❤️
❤️
hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader
can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩
hope this is okay! thanks queen
MEMORIES
⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON
ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader
ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst
ᯓ★ Requests status: open
ᯓ★ Story type: one shot
ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.
ᯓ★ Word count: 8k
ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss
ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!
ᯓ★ My Masterlist
ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special
ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!
ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)
ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo
ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language
The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.
Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.
You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.
You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”
He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.
“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”
You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.
“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”
Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.
You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.
You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.
It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.
“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.
He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.
“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”
You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.
“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.
You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”
He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.
“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.
His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”
You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.
Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”
As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.
You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.
For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.
But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.
That peace doesn’t last forever.
The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.
After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.
You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?
It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.
But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.
You’ve made up your mind.
You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.
The love. The pain. The warmth.
You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.
The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.
Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.
Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.
Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.
“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.
Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”
You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.
You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.
Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.
You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.
The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.
It’s your name.
Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:
"You are my home."
The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.
You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”
And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.
The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.
It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?
You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.
Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.
You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.
You light the match.
The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.
But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.
Can you really do this?
Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.
But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.
You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.
And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.
The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”
Forget about him.
As if it were that simple.
You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.
It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.
And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.
A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.
His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.
“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.
The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.
But you’re not really listening.
Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.
This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.
He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?
The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.
“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.
“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.
The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.
Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.
You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.
No one holds a candle to Loki.
No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.
And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.
One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.
“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.
She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”
Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.
But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?
“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.
Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”
But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.
And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.
The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.
But it doesn’t work. Not really.
Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.
It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.
And yet…
The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.
He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.
“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.
Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.
“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.
He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”
The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.
He’s gone.
The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.
You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”
Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.
“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”
There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.
Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.
And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.
“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”
The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.
But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.
And yet, he didn’t.
The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.
At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.
You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.
And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.
Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.
“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”
You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?
One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.
“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”
The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.
But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.
You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.
It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.
The dream begins the same way every time.
You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.
Loki.
He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.
In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.
“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.
“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.
The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.
At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.
The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.
Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.
“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.
“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”
“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.
One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.
It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.
“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.
You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.
She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”
“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.
“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”
Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.
“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.
Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.
But even the dreams begin to shift.
The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.
“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.
“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”
Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”
The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.
And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.
Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.
It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.
“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”
You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”
“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”
From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.
You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”
She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.
“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”
“Y/N, please just listen—”
“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”
Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”
Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.
“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”
That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.
He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.
“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.
You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”
Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”
“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.
He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”
“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”
“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”
You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”
Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”
The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.
You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.
For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.
Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.
And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.
The next morning, you call your friend.
“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”
“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”
Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.
The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.
But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.
The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.
The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.
The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.
“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.
You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.
The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”
You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.
“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”
The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”
You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”
The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”
Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.
You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.
“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.
You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”
Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”
“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”
He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”
You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.
“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.
His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”
He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.
The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.
“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”
You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.
The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.
It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.
The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.
Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.
That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.
One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.
The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.
“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”
As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.
When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.
You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.
And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.
It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.
Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.
You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.
On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.
You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.
But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.
Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.
And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.
The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.
One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.
You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.
Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.
You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.
One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.
For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.
You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.
Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.
But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.
You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.
And maybe you never will.
ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol
More Posts from Star-reaper and Others
Disarmed | Bucky Barnes x Reader
After the events of the GOTG holiday special, I think we all know where this came from and where it’s going…
I have not been able to stop thinking about how this actually went down for Bucky. And it makes me sad.
Warnings: violence, injuries, pain, blood, Bucky’s arm, home invasion
No answer followed your knocking. Just silence. No movement from inside the apartment.
Another round of knocks echoed through the quiet hall. Again, silence.
“Buck? It’s me…”
You leaned against the door, listening for any sign of life. And finally, soft steps made their way in your direction. A deep sigh came from behind the wood.
Checking in on Bucky like this always made you feel like a bit of a bother. You never wanted to irritate him or make him feel like a child. But you liked knowing he was alright. And he never seemed to mind. He even welcomed your unannounced drop-ins. Bucky liked knowing that someone- anyone- cared about him. He just couldn’t believe you, of all people, were that ‘someone’.
The metallic rattling sound of Bucky undoing his door’s chain brought a smile to your face. Sure, he’d gone radio silent. He’d ignored your texts and calls all day and skipped out on your lunch plans. But he had a lot on his plate. And even as he worked through his issues and eliminated some of his mental load, more problems often materialized out of nowhere. And so, you granted him grace. You didn’t chastise him or nag him for drawing in on himself. He was doing his very best, and you only wanted to help.
Bucky tentatively pulled open the door a sliver, granting you a view of only half his body. He looked tired, dejected. But he smiled when he saw you- he couldn’t help it. “Hey, doll…”
“Hey, I was-” You noticed a large scrape running the length of his arm, a bruise resting below his eye. “Woah- what happened? I just saw you yesterday…” Anxiety flooded your system- he was okay less than twenty-four hours ago. How did this happen? And when?
Keep reading
If you take requests can you write a fic about draco wanting the reader's attention all day but someone or something something always getting in the way ? Bonus if he gets a lil moody about it too
(Feel free to ignore if a bother tho ♡) :)
bellyaching
A/N: you GUYS i cranked this out in an afternoon, do u understand im OBSESSED with moody draco
Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader
Summary: Draco is desperate for your attention, and desperate times call for desperate Slytherins. 1.1k words
Warnings: fluff, very very minor boy angst, slytherin behavior, moody/dramatic draco, established relationship
“Babe.”
It’s hushed, Draco doesn’t want to catch Flitwick’s attention while trying to grab yours. But it’s not easy when you’re seated in the row in front of him, and he’s desperately leaning over his workspace to reach you.
“Baby,” he mumbles, and you glance over your shoulder with a start. Then, smiling, you wave, and he’s soothed for just a moment. You turn back around and he’s practically pouting. He taps your shoulder with the paper rose he had so painstakingly folded for you. He’s got the paper cuts to prove it.
Draco taps your shoulder with the stem. You turn your head and hold one finger to your lips. You shushed him. You shushed him. He settles back in his seat, arms folded over his chest, wilted paper rose forgotten on his desk.
…
After class, you’re walking beside him, arm happily tucked within his as he escorts you to your Advanced Mythology lesson. Though he’s feeling a little deflated, having you near makes him feel better. And realizing that you’ve got a few minutes to spare before next class, he pulls you to the side of the hall, abandoning his friends to walk ahead.
Tucked beneath one of the awnings, he holds your books beneath his arm and pulls you closer.
“Draco!” you yelp, resisting his onslaught of hurried kisses, “We have class, remember? It’s that thing we are required to attend five days a week? We learn a lot of subjects? Sometimes they give us lunch hour—?”
“We’ll have plenty of time to get to class,” he huffs, pecking your bottom lip and the apple of your cheek.
“Draco, you’ve been late to nearly all of your classes because of—”
“Not because of you. I am solely responsible for my tardiness—ow!” You pinch his side and giggle when he slumps into your shoulder—“‘S not fair you’re so kissable.”
You roll your eyes and press your lips to the side of his sad face, “fine. You can have one kiss. Make it quick.”
At that, Draco perks up. You playfully pucker your lips, and as he leans in—You’ve got to be kidding.
“There you are! Come on, we’ve only got five minutes to get to class, and I’d rather not be forced to polish anymore silver!” Pansy grabs you by the crook of your elbow, dragging you out into hall. You wave at Draco and quickly catch up with Pansy.
For Merlin’s sake, is he not allowed one moment alone with his beloved.
…
The rest of the day goes just as smooth. As in not smooth at all. As in Draco’s day has been a complete shit show, and you’ve been otherwise occupied for just about every second of it.
First, he face plants during a scrimmage. Then, you tell him you’re using the afternoon to study with the girls in the library. You said he’s welcome to join but he knows that means he would be the only male attending and, therefore, it would be excruciatingly awkward.
Suffice to say, he’s spent the last few hours sulking and moaning to himself. Enzo thinks it’s hilarious.
When you finally sit next to him at dinner, he’s still stewing in his anger. Yes, it’s gotten to anger.
“Good evening, dear Draco!” you coo. And he’s clearly not having it, picking away at his food and only acknowledging you with a curt huff. You look to Theodore in shock, eyes wide when he shrugs.
“He’s been like this all day,” Mattheo says, “Think you could be a dear and fix him for us?”
You look over at Draco, who’s taken to scowling at the two boys. So you brush his hair out of his face and flatten his hood against his back.
“What’s wrong? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day?” you say, tilting your head. He huffs.
“I think you mean you’ve been ignoring me all day.”
“Draco!” you say, surprised by his sudden volume and honestly amused by his apparent lack of awareness. “What’s with the attitude?” He doesn’t respond, so you cross your arms over your chest. At this point, you’ve got the entire Great Hall’s attention. And winner for most dramatic couple goes to… “Come on, Draco, don’t just sit there and sulk, talk to me!”
“Oh, now you want to talk? Are you sure? Maybe you should go and study with your friends or read a book or do anything other than ask me how my day has been,” he whines. Enzo can’t help but snicker.
Your jaw drops, and you mumble, "Lower your voice, drama queen, I’m—"
“No, I’ve been trying to spend time with you all day, and you just shrug me off and find something better to do! What if I wanted to walk you to class and study with you?”
“We can still study together this week.”
“That’s not the point, babe. I wanted to spend time with you today,” he says, defeated and back to prodding at his meal tirelessly.
You sigh.
“I’m sorry, Draco. I had no idea”—you list his hand from the edge of the table and fit your fingers gently between his own—“I didn’t mean to starve you of attention. How careless of me.”
Draco presses his thumb against your hand, and he just barely turns his head to look at you.
“You’re teasing me,” he huffs. You look down at your hands and smile.
“A little,” you say, “But I am sorry. I should have listened to you. And asked you about your day. How was it by the way?”
“Ate complete shit out on the pitch. Found out I’m too needy for my girlfriend. Other than that, just peachy.”
“Draco,” you whine, pouting and cupping his face. “I’m sorry. And you’re not too needy for me, I’m just a bit daft.”
He shrugs, trying not to smile so wide and failing. Just happy to have you near him again.
“Oh, I have something for you”—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the floppy rose—“Made it in charms.”
You hold its fragile, wrinkled frame in your cupped hands, frowning at it then at him.
“You made this for me?”
“Yeah. And it says ‘you look pretty’ on the inside, but I think if you try to unfold it, it’ll actually disintegrate,” he says.
You lean in swiftly for a kiss, but pause on the way.
“You two? Look away,” you grumble at Theo and Mattheo, snapping a spell against both of their cheeks. They wince and apologize, and Draco snickers.
He kisses you, tugging at your open robe and smiling against your lips when you reach for his other hand.
masterlist
omg i love this
Since many of you were interested in them here are all my ghost photocards i have so far.
there are also some with a special finish:
they are far from perfect but they make me happy hehe
i read this a while ago and was literally obsessed like, we're talking could NOT stop thinking about it and then today i was looking for it again and i realized i never fucking reblogged it?????
anyway this is everything i needed and infinitely more thanks for coming to my ted talk
Undisclosed - Masterlist
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!
a/n: This series is now complete 🤍
Series playlist ⍋
❆ Chapter One
❆ Chapter Two
❆ Chapter Three
❆ Chapter Four
❆ Chapter Five
❆ Chapter Six**
❆ Chapter Seven
❆ Chapter Eight
❆ Chapter Nine
❆ Chapter Ten
❆ Epilogue
Series art!!
🤍 Bucky
🤍 Bucky and Alpine
🤍Scenery
🤍 Bucky at the diner
Extra content!!
Reader gets sick (drabble)
Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)
The bear attack (drabble)
Come Home (oneshot)
omggggg this is amazing
chapter 3 of the spiderverse au fic is done and dusted so to celebrate i cooked up some spider-jayce and doc vik designs :]
read the fic here!
Bucky Barnes Angst!
Hi, friends! Welcome to angst-central! I love me some Bucky Barnes angst, and I hope you enjoy my angsty posts :)
Find my Ko-Fi here!
After All This Time | impending danger puts you and your ex, Bucky, in close quarters.
All in My Head | Your perfect boyfriend Bucky just wants to take you dancing, and his sweeping romantic gesture is almost too good to be true.
Anti Hero | Bucky can’t believe someone like you would be with someone like him. And he’s certain it won’t last.
Baby, It’s Cold Outside | In the dead of winter, the heating in your building goes out. You don’t mind the freezing temperatures, but Bucky is miserable.
The Ballad of Love and Hate | Bucky refuses to open up to you even after you've moved in together. You need some time away to think while Bucky spirals due to your absence.
Begin Again | Bucky broke up with you six months for an unspecified reason, leaving you absolutely heartbroken. When he shows up on your doorstep, your feelings come rushing back.
Blood on My Hands | A text from Sam sparks anxiety about Bucky’s state of mind after his most recent mission, and all you want to do is fix it for him.
Burning the Midnight Oil | Bucky says he’s okay. He tells you that he just can’t fall asleep, but his continuous absence from your bedroom spells trouble.
Call Me When You Get This | Bucky always worries about your safety, but his anxiety gets worse when he’s away on a mission. He doesn’t hear from you for an entire day, and it makes him spiral.
Chemical Imbalance | Bucky finally returns from his latest mission, and goin and you can’t wait to see him. But when his old instincts resurface, the two of you are forced apart.
Clean Up Crew | You’d do anything for your best friend Bucky. And when he calls you in the middle of the night with a strange request, you jump at the chance to help him.
Damaged | It’s date night, but your chronic pain is rearing its ugly head. Bucky spends the night worrying about you and trying to care for you.
Dark Reflection | A particularly dark night terror wakes Bucky in a panic. He reaches for you and finds your side of the bed empty, save for a few drops of blood.
Darling, You Will Bury Me Before I Bury You | You know Bucky is a super soldier, but you worry about how long he'll be around. He is 106, after all.
Disarmed | Bucky’s radio silence prompts you to pay him a visit. When you see him, you notice new injuries and one missing piece.
Documentary Now | In his free time, Bucky wants to catch up on all of your favorite movies and tv shows, but he stumbles upon something darker.
Do You Want to Die Together? | Bucky’s lost a lot of people in his life, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts thinking about losing you.
Double Agent | Bucky can’t control his rage as he sees you, a former Hydra operative, joining the team. His fury is quelled, however, when you reveal the truth about your past.
Double Agent: Part 2 | A nightmare violently wakes you up, but Bucky is there to take care if you. After calming down, you tell him every last detail of your time under Hydra.
Double Agent: Part 3 | All Bucky wants is for you to get some rest, but there’s no way you can sleep. He picks your brain over some breakfast, and learns more about your past.
Double Agent: Part 4 | Things between you and Bucky improve consistently, and you quickly become close friends. But one unfortunate middle of the night event sends the two of you back two square one.
Dust to Dust | Bucky’s on a long mission, and you’re preparing for his return home. But Sam has some unfortunate news that shakes you to your core.
End of My Rope | Bucky’s been down lately, and you’ve been doing your best best to help. But things come to a head when you come home early from work.
End of Story | An injury forces you to examine Bucky’s mortality head on and talk about things you never wanted to admit.
Excuses | An unexpected relapse of Bucky’s Winter Soldier mindset makes him do something he doesn’t remember- the worst thing he’s ever done.
False Reality | Running into an unpleasant person from your past sends you into a shame spiral. Bucky gets you home and takes care of you- reminding you of your worth.
Family Man | More than anything, Bucky wants you to be happy. He’d do anything to help you find someone, no matter how much it hurts him.
Fixer Upper | Bucky knows he’s got issues. But with your help, he’s been making great strides. His long recovery seems to be going well, but he wonders how long you’ll stick around.
For You, I Would Ruin Myself | Work’s been kicking your ass lately, and Bucky knows it. But you come home and try to seduce him anyway, just like you always do.
Glutton For Punishment | After being blamed for something that wasn’t his fault, Bucky spirals. And it’s in the midst of his breakdown that you learn the origin of the bruise on his chest.
Happiness is a Butterfly | You never expected to meet the Bucky Barnes somewhere so mundane, but bumping into him at the grocery store leads to a first date.
Haunted | You and Bucky have finally admitted your feelings for each other, but when he hurts you by accident, he runs. You're left to pick up the pieces in his absence.
Help me | Bucky wakes from a night terror and divulges the details of a particular horrifying memory- one he’s never shared with anyone.
Hold My Hand | Keeping your emotional struggles to yourself is just the way you operate, until Bucky wakes one to find you sobbing.
Home | Bucky is your best friend in the compound and your favorite person to spend time with until he ices you out completely.
Hopelessly Devoted | Yet another failed date leaves you tired of being alone. Bucky makes it his mission to help you feel better, and ends up making a surprising confession.
I’ll Show You Mine | Bucky’s nightmares get to him each and every night, but he refuses to ask for help- until one night, he knocks on your door.
I’ll Never Smile Again | Part two of Honey, Come Home | Bucky’s mission keeps getting extended, leaving you sad and alone.
I’ll Wear Your Ring | Bucky loved you. He gave you a ring and asked you to be his wife- and then he left without a trace.
I Never Learned to Read Your Mind | Bucky broke up with you just over a month ago, yet gets jealous after seeing you with another man.
It Feels Easier to Just Swim Down | Several unanswered texts make Bucky work about you, and he ends up at your apartment to check in on you. What he finds breaks his heart.
It Will Come Back | Bucky is your very best friend but he’s very hot and cold toward you, so you confront him.
It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want to | It’s a special night- the night of your birthday party. But Bucky has yet to show up.
Just in Case | On the run after the events of Civil War, Bucky hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. You offer to sit with him, and he makes an off putting request.
