friend!

-She brings you your favorite sweet treats, offers to cast magic for your slightest inconveniences, she just so happens to bring books that are about the things you mentioned one off or are a specific interest you love

-The contrast of how she treats others vs. You is so jarring and it's really obvious that she has a crush on you. She is really protective and a bit possessive (not in a weird way) over you and she does not really care about the other people in her party like that

-Anytime she's afraid of something, she holds onto you, Marcille is VERY touchy with her crush

-The blonde blushes pretty consistently and is really shy when it comes to you and tries to appear nonchalant but fails miserably

-It's honestly so bad that even Laios caught on after Senshi threw him a clue and one time when it was just him asked her, which resulted in her coming clean and being VERY distressed as if she committed a crime

-The way you find out she has a crush on you is when you're on a mission in a dungeon. She was near a weeping willow exerting mana, rumored to grant wishes to anyone who asks.

-She held a piece of paper and was on her knees, looking up at the grand tree on the soft blades of grass. She began speaking to the tree once you silently walked in through the cave hole to check on her and the half-elf was completely unknowing of your intrusion,

-"Please they're the love of my life, and I'm not asking to force them but maybe...show me a sign if they like me back. They make me feel like no other and I am just so confused and I need guidance, Ancient Willow."

Chilchuck:

-Deny. Deny. Deny. Deny.

-Oh, and did I say deny

-He absolutely hates being the person caught with egg on his face and being in the wrong, so the fact that he himself Mr. 'No Party Romances' violated his own rules?

-He wants to fall into a hole right on the spot

-While he is a grown ass man and doesn't want to be a coward, Chilchuck doesn't want to face this problem head on surprisingly (sarcasm)

-He shows his love for you by trying to keep you the safe the most out of everyone in the party, scolds you HEAVILY when you mess up that could've cost you your life

-Some may say that it's just Chilchuck's explosive nature, Senshi was actually the first to see through it and grow suspicion over his behavior but honestly didn't have enough evidence for his theory and was shot down by Laios and Marcille

-It's not extremely obvious his slight shift in treatment until you had been kidnapped by the Chain Devil to protect Chilchuck from it's clutches

-And multiple times have members of the party have been kidnapped and although shaken he was able to keep his cool...but this time it was heavily different

-He let out a horrified scream that they had never heard from the Half-Foot before. He scrambled to his feet after watching you getting pulled into the darkness, his eyes were glassy and full of panic as he asked the rest on what they should do

-When they get you back, you were too tired to really stand so you laid in the sleeping bag as everyone else slept as well, but the brown haired man never left your side and watched as you slept

-...or so he thought

-You find out about his true feelings as you laid in your sleeping bag. As you were drifting in and out consciousness but felt light weight on the side of your body and Chilchuck began to talk to you, asking if you were awake

-"Good, you're fast asleep...I hope you know that I'm not hard on you because I don't like you that's...not even close to the truth.

I love you, so much and...I get so damn scared for you."

Laios:

-Constant. Monster. Facts.

-One of the things that makes Laios so attracted to you is that you listen and like when he nerds out so please be prepared. You're a safe space to spew out knowledge and it means the world to him

-Consistently gives you small little gifts, but then sometimes gifts to the others so it doesn't look suspicious. Maybe it was something with the light but, the look in his eye as he gave you the bracelet and put it on you was so different.

-Usually doesn't care about other people being in a towels or shirtless, but when it's you he feels like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. When he sees your collar bones and he tries to keep it very lokwey, but is highkey blushing

-Gives you some sketches of your favorite creatures, always "accidentally" makes your favorite dish for dinner nights, pouts a little when you need to be gone without him for a little

-If you're ever feeling insecure he might open his gob a little too much, "I get maybe why you'd feel that way but, if you ask me I think it's pretty hot" he says with a blank, enthusiastic smile on his face not at all understanding how that could come off

-You find out that the knight has a crush on you the first time he gets absolutely hammered with Senshi, Chilchuck as he was convinced by the two to get drunk

-The bar was packed in one of the "safe spaces" in town and you and Marcille were kinda the designated sober people within your party, and whilst the half elf was in the bathroom you decided to get some fresh air and got up from the stool seat

-"Whatcha' doing party is jus' getting started?" Laios asks

-You shot him a look over the shoulder and responded softly, "I need some fresh air hun, I'll be right back."

-And there went his inner dialogue. Out his mouth.

-"Woah, how sexy. Being in love really sucks sometimes since I'd really do tricks like a dog to be with them good god."

-The look you gave dobered him almost completely, and if that wasn't enough Marcille was right behind him and heard every word

-Love is cringe but he is free I guess.

