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loveshotzz · 7 months

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I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten.

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?”

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins.

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton.

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks.

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.”

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs.

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!”

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up.

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do.

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face.

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her.

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house.

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house.

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail.

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it.

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him.

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years.

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun.

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves.

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation.

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink.

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive.

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though.

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more.

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare.

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh, you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs.

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge.

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?”

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away.

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!”

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food.

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout.

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight.

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission.

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap.

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Does she know that?”

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer.

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!”

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat.

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?”

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one.

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s.

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt.

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door.

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more.

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it.

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him.

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall.

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington.

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch.

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room.

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway.

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of.

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen.

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters.

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget.

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse.

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.”

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

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permanentswaps · 6 months

Text

Breaking Eric's Trust - A Year On

Read Part 1, written by vice versa swaps, here.

Read Part 2, written by me, here.

A year has passed since Will and I made the decision to permanently stay swapped, and I've never been happier. It's like living a dream every day, waking up in this body that is this sexy and feels like it was tailor-made for me.

A few weeks after Will and I made our choice to stay in our new bodies, news broke that the body swap lab had shut down. Apparently, there were people refusing refused to swap back, leaving their partners stranded in their old bodies. I guess the police had to intervene in some cases, to force them to switch back. Thank god Will didn’t feel that way and we avoided that whole mess. Looking back on it, I don’t think there’s any world in which I would have given up this perfect face and these perfect pecks.

When I heard about the lab's closure, I couldn't help but smirk as I looked at myself in the mirror. I immediately took out my phone and began recording a video to send to Will. Slowly playing with my waistband, I quickly whipped out my cock and begain stroking. As I stroked with my right hand, I began feeling up my chest with my left hand and said in a low voice,

“Unghhh, yeah. you like that Will? Regretting your choice to abandon this sexy body yet? Too bad, lab’s shut down and I am officially going to be Bryce LaMontagne forever.”

I picked up the pace, making direct eye contact with the camera as I shot my hot, young spunk all across my phone. Licking it off slowly, I then hit send.

Months passed, and I started university, moving in with Eric. To his surprise I decided to pursue a studio art degree. Although he knew about my fellowship, I think he thought that it was more just to keep busy. That said, I really seemed to be excelling and my professors told me that I had the makings of a real artists. But I also took up a double major in business, drawing on my past experience as an accountant, just to be safe.

Living with Eric again has been fantastic – we’ve grown as close as brothers. Sometimes, I hardly remember that he used to be my son. We often find ourselves hanging out and talking late most nights. Together, we've also been hitting the gym hard, sculpting our bodies and enjoying the attention it brings.

Eric's found himself a stunning girlfriend, which is no surprise considering how much effort he puts into his physique. And as for me, well, let's just say I've become quite the catch on campus. Although Eric gives me shit for it, I have a rotating door of guys coming to our apartment to pound me. And how could they not with an ass like this. That said, all of those guys still pale in comparison to the fucking that I used to get from Will. Maybe its just that I can fantasize about having stolen his sexy body from him or something, but I haven’t shot my load like that with anyone else since. And although we promised to link up from time to time, we haven’t been together since that fateful day a year ago. Regardless, I still make sure to flaunt my body when Will comes to town, and lately, I have been openly flirting with him in front of Eric. While Eric has given me some strange looks, I think I'm making some headway in gaining his approval. I can only hope that one day he trusts me enough to be able to fuck his dad guilt free.

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signedreality · 27 days

Note

Would you so kindly do a Bill Cipher x reader with the song Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage? 🥺

ᯓ ALL MINE

bill cipher x reader

ଳ synopsis ; you didn't expect the apocalypse to start off with a demon making a deal with you so he could use you as a puppet.

ଳ warnings : romance, petnames, suggestiveness, manipulation, bill changes his form because my creativity was thriving while i was writing this (he's his original form, and whatever the form is called where he has a human body but his head is still a triangle.) and the fact everyone here simps for a literal geometric demon.

ଳ missive ; it's lovely to be back on the air, and i do hope you enjoy this broadcast! a fair warning, though, is that this broadcast mostly consists of bill attempting to control you, but the song is about dirty things! the song is explicit, but this broadcast is just a bit suggestive. enjoy!

now airing ; rule #34 - fish in a birdcage

the screams you had heard before were no longer present as your eyes slowly opened.

darkness surrounded you apart from the candle that was lit on a side table—the wax slowly dripping down its side while you attempted to focus your vision.

were you alone?

the question seemed to answer itself as you noted triangle shadows crawling around the lightened walls of the room you were trapped in, and you couldn't help but feel perplexed about where you were.

one moment, you were witnessing a tear in the universe opening to reveal a group of nightmares, and the next, you were here.

this was bill's doing, wasn't it?

the triangle shadows gave away the confusion you had about who had taken you here, but the sound of a psychotic laugh ringing out hinted at that idea as well.

"someone finally decides to wake up!"

a large, white eye appeared from the shadows while you noted a yellow hue glowing with each word that was spoken.

a frown made its way onto your face while you attempted to move your body, but you couldn't.

looking up, you noticed blue chains that were wrapped around your wrists and bolted to the wall. your legs had unfortunately met the same fate as your wrists while your eyes darted back to whoever was talking.

bill emerged from the shadows as he had his hands behind his back, and you watched his eye travel from your head to your feet before he hummed. "i didn't think i knocked you out that hard! you were asleep for quite some time..."

"what do you want?" you demanded an answer while bill only raised his hands in a taunting manner, which only made your frown deepen. "someone's in a mood—anyways, i guess i'll get to the point."

you watched him snap his fingers, and within an instant, he had a human body.

he wasn't just a triangle anymore, though his head remained that way.

a black suit hugged his frame while a yellow button-up underneath shined in the candlelight, and you watched as he fixed the black gloves on his hands.

"i want to make a deal with you, doll."

"over my dead body—"

"your body's about to be dead if you don't shut up." his tone was harsh, and that alone made you fall silent before bill only hummed. "see? now that you're quiet and obeying, you get to hear what i want to offer."

you ignored his belittling comment about you obeying as you squirmed in the chains, and bill only let out a chuckle while he walked up towards you.

"i want to use you as a puppet..." you narrowed your eyes in disgust while bill placed his hands in his pocket, and he partially tapped his foot as if he was waiting for an answer. "why do you want to do that?"

"because i'm bored! is that so wrong?"

"yes. yes, it is."

a hand slammed itself against your head—making your breath hitch as bill was in front of you. "i'm not asking for your remarks. i'm asking for control, you fleshbag..."

"never." you taunted as you watched bill's head turn crimson while a few veins popped out in his gaze, yet all he did was let out a shaky sigh before taking a step back.

with the snap of his fingers, your chains vanished as you were left to crumble onto the ground.

as you were on your knees, a hand grabs your chin while you were forced to look up at bill—his eye narrowed with amusement yet irritation.

"just surrender your mind..." he spoke quietly as you stared up at him—your eyes wide while his grip on your chin only grew. "this would be so much easier if you just gave in, doll."

"let go of me—" you seethed while the demon could only let out a low chuckle, and he surprisingly did as you asked.

his hand fell to his side while his other reached into the pocket of his pants, and he pulled out a pocket watch while a rusted chain followed the movement of the object. it swung a bit while bill popped open the watch, and the sound of ticks filled the room before he wrapped the chain around his finger.

the watch was partially spun around while the metal continued to wrap around his gloved finger—his action coming to a stop before he held the watch right in front of your gaze.

it was almost midnight.

"i usually say time is an illusion, but as of right now, it's the most materiality thing in this room apart from how fast your heart is beating..." your hand partially reached out for the watch until it glowed a dull blue, and the watch snapped shut while you jerked back in shock.

all you felt was a hand grasp your collar before you were yanked onto your feet, and your gape locked with bill's as he let out a low sigh. "while you look good on your knees, it's unfortunate that you don't know how to please one while doing so."

your body warmed as his grip tightened on your shirt, yet he wasn't choking you. he was just assuring that you stayed in your place.

your gaze drifted towards the candle that continued to burn—the wax dripping onto to the side table before a finger grazed the bottom of your chin.

"look me in the eye, doll, i won't say it again—i didn't realize you flesh puppets had such bad hearing..."

his words echoed while the silk of his glove could be felt as his finger trailed down to where your pulse was, and he pressed down on it. "that explains why you can't focus...your heart's beating so fast..."

your lips pursed as bill kneeled down onto one of his knees, and he tilted his head at you while his eye narrowed.

"tick tock, doll—do we have a deal or not?"

"what do i get out of this, bill?" you questioned while bill could only look away in thought, yet his eye flickered to meet yours. "me. you'll get me."

"deal."

your hand slowly raised up to grasp his—the one that continued to remain on your pulse, and you felt the warmth of the cerulean fire that erupted from his palm as he grabbed your hand.

shockingly, it didn't burn whatsoever.

a wave of warmth just remained against your skin as he brought your hand out, and you noted the flame that covered both of your hands while he shook your hand.

yet, he didn't let go.

he yanked you closer as your legs slightly tangled, and one of his arms wrapped around your waist while he tilted his head.

"such a stupid fleshbag, aren't you?—you're mine now, doll..."

your chin was cupped while your chest was pressed against his, and you were able to feel each time he took in a breath. "all yours...?" you quietly asked as bill only chuckled, and he traced a triangle against the skin of your hip while his eye flashed blue.

"all mine..."

⤷ word count ; 1,210

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superprincesspea · 2 months

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Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 18 - Vhagar

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

Aemond pulls you deeper into the garden, and the sound of the party fades away. If you were a sensible girl, you would insist on knowing where he was taking you. But you’re not thinking of rules or decorum, you’ve already given yourself to adventure, and its anticipation which tingles in your veins. That is, until you're standing in front of the dragon pits.

Then there’s only fear. Dragons . Perhaps you should have guessed this would be your destination, and perhaps deep down, you had. But now it was real, and the tall doors loomed like the jaws of a monster.

In all your weeks living in Kings Landing, and all your exploring of the keep, you’d never dared to come close to here. The dragon screams alone, had been enough to keep you away, their sound sometimes rippling up through layers of dirt and rock, muted, yet warning enough to all who would listen.

Prying your hand from Aemond’s, you step away from him, just as the two guards, who’d been relaxing in their duties, stand to attention, panic momentarily filling their faces before they move to open both sides of the door.

You don’t suppose they were expecting visitors at this time of night, and you can feel the way they’re trying not to stare, as you inch closer, peering into the depths of the candle lit staircase.

From here, you cannot see where the stairs end and the pit truly begins, only darkness, and just looking feels like a dangerous thing. As though something might rush right up and snatch you into its deadly possession.

“I’m not going down there,” you decide, feeling quite happy to remain terrified of the dragons dwelling in the dark underbelly of the keep. And even if you weren’t, the scream which suddenly runs up the stairs, so much louder, and so much closer, than any you’d heard before, sends a fresh shudder of nerves along your spine.

“Why ?” Aemond asks, and when you turn to give him a pointed look, his brow is raised above his good eye. He's surprised, he’s actually surprised.

You almost laugh, before remembering the two guards standing by the door. Both of them still pretending not to watch or listen while simultaneously seeing and hearing everything.

What were you thinking? Even standing here was akin to a scandal. Disappearing into the pits would certainly seal your fate as a ruined woman.

Straightening your spine, you feel foolish for allowing things to get this far. “I should not even be here without a chaperone and-” you glance back through the doors, the lure of the staircase somehow calling to the hammering in your heart.

“You’re afraid ?” Aemond suggests, as though he still can’t quite believe it.

“Of course I’m afraid,” you reply tartly, thinking it no stain on your character to be afraid of monstrous beasts who could kill you with a single breath.

“First of all,” Aemond stands in front of you, blocking your view of the stairs, “there are only two guards who see you here. So, I will know exactly who to kill if word of this night ever leaves this door. Second of all, I would not have brought you to the dragon pits if I thought, for one moment, that you would not enjoy every second of it.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “first of all, you cannot kill everyone who threatens you.”

He smirks, “then I shall cut off their hand, if that suits my lady?”

“I’m not entirely sure losing a hand suits anyone .”

But Aemond only shrugs, his words laced with promise, “then they will do well to keep their mouths shut.”

With a threat like that, you were fairly certain this night would remain a secret, but that didn’t make the prospect of dragons any less terrifying. You were the third daughter of Borros Baratheon, not Visenya Targaryen.

“And as for my second reason?” Aemond presses, as you take a step back, good sense telling you it's not too late to return to the party, no matter how boring you might find it.

“Perhaps his grace does not know me as well as he thought.”

“Really ?” his head tilts, his eye daring to slip down the deep cut of your dress, “because when I saw you that day on the beach-”

“Must you always refer to that moment?” you interrupt, your gaze quickly sliding to the guards.

“I have yet to find a day it has not crossed my mind,” he says, a wicked smile filling his cheeks, “my lady looked so wonderfully reckless as she cast herself into the bay, that I knew it would be a pleasure to show her how to touch the sky.”

For a moment, your breath catches, before you force yourself to huff as though you’re annoyed instead of intrigued, “it’s hardly the same thing.”

“You’re right, flying is far more exhilarating. Now ,” he gestures towards the door, “will you care to join me or not?”

No. Yes. No... Yes.

You should definitely turn back. But you don’t, and hate him for making you culpable to your own decisions. Because he isn’t forcing you, or dragging you by the hand. He’s asking, waiting, and it's you , who takes the first step, and the second, and all the others until you’re standing at the bottom of a very long staircase, and the door clangs shut behind you.

Foolish girl . It turns out, the only thing more terrifying than a dragon, is your willingness to walk right into its den.

You step forward, leaving the stairs behind, and the room is cavernous, torches flickering for as far as the eye can see, their flames creating pockets of light which barely scrape the centre of the chamber. Then there’s the smell, hot and ripe. Charcoal and manure. You wrinkle your nose, trying not to breathe it in, but its strong enough to make your eyes water.

Somehow, you’d never really imagined the stench, and you're suddenly reconsidering your decision to come down here, to a place where there is no natural light and no fresh air.

You suppose they don’t call it a pit for nothing, and if you’re thinking of running back up the stairs, the thought is stolen when Aemond’s hand brushes along your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you say, nerves a little fraught.

“If you smell like me,” he begins, wrapping you in the heavy fabric of his cloak, before carefully fastening the clasp in the front. “Vhagar will think you are mine and she will not harm you.”

You swallow, hard , the warmth and scent of his skin curling around you, “and if she doesn’t?”

Aemond laughs, far more unconcerned than you think he ought to be, “she will. You can trust me.”

"Forgive me for taking little consolation in your words, but you do not tell someone they can trust you. You show them.”

“Then allow me to show you,” he agrees, taking your hand in his, so he can lead you deeper into the monstrous room.

Twenty paces in, the dark has closed around you like a thick blanket, and you’re starting to think the room will never end, when a Dragonkeeper slowly emerges from the shadows.

He's holding a torch, firelight flickering over his face, and you can see that his skin is sallow, almost the same colour as the washed-out grey of his robe, as though it's been a long time since he’s really seen the sun.

“She’s readied for you, my Prince, but if you are wanting her saddled for two?” he pries, bowing his head before taking a sidelong glance in your direction, his curious eyes far less discreet than that of the guards.

“No need,” Aemond replies, and you’re relieved, meeting Vhagar seemed enough excitement for one evening. Riding her, could certainly wait. In fact, you’d be pleased enough if that time never came at all.

Bowing again, the Dragonkeeper slinks away, the light from his torch disappearing before the room is shook by the thunderous clinking of a large chain.

It must be the sound of the door, you think, just as a crack of light appears in front of you, the protesting creak of old timber adding to the cacophony now echoing around the room.

