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violentdelightsandviolentends · 8 months

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Honey Girl. Chapter Three.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky get closer. Your choice only gets harder.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au.

Word Count - 6.4k

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut. cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Author's Note - angels, i can only apologise for the wait!! i've had some stuff going on, and i was on vacation, so this has taken a while. thank you so much for your patience, kindness and support on Honey Girl - it means everything.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! i will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sunlight seeps through the stained glass windows, murmured chatter echoing off the stone walls around you.

You smooth down your dress and adjust your bracelet, smiling at the rare sight of your family and friends all gathered together in one place. Your parents are sat on either side of you, all of you eagerly awaiting the beginning of this exciting occasion.

Man, you love weddings. You always have. So much happiness and joy in one short day, everyone excited about the possibility of eternal love.

You're still sat waiting when you realise, with quiet uncertainty, that you're not sure whose wedding this is. All of your family is here, as well as many of your friends. So why do you feel so confused all of a sudden?

The Priest gestures for all of the guests to stand just as the first notes of the Wedding March begin to reverberate around the room. You turn around, craning your neck to try and get a glimpse of the bride.

You don't know her, but she's... beautiful. Long, dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, white silk dress hugging her frame perfectly, accentuating every dip and curve. She has kind eyes, warm and brown, and a blinding smile that's infectious and dazzling. Her skin glows in the stained glass sunlight, illuminating her in an ethereal radiance. She has a beauty that belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel.

You eagerly turn back towards the altar to find out who her lucky groom is. He has his back to you, dark suit stretched across his broad shoulders. He turns, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

It's Bucky.

You're panicking, suddenly. You want to scream, shout, run over to them and object in any way possible. Your Mom grabs your hand tightly from one side, as your Dad does the same on the other.

"Mama, I have to-"

"You can't, sweetheart. It's not fair."

"You made your choice," your Dad says kindly, not an ounce of malice in his voice. "Now you have to let him make his."

White hot tears drip down your cheeks as your chest rises and falls with frantic frustration. This isn't how you wanted things to go. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The lights in the church are suddenly too bright, the wooden pews too hard. There's an incessant knocking noise coming from somewhere in front of you, loud and overwhelming. You swear someone's shouting your name in the distance, among all of the chaos.

"Honey? It's Bucky. Are you okay?"

Why is he asking if you're okay? Of course you're not okay, you're in this living nightmare.

Nightmare.

You're having a nightmare.

You wake with a startled gasp, cheeks wet and warm, sweat dripping down your back. The knocking hasn't stopped, in fact, now it's even louder.

"Sugar? Are you in there? Can you let me in?"

It's Bucky. Bucky's here.

You throw yourself out of bed and race through your apartment, swinging open the door. Bucky is stood on the other side, still in his navy plaid pyjama pants, sweater thrown over himself haphazardly. You look down at yourself and see that you're only wearing an old t shirt, legs bare and feet cold on the wooden floor.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently, stepping forward into your space. "I had this horrible feeling. It was like... like I was panicking. I knew it wasn't me so I figured it must have been you. What's wrong, sweets?"

He snakes his fingers around your wrist and pulls you into him gently, wrapping his arms around you completely. You relax into his embrace, inhaling the warm, cosy scent of him. All the fear leaves your body, and you cling to him tighter, worried that he'll disappear any minute.

"I had a nightmare," you whisper into the soft cotton of his chest.

He pulls back to look at you, large, calloused hands cradling your tear stained cheeks.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You deliberate for a second before shaking your head softly.

"If you change your mind, you know I'll always listen to you. Any time. I mean it."

"I know," you say quietly. "Thank you."

You step away from him and towards the couch, where you curl up with your legs tucked underneath you. Bucky walks over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. He makes two mugs of tea, handing one into your outstretched hands carefully. He shuffles to sit next to you, pressed into your side, arm slung around your shoulders. You relax into the broadness of him, the comfort he brings, the safety. The two of you fall asleep intertwined, warm and content, wrapped completely in each other and the blanket of your love.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're both startled awake by a phone ringing. The unwelcome melody is coming from somewhere between where you're nestled together, limbs intertwined and bodies connected.

"It's-fuck- is that mine or yours?" Bucky's mumbling as he scrambles amongst the couch cushions.

"Yours, I think," you reply, finding your phone on the floor where you've kicked it in your sleep.

Bucky finally finds the source of the noise, trapped in the arm of the couch. He presses the green button reluctantly, still disorientated from being woken so suddenly.

"Hello?"

That deep, raspy grumble of his morning voice is enough to make you melt back into your original position, the tone golden and honeyed. You slide back towards him and tuck yourself into his side, the two of you fitting together perfectly.

You can hear muffled talking on the other end, which takes Bucky a minute to comprehend. When he does, his eyes widen, and he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

It's your Dad, he mouths silently, muscles in his body going rigid.

Fuck, you mouth back, praying that he can't hear the two sets of heaving lungs on your side of the line.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be there. Sounds good, man. See you then."

Bucky's about to hang up the phone, when your Dad makes a noise of complaint. You can hear your Mom yelling something at him in the background.

"They're coming here," he whispers to you as quietly as possible, covering the phone speaker. "Fuck, what do we do?"

"Tell them you're already here... borrowing something. Or giving something back."

You shoot him a look that says trust me. Trust you, he does.

"I'm with her right now. I can ask, if you want? Yeah, just dropping off a couple of tools - last time I saw her, she mentioned a few loose screws in one of the kitchen cabinets. Easy fix."

You can hear your Dad singing his praises and expressing his gratitude, and your Mom asking Bucky to put you on the phone. He passes it to you carefully, as if it's a bomb, bound to explode at any given second.

"Hi, Mama."

"Hey, sweetheart. Bucky get everything sorted for you?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been great. Fixed it in two minutes flat. I just didn't have the right kind of screwdriver."

"He's one of the good ones, huh?" she chuckles. "We called to tell you that you have to come to our get together later. I know it's a little impromptu, but we have so much produce from the garden, too much for just us. We'll have dinner in the backyard, and drinks, and play some games. And we'll tell you all about the wedding!"

Your Mother has a gift for hosting. She's a people person through and through, warm hearted and kind spirited in nature. She loves having people over at the house, loves cooking for them, loves choosing wine pairings for her dishes and explaining each one carefully. It's a gift. She's a gift.

"I'd love to come, Mama. Do you want me to bring anything? I can make desserts?"

"Oh, darling, would you? I'm making a strawberry and cream tart, but you know it's nothing compared to your talent."

"Oh hush," you chide playfully. "I'll see what I can conjure up. Maybe I'll even rope Bucky in to help."

You wink at him cheekily and he laughs, the sound settling gently in your ribs like a caged bird singing it's morning song.

"Glad to be of service!" he yells into the phone, his right hand moving to rest at the nape of your neck. He massages the muscle there gently, and the tension leaves your body just as quick as it arrived.

"What time, Mama?"

"Everyone's arriving at seven o'clock, but you and Bucky feel free to come any time. Did you hear that, Bucky? Any time!"

"Loud and clear," he chuckles. "See you soon, Lori."

"Bye, you two. Call if you need anything. Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too."

She hangs up the phone and you're plunged into silence, the two of you panting like you've just ran a marathon.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes.

"Yeah, fuck," you exhale. "Now my parents think I'm not capable of fixing a loose screw."

"It was the first thing I thought of! Sorry, honey. Didn't mean to undermine your DIY skills."