Part Two:Kabru, Shuro and Falin!

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muxshwriting · 1 year ago

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good luck, babe

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: your husband can't seem to move on from his previous fling, Siena || warnings: cheating, swearing, period typical sexism, pregnancy, arguing || word count: 1898 || masterlist

It was a marriage of convenience, you had accepted that. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton was in want of a wife and you were available, from a noble family, mild mannered, loved by his family and tolerable to Anthony himself. You hadn't tricked yourself into thinking there could be love in this marriage. You were there to be a dutiful Viscountess and give the Viscount as many children as he desired. That was your job, that was what you were made for.

There was one thing you had asked of your new husband on your wedding day: you preferred if he didn't go and see other women, but if he did, you didn't want to hear about it.

Anthony had nodded solemnly, agreeing that he wouldn't do that to you. He was a gentlemen, he cared for his wife and his future family. And he had kept your word. After returning for your honeymoon, there had been nights where your husband hadn't returned to your bed. Whether they were late nights in his study or late nights with another woman, you didn't know and you didn't want to know. He spoke nothing of these nights, greeting you with a warm smile as he sat down at the breakfast table, as if nothing was amiss.

Because nothing was. Nothing was, right?

Everything seemed to change when you were with child. Anthony had been ecstatic to learn he'd be a father and offered to do anything and everything for you. You had taken a deep breath and asked him a question. "Will you stop seeing her?"

You didn't need to say anything else for Anthony to know who you were talking about. "Y/N-"

"We're having a child Anthony. I'd like you home to actually be a family, not spending most nights of the week either in your study or at her house. I don't know who she is or if it's more than one girl but can you bring it to a stop, please?"

Anthony's eyes had softened at your explanation as he fervently promised to do better and to be yours. And he was... for a while. He cut back on late nights in his study, spending the darkness in bed with you. But slowly like the tide, he began to pull away, the late nights in his study grew more frequent. You spotted the candlelight under the door the majority of nights as you returned to your cold bedchamber.

He was simply busy, balancing books and handling affairs. In reality, he was handling a different kind of affair. It only took one offhanded comment by his brother Benedict for you to realise what had been happening.

"Do sing us an opera brother. I'm sure your songbird is teaching you a few tricks."

Present tense. she was teaching him, not taught. Your husband was fucking the opera singer. The candles had been a lie to keep you obedient and calm. You were not four months pregnant and Anthony couldn't stop himself from going back to her. It had taken all of your willpower not to slap him across the face after everything he promised you.

You held in your anger for four days, until the other Bridgerton siblings were out of the house. Then, it all snapped. You marched (as well as you could whilst pregnant) to his study, walked in without knocking and slammed the door shut behind you.

"Are you serious?"

Anthony laughed like nothing was wrong. "What do you mean?"

"You're not spending that many nights in your study." You accuse. "You're seeing her, aren't you? The opera singer?"

"Wha- What does it matter to you what I do with my time?" He said it so nonchalantly, as if it wasn't even a problem, like you were overreacting.

"You promised me!"

He rolled his eyes. "Siena's different. She-"

"She's not your wife!" You're practically screaming at him at this point, anger coursing through your veins. "I am!"

"Y/N, calm-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. You promised me you were done. I'm carrying your child! It was the one thing I asked of you and you don't even have the decency to do that for me."

Anthony finally stood up. "I am a man. I do not have to obey your every request. I should not be confined."

"Confined?" You found his use of words ironic. "I have married into a family I do not know, to a man who dies not respect me. Not to mention, I am with child. If anyone is confined, it is me. And as you astutely pointed out, you are a man."

He stayed silent for a second as you continued.

"Do whatever you like Anthony. I could not possibly wish to confine you. Go and fuck Siena. In fact, fuck as many girls as you please but don't expect to come home to our bed at night. I'll have the housekeeper arrange separate bedchambers for us and when my child is born, I don't want you anywhere near me."

You turned on your heel and swiftly exited the study, refusing to give your husband another glance. Had you looked back, Anthony's face would have been a myriad of emotions. Some shock, some hurt, anger, but mainly pain.

He knew he'd been callous, taking all your affectionate for himself and giving none back. He left you in bed alone almost every night and betrayed your trust like it meant nothing to him when in truth, it meant a great deal. It was as you said, you were his wife. He was supposed to love you unconditionally, do anything for you. But it was also as you said, you were just his wife. He wasn't the husband he should have been, he wasn't treating you like his wife. He had made a terrible mistake.

Anthony thought he could end whatever was between him and Siena when you asked him too. For almost two months he cast her from his mind, avoiding the places they once frequented, the opera house, the back streets, even the club at times she would be there. But then he had unavoidable business at White's, exactly when Siena was there to entertain the Lords.