Aemond doesn’t move, and you have pride enough to stop yourself from clinging to him, as the door pulls all the way open, moon light flooding into the pit, so you can just make out the shape of the arches built into the walls.

Then you see her. Vhagar .

Looking like the shadowy mound of a distant hill, but very much alive, as two yellow eyes appear in the dark.

Fear grips tightly to your chest, your movements frozen as you watch the way she stretches out her long limbs like a sleepy cat, a soft huff of breath blowing from her nose.

It seemed insanity, to wake a sleeping dragon, but when you dare to step back, Aemond catches you, his arm slipping around your waist.

“Remain calm,” he commands, urging you forward, slowly , and you want to trust him. So, you do. It's easier that way. To let go of all thought, and allow him to take control. Because this is his world, more so than the soft chaises in the library or the hall filled with courtiers and elegant conversations. In those places, anyone could belong, but this place was built only for dragons.

So, you make no sudden movements, no movements at all unless they’re under the guide of his hand.

Then, when you’re standing close enough to see the line of every scale on Vhagar’s body, and smell the ash pouring out of every breath, you stop, and Aemond say’s something in High Valyrian. His words eliciting a low moan which rumbles from the pit of her giant belly, before she cranes her long neck to look at you more closely.

Staring into her eyes, you don’t want to think of fire and death, or how she seems to suck the air from your lungs each time she inhales. But how can you think of anything else? She's formidable, powerful, a dragon who's known Aegon the Conqueror himself.

What stories she could tell, and perhaps she did, in every scar which marred her armoured body.

Inching back, thinking this meeting was quite enough, you collide with the solid wall of Aemond’s chest, his fingers threading with yours. No glove, just the rough touch of his hand, drawing your arm up, your scents mingling for Vhagar's inspection.

“Do you trust me now?” he whispers, as she breathes in the smell.

“Ask me again in the morning,” you barely dare to answer, and he laughs softly, his other hand splaying across your ribs, like it belongs there. Like he has permission to hold you in such a manner. So close, his body melting into yours, and your heart racing anew, as he leans down, his nose brushing through your hair, to find a place where he can press a slow, sultry, kiss to the back of your neck.

Startled , you twist your head to look at him, your cheeks as hot as the tingles coursing all the way to the tips of your toes.

“Perhaps she’s not the only dragon who thinks you are mine,” he says, his blue eye dark with longing, while his thumb grazes the curve of your breast. So slightly , you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a mistake, but Aemond doesn’t make mistakes, and your breath hitches, just as his eye strokes across your lips.

Then he speaks, but it's not to you. It's to Vhagar, more High Valyrian, his tone filled with love and respect for an ancient friend.

You should probably stop staring at him now, should definitely return your attention to the dragon crouching beside you, still and patient, but your heart is pounding harder and harder under the press of his hand. And the worst part is, you know he must feel it, must realise, with some certainty, that its him , and not a dragon who makes you react with such intensity.

Perhaps that’s why a ghost of a smile lives on his lips as he nudges you towards her, close enough to guide your joined fingers along her scaly body. Then you do pry your gaze away.

You’re touching a dragon. A real dragon, and perhaps you should be afraid, but your mind is still elsewhere. Lost somewhere between the hand still splayed across your chest and the kiss still sizzling on your neck.

Standing this close to a dragon, any normal person would be thinking of death and terror. But the slow shudder of breath blowing from your lips is anything but terrified, and Aemond seems to take great pleasure in it, as you tell yourself to concentrate on one dragon at a time.

Vhagar. Only Vhagar.

She’s warm, much warmer than you or Aemond, which you suppose is to be expected from a creature who embodies fire, but she's also surprisingly soft and smooth. Not like silk or steel, something pliable yet strong, and so dry to the touch though her scales seem to glisten.

Still, even with the most powerful creature in the world at your fingertips, its Aemond who keeps stealing your thoughts, and when he finally releases you from his hold, it's a relief. Allowing you to gather your wits; and putting a stop to the thrum of desire which has crept into your belly.

But your relief is only momentary because freedom is for one purpose alone, so he can lead you towards her saddle, which he mounts without any consideration for your reluctance to follow.

But... your mind stutters, she’s only saddle for one . You want to say it, to remind him. Yet, Aemond knows this well enough as he beckons you onto his lap with a devilish smile. The action only cementing his position as the worst man in the entire world.

You glare at him, wanting desperately to give him some form of hell, and perhaps he knows this well enough. Knows you have no real choice but to follow. Since you cannot shout or argue when you’re standing next to the largest dragon in the world, nor do you wish to venture all the way through the depths of the pit on your own.

You hate him, yet he’s never looked more pleased with himself.

With a huff, you grip your hands to the tattered ropes which trail down her long neck, and fight the instinct to flee. Because fleeing from a dragon made so much more sense than scaling one. In fact, fleeing seemed bound to the very fibre of your bones.

Yet here you were, and you can’t help but wonder what Septa Orella would think of this. What your father would think... you push that thought away, annoyed that Aemond had seemed to mount her so effortlessly.

Meanwhile, you were forced to say a silent prayer every time your foot dared to find fresh purchase, the sway of her breathing making you tremble, the shifting of her muscles making you freeze.

You clung to the ropes so tightly, that your hands were red and sore by the time you made it to a place where Aemond could haul you up, and relief felt like a balm.

You were almost glad to be securely wedged between his thighs and the pommel. The space infinitely small for proprietary. But already so high up, that your thoughts quickly turned to the ground, and the somewhat flimsy chains he begins to tighten around your legs.

“This doesn’t feel very safe,” you shudder, testing them and thinking it would be no hard feat to fall.

But Aemond doesn’t reassure you, he gives the chains a final tug, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “it's definitely not.”

Then he reaches one hand to pick up the reins, his other, closing your fingers around the pommel.

“Are you ready, dragon rider? ” he breathes dangerously in your ear, and you shake your head, sick with fright.

“Absolutely not!” You’ve changed your mind, no , that wasn’t true. You didn't want to ride her in the first place. Why were you even here? Was Tyland Lannister really so boring?

Aemond laughs, as though he can hear the thoughts whirring around your mind, his body tensing as he pulls at her reins, and without another word, Vhagar is under way. Her moves big and bold, as she stands to full height just before she hurtles you into the air at the most startling speed imaginable.

This is hell.

You're not sure if the sound coming from your mouth is a laugh or a scream. Maybe both. But you don’t like it.

All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, wanting your mind to drift to a place where you’re in no danger of falling. Yet closing your eyes only stops you from seeing .

You can feel everything . The stomach-churning rush, the whip of the breeze, then the mist on your face as though you’re soaring through a cloud. And in the next moment, it's gone, and the air is dry, and so cold. Cold enough to turn the water droplets on your hair into tiny crystals.

Yet Vhagar doesn’t stop, she climbs higher and higher, the sheer force curving your body into Aemond’s like you're the glove on his hand.

Then, all at once, she finally slows, and for just a moment, it feels as though you lift up and float on the wind, your limbs lighter, your back free to move from Aemond’s chest, though you only burrow yourself in tighter.

Even when she’s steadied out, and you can feel the drift, slow and easy, like a ship on still waters. Your eyes remain closed, your body still clinging to Aemond’s as tightly as you hold the pommel.

“Look,” he tells you, his fingers catching under your chin, so he can see your face, “open your eyes and look at the world.”

“I can’t,” you admit, your breath shaky, your eyes feeling as though they are sealed shut, and Aemond doesn’t force you. His hand strokes across your cheek, gentle , reassuring, and you’re frustrated by your own reluctance.

Seeing the world from that back of a dragon is an opportunity so rare, and so precious, that you would be a fool to deny it, and you’re no fool, not with this.

Steeling your nerves, you force one eye open, then the other, both of them landing safely on Aemond’s face.

You hadn’t realised you could find such comfort in the blue of his eye or such encouragement in the quirk of his smile. But there it is, and allowing yourself to linger in the way he’s looking at you, seems more dangerous than simply looking down. So, you do it.

You look.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but perhaps not this. The world is almost entirely black, barely a trace of people or trees or roads. Just solitude.

“Now look up,” he whispers, and you do as you’re told, your eyes scraping from the ground to where the horizon meets the sky and it's like looking into the realm of the gods.

“Oh ,” you say, knowing such a sight should elicit more eloquence, but there are no words for such beauty. You’ve never seen the stars like this before, so close, so bright. You can’t help but reach towards them, releasing your deathly tight grip on the pommel, so your fingers can rake through the air, as though you might catch a star in the palm of your hand.

“Can you fly to them?” you say, seeming to forget that flying was a terrifying thing, and Aemond’s breath is a happy caress of laughter on the back of your neck.

“I’m afraid the air gets too cold and too thin to fly much higher than this.”

“But you have tried?” you say, looking back at him.

“When I was a boy,” he admits, and it makes you strangely delighted to imagine him feeling the same wonder you’re feeling right now.

You smile, and perhaps this wasn’t hell at all, perhaps it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” you say, forgetting to hate him, just for now.

Aemond leans closer, seeming to want full advantage of your good mood, “and will you share something with me, Lady Baratheon?”

Maybe you’d spoken too soon, “share what?”

“A truth.”

You narrow your eyes, “what truth?”

“That perhaps ,” he pauses, his smile slowly filling his face no matter how much he tries to hold it at bay, “it is the third daughter of Borros Baratheon who thinks I am the most wonderful dancer?”

You snort with both laughter and surprise, turning away and fearing he can see you far too well in the dark. "If I think anything, it is that we should head back before anyone notices I’m missing.”

“Admit it,” he says, his chin resting far too comfortably on your shoulder.

You attempt to shake him off, but it only forces his nose to brush against your cheek, and Aemond’s certainly not complaining, he's breathing you in, one arm wrapping around your middle to hold you safe and snug, and it feels so safe and snug you cannot dare to fight it.

“We’ve got all night,” he adds, Vhagar’s reigns loose in his other hand as she glides on the breeze, and you tiptoe around the truth.

“I think his grace already knows he can dance or he would not have agreed to do it in the first place.”

“But I’m your favourite?” he presses.

You could fight him at every turn, but you haven’t got all night, so you just say, “ yes .”

A satisfied laugh rolls across his body, the vibration of it sinking into your skin and you half expect him to mock you, but he doesn’t.

He sits up straighter in the saddle, and holds the reins a little tighter, before saying something in High Valyrian.

Then Vhagar drifts into an easy turn, and she doesn’t dart down in the same way she shot to the stars. She glides slowly, gradually , lower and lower until you’ve almost reached the ground.

But where you expect to see the Red Keep or even the sprawling streets of Kings Landing, there are only waves, cresting on the shore of an empty beach. No lights, or signs of people, for as far as the eye can see.

