#this isn’t supposed to be an attack or call out or anything maybe they just don’t know the common courtesy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

messylustt · 1 year

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Heyy!! I Hope you’re doing well and have/had a great day🥰

I wanted to request a ghostface ethan x reader smut oneshot and to be honest I don’t really have a exact idea but I just love the way you write and portrait ethan and I also think you are one of the only ones that also write him as a Dom :)

Maybe you could throw in some degrading and choking or some public sex if ur comfortable with that ofc!

Here’s kind of a „idea“ but you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to:

Reader and Ethan are in the same friend group ofc but they really hate each other (Ethan is ghostface) and idk maybe when the ghostface attacks begin (scream 6) one time where reader is walking home or something she gets a call from ghostface (Ethan) and first he’s like trying to scare her but reader isn’t that intimidated since she survived before (scream 5) and she’s also a bad ass and then gf (Ethan) randomly starts flirting with her/ dirty talking and the reader kinda goes with it since she has a bit of a thing for gf and then when she’s in a ally gf pops up and it comes to smut somehow and just before reader is about to cum, Ethan reveals himself?

(Oh and I would still love to see the bickering and fighting with Ethan and reader before the gf smut? If that’s okay with you)

I am so sorry, that got so long omg- 💀

THANK YOU ALREADY IN ADVANCE!!🫶🏻

nothing's too long babe! love this plot. meanish banter is MWAH

behind the mask — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : you don’t realise that ghostface is your enemy ethan until you’ve gone too far.

contents : slight choking, fingering, semi public sexual stuff (in an alleyway), enemies to kinda enemies who want to fuck, dub con, finger sucking. wc 2.7k

"Which brings us to our suspect list," Mindy spoke, as the entire group sat at a campus off to the side and away from prying ears.

Ethan mockingly coughs, before muttering your name. You shoot him glare. "I'm sorry, who here has survived a Ghostface attack, that's right, not you." You bite at Ethan, adjusting yourself on the bench.

Ethan rolls his eyes. "And you survived pathetically." He mutters.

"Excuse me?" You snap your head back to Ethans direction. You'd never liked this boy, almost too "innocent", and always playing the victim.

"The only pathetic one here is you, Ethan." You hated each other. You could never pinpoint why, just the fact that you did. And everyone knew it. Your smile would always drop when he walked in, your tone turning sour. And Ethan's comments became harsher the moment you said anything.

Chad was surprised by how heated Ethan's anger for you was. He'd never seen the boy say such mean things with such confidence, its like he was a different person when you were around.

"Alright, you two can bicker later." Mindy quickly chimed in, continuing on with her suspect list. She faced Ethan who still had a scowl on his face. "Ethan, the shy, dorky guy, whose so shy and dorky that no one would ever suspect him."

You scoff. "You left out sad and alone." You comment, making Ethan shoot you glare to which you mockingly smiled.

You turn your attention to Mindy. "Don't waste your time on him. He doesn't have the guts to be Ghostface."

Ethan was offended, more than by any other comment you'd thrown at him. Didn't have the guts? He internally scoffs. Maybe he should cut out yours to replace his supposed faulty ones.

As Mindy went to speak on Quinn's sexual habits, tagging her as a suspect, you could feel Ethan's eyes burning holes into the back of your head. You turn to him, narrowing your eyes, before muttering 'what?'

He narrows his own, dragging his gaze along your face. He leans closer to whisper. "You look like you came out of hell."

"Mm, and I'd love to send you there." You hissed back, staying quiet so as not to ruin Mindy's ranting. She can get quite mean when you interrupted her passions.

"You could try." Ethan says, as you turn your head to fully face him. Your faces were close, scowls very present.

"I would try and succeed, Ethan. We both know I'd win."

Ethan scoffs in your face. "You seem awfully confident."

"Again who here has survived a Ghostface attack?" You ask tilting your head. "I can promise it means I have a streak for winning, and I happen to be rather competitive." You lean even closer, whispering in his ear. "You don't stand chance, sweetheart." You mock out the pet name, noticing the way his body tenses. Most likely out of anger.

You lean back putting your full attention on Mindy.

;;

The streets were decently busy with costumed poeple, laughing and joking. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Bringing it out you didn't bother checking the number assuming it was someone from your friend group checking you got home. "I'm fine, just walking—"

"To your apartment, I know." But the voice isn't one of the twins or the sisters.

"I'm sorry, I thought this was someone else." You say, skeptically. You gaze around, trying to see if anyone looked suspicious with a phone. Then when he spoke again, you finally realised and recognised the voice.

"You won't find me." A deep chuckle follows. Ghostface. You immediantly straighten, feeling the familiar shivers wracking your spine.

You clench your jaw. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh, no, you have plenty of time." Ghostface replies. "Because all you're going to do, is walk home, take out another tub of icecream and stare at men you can never have on the screen."

You open and close your mouth, feeling partly offended and the other part nervous. How would he know that? "Why'd you call?" You steer the conversation elsewhere, but Ghostface doesn't seem to want to, continuing on.

"You'd be wearing those little shorts that cover nothing, with that top that shows just how cold you usually are." You pause, swiftly trying to spot him on the street.

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" You clench your teeth, because you did wear shorts for bed, and yes, they may be on the looser side, but it's not like you went out that late. You stayed home alone. Or so, you had thought.

"You're a creep."

"You sound surprised." Ghostface replies. "You shouldn't be. Though I guess there isn't too much going on in the pretty head of yours."

A snarl edges your lips. "You think you're so high and mighty, being a copycat to murderers who lost." You remind him.

"It's called carrying on the legacy." He quickly remarks, making you scoff. You had quickened your steps across the streets, deciding it best to get inside your apartment and behind a locked door.

"That "legacy" as you call it, sucks." You say, hearing a chuckle in repsonse.

"Does it? Because if I remember correctly, you always felt a shiver run down your spine when you heard my voice." He pauses, his smile practically seeable. "And not in a terrible way at all."

You gulp. "Now you're just making up shit."

"Really?" Ghostface probes. "So you don't feel all hot right now? A small rush from speaking to me, one that makes you excited. You don't feel that?"

Your mouth has dried, as you try to cool your body down, noticing how it—especially your core—heated up as the conversation continued. "Well, I'm sorry to say. But you're wrong. Very wrong."

"Do you want me to find out?" Ghostface asks, making you stop your steps, swiftly glancing around, your chest starting to heave quicker. "Because I'm afraid, I don't believe you, sweetheart."

"Is this some new tactic. Get me vulnerable in a...different way."

"You think me flirting with you is a tactic? Poor girl."

You scoff. "That wasn't flirting."

"Was I too subtle?" He asks, his tone showing his enjoyment.

You grind your teeth, having to stop, as a large group of what appears to be Halloween market-goers blocking the path. "Excuse me." You try, pushing past people, but they don't budge making you scowl at them.

"Are you stuck?" You can hear Ghostface say on the other line. "Do you need help?"

"Hang the fucking phone up. And stop acting like some scary villain, when you're really just some third grader doing prank calls." You hiss, trying again to push past the loud crowd.

Ghostface chuckles, as you end up getting pushed aside against a stall, making you curse. "You seem to have a lot of incorrect assumptions." He begins. 'I'm getting quite offended here."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." You sarcastically say, trying again to weave through the growing crowd.

"You're rather mean actually." He mockingly pouts out.

"And you kill people. Are we done?" You ask, getting exasperated by the phone call and the rude people.

"Not even close." And then you hear the beep of an 'end of call', making you bring the phone away. But before you can do anything more, a hand grabs your arm yanking you through the crowd. You gasp as bodies collide with your fast moving one.

You can't see a thing before you're pushed up against a cold wall, finally away from the crowd, but now in a dark alleyway. You finally see the white mask of Ghostface as he cages you against the wall.

Your chest is heaving as your breathing stutters out, everything having happened extremely fast. Ghostface tilts his head as you hear a dark chuckle breaking through the modulator. "You are stupidly confident."

Words get caught in your throat as you try to swallow something down. "Aw, cat caught your tongue?" He coos, his gloved hand dragging across your neck, making your entire body stiffen. Everyone knew that if you got a call from Ghostface you were marked to die. And here he was, probably preparing to gut you.

You quickly shut your eyes, seeming the only thing you can control at the moment, because you weren't dumb enough to think you could bypass him and run. There's a moment where you just hear Ghostface's heavy breathing, as the distant sound of the halloween market goes on behind you both.

Then you feel the rough material of his glove slowly dragging across your bottom lip. You swiftly open your eyes shocked. You can feel your pulse beating everywhere—everywhere. You can't tell what Ghostface is thinking or where he's looking because of his stupid mask. You tried to see through the thin material made for the eyes but it's too dark to pinpoint anyone's eyes.

"So stupid." He quietly says, almost to himself as his finger drags across the in between of your lips, getting your spit on his finger. You don't know what to do. You don't know what's going on. Why isn't the knife inside you?

Then his hand leads down to grip your neck, beginning to tighten, as your hands quickly fly up to grab his wrist. His other hand is placed by your hip, keeping you trapped. "You're always so arrogant." He says, tightening a fraction. Your throat feels small as your breaths grow shorter.

You dig your nails into his arm and wrist trying to pull him off you. But he doesn't budge, his other hand now grabbing at your waist. "But also so dirty." He husks out, as he pulls your hips to press against his, making a choked gasp escape you. He finally loosens his hold on your throat, just enough so that air can get in much easier.

"What would your friends think, knowing you have a thing for a killer in a mask? The killer in a mask." He sneers, his hand at your waist travelling dangerously low, now reaching your inner thigh.

"What—" But you cut yourself off as Ghostface pulls your legs apart, lifting one to rest on his hip. Your eyes widen upon feeling how hard he is against your shameful, throbbing pussy. His hand drops down to feel your wetness through your panties, your skirt having bunched up by your hips at the compromising postion.

Your mouth is open in shock. Ethan behind the mask stares at you, as he feels just how turned on you really are. His chest is heaving, as his bulge begs for attention. Why was he grabbing you like this? He hated you. He had wanted to scare, if he ended up particually mad possibly kill you, hurt you maybe. But certainly not touch you.

But as he had begun to realise your very secret crush on Ghostface he used it to his advantage. But in the process of thinking what a slut you are, he began to think on how you could be a slut for him. Begging for him to touch you as pathetic whimpers and moans escaped you. How pathetic you'd look all for him.

His grip around your neck tightened before loosening, moving up to your open mouth as he stuck two fingers in, wanting to feel your mouth wrapping around them, wanting to see your spit on his glove. "Suck them."

Your eyes stayed wide, as you stared at the now very intimidating Ghostface. You slowly closed your mouth around his fingers as your tongue began to circle the tangy tasting farbic. "That's it..." He breathes as he began to thrust them in and out of your mouth, your spit now coating your lips as you sucked. "Look at you, such a slut for a mystery guy with a knife."

Behind the mask, his eyes had hooded, his cock now aching at the visual. You were powerless against him, and that rush made him, bypass your panties, reaching to drag his gloved finger right up your slit, spreading your wetness around. Your hips jolted into him as he rubs over your clit, a sound that seemed close to a whine coming out muffled through his working fingers.

As Ethan watched you suck his fingers, while he rubbed your aching pussy he felt this need to kiss you, lick up all the saliva that had drippled onto your bottom lip. But he couldn't take his mask of yet. He wanted you to know who was giving you so much pleasure when you were at your peak, begging for him. Ethan felt undeniably smug at the thought of you cumming onto his fingers. The boy you hated.

He then—as compensation for his waiting—thrusted a finger inside you without warning. "God—that was so easy. You're just that wet for me, that your little hole was so eager to let me in." His breath through the mask is by your ear as you shuddered. He pulled his now dripping fingers out of your mouth, spreading your spit across your bottom lip as your dazed gaze makes him move his hand to your neck, loving how small it felt in his grasp.

He grinned behind the mask as he added a second finger, pumping in and out of you. Your hands were gripping at his cloak, your mind a haze of pleasure, as you had begun to grind into his hand. "Fuck, your such a little slut, letting me finger you in an alleyway. Someone could find you, you know?"

A whimper escaped you as he curled his fingers inside you. "Such a naughty girl being so dirty for Ghostface."

"Shit—" You breathed harshly, as his thrusts quickened.

You could feel your stomach contgracting with your impending orgasm, and Ethan could tell by how hard you clenched around his fingers. He stopped inside you, making a pathetic whine leave your lips, your orgasm so so close.

"P-please." You say, breathless, as you try to thrust your hips into his fingers wanting friction. But Ethan just pushed you harder against the wall, keeping you still. He then brought his hand to his mask, finally thrusting his fingers into you again as you moan.

He pulled off his mask, not being able to wait before kissing you. You gasp through the kiss not having expected him to take of his mask, or feel his lips at all. Your eyes had immediantly shut as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue esploring your mouth eagerly.

And as he finally drew back, breath heavy, you met his gaze. You gasped with a mix of suprise, and pleasure. His fingers having quickened inside you. "What—" You choke, as Ethan grins, his curls a mess, as he stays pressed to your shaking body. "E-ethan?'

"Hi, y/n." He grins as your mouth opens in pleasure as you stutter out incoherently. "Shh," Ethan chuckles, curling his fingers inside you. "I didn't know you were such a slut." He says, as the sound of your arousel fills the otherwise distant noises.

"Actually that's a lie," He begins. "I knew how much of a slut you really were, having a thing for Ghostface..." He thrusts harder into you, your stomach tightening.

"Oh god— Ethan—" Pleasure crashes over you as your head hits back against the hard wall, your body shaking as your orgasm courses through you.

"Mm." Ethan hums as he slows inside you, continuing to watch as your face contorts in pleasure, all because of him. "I thought you hated me."

"I did. I do." You quickly say, as your body feels extremely heavy, your mind trying to wrap around the truth that was revealed.

Ethan shakes his head, leaning towards your ear, licking your earlobe. "Then why moan my name?"

"I—" You didn't know what to say. Because you had. And you had felt very far from hatred when you saw his familiar brown curls come into view.

Ethan felt powerful with how stuck you were. Physically and mentally. His breath tickled your now wet ear, his kitten licks having continued. "Do you wanna show me just how much of a crush you have on Ghostface, or do you wanna try and prove how much you hate me?"

You met his gaze and knew you were fucked. Physically and mentally.

A better way to put it would be entirely.

#. ( psychos )#the ethan effect #ethan landry #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #jack champion x y/n #scream #ethan landry smut #jack champion smut #scream smut #scream 6 smut

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scary-grace · 3 months

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WIP GAME: The Shigaraki x reader phone sex AU

@sophsiaaa requested more info about the phone sex AU, and it’s pretty straightforward. in short, the reader works as a dispatcher at a high-end end escort service, answering questions, doing admin, and keeping phone sex clients occupied while waiting for an operator to open up. On one particular night, she finds herself on the phone with a client who’s a different kind of weird than usual:

You’re in the middle of familiarizing yourself with all the parts of the cell when your headset starts beeping — and when you check your screen, you see that every single operator is busy. Again.

You get paid a flat hourly rate, but you really should negotiate that up for nights you spend keeping clients occupied while they wait. You answer the phone and run through your spiel — your operator’s not ready yet, but I’m here, and I’m super psyched to talk to a weirdo just like you — and wait for the inevitable question about what you’re wearing. You wait. And wait. And keep waiting, so long that you start to wonder if the call’s dropped when you weren’t looking. That, or the client got so wound up hearing a woman’s voice on the phone that they had a heart attack and died. You try again. “Hello?”

The call’s still live. You hear your voice echo on the other end of the call, and when you listen closer, you can hear someone breathing. Breathing sort of heavily. Great. “You know I get paid whether you talk or not, right?”

Oops. You shouldn’t have said that. Your boss will be pissed, and if whoever this is pays up, does it really matter if he says anything? Maybe he just wants to breathe heavily into the phone until time’s up. You’d like to think you can sit quietly while some guy does — something to the sound of you breathing on your end of the line, but it turns out that’s beyond your power to cope with. “Um, do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“What?”

“Clients usually ask that,” you say, trying to cover your shock. This client sounds young. Shiroiwa’s price point is so high that next to none of the clients are younger than forty, but this guy sounds like he’s barely out of high school. You should know — you’re barely out of high school yourself. “They want to know what I’m wearing so they can — um, imagine a little better.”

Silence. The breathing sounds a little less heavy and a little more hyperventilating, and you resist the urge to bang your head on the table with an effort. Why do you always get stuck with the weird ones? “So, like I said, I’m not actually the person you’re supposed to talk to. I’m just here to keep you company until your partner’s ready for you. We don’t have to talk at all.”

You’re rapidly coming to the conclusion that not talking is the best outcome for this situation. You and the client can pretend each other isn’t there until you can transfer him to somebody else, somebody who’s good with the weird ones or the shy ones. Kayoko, maybe. She’s great at bringing clients out of their shells. The fact that she and you and anybody else who listens in wishes they’d never come out of their shells in the first place doesn’t really matter.

“What are you, then?” The raspy voice is in your ear again. “If you’re not who I’m supposed to talk to.”

“I’m admin. Kind of a secretary.” You kick yourself instantly for the choice of words. “Not the sexy kind of secretary. Just — I’m the one who routes the phone calls. And the messages from our chat service. Unless it’s busy.”

“It’s busy?”

“Saturday night? It’s really busy,” you say. He sounds disappointed. “Is there somebody you were hoping to talk to specifically? I can let you know how long a wait there will be.”

“I don’t care who I talk to,” the client says. You hear that from new clients a lot, before they pick a favorite operator. All the regulars have a favorite. “This was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say hastily. Your boss will kill you if you lose a client. Even a weird client. “Tell me what you want to talk about. That way I can pick the right partner to send you to.”

“I don’t know,” the client says. You glance at the info Mizuho sent and get a shock — the client’s nineteen, same as you. “It’s — fuck. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” you say on autopilot, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. You can practically feel the client’s embarrassment oozing through the phone, and you spin off into a sales pitch that sounds terrible even to you. “Well, you’ve called the right service. I know a ton of our companions who can make your day really special.”

#shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki Tomura x reader #Tomura Shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #clown hours

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tonyboneysblog · 5 months

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MOTHER HEN: PART THREE

parings: hawks x mother!reader

word count: 2.9k

warnings: talks of abuse/ trauma!

notes: yall I cooked on this angst chapter (there’s comfort after I swear)

summary: You, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

It’s been maybe a week or two since Fumikage, your precious angel, has spread his wings and joined U.A.

and today is currently your off day! Which isn’t completely rare but you still enjoy them.

Most the time you clean and tidy up the house, checking the fridge to see if you need to get groceries- which is your favorite because you love going to the grocery store and-…it’s full?

inside has a small note in Fumikages hand writing…

“Decide to go shopping for you so you could rest, Love Fumikage & Dark Shadow.”

darn your amazing son.

so now, you don’t have anything to do because your son decided he wanted to helpful.

So what do you do?

watch the news of course.

Nothing interesting is happening today really, maybe today is just a slow day!

those are your least favorite.

but then, your savior came, that one bird guy you saw at the restaurant!

apparently he was doing an interview today on channel 58, and you were only slightly interested in him.

So you switch to the channel obviously, seeing his amazing wings that were much bigger than yours…

you really don’t know how long you watched that interview- then decided to watch a few videos on his quote, “epic saves”.

Maybe it was the wings, they were bright and shiny- maybe it’s just a bird thing.

what’s not a bird thing though is going onto G-bay to find overpriced merch of him.

It’s like starting a really good show and hyper-fixating on the side character instead of the main one.

After about 20 minutes of scrolling, you finally found your holy grail.

a 15 inch hawks plush with metallic wings, now you really liked shiny things- which is why it caught your eye.

Probably just a bird thing.

It was 30 dollars though…well whatever you’ll regret this later.

now all you have to do is wait for your new shiny edition to your nest! and while waiting you don’t mind watching more-

BZZT BZZT BZZT

your phone vibrates, it’s a call from the school?

Fumikage did warn you it would get kind of crazy up at U.A.- did he get hurt?

“Is this Ms.Tokoyami?”

you hesitate, “uhm yes, is something wrong with Fumikage at the school? did he get in a fight?”

Now it was the principals turn to hesitate, “ah, no ma’am, we just need to inform you that the school was attacked by villains-“

what?

“I-is my son okay?!”

“Ma’am, please calm down-“

You immediately snap, “don’t you tell me to fucking calm down- your supposed to be the top hero school and you somehow get infiltrated by some thugs?!”

“Ma’am, please-“

You hang up, you know where Fumikage is.

So you get into your car and drive as fast as the law will let you.

You reach the school and immediately get out of your car looking for Fumikage.

You can see a group of students standing by multiple cops, and you finally spot Fumikage.

You sigh out of relief, he’s safe, he’s here, you’re here.

You start to run towards him, “Fumi!”

He instantly looks around for who called him, seeing you.

“M-mother?!”

you can here his class gasp, repeating what he said.

You reach Fumikage, your beautiful boy, and hug him tightly.

“M-mother, what are you doing here?” He says with confusion.

“Principal called to notify me, so I came straight away.”

You pull back and cup his face, “are you a okay, Fumi?”

“M-mother not infront of the class…” he whispers with embarrassment.

“Fumi, you worried me sick! Are we able to leave now? I want you home.”

“Yes mother, I just gave my statement to-“

You grab Fumikages hand and drag him to the car, “good, let’s go then.”

Fumikage hops into the car, still with his hero costume on.

“Best hero school my ass…” you whisper angrily.

“It was the villains quirk, mama.”

“Yea well I expect better from U.A.- you better have not even been near those villains!”

Fumikage looks away.

“Fumi, please tell me they kept you away from the villains.”

“Well we got separated and-“

that’s definitely a fucking email.

You put your head onto the steering wheel.

“Do you not have any hope in my ability’s?!”Fumikage angrily bursts out.

“Excuse me- you shouldn’t have even been near those villains.” You say angrily.

“I can handle myself.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I’m training to be a hero, mother!- I can get beaten up if I have to.”

“You shouldn’t have to!”

“Well dad did didn’t he? Is that why he left?!”

Then the car goes quiet.

You don’t like talking about Tokoyamis father, you always argued with him about how hard you worked and how hard he worked- training to become a hero.

He told you he didn’t need a “loose end” on his record, he didn’t need Fumikage.

you don’t like talking about him at all.

“Fumikage, I don’t like talking about him.”