She had caught his eye from across the room and he was sucked into her orbit once more. But Anthony had also majorly fucked up. He had broken the one promise his wife had asked him to make. The one thing she had asked of him, he did not do. So he hid all the signs, stayed late in his office, complaining of account books and paperwork constantly. He would kiss you sweetly goodnight and sneak out of his own house to see his mistress.

Siena basked in his attention, his inability to stay away. She knew how to keep Anthony just where she wanted him. The two months without him were torture. No other Lord would treat her as well as Anthony, leaving her more and more money on her nightstand and holding her tightly into the night. So what about his wife, she was just his wife.

You ignored Anthony for days, eating your meals separately to him, at different times, in different places. Every time he would pass you in a hallway he would be met with a blank stare, an expressionless face and utter silence. He begged you to talk to him, to listen to him, to tell him how he could make it up to you but you said nothing. In your opinion, Anthony deserved none of your words. After all, so many of his had been lies.

"Anthony-" His mother was the one lecturing him, asking him why he wasn't with his wife. "You need to do better. This shouldn't have happened and now you need to fix it."

"But how?"

Violet stared at him. "You've broken her trust Anthony. I don't know what you can do to earn that back."

Anthony wasn't sure either but he would try anything until something stuck.

It began with flowers, elaborate bouquets at the dining table and in your room every single day. They were beautiful, filling the house with some much needed colour. Without thought, you found yourself adoring them, before remembering why they were there in the first place. After flowers came the small trinkets, your favourite desserts at dinner, some of Anthony's shirts appearing in your wardrobe because he knew they ere most comfortable for you and your bump.

All the while, Anthony is desperately trying to catch your eye, following you around the house like a moping puppy, begging you to talk to him. All the while, you refuse.

What hurt him most, however, was that you would talk to his siblings without issue, even while he was in the room. But the moment he contributed to the conversation, you returned to silence. It was agonizing, waiting for you to speak to him, knowing he had brought this upon himself, praying you would love him again.

He broke down into tears in his study one night, pushing his work onto the floor and planting his head in his hands as the tears flowed freely. You couldn't sleep, nothing was comfortable, it was too hot or too cold. A loud crash startles you. You push yourself out of bed, wrapping a robe around you tightly and making the slow and tedious journey down the stairs to investigate the noise.

As you reached the foyer, the sound of crying hit your ears. Anthony's crying, from his office. Your heart, which you had been trying so hard to rebuild and protect, broke all over again. Perhaps you had been too harsh on him? Perhaps he deserved you again? Perhaps...

You cracked the door open, Anthony didn't even notice the sound. You sipped inside the study, taking considerate steps towards him until you're stood behind him. His head turned suddenly as he realised someone was stood by him. He hurriedly wiped his eyes, holding back his sobs as he met your gaze.

"Anthony..." His name came out a whisper, the first word you'd spoken to him in days.

Your arms wrap around him, pulling him close to you, holding him tightly and never wanting to let him go. And in the safety of your arms, he completely breaks. His tears begin anew as he whispers apologies back to you. His sentences are nonsensical strings of words that don't really make sense but convey his profound apologies.

"Anthony-"

"My love, please. I'm begging for your forgiveness. I'll do anything, anything for you. Whatever you please, whatever you command. I'm yours." He pulled back from you, holding your hands within his and praying to you. You were his god now.

"Uh-"

He wouldn't let you speak until your forgave him, "I'll never go near the opera again, I swear. She's nothing compared to you. I want to be here for you, for our child. I want them to grow up surrounded by love, like I was. Please-"

You cut him off, diving forward to capture his lips in a kiss. It's salty but Anthony sinks into the kiss, finally holding you in his arms and pulling you even closer towards him. You pull back to breathe, ignoring Anthony's hurt eyes as you do. "I forgive you." You whisper. "But no late nights, alright? Just be with me."

"I'll be with you forever."

if you can't tell, I'm on a bridgerton high rn

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #muxshwriting #muxsh #bridgerton s3

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rosenclaws · 24 days ago

Text

Not Fair || Worst Logan x Reader

summary: Worst Logan is trying to start his second chance but you seem to hate him and he has no idea why.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, talking about og logan :(

a/n: I had this super angsty idea and idc if its over done I wanted to write it so bam here it is. Plus I miss writing for worst wolvie

Logan was used to dirty look. In fact that was pretty much all he got for the last 20 years or so. But for some reason the look of absolute hatred on your face stung more than usual. He didn't expect a warm welcome when Wade dragged him into this new world. The last Wolverine may have been a hero but probably wasn't always the nicest guy. But so far everyone has been pretty nice.

