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hugshughes · 4 months

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Rose Bowl, Baby! J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - JJ wins it all, and he has his girl right with him the whole time.

wc - 2k!

contains - THIS IS SOOOOOO CUTE AWWW, cursing, stressed!reader (ME TOO AS FUCK), fluff, kissinnnnnnn, hugginnnnn, cute shit, FUCK THE TIDE :D, um that's it! oh established relationship!

an - unedited lol sorry i just wrote this in like two hours! 😭JJ😭BABY😭WON😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I WAS SHOUTING AND SCREAMING AND I DANCED. especially because my mother, brother, and sister were all pulling for Bama to make me mad. LAUGHED IN THEIR FACES LMAOOOOO. i was on facetime with my man for like half the game since i am a umich student... WAIT DO U GUYS KNOW THAT....? i dont think ive told u guys that... SURPRISE!!!!!! anyway no one reads these anyway so. ENJOYYYYYYYYYYY :)))))))!

One minute and thirty eight seconds. One minute and thirty eight seconds, that's how long JJ and the Wolverine's offense had to score a touchdown. 2nd & Goal, four yards to go. You held JJ's mom's hand as you took deep breaths, desperately trying to calm down. JJ could do this, you knew it. You stared him down as he stood infront of Coach Harbaugh, Alabama had called the last time out of the game.

Michigan needed this score to take the game to overtime. JJ knew, you knew, everyone did. Once JJ clapped in the middle of the huddle, the offense started dispersing back into their spots on the field. Jay's eyes met yours, they had multiple times all night. He knew exactly where you sat, he'd made you text him your seat numbers before the game. You let go of his mom's hand and gestured your hands over your ears, headphones, you always told him. Just pretend it's just you and your guys. Block out everything else. He nodded at you, cracking a little smile before taking a deep breath and running out to the field, putting his helmet back on. His mom melted over the interaction, leaving you blushing.

You crossed your fingers and said a prayer, you'd prayed more than once tonight, you'd been praying about this games for weeks. You held his mom's hand in one of yours, and gripped your 'J' necklace in your other, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The play clock was running low, JJ clapped his hands, beckoning for the ball. It went straight to his hands, he looked around for maybe a second before passing precisely to Roman. He caught it, he had an open lane, he's in the end zone! Holy shit, he's in the end zone!

You jumped, screaming JJ's name, turning to hug his parents. You jumped up and down, a grin wide on your face as you cheered for your boy. His mom wrapped an arm around you as you watched him tearily.

The next Michigan drive was messy, and had you scared, but when the time ran out, you were jumping up and down, shouting and cheering, hugging everyone around.

"Our boy did it!"

You nodded, laughing as you wiped tears from your eyes. The game wasn't over, you knew that. JJ's eyes found yours again, he shook his head in disbelief with a grin, gesturing headphones to you. You nodded, fanning your face from the tears, but smiling so wide it didn't matter.

You sighed happily when you watched Alabama defer their OT possession, that's what JJ wanted, if the game went to overtime, he wanted to go first, it would put more pressure on The Crimson Tide to go second in the long run.

You held your necklace close to your mouth as you closed your eyes, letting out deep breaths. JJ had this, you knew it.

The offensive and defensive lines faced each other at the Alabama 25. JJ clapped, the ball was sent straight to his hands, he quickly handed the ball off the Blake, who scurried around the defenders, landing at the Alabama 17. 'Thank God for Blake Corum' you whispered to yourself.

You saw JJ hiding a smile behind his mouth guard, and you knew this was it. Jay claps, and the ball is snapped straight to him, the ball goes straight to Blake, who has a completely open lane.

"Go Blake, go!"

You screamed out, feeling Megan's hand grip yours. You held your intertwined hands up, watching Blake run. He was in the end zone, yes!

"Yes! JJ, yes!"

You screamed, jumping up and down you as watched your boy cheer. He did it! Thank God! You hugged everyone again, cheering some more when the kick went through the posts. The game still wasn't over, the defense still had to come out and play this game. You knew JJ wouldn't be able to assist his team anymore on the field, but you also knew he was now gonna be the biggest hype man for his defensive teammates.

You bit on your dark blue acrylic nails as you watched Alabama line up at the Michigan 25. You winced as the game went from 3rd & goal at the Michigan 14 to 4th & goal at the Michigan 3. One more play, make or break.

You saw Jalen Milroe clap for the ball, and run straight into the O-line of Michigan. Nothing! He got nothing! Oh my God, Michigan won! You watched JJ sprint onto the field as you screamed, jumping up and down for the third time. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you shouted, hugging Michigan fans you didn't know. Your smile couldn't have been punched off of your face.

The blue and maize confetti flew, you watched tearily as the Michigan guys flooded the field. You watched JJ grab his rose, talking to a reporter. His bright smile and gorgeous face was spread on every screen in the stadium. Your boy had done it, finally. You watched as your sweet boy accepted the Rose Bowl trophy with Blake, his smile never leaving his face.

You ran down the few rows to the bottom row of the bleachers, standing with other Michigan player families as the boys were dispersing back to the sideline, finding their loved ones. JJ, being the star quarterback he was, took a while longer to get over to you guys, but it didn't matter to you.

You two locked eyes, matching smiles on your faces as he ran over to your group. You let him talk to his parents and sisters first, before he moved over to you.

"Come'ere baby!"

You grinned as you leaned down over the barrier, JJ's hands grabbing at your waist to safely pull you closer, kissing you passionately. Your hands cupped his face, as you both smiled into the kiss. You pulled away, whispering to him with a big smile.

"You did it lovey!"

He nodded, his bright smile lighting up your heart.

"Can you just jump the barrier instead of going back through the halls?"

"S'that allowed?"

He looked around, quickly asking an employee of the stadium standing down against the barrier. The employee looked at JJ with wide eyes, nodding at the quarterback, though he probably didn't exactly have the position to answer him.

"See? You're fine, c'mon angel!"

You looked around, seeing one of the guy's little brother being passed over the barrier, then to Megan who shrugged with a smile, nodding for you to go ahead. You slide your phone in the pocket of your jeans, sitting on the barrier before turning around towards JJ, who held his hands on your waist.

"Can't believe I'm doin' this."

JJ laughed, pulling you down as you slightly jumped off the wall, down into his arms on the field. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so proud of you, Jay. You are so talented, baby."

He pulled away from you, cupping your face with his hands, touching his forehead to yours.

"Just had to remember my headphones, like always."

You nodded, laughing and kissing him again, JJ leaned back, your feet leaving the ground for a few seconds as he kissed you. You both pulled away giggling. You got a random burst of energy, electricity pulsing through your veins.

"Ah! Oh my God, you won!"

You pulled away from JJ, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down. His smile widened, he was so, absolutely in love with you, but watching you support him so wholeheartedly, made his heart squeeze extra with love.

"Yeah! I got the Rose Bowl, baby!"

JJ's family came through the tunnel, having chose the safer route to get to the field. He hugged his family, talking with them and taking pictures. You took a few of them on your phone, smiling sadly at how cute they were.

"Angel! Come take a picture with me!"

You smiled, nodding as you went over to your smiley boyfriend. He took his winner's hat off and plopped it onto your head, it was sweaty, but you didn't care. You did one picture standing next to each other, his arm around your hips as you both smiled brightly. Then there was one where JJ kissed your cheek out of nowhere, then another taken the moment after where you both laughed as you wiped the eyeblack he spread to you off of your cheek.

They were adorable, objectively. Your group was soon exiting down the tunnel, bidding JJ goodbye with a quick kiss as he walked back towards the locker room.

Once you were all reunited with JJ he told you all he wanted to go back to the hotel and get food delivered to the hotel. That was your boy, even after the big win all he wanted to do was go back to his bed.

You got back to the hotel after a long car ride through Rose Bowl traffic, and quickly went up to your room. You and JJ were sharing, though he was technically supposed to be in his football assigned hotel room, he was crashing in yours. His parents knew, you two were trusted, and old enough to make your own decisions.

You showered as Jay laid in your bed, watching the Texas and Washington game. You came out of the bathroom in your pajamas, quickly crawling into bed next to JJ. He pulled you inbetween his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle. You were both tired, him more than you. You noticed the plastic bag sitting on the nightstand.

"What'd you get us to eat?"

You kissed him when he told you he got chicken tenders. You both watched the Sugar Bowl as you ate your dinner. You both got up to throw away your trash and brush your teeth before turning off all the lights and getting right back in bed. JJ watched the game as you laid on his chest, scrolling through your phone, showing him TikToks and Instagram posts of videos taken of you two from the game every little bit. You two were going viral among the teenage girls and fan pages.

When the game finished JJ turned off the TV, and you put your phone away as you two shifted so that JJ was laying with his head on your chest. You played with his sandy hair as you talked.

"I still can't believe all of it, it's just crazy."

"Well I can believe it, I knew you could do it. You know I was scared when we were getting close to the end of regulation, but then I saw you smile right before your last play of the regulation TD run, you know right before Roman got the touchdown, and I just knew it."

JJ looked up at you in the dark, he had hearts in his eyes. You were everything to him, just completely everything.

"I love you so much."

"I love you, baby. 'M so proud of you."

#jj mccarthy #university of michigan #rose bowl #umich football #college football #jj mccarthy x reader #jj mccarthy fic #jj mccarthy blurb #umich x reader #umich #umich smut #umich blurbs #umich fic #umich imagine #umich hockey #umich boys #umich wolverines #umich lb #michigan wolverines

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tia-222 · 6 months

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I want to enter the void within this week. I have been trying and affirming right before I go to sleep and I can feel my body falling asleep or kind of vibrate like it's going numb but I never get in. Any advice or methods I can try out that might help?

Hiii my love, also it's been awhile since I answered a void/ Loa ask. I missed yall tho. Yess, I do have a method that you might wanna try and I think everyone should too. I'll share the method below with the links and stuff ♡

✩ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐃 ✩

( This is a void state method and can also be used as a shifting method, but only use it for shifting post-void state as the whole point of this IS to get you into void state >:) if you use this for shifting it will be an awake method, but you can turn it into an asleep method if you prefer after you enter void ) Credits to Eros !!

This method has worked for me everytime I've tried it and usually takes about 5 minutes to enter the void. i have had minishifts while using this btw and my most powerful and intense minishift was actually when i first made this method.

For this method you need to be relaxed, i usually do this when tired but it works best when you're not drowsy, i dont recommended being tired to the point you’re about to fall asleep but moreso in a state where you think youll be up for about an hour more before you go to bed :smile: i HIGHLY recommend it is night time.

✧ Get in a quiet and DARK environment and turn on some theta waves, i HIGHLY recommended theta and/ or epsilon waves or binural beats. Make sure it is dark and nothing is bothering you. I'm ngl to you guys the ones i find most helpful are these here, ive literally had the most shifts with these than with any other sub/waves I've ever used, and I've also had the most powerful experiences with them.

✧ Lay in starfish, ik ik but this is very important for this method on its own, you won't have to fall asleep for this at all so dw about that. i recommend lying on your side for like 20 minutes beforehand so you’re uncomfortable on your side and lying on your back feels nice and welcoming. you dont have to be directly in starfish but make sure you're on your back and your limbs aren't touching.

✧ Relax your whole body, go from your head to your toes, release your forehead muscles, unsquint your eyes make sure they're relaxed, release tension in your shoulders, then your left arm then you're right and make your way down your whole body. Relax it fully and make sure there is no tension in your body.

✧ Now imagine your seven main chakras, see them in your minds eye and focus on seeing balls of white energy where they are. then start feeling the energy within your body. start from the root and count upwards to your crown chakra 6 times, feel the energy there and see the light get brighter and stronger. feel your eyes move beneath your eyelids as you go upwards (do not force this movement or try to move your eyes forcefully, it should happen naturally as you imagine focusing on different spots of your body). take your time with this and please dont rush it, you are supposed to FEEL. Here is a picture if you dont know the main chakra points.

✧ Now for the seventh time imagine the energy orbs connecting to one another, as you move up your body imagine the white light connecting from your root to your crown and creating a straight line of energy connecting your head to your toes, the second it all connects hold the image and focus on your third eye and the energy it holds, then release. the second you do this you should feel a sensation in your body and possibly see lights, you are in void state.

✧ From here affirm things such as “i am more than my physical body, i am not attached to a physical body, i am pure consciousness, i am in the void state” if you feel it necessary.

#void state #ask answered #law of assumption #void state tips #anon ask #the void state #manifestion #void thoughts #neville goddard #void state success story #void concept #loas tumblr #loassblog #chakras #spirituality #Shifting #void state methods

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ginnsbaker · 17 days

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime.