Just you, Aemond, and Vhagar. Alone.

~~~

Thank you for reading!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader #enemies to lovers #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #slow burn

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 15 days

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༉‧₊˚. 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size seer!reader

— summary: cursed with the ability to see futuristic visions, you somehow manage to save spencer reid.

— warnings: mentions of dead pets, bloody noses, past seizures, and serial killers.

— wc: 1290

⋆ a/n: hello! okay so i understand that this is completely random and honestly it was a completed wip that was sitting in my drafts so i figured 'why not?' i'm not really pleased with the ending so if anyone would be interested in a part two or continuation, i wouldn't be against it!

masterlist | AO3

The first time you had a vision you were six playing in your mother’s garden, blissfully running through the overgrowths of plants and vegetation before you dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks.

You don’t remember much aside from the scene that played behind your eyes, like a burnt movie; dark clouds, blurred yelling, and a puff of fur running out into the street. When you had come-to with a gasp, you were in the hospital.

Apparently when you had fainted you started seizing, body shaking fiercely as blood pooled from your nose. The MRI scans showed that your brain was so healthy it was like the seizure hadn't happened at all.

Sometimes your visions took a while to come to fruition, but when it did, they were never wrong.

Your childhood dog had managed to weasel its way out from your backyard on that fateful cloudy day. You remember the way the warm wind whipped at your skin, that soon to be familiar feeling in your gut that told you that signaled the inevitable.

It was too late by the time the pet had taken off for the road, where it ended up fatally crushed beneath a moving truck.

You learned not to doubt your ability quickly.

They were triggered by small things, details of everyday life that weren't deeply thought about; like the color of someone's clothes or a certain smell or sound. You knew it was a vision when your nose began to leak blood – which was very inconvenient seeing as though a majority of the time when you’d see things in public.

You'd come to learn that your eyes blur like fog for just a moment until you reconnect with your body. It was a freakish feeling and just downright annoying.

You didn't want to see these things, you didn't want to feel responsible for saving people. It was a hassle, and it was a struggle that all but stole a piece of your soul when it happened. You were isolated and alone, and if that meant keeping others and your mental health safe, then you would just have to grin and bear it.

You just hadn't expected him.

The crosswalks were always somehow crowded in the mornings, a sigh wrenching its way through your lips as you brushed against people.

You were so disoriented when it happened, a single brush to the hand shut your brain down, that sickening feeling of guilt twisting through your nerves.

It was a peculiar scene, one that was dark and eerie, a lingering feeling of danger caught in between the notion that you were not supposed to be there. The house was abandoned and dark, their arms poised outwards like they were holding something. It was as if you were sharing the person's point of view when you were shoved, landing on the ground with a gun pointed at your head.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what happened when your vision went dark.

You were pulled back into reality with a gasp, a warmth trickling over your lip that was undoubtedly blood. Usually, you wouldn't chase after who the vision pertained to, long sacrificing responsibility, but there was something about it that was just… wrong. Like even your subconscious knowing that, that wasn’t how it was supposed to end for them.

Experiencing your visions took less and less time to register, barely a second had passed before your hand shot out to catch the wrist of the person.

It was connected to a man, a very beautiful man, a man that was now staring at you like you were fucking crazy.

“Ye– oh! Are you alright?!” The man asked in concern, the confusion in his brows dissipating into concern. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… there’ll be a door.”

“A door?” “Yes, a door - fuck - just… just don’t go wherever you are going by yourself. There’s gonna be someone that’s gonna kill you, you need backup. A friend, partner, family, I don’t know just - just don’t go into scary creepy houses by yourself alright? You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

The man’s mind looked like it was traveling a mile a minute, but you didn’t wait. Releasing your grip on him, you all but shoved past him, digging into your messenger bag for your handy tissues, you found that the crimson liquid had begun to dribble down your chin.

So much for trying to be early.

Spencer’s whole week was thrown off by the random warning that he had received. Now, he’s spoken to many mentally disturbed individuals during his time with the BAU, but nothing has quite stuck with him the way your words did.

Maybe it was because you had looked so frantic when you had approached him, or maybe the fact that there was more blood on your face than what could be considered healthy. It was strange that he had found himself wanting to believe you, because in his line of work, going into scary creepy houses – as you put it – by himself was an incredibly bad idea.

Spencer has never been the superstitious type; why would he be with the number of scientific discoveries and facts that completely debunked superstitious myths?

But there was something with the way that this scene was playing out in front of him that had struck him as odd.

Flown away to a city state, he and his team were called out to deal with an Unsub that had deluded himself into believing that he was the boogeyman. He killed in the night and lay dormant during the day, but he was accelerating enough that many victims hadn’t made it through the afternoon.

They cracked down on a house where he was determined to be, a decrepit thing that used to be the killer’s childhood home. His team were speaking about how to split up to investigate, and there was basically a boulder in his stomach that told him that that was an extremely bad idea.

“Guys, I don’t think splitting up is a smart idea.” Spencer had found himself interrupting despite the lump in his throat. “I think we should go in pairs; the house has no electricity, which means no light. It would be easy to be blindsided.”

Though Hotch had given him a contemplative look, he had agreed, pairing off the others, Spencer and Derek serving as a duo themselves.

He knew the situation was bad when Derek didn’t talk, creeping through the damp, mold ridden home on high alert. They split off for a moment before joining back together, stopping in front of what was a closed door.

“There’ll be a door… You need backup… Someone that’s gonna kill you…”

Your voice rings through his head like a hit gong.

“Morgan.” He murmured quietly as he approached. When he twisted the knob with the intent to throw it open, someone lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. He doesn’t writhe for long before the unsub is shot, Morgan apprehending the man.

Spencer usually isn’t this dazed after an experience like that, but there was something about this instance that told him that maybe - just maybe - this one had been too close of a call.

And the only thing he could find himself thinking about was how the fuck did you know about all of this?

A part of him is unsure, cautious of the information that he had just used to basically save his life. You could have manipulated this, sure, but there were so many constantly changing and unexpected variables to this case that it would’ve made it damn near impossible to manipulate everything in your favor.

Which begs the question of who are you? (And how does he thank you?)

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turnnblurb · 4 months

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Don’t Fear the Reaper, Part One

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Pilot!Reader, Ex situationship!jake seresin, platonic!phoenix, platonic!rooster, Callsign: Reaper

Summary: meet cute with bob turned love at first sight turned oblivious idiots

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, mentions of death, grief, drowning, childhood trauma, abuse, alcohol, alcoholism, scars

Note: this part is very platonic heavy because I love nat and rooster and reapers dynamic with them. Love you, mean it. Thank you for reading!!!

You wake up differently every day. Strewn into a different position each morning from your restless sleep. An ache here one day, and an ache there the next. But, without a doubt, each time you close your eyes to lullaby yourself to sleep with useless ideas of hope, you wake up there.

Head Beach. Brunswick. Maine. One of your father’s last deployments.

It’s easier to feel the damp air on your skin than it is to hear Nat’s call for you from your now-shared kitchen. Easier to feel the plummeting weight on your lungs and your baby brother’s cold hand in yours than it is to feel-

No, now you definitely feel someone shaking you awake. You hear the call of your name right in your ear now.

“Dude, I’ve been calling for you for five minutes,” She stands there in her morning glory, Natasha Trace, your best friend of hell- you don’t know how many years. You stopped counting after you two graduated from the Naval Academy. Time had lost its track after that, pulling you from base to base.

“Sorry, guess I underestimated how tired I was,” You had spent the last week pulling a 4x8 cargo trailer from your pickup down I-95. New Orleans to Fightertown. Well, that drive only took you nearly a full day. It was more so unpacking the last four years of your life into a shared rental with an undefined lease that had pressed on your exhaustion.

“Don’t stress, it’s only half past 9,” Nat laid on the right hand side of your now mused and unmade bed. For someone who was so adamant on waking you, she was now a hypocrite. She let her eyes wrench shut, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

“Never in a million years would I think that we’d be back here.” You turned to face her as she spoke comfortably. You had never had many girl-friends growing up. You relished the femininity behind shared moments like these. Moments you couldn’t find in your memories of wrestling with your brothers, or sleeping in tents with other pilot’s sons at the age of 8. Because they were always sons.

Sometimes you would thoughtlessly wonder if Natasha Trace was your soulmate, or at least your guardian angel.

At the Naval Academy, her bunk below yours. Comforting you with kind words when your frustrated hands fussed with your gelled hair, taking the brush from your hands silently to do the work for you. Your mother left after the ‘accident’ and your father only ever knew how to work a high and tight.

A few months later, her coming out to you as she weeped into your hands, scared of the love she felt for others. Moments later when you weeped into her’s because you had never known romantic love of your own.

Years later at Top gun when you had a glimpse of that love and the hope that came with it. Pledging to you that you were worth more than some ripped out of the plastic Ken doll who chose to call himself ‘Hangman.’ He had miserably led you on after flirting with you relentlessly. “I guess we know what his callsign stands for now.”

Now, even more time had passed and by whatever thread fate had placed into your hands, you tied yourself to her once again. From ash to flame, Natasha “Phoenix” Trace was your best friend.

“Hey, at least this is actually a home. Not some Navy funded apartment complex where we have to deal with Roos’ banging on the wall at 2 in the morning,” You two share a chuckle, the vibrato of it fading back into a comfortable silence.

If Natasha is your best friend, then Bradley Bradshaw was your third brother. He was the pilot’s son asleep next to you in the tent. After Uncle Goose died, Carole found comfort in your family. She held everyone a little closer, until your family was torn away from her and her son too. She never blamed your dad for moving out of Miramar, not even one bit. She held you in your hospital bed after it had happened. Saw the pain in the boy’s eyes as they looked at their angel helplessly. She helped wrap the dishes in the newspaper the next week.

You had not seen or heard from a Bradley Bradshaw until your first time being invited to Top gun. Your head shot up at the familiarity of it all. All you heard as a reflection of that name was your dad’s fake-angry voice ringing through your home as he chased after the boy and your older brother Elliott with a penis shaped mark on his sleep written face.

You recall chasing after him after briefing, tears in your eyes. There wasn’t much chasing to be done as he had the same turmoil of emotions bubbling in his own stomach at the call of your name. His hug was no longer weak, it was fully supported by years upon years of training, and a grief only felt by a childhood best friend. His grip could have left an imprint on your skull.

Even at the age where boys and girls began to separate, Bradley and you had always had one thing in common. The dream, if not the need, to be exactly what your father’s are and were. That’s why when he had asked if you knew what your Uncle Mav had done, you feigned confusion.

You were there of course, on Thanksgiving day, about a week after Pete had decided on his action. You watched as your father, who sat across from him, clenched and unclenched his fists at the confession slipping from his closest friend’s mouth. Felt the acid form in your throat at the fire forming on his tongue as he fought for a kid who was not his.

“If his father were here right now, he would see for himself just how cowardly of an act this is.” It should be known that a man deemed in the air as ‘Hermes’ would knock the wit out of another man’s dialogue. A knife would not dare clatter at the softly spoken, I promised her Maverick choked back.

That’s why you let Bradley tell you his side of the story. You let him cry on your shoulder as he voiced his fear of being so far behind in his career, all for another man’s fear that he would break a futile promise.

“How is he doing?” Nat’s pondering brought you back to her presence.

“We called the other day, said he was being deployed again, but couldn’t tell me much more than that. Secretive little bastard. Told him the same thing.” You cleared your throat and began picking at your thumb, a nasty habit. In times like this you wished you two had shared a less dangerous passion, maybe you both would have joined Elliott’s band and moved up to Chicago with him when he left.

It was pitiful having the same fear that wracked Mav, but after Carole’s death it seemed to be the only option. You didn’t want to choose sides. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You wanted Bradley to be safe in the air, on land, hell, wherever he was taken.

“He can handle his own,” She put a comforting hand in your hair as you mulled over every way that you could possibly lose Bradley Bradshaw. “As long as he’s not left alone in a kitchen with an evil grilled cheese.”

“Will we ever let him live that down?” The memory of a panicked apron wearing Rooster nearly knocking a hole into your apartment door pulled a hearty laugh from the two of you. After not only setting his, but his neighbor’s fire alarm off, he decided that it was much easier to mooch off the two of you for his meals.

“Negative.” Nat let out a final puff of laughter as she pulled herself from your bed, stretching her long limbs to reach a hand out to you. “Up and at ‘em Reaper.”

Your left knee didn’t ache. The shooting dull feeling that had you at a slight limp whenever you attempted to go anywhere in the muggy environment of New Orleans. The scarring encasing your knee cap was the only physical reminder that the accident had a much more emotional reminder. The feeling had been replaced by, well, nothing. Just a bead of sweat as your skin soaked in the dry California heat. At this moment you were thankful for that. And, Trader Joe’s.

You could have put the whole grocery store in the shopping cart if it wasn’t for Nat’s mom like reflexes.

“When will you ever eat…” She turned the object with questioning eyes, “Dill pickle hummus…?”

“It sounds good.” Your shrug fell on narrowed eyes.

“I knew we should’ve eaten before this. We are getting sandwiches before we leave.” Your lips and stomach smiled at that.

The day was filled with errands, and more errands. Checklists that were scratched onto the backs of very long receipts over last night's shared bottle of wine.

- Living room rug

- Bathroom rug

- Hallway rug

- How many rugs do we need Nat?

- Shut up.

- A good amount of groceries (and alcohol)

You left your roommate to her meal prepping in order to find the snacks that she would inevitably indulge in on the desert isle. Chocolate chip cookies. Cosmic brownies. Nat’s favorite oatmeal cookies were the last box standing. You were praying this got you out of dishes for at least a week.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” A smooth voice rang from beside you, causing your heels to lift off the ground only slightly, you hoped. Instead of cardboard, your hand closed around a much softer and human-like alternative. Might you mention an Adonis-like alternative at that.

He’s all soft smile and ocean gaze as he lifts his hands in feigned surrender, as if you could ever dream of laying your hands on him in any way shape or form. He’s standing at least 6 '2, wire lenses sitting on his nose, clad in a dark blue hoodie with words in yellow letters reading ‘US NAVY’, a small detail amongst small details that won’t mean anything until later in the evening.

“They’re all yours.” You forgot about the box still under your hand as he motions to the cookies. Right, cookies.

“Are you sure? Your hand was there first. They aren’t even for me, I promise I won’t miss them.” You pray your words don’t come out as one embarrassing stumble, but fear they do anyways. The slight smile never leaves his face.

“That’s even more reason to give them to you. I support good deeds.” He waves you off with a gentle hand in the air, you catch the watch on his wrist, wondering silently how much time has passed since you left Phoenix in that aisle.

“I’ll take them, for good deeds. But, the next box is yours.” You match his smile as gracefully as you can. Knowing you probably look like a kid in a candy store eyeing the newest supply. When was the last time you felt this? You don’t even know his name.

“And, if I ever see you in this Trader Joe’s again, I’ll hold you to that.” His laugh fell like music on your ears. Could you get him to do it again? Could you record it sneakily?

“Thank you, hopefully this gets me out of my roommate duties.” He laughs again, with a slight shake of his head. He lifts his hand in another wave, signaling his exit.

“Don’t thank me yet, you owe me.” He passes by you with a friendly wink.

You have to muster up enough strength to get your feet moving from where they are frozen to the ground. You silently tell yourself to shut up as you wonder if you just met the love of your life in a goddamn Trader Joe’s.

You refuse to tell Nat about your meet cute that wasn’t a meet cute and was just a totally normal conversation with a totally normal stranger. You wish you had the confidence around the male gender that you did as a child. The ability to pin them to the ground and make them beg for their life, well in a completely metaphorical way, of course.

If you were anyone else you would have offered your number, so maybe you could gift him the oatmeal cookies sooner rather than later. If you looked like the girl he was probably after you would have kissed him right there. If you were anyone else.

If Robert Floyd were anyone else he would’ve done the same thing.

