#it took me until just now to realize where the miscommunication was
Text
Me: No, I can't come in Saturday. I'll be in the ICU all day
My boss, coming to a visible grinding stop in his head: Right, um, no... Are you okay??
Me, having forgotten that I don't tell them things: Oh yeah, I'm fine. It's just that the bleeding episodes are back again (of my grandmother)
Boss: ??? Go? Home??
#it took me until just now to realize where the miscommunication was#I was really confused when he said to go home 😂#like why would I go home? She's in the hospital not my house??#corporate shenanigans
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Edit of Eddie: Sofiiel
Stripper!Eddie x Shy!Fem!Reader
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 (end)
WC: 11.1k
⚠️ +18 MDNI, Stripper!Eddie, nervousness, fluff, self doubt, flirting, soft touches, mentions of vomit, skin on skin contact, kissing, kissing with tongue, pining, sexual tension, angst, anxiousness, self-deprecating thoughts, low self-esteem, panic attack hinting, nausea, dizziness, miscommunication
Plot: You thought you were cursed with your shyness, but after one embarrassing night, you decide it's time to change, and you believe someone might be able to help with that.
Summary: The morning after came, the need for a talk is there, a new realization, new found feelings... as well as the gears going back to the starting line.
A/N: I am sorry.
You can always support me by hitting the reblog button with tags, and I always enjoy reading your comments!
Taglist is closed - Follow me for updates and put notifications on!
PART 7
The sound of a bird chirping caught your ear as you slowly gained your senses back, a soft whine staying in your throat as you rustled slightly in your place. There was so much warmth, making you sigh in complete happiness, as the body next to you held you even closer, his soft snores hitting the top of your head, the smell of his cologne that still lingered–
Body holding you close?
Your eyes snapped open like plates, being met with a bare chest in front of you as it slowly raised up and then back down, tattoos splattered on his skin, tattoos you recognized now. Your heart picked up a pace as you slowly, without moving too much, pulled your head off his chest to finally look up. Your breath was caught in your throat, a squeal wanting to come out as you saw Eddie’s sleeping face, his hair all over the pillow.
Your mouth fell open as you moved your legs slightly, feeling the soreness that now resides in between them. You needed to move away from him because you had to collect yourself. You had to think. You had to process whatever happened yesterday and you were beginning to breathe heavily and you really didn’t want to wake him up, not yet.
You closed your mouth, trying to hold your breaths in as much as you could as you slowly started to wiggle out of his grasp, earning a scrunch of his nose and a groan. You tensed up when you moved, but he rolled off you in his sleep, laying on the other side of the bed with a soft sigh. You held your hand to your chest, feeling it almost ripping out from it with every thump. Your belly was turning, almost painfully as you raised yourself from his arm that was wrapped around you seconds ago, and probably was numb from being under your body the whole night.
You stared at his bare chest, your blankets covering until they met on his hips, and that’s when you realized you were stark naked, looking down at your body that– Oh god… You had hickies. You almost squealed but you threw a hand over your mouth, holding the noise in. You really had to go and collect yourself, because you needed to go through the events from yesterday and try to calm yourself before he wakes up because you two would definitely have a talk.
And that was the problem, about what?
You slowly took the blankets off your legs and swung them to the side, and you winced slightly at the soreness on your inner thighs. It’s been way too long since you… Since you had sex. Shit, you had sex. You slept with Eddie, your friend Eddie. Just because of a split second of horniness. You stood up before you screamed and looked around to find something that didn’t require you to open your closet in order to not make any noise.
You gulped as you grabbed onto your white cotton panties that you had taken out yesterday but decided on the black set. Where’s the bra? You can’t find it, and the only things you have are the black dress from yesterday, which is a no, a pair of gym shorts that you use for bed, and an oversized white shirt. Those two will have to do, at least for now, so you could run away from the room as soon as possible.
You grabbed onto the garments and threw them on carefully in order to not stumble and trip and probably make a fool out of yourself in front of the guy you slept with a few hours ago. You felt your face burn at that while you pulled the shirt over your head and your breathing was coming out in heavy amounts from your mouth and you quickly tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind you making as little noise as possible.
You let the breath that was in your lungs finally leave your body as you stepped away from your door as if it were on fire. Okay, you were alone now, Eddie is naked in your room, in your bed, because you two slept together yesterday night. Your hands ran over your face and pulled your hair back, gripping your scalp tightly, feeling your intestines just twisting all about, heart in your throat and the flow of your blood very loud in your ears.
You started pacing back and forth, taking deep breaths as you started to think. What did this all mean? You acted out of instinct, out of urges. What were you? An animal? But Eddie didn’t seem to mind, he actually went in for more with you, didn’t he? You made all the moves of course, which you still don’t know how or why you did that, but you did and he followed.
But what now? What is going to happen now? You crossed the line, this isn’t just a friendship anymore, friends don’t fuck eachother, at least, not your normal type of friendships don’t. How are you going to explain yourself? What if he asks why you did what you did yesterday? What are you going to tell him? ‘Hey, I realized that I am heavily attracted to you.’
Sure, that is true, but what would that mean between the two of you? What are his feelings about this and… how did he feel yesterday? Were you enough? Were you good? He seemed to enjoy himself, but you didn’t really do much, so did he like it? Did he really want to do that with you?
“Fuck…” You were biting on your thumb’s skin next to your fingernail again. You really don’t know what is going on, you really have no idea how to move from this. This is the first time you actually felt good while having sex, and you really never in your life experienced what he did to you yesterday. Your eyes widened as you stood in place, eyes widening as another curse left your lips.
The burning in your belly was back.
How was this not enough? You went all the way with him, with a man you are actually attracted to, so why are you still yearning for more? It made no sense, and how your body reacts to the memory of him in between your legs is absolutely ridiculous. You looked at the door once, licking your bottom lip as your mind became slightly hazy again.
Maybe you can act normally? Just, go back into his arms in bed, see where that takes you, see him as he wakes up and smiles at you, and you two would probably talk about the fries from yesterday night and how you didn’t get actual dinner. He would ask for some pancakes again, and then you would gladly make them.
He would like that right? Waking up with breakfast? You can do that, just normally, like the other day you were at his home. Everything was normal after that, and everything can be normal after last night. You can do this. It’s going to be completely fine, you just don’t have to think too much about it, and maybe he won’t either. You took a deep breath in and walked towards your kitchen to start on preparing some coffee and then start grabbing the ingredients for your chocolate chip pancakes.
You were taking deep breaths, trying to concentrate on your cooking. Eggs, milk, flour, chocolate chips in. You froze. You put the chocolate chips into the batter. Just how he likes it. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Your guts turned again as you kept stirring the batter, over and over again, the gears in your head making you dizzy as the thoughts started reappearing again.
He is going to wake up soon, what are you going to say? Act normal, that’s what you settled on, but now you don’t remember what normal is. How is normal after this? What is normal about any of this? It’s not. It’s definitely not normal to sleep with your friend. Are you going to keep being friends? Oh, what if he doesn't even want to be friends? How are you going to be able to handle that?
The smell of coffee snapped you out again and you looked down at the batter, letting a breath come out of your lips to finally put the pan on the stove. You grabbed onto one of your plates as you started cooking the pancakes, trying to just focus on making them the perfect shape, cooking them just right, letting the air be filled with the sweet smell–
“Shit darling, that smells good.”
You froze on your fourth pancake, with the spatula underneath it about to turn it over. Your heart was in your throat now, maybe your ears, you didn’t know, but there was a sharp noise ringing in your eardrums, blocking any sounds coming from around you, including Eddie’s steps that were being taken towards you.
He was now behind you, you could feel his presence on your back, your chest heaving up and down as you stared down, not noticing that the pancake was starting to burn already. You couldn’t move, you didn’t want to look at him, you didn’t know what to say, how to act, how to move, and your body simply grew into a cold sweat, your hand trembling with the utensil still in your grasp.
Eddie has actually been awake the moment you made him roll over in the bed. He kept his eyes closed because his heart was in his throat, and he knew he had to give you time. He knew he had to leave you alone to gather your thoughts on what happened, and he couldn’t simply dive in and envelop you again, even if that was what he wanted the most. Once you were out of the room, he sat up too quickly and ran his hands through his hair as his eyes stared widely on the comforters of the bed.
He slept with you. The thing he didn’t believe to happen at all, happened, which was you showing him what you wanted to do with him. You had the guts that he didn’t have. You made the first moves, all of them, and his mind and self control completely shut off last night, but so did yours. He felt his south area beginning to harden again as he remembered last night, your body, your taste, and he didn’t even do head. He almost never did, but he was desperate for you last night, and he still is.
When you started losing yourself to your lust against him, he really thought he had gone to heaven at that very moment. He could have died a happy man yesterday after what happened, but then he wouldn’t get more. He wouldn’t be able to taste you again, to feel you again, to hold you again, and he wanted to, crazily so. He wasn’t going to let this be a one time thing, and he needed to tell you just that, but he knew you were processing yourself right now, after all, it was the first time you had acted out of impulse to your urges.
He held back a grin as he bit his bottom lip, dropping his hands on the bed. You let go with him, which meant, hopefully, that you reciprocated what he was feeling. You weren’t a friend, not anymore. He didn’t want you to be. He actually had decided, selfishly so, to not be your friend any longer almost a month ago. It had hit him like a train really, not even thinking that you would crawl under his skin the way you did, but the more time he spent with you, the more time you two talked about each other, and to be even interested in one another’s life stories, he knew he was a goner.
His head snapped towards the door as he heard you pacing around the living room and his gut turned with nervousness as his fingers trembled with the need of going and console you, to tell you what he was feeling, to tell you that everything is just fine, and he wishes he could tell you that everything is okay and that nothing changes… But he can no longer say that. There was no way he was letting you go this time, he wasn’t going to pretend to be normal, he wasn’t going to pretend like you didn’t kiss him fucking stupid last night, he wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t have the best night of his life just a few hours ago.
Minutes later, his nose caught the smell of coffee, and then a sweet smell. Pancakes. You were making him pancakes. He smiled widely at that, because despite you probably having a breakdown, or being nervous right now, you still decided to make breakfast for him. He took a deep breath in, getting up from the bed to throw on his boxers and pants, looking over at his shirt. If he dresses himself, fully, he was afraid of you thinking that everything was done with, and it was anything but. Shirtless it is.
So now, he stands behind you, noticing how stiff you got, and the smell of burnt pancake filled his nostrils. His hand raised up to slowly graze over your wrist that was holding the spatula, and you almost jumped at the touch, but he held onto your wrist instantly, pulling it up so that the pancake would lift from the pan and throwing it on the plate next to the stove. He could almost hear your breathing from how hard it was, and truly, he was holding his own back in order to not make you any more nervous.
His eyes then darted towards the bowl with batter in it, and he almost looked away when he noticed you had put the chocolate chips inside it this time, instead of sprinkling them on top of the pancake while it was cooking. The corner of his lip turned upwards at the gesture, and his chest puffed up with pride and with hope but for now, he had to snap you back into reality, because you were still frozen in his hold.
“Angel… It’s just me.” Those three words that always seemed to calm you for some reason, those three words that simply made all your nerves go away, even if little. Knowing it was just Eddie, knowing he wasn’t there to judge you, or criticize you, or call you out, but just be there for you, with you. You took a big gulp while you gripped onto the spatula even harder.
“I–” No words were coming out. There was no way you could talk at this moment, because you actually didn’t know what to say, where to start, or how to even begin to describe what you were feeling or what you were thinking, but it seems you didn’t have to think too hard, because he was already blabbering, getting hold of the bowl with some batter left.
“See? It’s less messier when you already put the chocolate chips in.” You blink dumbly at his words, looking at the bowl. He tipped some in the pan, and his tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth as he stuck his finger in the batter and dragged more chocolate chips into that specific pancake. That actually made you snap out.
“Don’t touch the batter with your fingers!” You exclaim at him as you wiggle the pan a bit to get all the edges with the mix. You heard him chuckle next to you as he set the bowl down.
“It needed more chocolate chips! That’s mine by the way.” He said pointing at the pancake that was already cooking and it was more chocolate than the mix. You rolled your eyes at his childishness. He stuck his finger inside his mouth, licking the batter off it.
“More chocolate chips next time, got it.” You said almost in a groan but he didn’t miss the ‘next time’ part. His mind went places. Waking up with you next to him, cuddling until midday, both of you not getting out of bed even if you needed to pee and only till your bellies grumbled that you two would get up to go make some pancakes together, laughter filling the kitchen as he shoves way too many chocolate chips in the mix and you yell at him for being too reckless.
“I’m feeling fancy for next time, maybe add some blueberries in it? Or, hear me out… marshmallows.” He says and you cringed at the sweetness of it all, but also a small giggle came out of your throat as you flipped the pancake on the pan.
“That’s a s'mores pancake… You can literally just have S’mores.” You say and you hear him chuckle next to you, as he walks towards the coffee pot, and sees that you had already prepared two empty cups to pour the liquid in. He filled his cup in black coffee, but yours only half. He walked towards your fridge to get your vanilla creamer out, and finally filled the rest of your coffee with it. You didn’t miss the gesture, a strong heat invading your belly and cheeks.
“It’s not the same! The S’mores have biscuits. Pancakes are fluffier, imagine how much fluffier they would be with marshmallows inside. Honestly, I think we’re onto something here sweetheart.” You flip the pancake onto the stack you had next to the stove and turn it off because you believed five pancakes were fine for the two of you. “Or maybe we can add some mint in them.”
That made your mouth drop open, your head snapping to your side to look at him with widened and disgusted eyes, but you froze again when you saw him. The back of his hip was resting on the counter as he looked at you with a smile to his face, one hand holding a mug, the other was handing you yours. You didn’t realize that you were talking normally to him until now. How did Eddie do it? Every single time?
“T-Thanks…” You say as you look down from his eyes but it was a bad idea. He was shirtless. Oh, the fucking flashbacks. Your whole body heated up at the memories of your nails going all over his skin, all over his chest, all over his arms. You took a large gulp out of your coffee and you clenched your eyes at the taste. It was the perfect measurement.
“I had to bring your despise for mint for you to look at me.” He lets out with a small chuckle, taking a sip of his own coffee. You blinked down at your cup, not really knowing where to go from here. Should you apologize? Should you tell him that he should forget about it? But why would you say something so hypocritical when you didn’t want to forget about it?
“I– I– just don’t know–” You tried to say out loud but your throat went dry at those few words, making you take more sips out of your mug, and he sighed, taking one last sip of his, putting his cup on the counter.
“Tell me what you’re thinking Angel. I need to know what you’re thinking.” And how do you even begin? You don’t even know what you feel, you don’t even know if it was right, if it was wrong, but the only thing you knew, is that you desired Eddie, that you were attracted to him in ways that not even god could define. But you won’t tell him that, because that’s when you would crawl into a hole and disappear from the world.
“I– I really don’t know– Yesterday… I never–” You blabbered, stuttered, and he was being patient as he looked at you, hands trembling with the cup in between them. He felt his chest about to explode but he still waited, wanting to hear you, to understand you, but he knew your mind was just a jumbled mess, he can hear it in the tremble on your voice and in the way your eyes were going back and forth as if looking for an answer somewhere.
He raised his hand up to place it on the cheek that was not facing him, and you immediately froze again. He leaned down and forward to press a soft kiss on the cheek facing him this time, and your body felt like it melted away, your bones going all soft and wiggly on you, a sigh escaping your lips at the touch of his lips on your skin. For some reason, this gesture made some of the black clouds move away from your mind, leaving some space for clarity, for you to slowly turn your head to face him again as he pulled away from you, his thumb caressing your cheek in gentle circles.
“Do you regret it? Because let me tell you darling, I sure as hell don’t.” Even if your heart wanted to burst into a million pieces from how hard it was beating, your eyes still widened at his words, surprise taking all over your features.
“Y-You don’t?” You asked with a hint of confusion in your tone as well. He licked his lips as his throat closed up on him, but he gulped it down so that he could keep talking. You were just too beautiful right now, looking up at him with those eyes that he adored.
“I did mean what I said yesterday.” He says and you tilt your head at that, trying to remember everything that was said at the bar, or when you walked your way to it with him, and he smiled at you, pulling his hand off your face, grabbing the mug out of your hands and placing it on the counter next to his. Your eyebrows knitted together at that, looking at the cup leaving your grasp.
“Why—” You began to ask, but when you looked back up at him, your mouth immediately closed, seeing the serious face he had on. It made your heart jump slightly as well as your stomach, not knowing how his smile turned into this serious look. His hand raised to pinch on the side of your shirt with his fingers and tugged you in front of him, almost making you stumble at the sudden jerk. He then pressed that same hand on your waist, firmly, while the other raised up to gently hold your cheek to make you look up at him.
“You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted last night to happen.” He says while looking down at you, his eyes searching for yours as a gasp was caught in your throat, your body heating up at his words and your head was about to look down, but he held you in place, shaking his head at you. “No, keep looking at me.”
“B-But I didn’t do— I didn’t do anything—” He shook his head again, your eyes trying to avoid his as you talked, now your chest thumping wildly, blood pumping everywhere in your body at a very accelerated pace, and you didn’t notice how your voice was trembling and how you were slowly beginning to shake in his grasp.
“I need you to calm down baby… It’s really just me.” He gave small circles on your cheek, which made your eyes look back at him, your mind going blank. He wanted last night to happen? He wanted to sleep with you? Many questions were going through your mind but only one was voiced out.
“We had sex.” His eyebrows raised up in surprise, a smile appearing on his lips, dimples showing off, but you were still completely bewildered as you blinked at him, your mind just trying to work overtime now for you. “You-You saw me naked, I saw you naked—”
“Pretty necessary for having sex Angel.” He says with a laugh this time, and that only made your brain simply burn off, steam coming off the top of your head. You gulped as his laughter slowly tuned down, the turning in your belly and the doubt in your mind now cooperating to formulate another question.
“Why— Why with me?” You managed to ask, and that made Eddie’s laugh completely turn off, only for you to continue. “I-I’m just… not—” And he knew who you were comparing yourself to. The clients in the club stood no chance against you, they really didn’t, but you didn’t believe that. He weighed his options, and he decided it would be better to show you.
“You’re not what?” His hand left your cheek to mimic his other one, pressing on your waist, now firmer than before, and he pulled your body flush into his, and your eyes widened up at him. He leaned down close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin, sending shivers down your spine as the fire in your belly ignited once more. “Feel what you do to me by just standing in your kitchen in an oversized white shirt.”
Against your belly was the same hardness you felt yesterday night on your hip. The one you felt rubbing itself against your center. The one you felt against your thigh when he climbed over towards you. And now, you didn’t have the dress on, your makeup was smudged and you cleaned it up with your fingers as much as you could, you probably smell like sweat… and he still wants you.
He couldn’t help himself, being close to your ear, to your skin, and his mouth instantly pressed a gentle kiss under your earlobe, a gasp coming out of your lips as the touch left your skin burning. You should ask him, you should talk to him, stop and try to think for a second, but that was the problem right now, you didn’t want to, and it seems that he didn’t either.
His kiss trailed down towards your neck, soft lips pressing against your pulse point, and your hands raised up shakily to hold onto his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin, and his own digits dug into your waist, trying to have a cable back to earth, but his self control was slipping away again the more he took your scent in, the more he tasted you again on his lips.
More. More. More.
Now that chant was on repeat in his mind as well, at the same time it was happening in yours. He was repeating your actions from yesterday, letting himself go, his mouth doing the work for him, not a single thought running in his head except for the need to hold you again, just running his lips on your skin again.