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way.

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived.

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy.

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.”

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains.

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers.

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating.

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break.

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner.

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column.

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh’s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding.

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing.

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this.

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor.

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking.

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention.

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation.

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair.

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.”

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time.

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask.

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance.

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled.

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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ofsappho · 10 months

Text

Summertime Sadness (part 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon

Today: the first time Ghost meets you

Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.

TEN YEARS AGO

Reader POV

It’s intake day.

Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.

You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?

On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.

It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.

You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.

You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?

It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.

But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.

The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.

You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.

(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)

Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.

At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.

And then you see him get off the bus last.

He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.

There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.

His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.

You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.

You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.

TODAY

Ghost POV

Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.

There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.

He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.

As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.

You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.

Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.

“What do you want?”

You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.

He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.

Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.

He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.

“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.

If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.

He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.

You roll your bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.

Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.

The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?

You sigh. “Simon-“

“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.

Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”

“But you called me here.”

That provokes a reaction.

Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.

You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.

He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”

So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.

“Oh.”

You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”

Right.

That’s it.

Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.

His work phone vibrates a few times.

Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.

Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”

‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.

He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.

It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner

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theeslutintheroom · 6 months

Text

Sex Addict

theodore nott x reader

warnings: female reader, possessive theo, dom theo, obedience, talks of smut, dominance

***

As you lay in Theo’s bed exhausted from an hour and a half of fucking you decided enough was enough.

Ever since you discovered the muggles “birth control” and let your boyfriend cum inside you? He has’t been able to stop.

Your body was bruised- marks from where his hands grabbed you- all over your thighs, hips, arms, even your neck! Hickeys were also littered across your skin mixing in with the bruises. To top it off? A burning sensation in your core where Theo thrusted inside you.

Worn out but you lifted your head to look at him, “Theo?”

“Hmm..”

“I think you are a sex addict babe…” you started. Your partner finally put his full attention on you, scoffing at your statement, “I think it started when I got the birth control- and I think we should take a break from having sex-“

“-NO!” Theo yelled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He narrows his dead eyes, “I promise baby I won’t fuck you again- all day- just please-“

You shook your head intending to stay true to what your intuition was telling you. You truly did believe this. He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you! You loved Theo with all your heart and Merlin- did you love how his dick feels inside you- but it was becoming almost repetitive.

“Just two weeks.” You reassured him, “then we can have mind blowing sex, i promise.”

****

The boys plus Pansy and yourself were sitting in the common room and you were looking for a seat. You would sit on Theo’s lap but you didn’t want to encourage his actions. Thats when Mattheo spoke up, “Why do you sit on your mans lap, Y/N?”

This made your partner do a dark chuckle as he raised his brow, “yeah? why don’t you, baby?”

I look at Theo and roll my eyes, the boys howl and do their “ooos”. They know Theo doesn’t like it when I give him attitude. Simple obedience is what he likes.

“Sit. on. my. lap.”

You are a good girl for Theo- usually. You do as your told. You obey, you listen, you sit, you stand- all for him but not today. Why not today? Because you felt completely in control! Who knew with holding sex was a power move? Who knew you liked that?

“Tell the boys why I won’t do that, Theo.” You say still standing not even worried about having a seat now.

Enzo laughed clearly enjoying this and Draco snickered and with a sneer on his face he poked at your man, “come on mate, what happened?”

Theo sat up straight, he mumbled “She thinks I’m a sex addict- Y/N won’t let me fuck her for two weeks.”

All the boys including Pansy let out the loudest of cackled Ive ever heard and hearing it? I smirked looking down at my boyfriend as if I had won a game we weren’t even playing. Pansy was the one to interrupt this exchange.

“Wait, this is important, why do you think he’s a sex addict?” Pansy exclaimed and when you raised both your brows Theo looked away embarrassed for maybe the first time in his life.

At least he knows what he has done.

“Because Its only Wednesday and Theo and I have fucked 5 or more times now.”

Pansy gasped an actual gasp, clearly taken aback. “For fucks sake, Theodore, let her have a break!”

****

Enjoying toying with your boyfriend so much, you and Pansy decided to play with him a little bit. In time for dinner about a weak into your break you came in with a short little mini school girl skirt, your buttons on your white collared shirt undone, some high rise stockings and your tie undone.

This? This was a big deal. Your first time defying your boyfriend was when you didn’t sit on his lap. But dressing like this? This would usually land you for 20 spankings and not being able to finish.

You decided you sit with Pansy across the table from him and when you and Pansy walked up all the boys went silent- looking at Theo- knowing you had crossed a line.

“Hi baby,” you toy with him. Never do you call HIM baby. You aren’t in charge. You are HIS baby. Theo shook his head angrily.

“Don’t you dare “baby” ME, you know the rules!” He shouted at you and usually this would mean that you would be submissive and start apologizing profusely, not today. You winked at him, this seemed to fuel him more, “go change. now.”

“no, I don’t think i will.”

Pansy interrupted, “she looks hot? No?”

Mattheo staring at you mumbled, “I’ll say.” Theo gave him a pointed look. Immediately understanding a line had been crossed.

Theo raised and this was where your heart sank, you knew you fucked up. He leaned over the table and slammed his fist down onto it making everyone flinch- and you the hardest. “I said, go. change. now. Or else I won’t wait for this week to be over- and when im done with you- you WILL be begging for a break.”

and that ladies, gentlemen, others, is when you got your cute little ass up and ran to your dorm to change.

Now you were regretting your little break because your panties were soaked.

tagged: @midorissi @leilaleilaleilasblog @pizzaapeteer

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott #slytherin boys #slytherin #rafecameronnslut #theeslutintheroom

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chadillacboseman · 9 months

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Pairing: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader (no actual pairing between them tho) Word Count: Idk man. Like 1.5k. Warnings: Graves being pathetic, masturbation, pillow humping, reader is in a relationship with Alejandro. Summary: The MW2 timeline is fluid, and brother, I'm hooked up to an IV. Graves is in Las Almas with 141 and Los Vaqueros, sharing space with them as the hunt for Hassan continues. There's only one thing he wants while he's there. You.

Phillip Graves isn't used to not getting what he wants.

Contractor money can buy almost anything, can sway almost anyone. Being denied isn't really in the handbook.

The first time Graves laid eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. You were bent low over a map, contemplating alongside Rudy and Alejandro.

You took his fucking breath away.

Graves and his Shadows have been with the 141 and Los Vaqueros for weeks now, searching for Hassan and the missiles with no progress. No end in sight.

He's done his yelling at Shepherd, spent countless hours on the phone begging for a way out of the contract or a base of his own in Las Almas.

"What is the problem, Graves?" Shepherd is frustrated, taking his call in between meetings and debriefs, "Can I not count on you to get this done?"

"Sir-" Graves is flustered, pacing the hallway outside the base's shop, "Their base isn't equipped-"

"Get the job done, Graves, and don't call me until you do!"

The line goes dead.

"Shepherd giving you a hard time?" you're leaning against the wall, your head cocked to the side as you observe him.

"You could say that," Graves shoves the phone back in his pocket and avoids your gaze.

Alejandro stuck Graves with you when he first arrived, tasking you with giving him a tour of the base and getting him familiar with the operations. You were radiant, effortlessly funny and undaunted by his power or his position.

The obsession is insidious, starting slowly, with Graves missing the sound of your voice or the way you smelled when you weren't around. He finds himself making excuses to be close to you, to take details that have the two of you alone.

He tries to hide it, tries so desperately to make sure no one notices the way he trails after you and stares at you with wide, pleading eyes whenever you speak.

Graves wants to have you so badly it hurts.

But he can't.

You're Alejandro's, and he makes that abundantly clear at every turn. He always keeps a protective hand on you, steals small kisses from you when he thinks no one is looking.

Oh, how Graves despises the Vaquero. He wants to see him bleed. To see him crumpled in a heap on the floor of some jail cell he'll never escape.

For now, he settles for watching from the shadows, pining like some lovesick schoolboy as he watches Alejandro enjoy what should be his.

He imagines what you must feel like, what you must taste like; he thinks of how soft your hair would be, splayed out over his pillow, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

The need burns hot in Graves' chest, pooling and dark, so strong that it scares him. He's never wanted anything so badly in his life, never felt the hopeless, burning and inescapable jealousy he feels now.

He finds himself avoiding you. Avoiding your sun-bright eyes and infectious laugh. When you approach him, he turns heel and flees like a coward.

You notice. Of course you do. You're so fucking smart. Too smart for Alejandro, that brainless lout.

Graves takes to hiding in a server room at the base, some hole in the wall full of wires and blinking lights. It's loud, hot, and stifling, but it's mercifully free of you.

Until it isn't.

"Phillip, what the hell is going on with you?"

Your voice jolts him from his work, and he nearly sends his laptop clattering to the floor.

Phillip. No one ever calls him that- just you. It sends a burning, sizzling, hot lead of high voltage straight through his chest that makes his ears flush red.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Graves nearly has to spit it through his clenched teeth. He's a shitty liar, he knows it and you know it too. It's the reason he never joins in on poker nights with the 141.

"You're avoiding me," there's resentment and accusation in your voice, but there's something else too, something that makes his heart drop. Sadness.

Graves has been avoiding you. Even being in your presence makes him feel like he's losing control. Seeing Alejandro steal little touches, hearing the way you laugh when he whispers something in Spanish. It drives him mad.

"I have work to do, princess," he tries to soften the edge in his voice, but it doesn't work- the cutesy nickname instead feels like an insult lobbed at you.

You open and close your mouth a few times, processing what he's just said to you. You look hurt and he's spiraling. He wants to jump to his feet and cup your chin, to tell you to run away with him. Run back to the States and leave this shithole behind.

"Fuck you, Graves," you turn on your heel and disappear from the doorway. The use of his last name stings- it takes everything in his power to not race after you, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.

It's your turn to avoid him now. Graves expects relief, but he doesn't get it. You're so deeply embedded in his brain that he can't seem to shake himself out of his obsession.

He wants to apologize- no, he needs to apologize to you. You're hard to find, though. Making yourself scarce in areas you know he'd be in. Maybe you won't forgive him. Maybe you'll tell him to fuck off and that will be enough to snap him out of it.

Graves finally finds you in the shop. It's late, later than you have any business being there. Alejandro went off-base hours ago.

"Hey-" his voice sounds small and threatens to crack, dropping like a dead weight in the tense air.

You don't look up from what you're working on, merely offering him an almost imperceptible nod to acknowledge his presence.

"What do you want, Graves?"

To apologize. To tell you the truth. To pin you to the wall and-

"If you haven't got anything to say to me, then please leave me alone," you sound annoyed, but there's something else to it. You don't want him to leave, but he doesn't know that.

"Look, I'm..." he trails off, the words aren't coming out. It's like they're stuck just behind his tongue. Suddenly, he's fifteen again, stuttering in front of the third new classmates he's had that year.

"I'm sorry," the apology finally falls out of his mouth, almost as one word in his hurry to say it, "For the other day."

You finally look up at him, and he feels his heart leap into his throat. In the dim light of the shop, your features are even more striking. Your eyes glimmer under the yellow incandescent bulbs, and there's a smudge of grease on your cheek.

God, how he wants to reach out and swipe his thumb across your skin.

"Phillip," there it is again. It makes his heart hammer against his rib cage, "What's going on with you?"

He could tell you the truth. Maybe a slap across the face would change his opinion of you-

"Phil?" you reach out and tap gently on his vest, rapping your fingertips against the flag badge that adorns it, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Just say it. Say it! SAY IT!

Your phone rings and Graves jumps, his confession coming to a stop just behind his teeth. He glimpses the contact name on the screen and feels his nerves be replaced with a wave of jealousy.

Alejandro.

Your conversation with him is a blur, Graves catches words here and there, "soon" "in the shop" "I'd love that".

"Phil, we'll continue this conversation tomorrow, okay?" you cock your head and try to read his expression to no avail.

"Sure," he swallows, hard, and watches as you walk away.

While the others are crammed together at the base, Graves is in private lodging, paid for on Shadow Company's dime. He tosses his bags to the floor and sheds his tactical vest, letting it drop haphazardly in a heap by the door.

The shower is calling his name, but he doesn't have the energy to do it, instead dropping onto the bed and cradling his head in his hands. There's no telling how long this assignment is going to last, how long he'll have to contend with his feelings and try not to make a fool of himself.

Graves thinks of your face, of the way you had looked up at him in the shop. You'd look so good with your lips wrapped around his cock, staring up at him with those beautiful fucking eyes of yours.