Yukio was sweet but didn't say much. He likes Negasonic a lot, she's got the same no bullshit attitude that he does. Peter is uh, interesting but not terrible and having Laura here was a new but fun feeling.

The only problem was you. You seemed to hate him. He doesn't know why but the way you look at him really stings. Your eyes are full of hatred it makes him feel so small. Maybe it hurts more because the two of you were something back in his world.

Calling it a relationship would be overstating it but you and Logan had something special. Maybe if he had gotten his head out of his ass and done something about it things would have turned out differently. That seemed to be a common factor with all the Wolverines. Too stubborn for their own good and refusing to let themselves be happy.

Seeing you again was like a slap in the face but maybe he could change something about his timeline. Fix his cowardice and make you feel loved and cared for like he should have. But perhaps he was too late. The other Logan might have already done the damage and he was here to suffer the aftermath.

He sees you across the room. You're uncomfortable. It's Laura's birthday and she had invited both of you. It was weird. The last time you saw Laura she was just a kid. She told you she was okay to go off with her friends and so you let her. You of course offered to help those kids but they declined. Instead you'd send them care packages whenever you could. You didn't know Laura was zapped to the void.

Now she's here and all grown up and just. So perfect. Logan was invited too. Laura knows that he's not the one who saved her but she wants to know him. She's a version of Logan and honestly, he's grown very fond of the kid too.

He can see Laura trying to balance it all. Mingle with her friends while spending time with you and with him. The least he can do is try and reach a hand out. Try and apologize for whatever the other him had done.

He slowly makes his way over to your side of the room. The large group of people and small apartment was not in his favor. As fate would have it Logan does not smoothly appear at your side asking if you want to talk.

Instead he trips over Mary Puppins and sends your drink right onto your chest. Spilling all over your clothes. Fuck. Logan stumbles to his feet. Everyone is staring and he has the overwhelming urge to tell them to fuck off.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Your voice so sharp he nearly flinches. He reaches out to try and wipe away some of the wine. Of course his dumbass would go and make you hate him even more.

"I'm really sorry I didn't mean to-"

"I said I was fine!" Logan shrinks back at your harsh tone. His hands fall limply to his side. You storm away from him into the bathroom.

“Fucked it up again.” He groans.

"It's not you. Well not really." He looks to his side to see Laura offering him a towel. He grabs it and lays it on the floor, cleaning up any mess.

"Logan, my Logan was very important to them and I think seeing you is just a lot is all." She says.

Logan nods, he knows it's weird for him to have shown up here but he's trying to make things right. He's trying to make this second chance worth it. He can't help that his heart seems to be drawn to you. You want nothing to do with him but for some reason he still cares how you feel and how you feel about him.

"Thanks kid, sorry about the mess on your birthday." He ruffles her hair and she shoves him off.

"Don't worry about it old man." He smiles as she's pulled away by a few of her new friends.

He spots you slinking your way back to the party. Moving through the crowd to the door and out of the apartment before anyone could notice. His feet move before he can think. He just wants to apologize and see if you're okay.

He's pushing it but he can't stop. He follows you all the way to the roof. He almost laughs. Of course you'd be here. That's where he'd always find you back in his world. The roof of the mansion was your safe spot.

"Why are you following me?" You turn to look at him. A tired but pissed off look on your face.

"I...I just wanted to say sorry for spilling your drink and to see if you're okay." Logan says gently. He approaches you slowly, like a wounded animal.

"Well I'm fine so you can go." Logan sighs, just walk away Logan he tells himself.

You clearly don't want him there. But something in him won't let him. He walked away from you before and you ended up dead. He just can't do that again.

"I'm sorry, for whatever I've done to you. I get that this whole thing is weird but I just want to make things right with you." Your jaw clenches as Logan continues to stay. Stubborn. Always so damn stubborn. You get to your feet and walk right up to him.

"Can't you take a fucking hint? I said to leave me alone!" You shout and Logan just stands there. That stupid caring look on his face.

"I'm not gonna leave you when you're hurting." He says firmly and it makes your heart hurt even more.

"Still the same stubborn stupid man, you could never listen to what I wanted. It was always what you thought was best." You snap.

Logan always swore he knew best. When he tried to leave you when he got old, he tried to force you away because he thought he was saving you and he never seemed to listen when you told him otherwise.

And this, this Logan seemed to be just like him. That same face, the same voice, the same sharp tongue, the same kindness with Laura, the same laugh.

It was driving you insane.

“You know what Logan? I can’t stand you." His eyes flash with hurt but he doesn't fight back.