“I really mean it…” He mumbled in your neck, more kisses being left there as he kissed his way from one side to the other, making your head turn with soft breaths escaping your mouth which was making his brain simply scramble into nothing. “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted you.”
His voice was low, and your belly was burning with need again, your hands slowly trailing over his biceps to rest one hand on his shoulder, the other around his neck, pulling him into you, making his kisses turn hungrier, not being able to hold it and sucking on your skin to mark you, to leave you the reminder that this happened between you both, for you to look at it at every hour today, and tomorrow, and he wishes that by the end of today he would be able to retrace his mark again and again, not letting it fade at all, even if weeks went by.
“Eds—” You softly mumble as a moan escapes your lips, your eyes half lidded as you bathe in his attention. You heard a soft groan against your skin, only for the warmth that was there to simply vanish as he pulled away from you. Before you could complain, before you could ask, before the gears in your brain could start working again, his lips found yours, making your nails grip onto his shoulder even tighter.
He was hungry, and it wasn’t for the pancakes, and he made it known by how he instantly started moving his lips against yours, rough, yet with deepness, with care, swallowing your breaths into his mouth, taking everything he could from you. You didn’t even had time to process what was happening, except for your desire to start talking for you as well, and your brain was simply processing the words ‘Fuck it’.
You started returning his kiss in the same manner, the hand on his neck going to his nape to pull him even deeper into you, your other hand sliding off his shoulder to rub against his bicep and he groaned into you, your touch making his gut turn in excitement, in nervousness, in need, just by you scratching your nails on his skin, not even on an erogenous zone. He sort of cursed you in his head for the way you made him feel like putty in just two seconds and with just one touch.
He ran his tongue over your bottom lip, and your mouth instantly invited him in, a moan of yours escaping into his as his tongue pressed against yours. You felt him even harder against your belly, making the heat in your center reappear at an alarming rate, almost too hot for you to handle. Now that you knew what he could do to you, this burning was even worse than before. It was much, much worse, but you didn’t hate it, you didn’t dislike it and you didn’t want to push it away.
His hands finally moved from your waist, and you gasped into the kiss as you felt his fingertips gliding underneath the hem of your shirt, pulling it up as he finally pressed his hand against your bare back, flushing you into him, and you shivered at how big his palm was against you, how hot it felt, but another gasp escaped you when you felt his other hand cup the round of one of your cheeks, now pressing you against his bottom half even harder.
He moaned in his throat and you melted at the sound, your tongue still dancing with his as his hands pressed against you, rubbed, groped, simply felt as if wanting to remember every part of your skin and body, on how your skin was soft yet warm under his palms. Your minds were filled with one another, not wanting to separate at all, and he needed you again, screw the pancakes, he can eat those later, right after he has you.
He had to guide you to your bedroom, you need to know how much he wants you still, how much he will want you after, and the days to come, and he is certain he is not going to ever get tired of you, not when you taste like this, when you feel like this, when you burn like this.
He pushed himself off the counter, ready to begin to guide you back to where you both woke up minutes ago. You were going to let him, your belly turning anxiously as you let yourself wanting him again, and maybe this time you can try to make him feel good too. You want to really make him feel good, just like he did yesterday and the other night. You were eager to learn what he liked, eager to hear him moan because of what you do to him, and you never in your life thought you would be eager to do something like that before.
The music of Master of Puppets suddenly filled the room and your eyes opened like plates.
You two pulled away, brows furrowed together as you both looked around to where it was coming from. Eddie finally spotted his jacket on the floor, just where he left it yesterday and he cursed under his breath. He had to let you go to actually answer the phone.
“Hang on sweetheart.” He gave you a small peck on the lips before letting go of your body, and you just stood there, frozen as you felt the cold hitting your skin again. What happened? How did you go from making pancakes to almost having sex with him once more? How did that happen in such a short lapse of time?
He grabbed his jacket from the floor, grimacing slightly at it because he just left a wet patch on the floor, not letting it dry properly so it was still kind of wet in some folds. He dug into his pocket for his phone, pulling it out to look at the caller ID. He blinked a few times at it and when he didn’t answer is when you turned your head to look at him.
“Eds…?” You called him out, almost breathlessly and he turned to look at you with a small smile on his face.
“I have to get this Angel, I’ll be back.” You watched him put the jacket on the counter to then go back into your room, closing the door behind him. Your breath finally left your lungs, the burning calming down slightly, but not quite. You gulped heavily as you licked your lips, and you knew they were red and plump from the kissing you just did. You couldn’t help but feel… Happy. That’s how you felt, a small smile appearing on your lips.
You didn’t mind your mind shutting off when it came to him, you really didn’t. But the uneasiness of not knowing what all of this meant came back, but not because he was not clarifying it with you. It was because you weren’t being clear with yourself. What did this all mean? Why were you like this? Was this really how simple attraction felt like?
Your ear picked up movement in your room, and you really didn’t want to eavesdrop, but you really couldn’t help yourself, and it only took two steps for you to listen to Eddie’s low voice through the door. Even when he wanted to speak in whispers he was loud.
“Yeah, I heard you… I forgot about today, but I can— Yeah…— Okay, see you later then–.”
You blinked at those words, brows knitting together in confusion. Who was he talking to? You heard more shuffling and you panicked, not wanting him to know you were listening to his conversation and you went back towards the pancakes, now cold and you pretended to prepare a plate for you to put one on when you heard the door open. Your blood pumped in your veins in a wildly manner as you turned to see Eddie with his turtleneck on, boots thumping on your floor as he mumbled curses under his breath.
“Are you alright?” It was the first question that popped in your head, because he didn’t look happy at all, and seeing him in his clothes again made your mood instantly drop, realizing that he was leaving.
“Yeah– Um… I have to go… Steve needs me to take him somewhere– Kind of forgot about it.” He says to you with a small smile to his face, almost forced and you stood still in your place, not really knowing what to do. He saw your hesitation, so he took the steps between the both of you, his hands cupping your face, leaning down to place a soft peck on your lips. Your breath hit his face as he pulled away, but lingered over your lips, and you couldn’t help but voice out the first question that came to mind.
“You really have to go?” And Eddie wanted to die right then and there. You didn’t want him to leave, but fuck, he had to go. His knees almost buckled at your voice yet, he nodded with a saddened look on his face.
“Yeah… But we’ll talk later okay? We really do need to talk… Right Angel?” Your eyes locked with his at those words, and your face flushed in a way that wasn’t because of embarrassment, but just pure adoration. You nodded, almost dumbly at his words, making a smile appear on his lips. He gave you a peck on your lips again, not really wanting to go without his dose and he has to quickly pull away before he gets distracted with you once again.
He pulled away from you and you felt your body completely warm now, not even cold, not even if he pulled away from you. He grabbed onto his jacket with one hand and walked towards the door, opening it to then look towards the counter. He rushed back to grab onto two full pancakes, shoving them in his mouth, the rest still sticking out, making your eyes go wide, afraid he’ll choke.
“Eddie!” He smiled at you with the pancakes between his teeth, winking at you before doing a little jog out of the door, closing it behind him, finally leaving you alone in your home.
Your hands immediately went towards your mouth, covering it to contain your screams, afraid that he was still out there. You were feeling so many things at one single moment. Nervousness, fear, happiness, indecisiveness, embarrassment, delight, and arousal. All of that was happening in one single moment which was making your heart rate pick up even more than before.
You were going to have a stroke by the end of the day, you knew that. And he wants to talk. What does he want to talk about? What are you supposed to talk about? What are you supposed to say? To feel? How do you even start the conversation with him? What is going to be your new normal? What did you want it to be?
You absentmindedly grabbed onto one pancake and took a bite out of it, only to spit it out onto the plate in disgust.
It was the burnt one.
He hasn’t spoken to you all day, and that made you anxious. It’s already 7 PM, and it’s his day off, so he should be available, right? You could message him, but what do you even want to say? Hi? How are you? How was your day?
There is no way you could be normal with this, you can’t act normal, not when you had to actually clean your room after yesterday’s night. Not when you discovered the ball of paper on the night table that wasn’t yours, only to open it up and find the used condom inside, and that made your memories just hit you like a car at great speed, almost knocking you over.
How can you act normal after that?
Your phone started ringing, the ringtone of The Shire started going off and your heart leaped, and you rushed from your room towards your kitchen where the noise was coming from, grabbing it from the counter, only for your face to frown into a disappointed one seeing it was Robin. That made you feel a little bit guilty, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when you’ve been waiting all these hours for him to talk to you again. You slid the button to answer her, her face coming up on the screen, a big smile on her lips.
“Hi Rob–”
“SHE SAID YES!” That startled you, completely, almost throwing the phone to the floor. You blinked a few times as you regained the posture, as Robin’s blabbering kept going on the phone and you raised a hand towards your camera to stop her.
“Robs, Robs– I don’t understand a word you’re saying, where are you?” You frowned at seeing her on what appeared to be the mall, just walking while talking to you.
“Vickie said yes to my date!” She says excitedly and your chest warms up with joy, a smile spreads on your lips as you start bouncing in your place, and she mimics you, both of you looking completely dumb but you didn't care, nor did she.
"Holy shit!" You yell with her as you spin in your place and she laughs, a vibrant blush on her cheeks as she looks at you.
"I know!" She yells again and probably caught the attention of many people that were walking near her and you hear her say a small 'sorry' to someone, making you giggle.
"How did it happen?" You asked her, going to sit on your couch, excitement clear in your voice. She was still with a smile on her face, almost crazy looking, making you laugh at her face.
"She called me to ask me about something; I really don't even remember what it was, I think it was something about a recipe? Anyways, at the end of it I just– She just looked too pretty, you have no idea, and I blurted it out." You covered your mouth with your hand as shock washed over you. You never really imagined Robin to be straightforward, but it seems she bursted at the seams.
"Wow Robin… Why are you in the mall? When is it? Where are you both going?" The questions blurted out of your mouth like a machine gun, making Robin blush even more.
"We are going to the movies tonight, and I am getting something different than what I always wear, because I realized all my clothes look the fucking same, and maybe– Do I get her some roses? Chocolates? I’ve never been on a formal date, I don’t know how this works, I am losing my mind–”
“Robin, Jesus calm down, I bet that Vickie doesn’t care, she already said yes to a date, knowing it wasn’t a friendly outing.” You tell her and she seemed to calm down with that, giving you a soft nod as if in understanding.
“You are right… God, I just– I just like her so much…” You can see Robin’s dreamy eyes as she enters one of the stores, scanning all of the clothes that might be there, but your mind starts to wander. Robin didn’t know anything, not even that you kissed Eddie. Maybe she did because she’s friends with Steve, but she never really said anything about it… But–
“Robs?” You call out to her, heart thumping in your ears as you let your words come out of your mouth.
“Yeah?” She was still looking above the camera, and you could hear the hangers simply moving from side to side as she browsed. You cleared your throat and licked your lips, stammering a bit in your words as you tried to word your thoughts without giving yourself away.
“How do you even know it is not a simple attraction? What you feel for Vickie.” You say to her, biting on your tongue almost as the nerves in your belly started spiraling as she looked quizzically down at the phone.
“What?”
“I never experienced it, so– I mean, liking someone is simply being attracted to them, right?”
“Oh honey, no.” You sat frozen at that, blinking at the phone, your whole body just completely still on your couch as you processed her words. What? When you didn’t answer, she continued talking. “You start with attraction, then it develops into something else.”
Your heart picked up a pace again, and the hand holding the phone was growing quite the sweat. What did she mean by that? Why does it feel like she is saying something that you needed to hear? Why does it feel like she is caging you?
“And how do you even know that?” You manage to ask, and your mind for some reason is afraid of the answer. Afraid to finally come to terms with something you thought it was going to be impossible for you.
“Well, you are still attracted to them, but… You want to know about them, wake up with them by your side… I don’t know, I guess– When you are with them, and you can laugh afterwards, but still want them later on… You just want— More.”
Your eyes widened as plates at that, heart finally coming to a stop.
More. More. More.
“Oh god…” You let those words come out as a soft breath, Robin not really hearing you, too busy finding a shirt for her date, while you were having a complete breakdown on this discovery of yours. You found the word for your feelings. The word that scares you even at the deep of your gut. The word that you don’t even know if it’s reciprocated, and you are scared to even know if it is.
And now you came to realize that it’s not recent. It’s not something that happened after the first kiss even. Even when he hugged you, you always wanted more. When he held your hand, you always wanted more. When he laughed with you and you didn’t want it to ever stop, you just wanted more. It was never enough, it could never be enough, not when it came to him. You were screwed.
You fell for Eddie. Deeply.
Your body trembled with realization, with desperation to have him back with you because now that you know what name to put on your feelings, you just felt this incredible need of having him, shower him with affection, not even be nervous around him, you just needed to hold him again, kiss him again, touch him again, spend time with him again.
You were nervous, anxious even, but there was still hope in your heart, hope that he feels the same for you, hope that he wants you more than just friendship. He wants to talk to you about what happened yesterday, he wants to talk it out and now you know where you are headed. Now you know how to start the conversation. Now you know what to tell him.
“Hey, you there?” You hear Robin, making you snap completely out of your thoughts, blinking rapidly at the screen. Your friend had a small smirk on her lips, or you thought she had it, because it fell down as soon as you looked at the camera.
“Y-Yeah, I just– I remembered I have to um… get some ingredients for today’s dinner. I have nothing in my fridge.” You manage to blurt out the lie, but in your head you were already making plans, not being able to hold your words back, knowing where to go now.
“Oh, then if it’s that… Go to the grocery store… I’ll tell you everything after my date, okay?” Robin had a knowing smile on her face as she spoke to you and you really wanted to question her if she knew, but it was going to be a conversation that would take too long and you needed to run out of your apartment right at this very second.
“Yeah! I hope everything goes well Robs!” You say quickly, kind of feeling guilty for squashing over your friend’s success but it seems as if Robin didn’t really mind it, waving at you.
“Hopefully! Talk to you later!” And you said a soft ‘bye’ and hung up the call. You blinked a few times at the phone. Should you call him? Tell him– No, he has his day off. Your legs started working again as your breathing became erratic with emotion, with excitement, never in your life feeling this way before.
You finally know what everyone meant when they talked about crushes, and love. You never felt that excitement, never felt that interest, never really believed they were telling you the truth about it, but now you know it is, because your heart was exploding but in such a good way, in a perfect way that only Eddie managed to do.
Your feet took you to your room to throw on a pair of jeans, changing from your pajama pants, and then a random shirt, changing it from your oversized shirt that you were still wearing since the morning because it still held Eddie’s scent. His perfume stuck to the collar of the fabric and you whimpered when you took it off, but you had to be quick. You almost fell on your ass when you wiggled yourself forcefully into your sneakers.
You didn’t even grab your purse, just your phone and your car and house keys. You never ran so fast out of the complex and towards your car, with a smile plastered on your face all the while. When you sat yourself in front of the steering wheel, you couldn’t even believe what you were doing, what your feet were taking you, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore, just like last night.
Last night you finally exploded, wanting to finally feel him entirely, and the fact that you want, NEED more, is a sign that you have to talk it out, say that to him, say that you want more, be honest and let yourself go. Your keys got into the ignition hole, and you took a deep breath as you started your journey into the streets, your heart in your throat pumping quicker as you approached your destination.
You were probably insane, you were probably going to make a scene, and you didn’t even know how to word anything of what you were feeling properly, but you were sure you were going to say everything to him. You knew you had to. No matter how it comes out of your mouth, no matter what you have to do to get your words through, you will try and you will tell him that you like him, that you are falling for him, that you might even already have fallen to the deep end.
You parked right in front of his complex, and an old man was opening the main door to the lobby, making you rip yourself from the seatbelt and bolting out of your car, pressing the lock button over your shoulder as you reached the door, holding it open for the old man who thanked you as you anxiously waited for him to go through. Once he did, you ran towards the elevators, pressing the buttons desperately.
You looked at the numbers going down and you were chanting ‘come on, come on’ under your breath. Once the metal doors opened, you ran inside, quickly pressing his apartment’s button, almost to the point of breaking it. The door closed and you took many deep breaths in, but a smile was on your face as your ears rang from the excitement. You weren’t even thinking of the possibility of rejection, you just wanted this feeling to be known, for him to know, for him to understand.
The doors opened and you took a slow step out as you stared at his apartment door. Was this the right decision? Right now? Not even messaging him to tell him you were coming over? He had errands to run today, what if he is not home yet? But the light underneath the door frame told you otherwise, sparking your excitement once again. You walked towards the door, and took one last deep breath in. This was it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
You waited, deep breaths coming out of your lips as you waited, rocking on the balls of your feet, back and forth, and that’s when you heard shuffling on the other side of the door, a sniffle, slippers sliding against the wooden floor, and a click of the lock was heard. When it opened, you found a very sick Steve Harrington in front of you, red nose and all, hair all over the place, his blue robe on his body and your eyes widened at the sight.
“Shit, Steve, are you okay?” You ask him and he was almost wobbly, greeting you with your name and nodding. He actually took so many tylenol and dayquil that his mind was just trying to survive at this point.
“Yeah, peachy, never felt greater in my life…” You winced at his sarcasm and he sniffled holding himself with his hand on the doorframe, his eyes completely droopy from the mucus that was on his sinus. “What brings you here, sweetness?” You straightened up again at his question, but you tilted your head in question this time, remembering that Eddie told you he had to take Steve somewhere… maybe the hospital?
“Oh, I just— I came to see Eddie.” Steve scoffed at that, and sniffled again.
“He is not here.” He says and you tilt your head in confusion again. Maybe he went to grab something to eat?
“Oh, I just assumed it’s his day off so…” You mentioned to him, and you were hoping you would get the information out of his mouth, a mouth that at this moment had no filter, and no rationality or perception.
“He must be with a client.” He says and you just blink up at him, and your mind for some reason was telling you that you should leave, that you should not hear any longer, that you have to run from there, but your feet never moved.
“A client?” You choke out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible and Steve wobbles a bit, trying to focus on your face, but failing to do so. He waved his hand around as he explained himself.
“Yeah, his second job. He did tell you about it right?”
“The job… that…”
“Private meetings with clients. Mainly sex really.”
Your heart dropped at that, falling right into your stomach. You were staring at Steve as if he had just stabbed you with a sword, just impaling you without any kind of mercy, and the gears in your mind started working, but instead of moving forward, they went backwards. Your hands were starting to tremble, not wanting to believe what Steve was saying.
“That– Today?” You choke out, holding a sob in your throat as your knees start to give up on you. This couldn’t be happening, not right after the best night of your life, not after realizing what you felt for him, not after he said those things to you.
“Yeah, I mean, sometimes we do it for money, sometimes just for pleasure, so that’s why I don’t know when he’ll be back.” He blurts out and that’s when your world stopped.
He lied. He lied to you. He said he was going with Steve today, but Steve is too sick to even move… The call– The words you heard– You wanted to vomit, nausea washing over your stomach as the puzzle came together in your head, slowly, and when it finally clicked, when it all clicked.
And your eyes couldn’t look at Steve’s face any longer.
“O-Oh, y-yeah, he told me, I must have forgotten…” Your voice was small, your body shaking as your gaze couldn’t handle Steve’s neck, nor his chest, nor his legs, until you were entirely looking at the floor. Your body was shaking almost, and you had to run away. You had to leave. You were suffocating. You needed air.
“Do you want me to–” You didn’t even let him finish his sentence, taking a step back from him as his cologne invaded your sense of smell.
“No. He– He will make fun of my… poor memory… Um… Don’t tell him I came here, I’ll… just message him later.” Your voice became smaller and smaller at each word that came out of your lips, and Steve, poor Steve, was so out of it that he didn’t notice anything wrong.