Let Go | Bucky knows there’s something you’re hiding from him, and all he wants is to help. But you remain closed off and tight lipped until everything falls apart.
Like a Secret, Like an Oath | Bucky never misses an opportunity to give you a kiss or hold your hand- unless the team is around.
Long Gone | The greatest tragedy of your life, Bucky’s disappearance in the blip, finally comes to an end when he returns home- but is he really back?
Lost Without You | Your mission team returns home safely… without you. Bucky launches into an investigation, doing everything he can to get you back.
Love Language | You notice that Bucky has started pulling away from your usual physical affection, and it makes you rethink the way you show your love.
Lucky | A dicey mission has Bucky looking a little worse for wear. You’re already worried about him, but he makes a comment that sends your anxiety into overdrive.
Making Amends | You’ve never seen the inside of Bucky’s secret little notebook, and when you accidentally take a glance, you can’t believe what you find.
Means to an End | Bucky comes home from a mission injured and bloody- just like always. But the details of what happened make you unravel.
Metamorphosis | Bucky never anticipated meeting someone like you, let alone befriending you. He bares his soul to you, showing you every dark corner of his mind, and you help him become a new man.
Monster Mash | A Halloween party goes very south when you and Bucky are met face to face with someone from both of your pasts.
Muscle Memory | Things with Bucky are perfect until he touches you in a way that brings back terrible memories.
Necessary Evil | when you end up hurt after a mission, Bucky is tasked with taking care of you. But you’ve never experienced pain like this before.
Never Alone | Bucky is afraid of who he is deep down, and thinks leaving is the best option for the both of you.
Never Stop Searching | When the jet returns from a mission without you, Bucky is fiercely determined to find you.
The Night We Met | Bucky comes to you with a question, a file full of redacted documents, and a broken heart. He needs to know- why didn’t you tell him?
Nothing Fucks With My Baby | Bucky shows up late to a Shield party and finds out that a new agent made you uncomfortable. He takes care of it.
Nowhere to Go | Bucky’s temporary living situation falls through and he needs a place to crash, but he’s too embarrassed to ask for help.
Old Habits | Bucky’s old Winter Soldier training starts rearing its head, causing him to become more protective of you than ever before.
Packed Bags | Bucky comes home to find your things neatly packed into a suitcase, and he does everything he can to convince you not to leave him.
Penance | Bucky comes home from a mission bloody and injured. You want him to get some medical attention, but he refuses.
Protect Yourself | Bucky worries endlessly about your safety and just wants you to know how to keep yourself safe. Unfortunately, you end up injured in the process and he blames himself.
Put My Mind at Ease | You return home from a successful mission with plans to have a pizza night with Bucky- but things go awry when an injury rears it’s head.
The Quiet | Bucky is gone all the time on mission after mission, fulfilling his duties as an Avenger- but is he doing too much?
Red Light, Green Light | Sex with Bucky is better than you’d ever experienced, but he has a habit that draws your attention.
Revenge | A mission gone sideways finds you bloodied on the floor of a Hydra base, and Bucky knows exactly who’s to blame.
Safe With Me | A mission goes sideways, putting you in the hands of a notorious Hydra arms dealer. Upon returning home, your well-being takes a turn for the worst, but Bucky is there for you.
Self-Inflicted | A strange sound wakes you up in the middle of the night, and you discover a sleeping Bucky covered blood.
She Never Asked Me Once About the Wrong I Did | Bucky comes home from a mission, racked with guilt and covered in blood that isn't his. He needs comfort and safety and that only you can provide.
Silent Lucidity | Bucky calls in the middle of the night, and something is clearly wrong. He doesn’t sound like himself. He needs you.
Somebody’s Watching Me | Bucky knows you’re being stalked by the creepy guy who frequents your work place, but you shrug it off- until the man takes things a little too far.
That’s My Girl | Bucky hates when you go on missions without him, and he counts the hours till you return. When you end up in the med bay without him knowing why, he loses it.
Til it Happens to You | An unsavory encounter with an old friends leaves Bucky picking up your broken pieces.
Unanswered Letters | Bucky is your best friend in the Avengers compound...until he leaves with no warning. His return is confusing and complicated for the both of you.
Under the Influence | Girls night out with Nat and Wanda gets ruined by a particularly creepy stranger, and Bucky spends the night taking care of you.
Unforgivable | Bucky can’t contain himself when you defy his orders on a mission and out yourself in danger.
Unhinged | An argument between you and Bucky gets a little out of hand, prompting him to leave with no intention of returning.
Watch You Sleep (sequel to Just in Case) | Bucky falls asleep in your lap and finally gets the rest he deserves. One tiny mistake by you wakes him, however, leading to a violent outburst.
Weak Link | Bucky is your favorite person to work with on missions, and you’re partnered together every time- until someone keeps changing things up last minute, making you doubt your friendship with him.
What Could Go Wrong? | A SWORD function at the compound has Bucky feeling uneasy. He can’t seem to stop himself from checking up on you, but you swear to him that you’re not in danger- you’re wrong.
Why Are You at the Wake? | Bucky sits by your hospital bed, anxious for you to finally open your eyes. He’s got to set the record straight, and apologize for what he said before you got hurt.
Winter in my Heart | Bucky just can’t get a handle on his emotions as he tries to adjust to a normal life with you.
The Words | While out with you at the store, Bucky encounters something from his past that messes with his head.
The World Stopped Moving | A mission gone wrong leaves you and Bucky both gravely injured.
Unforgivable | Bucky is your closest friend, he’s the person you care about most. But things take a negative turn when he snaps at you in front everyone.
You Drew Stars Around My Scars | you and Bucky trade off telling the stories behind your scars. But one of Bucky’s stories is worse than you could ever imagine.
You Don’t Own Me | Bucky’s wounds land him in the med bay after a mission, much to his dismay. A particular scar of his catches your eye, forcing Bucky to unravel even more of his traumatic past.
Yours | Bucky loves being your boyfriend, but he knows he's got a lot of baggage. He worries that it's too much for you, so you talk him through it.
You're Here Now | Bucky always begs you to lock the front door, but you're forgetful. Too bad you forgot to lock it the day Hydra came after you to get back at Bucky...
Find my Bucky smut here 🔥
Find my Bucky fluff here 🥰
this early dancing (2/2) | sirius black
Sirius rested his hand at your neck and you felt yourself seize up as he pushed his thumb into your throat. He was gentle, sliding up slow until the tip of his index finger was pressed into the underside of your jaw. He stretched his hand out over your neck. You swallowed, which he surely felt, and then he moved his hand to the space behind your ear, thumb pulling your lips into a wonky smile. "Smile, beautiful."
You smiled. He nodded approvingly and kissed the corner where his thumb wasn't, head tilted in, before pulling away like nothing had transpired.
summary you and Sirius navigate the dizzying affection between you both while trying to keep it secret [14k]
warnings fluff, smut, marauders era, mutual pining, idiots in love, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem!reader
read part one here
You woke up to somebody knocking loudly at the door. You flinched, disentangling yourself from Sirius' iron tight hold and remembered you were wearing his shirt. "Shit. Shit. Fuck," you cursed in a whisper. Sirius didn't even stir.
You pulled your dirtied pyjama bottoms from the day before yesterday on and cracked open the door. Lily stood on the landing, arms crossed, gaze quizzical.
"We want to go into town. You two are the last ones up."
"Right, I'll get him up," you said, cringing at your appearance.
She peered over your shoulder at Sirius, at the duvet you'd thrown off of you both, at the body sized space facing his chest. She looked back at you and zeroed in on your shirt before she shut her eyes, holding her weight up with her hand on the doorway. "You didn't."
You shuffled from foot to foot. "What?"
"Tell me you didn't."
"I didn't."
Despite asking for it, your denial rubbed her the wrong way.
"Do you think I'm blind?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I tried the door. It was locked."
"Sirius is serious about sleep privacy."
She groaned and tipped her head to the sky, ginger curls bouncing.
“Oh my merlin."
"I like him, Lily," you said quietly, leaning in very close.
When she deigned to look at you again her eyes were softer. "I know you do. I only hope you know what you're doing. Do you know what you're doing?"
"Not yet," you said, clearing your throat.
"Well," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear, "you have another two days to work it out."
"Right. Two days."
You both looked at each other, Lily solemn and you embarrassed. The holiday was taking place over a long, 4 day weekend. The first day, Friday, you'd spent mostly in the car as you and James has spearheaded the no magic rule of your holiday; though no one was really listening, James had insisted on the drive from the Manor to his family cottage. Day two, yesterday. Today was day three.
She peered over your shoulder again and then looked straight in your eye
"What's he like?"
You giggled breathlessly, infecting her with your glee until she was laughing too.
"That good?"
You nodded multiple times, feeling heat climbing your face to roost at the tips of your ears. "Yeah."
She smiled and then shrugged. "Well. We're young, right? Any mistakes should happen now.”
You felt the word mistake like a jab in the side but continued smiling. "Yeah."
She sensed a potential misstep and her smile wavered apologetically.
"I'll wake him up," you said quickly, nodding your head towards the sleeping ravenette. "We won't be long."
Lily said, "Alrighty," and made her way across the landing and down the stairs. You trusted her to keep your secret for now, turning from the door which you'd closed to slink back into bed by Sirius, stealing time you didn't have.
He groaned and wrapped his arm back around you, the weight of it across your front still unfamiliar despite a whole night of checking it was really his arm. He pulled you close, breathing in the back of your neck. You felt your pulse hammering in your chest, a rush of adrenaline coursing through you as you remembered what you'd done the night before. How he'd been – after the photograph he'd persuaded you into the shower and had continued his manhandling, pressing you to the cool tile. He'd dropped to his knees, spread your legs.
Sirius' arm came to life and snapped you from your reverie, hand moving up your chest and neck to turn your face to his. He was blinking, bleary eyes already full of a tenderness that turned your stomach. You turned in his arms until you were practically nose to nose.
"Was that the door?"
"Lily. Everyone's going up town," you clued him in, tucking a misbehaving strand of hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes again at your touch.
"Town," he mumbled, drifting off. You giggled quietly and set your hand on his face, fingernail scratching lightly down his cheek. "What for?"
"Just to look, I think. Maybe dinner… Sirius, we really have to get up, everybody's waiting."
He groaned one more time and then forced his eyes open. His hand came up the back of your head to lead your forehead to his mouth, where he planted a firm, chaste kiss. Then, appeased, he tumbled out of bed to look for something to wear. You watched him stretch distractedly, the late morning light catching his body in stripes through the curtains and painting him the blinding white you often imagined him as. Glowing, he pulled a fresh t-shirt on and discarded the one he'd slept in as well as his boxers. You looked away, eyes drifting to your own made bed.
No wonder Lily had clocked on so fast.
You moaned and curled in tightly on yourself. You would've liked to work out for yourself what had happened last night before the others found out.
"What's the matter with you?" Sirius asked, scraping the front parts of his hair into a bobble.
"Some twat defiled me last night."
He gasped, legitimately shocked. "Defiled. What a way with words you have."
You squinted at him.
He chuckled, meandering over to your side. He sat by your knees and pulled his rings from the bedside table, sliding them on slowly and then setting his large hand over your hip. "C'mon, sweetheart. They're waiting for us."
You inhaled to say something and then shut your mouth.
"What?" he asked.
You weighed your words carefully before you spoke. "Kiss me?"
He grinned, leaning down until your mouths were barely an inch apart. "We haven't brushed our teeth," he said, and then pulled away.
"Get dressed," he encouraged, patting your shoulder and standing, "'nd then I'll kiss you. Deal?"
You resented his rejection and scrambled into a cheerful summer outfit, a midi skirt and a graphic t-shirt torn asymmetrically to expose your navel. You barreled into the bathroom and saw Sirius already at the sink, smelling of deodorant and cologne with a toothbrush between his lips. You did as he had, deodorising and spraying perfume on your neck and behind your ears, toothbrush in hand.
Sirius spat into the sink and wiped the back of his mouth, running the water.
"Think there'll be breakfast?"
You laughed, feeling toothpaste at the corner of your mouth. "Hungry?"
"Worked up an appetite."
You spit and washed your mouth out with a handful of water, trying not to care that he was watching you dribble. He'd seen worse, at this point.
"What do you fancy?" you asked him, squaring your hair up and wetting a flannel to quickly dab your face clean.
He sidled up into your space, hand going straight to your chin.
You looked up at him and felt apprehension deep in your marrow, but he didn't move to kiss you. You pouted at him, feeling hard done by. He leaned forward to peck your pout, expression all cool and collected when he pulled away, refusing to show if you’d had any effect on him.
You hated his guts sometimes.
You'd sorted your purse out for the day and was just about ready, pulling the door open when Sirius reached out over your head and shut it, effectively pinning you between his chest and the door.
"What?" you asked.
He looked at you steadily.
"What?" you asked again, giggling nervously.
Sirius rested his hand at your neck and you felt yourself seize up as he pushed his thumb into your throat. He was gentle, sliding up slow until the tip of his index finger was pressed into the underside of your jaw. He stretched his hand out on your neck. You swallowed, which he surely felt, and then he moved his hand to that space behind your ear, thumb pulling your lips into a wonky smile.
"Smile, beautiful."
You smiled. He nodded approvingly and kissed the corner where his thumb wasn't, head tilting in, and then he pulled away like nothing had transpired.
"Ready?" he asked you. You nodded, dazed.
-
The sun was especially cruel today, you thought, taking shelter under the awning of a fragrant gelato shop. You stood as close to Sirius as you could without one, being clingy and two, being obvious, breathing in the comforting drifts of vanilla and cream.
"What flavour will you get?" Mary asked you. You got up on your tiptoes to see over the small crowd at the front of the shop.
"I'm not sure, there's too many."
"I'm gonna get strawberry," she said. "And maybe pistachio, if they have it. And rocky road. And salted caramel."
Marlene snorted. "You don't want much, then."
Mary wiped her hands down her lilac sundress, model hands pressing into her waist, wrists adorned with silver bangles that clinked when she moved. Dorcas returned from looking at the menu in the window and pushed her chin over Mary’s shoulder. “I agree with Mary.”
“Did you even hear what she said?” Marlene asked.
Dorcas smirked. “Nope.”
A lover’s quarrel ensued. You looked out the corner of your eye at Sirius and found he was doing the same thing, and you both had to look away to stop from laughing.
Lily, Remus and Emmeline had stationed themselves at a cafe table a little ways away, the latter two looking positively miserable at such warm weather, while Frank and Alice had wandered off an hour ago. James emerged from the crowd with his hands full of ice cream pots and a big fuck off cone covered in all the trappings, a flake and nuts and a maraschino cherry.
You eyed it, in awe at its gravity defying physics.
“Wonder who that one’s for,” Sirius murmured, words for your ears only. “He’s irredeemably whipped.” And then, when James kept the cone for himself, his roaring laughter, which warmed your chest. James looked over at Sirius and grinned, soft scoop on the tip of his nose, stark against his brown skin.
Lily was rolling her eyes at the whole debacle, a smaller tub of gelato in her hands.
You looked between your friends happily. Only the ones who’d heeded your advice remained unburned. Emmeline was red from head to toe and complaining of it miserably, where Remus was much more sun-kissed. James’ colour had warmed where Lily, who had let him slather her regularly in sunscreen, was still pale as milk with a dusting of pink over her face where she’d forgotten.
Dorcas and Mary had charged into the shop holding hands now the line had receded, Marlene unhappily at their heels.
“Wanna change your bet?” Sirius asked, bumping your shoulder lightly.
“Wanna change yours?” you fired back. He met your eyes and said nothing, though he was smiling something awful. “James wouldn’t let either of us. God forbid he’s right, I don’t have the galleons.”
“I’ll bankroll you,” he said.
“So generous.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard it, funnily enough.”
“Yeah?” you asked, pressing your lips together to hide your smile. “And who’s telling you these things? I’d love to meet them, compliment their ability to lie so well as to trick you, loverboy.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re going wrong.” He leaned down to talk into the shell of your ear, sounding insufferably full of himself. “Can’t lie with their mouths full.”
You chortled, pushing him away. “Girls are good fakers.”
He nodded, looking up very quickly and then back at you, struggling to hold back his own smile. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you, then, next time. Lest you pull the wool over my eyes.”
Next time.
You nodded your head as if it were the most agreeable course of action. “I’m an adept liar. Even with my mouth full.”
“You don’t mind if I test that theory?”
“Anytime you want.”
His eyes had darkened, pupils dilating. You didn’t think it was the sunlight. “I’ll hold you to it.”
You held his stare for only a few moments before you were looking away, shy again. You couldn’t understand where your flirting had come from, only that it had you crossing your legs where you stood. You looked into the parlour to avoid Sirius’ eyes and saw the line had depleted now to only your friends, who were dawdling as Mary glanced over the ice creams, sorbets and gelatos with her hands spread over the glass as she made up her mind.
You started into the shop without saying anything and he followed, knuckles brushing yours for a split second as you walked. Pins and needles traversed the skin of your hands, eating up your wrist. You screwed your hand into a fist.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Will you choose for me?” you requested, having thought little about it.
He grinned. “Sure will. You wanna go wait outside?”
It was freezing in the parlour. You weighed your options; the edging on unpleasant cold with Sirius or the sweltering summer heat with the rest of your friends.
“I’ll stay,” you said impishly, looking down at your sandals.
You could see his arm out the corner of your eye, tanned and dewed with sweat. You were sweating yourself and still hoped for it to get warmer, excited for the opportunities higher temperatures might bring about, like shirtless Sirius, and sweaty Sirius, and maybe even cranky Sirius.