"I can't stand even being in the same room as you because you look at me with these sad eyes and I hate it.” Those sad eyes were so familiar that it's just another slap in the face when you realize it's a different man.

“And I can’t stand you because you're messy and you drink too much and because…because-“ You struggle to speak as you try and piece the words together. Everything is building up and the flood comes before you can stop it.

“Because it’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair that you’re alive and he’s not!” You shout. The whole street could probably hear you but you don’t care.

“You are the worst wolverine. You let your friends die!” You shove his chest hard and he lets you.

Staying silent as you fall apart in front of him. Whatever was festering deep inside of you was finally coming out. You needed this. So Logan just stays quiet.

“He wasn’t perfect but dammit he tried. He was a teacher and he protected his friends and he had finally found peace.” You let out a frustrated yell as you kick a rock into the street.

“We were happy. He had fixed everything and we were so fucking happy. Then everything went wrong. Like the world looked at him and decided that some sins couldn’t be forgiven. It killed our friends, our family. It poisoned him. Slowly changed the man I loved into a shell of himself. But fuck I still loved him with everything I had.” You cry as you mourn the man you knew.

The Logan you met that day in the mansion who was so handsome and so cocky. Even as his hair turned gray and his powers weakened you still saw the man you loved. You loved him so much.

“And he died. He wasn’t supposed to die! We were supposed to be happy.” You fall back onto the cold concrete of the roof.

Staring up at the stars as you laid exhausted. The anger had fled your body and now you’re just tired. Tears still falling down your face as you cry and cry. Logan slowly sits down next to you. He isn’t sure if you even want him here. But something compels him to stay.

He’s not the man you knew but he is a variant and every variant of him is destined to love you. He can’t walk away while you’re in pain. Even if you hate him. He can live with that.

"Sweetheart." Logan places a hand on your shoulder.

You look up at him and before you can stop yourself you throw your arms around him. Hugging him tight as you cry into his shirt. He wraps his arms around you tightly. Letting you find comfort in him for as long as you need.

He smells different. That's the first thing you notice. It's a nice smell but it's still different. It pulls you out of your spiral. You pull away to look at him, really look at him. He was Logan. But there were small differences that almost made you cry again. Why? You don't really know. His eyes had more green than blue and he had more wrinkles. He was still just as handsome though.

"Thank you. For not walking away." You say quietly and he nods in reply.

“If I could, I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.” Logan says. You look at him, tilting your head at his words.

“Why?” You ask.

“If it would make you happy. I’d do anything.” He says like it was nothing. Like he wasn't offering to give up his own life to make you happy.

“You don’t even know me Logan.”

“No, I don’t. But I knew a version of you and I know how much he must have loved you too.” He says as he cups your cheek in his hand.

He knows what that Logan must have felt because he feels it too. Not as strong because he doesn't know you as well but it's there. Maybe it's always meant to be there. That love between you two.

“He was the luckiest one out of all of us you know.” He says.

“How can dying be lucky?” There must be Logan's out there who are still alive. Surely there's no way your Logan had the happy ending.

“He was lucky to be loved by you." Logan whispers.

He's a hard man to love and he's sure that carries on through every timeline. But you still did and you stuck by him through it all. How lucky was that man to have you. Your lip wobbles as you take in his words. The sincerity of it all. Is that really how he felt?

“I’m sorry for everything. I was punishing you for something you didn’t even do.” You say, offering him an awkward but apologetic smile.

“It’s alright sweetheart. Sometimes we just need to let it out. Even if it hurts.” Logan takes your hand and you let him. He squeezes it softly and you squeeze back. You two sit on the roof for a little bit. Watching the stars. You used to do this back at the mansion.

“I’m not trying to replace him, I’m not him and we both know that.” Logan starts.

“But if you’d give me a chance, I’d like to get to know you.” There's no expectations, just a need to be close to you. How ever you'll take him he'd accept it. He just, he really missed you.

“I’d like that.” You whisper quietly.

The love you have for Logan will never go away. His new variant could never replace him. But maybe…just maybe your heart could be big enough to love them both.

“We’ll take it slow. Here, What’s your favorite color?”

“Okay slow down there, thats very private information.” You say with a soft smile. Logan chuckles and raises his hands up.

“Mine is blue." He says.

"Blue like the blue of your suit or a different blue?" You ask and he shrugs.

"I don't know, just blue."

"Logan there's more than one shade of blue."

"Okay well then I like all of them."

You talk for hours. About anything and everything. Some small things and some big ones. But it's nice to have someone to talk to again. You truly missed this. You missed him.