“Okay, see you later Sweetness.” Your body almost gagged and jerked forward at the nickname, but you stayed put, still looking at the floor. Your mind was shutting down, you needed to leave.
“B-Bye.” You couldn’t even say his name as you turned around, walking back towards the elevator and pressing the button to go down, hearing the door closing before your metal doors shut together. Your eyes were still on the floor, not daring to look up as you tried, you really tried to make those last words disappear from your brain, but they were on repeat, and your body was numb.
You felt numb, automatic, going towards your car, and you don’t even remember starting it, you don’t remember how you even got to your complex, you don’t remember if you locked your car or not as you entered your apartment, your lost gaze just not centering on anything. You threw the keys on the counter, just simply dropping them somewhere as your feet slowly took you towards the bathroom.
He has a second job. He has a sex working job. And he has had it even before he met you, and he never quit it, and Steve said that he does it for pleasure sometimes. Was this one of the times? Right after last night with you? Maybe there was a mistake? Maybe that’s not what Eddie’s doing?
But he wasn’t home, and the fact was that he still has that job. He still does it because Steve said it as if it were a frequent thing. How many times have you messaged him or talked to him while he was with a client? Did he go to them after kissing you? Touching you? Sleeping with you? Were you not good? Were you not enough? Were you simple? Were you too complicated?
You took a deep breath in, trying to calm your heart, feeling it ripping at your chest, urging to come out of your body, to cry out, to yell into the sky and mourn. Your guts were twisting painfully, and you held your stomach just in case you had to turn around to empty your stomach out, because your world was spiraling all around you and it was making you dizzy.
Why didn’t he ever tell you about this job? Why wasn’t he honest with you from the very beginning? Maybe if he did you wouldn’t have fallen for him. Maybe if he did you would have been more cautious. Maybe if he did you wouldn’t feel like this, this sick, this dizzy, this broken. Why would he hide it from you?
You looked at your hands and saw that they were shaking at a very quick pace and you knew you were on the brink of a nervous breakdown, you could feel it. You held your chest as you tried to take deep breaths in and out again, trying to calm yourself down, trying to make everything make sense once again, trying to find a reasonable reason for everything, if there was any.
You turned to look at the sink, turning the faucet on and hunching downwards to finally wash your face, trying to make the cold water make you snap out of how bad your head was starting to hurt, how your throat felt like it was closing up at an alarming rate, and your oxygen felt like it was starting to run short. Your lungs were compressed inside your chest, making it slightly painful but nothing hurt more than your heart.
You straightened up with a heavy breath, a long pained huff, shakiness evident as you gripped onto the sink and finally, your eyes looked at your reflection. Every movement in your body stopped. Every tremble, every thought, every blood cell going through your veins, just everything froze as you stared at yourself… And the gears in your head started going backwards, even further, deeper, darker.
He lied to you. He lied to you. He lied to you.
You were never good enough, you were never going to compare, and somehow you always knew that, yet… He made you feel beautiful, confident in your clothes, confident in your makeup, confident in the way you spoke, in the way you expressed yourself, in the way you moved. He helped you. He helped you. Helped you.
HE SHAPED YOU.
“No…” You tried telling yourself as your body started rocking back and forth, not wanting to listen to your own brain, not wanting to hear the horrible things that it was saying about him because you were certain that he wasn’t evil. He wouldn’t do that to you, he wouldn’t do it, he didn’t seem capable of doing that. There was no evidence of him planning something like that.
But… He did say he always wanted to have you ‘like this’. Did he mean under him? Did he mean sexually? Did he mean… as if you were a conquest? A prize? You shook your head again, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be, not your Eddie, not your sweet and patient Eddie. Not the Eddie that made you feel like heaven yesterday, not the Eddie that made your life happier than it ever did before.
Yet, if he did go to that appointment with a private client today, did it mean he wanted to be with someone experienced? That he wanted to be with someone that knows what they’re doing? Someone prettier? Someone that actually makes him feel good? Someone that knows how to actually do that without asking? A regular?
HE GOT YOU. HE’S DONE.
No. No. No. It isn’t like that, it wasn’t a one time thing. It was never a one time thing. It shouldn’t have been a one time thing, you weren’t going to let your brain stain every memory you had of him, because in the end he was a great friend. A great friend who lied to you, a great friend that shaped you into what he liked, a great friend that you fell for.
You were trying to deny it, you were trying really hard, you can still talk to him, you can still ask him if it were true, but you knew it was, you knew that he was fucking other people, you knew that you weren’t special, you knew he didn’t feel the same as you did. Your mind was hazy now, dark patches blocking your eyesight as you felt the all too well burning sensation in them.
Your breathing started coming out of your mouth in huge gasps as you rocked back and forth, still looking at your reflection, looking at who you were now, looking at how different you are from before, looking at what you thought was what you actually wanted to look like… But what if it was never that? What if it was a plan all along? What if he saw it as a challenge? What if you were a challenge and he just wanted you perfect to his taste? This wasn’t you. This wasn’t you. This isn’t you.
HE MOLDED YOU.
A rough groan ripped from your throat as you pushed yourself away from the sink, tumbling out of the bathroom and rushing towards your kitchen, almost breaking a drawer out as you took your plastic bags out, your breathing heavy, angry, chest puffing out and down again, pain rushing all over your body like a sharp electric sting, hurting every place, every joint, every organ. Your feet ran towards your room as you looked all around, your eyes red from burning, your mind now in a dark cloud full of thunder.
You opened a plastic bag and rushed towards your vanity, putting your hand on the desk to start dragging every makeup product you bought for the past two months, grunts and pained whines escaping your throat as you pushed every mascara, lipstick, blush down into the bag.
You opened the drawers of it, now grabbing onto every piece of accessory you got, every little summer scarf he told you that looked good on you, every single thing he complimented you in was going into the bag. You can’t use that, you never used that, you didn’t know how to use any of this, so why keep lying, why keep being someone you are not for the sake of someone else?
You angrily pushed yourself off the vanity, making it rock back and forth and you stared now at your closet. You immediately grabbed another bag and you rushed towards it, flinging it open in a desperate move, getting hold of all the shirts he told you would look good in. All the jeans he helped you buy. All the sweaters he told you will look good on you in the winter.
Your tears were now running down your eyes as you threw each article of clothing into the bag, leaving behind your old stuff, your old shirts, your old jeans, your old pants, who you truly were, where you truly belonged. Secure, safe, and comfortable. You then flung the other side of the closet and your eyes widened when you saw all the jackets you never thought of buying before.
Everything was being taken off the hanger and thrown into a new bag, everything had to go, everything that reminded you of him had to go. Everything that smelled remotely like him, anything that held a memory of him had to go. All the skirts, one by one were being thrown into the bag, the shorts as well, and then the dresses. Things you never wore before in your life, the only time being your prom night.
You started ripping them out of your closet, throwing them all into a new bag, until you finally held onto one garment. A very specific one. You looked at it as you were about to throw it in, the purple color catching your eye as you straightened up to hold onto it with both of your hands. Tears came down your cheeks as you stared at the purple dress in your grasp.
Your first ever article of new clothing. The first time he complimented you. The first time he twirled you. The first time he took you in. The first time you felt confident in something you never wore before… And it was all fake. Everything was fake. He saw you as a hard conquest, and he got you, and even shaped you into what he wanted, making you desirable for him.
You sobbed harshly as you let your emotions finally rip from your chest, as you came down from your anger, from your thunder and all that was left was heavy rain. All that’s left is this pain in your chest of your first time feeling something you never thought you would feel, only to be ripped away seconds later. All that’s left… it’s this purple dress.
And you will still throw it into the bag.
End of part 7
A/N: I know it isn't as long as last one or the ones before, but next one is the last chapter, so... I hope I didn't hurt you all too much with this.
I hope you liked this chapter and always reblog your artists!
Taglist is closed - Follow me for updates and put notifications on!
Taglist: @katethetank @mynameismothra @emxxblog @steph-speaks @fantasticmacaroni @aysheashea @sweet-villain @sillypurplemurple @eddiemunsonthoughts @emilyslutface @bookshelf-dust @justheretostalk @vintagehellfire @trixyvixx @steeldaisies @bitchyseawitch @seventhlevelofhell @leelei1980 @kbakery @corroded-hellfire @poofyloofy @nightonblogmountain @gothvamp1973 @hideoutside @mrsjellymunson @honey-eyed-munson @sarcastically-defensive17 @narutofan249277 @siriuslysmoking @hereforshmut @venuslayla23-blog @ghost-proofbaby
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fics#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x y/n#fanfiction#eddie munson fandom#eddie munson stranger things#eddie x you#eddiemunson#stranger things eddie#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#stripper!eddie munson#stripper!eddie#do i wanna know#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#stripper!au#shy!reader#stripper!billy hargrove#stripper!steve harrington
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
🩸🔪 ˖ ࣪⊹ — ‘MY TEARS RICOCHET’
pairing: ethan landry x reader
summary: miscommunication leads to the loss of ethan’s only lover and much regret
warning: blood, violence, stabbing, death
authors note: i’m a swiftie !! (lyrics are in italics)
i didn't have it in myself to go with grace
you sucked in air through your teeth as coldness took over your body. carefully your eyes drifted downwards to your stomach where a black object was. out of adrenaline, the pain didnt kick it until a few moments later. your body shivered in response to the sharp knife cutting through your skin and embedding itself into the side of your stomach.
you looked up, straight at your killer. the dark lights of the room making it almost impossible to identify who it was. but you saw the mask. the black and white ghostface mask that had been on the news nonstop since the late nineties.
'cause when i’d fight, you used to tell me i was brave
after running around the room to get away, fate finally caught up to you. even though you fought and fought, throwing lamps and chairs over the room to slow down your killer, it was inevitable.
the mask that your friends had warned you about. the one tara had gotten stabbed by, but survived. looking around for help you realized your unfortunate fate. there was no escape, no help.
and if i’m dead to you, why are you at the wake?
your killer didnt even stab you with the knife all the way. they stopped at two-thirds and you could feel their body tense up, almost regretting their decision.
your back was pressed hard against the wall and you reached around to keep yourself up but failed. your legs have out and you slid down to the cold hard floor while your killer stood there with a hand out where the knife had been. now the knife was skewed into your abdomen as you tried not to scream in pain.
biting your tongue, tears streamed down your face. you heard a heavy breathes coming from above. there was a gasp, a moment of surprise and regret following with a small whisper, “y/n..?”
cursing my name, wishing i stayed
look at how my tears ricochet
you put pressure on your wound and refused to pull out the knife since you watched all those survival tip youtube videos with mindy. she had taught you to never take it out or else you’d immediately bleed out. you remembered tara and anika laughing and joking that it was ridiculous. that it would never happen.
and i can go anywhere i want
the shadowy figure in front of you crouched down, kneeling before you. slowly they lifted their mask and revealed such a familiar face. the face that would remind you of home. the face you would kiss before going to sleep. the face would give you such comfort and love.
with blood rising in your throat, “ethan?”
anywhere i want, just not home
the same face that was now sitting before you with blood on his hands. your blood.
and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
but you would still miss me in your bones
ethan landry was reaching for your wound. the one he inflicted. you couldn’t believe your eyes and wanted to run away, avoid this confrontation but it was too late. he was inching forward but instead of the harsh interactions from earlier.
he was back to himself. handling with care and with a face of worry. “oh my god…fuck,” he whispered and panicked over the blood leaking down to the floor.
and i still talk to you (when i’m screaming at the sky)
and when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)
“no no you weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered and tears started to form in his eyes. you could’ve laughed at the irony. your own boyfriend stabbing you after swearing he would protect you. suddenly the pain wore off and your body felt an uncomfortable lack of warmth with chills running down your back.
all of your weight was leaning on the wall behind you and your head followed. your hands fell to the ground and no more pressure was tended to wound except ethan’s. his efforts of trying to revive you were useless.
i didn't have it in myself to go with grace
he saw your phone tossed a few inches away and grabbed it, hurrying to call 911. he didn’t even realize he was still in the ghostface outfit or the blood that stained his hands.
the specks of blood on his face were getting washed off by the tears slipping from his eyes. “jus—just hold on! please y/n don’t give up…s-stay awake!” he pleaded and waited for the opposite end to pick up.
and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves
“hello this is 911, how can i help you?” the operator said. “my girlfriend needs help! her name is y/n y/l/n, she needs an ambulance she’s dying! she’s been stabbed please!” he shouted and continued to explain but your ears were drowning out the noise.
as your eyes roamed the room, the bright lights on the ceiling were making your eyes sensitive. you looked away and felt your vision blur. ethan noticed your limp body fading away, as his grip became firm as he let go of the phone.
you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same
cursing my name, wishing i stayed
his attention completely fixed on you. “no y/n! fuck fuck fuck please just stay with me! they’re coming!”
your eyes shut and ethan shook your body but there was no response. there were sirens outside already but he could tell it was too late and you were gone. as much as he didn’t want to believe it, he held your body close to his.
you turned into your worst fears
his grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears as he continued to pull you closer even though you already were. the hugs shared between you and ethan were for warmth and comfort, when one of you passed a test, leaving for a weekend trip, winning a game of just dance, or when he would instantly be knocking at your front door when you needed a shoulder to cry on.
but this was different.
there was no reciprocation and ethan was alone. his throat was tight and his breaths were short with his heavy sobs tearing through his chest. his voice was quavering and shaky, “this is all quinn’s fault—no no it’s my fault. you weren’t in this, this isn’t your fault—i’m sorry.”
and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain
crossing out the good years
your unresponsive body relaxed in ethan’s arms and you felt at peace. while your head fell back, a tear slipped from your eye and trailed down your cheek.
and you're cursing my name, wishing i stayed
ethan ignored the footsteps of the police charging in and the sirens getting louder. his sobs flooded his ears and his cries turned into whimpers. the lingering sadness strangled his throat and he burrowed his head into your shoulder.
look at how my tears ricochet
this time he needed a shoulder to cry on.
#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧scwheeler#ethan landry x you#scream#ethan landry x reader#chad meeks martin#ethan landry#scream six#scream imagine#ethan landry x y/n#ethan landry fic#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry headcannon#ghostface#mindy meeks martin#my tears ricochet#taylor swift
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Castles Crumbling
Tolerate It (Part two)
read part one here.
authors note: not sure if this is the ending you guys were expecting but I hope you like it!
warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, miscommunication tropes.
It was two in the morning when Jake softly unlocked the door to the home he shared with you. He silently took off his shoes and went upstairs to see where you were. He knew taking off on you was wrong. He knew that you just wanted to let him in. All you ever tried to do was love him and all he ever did was shut you out.
He had been planning to propose to you. He was constantly in communication with your best friend Julianna. He was talking to her about things he didn’t quite understand like ring sizes and diamonds. He wanted to make this proposal perfect for you. He wanted to give you everything you deserved and more.
But work was stressing him out. Maverick warned Jake and the rest of the squad that they would be shipping off for an important mission in the next three months. The mission details were classified. All Maverick said was that they’d better prepare their families for the possibility that they might not come back.
Mortality had never scared Jake away from doing his job. He knew he was one of the best fighter pilots in the nation. That was why he was a part of Top Gun.
Mortality never scared Jake until he met you. He knew he loved you. You were the only person he ever saw a future with. Kids, a dog, a white picket fence, he wanted that with you. But in the back of his mind, he knew there was a chance that something could go wrong on a mission. He didn’t want to leave you alone with kids or make you a widow. He couldn’t do that to you. And so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He ran.
Jake crept upstairs and found you sitting up in bed reading a book. “I thought you would be asleep by now.” He said while sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t sleep if you’re not here. You know that Seresin.” You replied, still looking at the words in your hands.
“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t right to shut you out and I-“
“Don’t even,” You interrupted him. “You can’t keep doing this to me Jake. It isn’t fair. All I've ever wanted to do was help you. You can’t keep shutting me out.”
“Baby, I know I'm sorry I'm just overwhelmed with work. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You didn’t know what else to do?” You replied, voice rising from anger. “You could’ve talked to me. You didn’t have to leave me here crying like an idiot over something that I don’t even know about.”
“I know it’s just that I'm not the best at dealing with my emotions.” He said softly. “I love you.”
“Why was Julianna calling you then?” You changed the subject.
“What do you…” Jake started.
“Don’t play stupid Seresin. I saw her call you five times in the span of 10 minutes. She’s my friend. You’ve only met her a few times. Why would she be calling you at ten o'clock at night?”
Jake’s just looked at you in disbelief. There was nothing going on between him and Julianna. He was simply asking her for her opinion on how to propose and what ring to buy. She was your best friend after all. He couldn’t believe that you would think he was cheating on you with her. If you asked him to give you the moon, he would’ve done it. No questions asked.
“What are you insinuating?” He said slowly growing more angry when he realized what you thought he was doing.
“I’m insinuating that you’re seeing her on the side.” You said, near tears. “Just tell me the truth Jake. I can’t keep sitting here wondering why you’re shutting me out. You can’t keep leaving me here like an idiot.”
“Listen,” he said while grabbing your hands. “There is nothing going on between me and Julianna. I just needed to ask her something. That’s it. I would never cheat on you. You’re the only person I could ever love.”
“So why won’t you let me in.” You whispered. “If it’s not her then who? You won’t talk to me anymore. You won’t touch me. You barely even look at me.”
Suddenly Jake’s face dropped. “I might not come back.” He said, so softly that you might have missed it if you weren’t right next to him.
“What do you mean you might not come back?” You said growing more and more confused.
“Maverick said that this next mission is going to be dangerous. He said to hope for the best but expect the worst and I just-“ Suddenly Jake started sobbing.
You were shocked. Suddenly things started making sense. He was shutting you out because he didn’t want you to be hurt if he didn’t come back. You knew Jake tended to be more quiet when there was a tough mission coming up.
You pulled him into a tight hug and began to comfort him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t help you if I don’t know what is going on with you.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just trying to protect you.” He said.
“I’m here for you no matter what.” You said, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “We’re a team. You have to tell me if there’s something happening. I love you.”
“I’m sorry.” He said while kissing your cheek. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I should’ve told you about the mission sooner. You’re my rock. I love you.”
As your tears and Jake's tears subside, he holds you tightly. You hold him back feeling all the walls between the two of you crumble.
Jake knew two things for certain. He would come home to you, and he would marry you.
#jake hangman imagine#hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#top gun maverick#hangman top gun#jake hangman fic#jake seresin x oc#jake seresin x you#jake seresin#hangman x you#hangman angst#top gun hangman#hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin#my writing#glen powell x reader#glen powell#top gun x you#top gun 1986
368 notes
·
View notes
Text
unrequited.
Aegon was unable to keep his love for you as a secret, but he did not expect for you to shatter his heart into pieces after realizing you do not feel the same way.
MASTERLIST
PAIRING — Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader.
TAGS — angst, unrequited love, inspired by THAT scene from little women, hurt/no comfort, a bit of miscommunication, one sided love, a lot of crying, guilt, cursing, aegon was named heir. If something is missing, let me know!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE — i was sad, i was watching little women, and then i remembered that i haven't written angst in a very long time. It's short, but well, it is what it is. I'm trying to escape the writer's block so bear with me if this isn't perfect, hope you all like it!🤍
WORD COUNT — 1.6k
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.
There was something in the way his eyes looked at you that should have warned you about what was going to happen. Maybe the way his company felt slightly different, or the way he purposely brushed his hand as he walked beside you along the shore of Dragonstone.