Who the hell winks at women anymore? Naval Aviators. He felt like a douche. He muttered softly to himself through the Trader Joe’s, to his Tacoma, and in the driver’s seat.

“You owe me??” He finally says it loud enough to where it meets his own ears when he’s alone. His brows furrow at his own clumsiness. He’d never said those words in his life, no one had ever owed him anything. Well, maybe his sisters when they stole from his Toy Story piggy bank in Grade 4.

If I were anyone else, he thinks to himself the whole drive home.

You’re back at home. That word still feels unfamiliar to you, and it has since you moved away from your father. But, you think it’s something you could get used to.

It’s not far from the apartment complex you and Nat were originally housed in a few years ago. A 1960 something one story with white brick and green shutters. Ivy of all sorts climbing the windows, you’ll have to do housekeeping eventually. Inside is all stained wood and tacky tile, but with your best friend, it is definitely home.

It feels more like home with her fussing over your hair in the bathroom mirror. Giving unimpressed looks at you through the reflection everytime you wiggle too much.

“I don’t understand why we have to go to The Hard Deck the night before our first day, and I absolutely loathe that we have to do it in Khakis.” While she gels the wispy hairs on your head back, you busy yourself with your pins and badges. You can never do it right, and always end up poking your thumb.

“It’s tradition Reap, it’s bad luck to break tradition.” She pulls at the bun to make sure it’s taut, and brushes your ironed khaki shoulders, “Plus, we both know we’ve flown with hangovers more times than I’ve had to do your hair.”

You roll your eyes and let her win, she’s not wrong. It’s not difficult to recall drunken nights with her and Bradley, squeezed onto the smallest couch in the world, provided by the shittiest apartment complex known to man. Nights howling over awful Family Feud answers and worse beer.

You pick up a few more things around rooms, at least wanting to be prepared before meeting Nat at the door. Another tradition you have is rock, paper, scissors over who has to drive. Or, more realistically, who is allowed to drink the most. You win.

“Ugh, I’m driving your truck. Better gas mileage.” You shrug, stepping out before her and letting her lock the door with your keys.

Nostalgic is one way to feel about exiting your truck in The Hard Deck parking lot. Another would be less enthusiastic, appalled. You had never seen the place so overpopulated.

Sure, it had been what? 3-4 years since you had last stepped foot through the doors of your favorite bar, but is that enough time for this many people to spawn in Fightertown, USA. You can see a wave of khaki through the door, you spot it the same time Nat does.

“Don’t hold your breath, actually maybe do, it looks like there might be a stench.” You nudge her playfully as you walk up to the short building. It is a sight for sore eyes, you can admit. You no longer feel dreaded nerves at unfamiliarity, because The Hard Deck is as familiar as it gets.

Beer, sweat, and seemingly your own father’s playlist fill your senses overwhelmingly at once. You have to shoulder past a few people with verbal apologies to even lay eyes on Penny Benjamin at her bar. She quickly spots you with a beautiful smile and a nod, you return it, a nonverbal promise of a hug when you can actually reach her.

Phoenix spots someone else before you do.

“Seresins here.” A scowl falls on her face and yours falls flat. It takes you no time to spot him as well, his eyes already on you before yours are on him. He lends you a smirk and a wink. A wink so the opposite from the one you were gifted earlier in the day. A wink that sends a bite of venom right into your tongue. You look up at Phoenix.

“That’s fine.” She knows it’s not. Knows that if he steps a foot closer to you she’ll have him thrown into the pool table he stands in front of. You know it’s fine. Because she told you once that he was worth none of your tears, and you believed her. You dug the grave for those emotions long ago.

“He’s not the only asshole here,” You’d believe her, but her tone was noticeably lighter. Before you could question her words you spot two more familiar faces.

“Holy shit!” A voice belonging to none other than Rueben ‘Payback’ Fitch graced the air. You were engulfed in a hug before you could get out a response. His WSO squeezes you before you could get a breath from the last hug.

“I guess they really are calling anyone back to Top Gun these days.” You laugh in disbelief, still hanging tight to your old friends.

“Well, you’re here short stack, so I guess so.” Rueben chuckles before pulling you in for another hug.

“Well what do we have here!” It should be difficult to ignore that voice in such a crowded room, but it isn’t. Not when the voice belongs to the most arrogant pilot in Naval history. “Family reunion?”

“Fellas this here’s Bagman.” Phoenix crosses her arms at him, looking back to you for your own comfort. You don’t need it.

You don’t need it because in trying to ignore the situation in front of you, you found a different situation to your right. In a corner, with a cup of peanuts in his hands. Your mouth goes agape, and it would be a lie to say you aren’t shamelessly staring right at him when his eyes finally meet yours.

His facade matches yours immediately, he stifles a laugh in surprise and amusement. You smile right at him, shaking your head in another bout of disbelief. You’re rudely pulled out of the silently shared moment.

“Reaper.” Hangman deadpans your name with the same stupid smirk on his face. Your smile is gone. You give him no reply. Only a tap on Phoenix’s shoulder as a quiet exit sign before you head to the bar. You don’t miss the way eyes follow you behind wire frame glasses.

You let out a huff. Then you pause. Nearly being knocked over by a too-tall man in your state of shock. The night feels like one really weird mixed up dream where people from different places in different points of your life conjoin into one memory. Because at the bar sits no one other than Pete Mitchell.

“Uncle Mav?!” He twists on the barstool at the sound of a voice he’s heard since the owner of it learned to speak. He feels old as he sees the girl he raised in the bar he first blacked out in. He feels grief when he realizes what her being here means. A soft call of your first name, uncommon in a bar full of Naval Aviators.

“Kid, what the hell.” He pulls you in for a hug, tucking your head into his neck like he had always done.

“Does dad know you’re here? With me?” After the fight, they had forgiven each other immediately. There was no use in fighting, there was no use in losing each other.

“No, if I’m being honest, I’m not even completely sure what I’m here for.” He squinted his eyes as if you knew the answer, but you just shrugged, letting him know that the feeling was mutual. A clearing of a throat pulls you both to face the center of the bar, where Penny stands with Mav’s beer in hand.

“I was promised a hug.” She gives you a once over to take in your growth before reaching over the bar on her own accord. If it was anyone else, the wood digging into your hips would be unbearable, but it was Penny. “Your dad called me, told me to take good care of you. To me that means get you good and drunk, so while you’re here you better not lay a dime on this bar top.”

“Oh, so she gets a call and I don’t.” Maverick rolls his eyes at the tendencies of your father. You give him a pat on the back, and another side hug. Your weird fever dream of a reunion has distracted you from the fact that Penny has already set two long islands on the bar, one for you one for Phoenix. And, from the fact that your childhood best friend has already sauntered his way over to the pit of Aviators.

“Love you, mean it.” You bid your goodbyes to both of them. Watching your feet and the drinks in your hands as you navigate the room, making sure you don’t stumble or spill. You hear his voice, and the latter situation becomes much more difficult to handle.

“Where’s trouble?” Of course he’s not in khakis. Of course you can’t see anything but his Hawaiian clad back because he’s so damn tall.

“ROOS?” Natasha must have sensed your slipping grip on the drinks as she swiftly grabs them out of your hands before you are pulled into yet another life threatening hug.

“THERE SHE IS.” Rooster pulls unwanted attention and Phoenix all but cackles at the way you are lifted nearly 5 feet off the ground. You grumble at him before he sits you back down on your feet.

“You are such a liar.” You narrow your eyes at him, but fail to muster up any fake anger because it’s Rooster. You’re back at Top Gun with Rooster. You wonder if this is how your father’s felt, you almost know that he’s thinking the same thing.

“And before you say anything, we’re both liars. I knew too.” Phoenix pulls you to her side, standing closer to the pool table. “More importantly this is Bob, my new WSO.”

You wonder if she has a sixth sense, then you answer your own question because of course she does. Standing at the head of the pool table is presumably Bob, better known to you as someone you owe a box of oatmeal cookies too. You shyly smile at him.

“Hi Bob, I’m Reaper.” You stick out your hand for him, he grabs it immediately. He has a strong grip, you wonder if yours was this strong when you grabbed his hand at the store. “If I had known my best friend’s life was in your hands, I definitely would’ve let you have those cookies.”

“Well, Reaper. Looks like you owe me two boxes now.” He laughs for you once again, and you notice the curl of his lips.

“I’ll give you three if you tell me your callsign.” Your hand is still in his. Rooster and Phoenix share a look, an all knowing look. Like they just solved the world’s first mystery.

“Two works just fine, ma’am. It’s Bob.” He blushes slightly. He’s not a Hangman, he’s not a Payback, or Rooster. He’s just Bob. He lets your hand drop softly with one pat from his free one. You look back at Rooster then quickly back to him.

“I’m jealous. You might have the best callsign in all the Navy.” He chuckles at you as if you are joking, but both you and Rooster know that when you were younger all you wanted your callsign to be was your name.

“Figured nothing suited me better than my own name, well nickname. Robert was my second option.” Robert Floyd. Your eyes flitted down to his badge when they had the chance. You wondered where he was from, you knew he was stationed in Lemoore, but his accent was anything but Californian. It was mature, it was smooth and at times a bit slurred, you’d noticed.

No prior experience with the male gender could have ever prepared you for what Robert “Bob” Floyd was offering you. You come to find out that he’s older, a graduate of the academy five years before yourself, two years before Rooster should’ve graduated.

The night moves through bouts of long islands and shared stories. You team up with Bob for a game or two of pool, absolutely demolishing Payback and Fanboy both times. He gives you a high five each time. You mentally tally each time you two touch, by accident or purpose.

When Phoenix drives you two home, you let her excitement of the months to come lull you into a state of self pity. Because if you were anyone else it would work.

If you were anyone else, you’d fall in a mutual love with one of the most profound men you have ever met. He’d swoon for you, give you the first love you have prayed for over nearly the past 30 years.

He’d hold your hand on top of dinner tables, reach down to tie your shoes, play in your hair as you drifted off into a nightmare, kiss your scar on a path to much a greater expression of love, bathe you when you’re old and brittle.

If you were anyone else.

As Bob drives himself home, he settles into the idea that if he were anyone else he could hold you how Rooster did.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick fanfic #natasha trace #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #lewis pullman #tgm #tgm fic #robert floyd #bob Floyd fluff #bob floyd smut

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medusavsviperz · 5 months

Note

Here me out 😏. The workers at playtime co. Put the smiling critters into pairs to work with the kids for like team building or something. But Dogday is being a little too friendly with his partner and the player is like big mad and feels some punishment is in order and they decided to peg the ever loving crap out of Dogday until he is a moaning, begging mess 😘

Punishment.

warnings: smut, anal, bondage, submission

relationships: dogday x fem!reader

writing style: second person

genre: smut

"alright listen up! we are playing a game! can anyone guess what it is?" one of the workers announced, getting a rise out of the kids. hide and seek! fetch! rock, paper scissors! tug of war! the kids would scream. "correct! we are playing a game of... tug of war!! you will each be separated into teams, with two leaders!"

"the team leaders are... hoppy and bobby! kicken and picky! and finally, crafty and dogday! bubba will be keeping score. okay kids, pick your leaders!" unsurprisingly, most of the kids wanted dogday, but they had to split it up.

originally, you never had a problem with crafty. you knew she liked dogday, but honestly, who didnt? he was a very handsome boy after all. but there was one rule all of the critters knew. he was yours.

you stood in the corner with catnap, just watching the game. neither of you wanted to play. dogday and crafty were winning with a total of 10 points, one point being per game. crafty did none of the work, she just stood in front of dogday pretending to pull. every now and then her butt would accidentally touch his crotch. that royally pissed you off. but you tried to ignore it. your final straw was when dogday had the fucking nerve to hold her waist steady.

yea no. not today crafty.

she was eating it up, she loved his attention. especially if it was physical. you knew very well dogday only had eyes for you, but you can still be jealous. its natural after all. but after that little stunt he pulled you figured he deserved to be punished. it took you a bit to figure out what you were gonna do, but once you did, it was perfect.

you said your goodbyes to catnap, making sure dogday saw you hug all over him, and walked to your shared room. and waited.

and waited.

finally, dogday walks into the room, tail wagging, and arms open ready to hug you. you put your hand on his chest as a way of saying "stop" and gave him a stern look. his tail stopped wagging immediately. "a-angel...whats wrong.. did i do something?"... "get on the floor you slut."

oh shit.

he gulped. and got on his knees on the floor. "p-please..what did i do..?" ..you ignored him and attached a leash to his collar. you walked over to "the box" and pulled out your orange strap on. "f-fuck angel what are you doing?" .. "what was that all about with craftyfuckingcorn?" you say sternly while attaching the strap-on around your black lace panties. "what are you talking about..?" ... "shit i dont know, maybe the fact that she was flirting with you and you didnt stop her?!" you lubed up the strap on, and scoffed at him. "b-baby i swear i dont like her like that.." he looked like he was about to cry. "trust me dogday. i know you dont. but im gonna give you a little reminder.."

"bend the fuck over."

he shuts his mouth and accepts his fate, removing his shorts and lifting his ass in the air. giving you a nice view of everything hes got. you land a smack on his ass and he yelps, shaking. you line up the dildo with his puffy hole, giving him no time to adjust before shoving it in. he whimper/yelps and tears start to roll down his face. "p-please" sob "ts too much.." ... "should have thought about that before you whored yourself out." you quicken your pace, one hand gripping his hip and the other pulling his tail. "god...please stop it hurts!" ... "shut the fuck up." your pace is ruthless, hitting his prostate over and over again until he is a whimpering begging mess in your hands. hes cum multiple times on the floor, but youll make him clean it up later. suddenly you flip him on his back, seeing his sopping wet face, and his needy cock bouncing with every pound you make. you grab the bottom of his thighs and hold them to his chest, hitting deeper. once you think he has learned his lesson, you slower your pace, giving him kisses on his chest up to his cheeks.

eventually, you pull out, tossing the strap-on to the side, and walking to the bathroom to grab a wet towel. you clean him up and wipe his tear stained face, before slowly jacking him off. he deserves it. "you did a good job. my good boy" he whimpers at the praise, shooting his last nut on his stomach. you clean that up, and lean him on the bed, which he gladly climbs on to. you cuddle with him and wait until he falls asleep, before snuggling up to his chest and scratching behind his ears.

such a good boy.

made by medusavsviperz

#poppy playtime #dogday #ns/fw #daddy’s babygirl #daddy k!nk #deep sleep #men gets pegged #he gets pegged #dogday x player #dogday x y/n #dogday x reader #good boy

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takami-takami · 1 year

Text

Sweet, Sweet Indulgence.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— gn!reader. corrupting the sweet boy till he's addicted to edging himself <3. hand jobs. masturbation. edging. desperation. brief mention of oral.

Perhaps all these years, Keigo was just waiting for someone to give him permission to truly indulge.

For someone as busy as the number two hero, getting off was always something he had to do quickly; and to put it bluntly, it was less of an indulgence and more of a hassle for him to take care of than anything else. He simply never had much free time to call his own. Rubbing one out was merely a five minute task to clear his head on nights he had to wake before the sun rose.

But you threw the most devastating wrench in his perception. You showed him exactly what he was missing, just how much of a delicacy it could be.

The first time you wrapped the snake of your hand around him, he threw his head back and choked. His deep, sinful slouch and spread legs were evidence of just how heavenly your touch felt, just how blissful the feeling was that made his eyes flutter shut and his breath come quick.

He never could have guessed how electric your grip could be; not until it reached the head of his cock and traveled back down, down to the base before twisting back up, leaving crackles of pleasure in its wake.

Again, and again, and again.

But just as that familiar feeling crept up within him, you stopped.

His entire body went stiff.

Golden eyes shot wide open, brows furrowing in innocent confusion. In between his desperate panting, he managed, "W-Why'd you stop?"

And that smirk against his ear broke a part of his brain, irreparably. He could feel the tandrils of your presence tainting his thoughts, corrupting his mind down to far more debaucherous places.

With a seductive whisper over his left shoulder, your words sent him straight to the pits of hell.

"Because it feels so much better that way."

After that fateful night, he simply cannot control himself.

Nights like these are now spent on his back, with his shirt bunched up over his heaving chest, kicking at the sheets below as they ruffle with his writhing. He reaches that peak again, only to deny himself with the most pathetic mewl.

He chases that ecstacy you provide, pretty little mind drowning in phantasmic visions of you. Hazy and thick is the essence he gulps down, trickling down the recesses of his filthy thoughts and dripping toward his twitching cock.

Sometimes when he gets close, he yanks his hand away with a sob, as if the heat of his dick were the burn on a stovetop. Other times, the blur of the hand fisting his cock comes to an abrupt halt at his base, squeezing almost painfully instead, frantic to stave off that release.

It aches, it throbs, and he loves it.

No more stress, no more worries; just the continuous, painful nirvana of edge after edge.