You fake angry, but you can't keep it up while he's looking at you like you hung the moon just for him. The corners of your lips twitch, and before you know it, you're grinning at each other like idiots.

"Now I have to make dessert," you laugh. "There go my plans for the day."

"You offered."

"I panicked!"

"I'll give you a hand, if you need it. I don't have to be at work for another hour and a half."

"It's okay," you reassure, reaching out to link your fingers with his. He's still absentmindedly tracing patterns across the back of your neck, the sensation almost soothing you back to sleep.

You relax into Bucky, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He's so warm, and soft, and broad. You realise that there's been two occasions recently where you've slept like the dead. Both were in Bucky's arms.

"You wanna help me make breakfast?" you whisper, careful not to disrupt the golden glow of the morning sunlight. The orange hue of the room feels fragile, sacred even. You don't want to ruin it.

"Of course. I can't bake, but I can cook. I have my uses."

"That, you do," you tease, leaning back into him as he places a tender kiss on top of your head. If you could bottle up this feeling of complete tranquility, you would. For a moment, everything else disappears. It's just you and your soulmate. Nothing else matters.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky, as it turns out, is a decent chef.

Sure, he's not Michelin star level, but neither are you.

You're sat on the counter, bare legs dangling over the side as you watch him move around your kitchen with ease, as if it's his own. You can't help but notice the way he belongs here. Like he's been here all along.

Bucky leaves everything cooking on the stove to come to stand in between your legs, warm hands splayed across your thighs. He rubs comforting circles into your skin while his steely blue eyes look at you intently.

"You okay?"

You smile at him softly, draping your arms around his neck to play with his hair.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine. The words California and Bakery and Dream Job and Bucky keep circling around your mind like horses on a fairground carousel. The more time you spend with Bucky, the more your Tethering makes sense. The two of you work. This connection you have is made of threads of gold, braided into both of your souls.

"You've been quiet all morning. And... I can feel it, you know. This anxious, sinking feeling, deep in my chest. There's something really bothering you, honey."

You take a deep breath and grasp onto his shoulders tightly, grounding yourself back down to Earth.

"I'm okay. There's just a couple of things I need to work out, and I think they're giving me some anxiety. I'm just stressed, I think."

"Are you trying to convince yourself, or me? Because you're not doing a very good job of either."

He's only teasing, but the way he's looking at you makes your breath hitch. It's as if everytime he looks into your eyes, he's also looking into your soul. It's like he can read your mind. Your heart is covered in braille and he's running his fingertips over it gently. You suddenly feel very exposed, shrinking down into yourself on the counter.

"Hey, pretty girl. Look at me. Please."

He uses his finger and thumb to tilt your face towards him, holding onto your chin gently.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you, or anything. I'm just worried. It's weird, being able to feel what you feel. I think I'm still getting used to it."

You smile at him carefully, running your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Buck. It's just... overwhelming, I guess. Nothing's a secret between me and you anymore."

You both know that's not true.

"You know, if there's anyone who understands how you feel... it's me."

"You're right," you laugh, "on account of the whole half-of-my-soul thing, I guess."

"Exactly. It's scary, but you're not alone in this. The two of us will figure it out. I know we will."

He has so much faith in you it makes you want to cry.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, firm and reassuring. It's like he's reminding you that he's right here, in front of you. He's not going anywhere.

You might be, though.

"We've got all the time in the world, remember?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"All the time in the world," you echo, tucking your head into his chest.

He holds you close until your breakfast starts to burn. The impending fire on the stove is nothing compared to the impending fire that feels like your future.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The two of you eat on your balcony, tangled together on the love seat chair. The sun is beating down, beams of light illuminating Bucky, setting him aglow. He looks like an angel, the golden hue creating a halo around him. You wonder for a second if he is. An angel sent just for you.

"Oh hey, did I tell you?" he asks, turning as much as he can in his spot to face you.

"Tell me what?"

"Leonie and Eli are having a baby."

"No way!" you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his hands in excitement. "I'm so happy for them. Man, it feels like yesterday that they found each other."

"Right? Hell of a story, too."

"Rough one, though. I mean, imagine it. You introduce your brother to your new girlfriend, and turns out they're soulmates."

Bucky's laughing so hard that he's clutching at his stomach, shaking the chair and you along with it.

"That's fucked," he wheezes. "It's so fucked."

You can't contain your own laughter, not when his is so contagious.

"It's not funny," you breathe, but you're giggling so hard your sides hurt.

"Not funny at all," he chuckles, pinching your thigh.

"If you think about it, our Tethering is a little fucked up too. I mean, you're my Dad's best friend."

"Yeah... not ideal, huh?" he teases, still laughing.

"Not ideal at all, really," you agree playfully.

You sit in the quiet for a moment before you speak again.

"What do you think they'll say? When we tell them, eventually?"

Bucky thinks for a moment, cogs turning in his brain. He considers carefully before he answers you.

"...I think they'll be happy for us. Your Mom'll be excited. It might be a little harder for your Dad to navigate, I guess, but... he'll be okay."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

The rational part of your brain is telling you that he is. They'll be ecstatic that the two of you have found your person. The celebrations will be endless.

But there's a tiny, nagging piece of your mind that won't let you rest. It's taunting you, telling you that they're going to be confused, shocked, upset. That they won't accept the two of you. You can't lose them over a soulmate. You won't.

You clear your throat and stand from your spot, picking up your empty plates.

"Don't you have to be at work soon? I doubt you can show up in pajamas."

"I'm the boss, pretty girl. I can wear whatever the hell I want."

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he relents.

"Fine. I need to change. But I'll see you later? At your Mom's?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you there."

You walk Bucky to the door, opening it expectantly. He looks at you for a moment too long, still unconvinced by your reassurances from earlier.

"If you need anything, just call me. You know you can talk to me anytime, yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his t shirt. "I know, Buck. Thanks."

He leans in to kiss your forehead before leaving you in the doorway, more confused than ever.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You commit your day to baking your feelings away.

As soon as Bucky left your apartment, the space felt empty, incomplete. Much like you do. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel better when Bucky is around. You know it's the whole Tethering thing, but still. Your heart feels fuller, the world seems brighter, the sun on your skin is warmer. Everything's easier when your soulmate is next to you.

You click on the radio, a soft, jazzy melody filling your kitchen. You begin to measure your ingredients, picking up bowls, utensils and your piping bags as you go.

This is the only thing you've ever felt like you were made to do. Sure, you've had hobbies as you've grown up. You're a good swimmer, you enjoyed soccer, you weren't too bad at dance. But nothing compared to baking.

Which at first, sounded ridiculous. Grown ups would ask you what you wanted to be when you were older, and when you said Baker, they'd laugh in that patronising way that adults do. It didn't stop you, though.

Your Grandma bought you a half empty recipe book for your tenth birthday. You can create your own and add them, she'd said. You'll be publishing a book with your name on in no time.

Your parents took you on a European vacation when you were sixteen. In Amsterdam, you passed this tiny little bakery, tucked away down a back street. It was red brick with a big window in the front, showcasing the cakes and endless sweet treats they had to offer. When you peered through the glass, you watched as the woman who you assumed was the owner went about her day. She looked so happy to be serving her customers. You decided then and there that was going to be you one day. A Bakery of your own. A happy life.

Which is why you're having such a hard time. You haven't talked to Stella since she called you, and you're worried she's going to change her mind if she doesn't hear from you soon. You haven't talked to Bucky about it either, even though he presented you with opportunity after opportunity this morning. It's starting to feel like the walls are caving in.