He groans, feeling the familiar tightness at his zipper, almost painful until he frees himself with a hiss.

"Fuck-" Graves grazes his fingertips over his length, pausing at the tip to swipe the pad of his thumb over the beads of precum collecting there.

He moans your name, hips bucking into the friction of his own hand, his mind conjuring up all the ways he would fuck you; all the ways he would make you his.

His hand isn't enough.

Graves rolls onto his stomach, the waistline of his jeans just low enough to expose him entirely. He grasps desperately, hands fumbling until he finds a pillow and jams it roughly between himself and the bed.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," it's not you, it's not the same, but the sensation is enough for now.

Graves grinds himself so lewdly he should be embarrassed, humping his pillow like a horny teenager, thinking of you. He moans loudly, the sound echoing in the empty room, as he ruts into the fabric like an animal.

He thinks of you. Of your scent, your smile, the way you say his name. He'd give anything to hear you cry it out while pinned beneath him, to have you come undone entirely because of him.

Graves braces his hand on the mattress, panting as he fucks into the fabric, his hips rolling in rhythmic thrusts as he chases his peak.

"So good," he's babbling now, his mind racing to envision you taking his cock, tight and fucking perfect, "m'gonna- gonna cum-"

Graves tumbles over the edge, crying out your name as he spills hot spurts of cum onto the pillow; his hips stutter out one final thrust until he's spent, panting into the mattress in the pressing quiet of his hotel room.

Graves rolls over, laying an arm over his chest as he tries to catch his breath. He stares at the ceiling, trying to imagine what it must be like to have you in an intimate moment like this, to have you soaked in sweat and curled into his embrace.

He tries to make peace with never knowing.

#phillip graves x reader #ns/fw #phillip graves #cod mw2 #holy shit did i write something???

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galamalion · 4 months

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┈ ✧.* 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary﹕you meet luffy's older brother, ace, during breakfast with your crew. and, after an unfortunate day of classes, you and nami go for a night out on the town, meeting a strange older woman.

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕3.6k

┈ ✧.* chapter iii﹕a barside discussion

“Ace!” Luffy shrieked, running across the cafeteria to tackle his older brother.

“Now’s your chance, Nami,” you whispered to the ginger.

A grin spread across her face as she turned to you, wagging a chastising finger.

“First rule of snagging a sugar daddy, my dear,” she jokingly scolded, “is making them come to you. I’ll let Luffy drag him over here, then I’ll pounce.”

“You’re one scary chick,” Zoro commented, mouth stuffed with rice.

“Is that any way to talk to a woman?!” Sanji snarled, slamming his fists down on the table.

“Thank you, Sanji,” Nami huffed, “and I prefer ‘opportunistic,’ for your information!”

You tuned out their tiny scuffle and instead began paying attention to the real fight in front of you, if you could even call it a fight.

Luffy was currently laying on the floor, having been thrown to the ground by his older brother, who was currently yelling at him, after his attempted bear hug. Maybe that’s how they showed affection in their family? The price of their medical bills during childhood might be the real terror in this situation, however.

Nami’s plan for Luffy bringing Ace over was almost correct, being that Ace was the one dragging Luffy over, having him draped over his shoulder.

“Well, well, these must be your friends, aye Luf?” he said, shaking Luffy by his ankle and throwing him to the ground

“Yep!” Luffy yelled, easily shaking off the sudden drop. “That’s Zoro, and that’s Sanji, and that’s Us—”

“And I’m Nami!” Nami interjected, stretching her hand out to shake. “I heard you’re quite the hockey player for Grand Line! Got any sponsorships lined up? Any brand deals?”

“Huh? I mean, yeah, occasionally. I usually blow it all in a week, though, so I’m kinda skint right now,” Ace said sheepishly.

Immediately Nami’s shoulders drooped as her expression fell flat, sinking back into her seat.

“So much for that,” she muttered, resting her chin on her hand, a scowl on her face.

You saw Vivi gingerly patting her back in an attempt to console her, though you weren’t sure she really understood why Nami was upset.

“And who’s this cutie?” Ace asked, clearly with flirtatious intentions in mind.

Interested in what might transpire, you looked up, only to see him looking straight at you.

“Oh, uh, I’m ____,” you stammered, trying to maintain eye contact.

“Ace,” he smirked, “though you probably already knew that.”

“Yeah, Luffy mentioned you in conversation already.”

“He mentioned me, huh? How much do ya know?” he questioned, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Just that you play hockey here and your major, I think,” you answered honestly, trying to recollect your prior conversations with Luffy.

“Sweet! I can still be the mysterious bad boy,” he celebrated aloud before turning back to you. “Well, ya got any interest in hockey? Thinkin’ about watching me play?”

“I don’t know much about hockey…” you admitted, hoping it wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

Ace let out a barking laugh at that, surprising those at the table.

“All the more reason to come!” he said, grabbing a pen from his bag and scratching something down on a napkin.

“Here,” he offered the napkin to you, “if you have any questions, feel free to text me. Our next game is a week from now. I hope to see you then!”

“Hey!” Luffy pouted, poking Ace’s shoulder. “____ was my friend first!”

“Sorry, Luf!” Ace ruffled his younger brother’s hair. “Ya gotta call dibs on that kind of stuff, ya know?”

Luffy just gave him a puzzled look in response, clearly not gaining the meaning of Ace’s words.

“It was nice meeting you all,” Ace smiled, “you guys are all more than welcome to come to my game, but I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for you,” he said, giving you a wink.

“And now I’m off! See ya, Luf!”

Ace shoved a wet finger into Luffy’s ear, earning a shriek from his little brother as he sprinted away from your table, burning rubber with each step.

A moment of silence washed over your table, except for Luffy who was still upset over being wet-willied. Vivi was the first to break it, raising her hand as if to ask a question.

“Are all siblings like this?” she asked, genuine befuddlement crossing her face.

“Nope,” a unanimous decision by the group, it seemed.

Luffy climbed back up to the table, slouching in his spot and looking right up at you.

“Don’t be friends with him, ____!” Luffy demanded. “He doesn’t brush his teeth!”

“Is that the best insult you could come up with?” Usopp questioned.

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re worried about, Luffy,” you reassured, “the smooth words from a jock won’t win me over that easily.”

Luffy seemed to feel a bit better after your words, a smile slowly rising from his prior frown.

Ace’s words might have enchanted any poor college student looking for a whirlwind romance, but you were aware this wasn’t a chick flick. Although he did seem nice, and you didn’t doubt that his offer was somewhat genuine, you knew he probably just wanted to get in your pants. But you had tests to study for and labs to complete, you couldn’t be bothered with that part of college. At least not yet.

“We should probably get going,” Sanji sighed, standing up from his seat, “we all have classes, right?”

Nami groaned, “Don’t remind me, I already wanna go back to bed.”

“Shit, you’re right, Sanji,” you jumped out of your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder, “mine starts in ten minutes…”

“Get your ass going, then,” Zoro mumbled, grabbing his bowl of rice.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys later, wish me luck!”

“Bye, ____!” Luffy waved excitedly.

You waved back at all of them, sprinting out to the building in which your next class was held. It was your chemistry lab, a rather dreaded topic. You weren’t sure what struck more fear into your heart, the fact it was for chemistry or that fact that it was a lab. Either way, you weren’t looking forward to this class.

It only took five minutes for you to arrive, giving you some time to look around at the lab. It wasn’t remarkable, definitely a step up from high school ‘labs,’ but no award winning experiments would be taking place here. Just enough for some college students to learn about chemical properties and processes.

Your classmates seemed rather unexceptional as well, but that might just be because you’ve been hanging around your strange friends so much. You’ve grown fond of that strangeness, and seeing the people around you act so normal felt dull in comparison. But that wasn’t their fault, you supposed.

There was one person that stood out to you, however. He looked older than the students here, maybe two or three years older than you? He had a leopard thing going on, with spots on his pants and weird hat. Judging by the lab coat he wore over his jacket, he definitely wasn’t a student for this class. Or maybe he was, and was just a total tryhard. But who were you to judge?

“Good morning, everyone,” the professor spoke, moving to stand directly in front of the class. “I’ll be your lab instructor for this semester. Today you’ll be calculating the density of…”

You quickly tuned your professor out, already knowing what the lab was about. Wasn’t that the purpose of the lab manual? If you read that, you’d probably be fine, right?

“You will have a lab assistant for this semester,” he gestured to Mr. Leopard Print, encouraging him to speak.

The man raised an acknowledging hand, “My name is Law, I’m a biochemistry major and junior here at Grand Line.”

Well, that explained the bags under his eyes. Would that be you in two years?

“Feel free to ask him or myself any questions while working on this lab,” he instructed.

And with that, you got to work. It wasn’t hard, you were basically just running back and forth between the scale and your station, writing down numbers and prepping for the next step.

You were, however, having a hard remembering how to read a graduated cylinder. Obviously you were reading from the meniscus, but were you rounding to one decimal place or two? You weren’t listening to the professor’s instructions, but you doubted that they mentioned it during their short lecture. Besides, it wasn’t a difficult question, or at least you didn’t think it was. Asking for help couldn’t hurt.

“Um, excuse me, Law?” you asked politely, turning to the lab assistant.

He glanced and moved towards you, giving your station a quick once-over.

“Sorry, but am I supposed to round to the first or second decimal place? I know it has the tenths place on it, but do I round to that or—”

“Two decimal places for the graduated cylinder,” he quickly responded, crouching down next to you to read your graduated cylinder. “Around 65.14 mL, I would say.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said, watching him stand back up.

Jeez, he really was tall, huh?

You marked the number down on your worksheet, continuing on with your lab. It wasn’t hard work by any means, but given a two hour time constraint you figured you could take your time. You’d rather be the last one done than have bad data, knowing how it would screw you over during calculations.

And the last person you were, rinsing off your lab equipment as the second-to-last student exited the lab, leaving you alone with your professor and lab assistant.

“I’ll have to go compile the class data, but you’re free to leave, Law.” The professor stood, grabbing his clipboard and walking into an adjacent room.

Law nodded, tugging off his lab coat and slinging his bag over his shoulder, turning to you.

“You done?” Law gruffly gestured to your station, only clean beakers resting on top.

“Yeah, I just have to put these away. If you need to leave, you can, don’t worry about me.”

In response, Law dangled a pair of keys in front of you before crossing his arms.

“Sorry, gotta lock the lab up before I go,” he grunted, cracking his neck, “maybe you’ll keep this in mind for next lab.”

You flushed, embarrassed for wasting his time, hurriedly packing away your notebook and stuffing the glassware inside the drawer.

“Sorry,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and quickly leaving the lab—and Law—behind.

Your next classes were uneventful, and even more boring than your lab. Nobody to catch your eye, only people to compare answers with. Why couldn’t Luffy or Nami switch their majors? You didn’t even have a single class with Chopper, which made sense considering his premed goals, but shouldn’t your classes have collided at least once?

After finishing up your homework, you decided to shoot a text to Nami, knowing that Vivi was probably video-chatting with her dad right now. There was no way you were going to end your night on such a boring note, especially not after being totally embarrassed at your lab. And so, your fingers tapped on Nami’s name in your phone.

| You: hey nam, u free rn? | Read 7:38 PM | Nami: yea just got done w class! ♡ | Nami: need somethin sweetie? ;)

You chuckled at her seemingly flirtatious texts, sending another one her way.

And with that you tucked your phone away and made your way downtown to Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar.

The bar itself wasn’t anything special, judging from pictures you’d seen online. It was pretty simplistic, no side-rooms or flashy decorations, just a bar in the middle and some cushioned chairs and couches on the side. This wasn’t bad by any means, in fact, it made it the ideal area for a college hangout.

After a short walk downtown you reached Sabaody Street, walking down the sidewalk to get to the bar. Sabaody Street would best be considered a tourist attraction, at least if Red Line received any tourism. It had plenty of overpriced eateries, cafés to small restaurants between each business, which were also extremely overpriced for their services. It made Shakky’s Bar seem out of place, but you hadn’t seen its prices yet, not able to find them online. You could only cross your fingers and pray—

“Hey, babe!” a voice whistled. “Come over here and I’ll show you a good time!”

You immediately stopped in your tracks, throwing a sneer at your catcaller. Behind you, parked in front of a bar, was a gang of bikers. They looked a little older than you, varying from your age to at least four years older.

“A good time?” you scoffed, gesturing at his leather getup. “I don’t need drinks from some gimp who can’t find his dommy mommy.”

His expression faltered to shock, clearly not having thought you would snap back as quick as you did.

Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, catching a glimpse of fiery red hair exiting the bar before you stomped down the street and towards Shakky’s.

“Piece of shit,” you grumbled, shoving open the door to the bar, night ruined before you could even try to salvage it.

You glanced around the bar, spotting Nami sitting up at the bar, ordering from the bartender.

“You got here quick, Nam,” you greeted with a sigh, slinking down beside her.

The ginger faced you, instantly sensing your sour mood.

“Somethin’ happen, ____?” Nami pried.

You frowned, placing your hand on your chin and looking up at the bartender, “Could I get a water, please?”

The bartender nodded, filling you up a glass before stepping away briefly to polish some glasses.

“Just met a catcaller on my way here,” you admitted, taking a sip.

Nami’s face contorted to surprise for only a second before morphing to one of pure rage, standing up from the bar stool.

“Where at?! Are they close? I’ll make sure to turn their face inside out!” she barked, clenching the edge of the bar.

You quickly placed a hand on Nami’s back, ushering her back to her seat.

“Calm down, Nami,” you coaxed, “I gave him a piece of my mind already, I’d rather not watch my friend take on a gaggle of bikers…”

Nami slumped back into her chair, taking a swig of her mimosa.

“Well, I for one think I could take them out,” she pouted.

“And I would be careful with that attitude of yours,” the bartender interrupted. “You never know who you’re picking a fight with, and with the amount of gangs stumbling around in this city, your odds of pissing off the wrong people are pretty high.”

The two of you stared at the older woman, slightly surprised by her unorthodox wisdom.

“...Are you, like, a gang member?” you whispered, earning a dirty look from Nami.

“She wouldn’t tell us if she was,” Nami chided, “and besides, I’ve been involved in gang activity already, I don’t need a speech about it.”

The bartender laughed softly, setting her glass and cloth down next to her.

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” she confessed, “but as a bartender I do know a little more than even the average grunt. Let’s just say that liquor loosens lips, yeah?”

You and Nami nodded slowly at her words.

“Name’s Shakky; I’m the owner of this here bar. Now, I know you young college kids can be impressionable, and with these gangs,” she lit up a cigarette, “only bad things can come about. Stick to your studies, and keep out of these silly squabbles.”

Nami's eyes shined, “Oh yeah? And what have you learned about these gangs, Ms. Shakky? Any rich ones?”

“Mrs. Shakky,” she corrected. “And they all make a substantial amount of money, from what I’ve been told.”

You listened to Nami and Shakky discuss the earnings of gangs, the former clearly looking for an easy cash cow. But you had your own questions.

“Are any of them affiliated with Grand Line?” you asked, fiddling with your glass.

Shakky went quiet for a second before answering, “Yes and no. I wouldn’t say one gang is solely within Grand Line University, but some members may happen to be enrolled. Whitebeard’s gang, for example, is assembled of many different individuals from all walks of life,” she took a drag of her cigarette, “whereas Mama’s gang are all from the same circle, so to speak.”

“Like, from the same neighborhood?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Shakky nodded, “but it would be more accurate to say that they’re from the same womb.”

“So they’re literally a family?”

“Literally a family.”

“Where do they attend school?” You paused. “If they attend school, I guess.”

Shakky put out her cigarette, “The more esteemed members of Mama’s gang attend the Mary Geoiose Institute, but some choose a more active life in the gang.”

“I really can’t believe you’re just a bartender,” Nami interrupted.

“We all have a past, don’t we?”

“Alright, alright,” Nami put her hands up jokingly, “we’ll take the tab now,”

“It’s on the house,” Shakky smiled, grabbing your glasses. “You gave me time to reminisce, and I consider that payment enough.”

“Sweet!” Nami cheered, grabbing her purse.

“Thanks so much, Shakky.” You passed a twenty dollar bill across the counter, only for Shakky to pass it back.

“Keep it, sweetheart, I doubt college is cheap,” she set the glasses in a sink, “just make sure to come by again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, giving her a little wave before leaving.

You and Nami exited the bar, walking back down Sabaody Street. Despite the late hour, the street was bustling, nightlife in full action. The two of you passed by the dreaded bar where the bikers once stood, except now only one knocked-over bike remained, joined by a blaring ambulance.

“Oh jeez, what happened there?” Nami asked, rubbing her shoulder in concern.

“For once in my life,” you sighed, “I don’t wanna know.”

“Well, then neither do I!” Nami announced, carefully taking your hand as you walked back to your shared dorm.

The two of you approached your dorm room, gently knocking on the door before slowly opening it.

“Vivi…?” you whispered, peeking into your shared dorm.

Laying on the bottom bunk of the bed, sprawled out in blissful sleep was Vivi. You turned to Nami and placed a finger over your lips, instructing her to be silent.

Sneaking in on your tiptoes, you and Nami quietly put on your pajamas, using the light of your phones to move around.

“Goodnight, Nami,” you mouthed, crawling into your bed.

“Night,” she smiled, giving you a tiny wave from the top of her bunk.

The moment your head hit your pillows, you went out like a light, drifting off to sleep without hesitation.

“That bitch,” the leather-wearing biker spat. “The next time I see her fuckin’ face, I’ll make sure she doesn’t say no.”

“What the hell are ya makin’ a ruckus for?” a booming voice entered.

Exiting the bar was a massive young man, flaming red hair crowning the top of his head, a pair of goggles keeping any stray hairs from escaping. Following behind him was a similarly huge man, long, fluffy blonde hair flowing behind him and reaching down to his lower back, plain t-shirt barely keeping his muscles contained.

“C-Captain Kidd!” The biker quickly stood at attention. “Y-you shoulda seen this chick, actin’ like she was hot shit! When I catch her sorry ass, I’m gonna—”

“Hot shit, huh? What’d she do, spit on your mom?” Kidd barked, approaching the man.

“W-well, no, she—”

“She turned down your ass, didn’t she?” Kidd took another step towards him. “And now here you are, cryin’ and pissin’ yourself over it.”

“I-I just—”

Without another word, Kidd swung his arm up and punched his man straight in the face, knocking him flat to the ground, unconscious.

“Let’s go, fuckers!” he shouted, swinging a leg over his bike.

“Should we call an ambulance or something, Kidd?” the blonde asked, walking over to his own neon blue bike.

“The hell? Do I look like a charity?” he snarled. “We’re gettin’ outta here. Come on, fuck faces!”

Kidd pulled down his goggles and started up his bike, rushing out of the parking lot, followed by his gang of bikers.

“Some broad thinkin’ she’s hot shit, huh?” Kidd laughed to himself, “can’t believe I missed out on the action…”

The blonde pulled up beside Kidd, “I can’t ride forever tonight, Kidd, and I know you can’t either. We have classes, remember?”

“Come on, Killer,” he rolled his eyes, “live a little, why don’t ya?”

“You’re the one paying for the classes. Why attend Grand Line if you’re not even gonna show up?”

Kidd bit his cheek and grumbled, “Fine, we can quit it,”

“Alright, motherfuckers!” Kidd roared. “Fuck off home now! Don’t let me see your asses tonight again!”

Immediately the gang dispersed, each taking their own road home. Only two members were left following Kidd, in addition to Killer.

“Glad you saw reason, Kidd,” Killer grunted.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kidd snarled, staring straight ahead at the road. “Don’t expect anything else from me. I’m not a fuckin’ charity.”

tag list: @sylum , @dimplewonie

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2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

Text

Eddie's Kissing Lesson #3: It's way more than kissing now

(Lesson 1 | Lesson 2 | AO3)

A few years ago, Eddie made a habit of driving to Indianapolis. Inevitably, he ended the trips at a club or a bar. The visits were usually solo affairs, though not always; sometimes Donnie or Zac (the only ones in Hellfire who looked old enough to get past the bouncers) or Callie (who didn't look old enough, but who could charm her way in), would tag along. If they did, they'd go to a straight club. If he was by himself, he'd roll a die between a straight or a gay one. No matter the kind, he'd be approached at least twice every night. Beautiful strangers with appreciative eyes, a drink in hand and a line ready on their lips.

Eddie would accept the drink, flirt for a second, then tell them he 'wasn't interested, but thanks anyway'.

It was half true – he was interested (fuck, was he interested), but also… not. He'd never say it out loud, but even at his horniest there was something in his way. A roadblock. Because the thing was, intimacy required, as one might suspect, intimacy. Although, one night stands walked hand in hand with alluring anonymity. Like being watched without risking being seen.

Eddie liked that, most of the time. Liked shrouding himself in a mystery. But when it came to sex, he wasn't so certain. Something instinctual told him it wouldn't be truly good unless it was real. For it to be real, walls would have to come down. Leave an unobstructed field of view for wide-open eyes. Terrifying and exhilarating; he wanted it so bad, but he couldn't (wouldn't) have it with just anyone.

It had to be special.

So, he accepted the drinks, flirted for a second, and sent the beautiful strangers on their way.

Steve writes with a rhythm. It goes tap-tap-tap-tap with the pencil on the pad while he thinks, followed by scritching, before he pauses to tap-tap-tap some more.

It's strangely endearing, not to mention relaxing. You'd expect a guy like him to be rough, leave imprints on the papers underneath and constantly break the point, but no. His large hand is soft as it writes. Eddie could fall asleep to it. A shame they're too busy to sleep.

Star Trek IV came out a week ago and the kids, Dustin especially, have been obsessed ever since. The moment they stepped out of the theater, the little twerp turned to Eddie and begged for a science fiction-themed campaign. And because he's a chump who can't say no to the kids nowadays, Eddie agreed – to a one-shot, not an entire campaign.

(Also, he's already been crafting a solar system for a potential space exploration-campaign on the down low. Why not finish and use it?)

And because Eddie Munson doesn't do half-measures in these circumstances, he spent the next week worldbuilding and polishing his new universe. At one point, as he put the finishing touches on the water planet's cuisine, Steve peeked over his shoulder and asked about sports. Eyebrow raised, Eddie said 'what about sports'. And that's when Steve snottily pointed out that Eddie had developed everything about these space cultures except for the sports, which didn't make any sense – sports was a huge part of every culture, whether Eddie liked it or not.

So! Because Eddie Munson does not do half-measures… he's currently creating extraterrestrial sports games in Steve's kitchen. Although, right now Steve's doing most of the work. After Eddie came up with the base concepts, Steve stepped in to use earth sports as inspiration for the technical aspects: rules, scoring, player positions, player numbers, playing fields, seasons (which ties in with the climate of each planet), and so on.

If he's being honest, he'll never use most of this. God knows the kids (except maybe Lucas, but he wouldn't bring it up) wouldn't notice or care about the absence of sports. But. Turn down an opportunity to hang out with Steve? Never. Also, deciding how much of real baseball should inspire their thinly veiled version of space baseball (spaceball) is kind of fun? What's a penalty and what isn't is just exciting when you throw anti-gravity into the mix.

Most importantly, it's nice seeing Steve be in his element. Dude is so fucking knowledgeable about this. Hearing him say that this will score x points because of that reason, confidence dripping from every syllable, has Eddie's tailbone tingling.

Would it be rude to swipe their notes off the island and jump onto it, offering himself like a buffet?

He knows he's allowed. Or, he knows that Steve wouldn't mind if he asked for a break, even if it was to make out. They've made a habit of sucking face when it's just them and there's nothing else to do (or when there are things to do, but they're easily ignored). Question is if he truly wants to interrupt those soothing pencil scritches and put an end to Steve's surprisingly sexy thinking face. He's got a little furrow between his eyebrows while chewing on his bottom lip, and every so often he'll mutter hoarsely under his breath. The fact that he's being so serious about doing this for the campaign, for the kids, for Eddie, is…

'Unreal' is what Eddie would've said nine months ago. Now he knows it's entirely in character. It's still noteworthy enough for him to memorize every detail of this moment. The King creating nerdy sports with the Freak is a picture that must be immortalized.

He doesn't realize how hard he's been staring until Steve looks up from their work, raising his brows in a silent 'what is it?'

Eddie shakes his head, warmth creeping over his cheeks. He pushes off the kitchen island and turns away to hide it. The sink is conveniently right there, so he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it as excuse.

Behind him, the pencil hits the pad, rolling across the paper. Steve's footsteps are deliberately loud, telegraphing his advance over the surge of running water. Eddie fills the glass, drinks it in one gulp, and puts it on the counter. When he turns, heart thudding, Steve is standing inches in front of him. Steve leans forward, bracing his hands against the counter on either side of Eddie's waist. Boxing him in, but not trapping him.

"Did you want something?" Steve asks.

Eddie crosses his arms casually and shrugs. "Not really."