Mary had decided and was now being served two pots with 5 different flavours of gelato. You huffed a laugh through your nose, the situation made far funnier by Marlene’s clear lack of patience. Dorcas was crunching on a wafer loudly at her side. You missed Sirius ordering, much too distracted by Mary’s reception and review of each flavour, and even more so when she tried to get Marlene to taste some off of the same spoon.
You turned back, “Marl won’t even share a spoon with Mary, there’s no way they’re going out,” you informed him, turning back to find he had his wallet out and had already paid. You rummaged through your bag for your purse. “Wait, Sirius, I’ll get you back.”
“You’re alright.”
He clapped you on the shoulder in a friendly manner and then massaged the skin there in a way that was decidedly not. You listened for the sounds of the mystery throuple exiting the shop and turned around to make sure before bending your neck so your cheek rubbed against Sirius’ hand on your shoulder. His ring scratched your cheek.
“What’d you get us?”
“It’s a surprise.”
You hummed, turning your face to press your mouth into his fingers, allowing yourself a full minute of this.
Sirius squeezed your shoulder and pulled you into his side, running his hand with pressure down your arm. You turned to face him, hoping he could read the domestic contentment dripping from your every pore. Something about his returned look made you think he could.
It was an insane pleasure, this stolen moment between you both. You’d often thought that the whole, ‘you make me feel like we’re the only two people on earth’ thing was a total farce, love dramatised by fools who didn’t know better. Now, you’d admit (perhaps as a newly-stated idiot), that loving someone and feeling it returned was a transcendent feeling: the kind of feeling that had you one second standing in an ice cream parlour and the next second standing totally alone with your love for company — and it didn’t feel lonely, despite it all.
And then somebody spoke and you were tethered, back in your shoes, meeting eyes with an apron clad shop worker who handed Sirius two ice cream cones with a big customer service smile.
They were startlingly pink, besides the light brown waffle cones. Pink ice cream, pink wafer, pink chocolate straws, topped off with matching maraschino cherries.
You gawked at them.
“What are these?” you asked.
He pointed at the scoop. “That’s raspberry sorbet.”
“Right, but they’re pink?” you asked softly, adoringly, digging through your bag for your camera. “Can I take a picture of you?”
He looked like his first impulse was to say no. He, with a chagrined expression, stepped back with the ice cream counter and chalkboard menus behind him. You moved back to fit it all in frame, smiling at tough, cool Sirius not knowing which way to pose.
“Smile, baby,” you said. The pet name caught him off guard and had the desired effect, a brilliant, carefree smile overshadowing his unassuming stance.
You snapped a photo of him and cheered.
You put your camera away and let him hand off your cone, seeing it now up-close. “Wow! The wafer’s a heart,” you said, eyes wide.
“It’s a Pink-Heart cone,” he informed you, pulling his maraschino cherry free to push gently into your cone. You licked the sorbet, surprised at its refreshing, fruity flavour.
“You didn’t want something cooler? They have your favourite,” you said, glancing at the tray of vanilla brownie. “We never see that these days.”
“I thought we should match,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet. His cheeks were dusted pink as the sorbet.
You stretched up to kiss him as quickly as you could.
“Thank you,” you said, lips cold on his warm cheek. “I’m gonna get you some vanilla brownie by the time the week's up, Black.”
-
You emerged from the parlour after finishing your matching cones and nobody batted an eyelash, eager to begin the walk to the indoor market before the sun was any higher in the sky. James was fanning Lily with a menu he’d nabbed at the parlour as they walked, Lily in the throes of a deep conversation about meditation and spiritual healing with Marl while James was turned the other way, shit-talking Sirius.
You were dawdling at his side, talking to Frank about something he couldn’t quite catch in between James’ intense conversation.
He liked how you gravitated to his side before you remembered yourself, how you fell into his step and then shook yourself. Sirius knew you were both distracted to the point of suspicion but neither of you could help it, apparently. Finally, you bumped into his side and apologised, blushing.
“You can bump into me anytime you want, sweetheart,” he said, throwing his arm around your shoulder. And, as he’d thought, everyone was so used to his flirtatious behaviour that it flew under the radar.
You relaxed under his touch and continued your conversation with Frank with no further incident. James was glaring at him when he turned back, feeling his smile slip.
James was looking at him as if to say, caught you, dickhead.
“What do you think? Yes or no?” he asked. Sirius scrambled to think of what his friend had said moments before, and thought, fuck it. Fifty-fifty chance I get this right.
“Of course, mate. Yes, all the way.”
James grinned a shit-eating grin. “You think Bulgaria has a real chance of winning this season?”
Sirius winced. “No,” he admitted. “No. I definitely do not.”
“That’s what I thought.”
James pushed his glasses up at the side with one knuckle, frowning. Sirius watched as James gaze travelled across his arm and to your shoulders, watched him study your face and your touching skin. He levelled Sirius with a shockingly uncharacteristic glare, and Sirius wasn’t surprised when James thrust the menu at Lily and grabbed his arm, pulling him away to the side.
“We both need a wee,” James lied haphazardly.
With little more than that he’d sequestered and harangued Sirius within an inch of his life, totally furious. “You absolute wanker. I tell you everything. I told you about my first erection. I told you about my second erection, which, if you remember, was very sexually confusing. I told you abou-“
“Your third erection?”
James scowled.
“You did.”
“I know I did, arsehole. That’s literally my point.”
Sirius leaned against the warm limestone wall of the charity shop James had dragged him to, now separated from the main group with no clue where they were besides the market, which was huge. They’d be lucky to find them again. Sirius wished desperately for a cigarette, and suddenly James was offering him one.
“I’m on holiday,” James sniffed at Sirius’ silent judgement, passing him the lighter.
Sirius lit his cig and kicked one leg up on the wall behind him. James attempted the same, slipped, and scowled deeper. “My point was,” he said, clutching the box of cigarettes in his hands so tightly Sirius worried he’d crush them, “we tell each other everything. So: you’re a wanker.”
“I wasn’t sure what to tell you. I’m still not sure.”
“Have you slept together?”
Sirius said nothing, flicking ash on the ground in feigned disinterest. James groaned and took his silence for what it was.
“Well, you could start there!”
“James, shall I tell you when I need to piss, as well, or are we allowing a small margin for privacy?” James looked so hurt at this that Sirius sighed and admitted defeat. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” James muttered. “Still an idiot.”
“Mm.”
“You didn’t tell Moony, did you?”
“What? When have I ever played favourites?”
“You’ve slept with two out of three of your best friends. It’s not unheard off.” The pair descended into laughter which itself descended into hacking coughs. Sirius stubbed the cigarette out under his shoe. James continued his joke. “Seriously, I’m getting insecure at this point. You only like the quiet types, or what? I can be whatever you want, baby.”
Sirius shrugged, chuckling, and found that James was right. He did like the quiet types, and that surprised him. Not that his fancying you was ever in question, but still.
“I’ll say - I imagined you with a proper bombshell.”
“Fuck off,” there was real heat behind this, ”she’s hot.”
“Sure. She’d be the hottest dame in the library.”
“Cunt.”
James’ startled laughter echoed down the streets as they set off walking again in the direction everyone else had gone.
“She’s a bombshell. A real stunner,” he argued, thinking of you in his jacket, in the shower, in his sleep shirt. “She’s killer.”
“Right, don’t get your cock out. I take it back. And it’s not that I don’t think she’s fit, it’s that she’s - Y/N. Very unassuming.”
“There was nothing unassuming about that bikini,” Sirius defended you.
“Margin of privacy, or something?”
Sirius knew he had gone red, feeling a little sleazy. He cleared his throat. “Your girlfriend is literally the smartest person we know.”
“Yeah, she is,” James agreed dreamily. “And she’s a bombshell.”
“Right. That solidifies my point. You can look freakishly hot and frequent the library.”
“My god, man, are we still on this one? I already took it back.”
“You’re a bitch.”
And with that the market came into view. The outside was busy, which made Sirius think the inside would be tenfold, herds of families and dogs on their leads could be heard from a mile away. The crowds of customers flanked each merchant, most already with a bag of goods under their arm or grease-stained brown paper bag in their fingers. Sirius could already smell the bakery on the air, salt and fresh bread and something sweet, and thought maybe he’d find you there, browsing the sweets, looking for something to share.
There was a bullet silver burger van camped out at one end of the market with a line that stretched to the other. The fragrance of hot oil and searing beef patty had both himself and Prongs looking at each other cheekily. Neither attempted to reason with the other as they joined the queue, and though both felt a shot of guilt for abandoning the group on a second excursion they couldn't be blamed, Sirius thought, half an hour later with a full stomach. We're only men. Boys, even. What were we to do? Ignore hunger?
Sirius and James pushed past stalls full of secondhand books that he knew you'd probably perused already and a man who boasted to have the newest selection of tapes, a tarp layed out with what must've been a thousand vinyl records tiled over each other like domino's that'd fallen flat, even a mobile home full of stuffed animals and porcelain dolls.
If the warm roar of the outside was anything to undertake, the inside was worse and better in different ways. Worse, much worse, to have people packed like sardines; shoulder to shoulder the people walked, prams bashing like bumper cars into the legs of dawdlers, kids screaming bloody murder anywhere you looked.
The first indoor feature was a man and what seemed to be an opening like a rabbit's burrow down into the room, toy cars piled floor to ceiling at the walls in their mint boxes. It gave the room an illusion of shrinking, he thought, and was likely due an imminent cave in. Sirius wouldn't go in there, to James' great disappointment. He ragged him for his cowardice until he was distracted by a stand of handmade copper trees endowed with sweeping boughs of crushed crystal coloured warm orange, cerulean blue, raspberry pink and a sunset purple so light that the light that shone through it took on no colour, where the others acted like stained glass, catching the light where it could to arc lines across the table.
"Ooh, Lily would find this so darling."
Sirius rolled his eyes at his ridiculous best friend, turning from the admittedly gorgeous trees to look, sceptical, at a series of bird shaped statuettes similarly made up of wire where fabric took the place of crystals to create feathers. He wasn't overly fond and moved on again to the next table, which was laden with velvet boxes tucked carefully with rings.
Most were of the time, natural, raw gemstone set in silver and gold. Some were more proper, a general everyday man's engagement or promise ring. He looked at these with no illusion of anything but still a general thrumming fondness that maybe one day he'd be looking over a kindred selection for something for you. And then he felt so absurd he forced himself to turn to the other side of the wide aisle to a different stall. It was from the same vendor but this table was stacked with earrings. The large majority were silver or sterling, shaped after simple things like stars, hearts, ladybugs and kittens.
Like the rings, there was a velvet tray of gemstone earrings as well. Roughly half were silver, the other gold, each set with shining stones. Though he had no clue how authentic any of them were, the sign boasted amethyst, jasper, carnelian, dark lapis lazuli and jade. The jade piqued his interest. He racked his eyes over the studs until he'd zeroed in on green, marbled cabochons set in gold. A spiky yellow sticky note just underneath said 'REAL JADE AVAILABLE, SEE ATTENDANT. IMITATION JADE ON DISPLAY'.
That answered his question about authenticity
When he'd finished at the jewellery stand he found James, who was where he'd left him, haggling over a small copper tree.
"Prongs," he said disapprovingly.
"Yeah, alright," James said, opening his wallet to pay the vendor in full.
"You've more money than half the people here put together and you're trying to rip off a struggling artist," Sirius said scornfully as they moved on, though it wasn't fully serious. James grinned, shaking the small tree in his hands and pausing to listen to the small sounds it made.
"It's not about the money," James said, tree still up to his ear, "it's about the haggling itself."
"Surely you can draw entertainment from other facets of your life? Like a normal person?"
"What do you suggest?" he said devilishly.
"Let’s find the sorry lot first before you start planning any jokes," Sirius suggested.
James nodded sagely. "Yes, yes. Brilliant idea once again, my handsome friend."
"Handsome!"
"Fiendishly so."
"You're not half bad yourself," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.
James needled into his path, silly, melodious tree still held higher than it had any reason to be held. He was close enough to kiss, which had been the intention, openly trying to feel Sirius up a touch as the butchers came into view.
"Maybe we should get something for dinner," James thought aloud, forgetting his seduction.
Sirius pulled his necklace from under the fabric of his shirt to run between his fingers, biting his bottom lip thoughtlessly. "I don't know," he said, thinking it over.
James nodded as if Sirius had said something more and said himself agreeably, "Right - what if Lily had the same idea. We rock home with enough for everyone and she's got double."
Sirius was peering over people's heads, searching for a familiar face. It was impossible to distinguish individuals from the fast moving crowds and he quickly gave up, flicking James square in the forehead.
James' hand came up to hit Sirius back and he caught it. "No need to get violent."
James tried again.
"Mate," Sirius laughed, having blocked him for a second time.
"You flicked me!"
"Yeah, cos it's your fault we don't know where anyone is."
"It's your fault for not telling me you're fucking Y/N!"
"You are?" Mary asked, wide eyed.
She'd appeared from the right, holding a pastry in a paper bag and looking very shocked at this revelation.
"No, Mary," Sirius said. Pleaded. Not no as in no, I'm not, but no as in good lord, please don't repeat that. No, as in, let the ground swallow me up where I stand.
She took a bite of her donut looking indelibly satisfied by this discovery.
The others were close behind her but not quite there yet. Sirius took the opportunity to stand crossly and spitefully on James' foot, pressing down with his heel. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and, after blinking rapidly, he hung his head. "I deserved that."
"You did. Where's Y/N?" Sirius imparted the first sentence on James and then the question to Remus, who was eating a chocolate donut. He chewed his treat slowly and made no effort to answer.
"She couldn't decide what to get," Lily provided, holding a bag out towards her boyfriend. "Oh, is that for me? We'll trade."
"She's that way?" Sirius asked, nodding.
"Yep. Enjoy your boy talk?" Lily asked him with a knowing smile, and fuck, did everyone know now?
"No. James got a semi. Super awkward," Sirius informed her solemnly.
He smiled to himself at the group's raucous laughter and set off to find you in the market, following the smell of toasted sugar until the bakery was in sight, a three-sided booth with a grill that was cooking freshly made Welsh cakes and scones. You were standing a little ways off, looking worriedly at the bulging paper bag in your hand, talking to yourself silently. You looked a vision, skin shining with the golden light streaking from the skylights, your hair a little messier than it had started this morning, lips hinting at a pout.
He'd managed to get toe to toe with you before you noticed him, and you jumped at someone suddenly in your space. When you realised it was him you smiled big, cleaving him effectively clean in two, before frowning.
"You scared me," you complained.
"I'm sorry," he said, so close he had to look down to talk to you.
You didn't mind his proximity, reaching up nonchalantly to push hair out of his eyes, bracelet slipping down your wrist.
"Did James rag you terribly?"
"Not really," he said, the small stresses of the day falling away as you spoke, "he was more interested in what's in my trousers than you, I'm afraid."
You were bemused, shaking your head. Your hand fell away from behind his ear to offer him the paper bag. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got a couple."
He looked into the paper bag full of his favourites and kept his face expressionless, worried if he started smiling too often at you he might never stop.
"What's for you?"
"I haven't decided."
He looked at you carefully. "Do you want something now?"
You were bashful, "I really can't decide. They all look nice."
"Pick whatever you want and I'll get it."
"No way, you already got me ice cream."
"You got me these, so we're square."
"And if you buy me sweets we'll be unbalanced again."
You didn't win the argument, compromising in that you'd only let him get you your favourite one and nothing more, licking the crumbs from the corner of your mouth as you chewed. Neither of you had rushed to find the group again, content to lean against a sliver of bare wall opposite the bakery booth away from everybody for a little while.
"You're not gonna have one?" you asked, looking crestfallen.
He grimaced, stomach still swimming in grease. The burgers would stay a secret between him and James, but he'd rectify your expression.
"I'm saving them for after," he said, appeasing you with both hands smoothing flat the top of your head to your neck, holding you still to kiss the top of your head. "Thank you, sweetheart."
You nodded and went back to your treat looking a little starstruck, if he did say so himself, his hands coming to rest loosely over your shoulders. It was nice, to stand there listening to other people living their lives, an amicable silence between you both as you ate, occasionally looking up at him with something to say about a passerby.
When you finished you wiped your face with a napkin and moved a hand up to hold his forearm, looking deep in thought, eyes on your touching skin.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
You looked like you might answer. He leaned down to hear you over the noise of the market but you never did end up saying anything, resting your cheek against his arm until you both figured you were stealing time.
Sirius led you to where your friends had last been. You'd hesitantly hooked your pinky finger through his as you walked, looking anywhere else but his face. He would've laughed at your shyness - he'd fucked you to the point of tears only last night - but he was endeared to you so deeply he couldn't summon up the sound. You dropped his hand when you reunited with your friends and was whisked away by Remus, to his disappointment. Lily laughed at this.
“You have been monopolising her,” she said pointedly. “She has other friends.”
“Not like me.”
Lily shrugged, grinning wickedly. “Guess not.”
“You spend too much time with James.”
“Says you.”
“There wasn’t a path for my life where I didn’t end up this way, Lilykins.”
She looked like she would disagree.
“I know this is a no magic holiday,” James whispered, looking in your general direction sheepishly, “but are we sure we can’t just apparate home now? I wish we’d brought the car.”
“The walk was good for us! And besides, what else could we have done all day?” Lily asked.
James descended on her, “I’m so glad you’ve asked that, love. I was thinking-“
Lily slapped her hand over his mouth.
“We’ve talked about this.”