So, you do what you do best. Bake.

The day passes by quicker than anticipated, lost in a cloud of cinnamon and powdered sugar. You're wiping down your counters when your phone rings, Bucky's name lighting up your screen.

"Hi, Buck."

"Hey, pretty baby. You want me to pick you up later? I'm passing your place anyway."

He's always thinking of you so selflessly. The thought makes your heart stutter for a moment.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Course not. I can drop by at six? Gives us enough time to help your Mom set up."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks, Buck."

"See you then, honey."

You hang up the phone and realise the hours have completely escaped you. You jump in the shower and do your hair and makeup in record time, miraculously. You're stood in a towel in front of your closet when you feel Bucky pull up outside. The tension in your chest eases a little, and you take a deep, full breath. He knocks on the door, and you completely relax.

"Hey, you," he greets, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

You take a step back to look at him, and almost lose your balance. He looks ridiculously handsome. He's wearing a dark short sleeve button up that hugs his biceps so tightly, you're worried it might burst open. His jeans cling to his thighs deliciously, and the leather jacket slung over his shoulder adds a ruggedness that most men couldn't pull off. Your eyes rake over him slowly, taking him in from top to bottom. He lets you devour him, smirk never leaving his lips. Eventually, you meet his gaze.

"You see something you like?"

"You clean up real nice, Barnes," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

You untangle yourself from him before you jump his bones, and walk back to your closet. He follows you and sits on the edge of your bed, watching your every move like a hawk.

You pick out a sage green sundress that skims your thighs and hugs you in all the right places. It's a warm night, and your Mom loves to start a bonfire when it's cold.

"Close your eyes, playboy," you scold jokingly, laughing when he flops backwards to stare at your ceiling.

You slip the dress on, and realise it has a zipper at the back that you can't reach.

"Buck? Can you zip me up, please?"

He rises from his spot on the bed and strides over to you, standing a little closer than necessary. He pulls the zip upwards ever so slowly, fingertips brushing your spine as he goes. He's so warm and so broad behind you that it sends a shiver through your body.

Bucky brushes your hair to one side and leans down to press a featherlight kiss the place where your neck meets your shoulder. You hum in contentment, which only spurs him on. He begins to leave kisses wherever he pleases - your shoulder, your neck, behind your ear. You practically melt into him, and he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You smile at his words, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder.

"Says the man that looks like a goddamn supermodel."

"Oh, angel. Now you're just lying to me."

His chuckle rumbles through the both of you, the sound lighting up your nerve endings.

Your eyes flick across the room, where you notice the clock on the wall.

"Baby," you whisper. "You gotta stop. We're gonna be late."

He groans lowly and lets his head loll into the crease of your shoulder.

"I was fine until you called me baby," he murmurs. "Now that's all I'm gonna be thinking about for the rest of the night."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"I'm not."

You both laugh and untangle yourselves, you moving to put on your shoes while Bucky straightens himself out.

"You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself, lover boy?"

"I'm gonna have to," he grumbles, trying to hide the smile that's fighting to take over his face.

You lean against him as you do up the straps of your shoes, dancing your fingers down his arm to interlink your hands.

"Ready?" you ask, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Ready," he confirms, leaning down to kiss you chastely.

"A night of pretending that we're not soulmates. How hard can that be?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Pretending that Bucky isn't your soulmate is one of the hardest things you've ever done.

You haven't even made it inside yet.

Buck parks his truck in your parents driveway and turns to look at you. You've been silent the entire ride over, and it's making him anxious. He reaches over and places a warm palm on your bare thigh, thumb rubbing patterns back and forth.

"You okay?"

You take a deep breath, which is all the answer he needs.

"It's alright, baby. I'm nervous too. We've got this. We're alright."

You look into his eyes for the first time since you were in your apartment, and have to fight to stop yourself from crying. You nod and bite your lip, inhaling and exhaling carefully.

"You're okay. I promise. It's me and you, honey girl. It's me and you."

You want to crawl over into Bucky's lap and bury your face in his chest. You want to curl up in his strong arms and let his scent envelope you. You want to tangle your fingers into his hair and smash his lips to yours, until you don't know where you end and Bucky begins.

Instead, you bring his hand from your thigh to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles tenderly. The gesture makes his heart beat so fast, he's a little worried he's about to pass out.

"Come and talk to me anytime tonight, okay? I've got you. I've always got you."

You nod again, and take another deep breath.

"I know, Buck. It's the only thing I'm sure of."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"My baby!"

Your Mom smothers you in a hug the minute you knock on the door, almost tipping you over in the process.

"Oh, you look so beautiful. This colour is gorgeous on you, sweetheart."

The heaviness of your heart gets a little lighter at the sight of your Mother. She's magic like that.

"Thanks Mama. Is your skirt new? It's pretty."

She gives you a twirl, the skirt billowing around her like a princess. Both you and Bucky smile when you catch each others eyes briefly.

"I got it on our trip! Your Dad got a new shirt too - he looks so handsome."

She's grinning from ear to ear talking about him. Your smile only gets wider.

Bucky gives your Mom a one armed hug, and hands her a white box with a bow on.

"I wish I could say this is from me, but I don't have nearly enough talent for that."

"You're plenty good at other things, Buck," she laughs. "What's in here, sweetheart?"

"Apple, carrot and cinnamon cake with cream cheese frosting. I piped little bunny rabbits on top, too."

Before she can say anything else, you take the box from her hands and walk into the house.

"We better put this in the refrigerator before the frosting melts!" you call as you leave.

"Come on Buck, let's get you a drink. Jack bought your favourite."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Your parents backyard looks incredible.

Golden fairylights adorn the deck, illuminating the dining area that your Mom has set up. The table is covered with a white lace tablecloth, and littered with tea lights and candlesticks. Each place setting has a wine and a water glass ready, fringed cushions perched on each wooden chair. There's a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a stained glass vase as the centerpiece, more flowers scattered across the entirety of the table.

The sun hasn't set yet, and the entire garden is dripping with the glowing orange hue of the evening. The air is warm and calm, salty ocean breeze only disrupting the peace occasionally. If summer were to be summed up in a night, it'd be this one.

Your Dad is pouring water into all of the glasses from an ornate painted jug when you walk into the yard.

"Hi, Papa."

"Oh, sweetheart!" he smiles in surprise, abandoning his task to come and give you a hug. "You look amazing. I like your dress."

"Thank you - hey, is this your new shirt? It suits you!"

"It's nice, right? Your Mom picked it out. She said the colour brings out my eyes."

You look him up and down comically, crossing your arms over your chest like a cartoon detective.

"Hmm... she's right. It definitely does."

You're both laughing when your Mom and Bucky join you, the two men immediately smacking each other on the back affectionately.

"Where you been, Buck? Work keeping you busy?"

"Stupidly busy - you wouldn't even believe."

"Well, it's your night off, so no shop talk!" your Mom encourages, handing Bucky a beer.

"Easier said than done," he winks, and your breathing picks up just a little.

"Mama, do you need help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Oh, yes please, sweetheart. Come, let me show you what needs doing."

The two of you leave the men to catch up, walking inside to prep the appetisers.

You're slicing tomatoes carefully when you turn to watch your Mom for a minute. She's chopping up basil, completely engrossed. The evening sun beams in, illuminating her as she stands by the window. You love her so much it makes you unsteady on your feet.