A peaceful silence reigned between you two, where only the sound of the sea and seagulls were heard. There was never a need to be talkative whenever you were with him, you two did not need words to express to one another, just a single glance at him and you would be able to read him as if he was a book. It had always been that way. Aegon had never attempted to hide how much he enjoyed your company; no matter how many duties and responsibilities his position might have, he would always find some time during the day to make you company. The mere sound of your cheerful laughter was enough for him to feel whole. Happy.
Your friendship with Aegon began unexpectedly; you were a Lady of a small house, bannermen of the Tyrells. Not even in a million years you would have thought you were going to be one of the heir's closest friends. But you were, and Aegon loved it. You were not like other maidens, you always saw beyond his royal title, beyond the power he would once hold. You saw him as Aegon, Egg as you would sometimes prefer to call him. He loved that you were a breeze of fresh air that would wake him up from his torment every time he felt too overwhelmed.
You were everything for him, an escape of the four wall prison that would often be disguised as a castle. You set him free.
Aegon, inevitably, fell for you in the most beautiful of ways; slowly and unexpectedly. One day he woke up and felt the urge to hold you in his arms each morning; he could not stand another minute without you by his side - it felt almost unnatural to be without your company. His heart found a reason to beat with your presence, his brain would often overshadow his thoughts with silly daydreams about you.
You, you, you. It's always you. It has always been you.
Now, as you were complaining about your Septa scolding you that same morning, Aegon was in awe, mesmerized by you doing such a mundane thing like talking. And, bewitched by the way your lips moved, he stopped his pace. Salty air filling his lungs as he encouraged himself to say what he has been dying to say to you.
You did not realize about it until you were a few steps further than him, and you turned around. He was just looking at you; his puppy, lilac eyes staring at your face almost without blinking. You chuckled nervously, confused about what was happening. You smiled awkwardly, feeling a bit too exposed all of the sudden.
“Is something wrong?” You asked, frowning.
He did not reply, but you saw it in his eyes.
Your smile slowly faded away once the realization hit you, and the atmosphere changed immediately.
“Aegon…” You mentioned his name so differently, it felt almost foreign due to the way it left your lips. It was a plea, you were begging him to not say the words that were about to be pronounced.
He took a step closer; the dreamy glow in his eyes was still there, as if he had not seen the look on your face yet.
“Please, don't,” you managed to say, breathlessly. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt tired. Exhausted, even. You desperately tried to stop it before it was too late.
But you failed.
The weight in your chest became heavier, almost unbearable. Your lower lip was shaking, your legs trembling. You were heartbroken because you knew what you would have to do. Shaking your head, you refused to let him speak, both of you interrupted your words as a desperate attempt to silence each other.
“You need to hear me-”
“-stop this, Aegon-”
“-there’s no use to keep hiding it-”
“-don’t do this-”
“-you know what I'm about to say-”
“-Aegon, please-”
“-I love you.”
The heat of the burning sun was not enough to vanish the coldness that suddenly grew between you two. You closed your eyes, defeated. The silence became painfully awkward, and in that moment Aegon knew the truth.
His heart shattered.
You lifted your head to meet his eyes; they were covered by a layer of tears that were reluctant to escape. He was trying so hard not to fall apart, almost shaking as he stood as stiff as a rock.
“I love you,” he repeated in a whisper, thinking you might have not heard it the first time. “Please… please say it back.”
“Aegon-”
“Please,” he pleaded. His voice was broken and weak, trembling as he choked on a sob. “Please, say it.”
“You cannot do this to me-”
“I have loved you since the first day,” he confessed. “I’ve been trying to deny my feelings, trying to convince myself that it was nothing more, but it is. I need you, I love you more than words could tell, and my heart cannot bear another day without you being mine.”
“Aegon, I don't- I can't-”
“I want you to be my queen, my life companion,” he continued, watching you as you kept shaking your head. “My love, I want everything with you. I want to rule this fucking kingdom with you by my side. Please…”
“Aegon, I'm not fit to rule-”
“Me neither, but we can be a great team, I- I know that-”
“I can't be a queen, I can't marry you,” you interrupted him, trying to make understand your point.
You hated the prohibitions of a title. You see how Aegon was trapped in an invisible cage without escape, and you did not want that for yourself. You wanted freedom, you wanted to travel, to cross the Narrow Sea and meet foreign lands. As a queen, you would be caged; and as a wife to a king, you would be forced to provide him with heirs you do not wish to have yet.
It was selfish, you thought, but it was the thing that would make you happy.
“Aegon, this would never work,” she murmured as she grabbed his hands. He took a sharp breath when he felt your touch. “We're too different, we do not wish for the same things.”
“I know you love me too…. I know you do,” he told you. Some part of himself knew that it was a desperate attempt to try and convince himself that his words were true. But, deep inside, he knew it was not the case; one single glance at you would tell him what he's too afraid to accept.
“You are my best friend, you are the person that I trust the most, you-”
“Because you love me!” he raised his voice.
“I don't, Aegon…” you stopped him before he could say more. His nostrils twitched once he felt the itch on his nose, his lips trembling. “I don't love you like that.”
There was another silence. It was torturous. Aegon pulled his hands away from you. You quickly wiped the rebel tear that fell down your cheek.
“I know you think I'm the one, but I'm not. We would never work, this would only make you miserable-”
“You're the one for me,” he murmured, his eyes lost in the ground.
“I'm not,” you said, trying to reach him, but he just took another step back. “You'll find someone who will love you, who truly deserves you-”
“Am I not worthy of your love?” He suddenly asked, your heart aching at his broken voice.
Gods, you were about to explode.
“You're much more than what I truly deserve, Aegon, you're way better than-”
“I want you, I don't want another. I love you, I could never love anyone else the way I love you!”
“But you will!” you raised your voice to match his. “You will love someone else, and you will forget about me.”
“I can't ever forget about you,” he muttered. He remained quiet for a while before he looked down at you, noticing your teary eyes; a part of him hated himself for making you cry. After a few seconds he said, “I figured you would love me too… After everything we've lived and felt together. I thought we were gonna be happy-”
“You will be happy, Aegon. You'll find a fine young maiden who will give your life a purpose, but that is not me. It cannot be me.”
“You were my purpose,” he murmured, his face covered in tears as his puppy eyes would not look at you.
He felt embarrassed for how broken he was. For how naive he had been to even dare to believe you could possibly love him back. He wondered how he could be so foolish.
“I wish I could be the woman you want, I wish I didn't have to say these things- Aegon!”
He walked away, not wanting to hear any other of your excuses. It hurted enough as it is, your words would only wound him even more.
You tried to stop him, to grab his arm, yelling his name, and try to make him understand you, but he just walked away leaving his footprint on the wet sand as you stood there.
Tears were streaming down your face as you watched him go, one of your hands pressed against your chest as if you were trying to take the pain away. It hurted you to see him so broken, especially when you know it was you the one who caused it.
You had just lost your best friend, and there was no returning point from that.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤfollow @by-fairysluna for more updates!
#aegon ii targaryen x you#house of the dragon#aegon ii targaryen#angst#aegon ii x you#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii targaryen x female reader#aegon ii targaryen x y/n#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd angst#aegon ii targaryen angst#aegon ii fic#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd fanfiction#hotd au
230 notes
·
View notes
Text
me too :
# ksm x gn : reader ( fluff )
cw : mutual pining , sorta miscommunication, seungmin’s a little bad with his words , idk just fluff w a tad bit of angst !! 😽
a/n : inspired by an eveng that happened between me and my friend earlier… itvwas kinda SUS cause like i kept my hand over his thigh and he said he liked it and insisted to keep it on his knee and Shi BUT ANWYAY….
wc : 718 !?
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
the boys have planned to spend dinner at a fairly fancy restaurant, inviting you into the mix. it wasn’t shocking since you’ve been friends with them for over three years now, it’s just– really exciting.
you fiddled with the hem of your skirt, wondering if you should’ve changed into pants instead. but the way seungmin visibly gaped at you confirmed you’d made the right decision. pink paints your face, noticing how he struggled to keep his eyes off of you.
“sorry for the delay, guys!” you sigh, plopping down onto a chair, just beside seungmin. the boys send a reassuring smile, waves of “don’t worry about it” splashing your way.
your eyes meet seungmin’s, his already lingering on you. your lips curl into a soft smile, hand gently sat upon his knee. he smiles back, slightly shuddering at your touch. you feel the world darken, not in a bad way. but in a way where it feels like it’s just you and him; just you and him against the world. the bickering of the other members slowly dies down to your ears, only fixated on the man sat before you.
“hey.” you whisper, fingers drawing patterns on his knee. he clears his throat, leg twitching subtly, but enough for you to notice.
“hi,” he whispers back, giggling at your hushed tone. “why are we whispering?” he queries, yet his voice remains quiet.
you shrug, biting your lip to hold back a wider grin. he rolled his eyes, his cheeks slightly red. the way he looked at you, spoke to you, listened to you. it made you feel special. does he do this to other people too?
or is it just you that makes his heart pounce faster?
your heart longs for the second option, but you shake away your thoughts. snapping out of your world when chan speaks up,
“alright guys, food’s comin’!” he exclaims, body swaying left and right out of joy. your eyes miss how seungmin never took his gaze off of you, instead lighting up when you see a delicious plate of carbonara placed before you. your mouth waters, fingers gripping onto seungmin’s knee.
“you guys ordered for me?” your free hand dramatically placed over your chest. you feign happy tears, joining along when you hear the others laugh at your mannerisms.
“actually, seungmin did.” hyunjin chimes, a grin spreading across his face. your brows raise, head turning to seungmin. his lips are pursed into a thin line, but curves them into a soft smile. you reciprocate it, fingers leaving his knee. you don’t notice the way he pouts as you do.
your heart is beating, pleading to flee from your chest. you are going to confess. you will.
everyone had finished eating, and minho gracefully paid for the meals ( he lost during rock, paper, scissors ). you were all leaving the restaurant satisfied and full.
your hand is intertwined with seungmin’s, palms very obviously sweaty and warm. your feet come to a halt, dragging him back as he attempts to take another step. he turns to you, brow raised in curiosity.
“is everything okay?–“ his tone is coated with concern, until you speak abruptly.
“seungmin– i.. i really like you!” you sputter, body shaking and glistening with sweat. your eyes flickering over his features, his reaction; brows raised, and eyes slightly widened. your breaths are heavy and shaking. your stomach twisting into a knot– did he not feel the same way?
“i know,” he plainly states. you feel all your worry sink into your chest and straight to your stomach. he didn’t. your face is flushed, and your body trembled at his words. you are an idiot, how could you ever think he’d like you back?
“me too.”
your perplexity is visible on your face. he realizes the stupidity of his words and his brows knit together in frustration.
“sorry! i mean– i like you too.. i– sorry.” he reiterates, cheeks burning in a red tint, his words robbing you of your worry. he likes you back. you’re processing the situation, suddenly bursting into laughter.
“idiot! who says me too?” your eyes water; unsure if it were from relief, joy, or the heart attack seungmin had previously given you. he hits your arm lightly, mumbling a “shut up”, before pulling you back to the members.
292 notes
·
View notes
Text
Secrets of a 30-Year-Old Flyboy — ch. 2
Fake Roonix, Secret Hangster | Words: 895 | Warnings: Blood, medical stuff, sickness, miscommunications, and boys being stupid.
Hondo was waiting for Bradley when he landed, having been listening on the comms. He was halfway across the tarmac when he saw Bradley collapse. He hollered over his headset for medics to get out there immediately. Mav ordered the squadron back to base as Hondo informed them that something was wrong with Rooster. By the time they all landed and had climbed from their planes, the military EMS team had gotten Rooster on a stretcher and were headed for the base hospital. They’d left, telling Hondo they would be contacting Rooster’s emergency contact. All of this, Hondo told everyone as they gathered around him, worry evident. Jake hung back from everyone, staying quiet as he listened to what Hondo had to say. He was pale, and his hands trembled as he stared at the blood that was staining the ground near Bradley’s Hornet. He was finding it hard to breathe. Jake should’ve known something was wrong. He’d seen that Bradley didn’t look good when they got up this morning—hadn’t for a while now. This was his fault. He should’ve pushed, should’ve asked. As soon as Hondo was done talking, Mav was sprinting across the tarmac. He was pulling his phone out of his flight suit's inner pocket and fumbling to call Ice.
Ice, unbeknownst to everyone, was already on his way to the hospital since he had been listed as the man's emergency contact since his mom died at twelve. He's too focused on the road to reach for his phone, which was sliding around in the passenger seat.
"We have to go to the hospital," Phoenix said immediately. She didn't care if the rest of them came along; she was really just speaking for herself as Bradley's best friend. She wouldn't go back to work until she knew he was okay.
The rest of the squadron is quick to agree with Phoenix. Despite everything that Maverick had been yelling at them earlier that day, they were a team and moved as such to drop off their flight gear and head to the hospital. Everyone except Jake. He took a few shaky steps in the opposite direction until he was standing beside where Bradley had collapsed. He was shaking, and his breathing was coming out too quickly as he dropped to his knees. “My fault,” he gasped, fingers touching the still-wet tarmac. “I failed. Failed. Failed him.” Logically, it wasn't Jake's fault. Bradley was a grown-ass man, and he could call in sick if he weren't feeling well, but for the last ten years, since the academy, since they started their friends-with-benefits, specifically, their BDSM dynamic. As the dominant, it was Jake's job to take care of Bradley, to read his body language and take care of him even when he couldn't speak for himself. He always felt as if he failed when he couldn't do that.
It took Jake a long time to become aware enough to realize he was alone. Everyone else had left, and he needed answers. Thoughts of doom, that Bradley had bled out. Had died on the way to the hospital. Or was in surgery and was going to die on the table. He kept circling through his head as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled his way to his truck.
Maverick scanned the waiting room with wild eyes as soon as he got to the hospital. He’d seen Iceman’s car in the parking lot. He felt like he could take at least a small breath when he saw the taller man and made his way straight to him. “Please tell me you are still his emergency contact,” he implored, reaching for Ice. Dimly, Maverick was aware that most of the rest of the squadron was filing into the waiting room not long after he got there.
Ice takes Maverick's hand with a nod. "How many times am I gonna have to answer the phone to 'you're listed as the emergency contact' for this kid?" It is meant to lighten the mood, but he only manages a slight chuckle, not even thinking that the rest of the squad is listening. It wasn't the first time, and as horrible as it was, Ice knew it wouldn't be the last.
Taking a deep breath, Maverick closes his eyes and clings hard to Ice’s hand. Probably too hard, but he’d worry about that later. “Enough that we will both have grey hair,” he groused before he looked up at him. “Did they tell you anything? Do they know what happened? Hondo said he threw up blood and collapsed.”
Jake stopped just barely inside the doors to the emergency room. His heart stopped at Iceman’s words, and he pressed his back against the wall. It was that or collapse. This had happened before. Something had happened before. Something that made Bradley need his emergency contact. Last time, Jake had made it in time. He kept repeating that to himself. He’d shot down that Su-57 before it killed Bradley. And in Afghanistan, he’d taken down an F-111 Aardvark that had a lock on Rooster. Pressing his hands flat against the wall, Jake swallowed thickly. Bradley was going to be okay. Jake saved him. Twice. A man that stubborn wasn't going to be taken out by a training exercise. He was going to be okay. Jake just had to keep repeating that.
——
Thanks for reading! 💕 Donate to my food fund if you want. 🥰
#hangster#jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#tgm#top gun: maverick#sereshaw#hangster fanfiction#hangster fic#rooster x hangman#icemav#natasha phoenix trace#robert bob floyd#javy coyote machado#mickey fanboy garcia#reuben payback fitch#my writing
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
v. concealed feelings and abstract attitudes
summary: the morning after your drunken fiasco is not any less awkward than you could have guessed. there seems to be a strain on your relationship with sherlock that seeps into the trips you go on together for his investigation. you don't know why he's acting the way he is, you just know that it's angering you (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)
reflection: this took a bit of time to put together, but as i have previously stated, i have a certain vision for this story. we are nearing the end of it and i hate to depart from these two emotionally stunted beings, but i am also glad to begin offering them what they deserve. i hope everyone enjoys and as always, feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated!
warnings: seamstress!reader, conflicted!sherlock, sherlock is in denial, reader has a nickname, arguments, sherlock is rude, close proximity, investigation, enemies to lovers, shame, miscommunication, sexual tension, cockblocking, original characters, sleep deprived!sherlock, kissing, escalation (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)
word count: 10,017
previously: the distraction of rising temperature
( this work has been cross posted to ao3 )
Sunlight pours in through a crevice of the curtains ahead of your sleeping face, warmth melting into your eyelids, sinking into your cheeks and your nose that scrunches up in reaction to the beam’s discomfort. You rightfully turn away from the brightness with a gruff, an ache you’re now extremely aware of settling into the base of your skull, pounding away against the fluffed pillow beneath your hair. Everything feels like a blur, you can barely bring yourself to open your eyes. You don’t recall your pillow being this comfortable, smelling of peppermint and bark and something familiar you can’t quite place in your sleepy haze, but you do nuzzle your face further into it in an attempt to get back to the appetizing thrall of cloud filled dreams and undemanding realities. Your knee raises up bending your leg into an acute angle on the bed that you seemingly have more of than usual, the edge not nearby despite how you try and stretch it out into the vast material of blankets that smoothly graze your skin and beckon you to explore the contrasting cooling effect beyond. You answer it in kind by scooting towards the relief away from the heat your body’s generated from being in one spot for too long, maneuvering until your toes flex out and finally greet an edge that you don’t venture out towards because you would much rather catch up on the winks you’ve been unable to for over a month.
Despite this willingness and acceptance to remain where you are, there’s this nagging feeling pressing down into your chest the more coherent you become. You’re not sure what possesses you to open your eyes in this instance, but when you do, you come to a shocking realization, and that is the realization that this is not your bed, this is not your flat, and by how memories begin to come forward in fragments, you know exactly where you are, or more so, exactly where you aren’t.
You shoot up seconds after your revelation with a heaving chest, the sudden movement too much for your brain to catch up with, dizziness overtaking you and joining alongside the migraine forming as the wine from last night’s bitter parting gift. In reaction, the palm of your hand nurses your right temple and you’re forced to control the pace of your breathing then to calm your spiking blood pressure. It helps with your equilibrium (though, you’re literally only sitting up), but it does little to help the racing thoughts vying for attention inside of your head. From the images you’re gathering one by one, you remember leaving your flat and ascending the stairs. You can’t for the life of you remember whose door you knocked on or if they let you in or not, they clearly did, but you do remember climbing into bed and nodding in and out as the fumes of black tea flooded your nostrils. You can still smell it. It was masked away by that maddening aroma coming off your [not yours] pillow, but now you’re awake enough to register the tray at the bedside table. The tea’s cold, but you reach for it anyways needing some kind of hydration that isn’t wine or the dryness your mouth’s succumbed to while you let exhaustion get the best of you in a stranger’s flat.
A knock resounds at the door during your second gulp. At the same time, you glance up at the wooden barrier and sputter on the tea, coughing to clear the liquid from the wrong pipe it chose to pour down in your distracted manner. A muffled “Is everything alright?” comes through the door and you recognize that voice all too well. A string of memories float by, pigmented photographs and images of Sherlock’s arms assisting you in your balance, guiding forces into his home as you babble about who knows what. You don’t know if anything transpired between you two, if you did anything to offend him. You just know that you’re occupying his personal space while he’s on the other side knocking as a gentleman should, checking on your well-being when you’re the one who turned up here without warning. In a fit of shame and guilt, you stumble out of the agonizingly pleasant mattress. Your overcompensation for your headache manages to knock your knee into the bed frame and you unwillingly squeak because of it, hand flying to your mouth, but it’s too late. As if sirens went off, Sherlock comes bolstering in and you can see his shoulders rise and fall from what appears to be relief that you’re unharmed. The sudden stop of his momentum awkwardly shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the next. You’re unsure what caused the hurry, but you preoccupy yourself with taking him in.