Sirius tuned out of that conversation in a brilliant show of willpower and found his eyes on your back. He then shook himself terribly and thought, dear lord, I’m worse than James.
“Where are we going now?” he asked quite loudly, hoping to catch everyone’s attention. It worked to a degree as everybody stopped walking, though if it answered any questions was up to opinion.
“We're starving,” Mary said.
“You didn’t eat, did you?” Lily asked.
James smiled easily. “No ma’am.”
“Where are we?” you asked.
“Where’s Frank and Alice?”
“Some pub, they said. The Seagull.”
“We could go there? I quite fancy something cold.”
And so off the group went, trudging along sunburned or at the least sunwarmed, James leading the way because he swore he knew exactly where the pub was and this was definitely the quickest way. Then, when he asked for directions, the group miserably began walking back towards the sea.
The Seagull was a twenty minute walk from the Potter’s beachside home, which was reassuring, as the group didn’t look like they had much left in them.
“You know,” Sirius said, “you could’ve disapparated home and fetched the car.”
“It's a no magic holiday! We were very clear about this!”
“Grow up.”
“Y/N,” James called very loudly, “Sirius is dissing the no magic holiday!”
You looked over at them and sniffed. “I won’t recover.”
The group joined forces to tag team him until he’d had enough, pulling his trump card.
“So I’ll suppose you’ve all been doing the washing up manually?” Nobody would meet his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
“Lighten up, Black,” you said, drifting to his side like the breeze had carried you. “I’ve been doing them all with my hands.”
He frowned at you. “Since when do you do dishes?”
You bristled. “And what does that mean?”
“You should not be doing the dishes. I do your dishes.”
“I’m a grown up,” you said, embarrassed now.
“You haven’t been doing other peoples, have you?”
“Sirius, friendship is doing things for other people. You do my dishes. I do James or Lily’s or whoever’s — it's the same thing.”
“It’s not the same thing.” We’re hardly just friends, he didn’t say.
You walked in silence then, not mad at each other but at an understanding that there was more to be said in a less public space because you both knew exactly why Sirius did your dishes and opened doors for you, rubbed your back when you were sick and brought you soup. Not for a reward or with any expectation, but because you were his best friend, and he liked you to a point beyond that line.
There were a lot of things you probably should’ve said to each other by now. You should’ve talked about it. He should’ve told you how he felt the moment you’d kissed him and shocked him more than anything had ever shocked him in his life, frozen and wondering if he’d walked into a daydream.
But. He didn’t bring it up. You didn’t bring it up. And it felt right - that there was no question there, that there was no sudden affirmation. He realised you’d always been on this route together and the kiss hadn’t been between two friends, it had been between him and you. He wanted to reach out and hug you, upon this realisation, wanted to pepper you in kisses and praises like you deserved. How dreadful that so much love would have to be kept for tonight, or even tomorrow.
“Sirius?” you whispered.
“What?”
“Are we a secret?” you asked quietly.
He thought about it. Yards behind the others you meandered, content to walk in the summer evening and take in the sights, take in the other person, to roll in the simple pleasure of each other’s company surrounded by friends with nothing in the world to work out besides each other.
“Do you want to be?” he asked.
“No!” you cleared your throat. “No. I - I don’t want to be, if you don’t want to be. But, maybe for a little while longer…”
He nodded, having been thinking the same thing. “Let’s me and you work this out first, sweetheart.”
You opened your mouth to add something and was immediately cut off by James, who stood in front of The Seagull, waiting. “Come on, lovebirds, we’ve beer to drink!”
“He’s always so grandiose,” you laughed, and then, looking at him, “not that you’re much better.”
“Definitely need a doctor after that one, doll. Good one,” he said sarcastically, accepting the door from James and letting you walk in first, other hand pressed to his heart like he was wracked with pain.
The pub was nice and clean, more of a restaurant than a pub, really, with big ceilings and lots of open space. The smell of roast and gravy and then, under it all, the unmistakable sweetness of cocoa powder thickened the room, yellow light burning away in sconces on the walls. He walked over a paisley red carpet on your tail, past families at long, dark wood tables, past booths and the bar, where the wall was backlit and bright showcasing a miraculous variety of drinks, their bottles glowing like lava lamps. There was a small hallway which opened into a big, conservatory-like room lined with booths that surrounded a dance floor and a small stage at the back. The summer breeze drifted in through the open patio where a stone veranda housed tens of metal tables and chairs.
The veranda was where Alice and Frank were stationed, both obviously having already drunk their fill. They cheered with the rest of the group's arrival, Frank raising a mostly empty pint glass.
“Where the fuck have you guys been?”
Sirius helped James manhandle the tables into one big one and pulled a chair out for you, then threw himself into the one next to you.
“Where haven’t we been!” Dorcas said excitedly.
“Can we have a round before Dorcas starts her rendition?” Marlene asked. “I would like to be tipsy for this.”
“I’m parched,” Mary agreed.
“I thought you were hungry?”
“I’m both. Starved and parched, truly.”
Sirius pressed his knee to yours. “What’re you having?”
-
You tipped back the dregs of your drink, feeling the beginnings of warmth curling in your stomach, licking up your skin to nest in your chest happily. Tipsy warmth was soon holding your body like a lover, and you found yourself ridiculously happy. Sirius had been lovely all day and only got better with drink, hand under the table and squeezing your thigh.
He’d inched closer and his hand had inched higher under your skirt to match, pinky finger a hair's width from your underwear. He wasn’t trying anything, simply rubbing your leg as he chatted and laughed with the others]. You tried not to let it go to your head.
Your chips had gone cold by now. You reached for one anyway, cringing as you chewed.
Sirius slipped his hand in your shoulder bag and pulled out the baked goods you’d purchased for him earlier.
“Help me eat these.”
You stood so you could assess what he had. He tore the paper bag to lay the sweets out flat, a brownie and a donut, a millionaires shortbread and half a danish. You leaned down to inspect them, really thinking, moving half in front of Sirius’ chair.
You felt his knuckles against the back of your thigh. He drew a teasing line that made you shiver, dipping his hand under your skirt. He pushed the flat of his hand up the inside of your thigh and stopped before he could touch you. You turned sideways to protest, eyes landing on his slouched form. His other hand came up to your waist, straightening you out so you couldn’t see his face.
“Which one do you want, sweetheart?”
You struggled to make a decision. The tip of his finger was moving against your underwear now, so lightly it tickled. If he hadn’t been holding you in place you would’ve squirmed away. He shifted his leg in between yours, his shoe nudging your sandal, forcing your legs open that little bit more. His hand came up flat palmed against your cunt, rubbing. You moaned and looked around you with wide eyes.
Your friends were all half-cut or preoccupied. James was sitting on Lily’s leg, talking very passionately about something with wide eyes, so enthusiastic his drink sloshed over the side of his cup to drip over his legs. Remus and Emma had disappeared in a drunken bid to win something from the claw machines. The girls were drinking from a pitcher of gin and watching the tv at the back, you could hardly see them through the other restaurant goers who now populated the patio. Frank and Alice were both on the verge of being paralytic.
You would’ve intervened had Sirius not started searching, big fingers pushing your underwear into the crease of your cunt, looking for your sensitive clit. When he found it he bullied it, sweeping rough lines until your legs were shaking. You braced yourself on the cold metal table and looked down at your skirt. You couldn’t tell what he was doing if you were an outsider, but you knew, and this was all enough to have you wet and seeping through the cotton of your underwear.
He knew it as soon as you did. “Baby…” he said softly, voice full of an arousal so reverential it made your legs weak. “Are you wet?”
You giggled weakly as he pushed your underwear to one side, fingers finding your wetness. He didn’t enter you, only pushed your slick up your front to circle your clit. He slid your clit between his two fingers and you were so scandalised you sat down forcefully on his leg with his hand trapped between you. He laughed, flexing his fingers before pulling away.
He leaned forward like nothing had happened and picked up the millionaires shortbread with the same fingers he’d just used to make a mess of you, fingers still shining. He sat up properly and pulled you to his chest, bringing the biscuit to your mouth. He didn’t say anything and neither did you, but he didn’t move until you’d taken a bite. He pulled it from you and you turned to watch him eat the rest, the heat between your legs was unbearable as he licked his fingers clean.
He laughed at your reaction to his amorous behaviour, swaying you on his lap, hand clutching your hip. “You look appalled.”
You shifted backwards on him in a staged show of wanting to talk to him privately. If he was going to play dirty, you would too, your thought, brushing yourself against his crotch. “Whatever is poisoning your mind is incurable, Sirius.”
“If the wet patch on my leg is anything to go by,” he whispered back, “I’d say you were suffering the same sickness.”
You shook your head, turning your body to cover your actions from prying eyes. You put your hand down flat an inch from his cock and spread your fingers, pleased at how his pupils had dilated. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He squeezed your waist with enough pressure to make you hesitate, moving so his mouth was hovering over your collarbone.
“What was it you said earlier, doll? You’re a good liar, even with your mouth full?”
“Adept,” you corrected him, breath hitching as his teeth dragged against your skin, “I’m an adept liar, even with my mouth full.”
He breathed warm air on your skin in a brief chuckle.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Your mouth’s empty and your lies are something awful. You think I don’t feel you making a mess on me right now?” he teased, lifting his head. You ducked yours.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What else did you say, hmm?”
You looked down at his lap to avoid his eyeline, wearily eyeing his hardening cock. “I don’t remember.”
His hand climbed your back until he was at your neck, lifting your head up. He looked much too calm and collected to suit you, eyes half-lidded.
“Gonna let me test your theory, doll?”
You smoothed your hand over his cock, revelling in his twitches. You squeezed his length and said coyly, “What theory?”
He grabbed your hand, the only sign he’d been affected by you. “Will you play stupid all night? I can treat you like you’re stupid, if you like.”
“I’m not stupid,” you mumbled, hand burning in his. “I’m a good liar, is all.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. You were both frozen in time, waiting to see who would give in.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to the bathroom. You’re going to sit here looking all pretty and making a mess in my seat. You can even have another pastry, if you like,” he said this with a sardonic smile. “And then you’ll come meet me in the bathroom, and we’ll see how good of a liar you really are.”
You swallowed.
A slither of his usual softness welled to the surface. “Is that alright, sweetheart?”
You tried not to smile as you nodded.
He helped you up off of his lap, looking like he might kiss you before he went. He didn’t, turning sharply to the doors and exiting quickly. You followed him with your eyes, felt your longing like a harp string being plucked between your legs as the minutes ticked on. The anticipation had you shifting in your seat, worried he was right and you’d leave behind a clear mark of your excitement behind when you got up. You gathered the spoils he’d left behind and wrapped them back up as best you could to hide away in your purse.
You counted to sixty five times, just to be sure, concerned somebody would see you follow him out and connect the dots before you were ready for them to be connected.
You walked the small hallway with your heart in your throat, coming to the unisex bathroom. It was locked.
You knocked.
It was pulled open quick and shut quicker, Sirius pulling you in fast enough to steal the air from your lungs. You laughed and he laughed, mouths meeting in a wanting kiss, desperate after so many hours of dancing around each other, his hand forceful at the nape of your neck as he pulled you to his mouth with no time for soft touches.
“Is this okay?” he asked. “I know I was abrupt. Is this okay?”
You nodded over and over, trying to catch him in a kiss again. His laugh was melodic and hoarse at once, holding you back with his hands on either side of your face.
“You’ll tell me if you don’t want this?”
“I’ll tell you,” you agreed, aiming for his neck. He finally set you free after seconds that stretched like millennia. You used your freedom to kiss his jawline, pinching things down his neck that had him grasping your hair.
He pulled you back to his lips and pushed you up against the countertop that housed the sinks basin. There wasn’t enough room for him to set you up there which he lamented loudly.
“Thought the theory involved my mouth?” you asked bravely.
He looked surprised and then his eyes clouded up with lust a shade worse than before.
“Who’s the guinea pig?” he asked as you kissed down his neck again, down and down and down until you were on your knees in front of him, pushing his shirt up to kiss his torso lightly, plastering each tattoo in a blanket of affection.
“Definitely you,” you said, hands at his waistband. You pulled it from his skin and let it fall again, a soft snap that made him hiss through his teeth. You looked up at him and gave him your most demure smile, keeping eye contact as you slipped your hand into his trousers, into his boxers, closing your fist gently around his aching length. You pushed up to full height on your knees and watched yourself carefully stroke his length, nervous but wanting to do well.
Sirius was back to the version of him you didn’t see so much, suave and debonair with his hand resting at the back of your head. You looked away to dip forward, pausing with your mouth by his head. You stuck your tongue out and licked.
He groaned, hand tightening in your hair. Esteem raised by his reaction, you worked the bottom of his shaft with one hand and took him into your mouth, sucking his head. You popped off and started again, opening your mouth wider, using your tongue to your advantage. Already spit was gathering at the corners of your mouth waiting to dribble down your chin, you pulled back to catch it in your hand, pumping his cock with your wet fingers.
The taste of precum filled your mouth as you paced yourself, taking slow mouthfuls of him. He was beginning to guide you gently off and on to his cock, establishing a rhythm. He tried to guide you back and your resisted, taking as much as him as you could manage before you gagged on his cock, dribble connecting your mouth to his dick when he pulled you off, moaning loudly.
“Fuck, don’t do that.”
“You didn’t like it?”
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," he reprimanded, eyes closing as you worked back down, bobbing your head as you worked. His grip was tighter now, and as he began to thrust up to meet your mouth you found yourself with your spare hand between your legs, spreading your cunt to play in your own slick, pushing two fingers inside yourself.
Sirius eventually opened his eyes and his cock jumped in your mouth at the sight of you.
“Fucking your mouth, you like this? This the kind of thing that turns you on?” he asked, moving his other hand so both were braced behind your head.
He thrust in and you stayed down on his cock for as long as you could manage, breathing through your nose. You gagged, wet eyes shutting on instinct.
He brought his thumb to your cheek. “Show me those pretty eyes."
You opened them, bleary with tears, to look into his handsome face adoringly. He tipped his head back, eyes on the sealing. “Fuck, I’m so fucking lucky. So fucking lucky, baby. You’re fucking-“ he was cut off as you pushed his cock against the back of your throat, hand tightening painfully in your hair.
You almost felt bad when you had to pull away, gasping. He was panting, thumb digging into your cheekbone. You caught your breath with your face pressed to his thigh and tummy, kissing his tattooed torso mindlessly as you pumped his shaft, rubbing your finger pads over the head of his cock to collect his beading precum.
His abdomen was tensing, you realised smugly. His breathing was fast and coloured by his voice. He almost sounded desperate.
You stuck your tongue out and rested this coke on it momentarily, and then away. “Ask me something?”
“What?” he questioned.
“Test your hypothesis,” you ordered him, aiming for the back of your throat again. He seized up, smiling wickedly at your game.
“Fuck… how’s this cock baby? Hitting the back of your pretty throat?” he was convincing, if a little breathless.
“No,” you said, or rather hummed, the sound travelling down his cock. He moaned, holding his hand against the side of your face.
“Y’so fucking good for me, letting me bruise up your throat.”
You pulled away to breathe. “I’m not.”
He grinned something awful. “No?”
You felt spit dripping down your face, pooling at your sternum. He fucked your mouth, your throat, not so it hurt but enough to agitate your gag reflex and tear ducts. He was moaning a steady stream of curse words now and they sounded like the sweetest thing - breathy and deep.
He wiped your eyes and cheeks with the meat of his palm for a moment, cleaning you up. “You’re fucking pretty.”
You smiled with his dick against your lips.
He fisted your hair and didn’t last much longer with your lips around him, pushing you away semi-gently to fist his throbbing cock until he was cumming over his torso.
“That’s spiteful,” you said, hand clutching his thigh.
“What is?” he asked, exasperated.
“Could’ve cum in my mouth,” you said, bravado dissolving as you went, words starting brave and ending shy.
He pouted at you condescendingly. “Oh, I’m sorry, doll. You’re right, I’m spiteful.” His thumb at your wet bottom lip, opening your mouth. “Spiteful - but not selfish. You can kiss it off me, if you like?”
You called his bluff and leaned forward. He pulled back. "How's my girl? You want me to take care of you?"
"No. Keep your hands off of me, Sirius."
You were a terrible liar, mouth full or not.
-
Your hair was wet, soaking even, salt water dribbling down your back, and you were cold enough now to regret your dip in the ocean, to regret even more that you'd left your shirt and jacket at the cottage. The sun shone all morning before this, the tide as close as it could be when you'd first made it down this morning, Sirius taking your hand to spin you around, dancing as you went. The rock pools had been filled, the sand freshly dampened under your bare feet.
You went for a swim while the sun was bouncing around on the waves, Sirius pulling you in without a word. He'd left his shirt on the drier sand and you'd both stood beaming, ankle deep in the sea and with little clothing. He'd grabbed you up and chucked you into deep water, where you emerged livid, throwing yourself at his chest to topple him over. He'd fallen into the water, waves lapping at his chest with you half on top of him, giggling in victory. It reminded you of your first kiss, laughing and unable to help yourself as you leaned down and connected, hand splayed on his lovely chest, feeling the metal of his pendant warm under your touch. You’d spent a long time like that kissing and smiling under the warmth of the sun until the cloud cover stole away the heat and left you a damp, shivering mess.
Sirius had retrieved his t-shirt and you’d quickly pulled it over your damp skin, long enough to cover your bikini bottoms when standing.
“You should keep that one.”
“Yeah?”
“Looks good.”
You twirled as you walked, shuffling backwards and him facing forwards, chasing the sun down the beach. You trusted him not to let you trip.