The man beside you is not the man you loved but he is someone you could learn to love. You both each other before, you don't want to lose him again.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett angst #worst logan

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harmonysanreads · 7 months ago

Note

I KNOW WE HAVEN’T KNOWN ANYTHING ABOUT PHAINON YET (except for that cute face and yummy booba) AND I ALREADY HAVE SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT HIM.

Okay okay imagine Yandere! Phainon who loves you and cherishes your existence too much to the brink of obsession (can you blame him?). Him, being a perfect man himself still thinks that he lacks something, and that something is your devotion, your unyielding love because he deserves it, right? He deserves to have your attention and your affection after everything he has done for you.

Oh no, dear Phainon is definitely not a selfish man, he just needs your love to complete himself, to have someone that he could return to after a hard day.

That’s why I think this man will definitely love bombing you. Gifts, kisses, cuddles? Everything you want, everything you ask for. And even if you don’t even need it, he still offers it to you like the desperate puppy he is. He will spoil you rotten, and I mean it in the most respectful way. He found your smallest quirks adorable even if it’s not that special in your eyes. He reminds you to stay dehydrated and go to sleep early, he even tells you to eat healthy. That’s why after knowing him, you have never skipped another meal. And he will definitely coo softly to you whenever you feel insecure about yourself. That’s why you need him, that’s why you should rely on him. And the only thing Phainon ask for as a payback is your love, love him like the way he does to you. Please please because you’re his pretty girl and he loves you too much to even think that this is not a mutual feeling.

Can you really say no to him? To that adorable face and those sparkling blue eyes that seem to go lovesick everytime they catch a glimpse of you?

It was the fifth time this month, or was it the sixth? You couldn't be bothered to keep count anymore, the absurdity of the situation pushing you closer to questioning reality.

“You do know that it's illegal to break into a person's house?” you manage to croak out, senses strained by sickness.

“Break into your house?” he pulls out a chair to sit, the bowl of whatever he'd brought with him finding its place on the table beside your bed.

The near-dumbfounded edge to his question makes you deadpan, “You're so humorous, even when you're sick. How is it trespassing when we're in love with each other?”

You feel your fingers clutching onto your bedsheets, did he even hear you? Can he hear himself? To that, your conscience answers with a firm no. He'll only acknowledge what will suit his fancy, anything else is but you being in a ‘phase of denial’.

“I am not in love with you, how many times do I need to reiterate?” you stress, watching the twirl of the spoon as he stirs the contents in the bowl.

“Hush, I know you're just moody I didn't arrive sooner. I read it on that book you had on you on last Saturday. This is the part where I'm supposed to apologize and hold my ears, right—”

You release a heavy sigh.

You could not decide what begged the most concern : the fact that he doesn't see the problem in his behavior or how accustomed to it that you're getting.

A warm touch on your forehead startles you, another firmer grip on your arm stops you from moving away, “How are you still so energetic with this high a fever?” the candle atop the table flickers, a frown blemishes his face.

He leans in, you respond by increasing the distance. “I took medicine earlier.” you mutter, suddenly feeling like a guilty child.

“Did you? Good girl.” you don't need to look at him to picture the shine clinging at the corners of his lips. You shouldn't look at him for it'll reveal the barely held back cringe spreading across your face.

You're about to protest but a wave of dizziness halts you. Phainon notices the change, you find yourself wishing he wasn't so observant.

“But you haven't eaten, have you?” his hands act too familiar, too comfortable in touching you. You're forced to inhale as he cups your face in inspection, pretending it's for work — but you know, his greed extends too far for it to be anything but an excuse.

“I did eat.” you try to assert, he remains unconvinced.

“Are you still mad at me? If so, say it, I can apologize however you'd prefer. But please don't lie to me about matters that concern your health.” a squeeze to your cheeks, shadows fall on him.

You almost want to laugh at the worry in his eyes, at the way he behaves so much like a perfect lover. If you hadn't known better, the haze clouding your sense would've made you believe him, buy that he's being sincere.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you, you're just a bit more distrustful than others, just a bit more cautious than he's giving you credit for — a bit too lucid to have faith in his ‘love’ narrative.

You purse your lips, you are mad at him ; just not in the way he's deluding himself to be. As you contemplate whether to snap at him or not, he releases his grip on you in favor of scooping a spoon of the contents in the bowl, ending his path before your lips.

You turn you head away, a clear rejection. You expect him to probe again but his sigh catches you off-guard.

His finger wraps around a lock of your hair, yearning stains his eyes. “This would've never happened if you just accepted to be mine.”

You soak in his words for a second. Your left eye twitches as you realize, he completely ignored every previous piece of dialogue for his agenda.