“He was a hero, he worked for that didn’t he?”

You don’t understand why Fumikage wants to put him in a good light.

“He was barely a hero, he left you Fumikage.”

Fumikage whispers, “Maybe that was the right thing to do.”

You smack the steering wheel, “You needed a father Fumi, I couldn’t do all of that by myself- I…”

He raises his voice, “Is that why you let Ryuji do that to me, because you thought I needed a father?!”

“Fumikage, I didn’t know he was like that!” You plead with him.

“You were barely even home, you barely know me!”

“watch your tone, boy.”

Fumikage immediately stops, he always hated when you were angry with him.

So angry to the point you stopped using his name, the one you gave him.

You take the car out of park, and start the drive home.

it’s quiet, you like it like that anyways.

Ryuji was nice to Fumikage when you were home.

Sometimes you wish you could be at home all the time for Fumikage.

You wish that you could know him more, you just want him to live a good life.

It was four years ago, you decided to come home early, Fumikage and Ryuji were arguing about something stupid- you forgot what it was about.

You saw Ryuji pin Fumikage against the wall and then he started screaming at him, Fumikage was terrified.

You called the police while you tried to get Ryuji off of Fumikage, they ended up tasering him.

Fumikage slept in you bed for 2 months after that.

He said the nightmares would stop when he was with you.

You try your best to avoid that hallway now.

You eventually pull into your driveway, Fumikage goes inside first, you stay in the car for a moment.

You can’t protect Fumikage from everything, no matter how hard you try.

Walking into the house, you try to open Fumikages door to apologize to him, it’s locked.

So instead you go out to the balcony in your room, you’re able to see a lake peeking out from the trees.

And it’s quiet.

You like the quiet though.

Ryuji hated it so he always talked to fill up the space.

So now when it got quiet, you could faintly hear Ryuji talking about something that was never that important.

you hate the quiet now.

You can feel the tears falling down onto the dark wood below you, your curled into yourself on the lounge chair that’s outside

you haven’t really cried in awhile, never had the time.

you feel a weight sit next to you on the chair, you assume it’s Fumikage.

“F-Fumi, m’sorry baby- ma-“

“Fumi?” An energetic voices says playfully.

that’s not Fumikage…

You look up, only to see hawks…

“What’re you doing here…” you say hesitantly, confused on why the number three hero was here.

“I was on patrol..?”

“Why’re you here…?”

“I saw that my favorite nurse was upset!” He replies happily.

You nod and wipe your face.

“So, why’re you crying?” He cocks his head to the side with curiosity.

You sigh, “it’s nothing…”

“Clearly it isn’t.”

you rub your temples, “It’s just- everything’s been piling up.”

“Yea, I understand.” He rubs your back softly.

“M’sorry, you should go back to patrol-“

“No, the world doesn’t need me for a couple minutes, but you do.” He says with a carefree smile.

You sigh, trying to control you breathing so you don’t make even more of a fool out of yourself.

“You want a hug?” He opens his arms awkwardly, almost as if he’s never actually gave someone a genuine hug.

You open your arms as well, leaning into him and taking comfort in his warmth, he smells good too.

“Man, your wings are small…” he whispers softly.

“rude.” You scoff.

“N-not in a bad way! It’s uhm…cute!”

“Don’t say a woman is cute when she’s older than you.” You say while chuckling softly.

“What if I like older women?”

“I thought you were supposed to comfort me, not flirt.” You push yourself out of the warm hug.

“Sorry- second nature for me.” He stretches, his wing go with him, almost knocking over a plant.

“Your wings are too big…” you say in a retort to his earlier comment.

“I can make them smaller for you.”

“I bet mine are way softer.” You tease.

He laughs, “wanna bet?”

“No need too.”

You turn around, your back facing him, “go on and get a feel- might be your only time to.”

Hawks laughs and shakes his head, hesitantly he takes off his gloves and brushes his fingers through your wing span.

“You’re right, they’re soft..” he says softly.

“Told ya.”

“Mine are better though!” He says with a teasing tone.

You giggle softly, hawks has already made you forget a small bit about the days events.

“Y’know when I was younger, I thought if you touched a birds wings they’d get turned on.”

“Nah, not with mutant quirks usually” hawks says while putting back on his glove, “kids are always tugging on em so…I got used to it.”

“I used to let kids touch them if they were at the hospital for a while.” You stand up from the chair.

“Are you gonna touch mine?” Hawks says with a slight jitter in his movements.

You chuckle softly and pet his wings, “yknow, you’re much cooler on TV.”

You notice his wings puff up, “You watch me on TV?”

“Yea sometimes, very cool in my opinion.”

you can see his ears turn red, his wings twitch softly, and you hear a soft high pitched sound as well..? Almost similar to a bird chirping, weird.

“I’m glad you think that.”

Then it’s silent, you try to distract yourself with your thoughts but hawks continues to talk, reminds you of Ryuji.

“Was today your off day?” He asks curiously.

“Yea, ended up being a lot more stressful than they usual are.”

Maybe you could tell him the truth.

“I heard about the U.A. situation…is your son okay?”

“He’s fine, he had to fight apparently…I don’t want that for him.” you feel the tears coming back up.

“I understand that can be stressful for you.” He pats your back, his face still sporting a soft smile, it feels like he’s still in hero mode.

“Then in the car we fought- about his dad, about some of my…untasteful choices when he was younger.”

Your rambling, hawks probably doesn’t want to hear about this anyways.

“Untastful choices?” He chuckles.

“I used to date this guy when Fumikage was about 11, His name was Ryuji…he uhm.”

Hawks waits patiently for you to continue, he’s still smiling.

“He pinned him against the wall a-and he wouldn’t stop screaming.”

You can feel the tears going down your face.

“A-and i tried to get him off of Fumikage but he just threw me against the wall t-then he went back to him.”

Hawks isn’t smiling anymore.

“I-I had to call the cops and Fumikage just…wasn’t the same obviously, we wouldn’t sleep in his own bed, he became so quiet.”

Hawks is holding your forearms, his thumbs circle your skin in a smoothing manner.

why isn’t he smiling anymore?

“oh god- I’m a terrible mother.”

“Don’t say that.”

You fall into his chest and cry, what else could you do? you can’t change what Ryuji did to your son, your baby.

“Your amazing y/n, you…your a good mom I know you are.” He says quickly.

You don’t even know hawks real name, yet here you are crying to him about what you think is your own incompetence as a parent.

“I wish I knew how to make you feel better.” He says softly, he holds you.

“You should be on patrol..”

“My job is to help, and I want to help you.”

he holds you a little tighter, he smells good.

you can hear the soft static coming from his head gear, sounds like someone’s speaking.

You don’t want him to go yet.

“Mama?” You hear Fumikage call from your door way, luckily at this angle he can’t see you snug as a bug in a pros arms.

oh god- what are you doing??

You immediately jump out of hawks embrace, he looks incredibly confused by your sudden movements.

You look around quickly, Fumikage can’t see you like this, Not with some man!

You spot a weighted blanket, you got it for Fumikage when he was struggling to sleep without you- though he said it was too heavy and cold.

You immediately push hawks down into the chair and throw the blanket over him just in time for Fumikage to walk out into your balcony.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Fumikage says confused.

You sit down onto the lounge chair, mind you hawks is right under you being smothered by a blanket.

“J-just enjoying the view!”

The two of you just stare at each-other for a moment.

“So what did you need?”

Fumikage sighs and says something under his breath.

“Y’know I don’t have super hearing Fumikage.” You try to joke with him.

“I said that I was sorry..” he looks down at his feet, he looks ashamed.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, your already stressed enough from work and-“

“Fumi..”

“And you’re always trying your best all the time and-and I’m so sorry I wasn’t appreciative of that!” He looks up at you with tears in his eyes, it breaks your heart.

“Fumi you don’t need to apologize…”

“But I do-“

“Shh, just come here okay?” You open up your arms.

Fumikage goes into your warm embrace, putting his weight onto you.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, we both made mistakes…I’ve made more than you though.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled-“

“I still love you Fumi…I love you so, so much- and I just want you to be safe, and happy, and I want you to be better than me.”

You ramble, Fumikage listens.

You and Fumikage never really understood eachother, sometimes it was like you were both ghosts haunting the same house.

But you tried so hard to understand eachother and the only thing you both understood is the love you had for the other.

Fumikage loved you so much, and Fumikage is the reason you’re still here in the world.

Fumikage sniffles, “mama..”

You rub his back, “what is it baby?”

“Why is this blanket so bulky…”

Ah yes, you totally forgot about hawks.

“I-I uhm, no reason…” you look away.

“Is someone under-“

“How about we go get something to eat?!” You quickly change the topic.

Fumikage stops his little investigation, and nods.

“Go on downstairs, I would like to change into some comfier clothes before we go out or eat!”

Fumikage smiles softly and pitter patters down stairs.

“Y’know, the blanket isn’t half bad” you hear hawks muffle out.

“Sorry…” you peel back the blanket to see a red faced hawks, most likely from the lack of air circulation under a thick weighted blanket.

“It’s fine, glad I got to hear you both make your amends” he shoots up a thumb.

“Well, have to go get some food..we haven’t had dinner yet.” You say sheepishly, tapping your fingers together.

“You wishing I could come, mama bird?” He teases.

“No, I’m telling you to leave and never come back, bird brain.” You say sarcastically.

Hawks chuckles, his laugh is nice.

Hawks is nice.

“You need to go back on patrol, I’ve kept you long enough…”

Hawks looks away for a moment, thinking.

“Can I keep the blanket?” He says almost too quickly.

“What?”

“...can I keep the blanket? You can say no!” He quickly adds the last part.

“No, no, Fumikage doesn’t use it so- go ahead!”

“I’ll see you soon?” He says hesitantly.

You smile, “Course..”

“I’ll see you then.” He takes off into the sky, weighted blanket in hand.

You quickly run down the stairs to meet up with Fumikage, only to find him waiting outside in the already cranked car.

You hop in, “where to?”

Fumikage continues to stare at the house.

“Fumi?” You say hesitantly

“Why did I just see the number three hero fly away from our house…”

Well shit, how are you supposed to explain this one to Fumikage.

On the other side of town, hawks is at his own perch patrolling whilst holding on tightly to the weighted blanket.

The only thing on his mind is that it smells like you.

And when his patrol finally ends he flies home, hawks never really had blankets on his bed, always too stuffy for his wings to be comfortable.

This blanket would probably be even more stuffy since it was heavy and thick but…

He still slept with it.

He would never tell anyone that he slept like a baby that night, and the night after that, and the night after that one.

Maybe his little interest in you is worse than he originally thought…

PART FOUR: MOTHER HEN: PART FOUR

TAG LIST:

@lost-in-horrorland

#anime #hawks x reader #fanfics #bnha hawks #takami keigo #mha takami keigo #keigo x you #spotify #hawks x y/n #mha #takami keigo x reader #keigo x y/n #bhna x reader #mha hawks #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #hawks #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Note

Hi! I hope you’re well! I have a Joel request please!Reader collects keychains from the different states/places she travels. She’s a bit introverted, and she and joel are both quiet and don’t talk too much, nut she’s a good listener. After a close call with a clicker, reader feels like a burden to joel. Joel reassures her that she’s not but she’s still not sure. Joel gives her a keychain that he finds during their travel & it’s a happy ending. Also can there be an age gap lol

Hope this isn’t too much, but please feel free to make any changes/adjustments :)

Thank you!

sweet anon, this idea is so lovely - i hope i've done it justice <3

Pieces of Our Path - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, joel is a ding dong, and then fluff bc it's good for your cholesterol :)

.........................

“I’ll be right back. Wanna go check in that gas station.” “Tell me this ain’t what I think it’s for.” All she can do is smile as a blush creeps up her neck because it is exactly what he thinks it’s for. Joel huffs at her expression.

“I-I haven’t found one for Wyoming yet. Think I oughta get one since we’re living here now and all.” She knows it’s silly, frivolous, maybe even downright stupid, but she’s been collecting them for so long now, finding one for nearly every state they’ve crossed through, that she needs her collection to be complete.

Joel had often given her an exasperated look when she’d show him a new one she had found, never asking why she held onto all those keychains. They don’t talk much, and she supposes that’s why they’ve worked so well together, managing to get Ellie across the country, and when that went sideways, limping back to Tommy’s place, where they find themselves living now. It’s the first time they’ve been settled anywhere together, ever, and they’ve both been working out their stir-craziness with patrol shifts and scavenging trips.

“Just make it quick, alright? I’ll cover the outside. You holler if you need me.” She nods at his gruff words, already hustling over to the crumbling gas station and shouldering her way in through the rusted door. It’s dark inside, slants of light pock-marking the mossy tiles and shelves. Her fingers flex around the handle of her knife as she creeps further into the store, moving toward what used to be a checkout counter. After so long on the road, she knows where to look for these things. Joel had once joked that the keychains seemed to find her more than she found them. Sure enough, there’s a few scattered over the floor, but before she can get a better look at them, she’s startled by a loud screech coming from behind her.

It happens so quick, all she can do is let out a yelp as she gets slammed to the ground by an infected, all clawing hands and gnashing teeth as she struggles to keep it at bay. Her knife had skittered out of her hand at the impact, and as she tries to push the creature away with little success, fear starts to creep up her spine that this might be it. Just as suddenly as it attacked her, the creature stiffens before slumping down on top of her, but its body is quickly shoved off of her to reveal Joel standing over her, knife in hand. There’s a frantic look in his eyes that she’s never seen before as he kneels down between her legs and helps her sit up. The rough palms of his hands scurry all over her, checking her neck, her arms, her legs for bites. His face slackens just slightly when he finds no evidence of infection, cupping her face in his palms.

“Are you hurt?” She takes a steadying breath as his eyes hold her in place, her hands wrapped over his forearms.

“I’m ok. Joel, I’m so–” He doesn’t let her finish that sentence.

“C’mon, we need to get out of here.” He helps haul her up on unsteady feet. She feels her stomach drop when she glances back at the mottled body of the clicker, quick to hustle out of the gas station and back onto the road. Joel doesn’t say anything more, an unspoken agreement that they need to head back to Jackson. But she can see the way his hands clench around the strap of his rifle until his knuckles turn white, the hard set of his jaw as he walks alongside her. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Joel Miller is angry, and she knows it’s all her fault.

She spends the whole hike back cursing herself in her mind. She had put herself in danger, and in turn had put Joel in danger, for such a stupid, useless thing. Harsh thoughts are quick to burrow into her head, namely that Joel would be so much better off with someone smarter, more careful, someone older, as his… she’s not even sure what she is to him. They’ve been traveling together for so long now, but she’s hesitant to think of them as anything, even if they do end up tangled in the same bed most nights, something they excused as a simple human need for closeness, nothing more. She supposes that they’ve been a quiet comfort to each other, but not anymore, not now that she’s failed him.

Anxiety rages on in her mind, and Joel’s icy silence does nothing to assuage it. Even when they get back to Jackson, he won’t so much as look at her, trudging straight to the bar. She lets out a heavy sigh and keeps her head down as she shuffles off in the opposite direction toward their house.

It’s quiet when she gets home, and she figures Ellie must be out on her own shift still. She goes straight to her room, the room she has been spending so little time in, Joel usually coaxing her into his bed because they both sleep better with each other near. She had stashed the other keychains in a crumpled shoebox she found in the closet, and would often get it out to thumb through the evidence of her wanderings. Normally, it was a comfort to her, being able to trace her past in these plastic relics, but now, looking in the box, all she feels is sick to her stomach. She shoves the box back into the closet, slamming the door shut and swallowing hard around the thick heat building in her throat.

A wave of exhaustion passes over her, the adrenaline from her close encounter finally wearing off, and it’s all she can do to collapse onto her bed in a tight curl as the first tears start to fall.

..,

She wakes with a start, light hands shaking her shoulder, and as she squints her eyes open, she finds Ellie hovering over her, a furrowed look of worry across her face. She lets out a ragged sigh as she sits up, Ellie leaning back on the bed.

“Are you alright?” She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, bloodshot and tired from crying, but she nods at Ellie’s question.

“I’m fine, kid. Just tired, that’s all.” Ellie clearly doesn’t buy that, eyebrows shooting up at her.

“You sure about that? Saw the old man down at the bar, and you and I both know he only goes there when he’s really pissed.” She huffs, shaking her head and wishing Ellie didn’t know her and Joel so well.

“We had a bad shift. I, um, did something stupid.” Silence settles over them after she finishes murmuring her answer, but Ellie is quick to break it.

“Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You want me to go talk to him? I can knock a little sense into his head.” She rests her hand on Ellie’s knee and offers her a small smile.

“That’s alright, kid. Um, it was pretty bad. We’re both ok– but, yeah– it was bad. Joel’s right to be angry at me.” Ellie settles down, pressing her lips into a thin line as she nods.

“Well, I’m glad you’re alright at least. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?” Her smile broadens at the girl’s words. Ellie had been and continues to be a bright spot in her world, and she muses briefly that if not for her, she would have already packed up and skipped town this afternoon, something she thinks would certainly be welcomed by Joel.

“No, I’ll be ok, kid, but thank you. Think I’m just gonna lay low tonight.” The girl bites her lip, clearly not convinced by her words, but she still nods.

“Um, ok. Well, in that case, is it alright if I go to movie night tonight?”

“Is Dina gonna be there?” Ellie’s grin is contagious, and she laughs lightly at the girl’s flushed reaction.

“It’s alright kid, you should go. Just be safe, huh?” Ellie surprises her just a little with her quick hug before she gets up off the bed, digging her hands into her jean pockets.

“I’m glad you’re alright. And, Joel’s just– emotionally constipated, you know? I’m sure he’s not really mad at you, he’s just acting like it. But he’ll calm down. He likes you too much to be such an asshole to you for long.” That makes her really laugh, and the feeling is a relief, a weight off her chest, if even just briefly.

“Thanks for that, kid. You should go, they’re gonna start the movie soon I bet.” Ellie offers her one more smile before leaving. She slumps back in bed the moment she hears the front door close.

…

It’s much later when she’s woken up again by much harsher hands jostling her. It’s completely dark in her room, and she groans as she fumbles to switch on the lamp on her nightstand. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see a clearly drunk Joel Miller hovering over her.

“Why’re you in here?” His words are thick and slurred, his southern accent tugging low in his throat to the point she can just make out what he’s saying. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes watery and wavering as he looks at her. She’s never seen him this drunk before.

“I-I was getting some sleep. Joel, how much have you ha–” She’s cut off as he slumps over her where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, his cheek smushing into her collarbone and the mussed waves of his hair grazing her chin. His words are even more slurred as he speaks now, hot breaths fanning over her throat.

“Y’never sleep in here. Wan’ you with me. Should always be with me.” He hiccups at the end of his words, jolting her in his heavy hold as he lets out a long sigh. She’s never seen him like this and has to swallow the shock sitting in her throat as he continues to mumble to her.

“Scared me so bad today. Don– don’t do that again. Need– need you– I need you.” It’s breaking her heart, listening to him say these things– things she had often imagined hearing him say to her– but only because he’s drunk enough to not give a shit. She huffs, tamping down her sadness and instead letting anger simmer in its place. She presses hard on his shoulders to sit him back up as he grumbles at the movement, his head slumping back on his neck to look at her as she stands up.

“Where you going, pretty? Jus’ stay with me.” He practically whines out the last word, and she’s heard enough. She dips under his one arm to hoist him up off the bed, stumbling a bit as he leans most of his weight on her.

“C’mon, Joel. I’m gonna get you to bed.” He huffs as they start to shuffle down the hallway to his room.

“Will you stay with me, darlin? Ple– please.” Now she knows he must be drunk off his head, because in all her time knowing him, she has never once heard Joel Miller say the word please until tonight. She grits her teeth, hauling them both through the doorway to his bedroom.

“I’ll stay with you, alright? Just– just sit down.” She gracelessly plops him on the side of the bed, a hard “oof” leaving his mouth as he sits down. She moves over to his bathroom to get him a glass of water, having swatted away his grabby hands with a murmured “be right back.”

By the time she comes back into the bedroom, she finds Joel slumped back on the bed, his legs dangling off the edge as he snores lightly. She sighs, setting down the glass before moving over to him and taking off his boots. He mumbles nonsense as she swings his legs up onto the bed, folding the comforter over to cover him up as best she can.

She doesn’t stay.

…

It’s late the next morning when she finally goes downstairs. It had been a fitful night of sleep, and she had gone back to Joel’s room a few times to check on him, finding him still passed out each time. She stops by his door on the way downstairs and sees that he’s no longer in bed. Padding into the kitchen, she finds coffee brewed, but no sign of him or Ellie. She figures Ellie spent the night with Dina, but is still left wondering where Joel could be. As she shuffles through the house, she finally catches a glimpse of him in the living room window, sitting on the porch out back. She has to take a steadying breath before she steps outside.

He doesn’t say anything as she sits down next to him, neither of them glancing each other’s way.

“How’s your head?” He scoffs, still not looking at her as she glances at him.

“About how you’d expect. Suppose I deserve it though.” She doesn’t say anything to that, keeping her eyes focused on her fidgeting hands in her lap. It feels like there’s cotton in her mouth, she keeps trying to say something else, but gets stuck before she can even get the first word out. Luckily, Joel breaks the silence again.

“Need to apologize. Acted a fucking fool last night and you shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” She swallows thickly before responding, her voice an uncertain murmur.

“I-it’s alright. I’m sorry too– for yesterday.” He finally looks at her, brow furrowed.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do. You wouldn’t have had a reason to drink so much if I hadn’t fucked up so badly yesterday. I understand. I’d be angry too.” His face slackens at her words and she can barely meet his unwavering gaze.

“What’re you talking about? I wasn’t angry– I was fucking terrified. Seeing you– I just– I couldn’t– fuck, the thought of something happening to you– I was shaken. And I handled it like an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you’d be better off without me then.” A heavy silence falls, but Joel quickly breaks it with a scoff.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“I mean it.” “Well don’t. I wouldn’t be better off without you, goddamn it. I’d fall apart if I lost you.” Sober, this is the most he’s ever said about how he feels for her, and it makes her heart race in her chest.

She’s been keeping her eyes on her lap, but is forced to look at him as he turns her face toward him with a broad palm along the arc of her jaw. His eyes are soft, searching, and it’s all she can do to let out a sigh of his name.