“Forgive me,” he begins, fully dressed, one arm having an azure robe hanging off of it as his hands’ knuckles meet in front of him, “It sounded like you needed… aid.”
“No, I,” you grasp at your knee, a dull pressure in it from the bump it took against his bed frame. “I’m not used to your bed, evidently.” You chuckle, but it fades out as quickly as it comes into fruition. It’s humorless, a half-hearted attempt to try and make this normal when it’s anything but. It doesn’t help the nature of the situation any when Sherlock doesn’t laugh and cooperate with your failed gesture out of common decency.
In this refractory period you’re both in now, you both take advantage of the silence to look over one another. At least, you sense Sherlock glancing down and then at the top of your head and it causes you to think that perhaps you’ve done something wrong. The only time he’s looked at you in such a way, respectful and yet cautious, it was when… oh, it was when you answered the door fresh out of the bath. At once, you take a long look down at your current state and much like that incident, you’re clad in a dainty chemise. Which means, either you came in this attire last night or you stripped yourself of your clothes. With that possible alternative in mind, your head snaps around in search of any of your usual layering, but there’s nothing around for you to consider the possibility. But really, you don’t know which is more embarrassing. Showing up at your neighbor’s door in such a scandalous setting or removing your clothing in front of said neighbor who’s only recently decided that he didn’t hate you. Overthinking and almost drowning from the waves of implications, no thanks to your imagination trying to cram in puzzle pieces where they don’t belong, you drag off Sherlock’s duvet from his bed in order to hide your body from his eyes. The damage’s been done, but it’ll help soothe your psyche and maybe lower the chances of what Sherlock may think as attempts to seduce him with unladylike measures. You can see his smile lines quiver from how he reinforces the narrow shape his mouth has formed.
“Here,” he extends the robe at his arm. It’s warm from what you can tell and most definitely his size. You almost squirm at the thought of him surrounding you in fabric as if you didn’t just spend a slumber already in that position. “I brought it for you.”
Gingerly, you eye the robe he offers and can feel the tension rising in the room by the minute. It seems to grab the both of you so forcefully and yet neither of you make any efforts to confront whatever it is. You won’t be the one to do so, not when you’re scrambled, when you hardly know anything of what transpired last night, if anything at all. This, in your mind, is an intimate gesture. You wonder if there were other intimate actions to warrant this.
As if hearing your thoughts, Sherlock jostles the robe slightly. “I don’t wish for you to get back to your flat without some kind of security.” It hardly answers any of your questions swarming your head. It’s kind… as long as nothing happened, something you’re far too afraid to ask about for fear of looking like an imbecile, for forgetting him of all people, for bringing up what could’ve been a harsh/lovely night. And if something did indeed happen, touchy, feely, invasive, his reaction is rather worrisome. It appears he wants to get rid of you and that could mean your drunken mess has scared him away, the sole person you’ve interacted with outside of work, the sole person who you consider a friend in this trivial city.
“Thank you,” you murmur as you retrieve the robe from Sherlock’s hand. Your knuckles graze his, your skin lighting up from the contact. You don’t dare to snatch your hand away since you don’t want to show him how much that alone affected you, but an odd motion comes from him. His hand jolts like it’s been burned and he immediately catches himself, a mere centimeter in drawing the arrow back, but you noticed it nonetheless. It does nothing to appease your negative thoughts. If anything, it fans the flames of the notion that you’ve offended him, that maybe you took things too far, that your actions have crossed boundaries. You turn away from him then to conceal the disappointment in yourself setting in your features, his duvet discarded so you could mask your intent through putting on his robe sleeve by sleeve. What have you done? echoes in your head for a moment. Only a moment passes when you realize just how soft his robe is, just how much more overpowering his scent is now that you’re engulfed by it, by the extra fabric that bunches around you, by warmth so intense that you realize he perhaps wore it himself very recently, perhaps before he came in here. You swallow hard thinking about it, tying off the robe in an instant to busy your hands and maintain your cover-up. It goes past your knees and then some. You don’t recall when the last time was when you didn’t wear something fitted to your body, you had your profession and mother to thank for that, but it doesn’t dispel you or make you feel out of place. You try and smother how right it feels on you as you pivot back to look at Sherlock again.
“Better?” He asks. His hands are stuffed in his pockets.
His robe soothes you more than you can admit. You nod your head, “Better.”
“Good… good.” He looks to the ground, and you can see his thinking features setting in. He must want to say something. From previous affiliations and altercations, you understand how he can have plenty to say at any time. He’s biting his tongue and it just spells further bad news for you. You don’t know if you wish to have this conversation so early, with a bottle-ache pounding on your brain, in a humiliating white flag in the form of a cozy robe he’s given you to hide away your sin. Either nothing occurred or something occurred and it’s maddening to you no matter how you can imagine it. Your hand slowly comes up to the wall behind to steady yourself because you’ve unknowingly held your breath for too long.
“So, I… I wanted to speak with you about last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about last night,” you blurt suddenly, against your own will. It seems the fear of the unknown has won this round and decided this as the best route. The surprise on Sherlock’s face would mimic your own if you let it seep through. You, instead, half smile and wave off the awkwardness collecting. “We can pretend it never happened.”
Sherlock blinks at you and waits. You know he’s expecting an explanation for you to continue on, but you have nothing more to say. You already improvised this to mend whatever faults you may have committed and this is as far as it goes. If he deems this incorrect for his conversation, then he will tell you so. From what you have gathered, Sherlock could not resist the chance to correct someone. But, he merely looks at you. His talents, as grand as they were, could not read your scurrying thoughts. You don’t give him the option with your smile still present and how confidently you stand your ground. He observes and you won’t give him anything to read into.
“Are you sure?”
Success. You chose the right response. “I’m sure. I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, alright. Yes. I’ll walk you out.”
You don’t want to rush out of there, especially when you don’t know what you turned down, but it’s difficult not to run out of the room and avoid him. You take gentle steps out from there, a soft expression you give him as he steps aside to let you pass through. Your shoulder brushes his chest. To you, even with the robe, it’s the same spark that carried over your knuckles when your hands touched. You don’t wish to contemplate this any further and opt to ignore it, but you could swear you hear Sherlock exhale as you make it past the first threshold, past his body that generates almost scalding heat. You don’t turn around as much as you think you should. You just keep walking forward with his front door in your sights, your exit to get back to where you can remove your veil and panic away from him. As you get near the door, he maneuvers in front of you. You immediately pause in your tracks as he presses a hand up into the air sitting between you.
“Wait here for a second.” Sherlock opens the door and steps out, the obstruction shut enough to block out the hall. Curiously, you stare at the crevice he’s left and ironically taken up with his frame. He soon comes back in, this time, widening the door open for you with a movement out of your path. “The coast is clear,” he confirms.
It’s not what someone wants to hear if they had intimate relations with an individual. If you and Sherlock slept together, whatever sense of the word, you have every right to slap him across the face from the shame he seems to feel at the idea of someone finding you leaving his flat. You refrain because it was your conception to not speak about last night.
With this point of contention floating around your head, you stop in front of him. “We’re alright, right, Sherlock?”
He smiles. It’s a half smile, but you have a feeling he isn’t done with you and for some reason, that’s enough for you. It’s odd how much you wish to keep a person around that you haven’t had much time knowing. “We’re alright, Lily.”
You crack your first genuine grin of the morning and then step into the corridor. “I promise I’ll return your robe,” you reply, and the corridor leads you to the staircase which then leads you to your flat. Much to your chagrin, the door is unlocked. You mutter your lashings to yourself as you get inside, soon finding the empty wine bottle that brought you into this mess. Nothing looks like it’s been tampered with save for your clothes on the floor that you haphazardly took off last night. You can ditch the theory of stripping in front of Sherlock, but the image of you showing up at his door in barely any clothing is mortifying enough for you to trudge over to the bath to scrub yourself clean to the bone. You can move on. You and him don’t need to have any ailments in your friendship, whatever the context of last night.
This is the same belief Sherlock hangs onto as he busies himself in his flat. He’s not thinking about last night, hell, he didn’t want to talk about it, either, not really. He was getting ready to tell you how you two were only friends, anyway, how he throws himself into his work, how he has no time for nothing but his private practice. He’s not thinking of how you asked him to lay with you. He’s not thinking of how close he came to doing so, how he paced the floor wrestling with whether he should climb into bed with you or not for almost as long as you slept. And he’s certainly not dwelling on the fact that you regretted it. No, it doesn’t bother him. It can’t. It won’t.
It’s noon when the bell at your shop’s entrance rings. You can’t help but spring up from the back room. As it’s been for weeks, work is slower. Your usual clients come in, get their pieces, and then leave. They have kept you in business with their rampant commissions, but it’s rare for you to gain new customers steadily. You would like to see new faces, perhaps younger ones at that, but you’re also aware that the person who rang that bell isn’t a new prospect. As you almost skip from the back of the shop to the main counter, you see Sherlock standing around, his gaze on a yellow dress you’re saving for a client.
“Right on time. You’re very punctual, you know?” Your smile broadens, but peculiarly, Sherlock acknowledges you with a noise, a half-breath half-grunt. Strangely, with that alone, you could hear his tone beneath it agreeing with the statement. Or, more so, seeing it as a fact that is perhaps not worth exploring any further than the greeting.
“Did you acquire that list of names?” He confirms your assumption by bypassing it altogether and diving straight into this planned meeting’s purpose. As much as you wish to read into it, you compose yourself, nod, and then retrieve a piece of paper scribbled with the list he requested in your prior discussions of what he needed from you for his investigation. His hands are quick to steal away the paper. You could see his eyes studying every name on the list, every address associated, every curve of your handwriting as he mouths it to himself. From what his lips form and from how you guess through the position of his eyes on the paper, you can tell where he is and just how far he is from reaching the end of it. You can’t resist twiddling your thumbs as you wait for his further direction, occupying them as strings of pure nerves bounce around through your digits.
When he finishes, Sherlock doesn’t say anything like you expect. He doesn’t say anything at all. He holds the list higher to himself and then turns away from your counter heading straight for the door, not bothering to bid you any form of goodbye or grant you his appreciation for your compliance. You’re so flabbergasted by his antics that it takes you two seconds longer than normal to step from behind your counter and start after him, “Sherlock?!”
You call for him at the same time that he exits your shop, but you don’t let that stop you from hurrying outside and repeating his name. One hand lands on his left shoulder and he instantly pivots around to look at you. And it appears… it appears as if he looked disturbed by the action.
“Yes? What is it?”
The hard lines surrounding his eyebrows add onto his exasperated expression. You’re not sure where this attitude is stemming from, but from this morning’s exchange and how eggplant rings decorate in half wreaths under his eyes, little sleep can possibly be the scapegoat. Your patience with him is higher than it would usually be with anyone else through this understanding. That and you didn’t plan on lingering in your empty shop for the rest of the day when Sherlock’s holding an opportunity to venture out into London.
“I thought you required my expertise?”
“It contrived me this list, did it not?” He raises the parchment into the air. You stare at it with a hardened gaze before you dare to look back into the intensity of Sherlock’s now royal blues. You’re not like him. You can’t read him as well as a book like he can read you so you stop your searching (for whatever the fuck it was) and snatch the list out of his hand. It slightly irritates you how his exasperation seemingly deepens.
“When you asked me to scribe you a list of the names of those who’ve purchased that particular exported fabric, I trusted that you understood of just how much I was implicating myself offering private information regarding my father’s—m-my clientele…” Your slip displaces your uneasiness in your hands to your throat. That familiar lump begins to form in your neck, your head repeating No, not here as you try and quickly collect yourself. Sherlock’s expression softens at the mention of your father and the inner corners of his eyebrows upturn. You set your jaw, No, not here, not in front of him, and clear away the cobwebs of grief to return to your point. “You’ve made it perfectly transparent how you don’t wish to divulge the details of this case to me because of the entanglement it could garner, but please,” you gesture to your list, “allow me to assist you in this. I know these people better than you do and I doubt they would be keen on welcoming a stranger into their homes, much less a snooping one.”
Sherlock’s gaze hasn’t moved a centimeter from you. The tone of his intensity has shifted, but not in the pressure it engulfs you with. The sympathy expanding in his tired pupils causes you to cringe inwards because you didn’t want to bring your father up in the first place, but it had happened so organically. As organically as the bystanders passing you both by. They chance singular glances at you and Sherlock, some curious about the endeavor because you’re halting traffic, others brushing by you without a care of who you are or what you’ve been through. Perhaps being invisible could have its perks, perhaps then you would feel normal and not a scared girl desperate for an escape an emotionally-stunted man could provide.
Said emotionally-stunted man relents and sighs. Thankfully, without you telling him to stop staring at you like that, he drops his gaze and readjusts his gloves. “Fine, but at any sign of risk, you will do as I say.”
A smile blooms on your features. You can feel the excitement building inside of you and before you realize what you’re doing, you take a step forward and then hop on the next step into Sherlock’s frame. Your arms wrap around his neck, the scent from this morning, the one from his robe sitting in your flat and from his pillow sitting in his, radiating off him. It permeates your senses immediately. It haunted you until you scrubbed yourself from it in a bath, but now you have this fleeting desire to sink further into it. It’s Sherlock’s hands gently acquainting themselves with your hips that causes you to remember how you’re both out on the pavement in public and not in some otherworldly dimension you two keep finding your ways towards.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, gradually lowering yourself down to your heels that elevated in efforts to match his height. Your arms slide from his neck, linger at his chest, and then detach altogether. Sherlock’s pace is about the same in removing his hands from you. You can feel tension as you both initiate eye contact.
“I’m going to go… close my shop for the day.” You point with your thumb to the establishment behind you. You almost forgot about it, but it seems like as good an excuse as any. “Wait for me?”
It’s hard to explain what it is between you two. It sits as thickly as ever as you look awkwardly at each other with looming responsibilities to attend to. Sherlock looks at your shop instead of the obscure air in the space occupying the gap your bodies share. Maybe he’s using the same excuse as you.
“I’ll wait for you.”
Mrs. Blanche Thomas’s living space is full of cat figurines from the arms of the sofa to the nearby desk perched next to a windowsill with semi-drawn cherry curtains. Sunlight invades the room with a vengeance and illuminates the porcelain of each figurine while the rest of the room is draped in a fuchsia pigment, no doubt from the curtains, that naseates your head. All of your clients were rich in so many senses of the word, but at least they didn’t lower themselves to buying endless streams of knick knack felines. You almost think you’re going to knock some over with where you sit on the sofa, the skirt of your dress ruffled along the lace doily you’re on top of. You cross your legs to try and limit the space you take in order to save the figures, but in doing so, your knee brushes against Sherlock’s. He doesn’t budge from where he sits, seemingly doing the same thing as you in attempting to minimize himself for the sake of Mrs. Thomas’s decor, but it’s of little use with someone his size. You can read his discomfort on his face, but a small part of you can’t help but feel triumphant over it.
All day, he’s found a way to antagonize you. It started to occur around the second house you visited. During the first visit, he barreled into the house with hardly any warning and began to investigate the Newtons’ hearth wordlessly to their horror. After you lectured him on how he couldn’t just go full detective mode with these individuals and their prized possessions, he pulled away the friendliness you two engaged in at your shop more and more, bit by bit. As you two arrived at the second house belonging to the Jeffersons, he departed from you to roam their rooms while you kept up in conversation. You tried to be casual, but they soon caught wind of the antics and asked you both to leave. On your way out, you glared at Sherlock while he stared forward with his chin turned towards the air. You couldn’t believe how he blatantly ignored your input and carried on with what he saw fit. His haughty demeanor turned away from you showed you that he knew he did it too.
“Didn’t I just tell you how you couldn’t do that? They were mortified and—”
“They had nothing worthwhile. It was a complete waste of time.”
He grunted his words out at you, not only cutting you off, but speeding his gait so he could maintain a clear lead ahead of you. Your annoyance grew as you followed after him.
It didn’t end there. From today’s length, you would guess that he was purposely trying to get under your skin. He played ball at the third house and made small talk with you to persuade the Porters, but when it came time to observe, when you accidentally bumped his frame in crossing each other’s paths towards written letters sitting atop furniture, he leveled you with a glare of his own.
“I didn’t bring you along to get in the way.” You gulped the hurt that it gave you and replaced it with your heightening vexation. Your eyes shot daggers into the back of his head as he took items into his hands and carried on as if nothing happened. You’ve learned more and more about how Sherlock does not apologize for his ramblings, much less for the ones that sting the most. Keeping your composure, you donned a fake smile and discussed taxes with the Porters until he emerged from a hall and stated, “We’re done here.” You wondered how moronic you appeared chasing after him because after his assertion, he walked right out the front door without any preamble, the same fashion he underwent this afternoon at your shop. It forced you to apologize on his behalf, a parroting dialogue as every house you attended from that point felt the wrath of his attitude and severe lack of manners. Your word was also at stake since you were defying trust.
You didn’t say another word to him for fear of further adding onto the weight of the enormous chip sitting on his shoulder. Fortunately, you two found a rhythm of talking to your clientele and continuing on with the investigation. You didn’t know what exactly you were looking for, but there were times where the trust of your clients meant that they left you two alone to investigate to your hearts’ desire. You dreaded this trust at those moments. Not wanting to sit idly, you busied yourself looking around, searching for ways to ensure you entertained yourself and stayed firmly out of Sherlock’s way. In one instance, you lifted up a handbill discussing an upcoming ball. It was an event you kept seeing in the other houses, but seeing as it was a common thread, you felt excitement spur within you at the prospect. It almost made you forget about how Sherlock was acting and how he was treating you. Almost. Almost since he quickly reminded you.
“That ball has no value to this investigation.”
You could’ve shrunk into yourself at his dismissal. He didn’t even look at you, just continued to flit through items, scrubbing the tips of his fingers clean against one another from the dust he found.
And now at the seventh house, the one belonging to Mrs. Thomas who insisted you two sit down and have tea and perhaps something to eat for your troubles and the journey there, you’re caged in and all alone, the door to the area shut behind her as she stalked off to fetch the necessities she spoke of. Minutes passed. Only minutes. Minutes of silence sans for the movements the two of you made to try and get comfortable on her tiny couch (which would be fucking easier to do if it weren’t for the mammoth of a man sitting beside you). You can feel every brush of his bicep the more he tries to adjust.
“What’s taking her so long?” Sherlock blurts, but from how today has gone and from how he’s furrowing his brow at the empty space ahead, you assume he’s talking more so to himself. He fidgets, much like he’s been doing this entire time, and again, your knees touch. This time, he doesn’t hold his impassive demeanor, his eyes flitting down to the point of contention, where your skirts don’t hide away the skin. You notice his reaction and to try and assuage him, you bring your knee away from his. You think it���s what he requires seeing that he can hardly find comfort in this position and you really don’t want him to harm you with another illy-thought sentence, but as you have been all day today, you’re wrong.
He stands to his feet in an instant with an audible scoff. If you didn’t know any better, you swear it was directed towards you. Your patience is running thin for the detective, watching as he stands and husks out another noise as he simultaneously lifts an orange cat from the table in front of you both. He won’t find anything there, and you know he knows that, so you’re aware the action is because of how he’s avoiding talking to you like an actual person. He would rather waste time doing something miniscule than engage you and it’s this discovery that has you mimic the sounds he’s made all day and stand from the sofa yourself. Fine, if he doesn’t want to talk or be near you, then you’ll increase the distance. You stubbornly walk away with your back towards him in the direction of Mrs. Thomas’s desk, your arms crossing against your chest, shielding yourself from whatever onslaught possibly lurking on his tongue. But you don’t want to be caught off guard again and you certainly won’t let him get to you as he has before. The fire inside of you has been tempered all day and you don’t want to remain quiet.