He goes on and on building up his cum, letting himself fall further and further to whining, whimpering desperation. It gets to the point that he rolls his head along his pillow, mutters begs and pleas to you under his breath. He knows you're not there to hear; but his mind is fuzzy, and it almost feels like if his display is cute enough, if his little show is pathetic enough for you, you'll give him a little bit of mercy.

But isn't this mercy? He gets to feel so good for as long as he wants— forever, if his pretty little heart desires.

He mulls the question in his mind, back and forth, before settling on a conclusion: there's not enough room in his head to even think about it right now. Frustrated, he tosses the thought and focuses what little brainpower he has left on the swell of his cock, instead.

"Wanna cum, wanna cum— Please," he throws his head back and whines into the open, empty air, sweat beginning to dampen the perfect, golden strands sticking to his forehead. "I-I can be good," he squeaks to the phantom you in his mind.

Keigo can hear your sultry tone even now, a serpent seducing him and enticing him to behave. It creeps down his spine, slithering and causing his back to arch.

"Doesn't that feel good? Feels so much better to play on the edge, doesn't it?"

It does, it does.

His fist starts to move quicker now, tight grip making sounds that are unbearably loud; but that only makes his eyes screw shut in blissful, perverted ecstacy. His other hand steadily crawls up his chest, palm splayed and clutching at the sensitive skin there; in this state, after enduring edge after edge, it's nearly as sensitive as the reddening head of his cock.

His lidded gaze turns downwards. The thick tip is leaking so, so much— perfect to use to fist his dick even better, he muses.

And so he does, collecting the pre in his palm and using it to milk his cock raw.

His whole body is fit to burst, trembling and alight with a greedy need that drains the blood from his brain, directing it somewhere far more important, far more useful at the moment.

"Hah," he pants out, high pitched and whiny before breathing in deep. The oxygen barely reaches his foggy head. Every languid stroke causes his eyes to roll that much further into the back of his head. Legs tense and toes curling, every nerve sparks with an inexplicable desire enveloping his body; like countless sparks of pleasure, his sensitive skin feels akin to flint and steel.

Oh god, this awakens something in him.

The first time Keigo whimpered for you, you let out the most condescending coo, as if he were just the cutest little thing.

Right now, he keeps memories like that in his mind on repeat. He fantasizes, vividly picturing the time you had him edge himself on his knees while he used his mouth on you, or the days you'd instruct him to text you real-time updates on how often he ruined his own orgasms; he had to meet the quota you assigned for him, of course, though his texts became more illegible as the night went on.

It's been ages since the last time he questioned the twitch of his cock when you talk down to him.

Pretty boy likes it.

How kind of you to open his mind to the depths of debauchery he had unintentionally denied himself all those years. Years of missing out on this kind of bliss... Isn't that a form of denial, too? He's so grateful, he thinks, hissing once again through pearly gates of teeth at a particularly exquisite stroke.

God, Keigo loves to edge. Loves this, loves you, loves, loves...

The blur of his movements freezes once more.

A whimper escapes through the delirious smile of his lips. He's being so good, he thinks. He wants you to see how good he is, wants your eyes fixed on his little exhibitionist performance.

You'd tell him he's a good boy, won't you?

His breathless laugh devolves to the cutest "o-oh," as his grip begins to stroke up and down again. That same, wet sound rings in his ears again, pulling him down, farther and faster.

One desperate sigh later, and the remaining braincells in his mind put together the perfect idea.

Fuck, he should call you.

#A crumb of subby hawks #I want to say so many things to this man i want to break him #wanna wreck his pretty little brain <3 #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #smut mention #hawks smut #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #mha thirst #so i will!!

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dracoxsworld · 1 year

Text

ARRANGED - Draco M. x Reader | PART 3

“Morning sleeping beauty.” You said to the blonde-haired boy

“What- what the hell?!” Draco exclaimed when he noticed the handcuff on his wrist.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure they don’t trust us anymore to be escapees.” You replied, looking down at your handcuff.

“Do you even remember what happened?” You asked him. He looked you and shook his head.

“They sent dementors after us.” You said. Draco all of a sudden noticed the change in your tone, it was a lot more monotone than before, you spoke in an almost concerning level of calm. Like you were asleep.

“Dementors? Father isn’t supposed to be able to do that,” He said “After the war… He.. they shouldn’t have access-“

“Draco, your family has proven that they can have access to anything they please at this point.” You said irritability. “I’m sorry.” You apologized, your head was pounding, you weren’t sure what the plan was going to be, and neither did he.

“You have a fair point. Father always had a way with things.” He said, focusing on his pale hands.

Your hands rubbed your eyes and then dragged down your face. You were stressed. “So what now?” You asked him. He was silent.

There was a knock at the door, it opened and it was Lucius. Draco’s body froze completely, seemingly in fear. You’ve never seen Draco Malfoy so scared. “Well you two, that was quite the scene.” He started.

He came up to you, as you sat at the edge of the bed. His wand tilted your chin upwards. “I’m guessing you convinced my son to run away from your fate.” He said, his tone reminded you of a poisonous, lethal snake. “You’re correct.” You said, matter of factly. Honestly, it was your idea. But also to cover up for Draco, who still was frozen in fear but at the same time, sitting up straighter once Lucius pointed his wand at you.

“Father, leave her alone, please.” Draco said, voice shaking. “

“Shut it, Draco.” Lucius spat, his dark eyes shooting at his son.

He looked back down at you. “You, my darling, are a bad bad influence.” Lucius “Your family doesn’t exactly hold the spotless reputation, either.” You commented. Lucius gained a devilish grin, he grabbed your shirt by its collar.

“You’re just as twisted as the rest of us, Y/N. Don’t you understand? It’s in your blood.”

“Father!” Draco yelled. Lucius dropped your shirt immediately from shock. You fell back into the bed, rubbing the back of your neck from the shirt digging into your skin. “Before I go. You’re both husband and wife.” Lucius said, walking towards the door, seemingly forgetting what he had just done to you. You and Draco looked at each other. He looked apologetic. “We decided to finish the job since you both decided to take a run for it.” Lucius added. “Happy honeymoon.”

Lucius left the room, leaving you and Draco alone. “Shit.” He said under his breath. You sighed, absolutely nothing went according to plan. You weren't exactly surprised it had gone to a complete shit show, it was rather typical compared to the rest of your life.

You and Draco were released about an hour later. Maggie, the worker who had helped you get ready for your wedding yesterday, released you both.

"That was quite the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy." Maggie said, leading you out of the bedroom. You turned her head in confusion, but then remembered you were both married. "Yes, well, we love the element of surprise, Maggie." Draco said sarcastically. "I suppose so, anyhow, Mrs. Franchies has made you both a breakfast. Mr. Malfoy, I was told to warn you both, and I plead you to actually listen; that the Manor has high security outside. Please, for both of your safety, behave." Maggie said calmly. She looked over at you with pleading eyes. "Please, Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy. Do as you are told." You both reluctantly nodded.

You and Draco both quietly sat at the dining table. It was elegant and could seat probably 40 people. It was black, and the chairs matched with velvet dark green cushions. "Mrs. Franchies is a lovely chef." Draco said quietly. "She'll bring us our breakfast any minute. Eggs, toast, everything you can think of." He said, a bit more confidently. "With orange juice, of course. Freshly squeezed-" "What are we going to do?" I interrupted him. He just stared. I started to tear up. "Stop crying, we'll find a way." Draco said with a bit of a stern tone. You looked up at him.

"We are in a heavily guarded manor. We couldn't even escape with our magic." You said to him, with confusion. "How do you expect we-" "Maybe we should just accept our fate." Draco sneered. "Maybe it's your fate to marry someone you don't love, but it's not mine." You snapped back.

"We are married, Y/N." Draco stressed. "You'll never marry your precious Nicholas." You could feel steam bursting out of your ears. You stood up at the table. Draco's eyes widened "I am done with this conversation, if you won't find a way, I'll leave on my own." You left the dining room, tears falling down your cheeks, you heard Draco calling after you, something about blowing this out of proportion.

You laid in your elegant bed, sobbing quietly to yourself when you heard a knock at your door. "What?" you called out. You heard the door open and you looked up. Draco stepped into the room with a plate of breakfast. "You're not supposed to have food in here!" you whispered. "Well I can't just let you starve." Draco said, sounding annoyed with you already. He sat at the end of the bed on your side, handing you the plate. You sat up. "Listen. I know we aren't the biggest fan of each other, but we should make the best of the situation, Y/N." Draco said after a moment, he was looking at his knuckles, trying to avoid eye contact. You ate some food, waiting for him to continue. "I was impressed by you, ya know." Draco admitted. He looked at his ring finger, and perked up. "I completely forgot!" He said, getting up from the bed. You watched him with curiosity. He opened his bedside table drawer and pulled out a dark green velvet box. He went in front of you and gave you the box. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the soft velvet. "Open it." Draco said softly.

You opened the box and your eyes widened. Two rings sat in the box, your initials above your ring, a round cut ring with an emerald. It looked beautiful, you must admit. Draco's initials were above his, a black ring with a snake engraved. Typical.

"You don't have to wear yours, at least when you're here." Draco said, taking his and putting it on. "Just.. when we're out, so people don't question anything. People should probably have the impression we're happy." He said.

You looked up at him. "I'll wear mine." You decided, Draco looked surprise. You picked up the delicate looking ring and slipping it on your finger. "You're lucky I am sympathetic." You said to him. He gave you a faint smile, and sat next to you on the bed. "I must admit, you did amazing in that battle." He complimented. You felt your face go hot, but you shoved food in your mouth before he noticed. You nodded, chewing your eggs and toast. "I'm not surprised, though. You were amazing in Hogwarts." You swallowed your food, and smiled faintly. "I suppose you're good too, you protected me quite a bit. Even afterwards, you defended me from your dad." You said. "You're my wife now, I have to. Even if we don't particularly like each other."

"I think we can eventually like each other." You admitted. Draco raised his eyebrows at you. "I suppose for the time being.. we have to, right?" You suggested. He nodded. Draco looked into your eyes, he didn't say anything, he just stared. His face moved closer to yours, and as almost as if you two were magnets, you connected. You felt his lips on yours. They were gentler than you thought they'd be, caring, almost. His hands naturally went up to your face and gently cupped it in his hands, your hands then landed on his biceps, wanting to keep them where they were.

You both pulled away and looked at each other.

"Effective start, Mrs. Malfoy." Draco teased.

#draco malfoy #draco fic #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n #draco fanfiction #draco x reader smut #draco malfoy smut #draco #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy series

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amymaleneart · 4 months

Text

"The Mail Service Trilogy."

Here's part three of the trilogy of @missterious-figure Wine and Feathers AU! Was going to do some sort of feather-care, but than I thought of something better. (*tiny evil laughter*)

Enjoy!

You walk down the long private hallway of the casino, trying your best to carry the oversized package addressed to Eclipse without dropping it. Thankfully it’s not heavy, but it sure is a little cumbersome.

You would have already opened the package to remove its contents, as it was a part of your job to screen everything that comes in for the stars. Except the way your manager had pretty much busted into your office and tossed the package on your desk. Then demanded you to take it to the “prissy oversized drama-king” right away, didn’t give you much of an opportunity to make sure it was safe. Even though he did assure you that it is all safe and okay, he continues to yell and barates the most seeked after peacock about how he has been hounding him about this particular package. Then he starts yelling at you about how the mailroom wasn’t doing their job and should have taken it to you in the first place, even though you have nothing to do with it.

It seems ever since you got promoted to becoming their main handler, the manager seems to take any opportunity to express his frustrations and anger out on you whenever they do something he doesn’t approve of. Often when no one else is around.

You wipe away your incoming tears onto your shoulders as you try your best to shake off the underserved berating. But there isn’t anything you can do to change that you guess. As far as you know, there’s no one else higher than your boss besides the owner, and you know he doesn’t come here that often to be on any kind of name basis with you. You also know that HR is friends with your boss, so best to just leave–“Omph!”

While lost in your thoughts, you failed to realize someone was in front of you as you collided into them. Fortunately you didn’t drop the package, but instead started to fall backwards towards the ground. You already accepted your fate of getting a nasty headache from hitting your head onto the ground. Yet somehow you find you’re half suspended in the air as you feel then see a large bronze leather glove cradles the small of your back. You follow up the well muscular arm until you are face to black and hot pink face of the giant peacock harpy known as Eclipse.

He purrs as his amber eyes drinks you up like you are his favorite cocktail. “Careful now, my darling little gloaming star. You could have hurt your precious self and then someone would need to take care of you.” He leans in closer, “Although, I would be more than happy to take care of you anytime, my dear little handler.”

That’s when Eclipse notices how puffy and watery your eyes are, his demeanor changes from his overly flirtatious self to one of concern. Of course you don’t notice this because you are still reeling in from being flustered.

“I-I-I…” you swallow, “I-I have a p-package for yoooooou!?” You nearly screech out the last word as he tosses you over his shoulder, like you were fresh kill, causing you to drop the large box. “Eclipse!” You gasp as you try to hold onto his back without pulling at any of his orange feathers. “Wha-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer as he bends down to pick up the box with his free hand, then continues down the hallway towards your original destination, his private dressing room.

As you enter, you cry, “E-eclipse, please. P-put me d-down.”

“In a moment, my sweet little honeysuckle.” He tosses the package into his room as he turns around to shut and locks his door. You’re not sure you like where this is going. You know him to be the biggest flirt between the three of them, but you never thought he would outright kidnap you! Next he flungs you off his shoulder into his open arms, holding you up high so you are face-level with his oranges, reds and pinks feather-framed face. You found yourself squirming in his gentle embrace, having a hard time looking at his adorable face.

“Are you already?” he asks, his tenor-like voice entering into your soul like a pleasant evening breeze.

“I-I am f-fine,” you say, still refusing to look at him. The last thing you want is for him to worry about you.

He hums as he continues to observe you. You do recall that the name he had as a chick was “the watcher” and has developed these skills to the point you have no doubt he saw through your obvious lie.

“I-I was instructed by the manager to bring you this,” you say as you point at the package. “He…umm…said you really…(“Give that giant, overpriced feather duster his dumb package! I am getting really sick and tired of his cocky attitude, thinking he owns the damn place.)…need it as soon as it arrives.”

Another hum leaves his mouth as his lips turn into a half-frown, like he smells a dirty rat. He gently sets you down as if you were made of porcelain. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. If I had known he was going to give you such trouble, I would have practiced more patience if it would mean to save you from his wrath.”

You quickly look up at him, panic showing through your voice as you say, “No! No, it’s okay. He didn’t do anything—” A gloved finger was placed on your lips, instantly silently you. You stand there as you feel your face heat up in a bright blush that you’re surprised it doesn’t burn your skin.

Satisfy, Eclipse turns his attention to the partially battered package. He picks it up to remove the tape to take out its contents. He pulls out a large, rectangular piece of soft fabric that you quickly realized must be a king-sized blanket. Your eyes widen as you see the bronze color shimmer against the lights in the room. The large harpy takes two of the corners of the blanket into his hands to open up to reveal an amazing custom design of reds, hot pinks, blues, purples and bronze peacock feathers printed into the fabric. It was almost like someone tried to take his tail feathers to enchant it into this blanket.

“I had asked the manager to help me order this. Even used my own earnings though tips from the rich patrons to pay for this. But it seems I should have gone to someone more…tolerable, for help.”

Next thing you know, you are in complete darkness as Eclipse tosses the blanket on top of you. Before you could say any sort of sound, you feel large hands grab and spin you around until you are tightly wrapped up into a comfortable human burrito.

Oh My Stars! This is sooooo Soft!

Eclipse pulls down the blanket to reveal your star-struck face, causing him to laugh at how adorable you must look to him now.

“*hehehe* I knew you would look beautiful in my colors.” Eclipse proceeds to pick you up, bridal-style, and walks over to his Mayan hammock he has hanging on one side of the room. Carefully and elegantly, he turns and falls into the hanging breathable weave like he has done a million times before.

“E-eclipse? I-I really c-an’t–”

“Shhhhhhhhh. Don’t worry. You have enough time for a little break, my hardworking pheasant.”

He holds you close in his arms, ready to protect you from any danger that might come your way.

Part One: Done in an ask - Part Two: Over Here- Part Three: Here

#winged dca #harpy au #sun and moon fnaf #sundrop and moondrop #dca fandom #fnaf daycare attendant #harpy dca #harpy eclipse #winged au #wine and feathers au #dca fanfic #amymaleneart writing

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chibieggplant · 4 months

Text