“I can’t lose you, darlin. Pfft, better off without you. I’d be hopeless without you, huh?” She gathers up whatever courage she has in her, bringing her hand to the arc of his neck to coax him closer as she leans in. It’s a fluttering little thing of a kiss, her lips barely brushing his before she’s jerking away, but Joel steadies her with his hand still cupping her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha–” he surges forward and this kiss is certain in what it demands, what it means. She all but melts under his touch, mind hazy when he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers.

“I’m old– and no good for you– but fuck, I’m selfish, darlin. And I need you. Tell me you’ll stay with me, please.” There it is again, that rare word. She smiles.

“I-I need you too, Joel. I’ll stay. I’ll always stay with you.” He presses another kiss to her lips, both of them grinning into it before sitting back as he wraps his arm around her shoulders to tug her into his side.

“I, um, I have something for you.” She cranes her neck to look at him with a furrowed expression. He huffs as he digs into the front pocket of his jeans, holding his palm out flat in front of her. When she sees what he’s holding, she lets out a spluttering laugh. It’s a keychain, in the shape of Wyoming.

“When did you–”

“I picked it up as we were getting out of there. Figured it shouldn’t be for nothing, right?” She laughs again, shaking her head at the smug grin on his face.

She lays her palm over his, tangling their fingers together with the keychain pressed between their hands. They smile like idiots at each other. She knows that wherever the next keychain comes from, she can count on Joel Miller being there with her.

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year

Text

Lucky Break Chapter 4

Yandere Straw Hats x Fem!Reader

5.8k words

Beginning / Previous / Next

The longest chapter yet, but at least this arc is finally wrapped up!

Just as you thought, you could hear them before you could see them.

“Sounds like they’ve got this covered. I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but I need to go get something that belongs to me. Bye!” Nami slapped you on the shoulder and then diverted from the path you were following.

“Wait, I don’t have anything planned! What am I supposed to do about any of this?!” You called out after her, but she paid you no mind, the woman was on a mission. The light jog you were doing trickled down into a standstill.

What were you supposed to do?

There isn’t exactly a guide for this, and even if there was, you can’t remember having read it.

There was yelling and the sound of weapons clashing no more than a block away from you. Wait- That’s it! Weapons! You need a weapon! You can’t just charge into battle and help your new companions empty handed.

But where would you find one? Well, this town is something of a war zone, maybe there’s a weapon lying around? You would settle for even just a kitchen knife at this point. Literally anything to give you some semblance of protection.

Hoping that Luffy and Zoro will be okay until you can help, you scurry down an alleyway. “Come on, come on, give me something,” you mutter under your breath. Your eyes dart around wildly, scanning the surrounding area. There are some stray bricks and broken planks of wood from the buildings being destroyed. That could work potentially, but you decide to look around a little longer.

A structure catches your eye ahead of you. Scaffolding next to a house that hadn’t been finished yet. A relieved grin spreads across your face. Construction tools! You could use a saw or a hammer or something like that!

There were some crates and tool boxes lying on the ground, all open. The boxes have what appear to be blueprints and building materials. The toolboxes are damn near empty. Some nails and screws litter the bottom of it, plus a couple of tools that won’t help you like a tape measure.

“Shit!” You kicked the nearest toolbox in anger. What were you supposed to do? Bare knuckle box some armed super-powered pirates? Feeling crushed and frustrated, you drop down into a squat and put your head between your hands, pulling on your hair.

This was so stupid and unfair. You can’t even remember your own name, and now the only people willing to help you are having to fight on their own while injured and you’re helpless to do anything. Why are you even here? For what purpose? What happened to get you to this point?

A rush of air, followed by a clanging noise right in front of you startled you. The shock made you fall onto your ass, scared that you were under attack. A quick once over of the alley revealed that you were still alone. What was that?

Then, a piece of paper flits to the ground just ahead of you. It lands on a coiled piece of metal that you don’t remember being there before. Is that what made the noise? Hesitantly, you reach out to grab the paper. There’s something written on it.

“Lucky”

What an interesting event

Losing your memories was not my intent

To aid in your journey

Please take this urumi

“A”

Next to the letter “A”, was an ink stamp. One you recognized. You fished out the necklace from under your shirt, and sure enough, the stamp matched it. A jolly roger with a wand clenched between its teeth.

Where did you get this necklace from initially, and how did “A” know about your new nickname? How did they know where you were? You look up at the rooftops, but see nothing and no one. You hadn’t heard anyone approach either. It’s like these things just appeared out of thin air.

Much like you did according to Luffy.

A loud explosion rang out and shook the ground. Oh right! You’re supposed to be in a battle! You clamber onto your feet and pick up the so-called urumi by what you believe to be a handle while stuffing the note into your satchel. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you have no idea what an urumi is supposed to be. You assume it’s a weapon, but why would a weapon be so… limp?

The “blade”, if you can call it that, unraveled and drooped to the ground. It was like some bizarre love child of a whip and a sword. How was something like this supposed to help you? Is it even sharp? Gingerly, you stroke the edges of the blade.

“Ow! Okay, yeah, that’s sharp,” just lightly touching in was enough to draw a couple drops of blood. You bring the finger to your mouth, feeling a little dumb now for managing to cut yourself within seconds of getting your hands on this thing. You have no idea how to use any weapon, much less one so unique.

Experimentally, you hold it out and flick the blade away from you. It cuts through the air and cleanly slices through a leg of the scaffolding like a hot knife through butter. The structure shifts slightly, but remains standing.

You can’t help but eye the weapon warily, this thing seems extremely dangerous. Great for dealing with enemies, bad for you if you aren’t careful and don’t know what you’re doing. Which you don’t.

It would be good to go and help your companions now that you’re armed but you want to get a better feel for this thing before charging into battle. Swaying it back and forth is helping to get a better feel for the weight of it, but the method in which you could safely wield it is still beyond you.

“There she is! The liar that tricked and made a fool of us!”

You were so focused that you hadn’t even heard the small band of enemies approaching. Their clothes were torched and skin burned, and they looked furious. With swords raised, they ran right at you, bloodlust in their eyes.

A shriek emitted from your throat, and your arm flailed as you panicked. The urumi’s blade struck the scaffolding again, effortlessly going through several legs before wedging itself into the brick wall. The structure pitched forward and groaned. Your attackers looked up just in time to see the whole thing come down on them. All of them were pinned under the weight of it plus the supplies that had been piled on. Some of the people were knocked out by the falling material, while one was left awake.

He was trapped, but could move his head just enough to scowl at you. “I bet you think you’re really clever! Well you won’t get away with this, Captain Buggy never loses! It’s only a matter of time before he takes your head for this trickery!” Venom dripped from every word, his loathing so tangible that you think you could cut it.

“Not really, I’ve just,” you yanked on the urumi, trying to dislodge it, “got a lot of dumb luck it seems.” And some magical note and weapon giver, but that’s hardly something to bring up in casual conversation. Damn, that thing was really in there. You readjust your grip and pull again. There’s a creak, and then it breaks free. It came loose so suddenly that it made you stumble as the blade flung around you, narrowly missing that one guy’s head.

The man screamed, pulling his head back into the rubble like a turtle retreating into its shell, “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Weren’t you trying to kill me?!” The double standards up in here were insane. They could gang up on you, but you almost accidentally hit him and now you’re the bad guy? Ridiculous. He fell silent and didn’t answer, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get going.”

Realistically, you don’t think it’s a good idea to be slinging this thing around, especially near Luffy or Zoro, but it was comforting to at least have something now. You examine the urumi closely, contemplating the best way to carry it. There’s a loop on the handle, and you get an idea.

Carefully, you wind it around your waist and feed it into the loop. Sure enough, it fits together snugly, and now it looks like you have a strange belt on. Alright, you’re feeling a little bit better now, hell you even stopped a few attackers (albeit accidentally).

Now it’s time to actually join the fight.

Well… Maybe you’ll assess the situation first. You just needed to figure out how to do so without being caught unprepared. Getting onto a rooftop could work. The house in front of you had a pretty low roof, climbing onto it shouldn’t be too hard.

You kick a crate close and hop on. It takes some effort, sure, but you’re able to pull yourself up. The shingles dig into you through the clothes, but it’s hardly the worst thing you’ve been through today. Finally, you can see what’s going on. It looks like there are only four people involved in this fight. There’s Luffy and Zoro, of course. Buggy is also there, seemingly unharmed from the cannon fire earlier. You suppose that isn’t too surprising considering his weird powers. Then there’s also some guy on a unicycle because, sure, why not?

Zoro and the unicyclist are fighting each other. Zoro is fighting hard, but it’s clear even from your perch that he’s struggling to fight with his injury. Luffy is too preoccupied with Buggy to be able to help him, and you’re positive that you would just hurt him more if you were to charge in with your unwieldy weapon of not-choice.

What else was there to do? You’re scanning the area for ideas, seeing lots of rubble and injured pirates strewn about. One of which being Richie, who was currently licking his wounds.

Hang on, you might know what to do now.

A hand digs around in your pants pocket and pulls out the laser pointer you put in there earlier. You don’t know what the range on this bad boy is, but hopefully it’s going to be strong enough for what you’ve got planned.

Pointing it in the direction of the white lion, you click it on. Lucky for you, it reaches, and a red dot is just ahead of Richie. He doesn’t seem to have noticed it, so you wiggle it around. His head snaps up, and you rejoice on the inside.

He reaches a paw out to it, but you move it away. At first, he’s startled, but then he’s up on his feet and in pursuit. You keep moving it away from him, zipping it around to keep him interested. If you could get him a little closer, you should be able to help Zoro. You doubt that unicycle boy is going to be able to fight well if there’s a lion on top of him.

You risk a glance over to them, only to notice something else. Buggy is using his powers for a sneak attack! Shit! Change of plans, you need to throw him off instead!

Hastily, you move the dot onto his back and pray that Richie goes for it. The lion sees it and pauses, but then he crouches and creeps closer. Yes! Just a little bit more! Come on, Richie! His tail flicks wildly, and he then pounces.

Buggy hits the ground with an indignant shriek. He’s kicking and screaming, “Mohji! Get your damn lion under control!”

You did it! You helped! Taking another look at Zoro, you see him land a finishing blow to the unicyclist. This is going much better than you would have thought! With that guy out of the way, everyone can focus on taking down Buggy.

Luffy was first to take this opportunity. Buggy had barely gotten back onto his feet after being pounced on by Richie, only to get punched by the rubber captain. The blow sent him tumbling head over heels away from him. Luffy wasn’t about to let up and continued the assault, but Buggy was able to get onto his feet and scramble out of the way of the next blow.

They engaged in a back and forth, each using their unique powers to try and get one over on the other. You tried to use your laser pointer again, but Mohji had Richie’s full attention while he was scolding him for attacking the captain. Well there goes that idea. At least you got it to work once.

You army crawl backwards so you can climb down from the roof, but stop when you notice something red flying right at you.

Oh shit, that’s Luffy!

There isn’t even enough time to brace for impact before the human wrecking ball crashes into the building and brings everything down on top of him, you included. You yelp and fall directly on top of him, disoriented but otherwise fine.

Luffy, entirely unbothered by the whole affair, helps you get up off of him, “Oh hey, Lucky! I was wondering when you were going to get here!” He stood and pulled you with him while readjusting his hat.

“Sorry, I just needed to pick up something first,” your hand drifted down to your new weapon, still getting used to even having one. The presence of one feels so foreign that you can’t imagine you ever carried one in the past.

He waved off your apology, “Don’t worry, it’s basically over already! I’ll finish this here and now!” Luffy bounced out of the crumbled building and got ready to do just that.

“Excuse you! Don’t underestimate me! And why are you talking to my crewmate?!”

What? No. How could this guy still think you’re still on the same team? That’s not possible. He saw you run to Luffy’s aid with the key you stole from him. Maybe that cannonball did hit him after all and knocked his common sense right out.

“Huh? Lucky is your crewmate?” Luffy’s head tilted to the side, genuine confusion on his face.

Several of Buggy’s pirates piped up, “She obviously tricked you, Captain!”

“No one can trick me! Be nice to our newest member!” Buggy whirled around and actually started scolding them. Is he stupid? What is happening?

“I’m not in your crew! I lied to you so I could try and save him,” you clarified while pointing at Luffy, amazed that this even needed to be said. Luffy immediately accepted this explanation, nodding and winding up to take a swing at Buggy.

“Lucky, please! I know we got off on the wrong foot but-” Buggy’s pleas were interrupted by Luffy resuming the fight.

Carefully, you work on stepping out of the collapsed building, still a little baffled by that exchange. Whatever, no use in overthinking it. There are more important things at hand.

The sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground caught your attention, it was Nami toting a couple of massive bags behind her. She met your gaze and motioned you over, “Oh, good timing. Help me move these!”

What? No please? Whatever, this is another thing not worth worrying about in the moment. You catch up with her quickly and take one of the bags. The second you do, you stumble. My god this thing is heavy! You do your best to pull it along, “What did you put in here? It weighs a ton!”

“It’s all of that clown’s treasure!” Nami answers happily, eyes sparkling.

“Why do you need all of this? What would you even do with it?” You’re huffing from the exertion of hauling your bag.

“That’s my business, thank you very much,” she said dismissively. Well then, you guess that’s the end of that conversation.

“Hey! I see you! How dare you steal from me!” Buggy screeched. A hand holding several throwing knives was flying right at the both of you. Nami screamed, but refused to let go of “her” treasure. Your hand hovered over the urumi, but you hesitated. You really don’t think you possess the skill to slice his hand out of the air.

Fortunately, you don’t have to try, because Luffy’s own hand rockets towards Buggy’s and snatches it out of the air before he can make contact. Your shoulder slump in relief, good thing he’s so on top of this!

Luffy’s victory doesn't last long, another hand comes up from behind and steals his straw hat. You would think that he would just be happy that he wasn’t stabbed, but no. He looks enraged. You haven’t known him long, but the anger on his face feels wrong.

“Give that back! That’s my treasure!” His voice was so authoritative that you didn’t even question how something as simple as a hat could be considered treasure. Whatever reason he has, it must be a good one if he’s that mad about it.

Buggy begins on some tirade about the previous owner of the hat. Some dude named Shanks? Weird name. Well, to be fair, a lot of the people you’ve met have had strange names.

You don’t get to listen in on this long, Nami taps you on the shoulder and indicates for you to follow her. You barely take a step before she tacks on, “Bring the treasure!”

After the oh so precious treasure is dragged into the nearest alley, she starts rifling through some boxes. Since she doesn’t appear to be planning on explaining herself, you pipe up, “So… Are we looking for something in particular?”

Nami doesn’t look up from her search, “We need something to stop that guy from coming after us or else I’ll never be able to leave with my treasure.” The explanation was simple and to the point. You pitch in and start looking, too. A net would probably work, but what were the odds of some nets just so happening to be here?

“This’ll work!” Nami springs up and tosses a bundle your way. You catch it, and it’s a coiled up length of rope. You nod, this is a nice alternative to your net idea. She strolls to the entrance of the alley and pokes her head out, “Next time this circus freak splits apart, you and me will tie up the pieces. Got it?”

“Got it,” you conceded. Sounds doable, especially if Luffy is keeping him busy. Sure enough, Buggy splits into a bunch of parts in hopes of confusing his opponent, but you’re not about to let him succeed.

You and Nami spring into action, grabbing airborne limbs and wrapping the ropes around them as tightly as you can. They’re wriggling wildly, and it is admittedly disturbing to be holding disembodied arms and legs, but you don’t give up. Unfortunately, both hands and feet evade you as well as Nami. You can only hope that the two of you were able to apprehend enough parts to make a difference.

Buggy attempts to put himself back together again, and the writhing piles of limbs try to fly back to him, but Nami acts swiftly and throws both into a box and seals it shut. The box rattles, but the body parts are unable to escape. The both of you smile triumphantly.

“What happened?! Where’s the rest of me?!”

You look over to him, and immediately snort out a laugh. Which then escalates into hysteric laughing. Nami looks at you questioningly, before seeing it too and joining in with her own laughter.

Buggy the clown, the fearsome pirate that’s been talking mad shit since you met, was now nothing but a head with hands and feet. Absolutely nothing else.

Even Luffy was laughing, a pleasant sight after his previous expression. Buggy was still trying to act tough despite the situation, but Luffy was having none of that. He took a couple of steps back, then ran at the incomplete clown and kicked him. He didn’t just go sailing down the street, no, he went clear into the sky and vanished.

“Team Rocket blasting off again,” you mumbled. Then your face scrunched up. Where did that come from?

“Did you say something, Lucky?” Nami asked.

“N-No, that was nothing. I’m just glad that’s over with.”

“You and me both, I hate having to deal with pirates,” she agreed.

The sound of flip flops slapping against the ground was your only warning before being pulled into a group hug. You and Nami were squished against each other and unable to move when Luffy’s arms coiled around you both. He cheered and hopped up and down enthusiastically, “We did it, good thinking guys! We already make such a great crew!”

“I am not part of your crew,” Nami wheezed.

Luffy stopped, loosening his grip a little but not enough for either of you to escape, “Huh? But you said you’d be my navigator.”

“All that I agreed to was a temporary alliance, that’s it,” she clarified while trying desperately to get out of his clutches.

“Are you still gonna sail with us out of here?”

“Sure?”

“Okay, that’s good!” Luffy was content with the answer, however unpromising it may be.

“Where’s Zoro? I haven’t seen him in a while,” you were craning your neck around to try and spot him. Now that you thought about it, you haven’t seen him since his fight with the unicyclist. Was he okay? Did he succumb to his wounds after the fight?

Mercifully, Luffy let go and pointed to where he was, “He’s over there, he said he needed to sleep some more after fighting.”

“What, right in the street?” You asked, thinking for sure that you’re misunderstanding. Obnoxious snores cut through the now silent air, and you realize that you understood perfectly. There he is. Out cold in the middle of the street like it’s the comfiest mattress he’s ever experienced. You know what? You’re not even surprised now that you’re looking at him. This checks out for him.

“Hey, guys, I think we should leave,” Nami threw out, handing the treasure bag you had been hauling to Luffy.

“Why?”

“There’s a mob and they look mad.”

A mob?! Sure enough, rounding the corner of the almost leveled street you were on was a massive angry mob of people. They’ve got torches and pitchforks and everything. They aren’t dressed like the pirates, you think these are the missing townspeople! That’s fine then, you guys just defeated the clown that had been terrorizing them. By all accounts, they should be happy with you. Right?

“Mayor Boodle! What happened to you?!” One of them cried out and ran to him. Oh wow, you hadn’t even noticed him being there. The mayor was currently sprawled out on the street. Unlike Zoro, he did not appear to be sleeping peacefully. If the knot on his head was anything to go off of, it looks like someone knocked him the hell out.

Damage control, you need to do some damage control! And quick!

“Oh him? I punched him,” Luffy interjected, looking rather proud of himself.

“You what?!” You and the townsfolk yelled all at once. Good lord, does Luffy just enjoy concussing people?! Should you be more suspicious about what happened to you?

“Hey! That girl stole my clothes! And paired it with a hideous coat!” An absolutely furious woman in the crowd pointed at you. Oh come on! How many people are going to call you out for wearing their clothes today?!

Luffy laughed, amused and unbothered, “Let’s go!” He reached for and yanked Zoro to his side and motioned for you to support his other side, and the second you picked him up you were running.

“Don’t let them escape!”

The mob surged after you all and were hot on your heels. You’re not sure that you’ll be able to lose them at this rate.

Luffy took a hard right, leading all four of you down an alley. In the middle of it was a dog. Wait, not just any dog, that’s Chouchou! The dog he helped. You leapt over him, and the second the crowd approached, he switched from quiet guarding to aggressive barking.

Despite their numbers, this did make the people hesitate, buying you enough time to get ahead. Luffy called out a ‘thank you’ to the dog over his shoulder, much to the bewilderment of the crowd.

The docks were just ahead, you were almost home free!

Nami leapt into her own boat, not wasting a second, and began to set sail. Luffy all but threw you and Zoro into yours. Both of you landed with a thud and Zoro groaned, opening his eyes groggily. He looks around lazily, “Where are we?”

“Back on our boat, we got chased out by an angry mob,” you explained, gently shifting him off of you.

“Why?”

“Because Luffy attacked the mayor,” you shot the assailant in question a dry look, not that he was paying attention.

“He did that to save him, why are they mad about it?” Zoro yawned and tried to make himself more comfortable. You didn’t even know how to respond to that. How do you save someone by punching them?

“Hey, you ruffians!”

Everyone looked to shore and saw the mayor standing there. Well he sure made a quick recovery since you last saw him two minutes ago! You waited anxiously to hear what would be said next. Would he curse you all? He probably doesn’t even know how the final battle went.

“Thank you!”

He’s… thanking you guys?

Luffy laughed boisterously and waved, “You’re welcome, old man!”

“Wait! Luffy, where is the bag you were carrying?” Nami interrupted the moment, looking around frantically. “Did you forget it?!”

“No, I left it behind for them. They need it more than I do!” Luffy smiled innocently and pointed to where it was left on the docks. The locals were already investigating the bag to see what it was.

Luffy, a pirate, abandoned treasure because he thought the people who chased him out of town needed it more? What kind of a pirate would do something like that? What kind of a person would do something like that? The answer was obvious, you suppose.

A good one.

You looked over at him again, only to see Nami actively trying to drown him.

“Nami, no!”

—

It took some time to ease the tensions between Nami and Luffy after the whole treasure incident. Time, and Zoro keeping them separated. Fortunately, Nami did eventually relent and agreed through clenched teeth that maybe the townsfolk did need the money.

Luffy had no problems to reconcile on his side, he had somehow already forgiven the attempted murder by the time Zoro pulled him above water.

Nami had set course for some nearby islands with the goal of acquiring a better ship as per Luffy’s request, and after that it didn’t take long for night to come. Nami offered to stay awake to make sure you didn’t go somewhere you weren’t supposed to, which was nice of her.

Getting some sleep sounded nice. At least, it sounded nice in theory. The small boat that you, Luffy, and Zoro were all crammed into didn’t offer much room for stretching out or having personal space. That, and Luffy had chosen to sleep by sprawling across you and Zoro in lieu of a bed. He wasn’t particularly heavy, but he wouldn’t stop moving.

You doubt you had slept for more than a couple of hours before being awoken by Luffy biting your arm, murmuring about meat in his sleep. You awoke with a start and roughly shoved him off of you on instinct. He barely even reacted and simply latched onto Zoro in your absence. Better him than you.