“That cat have all the answers does it? Was it at the crime scene? Are you questioning a real, live eyewitness?” You can feel Sherlock’s eyes on your back and can hear him shuffling. A tap of glass on wood tells you he’s put the cat down. So much for the eyewitness.
“Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.” Your smirk shifts into a grimace. Still, even as you hear Sherlock’s heavy footsteps across from you, he must be digging for something to remark in the background, you don’t turn around. You hug your arms tighter into yourself.
“I would know of such things if someone wasn’t so greedy with the details.”
Much to your chagrin, Sherlock doesn’t reply. You can hear his fumbling, but he doesn’t even offer you a sound of acknowledgement. You should be happy that he’s not falling into the trap of a brewing argument, but for some reason, you’re having trouble accepting it. After how much he’s tested you today, you feel a misguided desire to test him back.
“Have you found anything yet? You know, with me out of your way.” You’re bitter in droning your words, your glance at your shoulder to turn your ear towards Sherlock. You hear the shuffling come to a sudden stop and you can’t help but smile to yourself knowing he’s staring hard at you. You can feel the heat of it.
“If you have something to say, then say it.”
Oh, it’s at the tip of your tongue, choice words to bring a sailor’s cheeks crimson, you can feel it, but you relent on that sentiment and continue on. “I’m just reflecting on the obvious, Sherlock. Or do you really think you haven’t found any clues because the distance between us hasn’t been enough?”
You wait a few beats for something, any kind of response, but you’re met with silence. Growing impatient with the circumstances yourself, you turn fully to look at him to find him already looking back. His jaw’s set tight, the molars of his teeth accentuating the chiseled line of it as he holds still. It appears as if he has something to say himself, but he’s holding back on purpose, much like you are. You’re about to coax him to it, ready for venom, when he removes his eyes from yours and beelines towards the door.
“Perhaps more distance will be sufficient, then,” he mutters cruelly under his breath. It’s the opposite of what you wanted. Though, as much as you would like to face this head on even if it’ll lead to a fight, you don’t have enough of the physical fire present to saunter after him. You stay where you are, your heart throbbing with something in your chest at the thought of being left alone stranded with Mrs. Thomas in the other room.
You almost call his name to halt him, but he doesn’t get far. You hear the door handle rattle under Sherlock’s hand. From your annoyance, confusion replaces it. You slowly walk towards him as he releases the handle and grunts out another deep noise.
“It’s fucking locked,” he croaks, backing away from it and you. His hands land on his hips, perplexed eyes glaring at the door as if he could burn a hole through it if he tried hard enough. “Why would it be fucking locked?”
You reach for the handle yourself and much like Sherlock’s luck, the same goes for you. “Yes, I just tried that,” he sarcastically reminds you and you have to inhale and exhale slowly so that you don’t remove your heel and throw it at him. It agitates you and just like that, you remember how he tried to leave you here. You groan your displeasure and sulk from the door back to the desk near the window. The furniture’s the furthest thing away from Sherlock in the room so you sit on top of it, cautious to avoid the figurines, and your arms return to crossing over your chest.
“Serves you right,” you sneer, “after trying to abandon me when you’re the one who’s been a belligerent oaf all day.” You hear him scoff and he says nothing. You take this is as a means to continue since the both of you couldn’t go anywhere until Mrs. Thomas returned. “I should be the one storming out.”
You don’t expect anything from Sherlock. He’s thick and stubborn to avoid conversation with you. Just seconds ago, he tried to leave in order to avoid a discussion, so you’re thinking you can get more of your issues with him off your chest in the silence he offers you. Only, he doesn’t offer you silence when you’re expecting it. No, he’s unpredictable that way. You’re not even looking at him when you hear, “Mhm, just like you did this morning.”
Your head whips in Sherlock’s direction. That’s the last thing you’re thinking about and it’s rather ridiculous to bring up now in this context, but his expression is dead serious. You don’t know if you prefer him ignoring you or him boring his eyes into yours like he’s doing now.
“Me? You couldn’t wait to get rid of me! You didn’t even want people to see!” You’re aware of how you’re raising your voice, how Mrs. Thomas might hear, but at this point, you don’t care anymore. You’ve been poked and prodded at for hours and you’re at your wit’s end. Sherlock takes two steps in your direction.
“How the hell was I supposed to keep someone around who was that ashamed of their own actions, actions that put them in that situation in the first place—not me,” he comes closer and closer as he talks, his footing carrying him forward after every three words or so. You don’t feel intimidated by how much bigger he appears the closer he gets to you, how his voice is getting louder and not because of how he’s lessening the space between you, nor how the vein in his neck strains against the collar of his undershirt sandwiched underneath his vest.
“Oh my god, I told you that we can pretend last night never happened, you can save me the responsibility speech.” You roll your eyes, the huff that falls from your lips being the gust that pushes your hair strands out of your face. They land right back, but your attention is solely on Sherlock. There’s less than a meter between you and him, you can pinpoint the burning in his eyes now from the lack of sleep and from the agitation.
“You are so… stubborn. And defensive. And meddling.” His hands reach the edge of the desk. You surmise it’s to support himself as he leans forward in incredulity of your words. It brings him closer than before, the lines on his face more apparent, the passion simmering in his gaze that he refuses to rip from you.
You hate how small he makes you feel. Always having to show off intellect as if no one knows he’s the smartest person in the room. Your hand lands on his chest in efforts to push him away, but it just stays there limp. “And you are improper, pompous, brash, impatie—”
The last syllable of the word “impatient” doesn’t resonate any further into the atmosphere, instead lost to the plushness of Sherlock’s lips, muffled by his contact, cut loose by a noise you fail to suppress as your eyes slip closed to relish in the feeling. His mouth bruises yours, robs it and your mind of the English language and the unpleasant choice words you had for him. Normally you don’t take kindly to being cut off, but as your other hand joins your left on his chest, you can feel the thrumming heartbeat in his ribcage accelerating almost as quickly as your own is. It somehow greets your palm beyond the hard lines of muscle you tread over, the same ones you trace blindly without your vision, without the breath in your lungs Sherlock is currently kissing away and swallowing into himself. Dizziness overtakes you and you don’t trust your body to support you and you lean back to try and find the desk as a means to help you here. To Sherlock, he views it as you backing away from him and he reluctantly brings his mouth away from yours. He knows he’s overstepped.
You both utilize this time to breathe heavily as you stare into each other’s eyes. You don’t know what came over him to act so boldly and from how he’s hesitant, you don’t think he knows either. Something plays at his lips, the very same that just grazed over yours, and you know he’s about to say something else. Whatever it is, you decide at that moment it can wait and you grasp the collar of his shirt in your fingers to pull him in once more. This time, you’re rewarded with a lecherous noise from the back of his throat and one arm wraps around your waist, his bicep and forearm deluging the small of your spine. It’s just the support you require to keep you upright, whimpering as he licks into your mouth, doing so immediately when he mashes the word “again” against you in a straining command. You’ll leap off a building if he keeps kissing you this way, if it means he’ll slip his tongue along yours and leave your mouth reddened and swollen from your affairs.
Sherlock wants, needs, to get closer. Every touch and caress is driving him mad, to the brink of an area he hasn’t really explored before. He’s not completely inexperienced, but he doesn’t recall ever being this eager, eagerness you meet with earnest of your own through those beautiful sounds he’s muting, through the tilt of your head that allows him to deepen the kiss. “Part your legs,” he requests, bass in his tone, never neglecting the lock you currently have on each other. Obediently, you do as he says, your knees separating to make room for his frame that he instantaneously occupies, as if he was made to be there. Your skirts bunch up at your mid thighs and the sensitive flesh of them rubbing along his trousers’ material has you reeling. He groans as he steps in, contrasting to the idea of being made to fit between your legs because his width forces them even further apart, his concealed arousal bumping into your thigh, scraping into your flesh as he lowers you onto the desk and bends at the waist to ensure the connection of your lips.
The cat figurines lining the desk fall to the floor, thumps that resound one after the other as they are pushed off sporadically with the movement of your bodies. Your leg wraps around Sherlock’s waist, heel digging into his back, and your lips fall open to a silent gasp as he descends and kisses down the column of your neck. The sensation almost tickles, his stubble catching along your skin almost as frequently as his teeth do. As he rises back up to greet your mouth with his, you forgot to use the opportunity to breathe. It didn’t matter, you would rather be empty of oxygen than miss out on how Sherlock renders you simple-minded, on how he generously lets you moan into his mouth, you depraved thing, on how he slams his hand into the desk beside you because your body intuitively rolled your hips up into him without realizing, sending more figurines flying off the wood to their far drops. Your fingers run up from his collar to the hair at the back of his head, clutching his curls like they will ground you into this moment in time permanently. But it barely helps. Luckily for you, it’s Sherlock who grounds you down. Who covers your body with his. Who subjects you to the durable surface below as well as his muscle mass.
There’s a knock on the door and a laugh. “Oh dear, I hadn’t realized I locked the two of you in here!” Mrs. Thomas taps the door. “This old handle is broken, would either of you mind helping me open it?”
The two of you have refrained from kissing, looking at each other in disbelief. Disbelief of being interrupted, disbelief of how far you two were going in someone else’s home, an old woman’s at that, and disbelief of what you had just done. Neither of you move, catching your breaths, exhales hitting at both of your mouths from how Sherlock is still half on top of you, your faces startlingly adjacent. Clearing his throat, he pushes off the desk to his feet and reaches a hand out to you.
You clear your throat the very same and capture his hand to sit up, your chest heaving from that intense interchange. You, as well as Sherlock, got caught up in it all and now the repercussions were waiting in anticipation. Neither of you say anything to each other, you simply stare. Sherlock, in all his faults and issues with social cues, knows he should say something that could help you both. It can’t be an untouched subject, not when bottled feelings came up earlier and led you two to argue… led you two to whatever that was thereafter.
“Can you hear me?” Mrs. Thomas asks. Remembering where you are, you nod at Sherlock and, reluctantly, he slowly walks to the door away from you. You scoot off the desk and compile the fallen heroes on the floor into your cradled arm. You then place them messily back on the desk, not sure if there was any particular order or not (goddamn were those things uncomfortable on your back).
You adjust your clothes after as you hear Mrs. Thomas talk with Sherlock through the door: “Alright, son, you are going to push the handle in and then open it while lifting upwards…”
You’re in the middle of fixing your corset when you spot a glint of indigo hanging out of one of the desk’s drawers. Interestingly, the sun’s rays cause it to glimmer and you don’t know how many things can shine like that besides… the fabric.
Your fabric.
You dart your eyes to Sherlock, unsure if you should follow this lead because everyone’s house you visited also had this fabric as you kept inventory and created your list, but he’s not paying you any mind. His attention is on trying to get the door open with Mrs. Thomas’s guidance. The problem, or perhaps lucky circumstance, was that Sherlock couldn’t get the door open. Mrs. Thomas kept changing her damn instructions.
“I thought you said to pull up!” Sherlock exclaims at the door, no doubt annoyed by the obstruction, by his already pent-up frustration, by being cockblocked, and how he doesn’t hide his agitation of poor Mrs. Thomas who’s forgetful in her old age.
“No, dear, I said to push down!”
You try to open the drawer, but it needs a key. Searching around the desk in a frenzy, you alternate between snatching papers and promptly placing them back to avoid suspicion when you catch another glint at the floor beneath. The sun bounces off it when you align your eyesight and it flashes a weaponized beam straight into your vision. You kneel to pick it up, while blinking away a memory of light imprinted, only this isn’t illusion-ally reflective, this is golden and small, exposed by a sun taking its time to set. It was hidden by the shadow at the corner of the desk that you and Sherlock accidentally knocked off. Blushing, you lift the key and work on the drawer.
“I have pushed in every direction, are you confident this is how you open the door?”
You twist the key and hear a soft click. Excitedly, you pull the handle and stuff the fabric into your bodice, alongside the envelope that was left with it. You close the drawer and lock it when you finally hear a loud noise crash into your perception. You stick the key into your corset at the same time that your head snaps up to see the door’s handle sitting in his hand… detached from the door. Sherlock’s looking at you now, his eyebrows knit in, his eyes closing in irritation of what he had just done. You could tell he’s forcing himself to breathe manually so he could keep a hold of his agitation. You round the desk and politely curtsy to Mrs. Thomas, who enters the room now that the door is broken. She shakes her head at Sherlock on the way in and you point to the desk.
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Thomas, we accidentally knocked over your figurines! We’re sorry,” you exclaim and she’s distracted from the door to tend to you. She rests her hands in yours and chuckles as she always does. Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he watches the scene unfold.
“It’s alright, thank you for telling me! They were due for a reorganization, anyhow.” She squeezes your hands and then walks to the desk. You think you might be in the clear, but then she looks at you puzzled on her way there. “Wait, how did you two knock them over?”
Sherlock releases a breath of amusement that both you and Mrs. Thomas hear and turn your heads towards. He can hardly believe it since she can hardly hear anything else.
You give Sherlock a look and then raise your hand to rest on Mrs. Thomas’s shoulder to get her attention back. She turns to you and you offer your best smile. It’s hard on you to smile in general after everything, but these days, it’s easier and easier. “We were… we were dancing.”
Mrs. Thomas gasps and both of her hands go over her mouth. She looks back and forth between you and Sherlock and then she reaches her arms out to hug you. Sherlock’s confused by the reaction, and honestly, you are as well since the excuse was so bad. You shrug your shoulders as subtly as humanly possible without alerting Mrs. Thomas. He notices.
“I am so proud of you, you deserve to be happy.” She squeezes you without any real pressure. Real pressure would be suffocating, but it’s what her strength is allowing and such a thing makes you think about the fact that she may be trying her best to convey it and something in you feels blanketed.
“I remember when Edmund and I would dance randomly… being in love and all… made you spontaneous.” She laughs to herself, as if remembering right before your eyes. There’s a lump in your throat again, you have fought these off so consistently, but it’s there because Mrs. Thomas cares for you. Even if it is a lie, she could think you and Sherlock arrived here together because you were in fact together. He seems to look at you with shock at the lack of denial on your end. He doesn’t know what to make of it, if you’re saving him from trouble with the door, if you’re tricking her so she wouldn’t ask questions of the desk, but he stays quiet and trusts your judgment. Because it’s obvious you’re hiding something and chances are, it didn’t involve the affection and intimacy of what occurred on that desk.
“Mrs. Thomas, we apologize for the mess, but we have to go. The sun will set soon and we are a long way from home.” You reassure her and she looks at you and then at Sherlock.
“I promise to fix this door in the near future,” he states and she actually laughs at it.
“Do you feel better now that you’ve eaten something?” You ask as you walk alongside Sherlock, your shared building close in distance. Your feet ache from all the walking, from trying to keep up with Sherlock, but you’re glad he’s calmed down. Mrs. Thomas sent you both off with bread and since you felt slightly guilty, you lost your appetite and gave the rest to Sherlock. You’re joking, clearly since you both know he’s lightened up even before Mrs. Thomas gave you bread. Who knows the reason. The unsaid, unexpected, wonderful reason.
“Yes, actually. She’s lousy with her timing, but she knows how to bake bread.” You laugh at his reply, your hands pulling his coat closed that he gave to you after you complained about the cold. The two of you have been switching nonchalantly in conversation since leaving Mrs. Thomas’s house. You told Sherlock you needed to tell him something and he asked if it could wait until you made it back to Baker Street. With your agreement, you didn’t talk about it or what happened. You were afraid to. Sherlock didn’t want to ruin it again. It was nice to just walk and enjoy each other’s company on the way home, the occasional question asked.
Once on Baker Street, you nudge Sherlock and he pauses for you to continue. There are hardly any people walking around the two of you so you feel secure and you bring forth the scrap of fabric that you hid in your bodice. Sherlock recognizes it, to your surprise, and reaches for it, to which you hand off and watch as he examines it with great interest.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it locked in a drawer. While you were trying to get the door open, I,” you jump as Sherlock grasps your upper arm.
“You unlocked the drawer and took this along with something else, didn’t you?”
You blink, the envelope folded in your bodice the next thing you were going to share with him.
“How did you know I took two items?”
“Three,” he corrects, “you took the golden key that’s currently resting in your corset’s left breast.”
You glance down and just at that moment, a street lamp flashes the shine at you. Sherlock couldn’t have missed it. Not when neither of you have let up on looking at each other fondly on the walk home. At all of each other. You then look to your envelope’s hiding spot and yes, it’s peeking out from under your corset since you attempted to place it between your skirts. All the layering worked both for and against you.
“I didn’t catch the fabric, but I caught the other parts while you were chatting up Mrs. Thomas.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly? I didn’t think they were that important to discuss, separately, of course,” he corrects himself since he saw your face fall for a brief moment, “but altogether? It means something. I… I appreciate it.”
You smile at him, overwhelmed by a feeling to gravitate towards him, but there’s still tension between you two. It’s confusing and you know it’s magnetic for a reason, but there’s still a bridge that links the two of you. Tonight, you met each other halfway, but you also barged into each other’s sides with aggression and hostility intended. Kissing didn’t magically make everything you both said and did okay and that frightened you, what could lay beyond that.
After handing him the key and the envelope, you glance up at him with something new dazzling in your eye. He walks you into the building. “Goodnight,” you kiss his cheek, ending the evening with a pleasant exchange, on a beautiful high note. “Until our next meeting, Shoulders.” Sherlock’s heat warms your mouth and he glances at his coat, opting to let you have that as well since he didn’t want you heading into your flat freezing at any moment. You took it with you and didn’t look back.
Sherlock read the letter again. It’s probably the 50th time since he’s opened it. His game was off today. He couldn’t focus, not with you around. Every time he looked at you, all he could think about was why you regretted staying at his flat. He assumed you were ashamed of your behavior, but did that mean you were ashamed to ask him to join you in bed as well? Did it mean you held an attraction for him or comfort solely under alcohol’s vise?
The worst part about looking at you today, however, is by far how much he enjoyed it. There he was, in his effective functioning and bidding as his occupation demands, tenfold, and then there’s you who always stole his attention away, your honey sweet voice erasing his thoughts and replacing them selfishly with you. He thought about the embrace, he thought about your chemise, he thought about your smile at the library, your sleeping face, your gentle hands on his chest, how his robe wrapped around you, how he couldn’t think of anything but you if he didn’t actively catch himself. You hovered over him and he retaliated to deter you away. He changes when he’s trying to solve a case. He keeps to himself and does it his own way and he knows it’s flawed, that’s why he prefers people staying away when he gets like that.
At the same damn time, he had an urge to get closer, a physical instinct that would lead him to you like a tired horse requiring a drink of water. He acted on both his anger and need back at Mrs. Thomas’s, a combination he’s never felt before you. It’s worse for him now. This is his 56th time reading this letter all because his mind is sailing back to you, you and your lips, you and your arching spine, you and your delectable noises, you who’s just downstairs, a staircase and a few knocks away, you, you, you.
He relaxes his shoulders to regain his focus. This is vital to his case, he can feel it, he knows it. The envelope reads “For Blanche, with love” and the signature on the letter itself reads “Love, Edmund” for Christ’s sake. Everything is interconnected, the pieces showing him what is there, and he cannot for the life of him focus to read this damn letter to make sense of it all. He does enough to catch the line “I will see you at the ball.”