"Huh. It seemed like you wanted something."

"I was admiring your dedication to the campaign. It warms even this barren heart that you'll partake in nerdestry for the sake of the children."

"Oh, okay," Steve says and doesn't move; his hands remain on the counter and his face stays inches away. His eyes shine like suns, hot and intense. Eddie meets his gaze, face schooled into something calm. At least, he hopes – years of DMing have taught him how to regulate his expressions, but there's a big difference between DnD and this.

"Did you want something?" he asks to fill the silence and – yes! – his voice didn't tremble.

Steve grins. "Now that you say it, I did."

And with that, Steve kisses him.

The initial second, Eddie's brain shuts off, as it always does. It's simply too much too fast and all he can register is Steve Steve Steve. His taste, his scent, his firmness as he presses against Eddie and backs him into the kitchen cupboards.

But only the initial second. After that, he's back on, and that means he's on. Loping his arms around Steve's neck, Eddie tilts his head at the perfect angle until their mouths fit together just so and licks the inside of Steve's mouth. His hands delve into product-stiff locks and tug the way Steve likes it. Steve moans, slumping against Eddie. Eddie giggles into the kiss. He fucking loves knowing Steve better than his own back pocket, loves coaxing these reactions out of him, loves when he melts and leans his weight on Eddie.

It could be better only if they were horizontal and on a bed, or couch, or the fucking floor, and he'd get to feel the hair on Steve's chest and legs, the jut of his hipbone, and his evenly distributed weight. He so badly wants to know how heavy Steve is. He wants to be fucking crushed underneath him.

Maybe he could if he asked. Or maybe that'd be too much. The only time they've gone past second base is during the spontaneous blowjob he still can't fathom happened. Since then, their hands and mouths have stayed strictly above the waist. Eddie, though he's dying to blow Steve, is not going to complain or rush. Steve's the teacher here; he decides the curriculum.

All Eddie can do is show off the results of his rigorous practice. Today, it's by slotting their faces together like a pro and perfectly executing that tongue-sucking move Steve seems to love having done to him as much as he loves doing it to others. It brings a guttural noise out of Steve; he grabs Eddie's ass with both hands and yanks him closer. Eddie nearly loses his balance and must cling to Steve's neck to stay upright. Laughter rumbles within Steve's chest as he steadies him and rolls their hips together. The neck of his shirt bunches in Eddie's vice-like grip. They're as close as during that first kiss, no room for Jesus' finest hair between them. Eddie feels Steve's heartbeat, which means Steve can feel his, and the combined thud-thud-thuddings have his knees shaking.

Steve's hands round Eddie's hips and tug at his belt buckle. Eddie jerks back, breaking the kiss; a string of saliva still connects their mouths. Steve's eyes are enormous, more black than hazel. There's a question in them, a plea for permission.

Eddie nods and doesn't look as Steve opens Eddie's jeans and pushes them down his thighs. His face is on fucking fire. You could fry eggs on his cheeks. Which is a little debilitating. This is never how it goes in his fantasies – he's a lot suaver in those. Quicker on the ball, so to speak. On top of things, one could even say. But not here. Because here's an unfortunate fact about sex:

It's embarrassing.

Exciting and sexy and fun, obviously. But also embarrassing. It was the same during the blowie. The moment his pants were coming off and his dick popped out, Eddie was more inclined to run away than anything else. Hopefully, the feeling will fade as he gets used to it. These hopes are supported by how at ease Steve is, going from de-pantsing Eddie to unbuttoning his own jeans like it's nothing, second nature.

Eddie couldn't look away from that if he wanted to. Why would he want to? Steve's dick is a sight to behold. It's the eighth wonder of the world. Worthy of worship, of a dozen temples and daily sacrifices. It's long and thick, smooth and symmetrical, flushed at the tip and with a bead of precome already pooling in the slit.

It's pretty. And it's hard. It's hard for Eddie.

"Hey." Steve cups Eddie's face, tilting his head up (as well as bringing to his attention that his mouth's been hanging open like a fool; Eddie's teeth clack when he shuts it). "Is this okay?"

Eddie nods, breathing harshly through his nose. "Okay. So okay."

Steve smiles like Eddie just did him a favor. Eddie could – would – analyze that a little closer, except Steve lines up their cocks so that they rest against the broad expanse of his palm, rest against each other, and-

That's another guy's hand on Eddie's dick. It's another guy's dick on his dick. Steve's. Steve Harrington's dick. Next to Eddie’s.

Hoooooooooly shit.

It's happening right in front of him, and he's still having a hard time believing it. But it's real; it has to be real. Imaginarily gifted as he might be, not even he could daydream this into existence. Like, the way Steve's fingers curve around their cocks as he squeezes and strokes? The scratchy calluses on his fingertips? The ever-present chill of the Harrington mansion? How Eddie's testes keep catching on Steve's shaft, rising and rubbing against the dry skin? Steve's softly labored breaths? The edge of the fucking countertop digging into Eddie's lower back?

That's real. Uncomfortably and amazingly real.

Steve pauses to spit in his palm; Eddie whimpers out loud. When Steve resumes stroking it's just amazing, the glide so much easier now. It lets him go faster, put his hips into it and grind their pelvises together. Eddie keeps whimpering, these shamefully squeaky little ah-ah-ahs that he tries to swallow until Steve moans, hotly against the shell of his ear, that he sounds so pretty and sexy and "fuuuuuck, Eddie, wanna hear you like this every day."

He stops holding back then. Gets even louder when Steve noses along his jaw and sucks what'll surely become a mark at the underside of it.

The saliva has rubbed off but the glide is only improving, thanks to the precome dripping everywhere. Both are leaking, but Eddie especially – he's so fucking close. He tries to say it, but his skull is full of cotton and he can't form the words.

Steve must have some sixth orgasm sense, though, because he presses his lips to the scar on Eddie's cheek and mumbles, "So good, baby, you're doing so good, so perfect, wanna hear you come, wanna see your face, looked so pretty last time, almost made me cream my pants-"

Eddie screams. Head tossing back, lungs bursting, as he slouches against the counter. Most of all he'd like to sag to the floor and nap for an hour, he's that spent. But he can't – Steve hasn't come yet, and there's no way he'll go without again.

"Steve," he says. "Whaddya wan' m' to… C'n I…?"

The syllables slur together; he takes Steve's dick in his hand while licking his lips, hoping the point comes across. He just wants to make him come. 'How' doesn’t matter, as long as he's the one doing it.

Steve, thankfully understanding, puts Eddie's other hand on his cock, molding them tightly around the shaft, and rocks back and forth. Eddie almost whines a little since… well, he honestly has never before been so keen on having a cock in his mouth. Like, Steve towering over him, holding his head in place while fucking his throat? Yes and please, Jesus Christ, amen!

But this image is also pretty good: Steve's face inches away, pink with exertion and arousal, fringe plastered to his forehead, mouth kissed raw, and him thrusting wildly into Eddie's closed fists. Eddie's gaze darts between it and the throbbing cock in his hands. It's the second he's ever touched, after his own. It's a bit like jerking himself off, except a million times better, despite the kinda awkward angle.

Steve makes a noise, reedy and desperate. Eddie's eyes snap up just in time to see the climax wash over him, his mouth dropping into a perfect 'o' and his half-closed eyelids fluttering in pleasure. Ridiculous, beautiful, intoxicating; Eddie could become addicted to it.

Sighing, Steve lumbers forward to flop his head into the crook of Eddie's neck. Eddie drapes his arms over Steve's shoulders, probably smearing body fluids on his shirt. Neither says anything – they simply hold each other and breathe.

It's been a while since Eddie last was in Indianapolis. Been even longer since he visited a club. After some time, rejecting willing strangers and going home with bluer and bluer balls, no one to blame but his own fucking hangups, got old. Why waste the gas when he could just as well be getting no dates and not laid in Hawkins instead?

Except here he is, sweat sticking his shirt to his skin, hair frizzing around his ears, come drying under his nails. Standing with his dick hanging out in Steve Harrington's kitchen, with Steve Harrington in his arms.

He's sure he could've gotten this exact experience in a gay club bathroom years ago.

"Rather unhygienic doing this in the kitchen, hmm?" Eddie says.

Steve grunts, grossed out, but shrugs a shoulder. "I'll disinfect it."

Eddie giggles, and so does Steve, rubbing circles over the scar tissue on Eddie's hips. Burrows farther into Eddie's neck and makes no indication he'll move anytime soon.

Yeah, Eddie could've had this in a club. But he couldn't have had it with Steve in a club. Couldn't have felt this swoop in his stomach, like he's at the top of a roller-coaster, anywhere but here. Couldn't have felt this special.

You're ruining me, he thinks as he pets Steve's head.

Do you know that? he wonders when Steve ducks away, griping about what a pain it is to get semen out of hair. Squinting, Eddie asks how he figures. Steve blushes and laughs and doesn't reply, eyes glittering.

Can you see it?

------------------------------

Not tagging anyone except @piratefishmama because she's the reason this exists in the first place. Also, I'm pretty sure she's even more excited about this than I am, so. Here you go, girl. I hope you enjoy this very late continuation.

#remember when I said this part would be shorter than the second? it's seven words longer #I'll just never say anything ever again if it's ok with you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic: lesson/plan #my writing

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,252

warnings: swearing, anxiety, loneliness, a smidge of angst, karen wheeler and her goons as well as mentions of the way they treat billy, hurt, comfort

a/n: hi!!! alas, behold!! i’ve been working on this very slowly for like the past week. but i think i’m pretty proud of this part. thanks for sticking around to read each of these and for encouraging me to try something new. i really hope you enjoy this part. love you bunches!! <333

before you read, listen to: angeleyes by ABBA and/or tiny dancer by elton john

————

The bedsheets are cold everywhere that your body isn’t. Each time you that you rub your feet together you feel the chilly fabric and scramble back to the warm spot you’ve created.

You flip onto your side, reaching for the phone on your nightstand. You punch in a number. A number you think you might remember for the rest of your life.

You wipe your cheek as you maneuver to your back, receiver pressed to your ear.

You stare up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of tears at your hairline from the change in position. You can’t get them to stop.

The phone’s barely rung before he picks up, and you notice that it’s one in the morning.

“Hello?” Billy’s voice sounds like he hasn’t used it in awhile.

“Hey. It’s me,” you say.

“Figured. No other dumbass would call my number at fucking dark-thirty.”

You can’t find it in you to laugh, though you feel in your chest that you would’ve if you weren’t so stuck.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, though you know he wasn’t. Not with the speed at which he answered the phone.

“No. What’s the matter?” he inquires.

You sniffle, and Billy sits straight up on the other side of the line.

“Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath, steeling yourself.

“I miss you.”

Billy has to take the phone away from his ear for a second. He runs a hand down his face and blinks. Hard.

No one has ever said that to him.

I miss you. I miss you.

Composing himself, he responds. “Oh yeah?”

“Billy.” Your tone is stern, though not quite pleading.

“You wanna know somethin’?”

“Sure.”

“I miss you more,” he tells you.

“Please don’t make this a competition, Hargrove.” Now you speak a touch more pleadingly.

Billy laughs, and it makes you smile.

You wish you could see him. See the way his eyes squint when he chuckles, or the way he tosses his head back and cackles.

“So you just miss me? That’s all?” He changes the subject.

You stop for a second. No. That’s not all.

“Yeah,” you say, though it’s not very convincing—to you or to Billy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You pause shortly before continuing. “I-I just wanted to hear your voice is all.”

Billy’s grin dissipates. Something’s wrong, and he can feel it. He goes to speak, but you beat him to it, perhaps sensing that he’d dig for more. You hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

“I’m gonna try and get some sleep, okay, Billy? Will you do the same for me, please?”

You ask because he’s told you he doesn’t sleep well a lot of time. And sometimes, when you look at him, you can see it.

The rings under his eyes. The way he holds himself.

Billy hates that you’re not telling him something. Something that’s made you call him in the middle of the night, something that he thinks has made you cry. He thinks that because he’s never heard that particular kind of sniffle before. You sound so tired.

He doesn’t want you to cry or to be upset. Billy Hargrove cares about you more than he’s ever cared about himself. He even finds that he wants to. For you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. But only if you promise you’re really going to rest.”

“I promise, Billy,” you say.

“Okay. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Billy.”

When you set the phone down, your tears have stopped, though you remain awake, staring at the wall, your thoughts enveloping you.

You really hadn’t meant for him to catch that you’re upset. You hadn’t even meant to call him. You just needed him a reminder that he was there.