Sleep was unlikely to come to you again tonight. You carefully scoot yourself away from the two, with plans of stargazing until morning. The action didn’t rouse either of them, but it got someone else’s attention.

“Who’s awake?” Nami called out.

“I am, Luffy bit me,” you answered back.

She snickered, humored by your suffering. “Come over here and keep me company,” she yawned, “I’m getting tired.”

Chatting with Nami doesn’t sound like a bad way to pass the time, so you agree and shakily get to your feet. The two boats are tied together to keep them from drifting apart, so the distance isn’t far, but the instability of being at sea made it feel much more challenging than it should be.

Rather than help you by keeping the boat steady or even just offering a hand, Nami merely watched you struggle and didn’t even attempt to hide how funny she found this. Luckily, you were able to get over onto her boat without going overboard.

“You’ve got some great sea legs under you, huh?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

You stumbled over to where she was seated and plopped down next to her, “I hope you know that I’m staying over here now, I’m not doing that again.”

That got a chuckle out of her, “That’s fine, I told you to come keep me company anyways.” The conversation lulled and you glanced over at her. She was focused on mending Luffy’s hat, carefully stitching the holes that had been put in it during his fight with Buggy. You hadn’t even known it had gotten damaged until you saw him fiddling with it after the little disagreement with Nami. It was surprising to see her offer to repair it considering how mad she had been only minutes prior, but Luffy agreed to let her anyway.

“So, I’ve gotta ask: How did you end up with those two?” Nami broke the silence, “You don’t really seem like the type to be a pirate.”

“That’s… It’s a funny story, I guess? A short one, too,” you started. “According to Luffy and Zoro, I fell out of the sky, almost drowned, and when Luffy was pulling me over to their boat I hit my head,” you pointed to the bandages on your head for emphasis. Nami had stopped working on the hat and was instead gawking at you.

“I woke up a little while later, and couldn’t remember a damn thing. Not how I got there, what happened, or even who I was. Luffy got the idea into his head to try and help me remember everything, so now I’m traveling with them for the time being,” you finished the explanation. The whole situation was insane, but it felt good to talk about it a little bit.

“What? When did this happen, how long have you even been with them?”

“Since yesterday. I had only woken up a couple of hours before we got to that island back there,” saying that made you realize how much had happened in such a short period of time. It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.

Nami was visibly horrified by your story. She spared a glance to the other boat, then lowered her voice and spoke to you in a hushed but urgent tone, “How do you know they’re telling the truth?! For all you know, they took you hostage and are hoping to ransom you!”

This was a good point, you had considered the possibility of foul play already, but you couldn’t fully commit to the idea of it. They didn’t seem like bad people to you. Unhinged, yes, but not evil by any means. You mulled over your next words for a minute, “I’ve thought about that, but I think they’re being honest. I mean really, I don’t think Luffy can even lie.” You laughed a little upon remembering the chaos he caused by telling the townspeople about what happened with Mayor Boodle, “Besides, if they were so concerned with getting money from a ransom, why would Luffy have left behind a giant bag of gold? That seems pretty counterintuitive to me.”

Nami still looked unsure, but not as freaked out as she had been. She shot another look at the other boat, a highly suspicious one, but ultimately sighed and went back to working on the hat. “I don’t like that story at all, but I’ll let it go for now,” she muttered.

You fell into another bout of silence. There wasn’t exactly a whole lot to do out here, so you settled for watching her put the finishing touches on the hat. After the last stitch, she pulled the string taut and tied the knot. She cut it and held the straw hat up to her lantern to admire her handiwork. It looked great, she had done an excellent job repairing it.

“I’m guessing Lucky isn’t your real name then?” Once again, she had been the one to speak first.

“It’s not. Since I couldn’t remember it, Luffy came up with the nickname. He decided that I was “lucky” because he rescued me, so that’s how he chose the name.”

Nami scoffed, “I don’t know that I would call you “lucky” for that, but whatever.” She put the hat aside, and glanced at you briefly before choosing to look up at the stars instead. Her fingers drum against the wood of the ship anxiously for a moment, “Um… If you need to get away from them just let me know. I can drop you off at another island. Those idiots can’t navigate so they definitely won’t be able to find you.”

“Thank you, but that’s okay. I think I’ll stick with them for a while yet,” you answered honestly. They were some strange people, but you couldn’t deny that you found yourself liking them already.

“Suit yourself,” she said. Her disdain for the situation was palpable, but she seemed willing to drop it for now.

The only sounds now were the waves splashing against the boats and the wood creaking with each hit. It felt so quiet, unusually so, as if you weren’t used to it. The place you were before all this must have been very noisy if this makes you feel uneasy.

But, this was a good opportunity to think over what happened today. Well, yesterday. Falling out of the sky was weird enough, having basically nothing from before this happened was weirder, but the weirdest thing of all was the note and weapon that seemingly manifested out of nowhere.

What was that? Who left it, and how did they know about your amnesia? If they knew you, why wouldn’t they come and collect you? What is there to gain from throwing a weapon at you and leaving you be?

You have so many questions and zero answers, but there is one question that stands out against all the others.

Who is “A”?

#one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #lucky break #monkey d luffy #luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #nami #buggy the clown #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #nami x reader

489 notes · View notes

hannyoontify · 1 year

Text

an interview with an angel - hong joshua

member | news reporter!joshua x fencer!reader

genre | meet cute, fluff

word count | 2.5k

synopsis | for some people, when they’re in a dire situation, god sends them an angel. for you, he sent you an attractive young man who goes by the name of ‘Joshua’

warnings | cursing, reader has a slight(?) panic attack but shua is an absolute sweetheart, poor flirting bc yours truly doesn’t know how to flirt

notes | inspired by that one scene in ep 6 of twenty five twenty one, not proofread

If you had to explain your current situation in two words, it would be royally fucked.

You’re a newbie, basically a nobody in the fencing world (according to Yu-rim’s kind words) that somehow managed to climb their way into the national fencing team and become a finalist in the Asian Games. No one knows how you did it, but when you first stepped onto the piste for your first match, you had managed to grab the attention of every person in the arena.

You’re a rising star, you realized. As you sit in your train seat and twiddle your thumbs impatiently, you notice more and more people stealing glances towards your direction. You don’t know when you transitioned from a nobody to a rising star, but something told you that qualifying for the national team played a big role in familiarizing your name with the general public. You found yourself slowly sinking into your seat, trying to hide yourself from the prying eyes of passersby, but your bright red fencing bag and your obvious national team jacket didn’t do a good job of keeping you low-profile.

You were a newbie, now a rising star, a rising star that is now royally fucked. After mixing up your fencing bag with another athlete from Singapore, you caught the first train to the station where the athlete and her couch were waiting, swapped bags, and you were now on your way back to Gyeongju. The scheduled arrival time was 1:05 pm, leaving you with plenty of time to go back, warm up, and maybe squeeze in a short interview.

It was now almost 2 pm and you were nowhere near Gyeongju. The train had inched forward maybeonly a few yards and that was an hour ago. You’re usually a calm person, the type to remain calm and composed under any amount of pressure, but today was different. This was your first international competition and you worked so hard to get to where you were now, you were not about to lose your chance to become Yu-rim’s rival because of a stupid delayed train.

You had been contemplating what to do for the past 30 minutes, and just as you finally made up your mind to try and talk to a staff member, the train lurched forward, chugging down the tracks as it picked up momentum.

“We apologize for the inconvenience, we will arrive at Gyeongju Station at 2:10 pm.”

Hearing this made you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you could feel some tension leaving your shoulders. You glanced down at your watch. Your match was supposed to start at 3:00.

You could make it. There was no way in hell you were going to forfeit.

Joshua poked his head out the window and let out a loud groan when he saw the traffic in front of him. There was no way he could stop by SBS’s temporary office and get back to the arena in time. Most roads were closed off for the safety of the athletes participating in the Asian Games, meaning that everyone in the area had to use the same road to get to their destinations. Joshua isn’t usually an impatient person, but he was in a bit of a rush. He was supposed to submit his report for athlete Go Yu-Rim and return to the arena shortly after for his interview with athlete [Name].

He drummed his fingers against the wheel impatiently, checking his watch every 30 seconds out of pure annoyance. And as luck would have it, Joshua saw an incoming call from his fellow reporter, Yoon Jeonghan. Nothing good usually came out of calling with that sly man. Behind every word was a double meaning, and you would find yourself agreeing to anything that he said before you could even process what he was saying.

“SBS News, Joshua Hong speaki-”

“Of course I know it’s you, Hong Jisoo,” the voice on the other line sounded frantic. Panicked. This sent a wave of dread through Joshua’s body. Jeonghan was never frantic. Never. “Seungcheol’s waiting at the train station right now. His train was supposed to arrive an hour ago and I was supposed to pick him up since you were in the middle of a match. But his train got delayed by almost an hour and my event’s about to start- Do you think you can pick him up? He has an event at the same time as you and it won’t start for another hour, right?”

Joshua was at a loss for words. Almost nothing had gone right for him today, from the coffee spill on his work shirt this morning to the traffic mess in front of him and now this. He had to pick up Seungcheol, meaning that he wouldn’t be able to submit his report in time.

No matter. His friend was more important than a dingy old report.

“Sure, I can pick him up,” Joshua replied, already switching the gear of his car to take a left instead of continuing forward.

“Thank the great heavens above, you’re a godsend, Hong Jisoo,” Jeonghan rambled, his voice now sounding more distant as he presumably fumbled through his messenger bag to find his notepad and pen. “I’ll call you after your event is over, we deserve to get a drink after all the shit we went through today.”

“You got that right,” Joshua mumbled under his breath, his cellphone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he tried to maneuver through the cars to get to Gyeongju Station as fast as he could without breaking any traffic laws. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye, Shuji! Talk to you later.”

Once he grunted out a farewell, Joshua turned his attention back to the road as he pressed on the gas. Ten minutes passed quickly, and Joshua found himself running around the train station, looking for his blonde friend. Seungcheol had gotten in a lot of trouble from the company when he had first bleached his hair, saying that it made him look unprofessional and gave him a bad image. Fortunately for Seungcheol, he had two friends who had the best persuasive skills in probably the entire country. Joshua and Jeonghan had vouched for Seungcheol, convincing the head of the sports news that not only was Seungcheol a great reporter who was very thorough when he fact checks but he was also breaking stereotypes about dyed hair and the public’s perception of dyed hair.

Joshua searched the different boarding and disembarking platforms, looking for a familiar head of blonde hair, but it was nowhere to be found. He rested his hands on hips to catch his breath. He was more out of shape than he thought he was. Joshua made a mental note to start working out again regularly when he spotted a blur of bright red that zig-zagged around the big crowds of people.

Joshua almost immediately recognized that red bag. It belonged to you, a rising fencing star that he had been keeping an eye since the qualifiers for the national team. He sensed something from you. Perhaps it was potential, maybe stardom. He didn’t know yet, but he knew from the moment he saw you step onto the piste that you were going to do well.

But what the fuck you were doing here, 50 minutes before your first international game?

The moment you stepped off the train, you bolted through the station, not even sure of where you were going. You just knew you had to get back as soon as possible.

So when a strong hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you, you almost threw a flying kick out of pure frustration. The last thing you needed right now was a fan who wanted an autograph or some stranger who wanted to know why you carried a big red bag on your shoulders. (Yes you’ve gotten that question quite a bit since you were in middle school)

“Excuse me, but I really need to-” You turned around, ready to lash out on whoever was clueless enough to stop you. But instead, you were met with intense, sparkling doe eyes that peered into yours.

“Athlete [Name]? Why are you- Your game starts in less than 50 minutes, follow me!” Joshua grabbed your hand and began pulling you through the train station with amazing speed. If you hadn’t done that training with Coach Yang, you were pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to keep up right now.

Joshua wordlessly grabbed your fencing bag and threw it over his shoulder as he weaved through the big crowd, his hand never losing grip of your wrist. “Excuse me! Please make way! National athlete coming through! Future gold medalist right here, please make way!”

You felt your cheeks warming up at those words. Future gold medalist. You didn’t know who this man was, but did he really think you were good enough to become a gold medalist?

Joshua spotted a blonde head up ahead, but he had far more pressing matters now. Seungcheol raised his hand and greeted the familiar face with a smile. “Shua! You came to pick me up?”

Joshua ran straight past Seungcheol without sparing him a single glance.

Seungcheol pouted, upset that his friend had just completely ignored him until he noticed who Joshua had in tow. The rising fencing star, [Name]. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but Seungcheol decided to let it slide with a quiet chuckle.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you and the mysterious– and frankly attractive–young man ran into the bustling parking lot. Joshua reached into his pocket and fumbled for his car keys and pointed it to a blue, expensive looking car. It beeped back in response to its owner.

“Get in,” Joshua set down your fencing bag in the backseat as you climbed into the passenger seat. You closed your eyes and tried to catch your breath, but your breath came in short gasps.

Joshua busied himself with starting the car engine and was about to tell you to fasten your seatbelt when he noticed that you were shaking. He reached out and held one of your trembling hands in his own.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” When you opened your eyes, you found the same doe eyes from earlier peering into your eyes. Except this time, they weren’t intense and in its place was a certain tenderness in his dark brown eyes that brought you a sense of comfort. “We’re going to get to the arena in 15 minutes, you’re going to warm up for 30 minutes, and you’re going to compete and win, okay? There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be okay.”

You let out a shaky exhale and nodded slightly. “We stopped for almost an hour and I was so- so scared that I would have to forfeit from my first international game and-”

“Breathe, [Name]. Breathe in,” Joshua also took a deep breath in with you so you would feel less embarrassed. “And out. See? You’re okay. You’ll do great today,” He squeezed your hand reassuringly and you gave him a weak smile.

“You think so?”

Joshua smiled back at you. “I know so. Now buckle up, this is going to be a rough ride.”

He wasn’t kidding when he said that it was going to be a rough ride. Your escort was a reckless driver who was also a bit of a dare-devil. You lost count of how many times he almost ran a red light, but considering your dire situation, you didn’t really mind.

“By the way, I never caught your name.”

Joshua glanced over at you and smiled. “Open up the glove compartment. There should be a stack of business cards tied together with a rubber band. That’s my business card.”

You did as he told you to, and pulled out a card amongst the (messy) stack. “Hong Jisoo.. from SBS?”

Joshua flashed you his signature smile. “At your service. Although, I do prefer Joshua over Jisoo.”

“Did you study abroad? I’ve never met a Korean person who goes by an English name,” You said, a skeptical brow raised at the stranger.

“For a while, yes. I studied in America for a couple years and came back 3 years ago when things got a little financially difficult for my family.”

“And SBS? I’ve never heard of SBS before, are you guys new?”

Joshua nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! SBS is a new broadcasting station and my friends and I are here to cover the Asian Games this year.”

“I see…. What sector are you covering?” You asked.

Joshua couldn’t help but laugh at the current situation he was in. “Sorry but, I’m the reporter here but why does it feel like I’m the one getting interviewed?”

“Oh..” You felt heat rising up to your face, your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning a bright shade of red, similar to your fencing bag. His laugh sounded so pretty, you wanted to hear it again. “Would you like to interview me then?”

This made Joshua laugh again, and you smiled at the sound. “Of course,” He lifted a hand up to your face in the shape of a fist, pretending to hold a mic in front of you. “I have two questions for you, Athlete [Name]. This is your first international competition and you’ve made your way to the final. How are you feeling? Did you expect to make it this far?”

You grinned. “I feel honored to be here. I’m still recovering from the shock I was in when I first qualified for the national team. I genuinely can’t believe I’m competing in the finals round of the Asian Games, I still occasionally pinch myself to remind myself that everything is real. It’s been a huge honor competing with every athlete I’ve sparred with and I’m so grateful for all the love and support I’ve been receiving, especially my coaches. I hope to not disappoint them and return the love by winning the gold medal.”

Joshua listened to you intently, occasionally glancing at you whenever he could. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel attracted to you. The natural blush on your cheeks from running, the wind blowing past your hair, and the gentle smile that graced your lips as you talked about how grateful you were to be at such an esteemed competition.

At one point, Joshua was so engrossed in your words and your voice and your face that he almost missed a red light.

“I know I’m attractive but you gotta keep your eyes on the road, buddy,” you joked. When you said that, the last thing you were expecting was for the reporter to agree with you.

“You’re right, that’s my bad,” Joshua grinned at you with that cheshire grin of his. You looked away, a warm glow rising up into your face. “Time for the second question.

“If I asked you out on a date after this, what would your response be?”

You answered almost immediately, your heart in your throat. “My answer would be yes.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

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pisoprano · 1 month

Text

Another Loveybug AU concept, this time with amnesia!

Ladybug’s identity gets exposed to Monarch. She manages to get away, but she knows that she can’t remain as Ladybug or the Guardian anymore. She contacts Su-Han and tells him she has to give up the miracle box.

But before relinquishing anything, Marinette starts playing with her transformation. She finds out that if she focuses on her romantic feelings, it manifests as a different suit, one that she is completely unrecognizable in.

Marinette convinces Su-Han that they can’t afford to get someone else to be the new ladybug, not when Scarabella and Kitty Noire were so easily discovered. She’ll keep the earrings. She just won’t be able to remember her time as Ladybug.

Ladybug goes out in public to face Monarch one last time, this time following in Master Fu’s footsteps to sacrifice her memories to pass on the miracle box (now, returning it back to Su-Han).

A disoriented Marinette finds herself standing before a purple man who wails about losing something. But before she can ask what’s going on, a boy in cat ears takes her in his arms and carries her home. There’s something in his eyes, something she can’t quite place. Sadness? Love? Whatever it is, he doesn’t say. He merely kisses her forehead and says, “Thank you for everything.” And then he’s gone.

Alone in her bedroom, Marinette finds a box with a pair of earrings inside. As she tries them on, she is accosted by a bug-mouse who can talk. ‘Tikki,’ this being calls herself, tells Marinette that she was chosen to inherit the Ladybug mantle. Tikki also says that if Marinette channels her feelings of love, she can become a hero who can protect Paris. Marinette thinks of her love for her boyfriend Adrien (who could ever forget him?), then proclaims “Hearts on!” And suddenly, she’s pink.

She encounters the boy with cat ears again. He tells her that he’ll protect her as she gets used to her powers. She finds herself acclimating far more easily than she thought possible for a clumsy girl like her. (It’s probably a side effect of the super suit.)

She looks up information about her predecessor—apparently Alya was obsessed with cataloging every detail she knew about ‘Ladybug.’ Marinette isn’t entirely sure why she doesn’t remember much about all the months of attacks that have plagued Paris. Maybe that purple man acquired mind erasing powers and Ladybug hadn’t been able to fix it with her miracle cure before she passed on the miraculous?

Tikki tries to inspire her with her own stories of Ladybug. How she’d always try to stand up against the cruelty of the world and fight for kindness. Marinette wasn’t sure how she was supposed to fill the shoes of someone like that. Though apparently Ladybug had been a klutz with a stutter too, so maybe Marinette might not be entirely a hopeless cause.

Alya’s been sad ever since Ladybug went away. Alya had dedicated so much of her life to Ladybug, it made sense she’d miss the superheroine when she’d gone. Marinette tries to get Alya to get invested in reporting about Loveybug, but she doesn’t bite. Alya’s far more interested in making sure Marinette knows how amazing Ladybug was. Even if it makes her sad, Alya clearly needs to reminisce, and Marinette is happy to be there for her.

Adrien’s been sad too, though he seems to cheer up a lot when he’s around her. He’s also gotten really protective. Practically every time an akuma alert goes off, Adrien is sticking Marinette in a closet for her to hide in before running off to his own hiding place. She doesn’t point out that she’d feel more protected if he stayed in the closet with her—she needs to use the time alone to transform. But it’s always nice that she can use the moments where Adrien kisses her goodbye as fuel to use for ‘channeling love’ when transforming into Loveybug.

The boy in the cat ears is different too, at least from how he acted in all those videos. It was incredibly obvious that he was head over heels for Ladybug from the beginning. Marinette doesn’t understand why Ladybug had apparently rejected his advances. He was sweet. And he is still sweet, but when he’s around Loveybug… the light leaves his eyes. She probably reminds him of the partner he lost. She tries to give him space, but that only seems to make him look even more lonely. She tries to cheer him up instead. Make him laugh. It turns out he had a magical laugh. (If she wasn’t already with Adrien, she could see herself falling for the boy in cat ears too.)

Gabriel Agreste sends Adrien away to London. Marinette tries to keep the boy she loves home, but only manages one final kiss goodbye before he is taken away. She doesn’t think she can channel that kiss to becoming Loveybug. Her heart hurts too much.

As Marinette mourns, Tikki finds a box of rainbow cookies somewhere in Marinette’s room. In an attempt to cheer her up, she eats a purple macaron and tells Marinette she’ll provide a cool new power the next time she transforms. Marinette, heart still heavy, says, “Tikki, power up.” Suddenly, she’s weightless. Realizing this power has opened up the entire world to her, she immediately takes to the skies. Adrien. She could now find Adrien!

She searches London for the boy she loves, serendipitously finding him standing on a balcony of a secluded apartment. Adrien stares at her, eyes impossibly wide. “Cosmobug?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

She looks down at the suit she’s wearing for the first time. There aren’t any hearts anywhere. Only spots. She thinks she’s seen a picture of Ladybug wearing a suit very much like this. Maybe this was how all powered-up suits looked?

“I’m Loveybug,” she explains. “I’m here to rescue you!”

Adrien stands there unmoving, like he’s calculating a tough math problem in his head. Finally, he asks, “Marinette?”

She squeaks. “How did you figure me out? I’ve been so careful! Oh no, it’s because I forgot to ‘channel love’ before transforming, isn’t it? It messed with the mask magic, didn’t it? I knew I was going to mess up eventually…”

Adrien put his arms around her. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m really happy I found out your identity.”

Marinette curls in on herself. “Ladybug would be so disappointed in me if she knew…”

Adrien blinks. “You don’t know who Ladybug is?”

“Tikki can’t tell me things like that. She can only talk about how great her old holder was and how much she misses her.” She realizes Adrien probably has no idea what she’s talking about. “Oh! Tikki is—“

“I know who Tikki is,” he says, smiling. “And I think she left out some things. Come inside, I want to show you something.”

Adrien leads her to a mirror. “Try powering down. But this time, don’t do the ‘channeling love’ thing you do to become Loveybug.”