“In your dreams.” petulance coats the statement.

To your horror, Phainon easily brings the lock of your hair to his lips, his smile widening as if he's got you exactly where he desires.

“How did you know? I do dream of you, everyday.” sparkles float around the air of his face.

You find yourself grasping at straws, how does one wake up a man who pretends to sleep? A voice in your head interjects, perhaps it is for the best you cease these attempts altogether?

“Now, won't you continue to be a sweet girl and eat up?” his words are honey, his smile is blinding and oh so dreadfully, there is adoration in his face, in his every step.

It has alarm bells ringing in your head, because it doesn't make sense.

“No.” you sharply deny, pushing the spoon away again.

“Why not?” you notice just at the nick of time, there is an edge to his voice this time. A crack forming in that perfect face.

“Because I don't trust you. What if you mixed something weird in it?” that is an understatement, your distrust for the man stretches further than the food he offers.

The elders always say, if something is too good to be true, it is too good to be true. ‘Love’ is not reason enough for you to believe Phainon's apparent devotion, his benevolence. No man would squander his time and resources only to back it up with such an easy reasoning — at least, not a man like him. Even if he says it till your ears bleed — you will not believe him.

The Chrysos Heir's hum interrupts the silence, “Then, if I do this...”

Your quizzical gaze falls on him, he holds your stare and you feel a kick at your ribcage. Struggling is useless, but you try anyway ; if just to be petty, if just to drive your point across, if just to survive. He squashes your attempt with an insultingly easy grip, showing you exactly how futile it is.

His thumb parts your lips with an insistent press, joining his pointer finger in holding your mouth open next. Your nails scratch at his glove in a pitiful attempt at getting him away, his free hand holds them both captive.

His parted lips shrinking the distance is the last thing you see, before you close your eyes shut. You would breathe if your lungs hadn't given up, the increase of strength in Phainon's grip seizes you with fear, makes it feel as though your blood froze with dread. Your instincts stop kicking, accepting its place in the serpent's jaw.

You feel a sharp kick of spice on your tongue, washing through your parched throat. A force has you closing your mouth, holding it in place until the content has been swallowed.

You heave as if you reached the surface from an arduous dive at last, mind working overtime, trying to process what just took place.

A clink of the spoon as it's placed on the bowl startles you, Phainon closes his eyes, a smile nearly splits his face in two.

“That's more like it. See, it was delicious and perfectly free of questionable substances, no?”

Phainon's smile breaks into a chuckle at the astonished look on your face, you feel a twist somewhere inside at the way derision drips from its tune. But before you can observe further, you feel a swipe of his finger on your lower lip. You make the mistake of glancing at him and he utilizes your mishap to make a show of licking the residue from your lips clean.

If you were skeptical about it before, you are certain now — this man will be your doom.

SIKE.

#keep talking anon you're cooking 🔥#i.. may have lost my self-control with this one LOL #phainon #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #phainon x reader #phainon x female reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere imagines #anon writing #written before 3.0

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kandyscorner · 2 months ago

Note

Hello!!!! I've been thinking recently like what about Jason Todd takes the reader on a ride with his motorcycle but like she's never been on a motorcycle. She acts nonchalant about it, like she's not nervous about it(she is) and since she doesn't own any safety gear that she doesn't need it, but Jason makes her wear stuff anyway like a helmet and maybe his jacket. And like then when the bike starts up she suddenly clutches tightly to Jason in slight fear. Just a protective Jason idea I had and since I'm not a writer it's just been a thought for me. Hope you like it!!!!

this ask was fun because there's a chapter in my Do I Know you? series that is a lot like this. it was good practice to try and write the scene a little different. Thank you! and enjoy!

****

“Oh, you’re driving a motorcycle,” you say, staring at the bike before you.

“Told you it was in the shop. Three weeks and those assholes made the problem worse. Had to take her somewhere else but now,” he grins at you and pats the seat of the bike, “she’s ready for a ride.”

You press your cheek to your shoulder, hands suddenly sweaty in your pocket, “of course you call the bike a she.” You joke, trying to cover the building anxiety in your chest.

“You don’t need to be jealous, sweetheart.” He steps into your space, hand pressing to the side of your face, “you’re much prettier.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, tucking your face into his neck with a blush. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug.

He's tugging you from your hiding place far sooner than you're ready for, still trying to use his proximity to unsuccessfully cool your nerves.

“you ready? It'll be fun.” You keep your mouth shut but give him a tense smile and nod.

You knew he rode a bike. He told you about it, shown you pictures. And while you found the concept very attractive, the bike, very much a real thing in front of you now, was intimidating.