Destined Threads ~ Part One

Part 1/2 | Part Two

Red thread of fate au

Spoilers, but also not really? Inspired by the Cake Island flashback events

Warnings: truma, abuse, angst, my poor baby boy Sanji

Does anyone want little Sanji angst? Probably not, but I wrote it anyway

It will include y/n in part two, but for part one, enjoy sad little Sanji

Sanji sat in the dark of the dimly lit cell, holding his knees close to his chest. As he sat there, he couldn't help but dwell on the cruel and heartless behaviour of his father and brothers. How his farther abandoned him in this cold, lifeless cell, cast away from the outside world. The way they starved him, beat him, and mocked him. His eyes started tearing up as he tried to control his breathing. He wanted to cry. He needed to cry, but every time he tried, he got yelled at. He fought back tears and wiped away the one that had escaped his eye. While doing so, he caught sight of a red thread wrapped around his pinky finger.

Huh? When did this get here? Could it be a prank? Perhaps it was something sinister orchestrated by his brothers while he was asleep. He pulled at it, but to no avail; it didn't budge or want to come off. As he tugged at the red thread, that led out of his cell the string only went tight without revealing its endpoint.

Sanji leaned back against the wall, and a memory surfaced in his mind - a tale he had once heard from his mother. The story of the red thread of fate, a thread that connects a pair of individuals who were destined to meet.

"Could it..." The idea of the legend being real made Sanji feel conflicted. His brothers always mocked him. Saying no one would ever love him and that he would never leave this hell hole. He rubbed at the string a little before looking at the dim ceiling. Sanji wasn't sure if he believed the legend, but the idea of someone being there for him, wanting to be his friend, and seeing him as an equal was comforting. Even though he was confined to the cell, the thought of it provided Sanji with a small glimmer of hope.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard footsteps approaching. He quickly composed himself and pretended to be asleep, curling up on his side. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he could feel his brothers' smirking stares as they stood outside his cell. Sanji flinched as the door was unlocked, doing his best to remain steady as his brothers drew near.

Ichiji was the first to break the silence. "Sanji...wake up." Sanji kept his eyes closed tight. He bit his lip and pretended to still be asleep. Niji was the second to chime in. "You know ignoring us isn't going to make us go away."

Sanji remained with his eyes shut as he began to tremble, tears threatening to fall. The thought of his brothers hurting him again made Sanji's body twitch. He grabbed his pinky finger as a source of comfort, trying to calm his nerves.

His breathing quickened as Yonji spoke. "I guess we'll just have to make you wake up then." Sanji struggled to stifle any sounds as he bit his lip harder. A pained grunt escaped him when a forceful kick landed on his back.

"Well look, who's awake now?" Yonji scoffed as he picked Sanji up by the scruff of his shirt. Sanji couldn't hold back his tears as he clutched onto his pinky finger while his brothers chuckled at the scene. Yonji threw Sanji back down, hitting his back on the hard floor.

"What a crybaby," Ichiji laughed. He felt the tears streaming down his face, and he tightened his grip around his pinky finger. He pulled his knees to himself, burying his face into his knees as he sniffled again. Ichiji approached him and stood directly before Sanji, glaring down at him. “What have you got there?” His arms were crossed as he stood there, his voice icy as he waited for a reply.

Sanji stayed silent as he kept his hands close to his chest. He didn't want to let his brothers know what he had discovered today. The only bit of hope that he had going for him in his sad, miserable life. He didn't want them to try and use it against him.

"I said, what do you have there?" Ichiji repeated his question with a firmness in his voice. Sanji stayed silent for a while longer before he finally spoke up. “I-it's nothing.” He replied with a quiet sniffle. Ichiji sighed as he looked at Sanji for a few seconds before speaking again. "Let me see it."

Sanji stayed mute, his breath qickening as he gripped his fist tighter. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground as he struggled to compose himself. Ichiji gazed at Sanji's fist for a moment before eventually reaching out to grab his hands.

Sanji stiffened up, a small whimper leaving his lips. Ichiji grabbed his fist and pulled his hand towards him while his other two brothers snickered in the background. Once Sanji fully revealed his hand, Ichiji pulled his fingers apart and furrowed his eyebrows as he saw... nothing. Sanji stared down at the string that he could clearly see with tears in his eyes, trying not to panic, bracing himself for his brother to torment him further.

Ichiji looked at Sanji closely for a while. Making sure he actually saw nothing before shaking his head. He gave Sanji a condescending look. "Well, that was anticlimactic," he sneered. "Why were you hiding your hand then idiot?" He asked before giving Sanji a shove.

"I-I...no reason." Sanji said quietly, trying to regain his composure. He subtly flexed his hand, feeling the thread still there. Yet, how could they not see it? Did they really not see it, or were they messing with him? He returned his hand closed to his chest. He didn't know what to say or do, so he decided to stay quiet again and try to remain calm.

“Stop acting so weird. You're such a freak” Ichiji dismissed Sanji with another shove to the ground before he and his brothers walked out of the cell. "What a waste of my time"

Sanji remained on the ground, his hand still on his chest, contemplating the recent events. He looked back down at his pinky, still feeling the string. I'm still seeing it, still hoping. He went to get back on his feet before hearing footsteps approach again. He glanced up and saw his sister coming towards his cell. Sanji felt a slight lift in his mood, relieved to see Reiju.

Reiju let out a small sigh as she stepped inside his cell. She walked directly up to Sanji and looked down at him with a soft smile. While he still felt a little scared around her, she wasn't as cruel as his brothers.

Sanji sat up once more, attempting to conceal the lingering tremors from his previous run-in with his brothers. He gripped his pinky a bit harder, a slight fear he'd get in trouble if she noticed anything. Reiju crouched down beside him and noticed that he was holding his hands close to his chest, causing her to furrow her eyebrows at the sight. "Did they hurt your hand?" She asked quietly.

Sanji stayed quiet for a while before finally speaking. "N-no..." *He said before staying quiet again.

"Show me" She instructed softly, a worried tone to her voice.*

"I-" Sanji started to shake his head before hesitantly pulling his hand away from his chest and showing her. Reiju looked between his hand and his tear stained face, a look of confusion on her face. The way she stared at him made his heart start to race. Could she see the string as well? Was she going to help him? Did she know something about it? However despite all these questions. Reiju couldn't see anything. She took a hold of Sanji's hand and began examining it thoroughly. She seemed even more confused as she looked back up at his face.

"Are you sure they didn't hurt you? I know they were pushing you around." She asked again with the same concern in her tone.

"I-It's fine." He spoke with a trembling voice as he ran his finger over the thread invisible to her. "They were... just being jerks."

Reiju continued to look at him, confused; she looked back down at his hand as she let it go. Sanji tried his best to stay calm and act like he wasn't freaking out internally. Reiju couldn't see it. "D-do you not see it?" he asked softly as he looked at the neatly tied red bow around his little finger.

Reiju stayed silent for a second as she focused on his hand again. Her eyebrows furrowed together while she examined it once again. She seemed confused as her eyes went back and forth between his hand and his face. "See what?" she asked in a perplexed tone, still not realising what he was referring to.

Sanji turned red out of embarrassment. If she couldn't see it, then why could he? Was he going crazy? Maybe he was making assumptions because of the stories he heard. He squeezed his fist again, trying to ensure it was still there. He kept trying to keep his breath steady, trying not to panic. "N-nothing." He replied meekly, his voice a bit shaky. "Forget I asked, I'm sorry."

She frowned slightly as she saw his anxious reaction. She seemed a little worried, but she was also confused. "Did something happen...are you okay?" She asked softly, looking directly at Sanji's eyes.

Sanji's expression stayed glued to the string, his hands still clenched tightly around it. He breathed out slowly before replying.

"D-did Mother ever tell you a story..." His sentence trailed off as he wondered if he should even bring it up.

Reiju arched an eyebrow as he mentioned their mother, prompting her to reminisce about their mother telling her childhood stories. "...What kind of story?"

"O-one about…a thread” He continued slowly, still clutching his finger, worried that if he let go, the string would disappear. "The story said something about soulmates, connected by a red thread." As he explained the story, her brow furrowed in concentration. It seemed familiar, like something she had heard before. Reiju stayed silent for a short time, her eyes staring out space in thought. She slowly nodded as she came to a realization.

"Yes. I have heard of that story before. The thread wouldn't be visible to anyone unless they were the two destined to be together" Her tone was a bit softer now, her eyes focusing back on to Sanji's finger.

Sanji tensed up when she confirmed it. He couldn't remember that part. Was that really how it worked? If so, was the string invisible to everyone except him and his soulmate? He paused for a moment before speaking again, but this time, there was a touch of optimism in his voice. "D-do you believe it?"

She fell silent for a moment, pondering the question. Her lips tightened as she glanced at his finger, then back at his face. "I don't know...I do believe that everyone has a soulmate, though. But I've never seen a red thread in my life. And if it were true, I doubt it would apply to us," She said with a shrug. "Do you believe it?" she asked, letting out a small laugh.

The hint of hope in his voice faded when she mentioned that it wouldn't apply to them. "Why wouldn't it apply to us?" He asked softly, feeling his heart sink a little. The grip on his pinky finger tightened up again.

"Well-" she started out before cutting herself off and pausing. She stayed silent for a few seconds as their eyes met. "I just think that, well, you know." She spoke with a touch of melancholy. “Us and our brothers aren't exactly…normal”

Sanji's heart dropped at her statement, understanding where she was coming from. He looked away from her briefly, hiding his face while he felt his heart sink further. "Y-yeah” He said quietly. Would just being part of this messed-up family really disqualify him? Yet despite her reasoning, it didn't change the fact he had his own red thread around his little finger.

Reiju stayed silent as she stared at Sanji's hand. Watching as he continued to fiddle with his little finger. An idea popped into her head. Maybe it was worth a shot to at least try to prove that he was worthy even with this messed-up family.

"Sanji?" she said softly, reaching for his pinky. His heart skipped a beat at her touch. He was too scared to hope. Yet he did. She took a hold of his finger again, trying to hold back a smirk as a small thought crept into her mind. She looked up at his eyes as she held on to his pinky finger, a small, gentle smile on her face. “Maybe you are the exception?” she still couldn't see anything, but from their conversation, it was clear that he did. And that made her happy. Maybe there was someone out there for her little brother. Someone to give him the love he both deserves and needs.

“R-really?” he asked in a whispery tone, his eyes lighting up with a bit of hope. His heart started to race again but this time, it wasn’t a bad feeling. A faint look of happiness started to form on his face.

She let out a small laugh as she saw his hopeful expression, his eyes almost shining with the idea that there could be someone out there made just for him.

“Maybe...who knows, right?” she offered with an encouraging smile. She watched sanji flex his pinky finger still examining it with a curious look. Her eyes looking it over carefully. It looked normal to her, but she still believed her little brother. There was still a possibility. “I mean-“ she continued with a soft chuckle. “if it were true, then out of all of us, it would definitely happen for you” she smiled a bit at the thought of it.

Sanji couldn't help but smile softly at the thought. He did his best to avoid getting his hopes up, but it was tough. He wanted it to be true. To have the proof that someone out there was waiting just for him. He sat in silence for some time, enjoying a brief moment of happiness before the harsh reality of being confined in the cell hit him.

He started to clench his fist; a whimper escaped him as he looked down at his hand. His expression turned sad. This was his reality; he was still locked away. He couldn't help but fall back into a miserable mindset. He was still stuck here, with no way out. His fist tightened even more, and he felt himself tear up as he looked down at his hand. The string was still around his pinky, almost mocking him now, making him realise he was fooling himself.

He held his breath briefly, his heart feeling like it was breaking into more tiny pieces with his expression growing darker and darker as his mood shifted drastically. The string still remained, but he felt himself start to spiral mentally yet again. He hated it here. He hated being in this world. With a quiet and sad sigh, he relaxed his fist, feeling the tears starting to fall down his cheeks yet again. Slowly, he looked up at Reiju, his gaze now filled with sorrow.

Her smile disappeared the second his gaze snapped up to hers. The look in his eyes hit her heart. The way he was staring at her with such a sad expression and the way his eyes were filled with painful tears made her feel heartbroken for him. He was still such a sweet kid, and she hated seeing him like this. She stayed silent for a few moment, just eyeing him with a soft look to her eyes as she tried to hold back her sympathy for him. She let out a small sigh. He deserved a better life. He didn't deserve to be here.

Any hint hint of hope finally faded as his eyes began to drop back down to his little finger. He couldn't help but to feel even more sad as every second was making her pity him even more.

"Reiju.." he finally managed to mutter out. As he looked at her his heart was filled with disappointment as the reality of his situation washed over him. As time passed, his eyes grew sadder, and he found himself increasingly overwhelmed by feelings of sadness.

Reiju stayed quiet as she continued to look at him. Her heart was breaking as she saw how his expression was growing even sadder and sadder. She hated seeing her little brother like this. Being in here with no one but her was destroying him, she could tell. He needed more. He needed someone else in his life, someone who could love him.

"W-why does this happen to me.?" he finally spoke up, his tone starting to sound bitter. He fought back a quiet sob, doing his utmost to maintain composure and prevent himself from completely breaking down. "I hate this. I hate my life..." he muttered through his gritted teeth, his voice shaking with the overwhelming despair coming over him.

The words hit her heart painfully as she kept watching him, he was going back to that dark place. The place where that all his hope dies and his saddness turns into his pain and anger. She knew what that was like. She knew how that felt. She didn't want her little brother to have to deal with that pain alone. She also didn't want to see him get worse.

"S-stop," she told him softly, her voice shaking as well. "I-" he started when he got cut off by Reiju hugging him tightly.

The sudden hug surprised Sanji. He flinched from her touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips as her arms surrounded him. His eyebrows went up in surprise at the sudden show of affection. The hug didn't last long as she shoved him towards the cell door that she kept open. Her heart was hurting more for her younger brother as she watched his confused expression.

"G-go" *She muttered out, wiping away tears. She was trying her best to keep calm and herself from falling apart, too.

Sanji's eyes widened. "What? But -" He protested before she cut him off. "Just go!" She suddenly exclaimed, a hint of desperation in her voice as she stared at him. It was the right thing to do. She couldn't bear to see him spend another second locked away. Especially now that he had hope.

Sanji's heart shattered at the sound of her voice. He could hear how desperate she was for him to leave. He didn't really need her to tell him twice as his mind went racing. He started to feel a new surge of mixed up emotions. Hope, sadness, and anticipation all at once. “T-thank you” He couldn’t hold back the tears as he felt his legs start to move as he rushed to the door.

Reiju stood by the entrance with a nod and watched him run away. He was finally free. Free to find his happiness, free to find his destiny. Watching him run farther and farther from her, she felt a pang in her heart, but she was certain it would all be worthwhile.

#sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #anime

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ramayantika · 28 days

Text

Chaand chuppa badal mein...

Krishna and Bhaishmi are back. Enjoyyyyyy

Krishna and I have regularly stayed in touch with each other after the train took me away from him and the serene temple towns of Mathura and Vrindavan. We talk a lot on text and sometimes on call in the late hours of the night. I have to quietly sneak out to the balcony. If I am lucky, I get to go to the terrace without waking my parents up. If I am luckier, our schedules match our free time in the evening, and I get to call him in the quiet hours of the evening.

I chose humanities. Ranvit and Bhumi had to pursue science even though Ranvit likes art more. Bhumi was indecisive about what subjects to learn, but she fares well enough in science and mathematics than her brother and me, so she decided to go for the science stream.

Ranvit has to struggle a lot in physics and math though. He takes out his stress through painting and reading about Indian art. One thing I am happy about him is that he did not let go of his art, nor did my uncle and aunt force him to abandon his hobbies. Their condition: “Pursue science. Get admission into a decent engineering college and then keep doing whatever hobby makes you happy. But science and engineering.”

As for me, class ten mathematics had given me enough nightmares. I did well in science, but I had no interest in pursuing it in more detail for the next two years. Those monkey problems from Ranvit’s physics book and large derivations on Bhumi’s notebook had me in shivers. Maasi supports me choosing humanities though, but would never want her children to pursue anything apart from science.

Ranvit and I are in class twelve now. We have our boards and entrance exams next year. Bhumi is new to class eleven but she is able to handle her subjects well enough, better than Ranvit though.

“Busy looking at the moon…?” Krishna’s honeyed voice draws my attention from the golden full moon beaming right back at me. I breathe deeply and sigh. A sheepish smile forms on my lips, and I place my phone on my left ear. “Uh... sorry, but you are right. How did you figure out?”