You felt like a new version of yourself. Hair wet, skin damp and clammy from the cold sea breeze and somehow still in high spirits, smiling as you trekked backwards over the squishy sand.
“We can’t go up there without shoes,” he said, pointing at the darker shade of rocks that covered some of the beach, “but we can definitely try to find one lower down.”
You searched, or rather Sirius searched and you watched his face. His eyes brightened when he spotted one that seemed to be traversable without putting both your lives in imminent danger.
“D’you see that?” he asked suddenly.
No, you thought, obviously I didn’t see that. You’re handsome and you fancy me and you think I’m going to spend my time with my eyes on the ground?
“No,” you admitted instead. He grabbed your shoulder in one big hand and pointed towards the sandy edges of a rock pool. You followed his finger to discover what had captured his attention: a small brown crab was scuttling around, burying itself in sand and then emerging, indecisive.
Only when you got closer did you realise it was a hermit crab, it’s shell a rich yellow ochre edged in deep browns. Sirius mad a wide circle around the crab and kneeled on one side, encouraging you to do the same.
You kneeled opposite him, felt your knees sinking into the damp sand. It coated your skin.
Sirius, shirtless, looking like he’d descended from some empyrean place where the streets ran deep in milk and honey and smiling like he was somewhere similar in your company. You felt, emphatically, that disconcerting feeling of blindness that came on occasion with being around him, felt as though looking at him for too long would leave his image burned into your eyelids. Masochistically, you found yourself unable to look away. He reached out his hand, knuckles flat to the coarse sand and was ecstatic when the hermit crab crawled close, slowly making its way into his palm. You couldn’t believe it, looking at him in shock. He looked up at you with elation in even the lines of his face and you found he wasn’t so blinding, after all; he was looking at you, you were looking back. The clouds shifted and gold leaked from the sky in gossamer threads, framing him in lustre, warming your chilled skin.
“You want to hold it?” he asked, frantically transferring the crab from palm to palm.
“No.”
“He won’t bite.”
“He has pincers.”
Sirius thrust his hand at you and the crab almost flew off. It then pinched him to which he turned his hand upside down with a shriek, shaking it off.
“Told you so,” you said. He nodded to himself, expression agreeable, and then got to his feet, his thighs at your eye level. You pulled at the edge of his borrowed t-shirt where it stuck to your wet skin.
“You did,” he said, looking at your thighs. You pretended not to notice until he met your eyes. “Still cold?”
“No, baby,” you said, words soft and ridiculous in your mouth. You said it anyhow, overtaken by fondness. “The sun's out.”
He smiled and bent down to kiss you.
-
“James,” you said later, showered and fed and trying to be discreet. The others were playing an intense game of crazy eights, from which you’d dragged your friend away. “I need a favour.”
James looked back at the large coffee table covered in booze and cards and surrounded by your laughing friends and said, “Can’t it wait ‘til we’re not having such a knee-slapping good time?”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. He huffed.
“Fine, yes, what do you want?”
“I need you take me into town.”
He gasped. “Town! Whatever for?”
“Can’t you avoid talking like a posh wanker for a bit? I’ve only just eaten.”
He found this so funny he forgot to be mad, which was brilliant as you’d not intended any maliciousness to come with it.
“Why are we going to town?” he asked, turning from you to collect the keys.
“I want-“ right, you hadn’t technically admitted your situation to James yet, “I want to get a quart of vanilla brownie ice cream.”
“We have ice cream here!”
“Right, but we don’t have vanilla brownie .”
He frowned sympathetically. “Your period?”
You laughed boisterously and, when Sirius turned to look at you from the coffee table, cleared your throat.
“It’s for Sirius. It’s his favourite and we never see it anywhere and I want to do something nice,” you whispered, cheeks heating.
His smile was kind.
“Alright, get your shoes on.”
-
“So, you’re fucking?”
“James, please keep your eyes on the road.”
-
You’d managed to charm the ice cream to stay frozen and shoved it under your bed when Sirius opened the door. You flinched up and tried to look as casual as possible, hands behind your back.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, closing the door behind him softly. He flicked the light on at the wall.
You couldn’t help smiling. It was ridiculous. You had a secret to keep but seeing him made you overtly happy.
“What’s with the smile?” he asked.
“When do people usually smile?”
He leaned against the door casually. “Something good happen on your fun run with Jamie? I don’t believe it.”
“You’re so mean. You do know he's your best friend?”
Sirius tipped his head back against the door and levelled you with a smirk. “I thought you were my best friend?”
“I am.”
You sat down against your bed's headboard, unable to work out what he was thinking.
“Come play Rummy.”
You let yourself fall flat on your pillow, groaning. “There’s only so many card games I can lose.”
“Exactly, and I already beat you in most. Be generous and give me the full sweep.”
“I’m tired.”
“Come on,” he said, walking over to pull you up by the hands. “Cards and drinks and then bed.”
“Swear?”
He was laughing now, pulling you into his hold. “Swear.”
You leaned into his chest for a self-indulgent moment and then you let him spirit you downstairs. The living room was airy and bright as the evening began. Everyone was exactly how you’d left them, half cut and giggling, piles of sweets and werthers in place of poker chips.
Remus seemed to be the most intoxicated out of everybody. You sat down next to him and Sirius followed, knee touching your knee cross-legged in front of the table.
“What happened to not needing alcohol to have fun?” you asked him.
“That's still true! I could be having fun without it, now I am having fun with it,” he said, talking out the side of his mouth. “Take Emma, she’s sober and she’s having a brilliant time.”
Emma was giggling wildly. “I don’t need to drink to have fun. The worse you get the more I win.” She had a large mound of winnings.
“What’re you having?” Lily asked, sitting on the arm of James’ chair.
“I’ll get it,” Sirius said, standing up, “I know exactly what she wants.” The joke was that he brought back two bottles of beer, chuckling at your grimace. He convinced you to try it. “You never try anything new, sweetheart, I’m widening your palate.”
You’d murmured, stupidly, “You widened my palate just fine last night.”
He choked on his mouthful of beer, slamming the bottle down hard enough to topple Emma’s tower of sweets. You took a tentative sip of your own and hated it.
“What is this?”
“James brought it.”
“Well, if that’s true this is blatant sabotage.”
“Try mine instead?”
You eyed his bottle suspiciously. It was darker than yours had been. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Try it!” he prodded, holding it closer to your mouth.
You shuffled back until your back was digging into Dorcas’ calves. She didn’t notice, half asleep on Mary’s shoulder while Mary and Marlene talked over her head.
“Try it,” he said again, rim of the bottle at your lips.
You let him tip it into your mouth and when you’d tasted enough you slapped your hand over his, pushing it away. You swallowed, almost gagging. “That’s much, much worse,” you said hoarsely.
“You’re pathetic.” Funny how that made you feel warm instead of sad. You shook your head at your own thoughts and pushed his hand away.
“I want something nice,” you complained quietly.
“There’s Pimms in the fridge,” Emma said, shuffling cards for Rummy.
“What the fuck! And you got me beer?”
“Widening your palate!”
“It’s wide enough!”
You climbed up onto your feet, felt his hand on your knee as you climbed over him to pour two glasses of pimms from the pitcher in the fridge, putting extra fruit in yours. Then you slinked back into your spot and took up your cards for Rummy, settling in for a good night. Sirius accepted the pimms though he didn’t look like he wanted to, tipping his fruit into your glass.
Halfway into the second game you leaned into Sirius’ side.
“What?” he asked you, dipping his head in.
“I don’t know the rules,” you whispered.
"I know you don't. Want me to teach you?"
"No."
He rolled his eyes and slipped his hand behind your back, fingertips pushing beneath the waist of your corduroys to mess with the elastic of your underwear absentmindedly as he expertly instructed your next play.
-
You mildly recognised when Sirius, having tucked you into his bed that night after too much alcohol soaked fruit, got up. Assuming he needed the bathroom you'd curled into the place he'd previously been, leaching his warmth and breathing in his smell. You weren't sure how long you drifted, waiting for him to come back but when he did he was buzzing with something akin to excitement, bringing his hand to your face.
"Wake up, sweetheart."
You looked at him in annoyance. "It's night time."
"You're so smart."
"I don't know why you're mocking me. I'm right," you complained, trying to hide your face in his side.
He rubbed your back in a placating manner before pinching the flesh of your waist. "Get up."
"Why?"
"I have something for you."
"Can't wait 'till tomorrow?"
"Nope. Quick, get dressed. Or don't," he added, fingers pushing up past the hem of your shirt to cup one of your breasts. This had you much more awake than his voice “I like this outfit. Doesn’t matter either way.”
“Where are we going?” you asked, feeling yourself melt under his touch. He moved his hand back to your ribs and squeezed.
“The beach.”
“We can’t swim, the tides out.”
“We’re not swimming. I’ve made a picnic.” He said this quietly, softly. You pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and considered your options. Then, with no choice, you dragged yourself out of bed and shrugged on a short, black skirt and a jacket overtop the oversized shirt you’d been sleeping in. You threaded your hand through the fabric circle on your camera and let it dangle from your wrist.
“Time is it?” you asked, shoving your socked feet roughly into a pair of ankle high canvas shoes. You didn’t bother tying the laces well, tucking them into the shoe.
“Past midnight, now.”
You followed him down the stairs and out the silent house as quietly as you could, hurrying down the path to the seashore. Sirius carried a picnic basket with a blanket stuffed between the handles and the camping lamp on top in one hand and took yours in the other, swinging it gently as you walked.
“We could’ve done this in the morning.”
“I was thinking…” he began, helping you pick over driftwood and seaweed to a patch of sand that looked dry enough. He set the picnic basket down and you took one end of the blanket from his hand to help him spread it out. Once it was done he looked at you from across the blanket. “That this would be our last night as a secret.”
“Okay,” you said, not smiling.
“Okay?”
You cracked, beaming. “Yeah, okay, idiot. Course it’s okay. Are you kidding?”
He moved the basket to the middle of the blanket and sat down heavily. You sat by his side, looking up at the sky, void black and smattered in stars like crushed pearls, breaths blanketed by the sound of far off waves cresting the shore. He cracked open the picnic blanket and found he’d made your favourite kind of sandwich and cut them all small, diced up fruit and drinks spelled to stay chilled.
“No magic holiday,” you muttered under your breath, taking one of the cold drinks into your hand. “Why does nobody respect the no magic holiday?”
“Babe. I didn’t want to say, but — your camera is enchanted. Did you know?”
You took the camera from your wrist and turned it on. “Fine, whatever. Can you begrudge me when I’ve had so many nice photos?” you asked, and then emphasised with a flash as you took one of him unawares.
He shuffled backwards and moved the basket to the side, switching the battery lamp off. “You’ll have to show me that one before I destroy the damn thing.”
“Don’t worry. You’re very photogenic,” you comforted him. You performed the spell and soon the photo was trying to project into the air. You turned the camera downwards and it was displayed across the blanket, Sirius’ handsome, surprised face, eyes blown by the flash.
“Hate that,” he remarked, stretching his legs out. You shifted closer to his side and tucked one of your legs over his, happy when his hand instantly came up to mess with your thigh.
You flicked to the next photo, one you’d taken hours previous of Remus nauseated in James lap, looking unhappy with Lily who was perched on the arm. James looked positively incensed, staring straight into the lens.
The next photo: James outside the ice cream parlour, the stainless steel bucket of vanilla brownie ice cream in his hands, beaming.
“What’s that?” Sirius asked.
“Nothing,” you said, flicking to the next photograph quickly.
Most of the group gathered at the kitchen table that morning for brunch, Sirius with his hair still wet from the shower. James had made enough blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes to feed a small army in the middle of the table, Mary squirting lemon juice over Emma’s pancakes. Marlene had a heaping spoonful of sugar suspended over her plate.
The early hours of the same morning, a wide shot of Sirius in the bathroom putting on deodorant while you waited in his bed. You still remembered how the morning had felt, warm and still dark out, your bare legs hiked up close to your body with his pillow pressed to your chest after a lazy, half-asleep make out session, your lips still tingling as you’d reached for the camera.
A group photo at The Seagull taken by a muggle who’d been amazed by the camera. Remus and Sirius had thrown their arms over your shoulders and each other, Lily on Remus' other side throwing up leave signs as James posed with his back to her side and his arms crossed. Alice and Frank had been too tipsy to do anything but smile abashedly as the rest of the girls took to kneel in front of them, all beaming, even shy Emma.
A few from the market of the amazing things you’d seen, as well as the weird things. Lily holding her little copper tree aloft with a brilliant grin on her face. Remus looking over a table of secondhand books while Emma already had two new ones in her arms.
The ice cream photographs, where Sirius had been much more ready and yet somehow looked less prepared.
A few from the night before featuring you in his jacket that made you blush to high heavens, flicking past them fast as Sirius protested.
Lily and James squished together on the beach the first proper morning there, posing happily. Remus being comforted for his repeated chicken losses on Mary’s thigh, protesting the photo with a hand half covering his face. The rest of the group played cards in the background while Marlene, cig held between her lips, wiped the floor with everybody smugly.
The first group photograph with the breathtaking sunset in the background. Alice and Frank book-ending the girls and Remus with Lily and James on the other end with Sirius, his arm stretched out over your shoulders at the end of the throng. You paused, looking at the photograph for the first time since you’d taken it. Your heart already ached with nostalgia, despite the photo being new. You knew that you were looking at a time you’d never be able to go back to, and felt that suddenly this whole holiday had been a gift. You laughed, pointing at James' face, his eyes barely open. You looked at yourself, remembered how your skin had felt on fire under Sirius' arm.
“I don’t look half obvious,” you poked fun at yourself. Sirius didn’t say anything. You looked at him sideways and then slid your eyes to him. “You look-“
Sirius was looking at you in the photograph, face laden with guilty indulgence and then, worse, love. Eyes soft at the corners, lips not quite smiling. The real Sirius rubbed his hand up and down the inside of your thigh. You blinked, worried you’d tear up, and turned to him furiously, forgetting the camera.
“What the fuck is that?”
“What?” he asked, alarmed.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?”
He squeezed your leg. “Like what?”
“Like you loved me.”
He leaned in so his nose was close to yours.
“Why’d you kiss me?”
“You know why I kissed you.”
“Reckon it’s the same reason I was looking at you then. Like I loved you.”
You pushed back into the blanket, hair splayed out in the sand. Sirius followed you down, turning on his side to look at you. Only the moonlight illuminated him now, carving his face in shimmering silver and shadow. He searched for your hand and brought it up to his mouth, eyes on your face as he kissed your knuckles delicately. You turned on your side to mirror him.
“I’m mad for you. Mad for you,” he repeated, timbre low. “After tonight, I want everyone to know you’re mine. Are you gonna - be mine?” he asked tentatively, waiting for you to answer patient as any worldly saint, rubbing his thumb over your hand when you took in a ragged breath.
“I’ll be yours,” you told him shyly. “I’ve been yours.”
He ducked in to kiss you, mouth unyielding against yours. You quickly broke the kiss to seek an answer for your burning question.
“How long have you been looking at me like that?”
“A long time,” he answered, trying to kiss you again.
“Really?” you asked, giddy and disbelieving at once, evading his mouth. “Think I’d notice that.”
“Trust me, doll, you don’t know the half of it.”
The words struck you in the chest violently.
“You think I don't?”
“And what’s that mean?” he asked, nosing under your jawline until you were baring your neck, hand in his curls. He dragged his teeth up your neck to settle over your pulse.
“You think you like me more than I like you? Delusions.” Your words were broken up by shuddering inhales as he started tracking love bites over your throat.
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Grow up, handsome.”
“Handsome!” he said against your quick-bruising skin, laughing. “What, you don’t believe me? Doubt the depths of my affections?”
“No, no.” He pushed his face up to look at you as you spoke, pressing his thumb into one of your hickeys. “I don’t-“
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Any doubts you have are my fault. I’ll endeavour to alleviate them,” he swore, tone serious. You felt the brush of his hand over your torso, felt him push up your shirt to explore the stretch of your abdomen.
And how did you manage to get yourself into these punishing situations? You felt your stomach tighten at his promise alone.
"I don't have any doubts," you mumbled, half to appease him and half to save yourself from his teasing. "I just don't think you know how much I like you."
He kissed you sweetly on the temple. "Of course I know, lovely girl."
You pushed him away from your chest, pushing your legs to one side, groaning at his sincerity. He sat up and dug through the picnic basket for a second before producing a small velveteen bag. You watched his hands carefully from where you were lying, watched as each finger moved, the flex of his knuckles. He offered the bag to you where you were lying still.
You held it high above your eye. "Turn the lamp back on?"
He did. You upended the contents of the bag into your palm. Three pieces of green and gold fell out, shining, shot through with silver.
You poked at them gently with your fingertip.
A pair of earrings and a charm.
"That's for me," Sirius said, picking out the charm.
"For you…"
"For my necklace."
You stared at him.
"It's my piece of you," he said softly, eyes tracking to your bracelet. "So we match."
You climbed up on your knees, leaning around his shoulders to unclasp his chain from beneath his dark hair. You slipped the charm over the eyelet and moved your knee between his legs to get close to him before closing the clasp and straightening the chain, secured again at his breastbone. You'd made to settle down again and he was wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close, arms firm but not rough against your ribs, hands closing around your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck in turn.
"You really think you like me more?" you asked into his hair.
He moved you from side to side, squeezing as he spoke. "I love you."
You pushed your fingers into his hair bringing his head closer to your neck, feeling a white hot adoration burning in your chest. "I've loved you longer."