"Hey, Mama? Can I talk to you about something?"

She turns and immediately stops what she's doing, giving her full attention to you.

"Of course you can, baby. Anything at all."

You take a deep breath, and carry on slicing while you talk.

"So, you remember Stella, right?

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

There's good food, gorgeous wine and even better company. Your parents invited many of their friends, meaning twelve of you are sat around the meticulously prepared table. In between courses, there's conversation, laughter and games, everyone letting go of the stress of the week.

You're doing everything you can to avoid looking at Bucky. You're worried that if someone catches the two of you, they'll know everything. You're surprised you haven't confessed already, the weight of the secret too heavy to bear.

Your Mom is cutting your cake on the table when there's a sudden commotion.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. Shit."

"Is everyone okay?" your Mom asks, flitting to the other end of the table.

"I'm so fucking clumsy, my God. Dropped my wine straight onto Bucky," Jesse, one of your Dad's oldest friends, explains.

"As long as it doesn't stain my white tablecloth, we're fine," your Mom laughs. "What do you need, Buck?"

"It's only white wine, luckily, so no stain. I'm just wet. I'm gonna go dry off."

"I have a hairdryer?" you offer without thinking.

"Good idea, honey. Go help Bucky upstairs while I get some paper towels."

You rise from your chair and make your way inside, heart racing as Bucky follows you. You rummage around the drawers of your childhood bedroom, certain you used to keep all of your hair tools here somewhere.

"You got it?" a warm, whiskey smooth voice asks from behind you.

"Got it," you reply, standing up with the hairdryer in your hand.

Bucky kicks the door closed behind him, and takes a step into you.

"I can't focus on anything when you're sat there in that dress," he murmurs. "Look like a fuckin' angel, all pretty under the lights."

Heat blooms over your chest, and you pray he doesn't notice. Your breathing quickens, and you step forward too, now chest to chest with him.

"I'm so worried that I'm going to accidentally blurt it out," you confess. "You're the only thing that's on my mind."

Bucky leans down to press his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. You fist your hands into his shirt and pull him closer, snaking your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like mint and sugar and every kiss for the rest of your life.

He groans when you bite his lip, nipping yours back in retaliation.

"Easy, baby," he warns teasingly. "I can't go back down there black and blue."

You roll your eyes and kiss him harder, practically melting when he grabs at your ass roughly.

"What do you need, pretty girl?" he questions against your mouth. "I'll give you anything."

You're panting against him, vibrating with need.

"Need you to take the edge off," you whisper, hands shaking as you unbutton his wet shirt. "Can't carry on like this. Please, baby. Please."

"We've gotta be quick," he reminds, sneaking his hand under your dress to tease you over your underwear.

You grab at his shoulders for leverage, almost certain your knees aren't going to hold out long enough. Bucky doesn't even take your panties off, just slips his hand down the front. It feels filthier this way.

"Fuck," he groans. "This all for me, honey? You been thinking about this?"

"Yes," you whine. "All I've thought about."

Bucky wastes no time, slipping a finger into you easily. After a minute, he adds another, setting a steady rhythm immediately.

"Shit," you breathe, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "We're supposed to be taking it slow."

"You want me to go slow?"

"No, fuck," you say immediately. "Don't stop. Please."

He chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

"I won't, baby. Almost there."

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he can take you to the edge, but you don't care. This is what having a soulmate is. They know you better than anyone - inside and out.

"So close," you whisper.

"I know, pretty baby. I can feel it. Stay quiet and come for me. That's it."

You can't hold out when he uses that tone with you. You're thrown over the edge, your climax running through you like molten honey, hot and delicious. Your knees buckle, and Bucky uses a strong arm around your middle to hold you up.

"There we go," he's murmuring. "Atta girl. That's my girl."

You wrap your arms around his waist and breathe him in, finally coming back to your senses.

"My parents are gonna wonder where we are," you realise. "Grab your shirt and the hairdryer. You're gonna have to do it while I recover."

Bucky smiles at you with so much affection, the world stops spinning for a second. This is a moment of bliss. The two of you revel in it.

Bucky dries his shirt while you go back outside, trying to keep suspicion to a minimum.

"Fixed, sweetheart?" your Mom asks, holding out a piece of cake to you. You take it gratefully and sit back down, relaxing into your chair.

"Yeah, it's basically dry. That hairdryer is old, so it's taking a while."

"Well you didn't miss much, other than Jesse telling the Joshua Tree story for the fortieth time this month," your Dad laughs.

"You love that story, asshole!" Jesse yells, just as Bucky re-enters the garden. He throws you a mischievous smile, which you reciprocate with ease.

Everyone is a little more careful with their wine as the night goes on, keeping all the glasses planted firmly on the table.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"So then I said, well, if you don't like it, leave!"

You're pretty sure you've heard your Mom's friend Cora tell this story before, but you're all laughing like it's the first time. She has such an animated voice, you're convinced you could listen to her read the phone book.

"Which, I mean, I didn't think he would. Imagine breaking up over a chinchilla! A fucking chinchilla!"

You're laughing so hard your sides hurt. You look over to Bucky, and see that he's grinning like a Cheshire cat. You could get used to this.

"So I watched him pack his shit, box by box. Which took fucking ages, by the way. He was using those big plastic boxes, you know the black ones? And he was filling them so carefully and so slowly, that I started helping him!"

You wipe a tear from your face, still doubled over in amusement. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, the way your abs hurt now.

"But I didn't want him taking those boxes, because they're nice, right? They're expensive, and they're mine! So I helped him move out, and then unpacked all of his shit so I could have my boxes back."

Your Mom, despite hearing this story before, hasn't taken her eyes off Cora the entire time. She's such a careful listener. It's one of the things you love most about her.

"Oh, I'll drop them off for you, if you like!" Cora yells, staring directly at you. Everyone turns to look at you in confusion.

"Why would she need all your boxes?" Jesse laughs.

"For the big move!"

Time stands still. The world goes silent. Your heart stops beating.

"...What move?" Bucky asks, never taking his eyes off you.

"To California! Her dream job, falling in her lap. We're so proud of you, babygirl. You've worked so hard for this."

Cora's tearing up now, the alcohol catching up to her. She raises her glass high in the air.

"To our little superstar. The best baker the world has ever seen! Cheers!"

Everyone clinks their glasses together in the middle of the table, except for you and Bucky. You haven't taken your eyes off each other. The world carries on, but you stay still.

You suddenly feel a cacophony of emotions - sadness, anger, betrayal, hurt and confusion settling like ten tonne weights onto your chest. Then it hits you - you're feeling what Bucky feels.

You feel a heart break.

You're not sure if it's yours or his.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

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cdbabymp3 · 2 months

Text

𐙚chris' girl (intro) ― matt sturniolo

summary: matt has a not-so-innocent crush on chris' girlfriend

notes/warnings (pls read!!) : this series is going to be nsfw ! if u don't fw that, kindly, bye <3 reader is a popular influencer in la and lowkey oblivious but not really...you'll see lol, alcohol, partying, smoking, the whole nine yards honestly, buckle up...

*this is a work of FICTION, i don't think any of this would actually happen lmfao, it's just for fun! while chris and matt both like reader, there will be no incest shit whatsoever. you can 1000% miss me with that, thank youuu !