Earlier, you’d been straitening up your room when you found yourself going through old boxes filled with pictures or badges or cards. And you’d found a couple of photographs with you and your old friends. Some with your small group of middle school friends, but also some with Nancy.

Suddenly you’d found yourself very overwhelmed. You felt fear wash over you like when you’re at the beach and you try and jump the waves but miss.

You’d been afraid that Billy might leave you like everyone else.

You don’t want him to leave you. You want him to stay.

————

“You know you can invite Billy over whenever you want, right?”

Your mother sits on the living room floor. She’s decided to alphabetize your VHS tape collection. You have no idea why.

You’re spread out on the couch, watching her. “Is this a trick?”

She turns to face you and smacks a hand to her chest. “What? No!”

The smirk she’s sporting says otherwise, and you give her a look that makes her relent. “I just feel like you’ve been really quiet lately. I can tell you’re anxious. And I see the way Billy helps that.”

She shakes your copy of The Sound of Music for you to see. She knows how you feel about Mr. von Trapp. You grin sweetly.

“And I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him,” she says.

“Mom.”

“Honeybee, I’m serious,” she tells you, voice soft as ever. “I can tell that you feel safe with him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know.”

You’re quiet for a minute. You wonder if Billy’s busy today. You would like to see him, though you always want to see him.

“I’m gonna go call him, okay? Maybe he could come over this afternoon and stay for dinner?”

Your mother gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up as you stand, and you watch her eye Gene Kelly for a minute too long before you head for the phone.

————

Billy doesn’t have any plans today, he tells you.

“I was thinking we could hang around for awhile and you could eat with us? My mom said she might even make cookies.”

Billy’s laugh is gravelly and sends a shiver straight down your spine. “Cookies, huh? Yeah, alright.”

“So it’s the cookies that do it for you then?” you ask, feigning offense at his agreeing only after you mentioned treats.

“Should there be something else that sweetens the deal?” He’s teasing you now.

“You tell me.”

“I was thinking maybe this girl I’m talking to would be a good addition.”

“Oh?” You twist the phone cord around your hand.

“Yeah. She’s a real pain in my ass, but I kind of like her, so I keep her around.”

“She sounds nice, I guess.” You’re so glad he can’t see you.

Billy hums. “You guess? I think she’s pretty damn sweet herself. I guess I don’t even really need the cookies. She’s more than enough for me.”

————

Billy opens the car door and grins at the sight of you—especially since you’ve decided to sit in the backseat with him, leaving the passenger seat empty.

Your mother realized that she not only had nothing to cook for dinner, but also no supplies for cookies, so she decided you could just scoop Billy up, take him along to get groceries, and then drag him back home.

Billy couldn’t really believe the gesture. But even if it was odd, this entire premise of being part of someone’s plans or being cared for, he found himself enjoying it.

Your mother turns the radio up a little, allowing a buffer for the both of you to talk to one another, that way she can’t really hear you.

Billy looks you over. He’s still worried about you after that phone call. He notices your knee bouncing and reaches over, slipping his hand over it and tucking his fingers snugly underneath it.

The bouncing ceases. You put your hand on top of his, run your fingers over the lines and creases in his skin, the engravings on his ring.

“Is it the store?” he asks tentatively. He figures going out is what’s got you a little nervous.

You look at him and nod. He lifts his other hand, dragging the pad of his thumb along the slope of your nose, which you wrinkle in response.

He smiles at you. Each and every smile that he gives you feels like it’s special. Feels like it’s meant just for you.

You grab his hand, freeing it from over your knee so that you can hold it properly. When you’re successfully doing so, he gives it a squeeze.

Your mother pulls into the parking lot and you’re looking for spots, not paying attention to Billy.

You feel him raise your clasped hands, and then you feel the warm press of his mouth. You turn to him, though he’s already looking at you. He lets his lips rest against the back of your hand for a second longer, and then he releases you down so he can unbuckle himself.

You’re practically burning on the way into the store, despite the fact that there’s a chilly wind blowing every which way that should be preventing that.

Your mother grabs a cart and then digs around in her bag for the list she made. She rips it in two and gives one half to Billy. “I’m trusting you not to let her sneak unnecessary things into the basket.”

“How do you know I’m not going to do that?” Billy counters, eyes dancing around the little scrap of paper.

“Well it’s fine if you do. I’ll make a little corner for you to keep snacks.”

“Are you kidding me?” you start. Your mother winks at you, and walks off, pushing her cart away with her.

You go the other direction, snatching up a basket. “I can’t believe this,” he hears you mumble.

Billy laughs behind you. “Keep it up, Hargrove. Keep it up.” That only makes him laugh harder, and then he plants his forehead between your shoulder blades, his hands going to your sides.

“You’re just mad she likes me more,” he says into your back before righting himself.

“I’m not even allowed to have a ‘corner of snacks.’ You’re such a dick.”

You move away from him, but not before snatching the list so you can see what you’re supposed to be retrieving.

He takes it right back from you. “I’ll share with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You grab hold of his bicep and he takes that as having earned your forgiveness, though it’s not for long, because you can’t actively reach for groceries whilst holding onto him.

He opens the fridge door while you grab milk, gets things from the top shelves that you can’t reach, picks out all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

He doesn’t actually end up grabbing anything for himself; he can’t fathom letting your mother spend money on him like that.

You turn a corner, in search of your mom. You’re now holding the basket with both hands because it’s much too heavy, and you’d like empty it out into her cart.

She scoots into the other end of the aisle and you rush to her, relieving yourself of the groceries.

“She wouldn’t let me hold it,” Billy tells your mother.

“I have muscles,” you state, pretending like you’re not slightly out of breath.

You wander down a little ways in search of pretzels. Billy follows you a few seconds later, having paused to ask if your mom needed him to get anything else.

“Billy?” You hear him walk up behind you.

“Y/N?”

“Can you get those for me? The stick ones? Please?” You’re pointing upwards. Normally, you’d scale the shelf, but with him here that seems unnecessary.

“Sure.”

He stretches upwards, his shirt riding up, and you catch a small stretch of his stomach. You wonder what it feels like. Probably softer than his hands.

On the other end of the aisle, your mother looks back and forth between her list and the groceries in her cart, scratching things off as she goes. She’s nearly finished.

There’s a hubbub of voices from behind her, but she chooses to ignore it. It sounds like soccer moms. She’s never been one, and never wanted to be.

“Nicky!” A voice she recognizes snaps her out of her stupor, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself.

Karen Wheeler. And from the sounds of it, a couple more moms from her group.

Nicky lost all claims to being in said group when you were in middle school. She couldn’t take the obsessive PTA meetings and activities that just made it look like these mothers actually cared about their children, when everyone knew they didn’t.

Nicky pushes her glasses up into her hair, caps her pen, and turns.

“Hi, Karen. Pamela. Tiff.” She makes eye contact with each of them in turn and offers a stiff smile.

“How are you? How’s Y/N?” Karen asks.

“I’m just fine.” Nicky’s head darts towards where you stand with Billy. She smiles at the two of you.

He’s got his fingers hooked in your belt loops, and you’re playing with the cuff of his sleeve, occasionally brushing your thumb against the skin of his wrist. You look happy.

“Y/N is doing just fine, too. Really well in school. I’m very proud of her.”

Nicky turns back to Karen, but her eyes are glued on you. More specifically, on Billy.

“Is that Billy Hargrove?” Karen seems to realize that sounds off, and covers. “His sister, Max, is friends with Mike.”

“Oh, I see,” Nicky says, appraising the looks on her and the other women’s faces. She doesn’t like the way they can’t seem to stop staring at Billy.

They’re looking him up and down, looking at him like he’s an object, like he’s this sex symbol.

Pamela turns to face Nicky. “Is he with her?”

“Would it matter if he was?” Nicky suddenly finds herself very angry and unwilling to put up with these women.

Pamela looks shocked, but it’s Tiff who pipes up. “I just thought that he’d be with someone more…mature. Y/N’s so quiet. So…anxious.”

Nicky tosses her pen in her bag. “What the hell is wrong with you? Billy is eighteen years old, and the three of you are looking at him like he’s good enough to eat. Last time I checked, you all had children the exact same age. If by mature you mean yourself, then shit! If you can’t see what’s wrong with that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Billy hears your mom raise her voice and holds onto your waist a little more firmly. You look up when he does.

“What gives you the right to assume you know what kind of relationship he wants to be in?” your mother continues. “He’s a fucking kid, Tiffany, and so is my daughter.”

“She might be quiet but there isn’t a damn thing wrong with that, and neither is there with being anxious. It’s clear to me that the three of you don’t know the first thing about what life is like for teenagers these days, even if you were one once. And I’m sorry that you’re so unhappy in your marriages that you think it’s okay to prey on Billy. Get a fucking divorce.”

Nicky grabs hold of her cart and pushes it towards the both of you, cocking her head to the side in a swift motion that tells you both to follow her.

“You two get everything?” she asks, continually walking.

“Yeah,” you tell her.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

————

You notice, as you’re starting to help your mother make cookies, that Billy keeps pushing his hair out of his face. Having already secured yours away from any possible encounters with ingredients, you decide to help him.

“Come with me,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of his. He grabs hold and let’s you lead him to your bathroom.

He thinks about the last time he was in here, about you cleaning him up.

You pull the cabinet open and get a scrunchie, stretching it over your fingers to show him. “This okay? I could tell it was buggin’ you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Billy blushes a little at the idea of you having your hands in his hair, and you pretend not to notice.

You reach up, gathering all of his hair at the base of his neck. It’s softer than you expected, though you can feel the product in it, and the little bit of frizz that’s fought back.

Your nail grazes his neck, just slightly, and it makes him shiver. You tie his hair up into a bun. There are a couple shorter pieces hanging out at the front, and you make him face you so that you can push them behind his ears.

You twist one curl around your finger and then tuck it away. You look into his blue eyes, and he’s staring at you like…no. He couldn’t feel that way, could he?

Though maybe he does. Maybe he’s got the same ache for you that you’ve got for him.

Before he can think too much about it, Billy cups the back of your head and leans in, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your skin, and then he’s giving you another one.

His lips are warm and soft, and you feel the press of them long after he’s pulled back.

You can feel him rubbing his thumb against the back of your head, and you lean into his touch. “You’re welcome.” The smile you give him makes him feel like he might actually die.

When you’re back in the kitchen, your mother has already got a batch in the oven, but she’s set everything else out for the two of you to make one.

“I wanted there to be at least a couple edible ones,” she says.

You turn to Billy. “Are you hearing this? She doubts my skills.”

“I don’t blame her,” he says teasingly, looking at Nicky, who laughs sickly sweet.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this.” You feign wiping tears from your face and go to stomp away, but Billy just grabs hold of you instead, gently pulling you towards the counter.

“Don’t go, I need you.”

Your mother takes that as her queue to give you two some time.

Nicky knows. She knows that Billy is falling in love with you, if he’s not already there.

She thinks you feel the same, but she also knows you.

————

Billy seems to have made himself quite comfortable where he sits cross legged against your headboard. He’s already eaten his share of cookies, but he’s glad to wait as you finish yours.

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, facing him. When you finish your cookies, you sit up and move towards him, reaching to set your napkin on your side table. When he sees you go to move back, he grabs hold of your hand.

“Sit up here with me.”

You comply, positioning yourself beside him, and when you’re sideways so that you can look at him, he pulls your legs into his lap, resting his hands on your calves.

He’s only quiet for a second before he speaks again. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You adjust the pillow behind your back.

“Y/N. You know what. You don’t just call me at one in the fucking morning, sounding like that, and then expect me to forget about it.”

“You could tell then I guess?”

“That you were crying? Yeah. You think I don’t pay attention to stuff like that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

“Well I’ve been worried about you all day, and don’t say I didn’t need to be.”

Billy raises his voice just enough to be serious, though he’s not yelling. You can tell he’s a little frustrated with you though.

“Please talk to me. I opened up to you about my fucking dad, Y/N. You have to let me in.”

Your eyes well up, but you push those feelings down, pulling yourself away from Billy and sitting up on your knees. He looks upset at the loss of you splayed across him.

“I was having a rough night, and I freaked myself out,” you start.

“Billy, you’re the first friend I’ve had in a long time.” He nods, urging you on.

“I found all these old pictures, some with friends from middle school, but some with Nancy too.”

“Wheeler?”

“Wheeler,” you confirm. “When I was middle school, I had a couple of friends, and we would do everything together, you know? We’d plan out our futures, even if it was just talking about high school and dumb shit like that. But I always felt like the odd one out, you know? I was freaked out about high school. They weren’t. I was shy, I was wary. I didn’t want things to change.”