“What do I channel instead?”

“Nothing. Don’t think about it, just let whatever happen happen.”

She closes her eyes takes a deep breath. She tries to forget that Adrien was here with her. She tries to think of nothing, but her mind won’t let her stay on nothing. Instead, it turns towards the boy with the cat ears. The boy she has no business loving. She thinks about how she doesn’t need to be in love with him to want to be his friend. His partner, something inside her whispers. Aloud, she says, “Power down.”

She opens her eyes and sees her reflection. The hearts are still gone. The face, though… “Why do I look like Ladybug?” she whispers.

“Because you are Ladybug,” Adrien tells her.

“That’s not possible.”

“It is. Ladybug gave up her memories to protect the miraculous. But she—you—found a way to stay by Chat Noir’s side anyway.”

By becoming Loveybug. By channeling her love. “Was I in love with him before? Chat Noir?”

“I think so.”

She bites her lip. “Do you think I should return to him?”

“Are you in love with him now?” he asks.

“I… maybe,” she admits. Somehow, even when suppressing her feelings, the boy in cat ears tugged at her heart. But she could also feel a strong tug in another direction. “But I’m in love with you too, Adrien. I don’t want to give us up.”

He smiled, nodding like it was the ‘right’ answer. “You don’t have to, my lady.”

‘My lady.’ She knew those words. Not just from the Ladyblog videos. The term of endearment passing through his lips thrums against her very soul.

“Chat Noir?” she asks, unsure this could be real.

She looks into his eyes. His green eyes. Not quite like a cat’s, but there was a familiarity in the way they moved. In the way those eyes looked at her like she was his entire world.

“Yes. It’s me.”

She has so many questions. But the one that ends up leaving her mouth is, “Why are you still here? You could transform, leave here with no one to stop you.”

Adrien’s mouth falls agape once, then twice as he searches for words. Finally, he shrugs. “I guess I was waiting for someone to rescue me. If you still want to do the honors?”

Well, she hadn’t come all this way for nothing. She lifts him in her arms, every fiber of her straining with the desire to keep this precious boy safe. She still isn’t entirely sure how she’s going to protect him when his father finds out. Maybe Chat Noir could be a more permanent fixture around Paris? And, to make sure he didn’t feel so alone, Loveybug would spend as much time as possible there by his side.

Two of the biggest romantics in Paris, falling for each other… Alya might finally get invested in covering Loveybug now there was juicy relationship gossip to invest in. But Marinette should probably give Alya some closure about what really happened to Ladybug first, even if Alya couldn’t share that information with the rest of the world. Marinette couldn’t wait to see the look on her BFF’s face when she learned that Marinette Dupain Cheng of all people wielded the ladybug miraculous!

Until then, she holds on tight to Adrien Agreste as she flies him home.

At some point, he starts to get cold and she suggests that he transform to get protection from the suit.

His mouth pulls into a cheeky grin. “Plagg, claws out.” His hair turns green.

Wrong catboy! her mind screams, dropping him in a burst of horrifying clumsiness.

He calls up a power-up transformation before he falls into the sea, then flies up beside her. This time, he looks how she knows Chat Noir looks when given the gift of flight, not a green hair in sight. “Did I mention I can also transform into Catwalker?” he asks, feigning innocence (badly).

“No you did not!” she hisses.

“Just thought you should know I’ve got a backup identity too. In case we need it.”

“Do you plan on erasing your memories?”

“No…?”

“Then we don’t need another backup,” she declares. “Adrien and Chat Noir are plenty for me.”

#loveybug au #loveybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #loveynoir #adrienette #my writing #ml season 5 #miraculous ladybug #late night post

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fangsforiris · 3 months

Note

The sakamaki brothers' reaction if ayato and laito started to argue and it gets worse until ayato started to mock laito for what he and cordelia did and laito ended up slaping him.

Sakamaki’s Reaction to Ayato and Laito's Heated Argument

— — — — — — — — — —

Shū (Ririe):

“… He actually went there? Heeh… this will be something…”

▰ At first, he’d stay quiet, unsure of what’s to come. Once it happens… it happens.

▰ Realistically, Shū wouldn’t intervene. This isn’t his problem, nor his mother.

▰ However he will be taken aback that Ayato went to such an extreme.

▰ Especially since the two are the closest out of the brothers.

▰ He’d leave it to Reiji to clear it up. But if he felt as if he had the energy, he’d send a familiar to Laito’s room to give him some of those macarons he likes, or to simply check on him.

Reiji:

“You two, cease this at once! Not only is this highly inappropriate, but also distasteful to all who listens. Apologize, now.”

▰ As the normal voice of reason, even he’d be stunned.

▰ After all, what was he supposed to do? This wasn’t his dillema, nor his trauma.

▰ However, since he does have some sort of maternal instincts towards the brothers, he would be shocked they’d use each-other’s trauma to hurt one another.

▰ This feels like the one thing that was always off limits, so he’d put a stop to it before it escalated into something much larger.

▰ With his own personal experiences with Cordelia and her attraction towards him, he’d take a minute to think if that’s what Shū thought of him, seeing as it wasn’t his fault, and nor did he invite it.

Ayato:

“Y-you… You hit me! You’re just… Tch, whatever…”

▰ I’d assume that whatever the argument was, it had to be large enough to cause Ayato to snap back in such a way.

▰ It isn’t like his character to attack Laito on their shared past, but more so Laito’s trauma.

▰ Especially since he felt immensely guilty for not being able to do more for Laito, and in turn, help him.

Kanato:

“You two… You two can’t… This is not right…”

▰ Since Kanato also holds guilt for knowing what happened to Laito, but not saying anything to help him, like Ayato, he would be star struck here.

▰ As in, a loss for words.

▰ After all, even he wouldn’t go as far as to bring it up. Not when his guilt overrides it.

▰ Since they both are his blood siblings, he’d try his best to deescalate the situation. But with his own traumas and mental fragility, I don’t see him doing much to help.

▰ He’d bring Laito something to cool down, like sweets and treats he may like. But for Ayato he’d leave it at that and hope it all goes away.

Laito:

“You had no right… none at all… to say that! You don’t know anything. So just pretend to not see, just like last time.”

▰ He’s be hurt. Scratch that, upset.

▰ It’s like his entire facade cracked in an instant. The one he’d so carefully curated over the years to cope with what’s been done to him.

▰ And for Ayato, his closest brother, to make fun of it? That was like applying salt in the wound.

▰ He’d get incredibly defensive, and quick too. Think of his reaction in the Shū VS Laito CD, when Shū called him out on his persona and facade.

Subaru:

“I… What the fuck…?”

▰ Subaru would just be off to the corner and in shock.

▰ I mean, didn’t Cordelia affect all of them? So why would Ayato do that..?

▰ He wouldn’t intervene, he knows his place and wouldn’t get into something that doesn’t concern him, lest he becomes the new target.

▰ But since he does have a bit of morality, he’d feel bad for Laito, and perhaps disappointed that Ayato would entertain it.

▰ He wouldn’t do anything, but if he needed to, he would deescalate the situation by prying the two off each other. Maybe afterwards, he’d sneak a bouquet of white roses to Laito’s room. Just maybe.

#ask reply #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diabolik lovers reactions #laito sakamaki centric #ayato sakamaki centric #shuu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #laito sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki

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seaofgoldensand · 4 months

Note

we need to have an in-depth discussion about rafayel definitely having a scent kink. “try and smell something i’m familiar with? which means i should sniff you, yeah?” IS THIS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS OFTEN? SIR????

the way his voice gets deeper and his breathing gets heavier? and the fabric rustling in the background? is he supposed to be grinding into you while doing ALL THAT?? and his “yeah”s?? this man is definitely a talker oh my goddd. i’m definitely not thinking about the way he’ll talk you through it right now. good thing he didn’t call us a good girl in this one because i fear i would’ve spontaneously combusted.

this isn’t funny anymore i need him inside me. or maybe i need to be taken out back and shot, i’m not picky

he is a fucking talker, he will guide you through everything and just. he definitely has a scent kink but the WHOLE FACT BOTH HIM AND MC ARE BLINDFOLDED TOO??? excuse me, sensory deprivation a whole ass thing.

NO BUT NONNIE FOR FUCKING REAL the way his voice drops when the aphrodisiac hits??? the heavy breathing??? the way he just "so... much... more" and LIKE IM NOT ABOUT TO LISTEN TO THIS AUDIO AGAIN WHEN I GET HOME just to make a whole long horny ass post again like the time i was just looking for a damn part in his god of tides myth and got ATTACKED BY HIS SMIRK when i paused.

*screaming into the fucking void* yeah?

i'm STILL MELTING at "if you're scared you can cling onto me but i'm not gonna stop" *INHALES* boi.

if he had called us good girl or anything equivalent to ANY FUCKING PRAISE i wouldve fucking COMBUSTED, IMPLODED. YOU NAME IT. that voice? praising you?

i need this man carnally and if i were to speak of the thoughts in my head right now— i shall nOT

#im afraid the thoughts #what if i indulge #what if i- no #im completely sane for that fish boi #COMPLETELY. UTTERLY SANE.#rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lnd #lnds #l&ds #lads #also like #FR HOW TF IS THIS GAME RATED 12 AND UP????

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Something wasn’t right with the consistency of the batter.

Eddie had triple checked the recipe on the notecard in front of him and it was still wrong.

He tried not to cry out of frustration, but his eyes were stinging and he felt a lump in his throat anyways.

He was in charge of this one tiny thing for Steve’s surprise birthday party. It’s literally all he was asked to do: bake the cake.

He’d gotten the recipe for Steve’s favorite from Claudia at his own insistence that he could definitely handle it and it couldn’t be that hard.

Apparently he couldn’t and it was.

The batter was extremely water-y, definitely not thick like the recipe said it should be. It also was more of a tan color than a brown color, but that wasn’t even something Eddie could be worried about right now.

He was supposed to be done with it 20 minutes ago. Steve would be home from work in 30, and there was no way this would be baked and hidden and cleaned up in that time.

He’d fucked everything up.

What a surprise.

He poured the batter into the cake pan, resisting the urge to just pour it in the trash.

He had to see this through even if it did end up being the failure he expected it to be.

He’d call Claudia while Steve was in the shower if he had to; She was already prepared to help if needed.

He put the cake in the oven and waited.

He watched the timer slowly click down and the clock slowly approach the time Steve would be walking in the door.

He could always just say he wanted to try a new hobby. Steve always said he needed a hobby just for him to do alone. All his hobbies usually involved the kids or his band.

Baking could be a hobby. Probably not though since he couldn’t even get cake batter right.

He was startled by the front door opening.

Fuck.

“You’re early!” Eddie yelled as he tried to hide the recipe card, as if the rest of the mess wouldn’t give away exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah. Robin didn’t need a ride tonight.”

Steve’s voice was closer to the kitchen with every word he spoke and Eddie was going through either a panic attack or an aneurysm.

Maybe both?

And then Steve was standing in the kitchen, hands on his hips, suspicion written clear across his face.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Yeah, that’s good. Act normal. Greet him like you always do. There’s definitely nothing baking in the oven. There’s no dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter and…is that a mixing spoon on the floor? God, he’s a mess.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Steve snorted, amusement taking over instead of suspicion.

“Okay, but this looks like a big mess for nothing.”

Eddie watched as Steve walked behind the counter and took in the rest of the mess.

Dustin and Robin would be so pissed at him for ruining the surprise.

“Just felt like trying my hand at something new.”

“Uh huh. And that something new involves making every dish in the kitchen dirty?”

“It was a test.”

“A test.”

“Yeah. Just making sure everything works.”

Steve nodded once and then turned to Eddie with a smirk.

“Did you make me a birthday cake for my surprise party?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. How the fuck did he know about the party?

“What do you mean?”

“The surprise party that I definitely don’t know anything about but is taking place tomorrow at the Henderson home. I’m assuming this is what you’re in charge of.”

“How did you find out? I was so careful. God, Dustin’s gonna kill me. Robin’s gonna kill me a second, bloodier time. I couldn’t make the cake right, I couldn’t keep anything a secret, now the surprise is ruined and-“

Eddie was cut off by soft lips on his.

When Steve pulled away, he was smiling.

“I love you.”

“I love you too?”

“You didn’t ruin the surprise at all. Dustin did three days ago. He doesn’t know he did though, so please don’t tell him.”

“What?! That shithead threatened my LIFE.”

“I figured.”

“Well, the cake isn’t gonna be right anyways. I fucked it up.”

“Did you add flour?”

Eddie looked at the counter where all of his ingredients were still scattered.

“Uh. Is flour one of those?” He pointed at the sugar and powdered sugar containers.

Steve looked at them, then back at Eddie, then at the oven.

“Let’s get that one out and start over.”

“I knew it! I knew it wasn’t gonna be right! I’m so fucking stupid. I swear to you I followed the recipe perfectly!”

“Baby, it’s okay. It’s just a cake. You did kinda miss the most important part, but we can make a new one.”

“You can’t make your own cake! It’s a surprise party!”

Steve chuckled. “It’s not a surprise anymore. And it’ll be fun.”

It would be fun to see Steve in an apron, mixing ingredients together, getting flour on his nose.

Hm.

“Fine. But if anyone asks, I got it right the first time, and Claudia is in charge next year.”

“Deal.”

Steve sealed it with a kiss, and quickly started washing the dishes.

Their cake turned out perfect and Dustin was so impressed that Eddie not only managed to keep the party a secret, but also make a perfect cake, he told him he could be in charge of next year’s party altogether.

Eddie smirked but went along with it.

Steve never had a surprise party again. Eddie got his help making the cake every year.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tumblr drabbles #stranger things #domestic fluff #baking is a love language to me #I believe that this is actually canon and just happens off screen in season 5 when everyone is alive and well

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someforeignband · 9 months

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there's red & green everywhere (but i'm so blue) WC: 1.8k this is for all the christmas haters who have partners that are christmas lovers

Theoretically, Eddie should hate Christmas. It’s an amalgamation of everything he stands against, from organized religious celebration to conformism to capitalist gift-buying bullshit.

And, it’s not like Steve hates Christmas. It wasn’t like that, he swears it’s not. But, this year he didn’t even bother pulling decorations from storage because he knew his parents weren’t coming home.

And that was that, the garland and tree and mistletoe could stay boxed up in the garage. Steve wouldn’t have to worry about breaking his back to decorate the house. He had a partner that not only loved him, but liked him, so he didn't have to worry about impressing someone with unrealistic expectations of him.

For the first Christmas ever, Steve was without obligations.

Christmas might, for once, not be a massive disappointment if he didn’t spend the next few weeks building up excitement for something that would never happen.

It should’ve all been fine and dandy, should’ve been good. Steve could rest easy knowing there wasn’t anything he had to do in preparation for the holiday season.

But, to Steve’s absolute shock and horror: Eddie Munson loves Christmas.

Eddie loves Christmas in a way that he actually owns a copy of Frank Sinatra's Christmas album on tape and apparently keeps it in his car year round. Eddie loves Christmas in a way that means he has a whole box of recipes reserved just for the Christmas season. He loves Christmas in a way that means that he goes all in, just like he does with anything else Eddie loved.

The Munsons love Christmas in a way that means that Eddie and Wayne have a massive advent calendar that they take time every day to open. The Munsons love Christmas in a way that means that there’s VHS tapes of A Charlie Brown Christmas and It’s A Wonderful Life sitting out just begging to be watched.

Eddie Munson loves Christmas.

So much so, that it pretty much looks like Santa and his Elves exploded all over the northeast corner of Forest Hills Trailer Park.

“Holy shit, Ed,” Steve shakes his head, looking around the trailer in disbelief. “This is crazy.”

“Isn’t it incredible!” Eddie grins, unwrapping another string of multi-colored lights.

“It’s-uh...” Steve stammers, trailing off, sort of dumbfounded by the insane amount of holiday cheer.

Not that he cared that Eddie loved Christmas. It was nice, actually, to see him so excited about something so... normal. Maybe this was a minor re-direction of the current timeline. No biggie.

Except that Steve supposed he’d have to rethink just about everything regarding the upcoming holidays. There’d have to be gift buying, and event planning, and meal prepping, and cleaning, and all of this pressure to do things he's not good at.

He's never been good at holidays, or gifts, or family, or love, or any of that stuff that comes with this time of year.

"Wayne needs some help outside with the lights, he's too old to be up on the ladder." Eddie calls over his shoulder, having migrated across the trailer to top the tree with an angel.

"Do you mind helping him out?"

"Oh-uh... No, no not at all. I got it." Steve murmurs, backing toward the door, still reeling from seeing Eddie like this.

Wayne greets him outside, smiling, nose red from the early December air.

"He's serious?" Is all Steve can say, exasperated, breath fogging up in front of him.

"As a heart attack, son," Wayne shrugs, grinning. "The kid loves Christmas." "Oh, no, yeah," Steve barks out. "I got that much."

"He's a little intense," Wayne chuckles.

"Got that, too," Steve laughs.

"I think he gets that from his momma," Wayne shrugs.

Steve moves toward the pile of lights and begins untangling. He's still in a near-trance, thoughts swirling, trying to figure out what this meant for Eddie, what this meant for their relationship-

"Don't work too hard over there, boy," Wayne chuckles, plugging a string of lights into an extension cord.

"Oh, I wasn't, I'm just-"

"C'mere," Wayne beckons him over, pointing at the painter's ladder leaned up against the side of the trailer. "Eddie'll lose his mind if I get up there." And so they go about hanging lights, and Steve's so focused on the fact that Eddie likes Christmas to even recognize that he was on a rickety old ladder, that it was higher than he was probably comfortable with, or even that it was cold.

Eddie likes Christmas.

He climbs down from the ladder, shoving hands in his pockets, just looking at Wayne, whose brows were furrowed, mouth all tensed up like he was trying not to cough or something.

"All done," Steve offers, brightly, slapping on a smile.

He's trying, alright. But, the imminent Eddie likes Christmas won't stop screaming at him, like it's a box he can't check.

"You okay, son?" Wayne asks, and it's like all the air gets sucked out of Steve's lungs.

"I don't think I can do Christmas like Eddie does," He confesses before he can stop himself, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Wayne laughs, shaking his head, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Nobody does Christmas the way Eddie does."

Wayne was entirely too unserious for the situation at hand and was obviously not understanding what Steve was saying.

"I've never really liked Christmas," Steve says quietly, like it's a secret, like he's afraid Eddie will hear. "I just don't want to disappoint him."

Wayne stops laughing, blinking a few times. "Oh, Steve, it's not that big'a deal."

"I didn't even plan on getting him a gift, I didn't even know we were celebrating Christmas, I thought he would hate it."

"Steve," Wayne cuts him off, placing his other hand on Steve's shoulder. "Eddie doesn't care about any of that."

Steve shrugs his hands off, shaking his head. "I just wish I would've known so I could better prepare."

"Prepare for what exactly?" Wayne asks, wetting his lips.

"So I'd do all the things he needs me to do to make Christmas special, you know? Ugly sweaters and presents and baked goods and all of that Christmas crap."

Wayne's eyes flicker downwards, like he's thinking something he's not saying.

"You wish you could've better prepared? To what? Pretend to be somebody you're not?"

"Well," Steve groans. "Don't say it like that."

"Son," Wayne sighs, and his hand is back on Steve's shoulder again. "The most important part of Christmas for Eddie is being with the people he loves. You are what makes Christmas special for him."

It takes everything inside Steve to not roll his eyes, it would be like Wayne to give him the 'Christmas is about love and family' bullshit. From the way it looked inside that damn trailer, like the North Pole had suddenly relocated to Hawkins Indiana, Steve had a snowball's chance in hell of making Eddie's Christmas special.

"The most important present Eddie will get this year is you spending Christmas with us," Wayne presses further.

And this time, Steve can't help it. He feels his eyes roll, ever so slightly. He sighs, giving Wayne a defeated shrug because this guy can not be serious. Did they see the same Eddie inside throwing fistfuls of tinsel onto every free surface?

But, before he can get into all of that, the front door to the trailer is slamming open and Eddie's skipping around all excited, looking at the lights.

God, Steve felt like shit.

"Look, kid," Wayne tries one more time, squeezing Steve's shoulder, pulling his attention back to the task at hand. "Eddie loves Christmas because it helps him be close to the people he loves. Don't go off trying to be somebody else for him, that would ruin the whole damn point."

That would ruin the whole damn point.

"They look so good, you guys!" Eddie grins, feet crunching over frozen leaves as he trots over to Steve and Wayne.

"And, I didn't get on the ladder even once," Wayne grins, eyes flicking between Steve and his nephew.

Something in the middle of Steve's chest tugs, painful but good, like rubbing out a sore muscle or itching at a sunburn.

"I wouldn't let him," Steve offers, end of his mouth twitching up into a soft smile.

"I knew I could trust you," Eddie grins, dimples on full display, cheeks already going red from the winter Indiana air.

Wayne waves a hand, feigning frustration, scoffing. "You both act like I'm a sneeze away from the grave. I'm goin' inside."

He storms away, but Steve knew he wasn't actually upset. His shoulders were shaking in silent laughter as he trudged toward the trailer's front door.

The door slams, and Steve feels Eddie's hand just barely grace his own. They stood a respectable distance apart. Steve's hand tingles from the featherlight touch, and his stomach flutters, watching Eddie look over his shoulder at the lights.

"Thanks for helping him," Eddie whispers, eyes bright and full of pure happiness. "He makes me so damn nervous on that stupid ladder."

Steve nods and a gust of wind makes him shiver, cutting right through him. It was damn cold out, and yet he hadn't noticed.

"Come inside, bug," Eddie gives his hand a quick squeeze. "It's gonna start to snow."

Steve looks up, and almost serendipitously a frozen flake hits his nose.

"Oh," He whispers, wiping his forehead.

Eddie giggles, "C'mon, baby. I was gonna make us some cocoa." He pats Steve's arm gently, nodding towards the trailer.

"I even bought a real gallon of milk for it! No powdered shit."

There's that feeling again, like cracking your knuckles or ripping off a bandaid.

The most important present Eddie will get this year is you spending Christmas with us.

Steve sighs, feeling another flake hit his ear, then another, and then another. He looks at the lights he just spent the better part of the last couple hours hanging, a few of them didn't light up fully, blinking dull and slow.