"Not like this, sweetheart."
He kissed your smiling lips quickly, pulled back to look at your face before pushing back in. You shooed him away.
"Help me with these," you said, offering the earrings, which he clipped onto your ears with no complaints. “Thank you. They’re - they’re beautiful.”
He scratched the back of your hand delicately, a silent you’re welcome. "We need a picture," he said decisively.
You nodded in agreement, tucking yourself into his side as he fiddled with the camera. You couldn't bear to look away from his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, grinning.
"I love you," you told him, smiling through the flash as the camera went off.
-
"You're fucking?" Remus asked incredulously.
The entire people carrier groaned in disbelief.
"And he's supposed to be the smart one," Sirius whispered to you. You pressed your face into his arm, laughing.
thanks so much for reading! <3
my masterlist
this is SO fun, i'm already sprinting to the next part
more bob smut please!!!!!
Sweet Treats and Side Effects ✩ Bob Reynolds pt. 1
Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader
Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. use of y/n, bob reynolds x fem!reader, found family, accidental aphodisiac, chaotic prank war, slow-burn, mutual pining, thunderbolts frat house energy, dubious influence (consensual but under a magical substance), yelena’s chaotic best friend energy, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, rough sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight dom!bob, bob whimpering!!! (yes godddddd)
Summary: When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection.Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first. Now the most powerful man in the tower is red-faced, sweating, and very, very desperate for one thing—and it’s not chocolate. It’s you. And when the side effects kick in full-force, you’ll have to decide if you’re helping your friend… or completely, shamelessly indulging his deepest, filthiest desires. Chaos. Horny chocolate. Yelena being the worst. And Bob being the sweetest, softest, most absolutely feral man alive.
Author's Note: you ask, i deliver. here's another one 'cause i really can't get enough of bob. i love him so much it hurttttsssss. i had this idea while I was showering and I kid you not I jumped out off the shower and grabbed my phone sooooo fast to start typing on my notes cause I have adhd and I forget things so fast LOL. also thank you soooooo so much from the bottom of my little heart for all the love and support in don’t let go and ruined <33 i appreciate all of your comments and messages and screams in the reblogs, it really warms my heart<3 i hope you guys like this first part. yelena my beloved my beautiful girl i cant i love her so much!!!!!! if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below<3 part 2 is posted!!!
masterlist. part 1. part 2.
The Thunderbolts Tower wasn't built for this kind of chaos.
At least, not this kind. The late Stark Tower—once a monument to genius, ambition—had now been refitted as the New Avengers' headquarters. High ceilings, soundproofed rooms, high-tech gadgets, sleek black interiors, furniture that probably cost more than all of their salaries combined, and reinforced windows that could withstand a helicarrier crash—it all screamed “elite modern high-tech paramilitary chic."
But then Yelena moved in, and the whole place became a "deranged prank way frat house battlefield." Everything went to hell. In a good way, though. In a really good way.
She brought with her 17 leather jackets, around twenty pairs of brass knuckles, an entire crate of Bulgarian wine, and a feral grin that had everyone—Valentina especially—deeply concerned. Yelena had called Bucky “grandpa,” told Walker his jaw looked like it was Photoshopped, and challenged Alexei to a sparring match while doing vodka shots.
By week two, she had both Bucky and Walker in such a vicious prank war that Valentina personally installed panic buttons in every room and a 24-hour hotline staffed by two overworked interns.
"Listen," she'd said to Bob one evening, slouched across the common room couch holding a vodka cranberry in one hand and a glitter bomb in the other, "if you're not part of the prank war, you're part of the problem."
You, curled in the armchair with your Cosmopolitan, just snorted and shook your head. “Don’t engage,” you whispered. “That’s how it starts.”
But it was already too late.
By week four, someone—probably Yelena—had rigged the gym's ceiling vents to explode with glitter every single time music was played. It looked like an ABBA concert every time anyone tried to work out. Walker was victim number one. It took him two weeks to clean out all the vents. He was still finding glitter in places no man should.
By week six, Bucky's protein powder was replaced with powdered sugar—Walker's doing. The next day, Walker's toothbrush was swapped for a hot pepper-infused prank toothbrush so strong he almost wanted to rip his tongue out—Bucky's doing. Yelena claimed no responsibility, but laughed out loud until her tummy hurt. Alexei said nothing, but looked immensely pleased. Ava just walked away every time, muttering "children" and "imbeciles" in every single language.
And you? You opted out of everything.
So did Bob.
You were the “normal” ones—if “normal” meant tired, trauma-bonded, and one missed therapy session away from losing it. You liked your body not covered in glitter. You liked your food unsabotaged. You liked your showers dye-free. You liked your clothes not sewn together by a super-soldier with a grudge. You liked peace. Quiet.
Bob, too, had retreated from the chaos the moment it started. He was quiet, nervous, so polite. The Sentry—the most powerful being in several galaxies—was also the one who carried I <3 New York mugs with two hands, murmured “sorry” when he sneezed too loudly, and apologized to furniture when he bumped into them.
You once caught him whispering "sorry" to the coffee machine. You hadn't recovered since.
And then there was Yelena—your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your disaster twin, your ride-or-die with a taser in her boot and a flask in one of the many pockets on her vest. She thrived in these situations. Like a vengeful little chaos gremlin.
You loved her like family. Like a sister. You also wanted to strangle her at least once a day.
You’d lost count of how many times you’d bailed her out of prank-related disasters. You had a permanent, invisible sign that read “Yelena’s Damage Control” stamped on your forehead. Once, you caught her trying to set up a trap involving a pulley system, three buckets of Jell-O, and a pressure sensor under Walker’s mattress.
“Yelena,” you had deadpanned, “this is a war crime.”
“I know,” she’d whispered, eyes gleaming.
You couldn’t stop her. But you could try to contain the fallout.
She'd always been the troublemaker, and you'd always been the one holding the broomstick, ready to clean up after every single mess.
Which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch one lazy, peaceful evening, blanket over your legs, a movie playing quietly. Peaceful, until it wasn't.
Yelena burst into the common area with the chaotic glare of a feral racoon who had just tried McDonalds for the first time.
She had a pouch in one hand, and that look in her eye. The one that meant she was either going to kill someone, or make them cry. The look of someone who had Googled "legal prank weapons" and actually found something.
You didn't look up from your phone. "If that's another glitter bomb, I swear to God Yelena I—"
She grinned, flopped on the couch beside you, and dropped the pouch in your lap.
You frowned. "You bought chocolate?"
"Yes and no," she said, vibrating with excitement. "It's not regular chocolate, silly. It's special chocolate."
You narrowed your eyes. "So... you bought weed chocolate?"
"What? No!" she scoffed. "Not weed. They're sex chocolates.
You stared. “I’m sorry—”
“I found them online,” she said proudly, holding up the tiny pouch like she was unveiling a horcrux. “Not technically illegal. Just... wildly inappropriate.”
Your mouth had opened and closed a few times before you got a full sentence out. "You bought aphrodisiac chocolate."
“Yes,” she continued nonchalantly, as she dramatically placed it in your palm, like this was completely normal and not a felony, “chocolates that make you horny. The bag said you should only eat half of one ‘cause otherwise—" she wiggled her eyebrows, "side effects. And it might make you horny as hell.”
You sighed.
"You're going to poison Bucky Barnes with horny candy? Jesus Christ, Yelena."
“It’s not poison,” she snapped, snatching the bag back. “It’s hilarious. He put fucking green dye in my shampoo, I looked like Shrek’s third cousin for three weeks. Like a fucking radioactive lizard. That shit didn't come out for three weeks. This is justice.”
“You looked adorable with green hair,” you offered.
“Not the point.” She held up a wrapped chocolate. “The point is this—” she pressed it against your cheek “—is going to drive him insane. I leave this out. He eats it. Gets inconveniently boned for eight hours. I laugh. You laugh. We all laugh. Valentina cries. Justice is served. The universe realigns.”
“Or,” you offered, “he kills you.”
“Worth it.”
You sighed, already in too deep. “Okay fine, I approve.”
“Good, ’cause I’m giving it to him right now.”
You frowned. “Isn’t it too suspicious for you to give him the chocolate? He’s gonna suspect you’re up to something.”
“You’re right…” Her eyes lit up again. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen island. The man can’t resist abandoned snacks.”
“Okay… but—”
“No no buts. This is gonna be fun.”
“Yelena…”
“Shush. He’s gonna come back any minute.”
You leaned back onto the couch again as she bolted to the kitchen, dropped the chocolate in plain sight like bait in a trap, then sprinted back and threw herself dramatically onto the couch beside you, both of you pretending to watch the movie playing on the screen.
You started giggling.
“Shut it!” she hissed, elbowing you. “He’s gonna suspect if you giggle like that.”
“I can’t help it,” you wheezed. “I just— I can’t wait to see his face.”
You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop picturing it: Bucky, scowling and always so suspicious, wandering into the kitchen, finding the lone piece of chocolate on the island like a bear stumbling across a candy bar in the woods, sniffing it, probably poking it, and then—against all logic—eating it.
And fifteen minutes later? Uncontrollably, catastrophically horny.
It was horrible. It was perfect.
And yet… the common room stayed quiet except for the hum of the TV. The chocolate remained untouched. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Bucky.
“Where the fuck is he?” Yelena hissed under her breath, peeking over the back of the couch. “He’s usually sniffing around by now. Post-workout fridge raid is like, a sacred ritual.”
“Maybe he’s actually working for once,” you offered, scrolling lazily through your phone. “You know. Doing his job.”
Yelena groaned like you'd personally insulted her. “Ugh. What a nerd.”
She flopped sideways dramatically, letting her head land on your thigh with a little oof. You chuckled and absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she mumbled something about "uselessly punctual super-soldiers" and “flirting with dietary supplements.”
Eventually, her mumbling trailed off. Her breathing evened out. She fell asleep in your lap, curled like a cat, snoring softly.
You stayed like that, warm and peaceful, letting the TV flicker in the background while your thumb scrolled mindlessly over your screen. The prank chocolate glinted under the kitchen light.
And then—
“Oh. Hi, Y/N.”
You looked up.
Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, soft curls slightly tousled, wearing a black T-shirt that read sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come in lowercase comic sans, and his usual grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist.
Your stomach dipped.
"Hey, Bob," you said, smiling.
He gave you a soft smile—shy, unsure, always like he was surprised you were still happy to see him. “Hi.”
His eyes flickered to Yelena, then back to you. He lingered there—just long enough to make your heart flutter.
It wasn’t the first time.
He always did that—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to greet you. Like saying your name out loud made something flutter in his chest.
And God, he had no idea how obvious he was. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Bob was quiet, thoughtful, shy. But then you started noticing the patterns.
How he always looked for your laugh when the room was loud. How his eyes lingered on your mouth when you were focused on something. How he watched you when he thought you weren’t watching, gaze soft, warm, wanting—not greedy or possessive, just… curious. If you spoke, he listened—not just politely, but curiously, like your words mattered more than anyone else's in the room.
There was always a slight delay when he smiled at a joke—like he waited to see if you were laughing first.
And when you caught him watching? He looked away so fast it was like his thoughts had been yanked straight out of his brain.
You’d noticed. Of course you had.
Yelena noticed it too.
"I—uh—I just came to grab a snack," he said softly, motioning toward the kitchen.
"Sure," you smiled, turning your attention back to scrolling on your phone, trying so hard not to think about him.
A moment later, Yelena stirred, mumbling into your thigh, “He’s so into you.”
You rolled your eyes. “He’s not.”
“He is.”
“He is not, Yelena.”
“Babe. You’re so blind,” she mumbled. “I say this with love. Wake me up when Bucky eats the chocolate.”
She was out again within seconds.
You resumed your doom scrolling, ocasionally chuckling at stupid videos on the internet. A minute passed. Then another. Then you heard soft footsteps.
You looked up—and froze.
Bob was back. Glass of milk in one hand. Torn silver wrapper in the other. And—oh no.
Oh no.
A smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.
“Uh, Bob… where did you…?”
He blinked, startled. “Oh—this?” He held up the wrapper. “I, uh, found it on the kitchen island. Was it… was that yours?”
You stared.
“Oh god.”
“What?” he said, confused. “Was it like, fancy chocolate? I didn’t mean to—was it yours, Y/N? I’m so sorry—”
You slapped Yelena awake. “Wake up. Wake up right now.”
She groaned, glaring at you. “What the fuck, Y/N! Why would you—”
“He ate the chocolate.”
She blinked and puffed. “What? Ugh, Y/N! I told you to wake me up when Bucky came!"
You stood up, grabbing her chin and physically turning her toward Bob like you were revealing a murder suspect. “He ate the chocolate.”
Her jaw dropped. A full gasp escaped her. “Oh my god. BOB.”
Bob backed up. “I’m sorry! I just— I saw it— I thought it was for everyone—was it yours, Y/N? I didn’t mean to—”
Yelena stomped over and grabbed his face with both hands like she was inspecting a crime scene. “How much did you eat?”
His eyes darted between you and her. “I—what’s happening?”
“Answer the question, Bob.”
“I… I ate all of it?”
“WHAT?!” you shrieked, vaulting to your feet.
“I didn’t know!” Bob said quickly. “I thought it was just normal chocolate—I was hungry—”
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
Yelena spun toward you. “Get the bag. Read the label.”
You fumbled with the pouch, hands shaking, and scanned the fine print.
Recommended dose: HALF a chocolate. Effects last 6-8 hours depending on metabolisim. Fast-acting, onset in 10-15 minutes. Possible side effects: increased sweating (short-lived), spontanous arousal, inability to regulare desire, increased physical sensitivity, touch dependency, increased stamina, vocalization, elevated body temperature, hypersensitivity, desire fixation and obsessive focus on most recent object of desire.
You looked up. Your throat went dry.
Bob was already sweating.
He stood in the middle of the room like he’d just wandered out of a sauna, shirt clinging to his chest, breath coming in short little bursts. He tugged at his collar, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember how air worked.
"Oh fuck," you whispered.
“Uh…” Bob said, weakly. “Is it… is it warm in here?”
Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”
taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @pey2618 (if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below)
are you kidding me this is everything i have heart eyes
Marry Me
His question is so obstinate that he almost sounds angry about it, “Marry me?”
The five times you turn down Silco's marriage proposal. And the one time you say yes.
Tags: Silco x Reader | One Shot | 5 + 1 things | Romance | Love Story | Childhood friends to lovers | Young Revolutionaries | Time Skips | Hurt/Comfort | Power Couple
Wc: 4.3K
SFW (but includes pillow talk), Gender of reader never mentioned, Blood and canon-typical violence
Two Gutter-Babies; paths entwined in fate.
Innocents in a corrupted world, at the tender age of eight.
The partially deflated ball smacks against the outer wall of the deserted building; causing dust and mortar to crumble from its mouldering surface.
Victorious shouts from the winning team ring through the air. The innocent sounds of children at play contrast sharply against the sombre, grey world in which the game is staged.
Your own smile is wide and bright on your face as you laugh along with your friends, but it falters just a little when you spot the familiar figure that’s perpetually lurking on the sidelines of your childhood.
He started showing up about a month ago.
Every single day, without fail, he manages to seek out where you and your friends play, and he watches from a distance, staring longingly at whatever game you’re engaged in. And at you.
He’s kinda weird looking.
His features are stark and pointy, with none of the rounded softness that youth is supposed to afford. The hair which hangs in unkempt waves around his long face is as dark as soot, and his ears are just a little too big for his head, as though he hasn’t quite grown into them yet. All the children in the Undercity are much too thin, but he seems dangerously so; sporting limbs that are stringy and gangly. He would be easy to dismiss at a glance.
Were it not for his eyes.
They’re the most vibrant aqua green you’ve ever seen, and remind you of the turquoise gemstones that are sometimes mined around these parts, and then sold across the river to be made into fine jewellery. Not only is the colour arresting, but they hold an intensity that’s well beyond his years. Adults may look upon him with a knowing hum, and label him an “old soul”, whatever that means. But to his Undercity peers, who are much too young to understand such cryptic idioms, they simply mark him as an outcast.
Your friends have taken to calling him Ratty – for the elongated features, the slight overbite, and the way he’s always scurrying around in the shadows.
But you’ve taken to sending small, kind smiles in his direction whenever you catch his eye, despite the taunts you receive for doing so. A part of you does it simply because you feel bad for him. But mostly it’s because you find him as interesting as he seems to find you. Perhaps, with all your childhood innocence, you harbour hope that small, consistent shows of kindness might encourage him to approach one day. That you might offer him the friendship he so clearly seeks. But your smiles only ever seem to spook him, and send him flitting away until he next reappears.
But there’s a resolution in his face today when you catch his eye, and his hands are clutching something behind his back, out of sight. The vivacious smile from your game softens into something a little sweeter, and the resolve in his eyes sharpens.
He marches his way out onto the pitch of your game, making a beeline directly for you. All the other children stop and stare, or snicker behind their hands at the determined pout of his lower lip, and the adamant line of his dark brows.
He stops directly in front of you, and thrusts his hands out.
The daisy is wilted so badly that it folds pathetically over his spindly fingers; unable to support its weight despite missing half of its white petals. And those that remain are crumpled and soot stained.
His question is so obstinate that he almost sounds angry about it.
“Marry me?”
Several children around you burst out laughing.
The determination in his blue-green eyes is so fierce and unyielding that it renders you speechless. Your mouth opens and closes uselessly like a fish out of water.
The other children haven’t lost their tongues though.
“Give us a squeak Ratty.”
“Freak.”