“But they did. And we got to high school, and I lost all of them. They all found their own groups, and I just didn’t. I did find Nancy, though. We were both in the library at the same time, and we just clicked? We got really close and I felt safe with her.”

“We knew everything about each other. I felt like her family was my family, that kind of thing. But then she met Barb, and then Steve,” here your voice breaks, and Billy fucking hates it.

“Nothing bad happened. We just started seeing each other less, and I’d call and she’d be busy. It got one-sided. Billy, it was like she forgot about me.”

He extends his hand, and you take it. Those tears you’d been fighting win, spilling over slowly and then all at once.

“And I’ve had a hard time getting over that, even if I tell my mom that I’m fine. Really, I’m not mad at Nancy. I just feel so…insignificant. It hurts, knowing I’m so easy to forget, Billy. And I saw all those pictures last night, and then I thought of you and I got so scared all of the sudden.”

“It’s like everyone I’ve ever let in has left me behind. And I’m scared you’re going to forget about me too. And I don’t think I’ll recover from that, Billy. Because I need you.”

You stop then, and a sob rips free from your throat, though Billy can tell you didn’t want it to. “I’m sorry.” You try to apologize for your state.

He sits up on his knees too, and pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his neck and he lets you, because he knows exactly how you feel. He thinks about his mother for a second, but let’s that go.

Billy’s hands move steadily over your back, doing their best to soothe you. He carefully guides your face from his shoulder, ensuring you look at him.

“I’m not going to forget about you, Y/N. I fucking swear. I could never. You are not anywhere near insignificant, and you’re not anywhere damn near easy to forget.”

“I’m so sorry that all of happened to you, and I can’t explain any of it, because everyone’s got their own shit going on. But I can tell you that you didn’t deserve it. And I can tell you that I need you too. You make me want to stay in this shithole. You make me want to be better.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is quiet, and you look so young, so fragile. It’s killing him.

“Yeah.”

The both of you are quiet for awhile, sitting with each other, Billy waiting until your breathing has steadied, until he feels your hiccuping stop.

“Billy, if I ask my mom, and she says it’s okay, will you stay the night?” You grin as you ask.

He laughs at that, and you can feel the vibrations of it where your face is shoved into his chest. He remembers the joke he made about that one of the first times you hung out.

Shit, he thinks. He really needs to tell you.

“Yeah, I will.”

You hop up, rubbing your face dry, and then excitedly make for the door. You hold up your index finger. “I’ll be right back.”

He hears you patter to the living room, the mumbling of your and your mother’s voices.

When you return, you’re giddy.

“My mom said you can stay the night, Billy.”

He laughs so hard that he falls onto his back, the spring in your mattress making him bounce a little. He’s fucking cackling at you, and it only makes you do the same.

————

That night, after Billy has made sure Neil and Susan will be gone awhile, after he’s sat and waited for Hopper to pick up Max and take her back to theirs to be with El, and then packed an overnight bag, he’s back in your room.

In your bed. With you.

“My bed is much warmer with you in it, I must say.”

Billy smiles at you, and even let’s you play with the pendant around his neck. “I’m glad,” he says. “Guess that means I’ll have to spend more time in it then.”

You turn your face into your pillow, and he chuckles.

“Come here, baby. Let me hold you.”

Baby.

You scoot closer to him, and he scoops you up in his arms.

“I’m never going to forget about you.” He says it into your hair, his breath warm on your scalp.

“I believe you.” Billy kisses your forehead again, and you feel safe. He feels like he could be your forever home.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy stranger things #billy stranger things fic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove x f!reader #savannah’s fics

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spacexseven · 2 years

Text

mandatory obligation

NOTE: since i've been playing genshin a lot more recently i've been thinking about #HIM a lot more these days and ive been possessed by the corner of my brain that's obsessed with childe :,) so yes, it's very self indulgent. this can be read as a part 2 to broken vows but not everything aligns well since i didn't plan for it to be read like that

SUMMARY: tartaglia always puts things back on track, no matter how hard you try to derail his plans.

PAIRING: yandere! tartaglia x fem! reader

CW: yandere character, obsession, lying, deceit, manipulation, forced relationships, forced marriage, imprisonment, implied stalking, spoilers for childe's real name :>

you're starting to realize that none of the villagers are really buying your admittedly rather strange excuses. of course, they were all understandably wary to see a stranger stride down the path to your house. more so because he walked with all the confidence in the world, as though he owned the land below his feet. and perhaps they were all on edge because his visits only seemed to start a few weeks after you moved back in, after years of living in the harbor.

still, you fix a fake smile and offer them the most believable out of your quite pathetic array of excuses—"he's a visitor from the harbour. yes, related to my work. no, nothing big. he needs help sorting out documents since the ministry is strict about papers, especially when it concerns foreign businessmen." you never mention a name or any other detail. they don't pry, either, curious minds sated for now.

the lie isn't that much of a lie, considering he was officially in liyue for business matters representing the northland bank, and the ministry was a little cautious, but less because of his business and more because...of his overall existence. you've heard the rumors and even experienced parts of it for yourself, so you can confidently say that he would unsettle anyone. however, despite all the time you've known him, you can't quite tell which one of his numerous whispered-about jobs is true; banker, businessman, or just a soldier. or maybe, the answer was all of the above, with an extra title—fatuus.

despite the general unease from the village, nobody dares question the blue-eyed stranger to his face. he walks straight to your door, never stopping to acknowledge the presence of others, stays for a few hours, and leaves like clockwork, leaving no evidence for the villagers to gossip about and question the nature of your relationship. still, the little details; the boxes he carries, the way he lingers outside your door for a few more moments, the increasing frequency of his visits, they serve some fuel to the ever-growing flames of curiosity.

today, ajax walks in with his usual disarming smile, eyes visibly brightening at the sight of you standing stiffly behind the door.

"i missed you," he croons—the same as always—though you know he means it very much. as is routine, he reaches out for your hand with his gloved one and places a kiss on the back of it, maintaining eye contact with you all the while. his smile turns into a menacing smirk at the slight downturn of your lips.

"come, darling," he gestures to your table, as though you were the guest and him the host, "look at what came in today."

as you cautiously walk past him and sit down, he unravels a thick, wrapped bundle he had been holding under his arm, revealing to you a lovely coat of rich, dark color and expensive-looking details. the buttons look like real gold, and you can already tell by looking, that it was made to fit you. everything he bought you was tailored to your measurements, though you never dared to ask how he got your measurements so accurately.

he watches, closely, as you, having known what he was expecting, stand up and let him slip on the coat for you. you pretend to look mesmerized by the feeling of the warm inner lining brushing your arms and run your fingers across the soft material to put on a show of awe for the harbinger. it's very likely that he knew you were doing this out of fear rather than gratitude, but he's appeased anyway, as he places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes, his grip firm but painless.

"it's perfect," he lets go of your shoulders to interlock his gloved fingers with yours, watching your face intently, "...is it not to your liking?"

you pretend to admire the buttons and hemming, the thought of him deliberately picking this out for you more unsettling than flattering, especially when you recalled previous encounters of the same nature, wondering how to explain without upsetting him, "i just...don't need something so expensive."

you didn't need it, especially in liyue, where it never got cold enough for you to be adorning such a thick coat without sweating profusely. at least the expensive hand-embroidered clothes and jadeite earrings he bought you before were thin enough to be worn on visits to the harbor and rare outings together, and the silk underclothes you could wear to bed if you weren't constantly worried about him wondering if you were wearing those and coming to see for himself. this coat, however, was impractical and lavish, and you wondered if this is how all the rich spent their money—foolishly.

"it's not meant to be worn here, my dear," he chuckles, "it's for when we visit snezhnaya. it's far too cold there to be in your usual outfits."

before you could stop yourself, you speak the words lingering in your mind, "i don't need it."

he pauses for a few minutes, the charming smile slipping for a terrifying moment, before returning, the realization striking him immediately, "very cute, darling. although i wouldn't mind you wearing my coats, i think one tailored to your size would fit better, no? besides, i only bought one, just so you can wear it for when we have important visits in snezhnaya. otherwise, my love, you can wear any of mine that you like; in fact, i would prefer that, since everyone would see you and know at once that you're with me."

you weren't going to tell him that that wasn't what you meant, shattering the pretty picture he had painted in his mind. you couldn't risk angering him by informing him that you weren't planning on going to snezhnaya anytime now or in the future, and you didn't need a coat. you didn't want to see that side of him again, not when there were so many others at risk. so you smile, and though it's painfully stiff, he smiles back at the sight, pleased at your compliance.

you foolishly thought that everything would blow over when he walked out that night, new, expensive coat buried deep in your closet with the other gifts. he had graced you with yet another kiss and saccharine sweet greeting before leaving, and you watched from your doorway as his figure became smaller and smaller in the distance. you noticed that he lingered by a house in the village for a few minutes too long, but just as you were about to go out and see what he was up to, he was gone.

it's only the next day, when one of your neighbors stopped you that you realized what sinister plot childe had been planning.

"congratulations!" she grins at you, face beaming with happiness, "oh, i'm so happy you're having a ceremony here, too! i would hate to miss such a beautiful occasion."

you must have done a terrible job at hiding your surprise, because she rushes to explain herself, "your fiancé told us yesterday evening, and told us the formal invitation for the wedding would be out soon. was he not supposed to tell?"

you manage an awkward, choked laugh, feeling your head spin, "i told him...that we should keep it a surprise. about the wedding, i mean, i hadn't told anyone we were engaged yet because—"

"oh, yes," she's still smiling, and it's almost irritating now, "you must have been worried because he was a foreigner, right? don't worry, everyone already loves him!"

"i'm very glad to hear that," you tell her, forcing yourself to sound as genuine as possible, "and i'm really grateful for your wishes. i have to go now, though, and get some things for tonight."

although you escape her, you soon realize word had spread to everyone in the village. you were being bombarded with congratulations and well wishes, and people gushing about how considerate your fiancé was for having a little ceremony here so your community can see the two of you before you leave for snezhnaya, how thoughtful he was, for asking them what traditional ceremonial foods he should have for the occasion, how generous he was, for sponsoring your wedding.

they gushed over his charming personality and his pleasant words, demanding to see the ring he got you, the one you never wore. they playfully berated you for hiding such a big change in your life, claiming it would have been no problem if you were engaged to him even if they had no idea who he was before this. it was stressful and exhausting to smile and thank them for their words, squeezing your way out of the crowd to the safety of your home, and even then the little peace did not last long.

ajax swings the door open only to see your figure slumped over on the table, tired by the fuss. immediately, he goes to you, sitting next to you and going to stroke your head in an attempt to coax you into unleashing your troubles. despite your mental insistence to never let him get to you, you can feel yourself relaxing under his soothing touch, being starved of such gentle affection for so long.

"you alright there, pretty girl?" he coos into your ear, hands still brushing your hair.

you sigh, not wanting to talk at the moment, but he keeps going.

"i'm sorry if the announcement was too sudden, but it's been more than a month, and you haven't let anything slip. not even wearing the ring i bought for you—i was almost hurt, but i understand. now that you know they're all happy for our engagement, though," as he pauses, a hand squeezes yours, "you should start wearing it, so that they don't get the wrong idea, hmm?"

you find yourself agreeing listlessly, disheartened by the terrible turn things had taken. still, how long could you have kept up the charade? how long could you have avoided the wedding and him? you've always known that ajax was ready to do anything to get what he wanted, regardless of how it may torment you or others. you should have expected such a move from him.

"i've planned for our trip to snezhnaya about two weeks from now, so you can meet everyone back home and we can plan for our wedding," he says, not waiting for you to agree, "i haven't told anyone about the journey yet, since i'm afraid teucer will try to sneak onto a ship to come see us again," he smiles at the memory.

you can still remember it, too. it was one of the few times with ajax that you were somewhat happy, since it was hard to dislike teucer, even if the boy idolized ajax to an extent that made you worried.

that day, the news came to the both of you when you were having lunch in the harbor, a frantic underling interrupting you with a panicked explanation about a teucer and sneaking onto the boat. at the time, you were clueless about the exchange, but ajax, unusually riled up, decided the two of you had to go to the bank at once. there, you met teucer, a boy far too adorable to be related to the harbinger. you knew that ajax wrote to his family about you and some parts of his work regularly, but you hadn't expected the enthusiastic greeting teucer showed you, gasping in awe and asking you if you were really going to marry his brother.

while you had been overwhelmed by the sudden questions, ajax quickly stepped in to calm the boy down and offer to show him around the harbor, only after chiding him on his foolish and reckless decision to come all the way to liyue on his own. the rest of the day was honestly pleasant; you witnessed a new side to ajax and were endeared by the boy, who was far too unsuspecting and excited about everything. when the time came to send him home, he told you earnestly that it had been one of the best days of his life and pleaded with you to come visit soon. how could you have said no to him in that moment?

even now, ajax holds your promise over your head, using it to remind you that you couldn't break teucer's heart. either way, you'd be coming with him, as he often said, but it would be nicer for you if you'd come willingly.