I can hear his smile through the breath that escapes his lips on the phone call. He is outside too — perhaps staring at the same moon with me.

“I have a golden moon dangling down the dark sky too, but there is somebody else who is ethereal than the moon whom I would like to see, but my fate doesn’t support that.” He sighs. It is a dramatic one. “Guess, I will have to make do with this golden ball of light.”

My cheeks warm and I smile. It is actually a full-fledged grin with my eyes imagining how he would look saying all that in front of me.

I can easily picture a charming lazy smile and a hand moving through his soft wavy locks while he leans closer to me and tucks my hair behind my ear.

A realization strikes me as my eyes glance at the gleaming moon once again. I am badly whipped for this guy.

“Bhaishmi?” I hear him question.

“Yes. I am here only. Am I audible?”

“Did I get you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

“Yay!”

“You are an idiot.”

“Only for you.”

We don’t say anything for a minute. I can hear him breathing. It is a faint sound, though. I like this comfortable silence. I do not feel restless to hold a conversation forcibly.

Krishna’s voice from the other side enters my ear. “I composed a new tune.” He pauses for a brief second before continuing. “I would like you to hear it.”

My heart picks its pace. It has been a while since I have heard him play flute to me. The last time it happened, we were on the terrace at Yashodhara’s house before we left for our separate ways.

“I would love to.”

“Wow. Cool. I will quickly fetch it. By the way,” I hear a tone of hesitancy in his voice, “are you okay if I play it to you on video call?”

I slap my palm over my lips to contain my excited laughter. Breathing in deeply, I nod and reply, “Yes. I am alone at my society’s terrace.”

“Okay!” He drags ‘okay’ with happiness for ten seconds and disconnects the voice call.

A minute later, my screen lights up with a pretty aesthetic profile photo of Krishna. I slide the green call sign upwards and receive the call.

An excited Krishna waves at me before placing the phone on his table. It is 11.30 PM and he looks as fresh as a lily flower, with a good outfit on top. A cream polo shirt with half sleeves that proudly boasted his toned arms and dark blue trousers.

I fan my face, pretending that I am adjusting my loose hair from my ponytail. After all, he can’t make out that I am fanning invisible hair strands around my face.

He sits on his chair and pushes himself along with the chair slightly backwards to place himself and his flute in the frame, his flute placed near his lips, a place I had been to a year before. The fateful kiss on the evening of Holi seared through my memory, and I blinked hard to bring my focus back on Krishna.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod quietly while hiding my blush at witnessing the handsome sight in front of me.

He begins by playing a single note that sounds meditative to me. It is a slow but soothing beginning. I can imagine the moon and the cool breeze blowing around me. A few more slow music tunes flow through his flute, and I observe his face.

Krishna always appears so serene while playing the flute. He is at peace. Each of his facial muscles lie in a relaxed state except the slight curl of his lip. It appears like a soft subtle knowing smile, like that of a talented artist well aware of his craft and the hold he has over his cherished audience.

This time he plays a slow melody, as if taking time to express each emotion through every note. The rise and fall in volume and scale expresses a story of its own. It is hypnotizing.

There is yearning, loads of it. The tunes tug at my heart, as if calling my name. Krishna gently sways. It is a graceful motion. Well, Krishna is perfection incarnate. He is a natural performer.

My eyes close on their own. I can see myself dancing in my head to his music. I once dreamt that I was dancing to his music, only for him, for his eyes to see me and my art, just like he played the flute to me those two nights, only for me.

The yearning melody transforms to a slightly fun tune, as if teasing a beloved to proclaim their love, until it begins expressing bashfulness and devotion. God, he was truly a talented artist. He ought to be on bigger stage shows than post some one minute videos on Instagram and play his genius tunes for my ears to listen.

At one point, the music peaks. I feel my eyes moisten and my heart full with nostalgia, yearning and may I add this secretly: Love. A very tender love blooming like a lotus in the early hours of the morning when its warm golden rays caress its petals, coaxing it awake very gently.

It ends and my eyes fly open. I smile — this time not out of shyness, but of genuine admiration. I wonder if he can see my glazed eyes.

“Oh my, are you crying?”

I shrug my shoulders and blink those tears away. “Have I told you that your music is very moving? It easily makes someone too attached to it. It is like a spell.”

This time Krishna smiles shyly and scratches the back of his head. “Glad you liked it.”

Liked? The word loved too would be an understatement. I don’t say that out loud though. I answer with one of my pretty smiles.

Krishna twirls the flute around his fingers when I see him lean closer towards the screen, his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to focus on something. “Are you wearing my peacock chain?”

I pick the pecock pendant around my neck. “Yes, I keep it around my neck most of the time.”

“So, you still wear it every day.”

I nod with a hum and fiddle with the pendant. It used to be a part of Krishna’s beloved flute until he decided that it would better suit as a parting gift for a girl he met on a train than a beautiful adornment for his musical companion.

His eyes go thoughtful instead of the slightly smug playful expression he bears to mess with my heart with his relentless flirty lines. Krishna’s lips curl beautifully upwards. He is smiling to himself and I don’t question him why.

I know the answer to it.

He brings himself near to his phone. I can see more of his pretty face with more clarity. “The gods did hear my prayer after a long time. I got to see my girl prettier than the moon.”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Your flattery continues even though it is past midnight.” Secretly, I preen when I hear him say ‘my girl.’

I am a simple girl. I hear a sweet and charming guy call me as his; I melt into a puddle.

“Flattery for you, sweetheart. For me, it is the truth.”

And like that, my friends, I go quiet except the thudding heart inside my chest.

“So, how are you up this late, Bhaishmi,” He asks, tilting his head. “Your mother makes you sleep by this time.”

Shifting my phone towards my other hand, I flex my right hand a little to ease the stiffness in my wrist and answer, “My parents are out of town. They are visiting a relative’s wedding and will be back a day after tomorrow.”

Krishna’s dark eyes widen in surprise. “So, you are home alone for two whole days.”

Mustering up some courage, I add, “And two whole nights.”

He places his cheek on his palm. He looks like a lovesick fool, a very adorable one at that as he asks, “So, no interruption for two whole nights?”

“Nope.”

He hoots loudly before looking alarmingly at the door. Turning back towards me, he says softly, “Head back to your room then Bhaishmi. You are alone and you must not linger around late at night, especially on a dark terrace.”

I get up from my spot and walk towards the door. My hand accidentally hits the steel door. It creaks in an eerie tone, making the both of us jump.

I jog down the stairs with light feet as images of terrifying ghosts chasing me fill my head, and rush inside my warm cozy room.

“Did you lock the door properly?” Krishna asks.

I nod while curling myself in my cozy pink coloured blanket. My eyes close at the comfort surrounding me followed by the urge to fall asleep right away thanks to the mental exhaustion of being up late at nights for studies and projects for my school.

“Should we do a virtual sleepover thingy? You are sleepy.” Krishna points out.

I laugh and lay my head on my fluffy pillow. “I don’t have enough data pack for that.”

Krishna walks to his bed and covers himself with his blanket. His voice goes soft. He should sing me some lullabies, and I would fall asleep like a baby.

“Go to sleep, Bhaishmi. Try visiting me in my dreams.” He says with a teasing grin.

I smile in content instead of blushing hard. His face and his beautiful eyes are the last thing I see before my call screen changes to my lock screen wallpaper.

A ping awakens my tired eyes. My screen lights up.

“Goodnight Bhaishmi❤️. Sweet dreams.” There is a heart emoji beside my name. It is a red heart this time.

I wonder if he accidentally sent the red heart, since we generally stick to pink and blue ones.

Another ping.

“I will try to visit you in your dreams ;)” He adds a winking emoticon and a laughing emoji.

I grin and press my palm to my forehead before sending a text.

‘Goodnight Krishna 🩷🩷’

I don’t mention the part where I tell him that he has been in my dreams quite often.

--xxx---

Taglist: @ma-douce-souffrance (idk if you are using tumblr. you still haven't read the full series for this, but i am tagging in case you find this in the future hehe byeee) @jessbeinme15 @manwalaage @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic (hii sakhii) @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika

I kinda forgot the taglist for this fic. Many have different user ids now. Let me know if you all want to be tagged for krishna fics

#samridhi writes #krishna #gopiblr #modern au #krishna x rukmini #mahabharata fics #fics #fanfiction #teenage romance

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axcel-lucci · 1 year

Text

Death will never keep us apart.

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Note: established relationship, also... Slight... Angst?

"You can do it, (y/n)!" Bepo encouraged as he held her hand

It reassured her through deep pushes just to push their son out of her body.

"(Y/n)! One more, I promise this'll all be over soon!" Law said as he was the one aiding her.

"If fucking 47 hours in labour is 'soon', I'm fucked!" She yelled as she basically death gripped on Bepo's paw making the poor bear cry a little on the inside.

After all that, the baby was safely delivered.

She could could feel herself slowly getting weaker as she breathes I'm air.

"Hey..." Law called as he pulled of his gloves and his mask, "you did great..."

He kissed her forehead, "don't worry... They're taking care of the baby, cleaning him up and feeding him... Bepo, can you go and get the other bed ready?" Law said as he held her hand in which she weakly gripped unto.

The bear nodded and left, but not without taking a peak of the cute baby boy.

"Hey" he called, more sternly now, "are you alright?" He asked, worryingly as he checked her pulse.

Her pulse was gradually starting to get weaker, and weaker as she breathes heavily.

"(Y/n)..." He called, no response.

He called again, still no response until he felt the pulse suddenly disappear

"(Y/n)! No!" He yelled before holding unto her tight, "please...!"

...

"What... Where...?" (Y/n) muttered before looking around to a white void she found herself waking up at.

She remembers giving birth and...

"Am I..."

"Yes, you are dead." Someone with a smooth voice said behind her as she turned around to see an angel smiling down softly at her

"What... No. No! I can't!"

...

"(Y/n)! Please, please, please wake up!" Law begged as he did all procedures he can think of just to have her heart beat right back.

The crew held on to the now sleeping baby in their arms, afraid that if they handed him the baby... He'd lose himself.

....

"What do you mean? Your life has come to an end, is it not?" The angel smiles with its voice, "is it not enough rat you have successfully delivered a baby boy, changed his father's life for the better, and found a family...?"

"No. It's not enough. I grew up without a mother, I... Don't even know who my mother is... I don't want to come a time when... Even my own child doesn't know who I am. And Law... My husband... He... He lost so many... I promised him I'd stay by him until the end-"

"This is the end." The angel said, almost annoyingly, "your end, that is"

She frowned, "no. Bring me back. Now." She demanded, "my baby... My husband..." She grumbled, "I can't leave them. I don't want to leave them."

"But this is your fate, the fate that our creator has written for us..." The angel reasoned

"No. I do not accept this creator. I do not accept whatever fictional stories they're writing. I do NOT accept whatever they do. What, are we all just a doll to them??" She questioned

"That's not-"

"Shut. Up. We are not dolls, I am a mother and a wife. You are an angel. Not puppets and specially not dolls." She growled, "either you bring me back or you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming to the depths of hell"

"Angels don't go to hell..." The angel cried a bit before sighing deeply; "you know... When the creator said you'd be resisting... I didn't expect them to mean... This..."

"Well guess what, I won't be resisting if you bring me back. My husband is waiting for me, he cannot raise a child because he himself is an inner child... And it's my job to protect my children." She huffed

The angel just stared before sighing, "you seriously are a crazy woman... Most, if not all, the people that die come willingly... But you... You're different... I guess that's a mother's love... Huh?"

She just stomped her foot, "bring me back or I will seriously inflict irreversible damage to you and your piece of shit morals."

"Woah! No need to get so verbal...!" The angel gasped, "okay...! Okay...! I'll... I'll send you back..."

"That's what I thought."

"Gosh... The creator is so gonna scold me..."

...

"(Y/n), please...!" Law yelled as he kept giving her CPR

"Captain..." Shachi said, "I think it's.."

"No! She's not dead...! I know it!" He yelled before turnin to his crew, will visible hurt and anger in his eyes but tears kept spilling out, "get me a fucking blood bag instead! And make sure it's her blood type!"

"Y-yes sir...!" The crew nodded as Ikkaku held on to the sweet baby boy, unaware of what's happening around him.

He turned back to (y/n) only to slowly cup her cheeks with his hands, they were shivering... Trembling...

One would think a surgeon's hand would be steady and precise but...

His hands were shaking as he cupped her cheeks and desperately called out to her in almost a ragged whisper, "please... (Y/n)... Come back... I can't raise him alone... I can't raise our baby alone... I can't... I can't live without you... Please..." He begged while softly yet shakily kissing her in hopes that she wakes up, "... Please" his voice quivered.

He slowly starts to lose hope and accept her death, "please... Just... One more time... Please..." He cried.

The stoic and cold demeanour washed away by the fountains and rivers of his continuous tears.

Law kissed her lips, softly yet shakily before one of his hand hold hers in a tight grip, "please..." He muttered, "please wake up..."

A few moments later and he felt her hand twitch making him gasp and stand up straight, he could feel her hand grip his again as she tried her best to open her eyes only to close them back up from exhaustion.

One of his crew finally came back with a blood bag and law immediately hooked it to her, "(y/n)...!" He slowly smiled before she lifted a hand to his face.

Her hand missed when she tried to hold his face due to the haziness of her vision, "Law..."

"Rest up, my love..." He said before wiping away his tears, "and as soon as you wake up, you can see little Cora." He smiled before kissing her forehead

"Law... You bastard..." She laughed weakly, "I still don't appreciate the literal hours of my labour."

"I know... My love... I promise, I'll take good care of you and the baby forever. Just tell me what you need, I'll give them to you"

She smiled, "give me a kiss... Please?"

"Yes..." He smiled before kissing her.

...

She slowly woke up to the smell of isopropyl alcohol and anesthesia as it slowly wears off.

She ground before lifting a hand to rub her eyes open.

"Dear...! You're finally awake" he smiled brightly as he stood beside her bed and helped her sit up

"Ow... Ow..." She groaned, "is this fucking normal?" She frowned as he massaged her body

"Yes... It is."

"Dammit... I'm so not having another child." She huffed while crossing her arms

"Aww... But I want three children..." He pouts cutely making her huff

"Yeah yeah... Me too" she grumbled, "wait...! What happened to baby Cora?!"

"Shh... Here..." He smiled and motioned to a small hospital bed meant for babies beside him.

He slowly took the baby to his arms, supporting the places he knew needed to be supported and hands it over to her.

She gladly took the baby into her arms as he sleeps peacefully in a blanket Klione knitted for him.

"Oh... Law..." She smiled as she stared at the literal "copy, paste" of law and his child, "I'm upset how he looks so much like you and yet I'm the one who almost died"

"Come now..." He muttered and hugged her waist, "I'm sure he has your traits." He smiled before kissing her shoulder, "and... Thank you"

"For what?" She looked at him with a small smile

"For staying... I thought you were gonna die, too..." He mumbled

"Law..." She smiled before kissing his cheek, "fun fact, I grilled that angel right open as he tried dragging me off to the afterlife"

Law laughed softly, "so... Even death won't keep us apart, no?" He smiled.

"I guess it is..." She chuckled, "also... It hurts like literal hell, law... Can I have at least some pain meds??"

Law chuckled before nodding, "but you can take them later after eating..." He kissed her forehead, "I love you so much..."

"I love you more..." She smiled and kissed him.

He smiled before kissing back.

#random #night thoughts #trafalgar law #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x y/n #one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar d law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law smut #one piece law #law x you #op law #op.law

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lil--nuggett · 7 months

Text

Hey guys, so if you know Baldur's Gate 3 this is an AU for that with Hardenshipping but it's really fucked up. I will explain why it's fucked up below the cut.

Maxie is a High Half-Elf Warlock (his patron is Groudon), and Archie's a Human Fighter <3

Also I just realized this is the first time you have seen me draw Archie seriously lmao my bad guys I'll try to draw him again soon

I took a ton of inspiration for various things for these designs, including Guile for Archie's armor bc I love Guile sm!!

(More info and our dumb AU lore under here - No BG3 Spoilers I promise <3)

I'm going to tell you this now... this gets really fucking crazy and honest to god I know I'm going to have a hard time explaining this. It WILL be quite long and I WILL be yapping.

This AU is really just something we did on impulse and it's really fun to mess around with, so I'm hoping you all will enjoy the concept as well :)

I'll try to explain it simply as I can. I thank you in advance to all who sit here and read this ily sm if you read it all <3333

Anyways, okay so imagine how one could do a bg3 AU for these two fuckers...

And throw it right out the window because you'll never guess how me and my friend have done it.

The Backstory:

This all started when my friend decided to play BG3 for the first time, and he jokingly said to me "Should I make Maxie our main character??" and I replied "I you want, but I won't force you" and thus BG3 Maxie was created, and his misadventures began.

Now your probably wondering (if you've played the game) what about the guardian?? Who did we make the guardian?? Well, we made Archie the guardian. However, I did not know just how wild this idea would get within the next few days.

So, eventually we realized how crazy the BG3 lore actually is (it's a like fucking DnD campaign idk how we didn't realize this beforehand), and so, we jokingly started our own "AU Lore" that ties in with the BG3 Lore.