He chastises himself at that and he remembers your comment about the upcoming ball these elites were attending.
“I owe you an apology, Lily,” he says aloud, to no one in the space but himself so he can deliver one first thing in the morning. It makes sense now that he’s contemplating on it, but you were making it difficult to put logical thought together. It’s not your fault. It’s his fault for not sleeping. He can’t read this letter and he acted like an ass today because he’s running on pure fumes. The words are starting to melt together and he tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes only to find that he’s been blinking the sleep out of his eyes for the past hour. Grunting, he folds the letter and decides he will solve this case in the morning, it’s Thursday and the ball isn’t until Saturday.
Sherlock stands and walks towards the corridor when he hears a knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour. He turns his head to look at it and he only stutters a second before he rushes to it and brings it open. Just as he suspected, you’re standing there in front of him, in his robe, fluttering your lashes at him in an innocence he cannot believe. As you reach up to kiss him, he catches you by the waist, by your momentum, midair as he directs you into his flat and firmly pushes the door closed with his other hand.
#henry cavill#sherlock holmes#henry!sherlock#sherlock holmes x reader#enola holmes#beyond answers#l4l.writes#henry cavill sherlock
100 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi I’m new to being polyamorous and I am struggling immensely
First I want to say I don’t know anyone in my life who is polyamorous (other than my partner and I) so forgive me if this is unorthodox but I need some void in which I can scream.
My partner and I have miscommunicated to hell and back and while they believed our relationship to be open to begin flirting with other people, I thought we were still speaking hypothetically.
Now they started flirting with someone else and took it to a sexual nature immediately. I guess that’s what flirting means to them, that wasn’t clear to me. They didn’t tell me till a week later they were talking to this person, and wanted to try pursuing a romantic relationship with them but wanted my permission.
Now this relationship is exclusively online for them, and they stated that for most of the correspondence it was through anon messages on this persons blog. My partner says that the relationship not as real to them until it got to DMs. Once they moved onto DMs they cooled on the sexual nature of their messages. But they still kept tagging each other in NSFW posts.
I’m going through a whirlwind of emotions, not feeling ready for this step but I don’t want to take this opportunity away from my partner? I truly want us to have a healthy, polyamorous relationship. It does not pain me they have someone they’re interested in, I am pained that I didn’t know.
I am also struggling with jealousy over some of the sexual things they spoke about, thinking some of those things were special to us. Worried that maybe they’d prefer this person, their body, etc.
Although I do want these same opportunities for myself in the future, I am just struggling with these things because it’s my first time experiencing them.
I’m aware how absolutely undesirable this situation sounds all written out. No one talks about what it was like realizing they’re polyamorous but also transitioning to having polyamorous relationships from monogamous ones.
This weighs on my heart and so I lament to you as that’s all I feel I can do and wonder if anyone can tell me “dude I have fucking been there”
Oof, this is a really rough situation to be in. Feelings can get so damn complicated during big changes like that, especially if it started off with some pretty serious miscommunication.
It's definitely a great sign that you're recognizing all of your emotions and where they stem from, and I hope you've been keeping your partner in the loop about it all! I've always recommended having a conversation with them about things you would like to remain special to just the two of you, like a specific pet name or date location. Sometimes meeting the metamour (the person your partner is dating) can help ease feelings of uncertainty or jealousy, but don't force yourself to if you're not ready to. Couples therapy with a poly-informed therapist can't hurt either.
I'm certain there are people who have been through it like you have, and I hope my followers will share their similar stories! My heart goes out to you, anon, as you navigate this new change <3
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fic Name: Library date
Paring: Jennifer Jareau x Reader
One shot or Multiple Chapter: One Shot
Warnings: slight miscommunication but nothing much, other than that,, pure fluff
Content: JJ and Reader go on a little library date
A/N: new layout not sure yet but tell me what you think
————————————————————————
It was 9am on a Saturday, It was the middle of September so it was fairly sunny but the weather wasn't as warm as it usually was, and you were bored, there wasn't a case today and you were done with all your paperwork, so you decided to go into town to go book shopping.
"Ugh I really need this book for my class but I can't find it anywhere" You sighed out loud walking down the street after coming out of your 3rd book store. "How hard is it to find one copy of 'To Kill A Mockingbird'?" you said out loud again before turning a corner to find a Starbucks.
"What can I get you?" the woman enquired.
"A hot vanilla latte and a copy of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' if you have it" you joked.
"The vanilla latte I can get you no problem, but the book you want might be better in that shop over there" she pointed to a bookstore that you hadn't been in yet "There's only one left though, must be popular this time of year" she shrugged as she handed you your coffee, you said your thanks and goodbyes.
You finished your coffee as you entered the bookstore, you sighed dramatically as there were so many people there, selfishly you were hoping it would be just you but that would've been unrealistic.
You looked in every genre until you found books similar, you were so quick to find the book and leave that you didn't notice anyone near you, as you reached up and grabbed the book another hand layed on top of yours.
"Excuse me-" you started.
"Oh hey Y/N" you quickly turned to see who recognized you.
"Hey JJ, what are you doing here?" you asked your friend from the BAU.
"I'm uh- Henry dropped my old copy of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and it's severely damaged" she laughed "What about you?"
"Oh Uh- classes start back next week and we need the book" you smiled, her hand still on yours.
"Are you doing anything today?" JJ asked gently.
"No I'm not I'm actually kind of bored" you laughed.
"Do you um- would you want to stay here and we could read this book together?" Jennifer Jareau didn't get flustered easily so you could tell she was genuinely nervous to ask you.
"Sure" you agreed with a gentle smile.
"Great"
JJ wasn't much older than you, you were 21, you still had university classes, your eidetic memory helped you pass your degree to become a member of the FBI a couple of months ago, but you still wanted to educate yourself more and more, this one would be your forth degree, JJ who was 24, had a son, he was 1 and his name is Henry, you knew that she split up with Will but you would never pry.
You both sat on the floor, your backs leaning against the shelves of the multicoloured piles of books behind you.
"Your turn" you took turns to read but you got distracted by her, her beautiful blonde hair falling just beneath her collarbone, the way she talks about things she's passionate about, her laugh, and the way her voice sounds when she's tired, you were falling for her.
"Sorry um, where were we?" you laughed, she playfully shoved you.
"There!" she pointed to a random paragraph in the middle of the book, your face told her that you had no idea how you got there.
"What's going on in that beautiful little mind of yours?" she asked curiously.
It was now or never you deeply sighed "Has anyone ever told you pretty you are?" you asked.
"A few people, why?" she asked with the same curiosity as earlier.
"They're right JJ" your faced blushed lightly "You're one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen" you finally admitted "I don't want to ruin our friendship though" you added sadly the realization setting in.
JJ grabbed your hand and rested her head on your shoulder "I think that about you too" she added.
"You do?" you craned your neck to face her still holding her hand and still careful to not move JJ's head.
"Yeah I have for a while actually" she said.
"Why didn't you-"
"I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to ruin our friendship too" she laughed.
"I like you JJ, I like you a lot" you sighed.
"I like you too, a lot" she added
"I can't believe it, we could've been kissing this entire time" you laughed.
"It's not too late?" JJ suggested
You both smiled at each other knowingly and kissed her, this was everything you ever wanted.
#criminal minds#fanfic#aj cook#jennifer jareau#jennifer jareau x reader#jennifer jareau x you#yn#jj x reader
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
What are we waiting for? (Part Two)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Masterlist
Summary: Azriel has never been very good at talking about his feelings and his mate is no different. When both make assumptions about the other’s intentions, heartbreak and miscommunication ensue.
Word Count: 1.7k
Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)
Warnings: alcohol use, sad boi Azriel
A/N: Part three is out now. As always feedback is appreciated beyond measure. Love ya!
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
Azriel’s mind was reeling. He knew the conversation would have to happen at some point, but he had selfishly hoped that perhaps, given enough time, he could change your mind. He hadn’t expected you to run off when the other shoe dropped though and wondered bitterly if it was guilt or resentment that drove you to flee the River House. He considered following you and getting it over with, but the devastation on your face as you left gave him pause. He wondered if you had just now realized you wouldn’t be able to give yourself over to him. Was it something he did that night? At dinner the evening before? Or had you wanted to reject him from the start and, in all your kindness and empathy, felt bad enough to entertain him. He decided, then, that he couldn’t face knowing the answer yet and resigned to leave you be.
When he explained himself to Cassian, his brother had looked utterly bewildered. “Are you sure that’s—” Azriel took flight before he could finish his line of questioning and give him hope that he had misinterpreted your intentions. No, Azriel was a shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, if there was one thing he could trust, it was his ability to read people.
So, he resisted the urge to seek you out, instead fleeing Velaris entirely. His original plan was to do some reconnaissance in the Autumn Court, his trust in Eris still minimal at best. Upon seeing the direction of his flight, however, Rhys reached out mind to mind and forbade it. “You’re too distracted to be on a mission right now.”
“Worried about me?” Azriel bit back, unusually sarcastic.
“Worried about whoever you run into, more like.” Rhys was only half joking and Azriel huffed, adjusting his course to head towards the mountains. Even he wasn’t sure of his ability to turn down a fight and use discretion at the moment, and, in the interest of maintaining peace in Prythian, he decided to divert to the cabin instead. He knew Rhys wouldn’t let him throw himself into work in a state like this, not when his job required such delicate handling. But he couldn’t stay in Velaris, in the townhouse or House of Wind where every shadow reminded him of what he almost had. Instead, he would retreat to the mountains until he gathered enough courage to face you.
Cassian showed up on the second day, bottle in hand, looking as close to remorseful as he had ever seen him. Initially, the shadowsinger remained stone-faced as the two gathered around the fireplace in morose silence, but after a few drinks, it all came tumbling out. He told Cassian about how he had hoped against hope you would choose to accept the bond. How he had put in so much effort to try and prove himself, taking you on dates, buying you flowers, observing you closely and noting your likes and dislikes. He thought, perhaps, he was making progress, but months passed, and you continued to skirt the issue of accepting the bond. The evening prior, when Cassian asked about a ceremony and you fled, had all but confirmed his suspicions. Cassian remained quiet throughout his story, helpfully pouring shots while his brother rambled, barely concealing his heartbreak. The only commentary he offered was towards the end of the night when Azriel was leaned back on the couch, eyes closed with eyelashes that almost looked damp in the firelight. “Are you sure?”, he asked cautiously, “Are you sure that’s why she left? That she doesn’t want the bond?”
Azriel let out a mirthless laugh and pitched forward, flaring out his wings for balance as he stumbled to his feet. “I’m the Spymaster,” his tone was dripping in sarcasm, “I’m sure.” He’d gone to bed after that, leaving Cassian to contemplate his brother’s words.
In the morning, Cassian was gone. He left a brief note in the kitchen warning Azriel that if he wasn’t back in Velaris in the next few days he was liable to get a visit from Rhysand and Feyre. Idly, he mused that he should be somewhat embarrassed at having run off tail tucked at the first sign of heartbreak, but he didn’t have the energy to criticize yet another one of his actions. As he thought of his family back in Velaris, he wondered if you had sought him out yet. Would you come and find him when he returned? Or would he have to drag himself to his own sentencing? The thought filled him with dread, and he clawed within himself for something other than the growing pit of despair. He wanted to be angry, to rage and roar at the injustice of it all, but where you were concerned, he could not harbor ill-will. No, in spite of it all, he did not have it in him to be angry with you, to blame you for your choice. He only wished you had told him sooner.
Itching for a distraction, he decided he would spend the day training in the hopes that exertion and aggression might drive his predicament from his mind. The forest was not a training ring, but Azriel could make do with trees and stone. The day was unseasonably warm, and by the afternoon his knuckles were bruised and bleeding and he was dripping with sweat. He had shed his shirt and upper leathers hours prior, and he was contemplating losing his lower breaches and diving into the lake when movement overhead caught his eye. It was Cassian, swooping in from above, perhaps to supply him with more alcohol or drag him home. Or both.
He did a double take when he spotted the figure in Cassian’s arms and his heart began to pound. Surely, Cassian would have the decency to let him face you on his own terms. Had you asked to be brought here, or had he dragged you along, insisting you get it over with so his brother could return to the city? He expected Cassian to stay, ready to ferry you back once your conversation was finished, but by the time he reached the porch of the cabin, his brother was gone, leaving the two of you alone.
His breath caught at the sight of you and his shadows sprang to life. For the past few days, they had been muted, offering little to no company as if they, too, were avoiding Azriel. They surged forward and Azriel had to give a mighty tug to keep them from enveloping you. You hadn’t minded them before, even noting your fascination with his power, but that could have changed by now as well. He stood several paces away as the two of you locked eyes, fists clenching and unclenching in anxiety. You took several steps forward until you were within arm’s reach, and Azriel had to fight the instinct to close the gap between you two.
You opened your mouth, a pained expression on your face, and he sucked in a breath as if bracing for a blow. “I’m sorry… that I just left.” You started, your voice wavering. “I thought—Cassian said—,” despite rehearsing what you would say on the flight over, you found yourself stuttering over the words. Fear returned then, that perhaps Cassian was wrong and your initial assumption was right.
“It’s okay,” Azriel’s voice was rough and deep as ever and his dark eyes looked so sad you could have sobbed at the sight of him. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I just…” he turned then, his eyes fixing on some distant point in the mountains. “I just want you to be happy.”
Cassian was right. You did sob, then, and Azriel startled, turning to look at you with confusion on his face. “I thought you didn’t want the bond. I thought you realized that I could never measure up to you and were trying to figure out how to tell me.” Azriel’s eyes widened and he took a step towards you, hesitantly placing his hands on your shoulders as he searched your face for answers.
“How? Why would I ever want you to reject the bond?”, he asked, bewildered. “I thought you didn’t want it.” You laughed then, the absurdity of the miscommunication hitting you at the same time as the relief of finding out you were wrong.
“Of course, I want the bond! I thought that was obvious. I just didn’t want to pressure you—.” He cut you off then, his hands reaching up to cradle your face as his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was slow and tender, an apology and celebration in one.
“You mean it?” He whispered, inching his face back from yours ever so slightly. His rough thumbs wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks and you smiled hesitantly.
“You want it too?”, you asked him, sounding small and he grinned, his own eyes beginning to shine, glinting in the fading afternoon sun.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything else, Sunshine,” he kissed you again, then, slow and deep, his arms snaking around your waist to draw you closer to him. Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the fact that he was shirtless, his skin slick with sweat. You lowered your arms from their place around his neck, dragging your hands down his shoulders to rest on his chest, then lower towards his defined stomach. The kiss grew hungrier as your arms moved and he lifted a hand to tangle in your hair, the other remaining securely around your waist. Just as it felt like he was ready to devour you, you pulled away, a sly look in your eye.
“So you want the bond… and I want the bond?” He nodded fervently; his eyes still fixed on your lips. “And it’s about dinnertime anyway…”, your heart hammered in your chest and his pupils dilated further, his gaze meeting yours. “Then what are we waiting for?”
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
Likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future fics. Click here to check out my other work.
#Azriel x Reader#Azriel x You#Azriel Fanfic#Azriel Fanfiction#Azriel#Azriel Shadowsinger#Azriel Imagine ACOTAR x Reader#ACOTAR x You#ACOTAR Fanfic#ACOTAR Fanfiction#ACOTAR#ACOTAR Imagine#my stuff#ff
475 notes
·
View notes
Text
ugh, so i had to re-break up with my ex-bf on Tuesday (Jan 2nd) evening and yesterday I was mostly with someone (my therapist, at work, hanging out with the kiddo and their dad) and when I got home I was exhausted enough that the mean thoughts about myself couldn't kick in. (That is a lie, I was consistently negative about myself yesterday.)
But now I don't have to be to work until 3pm and I am home alone with my thoughts and I hate it.
I feel like I was leading him on for two and a half weeks, but I thought he was just being thoughtful because it was the holidays and he didn't want us to be miserable through them. I figured we were just waiting until after the new year to discuss future living arrangements, since lease re-signing isn't until late March normally. I broke up with him on the 12th, removed our facebook relationship status (the real indicator, as we are millennials) and we spent a whole bunch of hours talking about it and then we had sex and cried and cuddled and I slept in his bed with him. The 13th and 14th were tense and then on the 15th we got into an argument because I asked him if he knew where the lid to my rice cooker was and he took it as an attack because he had done the dishes and he "knew I was going to be weird about it". I went to my room and told him I didn't have to do this anymore because I'm not his girlfriend and he asked me to please not close myself inside and did I have to throw it in his face that we were broken up because he knew and he just wanted to spend time with me and he gave me another birthday gift and I cried and told him I was really angry that it took me breaking up with him for him to get sober and I didn't want to have to be broken up, but we had to be. And he said he had done all his crying in the past couple days and he wanted me to have a good birthday and he didn't think we were broken up like that anyway (which I thought meant in a way where we were fighting all the time and walking on eggshells around each other) and did I want to come watch a movie with him? So I did, but that was the last we really talked about it.
Did I sleep with him in those two and a half weeks? Yes, once. Did he give me a kiss and call me baby everyday? Yes, but he asked if he could kiss me the first time and so I figured it was just what we were doing and I figured he was calling me baby because it was so ingrained in our vernacular. And the first time that happened was on my birthday, so of course I'm going to say yes. And it was the day after we had just had that talk about not throwing it in his face, so I wasn't going to be a dick and tell him don't call me baby. And also, friends kiss and cuddle and things in my world.
But in his mind, he had quit drinking and he was making a concerted effort to fix our relationship. And since I had said the previous evening that I didn't want us to have to be broken up, we were in limbo trial period. Then I was friendly and cuddly and smoochy and called him baby on his birthday. Then the day after his birthday, his mom called and sent him money for him for his birthday and for me for my birthday and then for him me and Sophia. He told me his mom had sent him money for us and he would send me my portion and I didn't turn down the funds, which I guess I should have if we were really broken up in his eyes.
Then on the 2nd, he messaged me about removing his relationship status from facebook because it was embarrassing to be in a relationship with nobody on there. I responded that I had removed mine when we broke up, not to hurt him just to state facts. Then my phone rang and my heart sunk because all of the past few weeks flew through my brain and I realized that I was going to have to break up with him again. I was going to have to break his heart again.
But I feel like a jerk. A huge jerk. This is actually not even the first time I have had a major miscommunication like this with someone re: my romantic intentions with them. I accidentally really hurt another man I loved who actually had the same birthday as my ex-bf/current roommate, but that miscommunication happened over text. This happened in person for multiple weeks. But this is also an amazing example of why we should not be together. We do not communicate to each other what we think we are communicating.
8 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Tis the season! This month we’re doing HOLIDAY fic, set during the December-January season. (A few repeats on here, and I’m also breaking my no-over 1k kudos fic for this one just because ‘classics’ are definitely part of the holiday charm.)
Onwards!
The Devil You Know by ma_malice | T, 19k | “There will be no sacrifice,” Shane said for the third time since they’d landed in Illinois. “Not so much as a chicken. Stop being weird.” Shane takes Ryan home for the holidays. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
what are you doing new year's eve? ✨ by PhyllisDietrichson | E, 20k | And Ryan knows. He knows that it’s probably been obvious for a while, how he and Shane have been circling around each other, pulled into a tighter orbit as the years have passed.
fate is against me by bodhirookes | T, 27k | Ryan's bosses hold a series of Christmas-themed competitions in the office, and along the way he learns about the true meaning of Christmas, experiences how satisfying it is to prove TJ wrong, and possibly wins himself a boyfriend.