[unedited]

it started off with little things every so often. there wasn't this big moment that made matt fall for her, it was more so a collection of interactions he thought back on before bed every night. these interactions, some innocent, some... not so much, plagued his mind. she was everywhere. in his head, in his car, in his house, on his couch. the smell of her vanilla perfume always lingered. he'd pretend to complain, but there was never an ounce of actual annoyance in his voice. it was almost visceral, the way his body reacted to merely thinking about these interactions.

like the time she came into his room for a towel before her and chris went to the hot tub. matt almost choked on his own saliva, the sight of her in the tiniest black bikini known to man, belly button piercing sparkling. the $300 vivienne westwood necklace chris gave her for her birthday dangled dangerously low in the valley of her full chest. matt couldn't speak, but how could he? all he could do was gulp and hand her the towel.

or that time when he was heading to his room for the night, but caught of glimpse of chris' cracked door. she sat on the edge of his, back to the door, slipping the straps of her pink bra back on. she turned her head slowly, as if she knew. but matt was quick to keep walking. did she know? did she want me to see her like that? these questions loomed around matt's mind, a constant battle of fighting what he actually saw versus what his fantasies made him believe. it was bad, that half-awake, half-asleep state of being that would nearly convince matt there was chance she had interest in him.

he could her voice saying his name over and over again.

"matt, matt, matt, matt...-MATT, WAKE THE FUCK UP!" chris interjected, throwing a pillow at matt's head. matt jolted up, gasping for air, chest heaving up and down.

"chris!" matt scowled at him, hand over his heart to make sure he was still alive after being in that much shock.

"ooooh, someone was having a good dream." chris teased, flicking on the lights, "c'mon, seriously, get up. i told y/n we'd pick her up on the way to the party." he mentioned casually, leaving the room to make sure nick was ready to leave as well.

the party. matt had completely forgot. fuck.

the drive to y/n's house was normal: matt drove, nick sat in the passenger seat texting different group chats to see who was coming to the party, and chris sat in the back middle on aux, per usual. maybe it was pathetic, but every time they picked up y/n, matt's stomach would get that light feeling right before you go on a massive roller coaster. he thought with time, it would go away. this had to be the 5th or 6th time they were picking her up, but the feeling in stomach proved no signs of lessening in the slightest. matt would just have to deal with it. he took a deep breath, slowly pulling into her driveway and turning down the music a bit. chris sent his usual "i'm here" text and it wasn't even two minutes later that y/n came strutting out. a pale pink, skin-tight dress that stopped barely after the curve of her ass adorned her body. her chunky black heels clicked against the pavement as she made her way to matt's car. she did a little wave at matt and nick through the driver's side window before opening the back door, chris holding out of hand to help her in.

once she closed the door, the vanilla wave of her perfume set in instantly, matt's grip on the wheel tightening.

"hi guys!" her honey voice beamed, adjusting her dress. "hi baby", giving chris a quick kiss on the cheek. his hand went to its usual spot on her inner thigh. and like usual, matt saw this in the rearview mirror, eyes darting from the sight to the gps directions back and forth, making sure chris' hand didn't travel any further. matt reversed the car, praying he could keep his emotions level for the 14 minute remainder of the drive

"you look soooo fucking good!" nick complimented, turning his upper body to face y/n, almost baffled by her beauty.

"yeah, you really do." chris chimed in, hand squeezing her thigh now. seeing this, matt 'accidentally' hit the brakes abruptly at the red light, causing chris' hand to leave her thigh.

"shit, sorry." matt apologized dryly

"matt, focus up! i swear to god, y/n could drive better in her 6 inch heels." chris jokes, and nick laughs, but y/n swats chris' arm.

"leave him alone." y/n rolls her eyes, digging in her purse for lipgloss.

matt tried so hard not to smirk, turning into the street where the party was happening and parking a couple houses down. the whole street was packed, luxury cars filled every available spot on the curb, beautiful people all heading to the biggest house on the block.

matt didn't register the moments before entering the house, mainly by choice. he hated watching chris always give her the sloppiest tongue kiss whenever they got out of the car. he hated the awkward walk up the street, y/n and chris walking in front of him, hand in hand, while he had to listen to nick's latest tangent.

once nick swung the door open, though, matt had no choice but to look alive. deafeningly loud rap struck matt's chest, the bass booming and buzzing throughout his whole body. y/n and chris went straight to get drinks and greet people like they always did. matt trailed loosely behind.

after a couple drinks, chris and y/n were the stars of the party. y/n body-rolled to the music, chris stood closely behind her, one hand on her hip and the other holding his solo cup in the air. everyone was dancing and having a good time, and then there was matt. he stood off to the side near the drink table, sipping root beer from the can, summoning the strength not to leave with every body-roll and swivel of y/n's hips against chris' groin. matt shook his head, frankly pissed off. chris always did that stupid thing where he pretended to act shocked by y/n's dancing as if they didn't go to parties together all the time. thankfully, matt's suffering was cut short when chris left y/n to get a refill. he walked up to the drink table, pouring himself a shot-sized amount of vodka into the cup, eyeing matt's muted disposition.

"y'know, matt, you could actually talk to people or have a good time here. no one's paying you to stand there like a fucking statue." chris threw his head back, downing the liquor.

"my stomach hurts." matt remarked flatly, sipping his root beer. to be fair, his stomach did actually hurt. the reason why, he couldn't tell his brother-or anyone, really.

"whatever." chris waved him off, leaving to talk with some friends in the other corner.

matt sighed, stomach in knots, the knots covered in thorns, the thorns injected with poison. maybe he should leave, just for a bit... tempting, but then he would lose his parking spot and god knows he wouldn't hear the end of it from nick. his thoughts are interrupted by a cloud of smoke wafting in his face. matt coughs as the cloud fades to reveals some random guy. as much as he tried, matt could not for the life of him keep up with what influencer was who.

to be polite, matt nodded at him, "hey, man."

"'sup." the guy reciprocated, taking another hit of from vape. his eyes traveled somewhere else after a moment, staring with his mouth agape. "jesus fucking christ.." he muttered in disbelief.

matt quirked an eyebrow, confused. turning his head to the direction the guy was looking. that confused dissipated in half a second. there she was. y/n in the middle of the crowd, shaking her ass and rotating her hips sensually. her hands slid down the curves her body to the cadence of the song playing. there were other pretty girls dancing around her, but no one could dance the way y/n did. even without intention, y/n had an innate talent for drawing people in.

"oh...yeah, she's-uh-" matt struggled with what to say that wouldn't blow his cover completely.

"please tell me she's single" the guy's eyes widen on y/n's body, his voice soaked in envy, "or is she your girl?"

matt's stomach filled with a new feeling. defeat. he could lie to the guy, sure. he could could say she was single, but to fuck off because he was about to make his move. or he could go a step further and proudly say she was his girl. he doubted the guy would question it. but it wasn't worth it. he was better than that. plus, he knew he'd feel even more pathetic for it later tonight.

"nah, man, " he took one last look at y/n in all her glory, before throwing his drink away. giving the guy a pat on the shoulder in solidarity, "she's chris' girl."

new fic woooooo !!!! i'm excitedddd

this is just the intro, chp.1 will be up later !