If you really want to know, I have an entire note in my notes app dedicated to keeping track of what happens. It is very long.

The Parasite:

Now, if you've played the game or know anything about it, you know about the Mindflayer parasites. Well, one fateful day, me and my friend joked that the Parasite in Maxie's head was this little freak who looks like Archie.

The two have no correlation other than looks, its completely coincidence and it's not a mimic situation. The Parasite "Archie" does nothing but talk nonsense to Maxie all the time, and initially the bit was that he only talked about Fortnite. All because I made the joke that the dream realm in game looked like a fortnite update. By now, that bit has fallen off (thank god), replaced by just general nonsense and lies.

Also he fucking looks like this:

Weird little freak. This is just one of his talk sprites I have, this is just his neutral expression.

So basically it's:

- Maxie was supposed to be on a Geology research trip, but instead he got dragged into the Parasite issue with the rest of the companions. He really just wants to get home to Archie.

I am the one who handles everything for Maxie in this AU, I do his voice, I handle his lore, etc.

- Parasite Archie is this 1 foot tall, neco arc-esque version of Archie that sits on Maxie's shoulder and tells him nonsensical things. He also says Maxie's name wrong, he says Maxie's full first name and pronounces it as "Maximilliam" instead of the "N" at the end. For Maxie it's like handling a toddler but the toddler fights back, doesn't shut up, and threatens your life. He also has a ton of his own lore that my friend continously adds on to, so I can make another post with just the parasite's part of things.

My friend handles everything with the Parasite himself, comes up with the lore, does the voice, etc. I simply keep track of it.

- The "dream visitor" version of Archie is not real either. It's linked to the Parasite in ways that if I get into it, I will spoil a good chunk of the game. Sorry. Just know you can consider this and Parasite Archie kind of as one in the same almost.

- The REAL Archie is still at home, completely unaware of what's happening, while Maxie is fighting for his life. He does miss him, though, and hopes he gets home soon. He and Maxie are only boyfriends, they haven't gotten married yet. (They also haven't been through their rivalry yet, as this all takes place before that happens.)

Sorry for the convoluted yap sesh, I just have more art planned for this stupid AU and- God I cannot possibly just post this shit with no context. Like, I'd have to explain it eventually so I might as well do it now beforehand yk 😭😭

I might do separate posts with our HCs and some silly conversations that have happened between Parasite Archie and Maxie if you guys would want that :)

Also, I do have all of the sessions from where my friend plays the game recorded and I'll be sure to post some clips of what Parasite Archie sounds like eventually, possibly with snippets of my shitty Maxie voice in there as well. You'll get to see the talk sprites in action with that, too.

#nugget's yapping again #apologies in advance to all the bg3 fans who end up seeing this shit im so sorry guys #nugget art!!#GOD THIS IS SO LONH IM SO SORRY GUYS #Parasite Archie #its official #he has his own tag now. god help us.#like i said ill make a separate post about Maxie and Parasite Archie so you can know more about them and their dynamic #hardenshipping #magma leader maxie #aqua leader archie #bg3 #bg3 au

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xxsycamore · 10 months

Text

A Soulmate That Wasn’t Meant to Be

╰┈➤ 🩷 While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star. One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

Arthur Conan Doyle x Gender Neutral Reader • rating: G • tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - College/University; Alternate Universe - Reincarnation; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Timers; Denial of Feelings; Feelings Realization; Fake/Pretend Relationship; Pet Names; Drinking; Time Travel; First Kiss • wordcount: 2,641 • masterlist

a/n: This is my gift for @oigimi, for the Secret Santa event hosted by @lemeowade ! I saw your preferences for AUs and I couldn't help myself searching for a connection...then I remembered soulmate clock AU is a thing, and then I remembered ikevamp deals with timetravel and I went "hmmm this can turn into something interesting!" and it spiraled out of control after that point 😭 i sincerely hope this isn't too big of a mess and that it's your type of fic! Hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun!! 🥺🥺❤❤ Namesake song by Jess Benko. Take a look at the end notes for clarification on some parts of this fic!

"Remind me again why do I have to spend the whole day being your pretend partner. The party doesn't start until 10PM tonight!"

"Here you go, luv. Be careful, it's hot!" Arthur hands the freshly baked pastry to you, resuming your slow stroll in Jardin du Carrousel, the garden of the Louvre museum. You hurriedly take it from his hands if that would make him finally pay attention to your question. Of course it would be hot, he doesn't need to remind you - it only annoys you further, as he so obviously does it to look like a good boyfriend more than anything.

"Do you want to taste mine? I can taste yours too."

"No thank you."

You suppose it's partly your own fault finding yourself in your current situation, considering the recent events. In a world where everyone is busy chasing after time, enjoying the dating scene before their soulmate countdown turns to zero, or trying to rush in and see the countdown speeding up as they try to play with fate and meet with their designated soulmate faster, you're an outcast. An outcast with a broken soulmate clock on your wrist, condemning you to a lifetime of long sleeves and wide bracelets and false modesty to trick people's curiosity. You should be used to them by now, their comments about you not being interested in relationships. And even though you do feel fed up with it, the thought of lying about dating someone just so they can shut up never crossed your mind.

But it crossed that of Arthur Conan Doyle. The college's infamous frivolous playboy, a firm believer of the 'hook up as much as you can before you find your soulmate!' ideology. Now, you didn't want to have anything to do with a guy like him, but on one of those college parties you were dragged to, he decided to pick you for the lead role in his biggest, stupidest drunken decision yet. And you were equally as drunk to play along with it, nodding in the face of his ex-girlfriend as she looked at the both of you in disbelief. For a playboy like Arthur, you thought he was managing to control his dating life better than this. But you guess he just got bored of being surrounded by love.

Straightening the lapels of his grey coat, Arthur fetches the brochure handed earlier to him out of his inner pocket and takes a quick look at it to make sure you checked out everything of interest in the area before entering the museum itself.

The guy has a whole checklist of activities for the day. You've seen it. He purposely taped another page underneath just to scare you with its sheer length, but you're seeing right through his tricks, the page is full of gibberish written just to take space. You've got your best frown on to keep the illusion of ignorance, hoping that you'd get bonus points for agreeing to go through the full contents of the list, both the real and the fake ones.

But is it really an act? The occasional tidbits of satisfaction coming from beating Arthur's brilliant mind - not that you'd ever give him the credit for it - are hardly enough to keep you entertained throughout the day. When the activities you take on today are meant to be just that, entertaining. And romantic too.

Now, were you a normal couple, a true couple, then maybe you'd be having fun now.

"Arthur, I think partners are supposed to listen to each other and answer each other's questions. At the very least."

"But you see, dear…" Arthur wraps his arm over your shoulder, gently nudging you into taking a turn away from the crowded path ahead and into a more secluded walk. "By asking that question out loud with people around us, you've already answered yourself. We clearly have more training to do, or we won't appear as a genuine couple."

Ah. He's right, damn it.

"I only lowered my guard because these people don't know us, stupid… Let's get inside already!"

Getting ahead of him, you think that as long as you appear excited to see the exponates, you can get away with keeping a few steps distance from Arthur. Hearing his low, annoying chuckle triggers the sensory neurons in your brain until a neat little image of his smirk is produced with near-perfect accuracy. Have you simply seen it too many times? There's no escape even when you turn your back to him, great.

The Louvre is magnificent to explore with the many pieces of art it houses, instantly changing your infatuation with the slow passage of time into wishes it would stop altogether. There's so much to see that you'd frankly not mind getting lost in here just to have an excuse to spend more time surrounded by art.

You have to admit, Arthur chose the perfect dating spot. You're not sure if it was based on your own preferences - surely not - but you find yourself not minding it suddenly.

"Picture!"

Hearing the signal, you instantly turn in the direction of the raised-up phone, smiling for the camera as Arthur presses his face closer to yours.

"Oh, this is a good one, I'm definitely posting it. You look so inlove."

"I'm in love with Da Vinci's work, that's it."

"Uh-uh. That works for me too." Arthur replies while his fingers dance across the screen, likely typing some cheesy caption for the picture. A second later your own phone vibrates in your pocket, signaling that he posted the picture and tagged you in it, and you don't even bother looking.

"At least you're a natural, Arthur."

"What, in masking an expression? How are you so sure?"

You blink, meeting his gaze as some child holding a balloon separates the two of you for a mere second. Instinctively, you shorten the distance so you don't lose Arthur, looking for his hand to take hold of. You've already been through that today, linking hands in the crowds. And while there was no real need to do that right now, you just did that…

To the question in your eyes evoked from his last words, he smirks and adds, "There are pieces of art here that I look at with fondness just like you do."

Your heart sinks for a moment, only to create palpitations that mess with your head. You have no idea where they came from or what evoked this feeling in your chest, but while looking anywhere but at Arthur, your gaze falls on other couples passing by. It's because you were instructed to watch them if you're having trouble recreating the subtle romantic gestures that indicate dating. An advice from a writer no doubt, one that you wish you could forget because it's too late telling your brain to forget what it's been taught. But the question is, why the sudden turning of stomach at the sight of them?

While failing to watch your step, you lose your balance and stumble on your own feet, meeting the hard ground hands-first. You feel eyes on you for a short moment; just a mere second any stranger might spare to witness the unfortunate event before moving on with their tour.

That's it, except for Arthur - who is there to pull you up in a manner of utmost care, dusting off your clothes, taking you to a more secluded area with benches to rest on and asking you at least three times if you're alright before you can snap out of your surprised state and let out a murmur of affirmation.

In the whirlwind of emotions rushing through your slightly clouded mind, you put the embarrassment of your fall aside and realize you still feel hot. As Arthur turns your hand around to inspect it, you realize that no amount of hand-holding numbed your reaction to the touch of his warm hands.

And no amount of his exaggerated lovey-dovey gestures of affection could prepare you for the look of genuine worry over something so insignificant on his face.

"You fell on your hands, they must be scrapped… let's get them under cold water, it would wash away the dirt too."

"Wait, don't look!-"

With the distraction slowing down your reactions, you fail to stop Arthur on time before he can roll up your sleeve.

Your soulmate clock instantly makes him adopt an expression of perplexion, as the quick look he gave it was enough for him to notice the bizarre sight of one too many numbers aligned on the width of your wrist.

-46 750 days, 9 hours, 17 minutes, 35 seconds

"Your countdown is…"

"Screwed up. I'm one of those people."

While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star.

One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

It has to be some kind of irony, being here with him today for these reasons. He who made up this whole plan because he needs an escape from love, while you on the other hand-

"Now that I've seen yours, it would only be fair I showed you mine."

"It's nothing, you really don't have to-"

You try to avert your gaze as Arthur extends his hand and rolls up his sleeve, turning it so you can see the inside of his wrist.

-12 616 days, 9 hours, 16 minutes, 51 seconds

"Huh…" You freeze for a moment, not believing your eyes. The guy you secretly envied for having the privilege of being sure about meeting true love to the point he'd chase ephemeral trysts just to kill time. Turns out he also won't be able to…

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't think I'm all that sad, luv. I was never destined to have a soulmate, but that's fine by me. Maybe that's what I deserve."

Your head spins with emotion once more, and this time it's guilt. And it weighs down on you heavier than all else there is, and you suddenly want to disappear.

It's probably not wise to turn your back on Arthur without saying a word, but you'll be regretting this later. You start running, and he calls out your name but it never approaches you. He's not even chasing after you, but you're glad - you've already started thinking of the apology you're going to drop in his direct messages before blocking his number.

Just as you halt your step and check behind your back, you spot his tall frame amidst the crowd, trying to push his way toward you. Without much time to think, you open the nearest door and pray that he'll lose you from his sight and continue ahead on the corridor.

This section of the museum appears different somehow, ontop of being strangely devoid of visitors, with the exponates carrying an air of extra antiquity to them. The path ahead is quite narrower in contrast to the other hallways too, the lightning more sparse, and the feeling of unease tells you to wait out Arthur's chase attempt and then go back where you came from.

Except, he finds you.

You hate it that he read your mind about entering that door, and you hate that you're now practically given the privacy to talk. Not wanting to face him now, you simply continue ahead, hoping to blend with the crowd at the other side of that corridor and escape him then.

Arthur follows behind you, continuing to call out your name, and your mind becomes dizzy out of a sudden. You're ready to blame it on one too many things and you don't pay much attention, until something odd happens. A blinding light flashes before you, making you unable to advance further. Arthur catches up with you just in time to put his hand on your arm.

The light is gone in the next moment, and you slowly open your eyes to find yourself in a different hallway, together with Arthur.

Sinking to your knees, you try to make something out of the bizarre situation, and Arthur follows you on the ground to soothingly massage your back, simultaneously checking for injury. A tiny part of you remains sane and warm, and it's glad that he's here.

"A-Arthur! Look at my-"

Moving his gaze from your shocked expression to your outstretched hand, he gasps as he sees your soulmate clock suddenly speed up, losing years upon years, seemingly not planning on stopping anytime soon. Another portion of shock hits you as you notice his own clock doing the same, and you drag up his hand to get his attention to it.

At a pace slower than yours, Arthur's clock reduces its countdown. The two of you can only watch in alert silence, everything else becoming irrelevant in the face of the miracle happening to those who accepted their deprived-of-love fate long, long ago. In the lone hallway, two sets of eyes search for a third person who does not exist, as one might do when that moment approaches.

The days on the counters reduce to what at most adds up to a few years, then a few months, then finally they turn to zero; followed by the minutes, and at last, followed by the seconds as well.

The rows of zeros align on both of your wrists, signaling that…

"My soulmate is…"

"It's been you the whole time?"

***

After being found by the residents of what you came to know is the mansion of Comte de Saint-German, you were introduced to the lord of the house himself. His explanation eased some of your concerns while still being bizarre enough to be hardly believable.

Being trapped here for a month surely sounds like you'll have enough time on your hands to unpack everything that happened today. But you're glad you're not going through this on your own.

Once you find yourself alone in the company of Arthur again, the butterflies in your belly are revived, stubbornly refusing to let anything overshadow the realization you came to just awhile ago.

Arthur seems to be able to tell what's on your mind. His deep sea-blue eyes lock into yours, and you don't know what to say. Luckily, he takes the initiative.

"We traveled back in time. The clocks were never broken… we were meant to meet here."

An echo of his words reverberates in your head as you try and let them sink in, absurd as they sound…there's no other explanation.

He starts laughing, much to your dismay.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just…" He casually puts his hands in his pockets, admiring a painting hanging on the hallway's wall as he picks his words. "Seeing as we won't be showing up to that party… I guess we don't need the pretend couple lessons anymore."

It's a laugh you didn't know you needed. You aren't sure what is it about human nature that nudges you to seek the solace of a smile no matter how sobering and hostile a situation is, such as finding yourself in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar age. But you're thankful.

"It's a shame." Arthur turns to you. "I was looking forward to kissing you as our grand final lesson."

Your eyes widen, and Arthur has that stupid smirk plastered on his face. Without taking his hands out of his pockets, he leans into your frame and shortens the distance.

"It's a shame indeed…" is all you can muster before sealing those damned alluring smiling lips of Arthur with your own.

a/n: The soulmate clock AU normally uses the countdown for the couple's meeting but here they've clearly met before, so I wondered if I could instead make it count down to their first meeting in the place they're destined to fall in love at, Comte's mansion in 19th century Paris.

Arthur's countdown differs from that of the reader because his clock is synced with the timeline of his previous life - practically, he was born in 1859, lived through the year 1895 when they were destined to meet with the reader - but because it wasn't the right timeline, his clock began to run backwards. Arthur then dies in 1930 and gets reborn into 21st century Arthur, with a clock that still counts down to the year 1895, but the countdown picks up from the moment he died in his previous life - july 7th 1930 (his death day). This is why his and the reader's clocks aren't synced and they can't see it coming that they're each other's soulmate LMAO get doomed by the narrative

"mo are you alright why is this a 4 different AUs at once, 2600 word fic without any planned squeals" yes I think it's perfect as it and I had fun!

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