"Coming," He says, feeling the frozen leaves and grass crumbling under his steps. Eddie's holding the door open for him, grinning ear to ear at him like he was the one who put the angel at the top of the tree.

He picks up his pace, knocking his hip against Eddie's as he shuffles through the door of the Munson's trailer.

You are what makes Christmas special for him.

"I love you," Steve breathes, quiet and hesitant, as soon as the front door closes.

It feels weird, the warm lighting, the smell of hot cocoa on the stove, the Frank Sinatra Christmas album playing in the background.

Sunburns heal. Sore muscles get stretched out. Ripping a bandaid off only hurts for a second, and sometimes you have to crack your knuckles, so your fingers will feel better.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Eddie responds easily, without obligation.

For the first Christmas ever, Eddie had Steve. For the first Christmas ever, Steve was without obligation.

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cherryblossom-heart · 2 years

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Can I call you her name? (One-Shot S.R)

Steve Rogers x Reader

Masterlist

Summary:Scenes of how your relationship with Steve began, how he won your heart and how he broke it.

What good is love when it only hurts you? 12.6 k words

Content Warning: Angst, heartbreak, Friends with benefits? (Steve gives mixed signs), mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Oral f receiver, penetrative sex, slight mentions of oral sex m receiver, slight mentions of rough sex, Steve has a big dick.) Steve is also a dick, fluff but in the deceptive way. A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here. Part 2 is already out.

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

Steve Rogers isn’t like any other man you’ve met before.

The friendly, charismatic, innocent persona the public eye knows was your first impression of him. It would be hard to think of him otherwise when the media couldn’t stop talking about how brave and kind he is.

Maybe that's what brought you towards him in the first place. The good, nice, and kind Steve Rogers that wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Steve Rogers is good.

Just not in the way everyone thinks.

He is good at making you scream his name. He is good at wrecking you, destroying every sense of reality you have when you’re below him. He is good at making you crave him, ruining you, making sure no one else can ever compare to him. He is good at fucking you.

Not just good. Great, excellent, magnificent, or any other exaggerated positive adjective you could think of. He is all that and more.

Unfortunately, he is also good at breaking your heart.

Great, excellent, magnificent.

You still remember the first time you saw him. It was really embarrassing.

You were a new intern for an advertising company. It was your first week on the job, and you were already helping with big accounts, even if it just meant bringing coffee and delivering documents. You were more than grateful for it. Well, if anything, you had to be grateful to your coworker Jenna and her severe case of flu that had infected almost every publicist available on your floor. With everyone else out, you were thrown off of the bench. You were excited. This was your moment, and no one could take it away from you.

How naïve had you been.

One of the big accounts you ended up working on turned out to be none other than Tony Stark himself, and therefore, The Avengers were part of the deal as well. You can still remember how nervous you were when you first read the names on the paperwork you were supposed to deliver in an hour. Heart racing, sweaty palms and even a slight trembling of the hands were invading you.

Who could blame you? You were about to meet Earth's mightiest heroes.

Well, you weren’t exactly expecting to meet them. With you being the "errand girl" you thought you would be lucky if you even caught a glance of any of them, let alone actually get to talk to them. You might not get to meet them, but being in the same building as them was enough to make your stomach tight with nervousness.

With your foot tapping on the floor, papers on one hand and an iced-coffee tray on the other, you were waiting patiently for the elevator to reach the twenty-first floor. You had memorized the instructions your seniors had given you. Reach the office in the back, leave the documents and coffee, and get out of there. They didn’t need the newbie to freak out around celebrities, they didn’t trust you were able to control yourself even if you had assured them a thousand times you could handle it.

As the elevator doors opened, your heart rate significantly increased. You could’ve sworn you were about to have a heart attack. You silently cursed at the fact that you had to cross the whole floor to get to your destination while trying to remind yourself that you had to be professional, not only for the sake of your career but for the sake of your dignity.

Ironic. Maybe if you hadn't been so nervous, you would’ve noticed how quickly everyone was moving in the office. Perhaps you would’ve also noticed how someone was walking out of the same room you were trying to get into, the door swinging open so quickly you didn't have time to stop the inevitable clash.

The coffee that landed on the ground made the floor slippery. In an almost cartoonish way, you fought to maintain balance, failing miserably as you landed on your ass. You opened your eyes, not realizing you'd even closed them, and saw the folder you were holding mere seconds ago was now resting on top of the brown liquid. The stain was growing around the edges so rapidly that it felt almost taunting. Your hands launched forward, trying to save what's left of the important documentation you were supposed to deliver. Your effort, while admirable, was futile.

"God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?" A deep voice said. Your head snapped so quickly it wouldn’t have surprised you if you pulled out a muscle. You recognized that voice.

Captain America, in all his glory, was standing in front of you. For some reason, you thought the first time you would meet Steve Rogers, he would look like the pictures you’ve seen in the press. A tactical suit, a shield in one hand, and a serious expression were the mental images you had of him. But, sitting on the floor in a puddle of coffee and ice, the man you saw was completely different. His white T-shirt and black sweatpants made a huge contrast with what you expected, also making you realize how ridiculous it was for you to be surprised by his outfit. He was a hero, but he was still just a guy.

A guy that looked incredibly hot just wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants.

You’ve seen this scenario played out a thousand times in movies and shows. The first meeting of a couple of strangers occurs when they are carrying something and, by pure chance, they crash together. Food, papers, and belongings fly across the room. Eyes connect, hearts beat, and a new romance is born.

What they failed to mention is how fucking embarrassing it was in real life.

"Yeah. I-I’m okay." Of course, you would stutter the first time talking to Captain America. God, everyone was right. You definitely couldn’t keep your cool.

"You sure? I didn’t even see you. I’m so sorry," he apologized again.

With his help, you managed to get up from the floor, trying to ignore how his touch made your heart flutter. You were glad he was holding you when your heels slipped on the floor again, but a strong hand grabbed you before you embarrassed yourself any further. That same hand traveled down to your waist, his grip guided you to a surface that was not a danger to your stability.

Once you were sure you wouldn't fall on your ass again at the slightest movement, you took out your heels. His hand still helped you, lingering there until you were done with your task. The warmth that came with his touch disappeared, a slight disappointment settled in you, and your cheeks heated up at your own reaction. Could someone cringe at themselves so hard it could make you combust?

You looked at him, trying to make a funny comeback, a sarcastic comment about the situation. Anything that would make you look less pathetic than you were, but you couldn’t. The bluest eyes you’ve ever seen were looking at you. No, they were burning you. You couldn’t move. You couldn't talk. Hell, you weren’t even sure you were breathing.

"What the hell happened here?"

Your boss's voice cut through the environment, grounding you back to reality. This was when you took a chance by looking around you. Everyone's eyes were on you. Your eyes began to sting, tears fighting to stream down your face. But you endured. You breathed in, you counted, and you apologized.

"I’m so sorry. I was trying to get into the room, but I didn’t see him, and I crashed into him." If your boss was upset before, now she was furious at you. A plethora of passive-aggressive insults were thrown in your direction, maybe even the words incompetent and useless too. You could also hear his deep voice trying to explain the situation, but you didn’t really care now. You thanked your ability to tune out situations like this, a skill you had learned to love once you entered the work field.

"She should’ve been paying more attention. And look at your clothes. I’ll make sure someone takes care of that." You were able to hear. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of his now coffee-stained clothes.

You were definitely getting fired.

"She’ll pay for the dry cleaning."

Great, fired and in debt already.

"Look, you don’t have to do that," he said, tired of arguing with the stubborn woman. "It was an accident. An accident I caused. It wasn’t her fault, so stop trying to pin it down on her." You didn’t miss the authoritative tone in his voice, making you wonder if this is what he sounded like in missions.

Or in bed.

"Let me show you somewhere you can get changed." he offered. The sweet tone of his voice had a direct impact on your heart. You gave him a shy nod, letting him guide you towards the elevator.

Unfortunately, the ride was long. So long that you thought time had somehow screwed you over and decided to slow down. You needed a moment alone, a moment to cry and scream into your fist, curse at your boss, at life, even at the gorgeous man that was standing next to you. And maybe get drunk. That usually helps.

The blue-eyed soldier cleared his throat, making you look at him. "Sorry about that whole thing with your boss."

You gave him a simple shrug. "She’s a dick."

The bluntness of your words makes him laugh. As if your crush on him couldn’t get any more evident, a big smile plastered on your face, butterflies invaded your stomach. The first time you made him laugh, and it had only taken some public embarrassment and ruining your professional career.

"I’m Steve Rogers, by the way." He extended a greeting hand to you.

Without any hesitation, you grabbed it. The urgency was slightly mortifying, but with all things considered, you didn’t really have much to lose. You told him your name, making sure this time you didn’t stutter.

"Nice meeting you," he said, a charming smile in his lips. "You think you’ll be in trouble?"

The innocence in his question was amusing. He clearly has never seen the end of a corporate job.

"She’ll probably fire me."

A week in and you would already have to go job hunting again. And now you had the biggest stain on your resume, you had basically ruined some of your clients’ belongings. Your coworkers were never going to let you live this one down.

While you wallowed in your own self-pity, Steve’s hand brought you back to reality. A comforting touch on your shoulder and a friendly expression met your eyes.

"Not if I have anything to do with it." He winked.

Steve Rogers is a good man. You thought to yourself.

You had severely underestimated how helpful Steve would be. You thought he was just going to help you keep your job and give you enough time to look for another one, as your boss seemed to be bothered by every little thing you did.

What you didn’t expect was for him to request to work directly with you.

When you asked for an explanation, your coworker only gave you an uninterested shrug.

"He told Madelyn he wouldn’t work with anyone else other than you."

Of course, your boss wouldn’t let you enjoy this bit of sunshine you had. She had planned to give you the hardest tasks to complete, adding more and more pressure to see you bend until you snapped. And you had to tend to every request she had, not because you wanted to, but because you had to show her you weren’t going to quit. The only silver lining to this unspoken war between you two was how often you got to see Steve.

Steve Rogers.

The man who had made himself a place in your heart in just a few months.

You could’ve gotten over it if he was just attractive, a pretty face to look at while you were working. Something superficial you lusted after. Yes, it was wrong to want to fuck one of your clients, but again, who could blame you? Worse things have happened in the world. Once the initial star-struck phase passed by, moving on would be as easy as breathing.

The problem was, he wasn’t just a pretty face.

Meeting after meeting, a handshake, a smile, a laugh that burst through his chest, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, small things that built a foundation in you one by one.

Work meetings turned into texting, that turned into phone calls, that turned into visiting each other in your free time.

You could talk to Steve for hours. There was no space for silence when you two were in the same room. You knew his favorite ice cream, how he ordered coffee, his favorite place around the corner that served the best pancakes he had ever tasted, and how he liked to run in the mornings just before the sun starts rising, so when he’s finishing his first lap, he could see it. A beautiful motivation to keep going, he said. At this point, you were sure you could fact check his Wikipedia page without having to ask him a single question.

However, one particular secret lingered in your mind.

When Steve revealed to you that he had an ex-girlfriend, you couldn’t help but be surprised. You were sure no one knew about it, or else you would’ve heard about it. It was a mystery to you how he had kept it hidden from the public for so long.

"So, you’re telling me you had a relationship for years and no one noticed?" You asked incredulously. You were leaned back on the couch of your apartment, your legs spaced across his lap, his hands ever so slightly brushing your skin.

"I’m good at keeping secrets," he says with a smirk.

He took a sip of the beer you had so kindly offered him. You had bought them specially for him. You didn’t even like beer.

"It appears so," you said, with a chuckle. "So, why you guys break up?"

He froze for a moment, and you saw it. A range of emotions ran through his eyes. Sadness, heartbreak, longing, love.

He was still in love with her.

It should’ve been the first sign to stay away from him.

"She didn’t love me anymore."

To your surprise, you weren’t the one that made the first move.

It was a Saturday evening. The sunset was getting closer by the minute. A ding diverted your attention from the rom-com you were watching. It was him. Your heart almost beat out of your chest when you saw the notification light up your screen.

Hey, I’m finally back.

A wide grin plastered on your face, your teeth grabbing your lower lip. You were glad you live alone, or else they could’ve seen how this man, with just four words, had made you giggle like a schoolgirl.

You waited a couple of minutes before you texted back.

Hey there stranger. I’ve missed you so much. How was the trip?

His lack of response didn’t surprise you, he was probably tired from his trip to who knows where. A little over a month had passed since you last talked, with him telling you he wouldn’t be available for a while as he had to go on a mission. To say you were unhappy with the news would be an understatement. But you understand his line of work. His world won’t stop spinning just because a silly publicist has an unrequited crush on him.

Days turned to weeks, and without notice, it had been a month since he was gone. He left a void in your life that you were filling with work, friends, and copious amounts of food and alcohol. Not the best way to distract yourself, but effective, nonetheless.

Standing up to get another can of soda you heard your phone ringing. His ringtone.

You weren’t expecting a phone call so soon after his return, not after him texting you just twenty minutes ago. With a quick pace you crossed your kitchen, answering your phone at the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi." His voice was shaky, hesitant. "I, um. Are you free right now?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. You weren’t even dressed. What is this?

"Yeah. Why?"

"You wanna go out?"

What the fuck?

“Right now?” you managed to spit the words.

“Yeah”

"Didn’t you just got back today?" you asked, walking towards your closet to look for something decent to wear. Again, a big relief that you lived by yourself. Dealing with someone else looking at you making a fool of yourself would be exhausting.

"Yeah, I don’t know. I just want to hang out with you."

The first place he took you was an old dingy dinner in Brooklyn, close to where he had grown up in the 40’s. The food was mediocre, the service could be better, but the company was the best. After both of you had eaten your soggy fries and your melted milkshakes, he took you on a walk. The longest one in your life. He gave you a whole tour, comparing what used to be and what there is now, the alleys he had gotten beaten up, where he had gotten his first kiss. He shared his past with you, and you absorbed every little word he said, every piece of himself he gave you.

Following that, you walked aimlessly through the streets of New York until you reached a familiar nightclub you were working for. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him towards the entrance. When he asked for an explanation, you told him your intentions, to which he started to fight back on your pull.

"Come on, Steve, when was the last time you danced?" You said with a pout, as if that could help your case.

His eyes fell for a second, a painful memory invaded him.

"A long time ago," he whispered.

He was thinking about her.

After a few more minutes of begging and pouting, he finally gave in. Your little jump of happiness made him chuckle, and your grip on his hand got tighter. When you got through to the bouncer, you told him you worked for your PR firm, and after a few minutes on the phone, he let you in with a friendly smile.

The place was packed, the music was deafening, people dancing surrounded you. It smelled like alcohol, sweat, and trouble.

Steves' hands wrapped you, the shots you had ordered a few moments ago were invading your system. Your hips swayed side to side as his hands traveled down your body, gripping you tightly. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hit the back of your neck. No one else around you mattered. In this crowded, tight place, it was just you and him.

It was a perfect first date.

Except it wasn’t a date at all.

And that made you so angry.

You had noticed how his gaze lingered on you longer than it should, the way his hugs were tighter and he seemed to not want to let you go, how his hand had brushed yours when walking through the dark streets of Brooklyn, the way his hands would travel down your body.

At the same time, you had also noticed how he would step away from you when any sort of romantic ambiance would fall over you, the way his eyes would drift away from yours when you looked him in the eyes, the way he changed subjects when you asked him if he had any interest in going on dates.

Yet, no matter how many mixed signals he gave you, you would never make the first move. Not only would it be awkward at work (which should have been enough to discourage you), but the thought of losing him because you misinterpreted him was too painful to bear.

Six months was enough for him to become a vital part of your life, and if it were ripped from you in such an unexpected way, you wouldn’t know how you could move on. How could you forget what it felt like to have Steve Rogers in your kitchen, cooking whatever recipe he had found online, so you could have something to eat while watching a movie? How could you forget the way his eyes would shut, his head would roll back, and a hand would make its way to his chest when he found something hilarious?

You could do just being "friends" with the guy. "Friends" was good. "Friends" was bearable.

Except friends didn’t spin you around, their hands lowering down your lower back. Or raise your face, their thumb brushing over your lips. Or gave you a look that could make you combust right there on the spot, making you forget how to breathe.

Friends definitely didn’t come close to your face, their lips brushing yours and your hands grabbing on to their shirt.

Friends didn’t kiss.

You were in the club one minute, and the next you were in your house. On your bed. With a shirtless Steve on top of you.

Your clothes disappeared. Your lace panties and your flimsy bralette were the only things covering your body. His hands were touching you, all of you. Exploring every inch of your skin while his lips were devouring yours. He knew what he was doing. He was making you crave him. Beg him to fuck you.

His hand finally reached your underwear, a finger trailing up and down your covered slit. A very large wet spot, visible even through the lace, made Steve smirk smugly.

"So wet for me," he whispered in your ear. You tried to reply, but his fingers started trailing circles around your little bundle of nerves. All you could muster was a loud moan. "You like that, baby?"

Your lack of an answer made him accelerate his pace. Your head jerked back at the overwhelming sensation. He’s not even really touching you; the sensation of the dripping lace added to your pleasure, but you could tell he could make you cum just like this.

"Answer me. Use your words, sweetheart." His voice was deep, raspy, and commanding. You were right, he did use the same tone.

"Y-yes" you mustered. His lips clashed against yours, his tongue finding its way to yours. Even in your pleasure haziness, you could see how much he liked how difficult it was for you to answer. He enjoyed how good he was making you feel.

Lowering his kisses again, he trailed down to your breasts, taking his time to lightly bite one of your nipples. The sensation should have hurt, but instead it brought added pleasure, making you arch your back.

He brought himself fully down, his head between your legs. You felt his hands helping you get rid of your underwear, the piece of fabric completely soaked. Looking down, you felt like you could faint. The sight of him between your legs could only be described as beautiful.

Steve’s face got close to your soaked pussy, inhaling your scent. He looked at you. The burning gaze he had always given you was different, more intense, darker, lustful. Your most inappropriate fantasies were turning into reality. All those nights you had spent with your fingers between your legs, imagining it was him was no longer a sensuous fiction you created in your mind. He was here, right now, about to eat you out.

"God, you’re perfect," he whispered.

His tongue drew a line coursing between your folds. He was such a tease. Lick after lick, your impatience was growing; you needed him to stop playing games. Your hands traveled to his hair, giving him a slight pull so he would look at you.

"Please," you begged him.

His eyes darkened.

"Please what, beautiful?" His voice was low and seductive. The lust behind it was making your core clench on nothing. "You want me to taste you?" You desperately nodded. You needed him to give you more. "Say it."

His fingers spread your lips apart. The tips of his fingers teased your entrance as he kept pushing you for an answer. His thumb found your clit again, slowly drawing light circles against it. Your hips bucked against his hand, begging for him to add more pressure, but his other hand steadied you in your place.

"Say it, baby," he whispered.

"Please Steve, taste me," you moaned.

You knew Steve Rogers was a great fighter, great at strategizing, and a sharpshooter. He was also a great artist, according to the documentary you once watched on his time in WW2. He was smart, brave, and strong, both mentally and physically.

Now, you also know how great he was between your legs.

The sensation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves was sending you over the edge. Your slick trailed down your lips all the way down to your puckered hole. His fingers teased your entrance, slowly covering themselves in your juices until he finally slid one of them inside.

His fingers were big, bigger than yours, and they reached places yours had never been able to. The way he moved them inside you, with such ease, they found that spongy part that tightened your stomach. It was breathtaking. He added a second finger, and you could’ve sworn you were about to come undone. The pace he set was relentless. His fingers pumped in and out of you while his tongue toyed with your nub, making you feel better than you’ve ever felt with anyone else.

But you needed him, all of him.

"Fuck me," you begged. Your voice was hoarse as, apparently, the only thing you could do was whimper and moan every time his lips would close around your clit.

He lifted his face away from you, but his fingers kept moving inside. Half his face shone under the dim lighting of your bedroom. A mixture of his own saliva and your arousal was prominent on his pink, puffy lips. That and the cocky grin on his face made your walls clench.

"You wanna cum on my cock, don’t you?"

Fuck.

You never thought you would have America's favorite hero saying those things to you. Whiplash was caused by someone whose persona was built around this moralistic, innocent, almost puritan idea.

His digits added pressure to your core. The knot in your stomach tightened.

"Please" was the only word you were able to say.

His fingers stopped filling you; the emptiness made you whine. The cloudiness your brain was in didn’t let you register when he had taken his pants off. He placed himself on top of you. Both his hands rested on top of the bed on the sides of your face. The feeling of his cock resting on top of your stomach made you look down.

He was big.

No, big wasn’t enough to describe him.

He was huge. Not only in length but in thickness.

How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside you?

The red bulbous tip almost reached your bellybutton; a droplet of pre-cum rested on top of it. Without a second thought, you reached down to touch it. Steves' breath hitched as your palm closed on his member, and his hands clenched into fists. Your thumb smeared the white pearl, smudging it in circles on his tip and making his cock twitch in your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned.

Your hand dragged up and down, pumping him as you grew wetter. Your fingers found a thick, prominent vein that trailed down over his length. It was the softest of touches, yet it was driving him crazy.

After a few more pumps, he couldn’t take it anymore. He spread your legs as wide as he was able to, his hand leading his cock between your slits. You jumped a little when it first touched you, but his hands held your hips still. With swift movements, his head rubbed on your knob. The sensation of it made your eyes roll. Electricity ran through your body, each one of your nerve endings aware of what his cock was doing.

Without any warnings, you felt a slap, jolts of pleasure emerging from that nub he had been toying with since the start. You looked down to see him holding himself, ready to slap you with his tip again. This time, both of your eyes were locked together, and neither of you dared break eye contact.

His face came close to you. His hand grabbed the back of your head as he kissed you. Hungrily, desperately, seductive.

You felt his head nudging at your entrance, your eyes closing with anticipation and a little worry about his length. You weren’t a virgin, of course, but you also never had anyone as big as he. as thick as him. You had only seen dicks as big on porn sites, and even then they looked intimidating. What if it didn’t fit? Would it hurt? What if he ruined—

A soft hand brought you back from spiraling, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart."

His voice was soft and tender. A warmth spread through your chest the more you felt his touch on your face. You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, an adoring expression filling his. Your heart jumped to your throat, no longer in lust but in affection. This encounter was lustful, seductive, and raw, but the moment you looked into his eyes, it changed everything. It was vulnerable, caring, even loving.