You'd never ridden a motorcycle before but you had heard horror story's of shredded skin and broken bones. You worry you're not dressed correctly and that you certainly don't have any safety gear for yourself.

Jason gives you a meaningful look and tugs you forward towards the bike, “come get a closer look. Promise she doesn't bite.”

The lightfulness in his tone reminds you to breathe. Any vehicle was as safe as the person driving. Your positive Jason is a good driver, based on the amount of times he's actually told you about the bike, he probably rode it often.

“It's pretty,” you tell quietly as you take a closer look.

“Not as pretty as you.” he repeats his earlier statement, softer this time and you turn to find him staring at you already with the slight forlorn look he gets sometimes.

You reach out to poke at his side in jest and he curls his hand around yours.

“you okay with this?” he asks, direct eye contact emphasizing the importance of the answer to him, “I should've asked before. We can postpone it and I can bring the car instead.”

You flush at his sudden rush to accommodate you (clearly you hadn't hidden it very well) despite his excitement about the bike.

“It's okay,” you placate him with a tiptoed kiss to his cheek, “as long as you make sure I don't fall off, yeah?” You ask the question to lighten the space between you but your worry sits at the edge of your voice.

he blinks at you for a moment, before his mind clearly clicks back into the conversation.

“like I'd every let something like that happen.” He nearly scoffs at you before he lets go of your hand to tug off his leather jacket. He holds it up to you in offering.

“What?”

He playfully rolls eyes at your question but patients bleed into his tone, “safety first sweetheart.”

You turn around, nearly losing your balance in the spin due to the sudden awareness of how you didn't have to say anything to Jason for him to know what was bothering you.

His jackets warm from his body and too big but that does deter him as he faces you and zips up the jacket for you. It takes a moment for you to realize he's talking to you.

“-on to me, okay?”

“What?” he edges into your space at the question, cornering you against the bike.

“I know you can be a good listener, sweetheart. Could you do that for me?” He grins down at you and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Don't patronize me, jay. I could still change my mind.” He eases up out of your space pulling the helmet that had been resting atop the bike with him.

“I need you to hold on to me tight when I accelerate and to brace your weight against the tank when…” he continues on with directions for when he turns, how to get on and off, and how to get his attention.

He pauses in between sentences to press the helmet over your head and then continues talking as he tightens it.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable and like you want to get off, you tell me, understand?” he asks. You nod and his fingers curl into the chin of the helmet to gently tug you.

“Words, Sweetheart.” he says sternly. You're suddenly thankful for the helmet because of the flush on your skin that it covers.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” You finally say timidly. His hand moves from the helmet to cradle the side of your neck.

“That’s my girl,” He coos at you and you wrap your hand around his wrist to pull at him.

“Let's go,” you say cheerfully, “We have places to be and things to do.”

Jason stares you down. It makes you itch at the way his expression alone digs at you. You stare back as well as you can through the visor of the helmet. You would never tell Jason not to do something simply because you don't want to do it. Especially something he definitely knew how to handle.

“I’m serious, Jay, let's go,” you hop on your feet, hoping to give an air of excitement to your words instead of anxiety. He finally shrugs his shoulders and climbs onto the bike, helping you climb on behind him.

He takes the time to make sure you're settled before even turning on the bike. WIth the bike on, you place nervous hands at his waist, mildly resting there. You want to hug him in a vice grip but you think that might give away your feelings. His hand settles on top of your knee, curling around it slightly. You tip to that side trying to see his face assuming he wants to talk to you.

The bike gives a sudden jolt forward, your body jerking slightly back with the movement. Your neutrally placed hands scramble to wrap around him tightly. He has the nerve to laugh at you, hand at your knee tightening.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he says and despite his laughter, you can hear the sincerity in his words. His hand leaves your knee to resituate your hands, one wrapped tight around him and the other pressed to the gas tank.

“Holding on,” he taps the hand pressed to his stomach and then taps the one at the tank, “bracing, okay?” you nod at the question and his hand pinches lightly at your leg.

“Okay,” you answer after attempting to smack his hand in retaliation. He doesn’t even move his hand away, not threatened by you. His hand rubs soothing circles into your thigh before it returns to the handlebars.

“I'm going to move,” he tells you one last time and your arms tighten around him as he slowly brings the bike into the street and then you're off. You can tell he’s being cautious, that this isn't how he usually drives, but you can't help but be grateful. Your hands rub and squeeze at his chest in show of that gratitude. You can tell he understands when, at a stoplight, his hand comes to hold yours there, a silent communication.

You think you could come to like motorcycle rides, especially with Jason as the driver.

Masterlist

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #kandyanswers #kandywrites #kandyscorner

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