Deck the Halls by colazitron | T, 2k | Ryan wants to spruce up the office with some festive decorations and some holiday fun. It doesn't go exactly as planned.
The Christmas Curse by MiraclesofPaul | E, 10k | After kissing under the mistletoe, everyone in the office assumes they've slept together. They didn't, but now Shane can't stop thinking about Ryan.
Oh, Ryan by VictoriaAGrey | T, 10k | Ryan thinks the holiday season is going to be a predictable affair until Ned calls in a two year old debt Ryan owes him. Honoring that two year old debt sets into motion an avalanche of bad decisions and miscommunications that land Ryan at his parent's house on Christmas Day with a baby and a best friend pretending to be his boyfriend. Did he also mention Shane's living with him?
Like Wildfire by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub) | E, 20k | Or: the one where Shane accidentally tells Ryan's mom they're a couple and they commit to the bit.
Where Every Wish Comes True (and you would be there too) by velarisstars | T, 31k | It was completely normal to fly across the country with your best friend to celebrate Christmas with their family, right? At least, that's what Ryan kept telling himself everyday leading up to said trip with Shane. Everything would be fine. Normal. A simple vacation with Shane and his family in Chicago.
Mistletoe by quackers | T, 4k | There's only room for one very specific cat in Ryan's life.
sweatshirt by uneventfulhouses | T, 1k | “All I’m saying,” Ryan huffs, into his phone as he serves himself another tamale, “is that I wish you were here. And now you’re making it weird.” “I’m not making it weird,” Shane protests, laughing on the other end of the line.
"fear not, then," said the angel by orphan_account | T, 5k | Five times they took part in holiday traditions for a video, and one time it was just for them.
Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart by LovelyLittleNothing | G, 6k | Shane leans in conspiratorially, “My older brother said Santa isn’t real.” “And you believe him?” Ryan asks horrified. “Course not! He’s a dummy. I know he’s just sayin’ that so I won’t act good enough to get onto the nice list.”
Tinsel and Lights by orphan_account | T, 13k | Ryan beamed. “I thought the season was…how did you put it? Oh right, ‘nothing more than a drop in temperature and a surge in capitalist nonsense?’”
You can call me babe for the weekend by iBubbles | T, 5k | "I didn’t have “fake date Shane to cone his family” on my 2020 bingo card, but I think it’s the perfect ridiculous thing to end this year with,” Ryan smiles. Shane's aunt Ada mistakes Ryan for being Shane's partner as opposed to his work partner.
Snowed In (Minus the Snow) by FireflyAndTheStoryJar | T, 2k | Ryan’s mother would often ask why Shane would leave early on Christmas Eve, but with some half-truths, she was usually polite enough not to push for more. This Christmas, though, she was determined to keep Shane there until Christmas Day. Ryan realized that as soon as Shane couldn’t find his coat and shoes by the door hook and shoe shelf.
Modern Rustic by beethechange | E, 21k | Ryan’s thinking about Beauty and the Beast. He’s thinking about the wi-fi network, “Be Our Guest,” and about talking teapots and grumpy clocks and matchmaking candelabras. That’s how this cabin feels: not haunted, enchanted.
made of glass the way you see through me by uneventfulhouses | E, 19k | Now he’s hearing things. We should probably start thinking about how to save this trip, maybe Ryan— “Are you talking to me?” Ryan asks again. “No,” Shane says, more adamantly. “What’s wrong with you?”
raspberry-tender and mint-leaf sweet by abovetheruins | T, 5k | Jen looks like Christmas has come early. "I know you so well, Madej. Picked out the perfect gift and everything." "You know, I don't think Ryan would appreciate you talking about him like he's an object," Shane says, a flippancy in his tone that's more for show than anything else.
you shine like silver in the sunlight by Anonymous | G, 2k | Ryan laughs, even though that wasn’t funny at all. Shane can tell that he’s a little tipsy already, because he’s more giggly than usual, and he’s just—he’s absolutely endearing when he’s like this. He hates Ryan for making him feel this way—soft and completely infatuated.
may your days be merry and bright by bodhirookes | G, 19k | Ryan gets Shane for Secret Santa and has a subsequent breakdown about what to get him.
stand there like a ghost (shaking from the rain) by loudwheezes (orphan_account) | T, 3k | It's snowing in Southern California, Shane Madej is in love, and Ryan Bergara's parents don't mind.
we don't need no mistletoe by uneventfulhouses | T, 2k | It’s their second Christmas as a couple, and Shane’s just ridiculously happy that it’s working out so well with Ryan. It can be a tricky thing, integrating a partner into family, but Ryan fit so seamlessly, like he’d been there the whole time.
(Not Quite) Home for the Holidays by sequence_fairy | T, 2k | Shane’s not going home this year. He’d decided in early September that he wouldn’t be, that he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of travel and rushing through a parade of family gatherings. And he’s fine with it, he is.
87 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oh, hell yeahhh! I'm the anon who sent the ask about the modern girl trope, and I loved reading your thoughts :) But I had different ideas involving the reader! One idea I had was keeping her human but immortal....through some alternate universal logic I can come up with LOL. But trust, I'd want her humanity intact because there'd be a lot more dynamics between the old elven world and a modern human being. Another was a specific idea where I'd start my story. I was thinking of maybe at the very beginning of the story when Melian and Thingol first met in the forest (can't remember the details because it's been a hot min since I read the book)??? I was thinking that the reader wakes up in that forest after being isekaid into SILM. but they first think it's all a dream until, well yeah, the realization sets in like a big "WTF" moment. Is she tweaking hard right now or are there two gigantic (I'm assuming there'd be an insane height difference as the reader is a human) beings who look otherworldly gawking at her like she's completely alien???
The hardest part right now is tackling the multiple characters and the entirety of Tolkien's legendarium...it's a difficult goal to implement when you want to consider staying somewhat canonical and within ME logic. How would specific characters react to the reader? How would their relationship progress as the story goes on? How do I even give justice to a character; am I portraying them right? How will the readers existence affect the plot and the events--because that's a big part of SILM. You know...the wars and stuff.
Speaking of which, with the readers modern perspective and outlook on life, I think it'd make up for a pretty funny journey for not just the reader, but for everyone else involved. I can just imagine the reader trying to get used to the culture shock, as daunting as it is, and learn to accept the change of scenery. But sometimes she'd be faced with trials and tribulations, it's hard to keep calm sometimes. I can just imagine if there is ever a certain point where if the reader meets an unhinged character like Faenor, she'll definitely butt heads with them. Perhaps her personal moral and ethical compass is seen as........foreign. It would get heated, I'm sure, with all the "outdated" politics and standards within SILM. that the reader will be in for a ride!
BTW, do you think adding romance would do? I think about adding some romantic relationships between the reader and some characters, but I'm not sure how I'd pull it off...hmm...who'd even be a good candidate LOL??
Also, I wanted to come up with a reader who's probably an overworked desk worker, so her attitude at first would be: "I don't care, I'm not getting paid to fix anyone's problems," while simultaneously trying to make it alive for the next day.
Sorry I took so long, I've been busy running around the place 😖. But I'm liking these ideas 😯😯. They're intriguing!!
Given that you want to stay on par with the canon of the story, you can have moments where reader makes suggestions, however as mentioned, due to their morals and ethics being outdated and modernised compared to traditional ways, the character can have a moment of awareness but eventually return to their original plan. This only makes reader's relationship strained with the character.
You can also contribute to some of the discarded drafts Tolkien wrote for characters or fill in the plot holes for unspoken events by the loremasters. Like certain events that took place was believed to occur a particular way, however, you being there and having witnessed it can attest and say otherwise. Then observing that eavesdropping and miscommunication led to feuds between the groups of elves and so forth. Maybe have a moment where you break the truth to one of the main characters (preferably for an event that doesn't pertain to them, but showing how themes of hate and spite can lead to unnecessary consequences).
As for adding romance, that's solely your decision, but I can provide options to choose from if you're stuck in a dilemma.
You can have reader and character's relationship purely romantic.
A flirtatious relationship where both are aware of their feelings, unfortunately due to their future ahead, they wish for nothing intensely romantic. Sorta like a fling.
Mutual pinning which makes this more tragic.
Unrequited love
Purely friendship because there isn't anything wrong with being friends. Friendship tend to have some of the most heartbreaking emotions and moments.
Picking a character is something you could spin the wheel and select. because at the end of the day, they'll all be dead 🙈. The office worker vibes you want to include would bring so much humour, I'm here for it. Insert the, "don't speak to me until my shift begins" or the, "I'm here to work, not solve your problems unless you pay me overtime". 🤲
There's lots of themes being included, history, traditions, personalities and perspectives, differences, and the original silm lore to remember. The real question is, how in depth are you going with the lore and plot since the 1st Age had multiple events and you wish to begin from Melian meeting Thingol?
Like are you planning on skipping through big chunks of the years and focusing around the important events and the years before, during and after? I think this would save you the stress of focusing on every detail and you still get to mention history in the chapters.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Don’t Tell Me,You Didn’t Know: Eddie Vedder
Eddie Vedder Masterlist
word count: 1k
description: Just your basic friends to lovers situation. You and Eddie both like each other more than friends but then there’s a miscommunication that almost ruins things between you.
Venus sighed as she took a sip of her drink, not even sure why she was here at this party as she watched Eddie and some girl flirt with each other. She had been in love with Eddie since they met and had somewhat thought that he might like her back until of late he had been talking to more girls and going out on dates more and it was killing her.
"Hey what are you doing over here by yourself?" Chris asked standing in front of her.
Chris was both her and Eddie's friend, who had introduced the two when Eddie moved to Seattle and he knew how much the two idiots liked each other and wish that one of them would just confess so he could stop hearing about how much the other is in love with the other.
"Planning my escape." She said making him laugh until he realized that she wasn't laughing.
"Oh because of what's happening over there?" Chris asked tilting his head towards where Eddie and his newest girl were.
"Yeah, something like that." She said quietly as she took the last swing of her drink.
"Come on I'll take you home." Chris offered wrapping an arm around her knowing how heartbroken she must be right now.
The two of them made their way out of the party and out to Chris's car where he dropped her off first and then drove a few houses down to where he lived. Venus let out a sigh as she entered her house and kicked off her shoes before heading upstairs to get some sleep.
The next morning Venus shut her alarm off and got ready for her shift at the record store where she prayed that Eddie wasn't today. She had just finished putting her boots on when she heard a honk letting her know that he was here, so she grabbed her bag and made her way outside to his car.
"Morning loser." She said climbing into his car.
"Morning ugly." He said making her laugh as they drove to the record store.
Venus was in her office working on the flyers for the store's newest release when she heard a knock on her door made her look up and see Eddie the very man she had hoped to avoid today.
"Hey sweetheart, missed you at the party last night." He said making Venus heartbreak, did he really not see her at all?
"I was there for three hours, which you've known had but you were busy with other things, if you don't believe me ask Chris or stone because they all came up and talked to me while I was there." She said bitterly.
"You were?" He asked shocked because he didn't see her at all.
"Yeah but like I said you were busy and that's fine. So if you don't need anything, I need to get back to work." She said getting irritated with Eddie.
"Are we okay sweetheart?" He asked as she sighed feeling her true emotions threatening to spill out but thank god Chris came to save the day and got Eddie back to work.
After that day, Venus purposefully changed her schedule so that her and Eddie wouldn't work together, and she kinda stopped hanging out with the guys but as soon as they found out they would come to hang out with her without Eddie. Meanwhile, Eddie was missing her a lot and he couldn't figure out why she was pulling away from him, so he went to Chris knowing he had to know what was going on with their friend.
"You seriously have no idea?" Chris asked him confused as Eddie shook his head no.
"Dude you went from being in love with her and flirting with her 24/7 to going out and bringing new girls back and ignoring her. She's hurt because I had put in a good word that you actually liked her like that and then you go and do that." Chris said as Eddie's eyes widen.
"She likes me back?" Eddie asked shocked.
"Yeah, didn't you know? Come on you had to know she gets all smiley and heart eyes when she's with you and I've had to hear about you and how wonderful you are and how you might or might not love her. Seriously dude I can't believe you didn't know. " Chris said making Eddie smile thinking that Venus actually said those things and that you liked him back this whole time.
"The whole reason I started dating and bringing other girls around, is because I didn't think she liked me back in that way. Oh god I've screwed up so bad." Eddie said groaning into his hands.
"No you haven't. Look let's run to the store and grab her some flowers and I'll drop you off at her house and you can talk to her and be honest with her about everything." Chris said squeezing his friends shoulder sympathetically.
The two of them climbed into Chris's car and drove to the florist which earned them some looks but the florist came over and helped Eddie make the most beautiful arrangement to convey how he felt about Venus.
"Alright now, just go in there and be honest with her. You got this bro!" Chris said hyping his friend up.
Venus groaned as she heard someone knock on the door for the second time. She set her paintbrush down and paused her music before walking down the hall to answer the door, shocked to see Eddie on the other side with flowers.
"Hi Ed's." She said.
"Hi sweetheart, I got these for you. I was hoping we could talk about what's been going with us." He said nervously as Venus looked over his shoulder and Chris encouraging her to say yes.
"Uh thanks and sure thing. Come in." She said stepping aside so he could walk in as she waved Chris off.
"So what did you want to talk about Eddie?" She asked taking a seat in the couch next to him.
"Us. Sweetheart I need to be honest with you, I've been in love with you since Chris introduced us but didn't know how to tell you without scaring you off even when you were apparently flirting with me according to Chris which is why I started being the girls around hoping to get my mind off of you but it never worked. Sweets I'm in love with you." Eddie said as Venus hear swelled at his confession.
"You are? Your not just saying that because Chris told you how I felt about you?" She said nervously.
"I'm not, you sweetheart have been haunting my mind for the past six months and I hope that I haven't ruined my chance with you." He said squeezing her hand.
"You haven't Ed's. I really like you too and would very much like to see where this goes." She said to him.
"I like that too sweetheart, can I kiss you?" He asked as she nodded her head and soon felt his lips on hers.
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
I just had another conversation with E.
I don't quiet understand how we started talking about it either.
But now I'm stuck in my head with so many thoughts. I can't sleep. I need to relive them and push them back.
I have so many emotions to sort through.
I guess I should start with clarifying something.
I'm trying to help M.
He looks... so on edge. I'm worried about him, but after consulting with E I figured I would acquiesce in his request.
He wants comfort. He wants to be needed.
I can give him that. Well, more like I can give him the illusion of that. Faking it has always been my thing after all.
I just don't think he's able to separate reality from illusion.
Case in point, the events of today.
He almost kissed along my neck. Honestly, it made me sick. I have love for him, I do, but I could never.
I know I said never with you, but honestly this is a different kind of never.
I can not fathom the idea of him with me in any capacity. I've never had that inclination towards him whatsoever.
Plus I still dream of you. So really, everyone is fucking off the table.
Sometimes when he's holding me, I just pretend it's you. It makes the action more genuine and easier for me. I sink into the illusion of you he can provide in exchange for my comfort. It's almost a win-win in a twisted way.
So I'm back to doing this shit.
Which I was telling E about.
And somehow within my recounting my day it switched to us and our relationship and struggles throughout the years.
All the mistakes, miscommunication, and struggles. All relived.
It prompted the question of why we didn't try to make it work.
And I finally had to tell him. Partially and not fully outright, but I think he got it.
I didn't like it.
I never want to make him feel anything less than and yet I feel like that's what I constantly do. Even with you I had this same issue.
But I explained our reconnection.
And now I'm just there. Reliving it.
I needed you to get me out. I needed you to pull me out of the water again. I was drowning on land and you did what you've always done. After he broke me, it was like my dad took free reign on my meekness to hash it out on me about the business and the family.
I couldn't do it anymore.
So I called you, but in calling you I had my answer.
I didn't realize it at the time, but the reason it never worked out with anyone else was because it was always you. You were who I always reached for when I needed it. The answer was always you.
I didn't trust anyone like I did you. I didn't count on anyone like I did you.
The reason no one else worked was because they weren't you.
You'd gotten inside me on a deeper, unconscious level.
You've always been my rock. You're the person I could count on no matter what was going on. We could have gone years without speaking and sometimes we did but if I called you... it didn't matter. You'd come to me. Always. And I knew that deep in my core, in my very soul. I knew you were always with me no matter what. You'd proven that to me over and over again like no one else had. There was no doubt and no hesitation.
And you did. I called you and all I had to do was say your name and within hours you got me.
You didn't say anything until I was in your arms. Just one word and you dropped everything and came to get me. No explanations except asking me where I was and you showed up two hours later.
Nothing mattered. Absolutely nothing.
And when I told you everything.... you took care of all of it.
I never had a doubt that you wouldn't.
That's why it could never be anyone else. It didn't matter how much I tried to fight it and go against it. It didn't matter that I tried to have anyone else.
I knew it was you in that moment. I knew that it'd always been you. I wanted things from others that you were already and had always given. I expected shit from people as if they were you. As if they could possibly replicate you.
The idea was so ridiculous, I can't believe I entertained it for so long. There could never be someone else. Sometimes i think you knew all along that I'd come back to you. I'm not sure if that's why you were so confident in letting me go for long stretches of time, but if you did do it knowingly I wouldn't be surprised.
It's not Es fault. I don't think it's anyone's. It was just timing, the circumstances. You'd been working on us from day one. From whatever moment you decided I was it, was the moment you spent investing into us.
I have never for a single second of my life ever doubted my importance in your life. Never. You put in the work to make sure I knew my place in your life. There was never any doubt or second guessing, you made sure of that. It didn't matter if you were dating a model or investors daughter. It didn't matter if you out dining gorgeous or smart women. You set up a foundation so strong that I knew, because I knew it down to my bones, that I'd never be second to them.
They could be anything more than me. More beautiful, smarter, funny - it didn't matter. I knew I was above them where it mattered.
That's why nothing ever worked long term. Not for you, and certainly not for me. After the honeymoon was over I'd analyze and compare and at the end of the day no one was you.
And I'd lose interest.
And that's how I'd string along one, two, three and beyond until they ultimately fell short.
I remember our conversation right before we took a new step in our relationship.
You were unforgiving and so assured of us that I couldn't even fight it anymore.
There was only one hesitation you had and that was E. That was the only thing left, but I remember the look on your face when I'd confirmed what we both knew.
That I'd gone to you. I chose to go to you without a second thought.
And then you fixed me. And for once, I let you entirely.
You gave me everything back and then some. You got me back to life. You polished and worked and no one has ever given me the level of confidence you have. I hadn't ever been so at peace before.
You focused solely on me, completely unrestrained.
You worked me until I was back to a semblance of myself. I was a mesh of new and old. With you behind me, I walked with my eyes closed. I don't close my eyes with anyone because I try to be that level of comfort for them. You were the only one I could walk with blind, because I trusted you had me.
And when I finally allowed myself to fully fall into you...
I can't imagine anyone else now.
There is no one else.
That's why it wouldn't have worked in the long run.
I don't deserve the love E has for me. I don't deserve it. I never will.
I'll never be able to reciprocate it in the same way.
Because that's something I gave only to you.
In the moments when I've needed someone the most, even to just talk about triumphs, you'd always been the first person that came to mind. You're still my first and last thought of the day.
I don't think I'll ever be able to love someone like this again. It all went to you and you took it with you to your grave.
It's so sad. Everything is so sad about all of this. You, me, E, M and even A. Even her dumbass.
Even if we'd done our best, I don't think it would have worked.
Because there is and will never be anyone but you.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
tumbik
Tumbik
internsona
Untitled
anaccountname
Hand On Your Shoulder
theboringlady88
Bored Thoughts