He’s entirely undeterred by their cruelty, and behaves as though he doesn’t even hear them. His focus is solely on you, while he waits stubbornly for an answer.
“Go back to the gutter.”
“Rat boy.”
Your skin itches with embarrassment, and you squirm on the spot.
And still he stares.
You shake your head shyly, turn on your heel, and run away.
Leaving him standing in the dust-cloud of your retreat, with only his wilting token and the harsh jeers of the other children for company.
Two Revolutionaries; young, wild, and free.
Burning with a reckless dream, and just turned twenty-three.
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
“And by this you mean…?”
“This,” you emphasise the single, bitter word by holding up the sodden underwear you’re washing in the bathtub. The apartment is so small that Vander can easily see what you’re waving from his chair in the main living area. He merely laughs at you; a booming sound that riles you even more.
“I signed up to fight.”
“And to fight, we need clean clothes.”
“So wash ‘em yourself you schmuck.”
“I’m busy doin’ inventory.”
“Yeah, funny how there’s always inventory to be done on laundry days,” you gripe, flinging the garment through the open doorway. Your aim is perfect, and it makes a satisfying wet slap as it wraps around his head.
And now its your turn to laugh as Vander struggles to disentangle himself from the soaking fabric. The muffled sounds of his displeasure are accompanied by a key in the lock, and the light, clipped footsteps which enter the apartment.
“Being bullied again, Vander?”
You smirk to yourself at the deep, sly voice of your other roommate; three of four now safely home. The first-born Children of Zaun. A revolutionary unit that had been formed of four toiling gutter-babies who had decided enough was enough. Who had shucked the back-breaking weight of the stones they’d been mining together since their late teen years and had begun to forge a new path. One that will bring freedom and justice to the oppressed citizens of the Undercity.
But beyond the dreams you share, and the work you do to achieve them, the four of you are a family. You love all three men you live and work with, despite how you all irk each other at times in such close quarters. However, there’s no denying the teams of two that comprise your household.
Vander and Benzo have always been close; cut from the same cloth in too many ways to count. Their friendship is as strong and solid as their mountainous builds. Likewise, you and Silco share a slyness that’s much too subtle for the other two to truly understand, and have been thick as thieves since long before the mine in which you’d all joined forces.
Silco pinches the wet fabric between thumb and forefinger and peels it from Vander’s head. The larger man shoots you a glare once he’s free, before wiping his face dry on the hem of his shirt.
Silco stalks his way over to the bathroom, and his slender body fills the frame and casts a tall shadow over the poorly tiled floor.
“You know, you can be very cruel,” he teases, holding out the dripping fabric.
You scoff, taking it from him and tossing it back into the bathtub with the other clothes, “I’m the nicest of the lot of you.”
“That isn’t really saying much.”
You chuckle to yourself and turn back to the task at hand. You sense him lingering in the doorway behind you, and feel the electric prickle of his eyes on the back of your neck as he watches. A pleased smile tugs at your lips at the soft rustle of clothes as he enters properly and sits himself on the floor next to where you scrub at a bloodstain in one of Benzo’s shirts. His back rests against the tub, and you notice from the corner of your eye that one hand is hidden down by his side.
“Coincidentally, I was remembering just today how mean you were to me the very first time I spoke to you.”
You lean your elbows on the edge of the bathtub and cock your head at him, “Still holding a grudge?”
There’s nothing but playfulness in the crease of his mouth and the lilt of his voice. He knows how guilty you still feel about that very first interaction, even though you’d only been children, and even though you’d sought him out the very next day when he hadn’t returned to watch you play. You’d found him chucking rocks into the filthy waters by the Gorge, and had tentatively approached. It had taken a bit of coaxing, but the suspicious, narrow-eyed “It’s Silco” you’d finally received had been worth it. And in the span of a few hours the two of you had become best friends in the easy way that childhood grants. Inseparable ever since.
Which is why you’ve been resistant to his ever increasing flirtations over the years. Despite the ever mounting inevitability that brews between the two of you.
“Perhaps a little.”
“Will you ever forgive me for it? Or am I doomed to hear you bitch about it forever?”
His lips pull into a smarmy little smile that sets your pulse quickening.
“Perhaps I’ll forgive you if I get the answer I want this time.”
You raise your eyebrow, and he uncovers his hidden hand to offer out a single daisy; in much better condition than the last one, and so achingly small between his long fingers.
“Marry me?”
“Fuck off.”
“It’s going to happen one day. Might as well get it over and done with now.”
“How romantic.”
His smirk widens, and he leans forward to tuck the small flower behind your ear. Your stomach flutters at the way his fingers brush through your hair as he does, “How about a date instead then?”
You empty your lungs wearily through your nose, “No.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“Remind me.”
Silco’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, and you find yourself momentarily lost within their green waters. It’s becoming ever harder to shoot down a man whose so adept at dodging the bullet of your rejection. And who makes you feel the way he always does. Invincible. Special. Beautiful.
“Because we’ve only just begun, Silco,” you say earnestly, turning more fully towards him, “The Sons and Daughters of Zaun is still just a fledging. It wouldn’t be wise to muddy the waters with romance. It could jeopardise the group. If things didn’t work out—”
“Who says things wouldn’t work out? We already make such a fantastic pair, don’t we?”
His lips quirk in response to the twist of your own – the way you’re unable to stop your amused smile. His fingers reach out and lace with yours, still wet and slippy from the bathwater. Silco is hardly ever sincere. It’s a defence mechanism, borne from a childhood of ridicule in order to protect himself. And so the openness that suddenly blooms on his face like an unfurling flower gives you pause.
His thumb skims along the grooves of your knuckles, and your heart skips.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
You gnaw on your lip, and he waits patiently. You huff a short, sharp sigh.
“Dinner, at Jericho’s. One chance, and no promises.”
The cockiness sweeps back across his handsome features, and he raises your soapy knuckles to his lips, “A fighting chance is all I ever need, darling.”
Two Freedom-Fighters; in anarchy they thrive.
Chaotically dismantling the peace, at only twenty-five.
The adrenaline rush of the chase courses through your veins and fuels your pumping limbs. It makes you want to tip your head back to the smog filled sky and laugh.
It always does.
And you always do.
Your own laughter is joined by the familiar, husky peal of another’s; the man who runs beside you, and has for years.
True to his word, Silco had taken his fighting chance with both hands and had refused to let go. And so one dinner at Jericho’s had been the tipping point into a romance that had begun with a single battered daisy, and a child with nothing to lose.
It’s been two years since Silco had swept you off your feet, and your toes have yet to touch back down.
The heavy pounding of the metal-toed boots of your pursuers have long since faded. But still you run. Perhaps simply because you can. Simply for the joy of it.
The pair of you burst from the alley you’d been careening down, and turn left onto the main strip of the Lanes, heading in the direction of the The Last Drop; the new head-quarters of the revolution. An upgrade that was needed to house the ever-growing ranks of the Sons and Daughters of Zaun.
You and Silco slip in amongst the nighttime crowds that bustle up and down the neon-lit street, and finally slow your sprint to a speedy stride. Not that there’s any chance of being inconspicuous when you’re both sporting clear evidence of a fight.
You’re both out of breath, but still riding the intoxicating rush of the conflict and subsequent pursuit, despite your injuries. The packs slung over your backs are heavy with enough stolen medical supplies to last a couple months if you ration carefully.
Van and ‘Zo are gonna be real pleased.
But it came at a cost. Namely in the form of Silco’s two front teeth.
You look over at him; covered in blood and still smiling like a fool.
“Stop grinning would you? You look fucking ridiculous.”
“Is it bad?”
“Let’s put it this way, you’ve got a lovely new place to rest your cigarettes when you smoke.”
He pokes experimentally at the newly chipped teeth with the tip of his tongue.
“And that’s going to need stitching,” you berate, indicating the sharp upward gash above his lip, “it’s gonna scar for sure.”
He grabs your hand to stop you from poking at it, and laces your fingers together, “One more won’t hurt.”
“It’s on your face, Silco,” you whine, “Your beautiful face.”
He flashes you a roguish grin, “But do you still love me?”
You snort a laugh, “Yes, I still love you.”
There’s a fierce passion in Silco’s heart, and it’s the driving force behind everything he does. Most mistake it for ruthlessness, because they only witness it directed into the fight, the cause. And he is ruthless. But behind closed doors, when it’s just the two of you, that passion is channeled into something purer. The fierceness of his love is a cleansing fire, and it purifies any wounds inflicted by the harsh, unforgiving world in which you both live.
Silco also has a flair for the dramatic, and the two sometimes go hand-in-hand, much to your chagrin.
He sweeps in front of you and drops to his knee right in the middle of the street, grasping your hand in both of his. You roll your eyes to cover your rising embarrassment as people stop and gawk at the pair of you.
“Marry me?”
His shit-eating grin displays his newly chipped teeth; stained vibrant crimson. His chin too is covered in blood from his busted lip. He looks like a wild animal who’s been ravaging a carcass.
“You think I’m gonna settle for an idiot that can’t duck a punch?”
“Yes,” he grins wider, “If not now, then you will.”
You smirk and click your tongue in dismissal.
He tugs sharply on your hand as he stands – upsetting your balance and using the momentum to scoop you up in a bridal pose.
Your shriek of surprise turns into bright, joyful laughter as he begins to carry you down the street, pack and all. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean up to press fleeting kisses to the uncut corner of his mouth, heedless of the blood that smears your lips as you do.
He turns his face more fully to you, hungrily returning what you’re offering, and yelps as his split lip pulls.
You chuckle, and flick the end of his nose, “Idiot,” you scold lovingly, “Now put me down. People are staring.”
“Let them,” he says obstinately, “You’re mine, and I’ll carry you if I wish to.”
You quirk an eyebrow, “I’m yours, am I?”
“That’s correct.”
“And does that make you mine too?”
He pushes out his lower lip and weighs his head side-to-side in contemplation, “I’ll have to think about it.”
You smack his chest playfully, but hard all the same, “Bastard. Remind me why I ever agreed to go out with you?”
“Because I pestered, darling,” he croons with a lopsided smirk, “that, and the fact that I always get what I want… in the end.”
Two adept Warriors; drawing closer to the line.
The world’s become more dangerous, still young at twenty-nine.
Your skin is slick against Silco’s, and your legs are tangled with his beneath the sheets as you bask in the afterglow of his love. It’s as much golden light as you’ll ever get down here; in the ever-darkening depths of the Undercity.
The too-thin blankets that do little to warm you in the winter are wrapped around your waists, and he cradles your head to his chest like you’re something precious. Like you don’t bare just as many scars as he does. The steady beat of his heart drums a comforting rhythm beneath your cheek, and his fingers card through your hair – each tender stroke adding to the invisible weight upon your eyelids.
Until he stirs you with a gentle, reverent whisper of your name.
“Yes, Silco?”
“Marry me?”
You huff a quiet laugh, and push up onto your elbow. His hair curls gently at the ends, fanning out on the pillow like raven rays of night, and his lagoon eyes swirl with blissful contentment beneath heavy lids.
“That’s the orgasm talking.”
“If that were the case I’d have asked you innumerable times by now.”
“You’ve asked plenty. This is the fourth time.”
“Keeping count are we?”
Your lip pulls into a small smile before you can help it, and you dip your mouth to his in a deep, rolling kiss. You flick your tongue playfully along the scar he’d received the night of his last proposal, and he shivers beneath you at the sensitivity.
Neither of you comment aloud on the real reason he’s asking you – the undeniable charge in the air that’s been brewing. The kind that precedes a catastrophic storm. Things are changing in the Undercity. The Enforcers are becoming more brutal, and it seems each day brings with it a violent and unwarranted raid on yet another business along the Lanes. Seeds of unrest are being planted and continuously watered by mounting fear.
Even Vander and Benzo are loosing momentum. They’re being cowed by the Topsiders, and it’s infuriating to watch.
It seems these days that you and Silco are the only ones left who are willing to fight anymore.
“You’re going to run out of excuses to turn me down one of these days.”
“Today isn’t that day.”
“That’s okay,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands along your spine and pulling you closer to his warmth, “I can be patient, darling.”
Two Battle-Weary Veterans; bloodied, broken, done.
Sporting scars of conflicts lost, at barely thirty-one.
It’s been months since the incident.
And yet Silco still wakes screaming most nights.
His animalistic wails shatter the air, thanks to the nightmares which plague him, and the unremitting pain in the eye that refuses to heal. The eye that’s steadily wasting away due to the toxic pollutants that refuse to be purged.
Singed, the disgraced academy doctor and your one remaining ally, is close to a breakthrough on a treatment that will slow the necrosis. But until then, Silco must weather the pain, and you must bear witness to it. You must listen to the sounds of your love in unending agony night after night while you can do absolutely nothing to help.
It’s torture. Each cry rends at your soul until it’s nothing more than tattered bloodied ribbons.
You’d switch places in a heartbeat. You’d do anything to ease this for him. The strongest painkillers you can get your hands on never seem to even touch the surface of his suffering. They offer no true relief. And so all that’s left is to hold him while he thrashes and cries. To whisper reassurances to him until exhaustion finally drags him back into merciful unconsciousness.
“Please— please—”
“Silco,” you hush, smoothing back the sweat soaked hair from his brow, “it’s alright, my love.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please.”
“I’m right here. I’m here darling.”
It’s always like this. Once the wordless wails of pain have passed, he begins to beg. Desperate, delirious pleas to remain at his side. Like you’d ever leave him. Like you’d ever betray him like that bastard, son of a bitch who you’d both called Brother.
Tears and blood mix and stain your top, leaking out from beneath the bandage that’s taped over his ruined left eye. You hold him tighter, and rock him gently as his screams at last die down to soft, despondent weeps. Wrecked, and so, so tired.
You press you mouth against his brow and hum a common Zaunite lullaby which you’d grown up hearing, and which soothes you both with its simple, familiar tune. Silco’s hands flex and clutch at you a little tighter.
His voice is quiet and ragged, the best his ravaged throat can offer.
“Marry me?”
You kiss his temple, “Why are you asking?”
“Because I need you. I need you by my side.”
“You’ve got me,” you brush the tears from his cheeks with the backs of your knuckles, “You don’t need a piece of paper to tie me to you Silco. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours. It’s you and me against the world.”
“Promise? Promise me?”
“I promise, Silco.”
He lets out a shuddering sigh, and his body seems to melt into you a little more – boneless with sheer exhaustion. You continue to cradle him; to sing softly, to stroke his matted hair, and to press featherlight kisses to his skin.
“You’re all I have left.”
His muffled words stoke the simmering hatred inside you. The hatred you both share. You hold him a little tighter and whisper your next words into his hair; the words that in a not too distant future will be drawn upon and repeated to the daughter you’re both yet to know.
“We’ll show them. We will show them all.”
Two hardened Monarchs; with endless work to do.
Surveying their kingdom from self-made thrones, and suddenly forty-two.
“Jinx is asleep,” you say as you slip through the door into your shared office space; the domain of the two de facto rulers of the Nation of Zaun. The Empire you’ve built from the ground up, hand-in-hand.
Silco hums from the high-backed chair behind the desk, but doesn’t stop reading through the paperwork in front of him.
“You should be too, darling,” you say pointedly.
“In a little while.”
You huff a small laugh and make your way over. You switch off the lamp at the corner of the desk with finality, and he looks up at you with just an edge of irritation.
He’s never been quite as good humoured as he once was. Not since Vander. It’s one of the many things you’ll never forgive your dead brother for.
But you’re not as carefree either.
The years have hardened your edges, leaving you both jagged and jaded. But you’ve grown together. Two roses upon the same trellis; so thoroughly interwoven that there is no way of knowing where his stem begins and yours ends. There’s no prising apart the two sets of entangled roots which run so deeply beneath the ground.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.”
He hums again, this time in appeasement as you turn his chair slightly in order to sit yourself sideways in his lap. His hand hooks beneath the outside of your knee, and the other rests on your waist where he draws idle circles with his fingers. You've sat in this position too many times to count; working through reports and numbers and maps and plans together on your shared desk.
“Have you seen this? A new trade agreement between Piltover and Palclyff for the import of raw steel. It’s going to directly undercut business for the foundry workers down here—”
“Silco,” you interrupt with a finger upon his lips. You caress his jaw and turn his face towards you, away from the paper, before brushing your nails through the silvering strands at his temples in the way you know he likes so much, “You’ve worked enough.”
There’s almost twenty years worth of labour referenced within those three simple words. And there’s more unvoiced beneath them yet. You’ve been soul-bonded for so long that silent conversations are a common occurrence between you, and you can see from the way his face softens that he hears all you’re saying.
Look at all we’ve achieved. Look at what we’ve done, together.
You press your mouth to the crows feet at the corner of his ocean eye, the lines which match your own, and you brush your thumb along the grooved scars below the obsidian inferno on his left.
He leans into your touch, and turns to press a loving kiss into your palm, before looking up at you with an adoration that’s reserved only for you and the daughter that has graced your lives.
“Marry me.”
It’s been almost ten years since he’d last uttered those two words, and thirty-four since the first time. And somewhere in the span of three decades it’s lost the curled line and dot which once concluded it. No longer a question, but a demand.
You give him the answer he’s been seeking regardless.
You whisper it against his lips.
“Yes.”
Baby, Kiss Me Quick
Eddie Munson x fem!reader [3.5k] more smut with your favourite friend with benefits. slow and soft eddie, a little teasing. PART ONE
You managed maybe twenty seconds of reprieve before your body was screaming at you for more. For Eddie, for the boy, for his touch, for his-
“Kiss,” you murmured, voice still breathy, lifting your face to his, nose nudging his cheek and you felt the way it lifted as he smiled. “Kiss me, please? Really want you to k-”
You didn’t mean to sound so fucking needy, so absolutely wrecked with desperatation. But Eddie must’ve heard it in the way you spoke, felt it in the way your hands clung to the slope of his shoulder, because he was moving down into you without a second thought.