#Spotify #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

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sturnsdoll · 17 days

Note

Matt and Fwb!reader

at a party she decides to flirt with someone else, i mean she is still single after all

Matt doesn’t like that much

BELONG TO ME ੈ♡˳ - M.S

pairing: (fwb!) matt x reader

summary: when you catch your fuck buddy bestfriend flirting with another girl at a party, you decide you need to distract yourself with a different guy. matt doesn't like that at all. you belong to him.

warnings: rough dom!matt, jealousy/possesivness, fingering, thigh riding, p in v, hair pulling, degrading, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, this one's wild so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 3,137

authors note: i know nobody asked for me to write about thigh riding but i truly dgaf cause it's sexy ash. hope y'all enjoy <3

"pink" - reader speaking "blue" - matt speaking

suggested song while reading:

「 ✦house of balloons/glass table girls by the weeknd ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 ᯤ✦ 」

the walls in the house were vibrating with music. voices rose over one another. alcohol and perfume filled your nostrils and you were wandering around like a headless chicken to find your bestfriend matt, who had brought you here.

there was a good 10 minutes of being caught up in conversation, being pushed and shoved, as well as just pure confusion of the crowds of people that halted you from your search. but alas, through the crowd of people you recognize matt's black hoodie and grey tank. a smile returns to your face. you adjust your dress down from where it had risen as well as fix your hair a little. mouth open, you're about to call for your friend when you realize he wasn't just standing there conversating. there was a girl stood beside him. with the way his arm cradled her while she leaned on him there was practically no space between the two.

you wanted to keep walking up to him. wanted to not care. but something inside you physically ached at her being on the guy you were so close with. so intimate with. you had been so naked with. your bestfriend. without thinking you turned around, storming off in the other direction.

it took a few minutes, but not many for you to find a guy. handsome, but not matt really your type. it wasn't hard to convince him to come out to the backyard for a little space to have fun. once outside, the strangers hand grazed your thigh as the two of your lips mushed together. he tasted like beer and cigarettes. quite honestly? he kissed like a complete fucking idiot.. nothing like matt

but, he was decent looking. tall with a typically attractive (but douchey) face and damn well good enough to distract yourself from caring about someone else's endeavors. unbeknownst to you though, this would lead to just about anything but 'distracting yourself' from your bestfriend.

when you had seen matt with that girl, it was only as you were walking away that he saw you. matt had not as kindly as possible told the girl he had to go before chasing after you. he had been excited because he hadn't caught sight of you in about an hour or two- or at least he was excited till he watched you drag some random guy outside.

even though it was none of his buisiness, matt followed curiously until you, as well as the stranger, both exited the party. he stayed insde near the window to see what was happening. for two minutes he disgustedly obeserved a heated makeout that made his stomach turn. matt was finding it impossible to decide wether he had a right to go out there and stop it or not.

he wasn't your boyfriend after all. only the friend you fuck... right?

wrong. because the second that guy's hand brushed too close to the hem of your dress, matt was throwing open the back door. he came uncomfortably close to you and the stranger. you caught sight of his enraged features right away. you assumed something had happened and were immedietly concerned "matt hey what's wr-"

through gritted teeth, he interupted "we're leaving now. please." matt's tone was stern but he was trying not to upset you by being irrationally angry. you backed away from the stranger enough to take in matt's whole body language."what? why? the party isn't eve- matt!" matt had firmly but not too aggresively pulled you infront of him by your arm. away from the other guy. the other guy was completely dumbfounded and frozen, no clue what was happening. matt looked down at you with urgency "are you staying here with him.." he eyed the stranger with threat "or are you going with me to your house?" you could tell that whatever was wrong, he was angry enough that he was trying not to have some kind of outburst. although... you'd beg to differ that he already was.

you finally respond "you?" your tone was telling him 'obviously?'. before you can question him further, matt nods as he grabs your hand to drag you through the backgate. the whole way to the car you were asking matt why he was so eager to leave but it just fell on deaf ears.

the entire drive to your apartment his hand aggresively kneaded at your thigh so now you were assuming he left because he was horny. he made it clear that he'd tell you what was happening when you'd get home.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the second the two of you entered your home you started asking questions while he slid his sweater and shoes off. "if you were horny we could've found a room there matt?" you said, still confused. he didn't respond to you as he undid his shoe laces. now you were concerned. "matt? say something c'mon"

once his shoes were off he stood to face you. he didn't wanna be toxic by yelling at or harassing you about some guy. but he couldn't just let it go either.

"who was that guy?" his voice comes out colder than he means it to. you shrug mindlessly "just some guy" you respond. before he can ask anything else you mutter "not that it's your buisiness". he looks down at you with a million emotions coursing through him, jealousy overcoming most of the others. "excuse me?" he seemed offended and it pissed you off since he started all this. "well since you were busy with some girl i figured i'd keep myself busy too." you stated.

he laughs sarcastically "i had an arm around her because she was drunk and i was physically pointing her in the right direction of where she was going. and yeah, i may have flirted a little" he steps closer to the point where you can feel his breath fan your face "you however- had that guys hand halfway up your fucking dress." even matt's surprised at his own tone. but you both know he'd never intentionally upset or hurt you though. "i was stupid for being jealous but at least i didn't drag you outta there. it's not like i'm your girlfriend matt. i'm not yours" you even hurt yourself with your last few choice of words.

"were you gonna let him touch you?" matt's voice shows that he's desperate for an answer. you roll your eyes. "not your buisiness." the second the words leave your lips he steps forward again, making you back up. he grabs your arm to keep you in place so now your noses brush and lips ghost one anothers. "were you?" he repeats. you can't believe how jealous he seems but something about it makes your thighs clench. "okay, jesus matt, yes. i was." you reply quickly. there's a moment where you can see his mind pool with thoughts. but before any of them come out, his lips smash onto yours. his hand going to the back of your head, in your hair. your lips meld into one anothers, but there's nothing gentle about it. his grip on your hair tightens as he backs you into a nearby dresser.

once he's done with kissing your lips practically raw, he begins to leave marks down your neck. "i don't care if i'm your friend-" he stops to suck at your neck "your bestfriend.." another harsh suck to your collarbone "your fuck buddy.." his free hand pulls your dress up a little "or the biggest pain in your ass ever." he cups your pussy through your underwear as he pulls your head back by your hair, elicting a whine from your throat "you're mine" his hand slithers into your panties and two fingers enter you as he seethes out "you belong to me." into your ear

"matt!" you cry out. he gives you no time to prepare before his long fingers are fucking you faster than you can even think. once he's studied your face and confirmed to himself that you're enjoying this side of him, he uses the leverage of his grip in your hair to pull your face to his, sloppily making out as his fingers abuse your cunt.

a moment later he pulls back again "think he would've known how you like to be touched?" matt questions as he thumb presses down on your clit just the way you like. shaking your head no, you grip his shoulders for support. he answers his own question "no. but i do. so are you his?" his question makes you clench around his fingers because you know where this is going. "n- ngh- no." "well than?"

"liste- uhh mm- i'm sorry i-" he cuts you off "no. i don't care. jus wanna know who you belong to" his thumb circles faster on your clit now, adding more pressure as well. "yo- mm!" he purposefully ruined your chance at speaking by curling his fingers into that one spot. the spongey spot inside you that makes your head spin and stomach turn.

his gives a look of faux sympathy "sorry sweetheart i didn't get that" his tone is convincingly sweet but you know better. giving him a glare, you repeat yourself "you, you asshole". a grin plasters on his face at the satisfaction. you said you belong to him. he also loved the way you mouthed off to him even if he wouldn't admit it "that's how you're gonna talk to me when im knuckles deep in you?" proving his point, he manages to push his fingers just a little deeper. this time when they curl you gasp and moan, gripping his shoulders. you lay your forehead on his chest, embarassed by how your cunt squeezes his fingers at every dirty word and little touch from him. he knows what he's doing. "matt c'mon" you beg.. even though you don't really want him to stop.