Blue eyes looked at you, asking for permission to keep going. You gave him the smallest of nods as you leaned into his touch. He waited a few seconds before you finally felt him moving inside.

Oh, you definitely felt him.

The stretch burned. You could feel how you were struggling to fit him in. He was thoughtful, though, taking it slow and calm so you could get used to him. Yes, the intrusion hurt a bit, but you desired it with all your soul. His eyes kept you grounded, guiding you through everything you were feeling.

"It’s okay, sweetheart. Breath," he whispered.

After a few seconds, the pain was slowly replaced with pleasure, your legs instinctively spread wider for him. You felt him everywhere. The deeper he went, the heavier your breathing got. Your hands traveled to his hair, pulling it slightly in your fists when it became too much.

Finally, he bottomed out. You’ve never felt fuller in your life.

That night, he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

And maybe, just maybe, that night he also opened his heart to you for the first time.

Things were great for a while.

Steve came to your apartment almost every day, most of which ended up with you under him, begging him to not stop. You had memorized every freckle, every scar, every imperfection on his skin.

You have also memorized the things he loves during sex. The way he groans when you’re on your knees in front at him, jerking him off while your mouth plays with his balls. Or the way his eyebrows furrow when you’re on top of him, grinding your hips on top of him, his hands leaving bruises on your hips caused by his strong, almost unmovable, grip. You had even noticed the way his breath hitched when you spread your ass cheeks for him, the view almost enough to make him cum.

So yeah, things were great.

Well, maybe not great, but just good.

After that first night, you woke up to find he was already long gone. The side of your bed he had occupied had lost its warmth a long time ago. The only traces of him being around were the smell of sex and his cologne filling the room.

And the soreness in between your legs.

Maybe he had something important to do.

He would explain later, feeling sorry for leaving without letting you know. He was your friend, after all.

Except he didn’t.

He came by the next day, knocking on your door desperately. You opened the door, not before making sure you looked decent enough, pulling down your sweatshirt and fixing your hair. You saw his eyes, burning again with the same desire.

He kissed you, hungry for more.

You should’ve stopped him, told him you wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, asked for an explanation as to why he left so quickly, and made him tell you what you guys are now. Friends? More than friends? Were you together now?

But you didn’t.

You let him fuck you until you couldn’t say your own name. Kiss you until you can't breath. Let him go when he thinks you’re deep asleep.

You let him have everything he wanted and more.

You weren't stupid. You know what this unspoken arrangement was. You weren’t together.

You were just fucking.

There were implied rules in your relationship with Steve. Rule number one: you didn’t show any affection in public; rule number two: you didn’t go out in any sort of romantic date; rule number three: Steve never stayed the night.

He broke the first rule three months after that night.

Winter was closing in on New York, the air was getting colder and the streets began to be covered in a white veil of snow. Steve and you were walking side by side on the sidewalk after your shift was over. On days like these, when you got out of the office at ten in the night, Steve would pick you up and walk home with you. He said it would be safer for you.

Your hand brushed against his by accident, making yours recoil. Foolishly, you tried to grab his hand in a similar situation days after your date/not date. You still remember the bitter taste in your mouth when he gently dropped your hand a couple of seconds later.

That was the first hit your heart took.

Bringing your hands together, you cursed at the fact you that you forgot to bring your gloves with you, like you hadn’t lived in this city for half your life and didn’t know how close to freezing your fingers could get. You tried to blow some hot air into them, with the result just being a temporary fix.

Steve looked at you from the corner of his eye, a hesitant expression showing in his gaze before reaching out to your hand. You controlled your surprised expression the best you could, but you were sure he noticed. His fingers were warm, welcoming, and comforting. Not only were your fingers heating up, but your heart was pounding strongly in your chest, ready to burst through it at any given second.

He brought your hand to his lips, a small kiss touching the skin on your fingers. You felt the heat in your cheeks flush you completely, causing an amused look in his eyes.

"Your hands are cold."

To your surprise, he didn't let go of it. He interlaced your fingers.

A couple of weeks after that, Steve broke the second rule.

Celebrating a new campaign you finished wrapping up, he took you out to eat. From the luxurious decor of the place and the discreet atmosphere, you assume it was suggested by Tony. Your suspicions were confirmed when the menu that was placed in front of you didn’t show any prices.

You had jokingly told Steve you would probably have to sell both your kidneys to pay for a single plate here, and his only response was a soft hand caressing your cheek and his lips close to your ear.

"Don’t worry about it, order anything you want."

You had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn’t a date. But the romantic environment, the way his fingers would caress your thighs, his hand pushing you closer to him in the small, private booth you had been placed in, and the little kisses he would deposit on your neck, made it really hard to keep focus.

You were waiting for dessert, but his hands were busy exploring your body. To any other onlooker, you would look like an affectionate couple. The way his eyes would ever so slightly sparkle when he looked at you, his protective demeanor once you had walked inside and the fondness of his touch.

But you weren't a couple. This wasn’t even a date.

Except his hands made you look at him, with soft, pillowy lips meeting yours. They parted slightly, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Your hand traveled to his face, your thumb brushing against his growing beard. This kiss was different from the others. It was still passionate as always, but it had care, tenderness, and an intimacy there wasn’t before.

He broke the kiss apart.

There was a shine in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

"This is the best date I’ve had in a while."

The last rule was broken three weeks after your first "official" date.

Steve had been away for almost a week. He couldn’t tell you much, but all you know is that he had gone to a foreign country and something about a terrorist organization. Worry had been your companion these past few days, as it had always been whenever Steve left.

Looking at the paperwork splattered on your coffee table you groaned, deciding to stop for the night. There was no point in melting your brain with numbers and statements when you had to use it tomorrow morning too.

You stood up, your arms and back stretching after sitting in the same position for a few hours now, with a few cracks sounding through your body. Ready to finally go to bed, a knock interrupted you. It was shy, almost hesitant. You looked at the clock and it said 11:30 PM, making your brow furrow with confusion. He wasn’t supposed to come today, at least not when he just arrived from a mission.

When you opened your door, you didn’t expect his arms to surround you. You also didn’t expect him to be still wearing his tactical gear. His face was buried in your neck. His arms grabbed you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. He’s not okay.

"What’s wrong, Stevie?" you asked softly.

You tried to look at his face, but his arms locked you in place. His breathing is heavy, almost a panting like sound coming from him. Your hands tremble once you’re able to touch his face. You’ve never seen him like this before.

His face was covered in ash, tiny scratches sitting on top of his left eyebrow. He smelled like himself but with an added layer of sweat and smoke. There were signs he might’ve had a purple eye, but the color was fading away.

You were finally able to tear apart from him and found that instead of those blue, vibrant eyes that would greet you every night, they were replaced by something broken inside him.

It clicked in your head. He needed you. He needed your comfort.

So, you gave it to him without a second thought.

His arms encircled you once more, but this time he locked you in your own bed. After a more than needed shower, you guided him to your mattress, the covers pulled over your heads, shielding you from the outside world.

"There were children," he said, breaking the silence with a trembling deep tone you'd never heard before. You felt how hard his heart was beating, the tiredness that clouded his eyes. "I couldn't—there wasn't any—I tried."

You pulled him to you again.

"It’s not your fault, Steve," you whispered in his ear. Tears were stinging your eyes, but you breathed in. This wasn’t about you. "It's not your fault."

He held you tighter.

And you both fell asleep.

The first time Steve Rogers chipped your heart, you didn’t see it coming.

One of the perks of knowing Steve and being close to him was being invited to those wild and amazing parties Tony Stark was known for. Loud music, expensive alcohol and a big crowd greeted your sight once the penthouse elevator doors opened.

Tony really did live up to his reputation.

Bucky’s laugh next to you filled your ears. His head was thrown back, his hand grabbed his stomach, and there was a noticeable red tinge on his cheeks. This was the first time he had tried that Asgardian alcohol that was strong enough to get him drunk. To say Bucky had been excited would’ve been an understatement.

He and Sam were under your contract too, both of them being a logical addition as to how they wanted to market them. The golden trio The people could trust. So, when Steve went to see some of his coworkers, you stayed behind with them.

They were nice company, and working with them for almost six months had also made you develop a friendship with them. Breakfasts and hangouts were part of your dynamic now. The constant bickering but complicity between the men was an amusing dynamic. You felt comfortable enough around them to joke and get drunk.

"Okay, I’m taking this away from you," you laughed.

Taking a drink away from a super soldier was harder than you thought. The obvious height difference was an advantage to him as he lifted his hand.

He smirked. "You've got to reach it to take it away from me, shortcake."

You tried jumping but it was useless, the results of which only made you look ridiculous. With a huff, you looked around you, examining your surroundings. When you couldn't find anything, you devised a plan to bring Bucky down to your level. A devilish smile formed on your lips. The alcohol in your system made you more carefree than usual.

Your fingers poked Bucky’s sides, his metal arm instantly bending to protect the area. A playful fight ensued between both of you. Bucky's arm stretched to its limit while you tickled his sides. You poked both sides of his ribs mercilessly until you saw his glass close to your reach. Your little jumps finally lifted you enough to graze it.

Your victory was short-lived, as Steve's hand slid to the small of your back while removing the contentious cup. Bucky and you whined in disagreement, your lips forming a pout.

"What are you guys doing?" he questioned with a laugh, his hand now settled on your waist. A waiter walked by, and he asked him to take the cup back to the kitchen, and also to make sure to put away the rest of the Asgardian mead.

"She was being a party pooper," Bucky grumbled. You gasped in indignation and your hand dramatically went to your chest.

"I was not."

"Yeah, you were," Sam joins in the conversation.

Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. "I’m not a party pooper. I was just making sure he doesn’t get too fucked up because if he does something stupid, who do you think has to fix it? Besides, you weren’t even here before."

Sam and Bucky looked at each other for a second before turning their eyes at you.

"Party pooper"

"Fuck you, guys!" you cursed at them, your response making them laugh. You rolled your eyes, lifting your middle finger. You opened your mouth to say something else, but Steve’s hand pushed you towards his chest.

"Don’t listen to them. I think you’re really fun to be around, "he whispered close to your ear. Your face heated up, making you turn around to bury it in Steve's chest.

This man was going to kill you.

He embraced you and a kiss was deposited on top of your head. You turned around after a few seconds to see Bucky and Sam looking at you with a knowing smirk on their faces.

"So," Bucky started, clearing his throat. "Are you guys finally together?"

You turned to Steve, not knowing how to answer. Things hadn't been properly discussed, but the change between how things started and how they were going was abysmal. This past eleven months were not for nothing, you had grown attached to him. Every kiss, every hug, every promise he had made, every sleepless night of comforting, every late-night shift he had picked you up from. The lines he had previously drawn were no longer there, and instead, they were replaced with a bond formed on tenderness, care, and, if you dared to say, love.

You loved him.

Deeply. Passionately. Wholeheartedly.

If there was ever anyone you could love, it would definitely be Steve Rogers.

You would do anything for him.

"No, were just friends."

Unrequited love was painful.

Sometimes it felt like a pressing knife slowly cutting through your chest.

Other days, it would feel like you were drowning in a sea, the struggle to stay afloat consuming every ounce of energy you had.

But most days, it felt like a weight on your chest. The words that wouldn’t leave your mouth were stuck in your heart. Everything about him made you love him, and you couldn’t stop it.

Maybe that’s why you decided to talk to him about your relationship; to get rid of the pain. Or maybe a part of you still held hope. I hope for a future with him.

Once you had told him you wanted more, Steve’s face had been in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights. His silence had lasted long enough for you to doubt if he would ever answer you or if, somehow, he had passed out with open eyes.

But you still kept hoping, right until the end.

"I can’t give you more than this right now."

"If you want to, we can stop this. But if you want to keep going, this is all we can be for the moment. "

"I’m not ready for a relationship, not after her. I need time. "

His words ran through your mind over and over again. A cycle of heartbreak and lost hope draws you in. This was it. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to do it. He said he needed time, but all he was doing was telling you what you wanted to hear. He was keeping you at arm's length. He was giving you an out, a safeguard for your heart, or what was left of it.

All those nights you had spent embraced in each other's arms, with the moonlight kissing your skin, had been a construct of your imagination. The significance behind them was your own heart playing you.He didn’t love you, not in the way you had hoped he did.

The same type of love he was aware of, even if you hadn’t explicitly told him the full extent of your feelings. You could see it, even if he was so adamant that this type of bond couldn’t be possible between you two for a while, because no matter how much he would deny it, he still wanted it.

He didn’t want to love you, but he still wanted to be loved.

And as you stared into his eyes, you realized that after almost two and a half years since she left, he might still love her.

So you breathe in, close your eyes and endure. You let him keep taking it.

A jump scare on the screen caught you by surprise, your arms tightening around the pillow you were holding. You turned to your side, wanting to watch Bucky's reaction, but all you saw is his pensive expression. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. The frown on his face and the anxious up and down of his right leg made you think he was stressed about something. Probably something work related.

You turned back to the movie, the scary plot no longer able to hold your attention. Bucky had been acting weird ever since he got to your apartment, this night being only the two of you as Sam and Steve were away on a mission.

"She’s coming back." Bucky's voice broke the silence.

You turned back to him, "What?"

"Steve’s ex"

Your heart stopped.

"He told us a couple of days before him and Sam left. She texted him to let him know she was returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s not going to happen for a while, but I don’t know when she’s coming back."

He visited you the day before he left, and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t want to tell you.

Bucky sighed. "I know that you are..." he hesitated for a second, flashbacks of the ‘just friends’ night coming back to you. "-whatever the hell you guys are. I also know that you have feelings for him. I just thought you should know. "

You didn’t answer. Your eyes glued themselves to the TV, but you couldn't hear anything. Your eyes prickled with tears, and a pain in your chest bloomed so deeply in you that it felt like it would break you apart.

He misses her. He didn’t tell you about it. He doesn’t love you. He still loves her.

You close your eyes, mentally repeating the mantra that has helped you for so long to not crumble down.

Close your eyes, breath in and endure.

Breath in and endure.

Endure

Bucky’s movements brought you back. His shoulder was touching yours, a simple act you can read through. You laid your head on his shoulder. As soon as your skin made contact with his shoulder, you broke. The tears you so strongly fought to chase away were hitting you all at once.

As he wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you tightly, you thought it was okay to cry, just this once.

The beginning of the end followed that day closely behind.

You weren’t sure when things started to change. After he came back, he didn’t mention anything to you about his ex coming back or how this might change what was going on between you two. Bucky wasn’t sure when she would get back to the city, so you decided that worrying about something you didn’t know when was going to happen would be counterproductive. You left the thought of her return on the back burner, just for a little while.

Steves' affection was the same. He laughed the same. He held you the same. He kissed you the same.

Until he didn’t. And you didn’t notice it until it was too late.

One day, he forgot to pick you up. You called, you texted but there was no answer. You waited almost an hour until you decided to walk back on your own. For the first time, you noticed how scary it was to walk so late at night. The next day, he apologized with a bouquet of flowers from your favorite shop.

Another day he forgot you had made plans to watch a movie. A few hours later, the beer you had opened for him slid down the drain. He called you the next day, saying work had kept him busy, but he would make it up to you.

On a different day, he forgot you were going out to eat. The waitress had given you a sympathy look while you ordered the check. The next day, he texted you, saying he was sorry. You didn’t see him for the rest of the week.

Things were different, even when you had sex.

Before, he used to love looking deeply into your eyes. Kissing your lips as he kept thrusting into you. To see your expression as he slid inside for the first time that night. He loved seeing your eyes rolling back when he hit that special spot that made you tremble. He made you look at him when you were about to come undone. He loved looking at you.

Now he turned you around, your ass up in the air and your head pinned down to the mattress. His pace was relentless, animalistic almost. There wasn’t any care or affection anymore. He used you, physically this time. It still felt good. No one could ever say Steve Rogers was a selfish lover. One time you turned around your head, in hopes to catch those blue eyes you missed so much.

His eyes were closed.

You walked through the office, making your way to the conference room. A little smile grew on your face as you compared how different things were two years ago. The first time you had walked this route, you were just a naïve intern, with so many hopes and dreams in your head that had ended up with you covered in coffee all over you.

You reached the door and made sure no one was coming out as you walked in. You saw Steve sitting alone, which surprised you. This meeting was supposed to be between you and the three of them. You were especially hoping to talk to Bucky about his upcoming solo tour as a way to mend his public image, which started a week from now. And as his representative in all public matters, you had to agree with him who would go on the trip as his companion. This conversation would probably take a long time with Bucky not really liking any of your other coworkers, and it would take even longer now with this delay.

You sat in front of him, leaving your purse and your folder on the large table between you two.

"Where are Sam and Bucky?" you inquired.

For some unknown reason, you felt nervous, your heartbeat increasing the longer you were alone with him.

"I told them to give us a couple of minutes alone."

Oh.

He was finally going to do it. He was about to break your heart right before a work meeting with him and your friends. He was leaving you to be with her.

"Okay. What’s up?" You managed to answer. Your trembling hands laid on your lap in an effort to hide them.

"I, um—" he paused for a moment. His lack of words confirmed your worst nightmares. He really was going to do it. You tried to swallow down the knot in your throat, only making it more painful. "Would you like to go to Stark’s charity gala with me?" he blurted out.

What?

"Uh." It takes you a second to compose yourself. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t kicking you out of his life. He was asking you to go with him to the gala this weekend. You shook your head, clearing out any intrusive thoughts that were left behind. "Yeah, of course. I would love to." you replied with the biggest smile you’ve had in weeks.

He smiled at you. "Ok, good. I’ll pick you up at 7:30"

"Ok."

Hope.

Maybe this was the little ray of hope you were looking for.

You should’ve never said yes.

If Starks parties had made an impression on you, the gala was certainly something to behold. Elegant, radiant, stylish, and graceful were the adjectives that came to your mind. The event was held at the Manhattan Center. The space was open, wide and decorated to perfection. Every single detail of it was planned and executed with precision, surely something made by his wife.

You were grateful for Steve’s insistence on helping you pay for your outfit. Your beautiful, floor-length, golden embroidered dress, with which you had fallen in love as soon as you laid eyes on it, would probably have cost you a kidney. You felt beautiful in it. Your hair and makeup were done by professionals, and the heels that squeezed your toes made the perfect combination of grace and beauty. It could almost be compared to a fairytale.

"You look beautiful." was the first thing Steve managed to say. The way he smiled and his eyes went wide as soon as they landed on you is an image you will keep in your brain forever. A few seconds after he composed himself, he pulled you into a kiss, a long, passionate kiss.

You don’t think you’ve ever smiled brighter in your life.

Steves' hand held the back of your waist, guiding you through the sea of dresses and tuxedos. The dance floor was open; people were already dancing to the melodic tune. As you reached the front of the room, you noticed all eyes were on you. You suppose it wasn’t a surprise that the girl that Captain America had brought to such a serious event was a spectacle on its own. Finally reaching your table, you noticed Bucky and Sam were already at your table next to some of their friends/coworkers. A shower of compliments rained on Steve and you, making heat reach both your faces.

"Wow. You look great, shortcake. "

"You look amazing, baby."

"You guys look really good together."

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Smiles, laughter, and alcohol fill your memories. You’ll never forget how happy you were at that time. Hanging out with people you’ve only seen on the news and magazine covers who were surprisingly welcoming was an odd situation. They laughed, they made mistakes, and they were funny. They were just people, after all.

You turned around to see Steve’s face, but, for a quick moment, all that greeted you was a frown. His hand was holding yours, but his mind was elsewhere. An internal turmoil was happening inside his head that he wouldn’t let you see as his eyes were stuck looking at the crowd across the room.

And as quickly as it came, that frown disappeared. His eyes connected with yours, and he placed a kiss on your temple.

He dragged you away to the dance floor, his hand still linked to yours as you found a spot in the middle. The way he had stood up so quickly had scared you, his eyes no longer covered by the complex storm of thoughts he was having. One of his hands found its way to your waist, his hold pressing you against his chest. The other one grabbed your hand as he led you through the music. A soft romantic melody was playing, the couples around you melted into each other, and, to your surprise, you did the same.

Blue eyes stared at you, and for the first time in a while, they didn’t feel cold. They were warm, the type of warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. The type of warmth that raises butterflies in your stomach and heats your face. It's the type of warmth that makes you want to stay there forever, because no matter where you are or what you do, nothing will ever compare to that.

And just like that, it was like the past few months didn’t exist. The unsavory taste that distance and rejection had left in your mouth was washed away with a simple look. A true testimony of how love can make us so naïve and a horrible reminder of how weak this man could make you.

Once again, he kisses you, but this time it feels different. It’s intense and deep, his hands gripping you as they travel all over your body. The kiss had so much behind it, your brain was going haywire trying to read it all while your heart was about to burst out of your chest. It wasn’t lustful or aggressive as the other ones had been the past week. It meant something different to him.

It meant love.

You had been waiting for this so long that now that it was happening, you couldn’t believe it. If it wasn’t for his touch, you could’ve sworn you were floating. The endless music and murmuring from the crowd disappeared under the spell of him.

The kiss was perfect until it wasn’t.

His lips broke apart from yours too soon. His hands fell from your body. He put as much distance as he could with a step back.

You opened your eyes, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His chest was heaving up and down while he looked past you. The same love you had felt was still reflected in his eyes, but this time they were also hurt. There was so much pain in them that he looked on the verge of breaking. Heartbreak

With a trembling heart, you turned around to find a woman standing in the middle of the crowd with a lonely tear streaming down her face. A beautiful woman with long blonde silky hair wrapped around a perfect black satin dress stood there with the same look in her eyes as Steve’s. You’d recognize that look anywhere; the same broken eyes of someone that was still in love with the past.

She truly was breathtaking. This was the first time you had ever seen her, and you could understand why Steve was smitten by her. She was perfect in every way. Attractive, beautiful, confident, and, based on what he had told you, smart. How could he not still love her?

This wasn’t your love story. It was theirs.

Steve didn’t notice when you left the dance floor. Neither when you went straight to the bar and started drinking your sorrows away. What was the point of loving a man who would never look at you like he looks at her?

You should’ve taken this as a sign to go home. The crushing reality of how you love someone that will never love you was already a good enough reason to leave. But as the stubborn, heartbroken woman that you were, you stayed. Not to save your dignity, but to use Stark's vast collection of whiskeys, vodkas, and tequilas.

Maybe if you would’ve left, your heart could’ve still been saved.