"i think teucer only excited everyone more with his stories about you," the harbinger continues, a tinge of excitement in his tone, "and i already know that they would absolutely adore you."

you nod, not at all as excited as he was to visit his family. ajax stands up and goes to your room, not explaining his sudden actions. you can hear the sound of your closet door opening and drawers being pulled, and you bolt towards the room, bewildered by his unreadable expression and fluid motions.

"what are you doing?" you gape at the speed at which he was picking things out, with no consideration to your privacy, "i thought we were leaving in two weeks!"

"did i say two weeks?" he nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, "i meant one. we have to leave for the harbour a few days before our departure," he was obviously unbothered by how upset you were, "i'm only helping you pack."

he rummages around in your room before picking something up with his slender fingers, turning to you with a grin that sent chills down your spine, "come here."

you obey his command, sensing that he was on the brink of losing his temper. he grasps your hand with a painful. bruising grip, and you were almost certain that he was crushing your fingers. in his other hand, he held a heavy ring, one that was far too familiar, with the expensive, shining stone glaring up at you. you already knew what words were inscribed into the band, despite never wearing the ring again after the first time he placed it onto your finger. as the cool metal slid onto your finger, you thought it was deceivingly beautiful; a ring doubling as a collar being locked into place, to serve a reminder of who you were tied to.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia #yandere ajax #yandere childe x you #childe x reader #childe tartagalia #tartaglia 🐟#tartaglia #genshin impact #tartagalia x you #genshin 🐟#os 🐟#SOOOO NERVOUS ITS BEEN 4EVER SINCE I WROTE FOR HIM :(

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ms0milk · 1 year

Text

𝟕 | 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again."

cw remember when i told you to trust me? angry bkg, angry y/n, shouting, some manhandling. repeated use of "sir" nonsexually though bkg does briefly take pleasure in your power imbalance. y/n's patience is unmatched bless her heart. civil teammates -> enemies. my favorite closing lines ive ever written 2.1k

this chapter officially concludes a hymn to black water part 1, thank you for reading this far with me! and have no fear, part 2 will begin next week :) can't take a break from this story who am i kidding it's just getting good

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She’s been terrorizing you for the better part of the evening. Doctor Chiyo Shuzenji, Takoba’s infamous: Recovery Girl. An evening meant to be spent finding clothes and dinner and Prince Bakugou’s guest chambers so that you could take up your first shift outside of his room.

How could you begin to thank him? Declarations and taken knees occupy the gray space in your brain between constant kisses and ramblings about antivenom. You’re held hostage on hospital linens with thoughts of protective canonfire rage.

“And when I got back– poof! Injured Alderans keep me up all night, I leave for one blessed hour, and come back to six empty beds.”

There’s nothing you can say to appease the doctor as a plate of tea sandwiches is thrust into your lap and the kisses begin again. Your companions were moved to their permanent rooms sometime in the throne room-interim and you were just as surprised to come back to a hospital empty of their warmth as you were to hear such a commanding voice come out of such a tiny woman. Shuzenji's magic bubbles at the surface of your skin like it would be comforting if she wasn’t so agitated.

“How you even managed to stay conscious is– it’s– you’re lucky the adrenaline didn’t course the poison straight to your heart! And the prince! Summoning you from the hospital of all places–”

“My prince?” You interrupt with half a mouth full of bread.

She shakes her head, “The little Todoroki.”

“I thought I was summoned by the queen?”

“My queen is not stupid.”

You submit to treatment again quietly and nurse the plate of food Shuzenji had rushed from the kitchens for you. Was Prince Todoroki in the crowd today? Does he look like his mother? Spiderlace has webbed across your image of the queen and naught but her thin silver hair can be seen behind it.

The doorknob jumps as the doctor pours herself into your discharge instructions, and when she thinks the Champion is the one trying to sneak inside again she huffs at the opening door,

“Mr. Eijirou, if you interrupt this examination one more time–”

It felt cruel to make Kirishima watch so you told him to go find his room and something to eat after he escorted you back upstairs. You told him that you would be perfectly fine for the night. He poked his head inside every now and then when you made a particularly loud yelp at the doctor’s prodding, but left to go find dinner an hour ago. He even said goodnight and slipped your halberd inside by candlelight.

“Kirishima, really I’m–”

“Eh?”

The voice opening the door doesn’t match the person you thought had been knocking, and not only that. Instead of Kirishima, and his big soft worry, the prince emits a cloud of vex so thick that you taste metal.

He mouths confusion at the scene.

“Perfect timing Katsuki, you’re next.” Shuzenji beckons him inside from her seat at your bed. He closes the door again wordlessly.

Chasing Prince Bakugou down a Takoba hallway is not going to make it into your daily report, partly because it’s indecent, and mostly because there’s no proper way to recall hunting a prince like game sport.

“Highness, please wait!”

Chasing though, is a generous description; you’re more just walking quickly and rather close behind.

As doctor Shuzenji tried to hobble after him, images of the prince hurling diplomats flashed in vivid memory and you sat the old woman back in her seat. You wouldn’t put it past him to launch tiny old women someplace very far away indeed.

“My Prince, please–”

“Please what,” Bakugou growls when you’ve finally pushed him past the shallow threshold of avoidance and squarely into confrontation. You couldn’t drown in the shoals of his patience for how very dry they are.

When he stops marching and turns to you his shoes catch sparks before his words do, “You are not my guard and certainly not my companion– leave me be or die.” And the honesty of his violence stalls your image of protection.

The chase has taken you from the hospital wing and into that wide foyer under skylights and for hours now the moon above has effortlessly outshone candles. Competing lights illuminate only white marble and a blue hallway runner, with no other decoration to fight over but the two of you standing in front of each other.

“The doctor,” you slow down fast enough to leave the prince a wide berth but still stumble over words in remembering names, “she– Shuzenji needs to finish her examination. I’m–”

“No one needs anything from me, least of all you.”

Why is he so upset? When the prince snaps at you, as he has done a hundred little times over the past few days, he makes a point to swell. He thinks he’s very clever. He’ll dip his chin into the modest curve of your body and tower over you, as if you aren’t already trying as hard as you can to make him feel big.

“It’s important that the doctor sees you, sir.”

One of his red eyes twitches a bit by the brow when you call him sir, and you add it to the list of things you’ve done to piss him off,

“Please come with me.”

The prince settles with his hands in his pockets, “And if I don’t?” He’s on the precipice of a smirk when he continues, “Are you gonna make me?”

Did Doctor Shuzenji let you chase after him because the headache might kill her?

“No,” you frown, “of course not.”

The moon is so bright through the windows above you that the candles can only throw limp shadows across the subtle bones of Bakugou’s cheeks. He never stands up straight. His broad shoulders round in on you in a generous size difference as you attempt to avoid the eye contact he hates so much. He cocks his head. There are no clocks or bells inside the castle and still the oppressing awareness of time makes you feel as if you are running out of it; fifteen years crush you under their weight in a second. Fifteen years living together in Aldera castle and only two conversations to show for it. Three, if this game he’s playing counts as conversation.

“Go to bed then.” The prince still manages to look menacing in white linen and woolen slippers and he throws words like spit, “Go anywhere away from me.”

When he turns around to skulk back into the dark you don’t mean to say anything at all and you’re sure you don’t. You’re sure you’re only staring after him- watching his earrings catch the last of the moonlight before turning down a dark corridor.

“Why did you come back?”

Bakugou is also sure you didn’t just speak up again, but still he stalls under an archway and creaks his neck back to you all the same. Your question hangs in the stretch of white hall.

You’re hungry, you are delusionally hungry and drunk on Shuzenji’s magic because nothing under heaven, not even the end of the world, could possess you to to pick a fight with this man, and you must have been drugged or, or you’re still exhausted or wounded, anything. The prince is advancing on you now because of course he is.

He’s charging. He growls so low it’s almost a whisper, “Stand at attention.”

Bakugou doesn’t leave any space between you when he approaches this time. His hair has been knocked into every direction gravity will let it fly, but mostly it falls over menacing red eyes and beads of blood between sharp tooth and bitten lip. Jeanist really deserves a medal or something; even three-hundred miles away, he is right as always. Staring is an incorrigible habit of yours.

“You get concussed in that crowd?” The prince’s voice is still bitingly quiet when he thrusts a palm against your collar to test how much pressure you’ll withstand before failing his orders to stay still. Your dragonbone broach digs into your chest.

“Please excuse me, Highness.”

There’s no way to tell how short a fuse you’ve cut for yourself now, so you continue standing exactly at attention, the same way you’ve spent more hours of your life than you’ve spent sleeping. Your fingers don’t so much as twitch with a pulse while you hold them at your sides under squared shoulders. His eyes graze your cheeks.

“Aldera sent me a beaten puppy as a babysitter on mission that has taken years off my fucking life.”

“I only–”

“Only what?!” Bakugou reaches forward and snatches a bit of your nightgown skirt in his fist. You’re jerked suddenly against his chest in his anger, “You’re fucking naked! “You represented Aldera in a nightgown and now you’re chasing me down the hall with your body sketched in satin for any plum, fae, or stray cat to ogle at their shiteating leisure!”

It hasn’t quite clicked, until now. The reason why the prince hates you.

He releases your skirts and clenches crackling fists at his sides, “What did I tell you about those creepy fucking eyes?”

You don’t mean to stare this time, and you’ve tried so hard, for days you’ve tried, not to look at him, but for the first time since your bloody meeting in the countryside he is finally, truly, looking at you and the eye contact conjures up nothing but static.

It didn’t even make any sense, how someone you’ve never so much as shared a meal with could feel anything strong towards you, negative or otherwise. But it was clear inside the throne room today and you were just too stupid to see anything past the blue silk cloak gathered like a gift for you in his arms.

The prince was never concerned for your safety. He is embarrassed by you.

“What did I say?” Caramel hathos fills your mouth when red eyes let you breathe again.

You glare unabashedly deer-like from the space between your bodies where ire is so thick you could grasp it. At his eyes, his lovely ash lashes and the downward quirk of a snarl. Bold of him, to call you naked in linens that barely hide his chest.

“Apologies.” And for the first time those words burn when they come out of you. Like a lie. You lower your gaze. Bow your head too.

It is the slightest consolation that Bakugou forgot, in his anger, that he’s pulled you close enough for gold to glint clearly in your periphery. His jewelry is artifact forever in the forest somewhere, so the earrings he’s wearing are yours. His mother’s– your little gold suns jerk and tremble with his temper.

If he remembered he was wearing your charity, he would shout again, but his fury has gone smug at your concession so he presses on,

“Did Jeanist not teach you to say anything else?”

Your fingers twitch at the mention of the name.

“Well? Go on, five days together and you still haven’t introduced yourself to your prince.”

Even with your eyes to the floor you can catch a sneer in the tips of his voice. Bakugou is so close that his breath pricks the skin of your bare neck.

“Put on a show for me.”

He doesn’t let you move away from him. When you step one foot back he comes one step forward. You take your skirts in subtle fists and bend your knees in a curtsey, and you anticipate his single huff of laughter before it even escapes him.

“Y/n. Apprentice to the Master Jeanist, Head of Royal Guard. Subject of the Alderan Queen, bound by blood and at your service, my prince.”

“Is that all?”

It goes against natural impulse not to watch the thing that is trying to kill you, closely, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes down when the prince’s body is so close you can count each embroidered stitch of his bedclothes. Years ago, when Jeanist allowed you to work in the castle, on your own shifts without supervision, the queen would stop when her path crossed your post. She’d call your name and you would answer immediately, though eyes down like you’d been told to do. In these early days she crouched in front of you, cape, gown, armor and all, to try and take a peek at your face, or lift your head up with a finger under the chin.

“Pretty eyes, Y/n. Don’t cast them down for anyone.”

Bakugou has your chin now, in a tight hot hand. He jerks your head up hard enough to make you flinch, and gods he’s growling, rumbling like a machine, at both your lack of response and the fact that you haven’t left yet. The pair of you stare.

“Fuck off, Y/n.”

It is your every itching instinct to strike him.

“Yes, sir.”

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