"what? you were shamelessly gonna let a stranger finger fuck you but now you're all shy, hm?" he releases your hair so he can pull the top of your dress down, exposing your tits. you only respond to him with a whine as his lips attach to your left nipple. you start to feel the knot in your stomach forming.

his teeth nip and suck making you arch your back, your chest pressing further toward him. your mouth opens, head tilted back. you're getting right to the edge. you're about to tell your bestfriend you need to cum when he slowly pulls his fingers out, hand emerging from under your dress.

you sigh and eye him annoyidly "matt." you complain, clenching around nothing. he releases your tit with a pop. "considering you were gonna let someone else touch you, you clearly don't appreciate how good i am at making you finish" as he talks he's guiding you over to your couch "so i think you should do it yourself so you can learn to appreciate how good i am to you" there's a cocky little smile on his face that he's trying to supress. before you get a chance to respond to him, he sits down and pulls you gently onto his thigh.

your dress bunches around the very tops of your thighs now, underwear still on you, completely drenched from him fingering you. staring at him, you don't process what he's telling you to do until his long fingers come up to grab your jaw, gently forcing eyecontact "ride my thigh." he instructs right before pushing his leg up, the light friction is just enough to effect you.

with how sensitive you already were, the lightest touches have you gone. your hips instinctively began rocking over the rough material of his jeans. your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself once again. his eyes are glued to your frustratedely needy expression. the way your lips part and your lashes flutter as you close your eyes makes his dick throb to be inside you.

although your clits getting some friction, the lack of having his fingers or more disirably his dick inside you is driving you insane. there's already a wet patch on his jeans from you. not surprising considering he has you completely soaked. your hips are already beginning to slow, finding it impossible to chase your orgasm just by fucking yourself on his thigh.

matt notices this. "tired, baby? you need help?" he teases. to add to it his thigh flexes again making you whine his name. it feels good but you need more. "fuck matt, please" you sigh out desperately. his long fingers take hold of your hips and begin rocking you at a steady pace, pushing you down onto his thigh. "this feel better?" he asks. you nod. there's a cockiness to his voice that makes you close your thighs tightly around his.

he looks down to see where you've already soaked his jeans as well as to see how your pussy's desperately grinding on him for whatever pleasure you can get. he looks back up now to see how your eyes are closed, focus in your features. pretty whines and moans spill one after the other. the more needy you get, the higher in pitch your needy little noises get. matt loves when he gets you like this. nothing in your head besides hoping he'll let you cum.

he himself is beginning to find it impossible to ignore the buldge that's straining the fabric of his jeans. for the second time tonight you start to feel your stomach twisting with the familiar ache of an upcoming orgasm. your thighs squeeze around his thigh even harder now.

"can i?" you whine. matt already knows what you want so his grip on your hips tightens bruisingly, forcing you to a sudden stop. your eyes open wide and you stare at him pleadingly, so worked up and out of breath that you can't bring yourself to protest or complain when he lifts you off him and sets you on the couch so that you're on your knee's, hands on the arm rest. he's standing now, removing his clothes. once he's finished, he gets comfortable behind you good thing you have a wide enough couch for the both of you and helps you with getting your panties off. he lines himself up, his tip teasing your hole.

your hips push back toward him needily but he grips them again to force them back into place. there's a long moment of nothing. you open your mouth to ask him what the hell's taking so long but it's replaced by a nearly pornographic noise at the feeling of his length filling you completely with 0 warning.

he pulls out with only the tip in before filling you completely again. "matt!" you cry out in pleasure (and a little pain from the stretch.) loving the way his name sounds from you, he wants to hear it again. he pulls out then fucks back into you. just like he wanted, his name falls from your lips.

his pace is on the slower side but every thrust is deep, hitting all the right spots. your nails are threatning to pierce the fabric of your couch. his name mixed with moans of pleasure come over and over again. matt's not a huge egotistical asshole or anything but he'd be lying if he didn't say that the control he has over you right now wasn't getting him off. he loves that you only become such a mess for him.

he loves that you belong to him

his hips are twitching and his thrusts are faster, needier. his hand finds your hair and he pulls you up so your back is against his chest. he knows he's close but he needs to make sure his girl his bestfriend comes first, so his other hand leaves your hip to come to your clit, rubbing fast circles that make you see stars.

he feels you clenching, hears your choked moans but decides to ask anyway. he wants to hear you say it. "you wanna cum for me baby?" he asks right in your ear, his voice goes straight to your cunt making you impossibly more turned on. you nod your head but that's not enough for him.

"use your words" "n-need to cum f- mph fuck!- for you" at the sound of your begging he nearly finishes but there's one more thing he needs to hear before he's done with you. "i'll let you cum if you- mmph- tell me who you belong to, y-yeah?" you can hear it in his voice, he's desperate too. but he wants needs the satisfaction of hearing that you're his. you groan with frustration "you, matt." your spit out at him. you don't care for his antics right now, just wanting to cum.

he uses his grip on your hair to tug your head to the side so he can make eyecontact with you. he can hear the ingenuity in your voice and he needs you to say it like you mean it. "say it again sweetheart." he demands, landing a light slap to your clit that elicts a whine from you. you can't take much more of this. "matt i need to cum pl-" "say. it. again." between each word he slams inside of you. you feel your legs begin to shake and mind going fuzzy.

"i'm yours, m-matt. i'm all yours"

"good girl. now go ahead and cum for me"

the words aren't even fully out of his lips when you coat his dick with your cum. your legs shake, mind a complete haze as he's fucking you through it. it doesn't take long before your body is basically limp. his grip on your hair and arm around you keeping you up.

he thrusts into you harshly just one more time before stilling, then you feel his seed fill and spill out of you. he stays there for a few seconds before pulling out, releasing his hold on you and gently guiding you to lay on the couch. he drops down behind you to hold you close, pulling a blanket from the top of the couch over the two of you.

for the next ten minutes your "bestfriend" lays behind you, his mouth peppering kisses along your shoulder silently, soothingly. you're the first to speak. "matt?" your voice comes quiet. "mhm?". "i'm assuming that meant you don't want me seeing other people?"

he pulls you closer against him "yea- well.. not unless you want us to be seeing other people??" there's a hint of concern in his voice. "absaloutely not." you say with no hesitation. you hear him let out a sigh of relief. there's a pause before you speak again "and matt?"

no response. "matt??" nothing.

you turn your head to see him fast asleep like a little baby.

idiot.

tags: @mattsrod @sturncakez

#matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturnsdoll

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ladyylavenderrr · 1 year

Text

At first, Luigi is hopeful. He sits in his (admittedly comfortable) cell with his head held high. He looks out the window and imagines what his brother will do when he finally comes for him. There’s no question that Bowser will get the beating of a lifetime, of course, but Luigi still wonders how the showdown will go. He occupies his mind by imagining it all.

After 4 days, Luigi starts to get worried. He and his brother had never taken this long to rescue Peach when she’d gotten captured. Bowser must have realized this too for he soon takes the time to actually speak to Luigi.

“Your brother busy or something?”, he jokes. It gets a chuckle out of Luigi. Only a small one.

After an entire week has passed, Luigi stops responding to his captor entirely. It’s a real shame. The two had been having nice conversations. Bowser is a nice guy behind his tough façade. The constant kidnapping thing he has going on isn’t ideal, but at least he’s not cruel.