His mouth slanted over your own with the same messy greediness you felt. You were still completely naked, sheets bundled underneath you, Eddie’s jeans pushed to the bare skin of your thighs and it made you ache.
How could you still want him so badly after he’d already made you come? You were still vibrating, body buzzing from the flick of his tongue and the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of you.
But then the boy slid one hand into your hair, held you to him so he could kiss you senseless, tongue licking over your own again and again and again. His other hand traced the lines of you, from the dip in your waist to the curve of your hip, hand skimming down to cup your ass, squeeze the flesh there and pull you into him.
You could feel how hard he was, thick and hot against your thigh, trapped beneath denim and god, the way he was grinding himself into you was maddening.
You couldn’t stop kissing him though, revelling in the way it left you both breathless, more and more desperate for the other, noses pressed to cheeks, your hands tugging at his curls until he groaned into your mouth, let you swallow his sounds and keep them for yourself.
“Eddie,” you whimpered, back arching off of the bed, into his frame, trying your best to wrap yourself around him “Eddie.”
“I know- fuck,” Eddie’s voice was shot, low and rough, dripping in need and he smelled like smoke and sex and something that was entirely him. “S’alright, sweetheart, Christ, I know.”
You were pushing him back then, eyes a little wide, hair a mess and your hands on his bare chest. You tried your best to coax him backwards and the boy let you, went soft for you and let you manhandle him to where you wanted because fucking hell, Eddie Munson would throw himself into traffic for you if you asked.
So you got him on his knees on the bed, followed him to do the same and you let out an almost watery laugh at the way he didn’t let go of you, not once. He kept a wide hand on your waist, fingers splayed comically large over your ribcage, your back and all he could do was stare down at you, taking in every detail, every line, every freckle and scar.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered, catching your mouth once more, making you both both cling to the other as your swayed on the mattress, kissing like you’d never been allowed to before.
And perhaps you hadn’t, not like this. Alone with the boy in a bed that smelled like him, in the dark of his room with no one else to worry about. Hands dragging over naked skin, new places to touch, to see, to kiss and taste.
“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Eddie was still running his mouth as he kissed you, catching every soft sigh and whine you gave him with a push of his lips to yours. “What you doin’ with a guy like me, huh?”
It was a rhetorical question, you knew that. The boy was mumbling, almost to himself, eyes closed, lips smoothing over your jaw, totally lost in you. But you felt the need to answer him, to show him why you were with him.
Your hands found the waistband of his jeans, fingers a little shaky as you tugged at it, popping the button and messing with his zipper, a little noise of indignation stuck in your throat when it didn’t budge as easily as you wanted. And then you were pawing at him, hands roaming over the ink on his chest, lips pushed back to his and you were whining, his name tumbling from your lips over and over again.
“Hey, hey,” Eddie was catching you, hand cupping your chin, pulling back enough to look you in the eye and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut at all the emotions he found there. Need, want, a heavy dose of something fond, something more. “Sweetheart, s’fine, I know. C’mere for me.”
He took your hands in his, let them drag slow down his chest, over the lines of his hips, the soft of his stomach and he unzipped his jeans with your fingers curled between his own. Everything seemed to slow then, right back down like before, like he was reminding you that you had all the time in the world. Eddie pressed sweet little kisses to your face, peppered them over the apples of your cheeks, open mouthed presses to the corner of your mouth, the angle of your jaw.
“S’that what you want?” He kept your hand in his own, hissed when he brought it to rub over the hard outline of his dick, twitching beneath his boxers. Your fingers curled around it, thick and heavy in your hand and Eddie squeezed your palm around it with his own, groaning. “You want this, baby?”
You nodded, eyes clenched shut as he pressed his forehead to your own, crowding into you with your joined hands still tugging at his cock through his underwear. The boy was panting, needy noises coming from his lips and you couldn’t believe the way your cunt was aching again, a dull throb that you were desperate to make go away.
“Eddie,” you whined and your heart stuttered when he whispered your name back, his free hand curling around your waist to hold you closer to him.
“Shit, I need- I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he gasped out, jaw slack and parted lips ghosting over your cheek in a lazy kiss. “Fuckin’ desperate for you, please.”
You don’t know how it happened, how Eddie ended up beneath you, back against his headboard that rattled a little too loudly. But you were curling your fingers into his jeans, tugging them down his hips, taking his boxers with them until his cock spring free and slapped against his stomach. You were a mess of limbs, huffs of laughter and kiss swollen smiles as Eddie yanked off his socks as you tried to wrestle the denim down his legs at the same time, both of you completely naked before the other for the first time.
You took a second to take him in, all of him. New tattoos that appeared from under clothes, dark swirls of ink that curled over his skin. He was lean, trim waist, subtle lines of muscle that wrapped around his arms, his thighs.
He looked nervous as you sat between his spread legs, hands smoothing across his thighs as you leaned into him. Eddie could help but drop his stare to your tits for a second or two, nipples peaked and grazing across his own chest as you moved against him.
You caught his lips in a sweet kiss, your voice sticky and soft with affection as you told him, “you’re so pretty, Eddie.”
You couldn’t see, not from the way you were sucking a nice bruise into his neck, but Eddie had the sheets fisted in his hands at your words, your voice. He sighed, let his head fall back and his jaw go slack, tilting himself this way and that so you could bite and suck at his throat.
You felt him swallow, a harsh bob of his Adam’s apple as you kissed over it. He sighed, soft, melting under your touch and his hands caught your waist as you moved yourself to perch on his lap. Your thighs spread over his own, your bare cunt sliding slick and warm over the hard length of him.
He twitched, you moaned, he held you a little tighter.
“Yeah?” He asked you, voice higher and breathier than you’d heard it before.
You grinned, nodding, the graze of your lips following the line of his jaw, stubble catching on your tongue as you flicked it out a little dirty at the space under his ear. You mimicked his words from earlier, hurting your own heart with how true they were.
“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered.
Eddie grinned, Eddie blushed, shaking his head at you as he smiled all soft, sticky fondness catching at his throat as he cupped the back of your neck and tugged you into him.
“C’mere, you.”
Another kiss, sloven and lazy, one that stirred up heat in your stomach, made you grind against him with a whine. He didn’t get a chance to pull away as you wrapped your hand around his dick, pumping him once, twice, before you raised yourself up a little, and sunk back down.
Eddie’s fingers were bruises on your hips, grabbing at you as his tip nudged at your cunt, slick and warm, a slow slide of you as you went down down down.
You took him inch by inch, gasping at each bit of stretch, eyes watery and on his own as he watched you, pupils blown, jaw hanging slack.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” he moaned, the sound ripping out of him in a stutter. You were both panting, chests heaving as you took him all, sitting pretty in his lap with his cock seated fully inside of you. “Oh, good girl, good fucking girl.”
You gasped, didn’t dare move, because you were already clenching around him and you could feel the way the boy’s cock was twitching inside of you, his head thrown back at the way you were tightening up at the feel of him.
It was too much, the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being so full.
“Eds, Eddie,” god, you sounded close to tears, too overwhelmed by it all. “I can’t, s’too good, already close, don’t wanna- fuck, not yet-”
The boy was petting at you, hands brushing over your thighs, your shoulders, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he kissed over your lips. He made soft noises, nudged at your jaw with his nose so you’d move your head back for him to kiss a line across your throat.
“You’re alright, sweetheart, yeah?” Eddie cooed, voice full of awe and heat for you. “I’ve got you. S’okay, gonna take it real slow for me, aren’t you?”
You mewled, made a little whining noise for him, because fucking hell, that’s all you could do. His cock was throbbing inside of you, his thighs already a mess with you and you couldn’t help but rock a little, hips moving over Eddie’s and making him grunt.
“Yeah, jus’ like that, hmm?” Eddie nodded, eyelids drooping with pleasure. “Can I watch you? Huh? You gonna let me watch you fuck yourself on a my cock, like a good little girl?”
You were nodding, small hands gripping around the boy’s board shoulders and you realised then and there that you’d do absolutely anything Eddie asked. His voice made your toes curl, singing with praise, thick with adoration.
“Shit, yeah,” you told him, eyes squeezing shut as he chanted his hips up a little, nudged somewhere deep inside of you. “Yeah, please, you can watch me, I can do that.”
You were babbling, a mess, back arching for him to touch more of you and Eddie obliged, one hand smoothing down the curve of your tummy, the other flicking fingers over your nipples, twisting and pulling a little rough when he felt you get wetter for him.
His lips were at your ear when he whispered, mouth warm on the shell of it, “remember, sweetheart, nice n’ slow for me, yeah?”
You nodded, all words gone as you started to move your hips. Eddie kept his hands on you, fingers splayed wide over the tops of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the crease that separated them from your cunt, just gently sliding over the spread of your folds as you rocked back and forth over his cock.
You barely lifted yourself off of him, just rolling yourself over and over, hips grinding down onto him as the boy groaned his praise to you. And every time you got too eager, Eddie tutted, wrapped a large hand around your neck and brought you to his lips, kissing you sweetly and murmuring about how you needed to take your time.
It eventually got too much, just like you knew it would, like Eddie hoped it would. ‘Cause you were whimpering, begging, petting at the boy as your eyes turned wet and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking anymore.
He gave in then, barely able to keep himself together, harder than ever as his cock sat deep inside you, throbbing for release. So he shushed you with a soft coo, gathered you in his arms and let you fall into his chest. He kissed you desperate, kissed you greedy and then his hands were roaming you back, clutching you right and finally, finally, finally he was rutting up into you.
Eddie’s eyes were on yours as he snapped his hips into yours, holding onto the curve of your ass to gain some purchase, he slack and lids hooded. He was babbling nonsense, words sticky sweet and filthy as his cock started a fast, hot slide in and out of you.
“Babybabybaby,” Eddie groaned, his hands everywhere at once, like he couldn’t get enough of you. “Fucking Christ, that’s it, fuckin’ bounce on me sweetheart, you got it, you got it, shit.”
You keened as you grabbed back at his hair, curls fisted in your fingers and Eddie grinned at your touch, like he knew you couldn’t help yourself. You scratched at his scalp, sighed at the way his lashes fluttered with it and you did as he asked, indulged him by lifting yourself off his cock, just enough to feel utterly empty before dropping yourself back down.
It made Eddie swear, head thrown back, bumping against his wall but he didn’t care, just encouraged you to do it again and again and again and again until-
“Sweetheart, m’gonna come, tell me you’re close, tell me what you need please, c’mon baby, tell me.”
Your hand was shaking as you grabbed Eddie’s, dragging it between your legs so he could thumb at your clit; rough, sloppy circles that did exactly what you needed it to do.
You pressed your face to the crook of his neck as you came, your entire body rigid against his as Eddie continued to fuck his hips up into you, the boy gasping at how tight you got around him, his arms wrapping themselves around you to hold you to him.
Another few thrusts, one, two, and Eddie was falling apart underneath you, clutching at your jaw so he could press his mouth to yours, lips parted as he moaned and whispered against you, a barely there kiss.
Minutes passed before either of you spoke, before either of you moved. Happy to stay curled against each other, still in Eddie’s lap, his slowly softening cock still nestled between your legs and you were messy and sticky, but fuck, you didn’t care.
You lay lines of kisses across his shoulder, nose nudging soft at his neck whilst the boy drew shapes over your back, his touch bringing goosebumps across your skin. And when you eventually cooled down, your body growing sore and a different ache set in, Eddie helped you shuffle from his lap, tutting in sympathy when you whined at the way he slipped out of you, every part of your body too sensitive.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered and he left you with a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulled on a pair of sweats he found on the floor, coming back with a warm washcloth and a large glass of water.
You let him clean you up as well as he could, shared his drink with him until your chest stopped heaving and you felt like your throat could form words. Reality seemed to hit, and you were suddenly so aware that you were in the boy’s room, in his bed, naked and flushed and so, so satisfied.
But you didn’t know what this was, if it had changed, if this was still the same. If you and Eddie were still the same. Because sex had always been sex but there was something different in the way he was looking at you, with your clothes on his floor and his hand smoothing back your hair so he could kiss over your eyelids, down your cheek to your jaw.
You didn’t think he wanted you to leave, he wasn’t acting like it, wasn’t rushing you but god, female insecurity seeped in and tugged at your bones, making you feel hollow and unsure.
You moved as if to find your clothes, not getting very far before Eddie pulled a large shirt out of his drawer, handing it to you with a shy smile and hopeful eyes. You weren’t sure who was happier when you accepted it, the boy’s eyes following the movement of it as you dragged it over your head, lips twisted when you realised it smelled like him.
“So, uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, stood near his bedroom door and crossed his arms self consciously. He was still shirtless, muscles flexing, tattoos shifting over skin. “Did you mean it? Earlier? About you, me… all night?”
Your stomach flipped, tumbled, like someone had lit a sparkler inside of you.
“S’okay if you’ve got somewhere to be,” he told you, a hand reaching up to tug at a curl, a telltale sign of his nerves. “I can drive you home or-”
“I don’t have anywhere to be, Eds,” you replied, voice more shy than he’d ever heard it.
“-or we could order a pizza or somethin’.”
You looked up to find him smiling, that smile you loved, slow and soft and wide, the kind that made his eyes seem warmer, like honey.
“Yeah?”
He shrugged, moving back into the room. He toed at your bra, grinning. “Yeah.”
“That sounds like a date, Munson,” you gasped, all faux shock and drama and god, Eddie adored you for it.
He was back on the bed with you, a warm hand curling around your ankle where you’d stretched your sore legs out. His thumb rubbed over you, like he was trying to soothe his own nerves as well as your own.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Eddie scrunched his nose, acted confused and like he wasn’t sure what he was saying. But his heart was hammering and he wondered if you could hear the way it rattled his bones, if you could see the relief on his face when you didn’t immediately get up to find your shoes. “S’weird.”
“What’s the ‘or something’ part?” You asked him, smiling as he moved closer, like he’d finally realised you weren’t going anywhere.
He took your legs in his hands, brought them over to rest across his own and looked at you through messy curls. Another smile, cheekier this time.
“Maybe a movie, on the couch,” his voice was so soft. “Could act a fool and make a move, y’know how it is.”
You laughed, a bright burst of sound that made his heart happy because you were still in his bed without any underwear and he’d came inside of you only minutes before.
“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, and Jesus, you could hear the sticky fondness in your voice, could feel the soft way you were looking at him.
“You’re still here, though,” Eddie answered and he sounded like he was in awe of the fact. He tapped out a guitar riff over your calf, smiled when you hugged out a laugh and blushed for him.
Your hand caught his easily, big and wide in your own but he let you curl your fingers around his, let you pull him a little closer still and you loved the way his eyes fluttered closed when you leaned in to kiss him
“I told you,” you pretended to huff, an affectionate roll of your eyes only softened by another kiss to the boy’s lips. “You’ve got me all night, if you want.”
Eddie smiled, beamed, cheeks rosy, eyes bright and he nodded. His throat bobbed like he was swallowing back emotion he didn’t expect and he cleared his throat and his pretty face in the crook of your neck when he answered:
“Yeah, I want to.”
-
acidic-honey liked this · 1 week ago -
solanastark liked this · 1 week ago -
galimatiasagain liked this · 1 week ago -
delicateheartharmony liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jxanon liked this · 2 weeks ago -
narcissuspetal reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
narcissuspetal liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
serumtumpahmejamulus liked this · 2 weeks ago -
bzjp liked this · 3 weeks ago -
arienic liked this · 4 weeks ago -
therealbabyyoda liked this · 4 weeks ago -
hyvyinjie liked this · 1 month ago -
hotburreaux liked this · 1 month ago -
ateezseonghwanot liked this · 1 month ago -
griivaa4 liked this · 1 month ago -
drihihihi liked this · 1 month ago -
mostfandomfanatic liked this · 1 month ago -
lokigirlszendaya liked this · 1 month ago -
saangie liked this · 1 month ago -
jaydito-tjjd liked this · 1 month ago -
teamjace liked this · 1 month ago -
invalid-croissant liked this · 1 month ago -
lana-stars2319 liked this · 1 month ago -
kay-kee liked this · 1 month ago -
user2616 liked this · 1 month ago
-
thespiderdaddi liked this · 1 month ago -
neodeliightt liked this · 1 month ago -
anythingbutmynamesblog liked this · 1 month ago -
gojosmyhubby liked this · 1 month ago -
lucystarz liked this · 1 month ago -
johnnycageswifey liked this · 1 month ago -
chamole7 liked this · 1 month ago -
star-reaper reblogged this · 1 month ago -
star-reaper liked this · 1 month ago
-
burnttoast16 liked this · 1 month ago -
lolpascals liked this · 1 month ago -
srgtjbb reblogged this · 1 month ago -
srgtjbb liked this · 1 month ago
-
ringing-bells liked this · 1 month ago -
sherloki7 liked this · 1 month ago -
hmmmmmmmm0 liked this · 1 month ago -
psychofangirl liked this · 1 month ago -
angelica456 liked this · 1 month ago -
vrisso liked this · 1 month ago
-
winternorris liked this · 1 month ago -
ryusuiwifey liked this · 1 month ago -
lazyd0ll liked this · 1 month ago -
yoonquiz liked this · 1 month ago -
user72892773 liked this · 1 month ago