The bitter taste of the whiskey wasn’t a problem for you anymore. The way you were drinking it, anyone could’ve thought it was water. After your sixth shot, you were still, in some ways, self-aware enough to know you were about to cause a spectacle of yourself if you kept drinking in public. You grabbed the bottle you were pouring yourself from, stumbling away from the bartender as he yelled at you for leaving without paying.

"Put it on Captain America’s tab."

Bucky had yelled your name as you kept walking away. Your eyes connected for a few seconds, and his worried stare intensified. He knew. Of course he had seen the whole ordeal going down, it didn’t really surprise you. After all, Bucky was the one that warned you about her after returning. The one that still wanted to spare your feelings from all this pain.

Somehow you ended up going through a door. Behind it was a room filled with chairs, tables, and other furniture. Props that they probably used for other types of events. Before you got the chance to turn around, moans and whines reach your ears. The nature of the noises was obvious, and by the sounds of it, they were both having a good time. But something about them sent chills down your spine. Something was wrong.

"Fuck, baby."

You froze in your place.

That voice. The moans. The panting.

You’ve heard them before.

No, no, no, no, no.

"God, I missed you so much"

You wanted to leave, go as far away from them as you could. But as you stood there, holding the pieces of your heart together, you realized you couldn’t move. It felt as if the only thing holding you together was your steadiness. Even the sightless movement felt as if it could open the door of hurt you were fighting so hard to stop.

"You didn’t seem to miss me that much twenty minutes ago," she said between pants

"She’s not you. She’ll never be you."

Every word that left his mouth was meant to hurt you, whether it was intentionally or not. Your efforts to keep yourself whole were useless; bits and pieces of your heart slipped away from you. How could he say all those things? How could he have so little regard for you? You knew you could never fill the void she left, but you had hoped that maybe he would see you for who you were and love you for who you were.

A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jump. It was Bucky, and by the way he was looking at you, he had heard what his best friend had said. Your dignity was added to the list of things Steve Rogers took from you. His arm was wrapped around you to guide you out of the room. You didn’t move, and you didn’t want to leave yet. Something inside you needed to see him. Bucky's eyes pleaded with you to walk out with him, let him take you away and leave them behind. But you had to face the truth at its fullest, no matter how ugly and hurtful it was.

You got close enough to see them. It hurt more than you thought it would. She was spread open on top of a sort of desk they'd found. Her dress was now bunched up around her waist; his hands held the side of her legs as he pounded again and again inside her.

That wasn’t what made your heart slip away from your chest, though. It was the words he said next.

"You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it was you under me. How many times I almost call her your name? I almost asked her if I could."

"I’ve never wanted her, not really."

"Even when I kissed her tonight, I could only look at you."

Steve Rogers was cruel.

Steve Rogers never cared about you.

He had played with your heart for his own benefit. He had given you false hope in his efforts to not be alone. He didn’t see you as a friend, a lover, or a human being either. He just saw you as a temporary replacement.

The piercing pain in your chest was all that was left, your heart no longer in its place. The other times where you felt your heart cracking were nothing compared to this. The more his words sat on your mind, the stronger the pain got. Waves of pain and grief hit you as you tried to process what was going on.

You backed down, your trembling legs failing you as you tried to move. You thought you were about to crash on the floor, but Bucky's hands had been there to catch you. He held you tightly against him, your hand covering your mouth so you would not make a sound. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But all you could do was stay there and feel.

This time, Bucky's hands held you tightly, more persistent than before, and they guided you outside. In your haziness, you didn’t realize you accidentally stumbled with a bunch of brooms on the side of the path. The loud crash echoed through the room. You heard Steve’s surprised gasp, and unfortunately for you, you weren’t out of sight just yet. With all the remaining strength you had, you turned back to see him.

"Shit," you somehow heard him whisper.

Both your eyes connected, he knew you'd heard what he said. His expression mirrored the one you had when you had seen them. Surprise, shock, and sadness. He saw the pain all over your face, the way Bucky held you so you wouldn’t crumble apart as your heart did. A flash of regret ran through his eyes when he saw the way you were holding your chest.

Regret.

He felt bad for being a fucking asshole.

That made you fucking livid.

How dare he feel regret for stomping all over your heart? How dare he feel sad for using you, over and over and over again, until there was nothing left for you to give him? How fucking dare he feel bad about all this mess when he was the one that created it?

He had no right to feel bad. He never cared about you or anyone else other than her.

You heard him yell your name, pleading with you to wait as he fumbled with his clothes. Bucky's grip on you grew tighter. Perhaps he thought you would be stupid enough to wait for him to explain whatever he wanted to explain. Fortunately for you, you weren’t as masochistic as everyone thought.

"Wait! Please, let me explain." You heard him beg before you went through the door.

You didn’t cry when you saw them together or when you heard him say those vile words. Neither did you cry when Bucky took you to your apartment or when he helped you settle into your bed. Or when he slipped under the covers after you grabbed his hand because you didn’t want to be alone, not anymore. You didn’t cry, not even when he held you closer all night, hoping this could help your broken heart.

You didn’t cry for Steve Rogers anymore.

He could go fuck himself for all you cared.

Toothbrush, skin care routine, passport, makeup bag, laptop, tablet. Everything was in place in your last bag. With a satisfied huff, you closed your suitcase and left it at the front door. A quick glance at the clock you had on your coffee table let you know you still had 5 minutes to spare.

You dropped on the couch, your back thanking you for the necessary rest it needed after a hectic morning of re-organizing your suitcases. Your month-long trip was turning out to be a two-month-long one. With Bucky's press tour taking two weeks longer than planned and you cashing out your two weeks of vacation savings, the clothes you packed weren't enough.

The vacation destination of your trip was still undecided. Maybe somewhere sunny and tropical, ideal to get the perfect tan you couldn’t get in New York. Or maybe you'd go to a secluded cabin in the mountains, knowing how much you needed some alone time. Your fantasies were interrupted by your phone's ringtone. You didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was.

Steve had called you every day since the gala. The first call you got from him was the hardest to ignore. The picture you had taken of both of you covered your screen as it kept ringing. In all honesty, you would’ve probably picked up the call if it weren’t for Bucky's intense glare. The way Bucky's eyes could speak to you always amazed you and, in this case, you knew what they were saying Don't be stupid, don’t give in.

After that first call, you got another three that day, much to your annoyance. Then the next day there were six calls, then eight. It seemed the more you ignored him, the more persistent he became. Fortunately for you, for the past few days you didn’t see him, your schedule clearing up since you took the position as Bucky's companion, instead leaving your coworkers all the heavy work of dealing with superheroes.

But after the first ignored calls came the texts. Then the messages passed through coworkers. Then there were the flowers. If only he had done this before he broke your heart.

The incessant ringing came back. You thought after the last six days went by without an answer, the message would be pretty clear, but apparently another strong characteristic of Steve Rogers was his persistence. A persistence that wouldn’t stop, not even if it would spare you from all the pain he caused you. Nothing mattered as long as he could take whatever he wanted.

Steve Rogers was selfish. You were done with selfish.

So you answered the phone.

"Stop calling me!" you screamed into the device.

"Please, just let me—"

"Whatever you want to say to me, I don’t want to hear it. Stop calling me, stop texting me, stop asking about me, stop sending flowers or whatever the fuck you buy for me. Stop. Trying. To. Contact. Me."

Your own words surprised you. The strength that came from within them freed the tightness in your chest that you’ve had for so long. Your harsh words were met with silence, neither of you daring to hang up. You didn’t notice when your eyes started to well up, when your hands were shaking or when your muscles were so tense, they begged you to relax.

What seemed like minutes went by with the same quietness, both your heavy breathings were the only things letting you know you were still in the call. After a few more moments, Steve finally gave in and broke the silence.

"I’m sorry." he whispers.

You huffed. "That doesn’t change anything"

"I know."

Maybe the best option would've been to hang up and cut things now before you were exposed again. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, love and grief are rarely driven by reason.

"You knew, didn’t you?" Your voice trembled.

"Knew what?"

"That I..."

That I love you, is what you wanted to say. However, your chest constricted within itself every time you were reminded of your own feelings. You couldn't do it, not saying it out loud was the only spec of dignity you had left and your death grip on it was lifesaving.

You cleared your throat, your hand clutched at the edge of the couch as a way to embrace yourself. "That I have feelings for you"

"Yes," he answered reluctantly.

"Yet you still used me."

A few seconds passed before he was able to muster a weak response. "Yes"

Silence really was deafening. Never in a million years did you think the most menacing sound of a relationship crumbling apart would be silence. There are so many meanings that can only be expressed through the lack of words. Silence meant pain and heartbreak, but it also meant acceptance.

And bitterness came with acceptance.

"I’ll see you in a couple of months." you scoffed.

"No, please!" he pleaded before you could hang up. "Please don’t leave. Your coworkers told me you’re going with Bucky to his press tour today, but I want to see you. I need to see you." His voice was shaky, an undecipherable tone spilling from his rushed words that almost made you change your mind. Almost.

"Stay, please."

Love was a strange force. It was supposed to be selfless, giving, and forgiving. But once you didn’t have anything else to give, it was easy to not feel it. Even if it was there, lingering in the back of your head.

A couple of weeks ago, you would’ve given everything to stay if he asked you, without a single doubt. But now, the connection and devotion you had to the super soldier are buried. You had built walls so high up that not even the warmest of words could make them crumble.

You had to save your heart, whatever was left of it.

"No"

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated!

A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here.

Part 2 is already out.

Requests are OPEN

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fluff #steve angst #steve smut #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Civilian Asset 1.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Your job was supposed to be easy. Just take a flash drive through customs. Now there's blood under your nails and a threat to your life.

Master List / Next chapter Warnings: Violence, peril, panic attack/anxiety

Inaccurate military because COD MW is inaccurate (it's a fantasy, friends, and we're treating it like one).

A/N: Don't ask. I don't know what I'm doing here either. Hello, new fandom?

There’s glitter stuck to the blood on your hands.

It all twinkles and shines in the sickly yellow glow of the alley’s one unbroken street light, and you wonder how long it will take the blood to dry, to turn flaky and dark in the crevices of your palm. It’s already going tacky. As the bass inside the club jars your heartbeat out of rhythm, you settle back into the skin under the blood, remembering you have your own, and you don’t want it to join the puddle seeping into the cracks of broken concrete at your knees. You wonder how much time you’ve lost.

Run, he said.

It isn’t the kind of order you sit and think over. It’s a do-or-die command, and you’re struggling to do much of anything as pins and needles creep through your legs. How long have you knelt there? How many songs have rolled through the speakers while you drifted? Probably too many.

Run.

He admitted he might’ve been followed. You remember that. And you remember the intel whispered in your ear as you pushed down on the bullet wound in his abdomen, fighting to recall every first aid lesson you learned in high school and college. Pressure – actively bleeding wounds needed pressure, so you’d put your weight on your hands as the party music pulsed through the cracked-open door you thought you’d slip back through after the usual handoff. But instead of taking a thumb drive or notebook and getting a little tipsy before calling it a night, you tried pushing his soul back into his body as the blood welled up between your fingers.

You tried. It wasn’t enough.

The body already smells. You didn’t know corpses stank so quickly after death. Now you do. It was a gut wound. Maybe it’s his last meal you smell, turned half to shit in his bowels.

Fuck.

You need to run. You need to get out of the alley. You need to stand up and wipe the blood off your hands so you can slink onto the Tube without getting the cops called on you.

With a clear series of actions in mind, everything switches to autopilot, and you move without really meaning to. His jeans work as a towel for the worst of gore, and a discarded wad of bar napkins near the door are clean enough to sponge away the red from between your fingers. Rust colored stains linger around your fingernails, but your dress has pockets – something you’d thought absurdly wonderful a few hours ago – and hopefully no one will be looking that closely, anyway.

Your numbed legs wobble as you approach the main street, making you look a little drunk without conscious effort, and you slip into the current of university students and tourists heading to the Underground. You board a train back towards your hostel, and pat your pocket as you sit, subconsciously checking for the intel. Of course, it’s empty, and a spike of panic flairs in the split second it takes you to remember there is no physical evidence this time. Your contact broke the rules and poured dangerous secrets into your naked ears. The mole was compromised. The dead drop became a little more literal and a lot more dangerous, and the man barely had enough time to pass his info on by word of mouth to the next link in the chain. That link, the handler, scurried away with a hole in his gut and just enough time to meet you, the courier, passing along word of the threat like a burning coal to scorch you.

You aren’t supposed to know anything, but you can’t keep your eyes closed and your hands clean, because you’re the only one who knows anything at this point. Every safeguard between you and immediate danger is dead.

It isn’t supposed to work this way. You’re just a courier, a very literal civilian who can add a USB drive to her collection without suspicion on your way through customs. A digital nomad with lots of stamps in her passport and dozens of good reasons to be in any convenient country. Nobody important, but a very useful mule.

Keeping your eyes off the data you carry is supposed to keep you safe.

In theory.

In practice if keeps the people you deliver to secure. You don’t get names. You get meeting times or dead drop coordinates. But tonight…

Tonight it’s all gone to shit.

And somewhere out there, someone wants you dead.

You don’t even flinch when the man across from you heaves into the middle of the carriage. Everyone else cringes and shouts, but the specs of vomit on the tips of your ankle boots aren’t the worst thing to touch them in the past hour.

Those filthy shoes march with you from the train, up the stairs to the surface, down the lane to the cheap hostel where you’ll have space to fall apart and figure out what the fuck you’re supposed to do. You don’t leave bloody footprints as you move; you check over your shoulder to see if you’ve left a path for the killers to follow. Nothing. Like you’re just one of the backpackers cackling over drinks in the lobby common area.

You’ve never been more grateful for having splurged on a private room as you unlock your door and sprint for the toilet. It’s your turn to puke, and you shake as burning tears and snot stream out with the bile.

Fucking dammit.

Each heave wracks your gut, your chest burns, and your throat is on fire. You know your head will hurt the second the adrenaline wears off – if you live that long – after all this crying.

How do you fix this? Is this something people can fix? You couldn’t even keep enough blood in the man’s body. You literally could not run for a solid – what? – fifteen minutes? Thirty?

You’re going to die.

Another heave locks you in place with a strangled scream as your belly tries to eject your panic and fear. There’s nothing left, though, not even water. You’ve wrung yourself out, so maybe it won’t smell as much when bullets, or knives, or fucking plastic shivs aerate your torso. Maybe it won’t be as awful for whoever finds your body. You’d hate to pass on that curse.

And it hits you, as you pant for breath, a string of saliva dangling from your chin: A lot of other people are going to die if you don’t get yourself together.

That’s enough. Just barely. But you shuffle back from the toilet, wiping your face with toilet paper before climbing the sink. The cool porcelain grounds you, and the cold water on your face and in your mouth helps, too.

The water in the basin turns pink, and you remember the blood in your cuticles and under your nails as it fades and spins down the drain. It hasn’t stained. It lingers along the bed of your nails and the ridges that will turn into hangnails eventually, but if you scrub, you’re sure you can get it off. For a minute, you’d forgotten you could wash blood off skin, that it wouldn’t sink in and brand you. It’s a relief. A stupid relief, sure, but it pulls some steam from the whirlwind of angst trying to launch another round of dry heaves, so that’s good.

A few specs of glitter still flicker up at you, twinkling under the bathroom lights like so many little eyes.

Okay.

Right.

Okay.

You can do this.

Figure out what it is you’re doing first, though.

You can just leave. Check out of the hostel, get a new plane ticket, and get the fuck out of the country. You can also pretend it didn’t happen, just continue as normal. Your original flight back is booked for the day after tomorrow, which seemed like nothing a few hours ago. Now those hours stretch into oblivion.

The problem is this damn city. London. City of a thousand cameras. The Nanny State. It was almost impossible to get around without getting caught by a few dozen electronic eyes, and if the people powerful enough to take out two trained agents wanted to see who the handler met in the alley outside the club, they probably could.

You should assume as much, at least. So, staying was out. But was it safe to just zip off to the airport? Would they be watching?

There was one other option. The option you’d always been told wasn’t really an option until you had no other choice. They had you memorize a phone number, only to be used in the direst emergency, and insinuated that you should think twice even if you had a knife to your neck. You hope that means it reaches someone important. There’s no time to play climb-the-chain-of-command.

Your shaking fingers punch the wrong numbers three times as you struggle with smooth glass and shattered nerves, but eventually you get the right sequence, you lift the phone to your ear, and the call goes through.

A click. A woman’s voice. “Yes?”

“This is, uh.” You stammer your name, your location, but when you get to the situation, your thoughts start falling apart. “They’re dead. And he may have been followed? And I don’t know what – I don’t know what to do.”

A chair squeaks on the other end of the line, and you can hear the focused frown sharpening the stranger’s words as computer keys rattle. “Take a breath. One thing at a time. I need to understand what’s happening. Now, who’s dead?”

You follow her advice, because breathing is always a good idea, and you’d like to keep doing it as long as possible. Her other instructions help more, though. They give you a sense of direction, a clear path forward.

“The handler. I never know the names, but he – he’d been shot when he came to the meet, and he said his contact died, too.”

“Was he able to complete the hand-off?”

Cool lips coughing up secrets against your ear, a shaking hand fisted in the front of your dress to keep you close, fingers going slack and falling from your arm.

You hesitate, only a beat, and try to wipe the blood from your memory. “Sort of.”

“Sort of isn’t good enough. Did he give you the intel or not.”

“He told me the intel.”

“He… told you.” She confirms, with tone alone, that this is bad news.

But now you can tell her, and everything will be okay. That’s how this is supposed to work, right?

“He said –”

“This line isn’t secure.” She cuts you off, and the bright hope curdles in your chest. It isn’t over, then. “You need to debrief somewhere safe. You need to get out of that hostel and wait for the team I send to retrieve you, understood?”

“Understood.” You want to shake, purge the anxiety from your system like sweat. The fear vibrates inside your bones, but the phone stays steady in your grip. You’ve turned into a statue, a marble shell wrapped around an earthquake. “Where do I go?”

She gives you an address to a safehouse, tells you how to get there without drawing attention to yourself. Hopefully.

“Any advice?” The chaos inside needs an outlet or distraction, and maybe the woman at the other end of the line can hear that, because she plays along.

“Move fast. Keep quiet. Stay alive.”

Shrugging as you pull on new clothes that won’t draw as much attention as your little black dress, you nod along. “I’ve heard worse tips.”

“You’re a step ahead of anyone trying to track you,” the stranger says. She speaks low and slow, like you’re a skittish horse ready to bolt, and even if you feel marginally infantilized, you appreciate the fragile illusion she weaves: that everything’s under control, that you know what you’re doing, that everything will be okay.

With the last of your things stuffed in your backpack, you grab your room key and head for the door. The hostel has remote checkout. You just need to drop your key in the box. “Leaving for the safehouse now.”

“Good. I need to brief the team coming to meet you. Keep your phone handy, and call me when you arrive.”

“Or if something goes wrong?”

“Or if something goes wrong. Be careful.”

The line goes dead, and you begin your trek through the dark. Stepping out of the warm, lively hostel and into the night feels like stripping naked and jumping into the water with sharks. Sure, the hostel wasn’t a great place to defend yourself, the doors were thin and the locks fragile, but it had walls. It felt safe. Now you’re exposed, and the vulnerability creeps over your skin like ants.

You take a night bus in the wrong direction, laying a false trail in case anyone is trying to follow you through camera feeds. Then you cut across ten city blocks on foot to find a new line heading the right way, and sit in the illuminated interior like a product in a butcher’s display. Dead meat. You feel obvious. Foolish. You’re following the woman’s directions to the letter, but inexperience gapes under your feet like an open pit, waiting for you to trip and fall so far down you’ll never get back up again.

Every stranger reads as a predator. Every camera holds malicious eyes.

It takes thirty minutes to walk to the safehouse from the last bus stop, and you make the journey with a white-knuckled grip on the strap of your backpack and a pulse so loud you struggle to hear over the drumming in your ears. The light pollution blots out the stars, it’s a new moon, and the streetlights only make the shadows beyond their miniscule pools of light darker.

By the time you find the safehouse and fish the key out of the little box hidden in the bushes, your hands are shaking again. The tension crackles like static through your nerves, blunting your focus even as your senses sharpen to the point of discomfort. Is the rustle behind you just that plastic bag rolling down the street, or is someone stalking you? The breeze feels like breath on the back of your neck, and every hair stands on end as you wrestle the key into the lock and trip through the door.

You slam it closed behind you, past caring about disturbing neighbors or drawing attention. This is like walking the long dark hallway to pee in the middle of the night as a child. You know there’s a monster behind you, but if you look it will eat you. If you run it will pounce. And once you reach safety, you gasp for air the same way you do after diving to the bottom of the pool. All you did was walk, but you feel as if you nearly drowned.

Your ass meets the floor, knees folding with the door at your back. Quivering fingers press over your mouth, trying to silence the wavering pants that may just turn into sobs if you can’t stuff them back down.

“Fuck.”

Blindly groping over your head, you find and turn the deadbolt. It takes more energy than it should, and you allow yourself a minute to recover before tugging out your phone and making the promised call.

The woman picks up after the first ring.

“I made it.” You take a deep breath. Let it out again. Your head drops back and your eyes slip shut as your heart gradually stutters down to a reasonable pace. “Locked the door and everything.”

“Good.” She sounds like she’s smiling, and you wonder if she’s actually amused or doing the whole horse-taming schtick again. “Your escort should arrive inside two hours. Just sit tight, okay?”

You haven’t even turned the lights on. You’re afraid to let anyone know you’re there, and it’s nice to be the one waiting in the dark this time. “I can do that.”

“I’ll let you know when they’re approaching.”

“Thanks.”

She hangs up without pleasantries. And you’re entirely alone again.

In the silence, you listen to distant traffic and a handful of dogs sounding off on the twilight bark. The world waits outside, but you feel like a weed yanked halfway free of the soil. You fit into that steady rhythm yesterday. Maybe you ferried some secrets to try and make the world a slightly better place, but fuck if you weren’t ordinary.

The debriefing is the goal, retrieving the intel you carry. Keeping you alive and relatively safe until that can happen makes sense, and you don’t blame the stranger on for focusing on the immediate issues. But you can’t help wondering what happens after that.

You consider for the first time since the alley that even if everything goes well, you might not make it home.

#x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #141 x reader #cod mw fanfiction

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