Once Luigi goes silent, Bowser starts bringing him more and more of his meals personally. He smiles kindly when Luigi finally takes a bite after an entire hour of refusing and it’s the only thing that awakens Luigi from his depressive state, if only slightly. Bowser keeps talking throughout these interactions, even if his captive won’t respond.

After two weeks, as Luigi sits on his little bed, slowly sipping at his soup, he finally cracks. His sobs come so suddenly, they surprise even him. The man barely even registers Bowser kneeling in front of him. He perhaps says something but Luigi can’t hear him. He’s too busy sobbing pathetically onto his meal.

He’s not sure how he finds himself in the koopa’s arms, sobs shaking him violently. He’s not sure who was the one to even go in for the hug, if Bowser pulled him down to the floor or if he himself leaped towards him in a panic. Either way, Luigi shakes and clings to the king in desperation.

Bowser lets him out of his cell not long after.

After 3 weeks, Luigi begins throwing things in fits of intense anger. Even though Bowser has allowed him to leave his cell and wander the castle, he doesn’t. Luigi mostly just stays in his room. If before he was depressed, now he was angry. He snaps at any servant that dares approach, he punches walls and screams into his pillow. Bowser is the only one to not get angry. When servants glare as he throws the meals they brought, when nearby guards yell as they restrain him, Bowser is calm and kind. That fact just makes Luigi all the more furious.

“Get out!” Luigi weakly throws a chair. Bowser stays still. “Why won’t you leave?!” Bowser stays still. Luigi lets out a scream of frustration and tears at his pillow. “Just get rid of me! Just hurt me already!” Bowser doesn’t. He just stays still, an unreadable expression on his face.

When Luigi tires himself out he falls to the floor and cries. He finds Bowser there to hold him once more. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”, Luigi chokes out through his tears. Bowser doesn’t respond.

After a month, Luigi finally starts going out. He walks in the gardens (quaint as they may be compared to those in the mushroom kingdom) and almost feels like himself again. He helps out in the kitchens and feels joy fill his being once more. When he’s introduced to Jr, he takes to him immediately and the two bond quickly. Luigi notices that he isn’t guarded anymore and when he’s by the palace gates, he’s not looked at with suspicion. The message is clear and the opportunity is there. Luigi doesn’t take it.

“Why don’t you leave?”, Bowser asks him one day. The two are sat in the royal library and Luigi is caught off guard by the question. Their conversation had been cheerful and lighthearted up until that point, about nothing in particular. It takes a moment for Luigi to answer but he finally responds with “Why would I?”

“Don’t you have friends you miss?”

“I don’t want to think about them…”

He thinks about Daisy, about his friends in the toad villages. He can’t bring himself to imagine going back to them, to a life outside of Bowser’s kingdom.

“Besides, where would I even go? Back to him?”

The way Luigi hisses the phrase out is enough to keep Bowser quiet. The koopa stares at nothing yet his attention is clearly still on Luigi.

“You’re the one who took care of me at my lowest. Not him.”

Luigi takes his hand with his own, shaking nervously.

“I don’t want to go back. I want to stay with you.”

The silence between the two stretches on endlessly.

“You wouldn’t abandon me, would you?”

Bowser looks away, his face red, but when Luigi feels him squeeze his hand, he knows he has his answer.

After 2 months, Luigi gives up on the idea of the mushroom kingdom ever coming to a peace with the Koopa Kingdom, at least not in his lifetime. Luigi finds the prejudices he believed about the residents of this kingdom to be nothing but a fabrication. Luigi can’t even recall why the two kingdoms hate each other so much. He only knows that things have always been this way and that’s how they’re destined to remain. Bowser speaks to him about his recent revelations about the unending conflict, about his failed attempts to find peace with Princess Peach. The distrust runs too deep, it seems.

“Is that why you kidnapped me then? Were you upset you had failed again?”, Luigi finds himself asking.

“Not really. But I’ve always kidnapped someone, right? It’s what I do, even if I’ve stopped being sure why.”, Bowser’s eyes were far away. “I guess I just wanted someone new to take.”, he chuckles.

Luigi finds himself smiling and laughing alongside him. “I’m glad you did.”, he speaks. Despite all that’s happened, despite being abandoned by his brother, Luigi can’t help but thank fate for bringing him to Bowser. He’s found someone who’s good for him, someone who cares for him, warts and all.

It’s too bad a red-capped hero slowly making his way toward Bowser’s castle has to ruin it all

#mario bros #mario #Bowuigi #dark fic #kinda #more like bittersweet #mario movie #not really tho #shoutout to Bend or Break for inspiring this #I live for morally ambiguous Bowuigi #fanfiction #lgbtq #bittersweet #can’t believe I wrote this #Luigi has issues #and his relationship with Bowser is a bit unhealthy #arcane vibes #fic #corruption arc

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

Note

AITA for kicking my little brother out after a fight?

yes, the title is catching, so bare with me please.

my family and I (19NB) live like cottage core folks. we have separate sheds here and there that are modified to be tiny houses, whilst there are actually 3 houses placed and modified on our land. I switched many houses to find the most comfortable one, and that I have. Our aunt (M, dunno her age) is visiting us currently, and because we have no proper space for her to sleep, she's sleeping with my mother (R, mid 50s) as her husband (C, late 50s - early 60s) is forced to sleep at my house for the time being. There are many reasons as to why I'm uncomfy with this choice, a lot of them are personal, but one that stands out the most is that I'm uncomfortable with sleeping together with other folks, unless I trust them the most. I took some of my belongings to another house, along with one of the wifi motors we use (we have two) and tried to sleep in a house that my brother (N, 18) occasionally visits to cook his food. The first night was doing fine, until the second night kind of got worse, and where I would be called the asshole.

N has level 3 autism, as I have level 2. he doesn't understand not like change, and so do I. I was invading his space where he should be cooking, yet I try not to get into the middle of his process. he noticed I slept there now and decided to force me to cook for him, and I simply calmly told him he could do it himself. that part, I know he can understand, but he chooses not to do so for some benign reason. after trying to bother me several times, he decided to grab my stuff and use them without my knowledge, which quickly made me furious and aggressively told him to get back to whatever he's doing. that wasn't the right thing to do, admittedly, which resulted to throwing a Yeti stainless cup at my head and computer. that was where I drew the line entirely and have forcefully kicked him out of the house where he was cooking, all because he wanted to be rude and abusive towards me.

I called C to handle him momentarily as N was beating on the windows and yelling bloody murder, we were lucky that we didn't live in an urban neighborhood. C accused me for starting all of it when I calmly explained what was happening, and he kindly took it and left me be. on the other hand, R barged in and yelled at me for 1. taking the wifi motor to another house and 2. kicking N out. I was already exhausted and told her the same thing that happened, yet she refused to listen and still has blamed me for the troubles that happened. I told her why I was here, that was not relevant for her at all. I told her I needed space and a place to sleep since the other houses were not best suited for me, that was not relevant either as she looked at me stupid since her two options were let C sleep in her house with M and have R sleep in her car, or have C sleep at my house whilst M and R continue their shenanigans late at night.

not that this is too relevant, but to add damage to the situation is that this has been an occurring thing with how R treats N and I, with no little respect or freedom at all. every boundary that has been established has been either bent far beyond repair or blatantly crossed and ignored selfishly. This is not the first time she's acted this way towards us, and will probably never be her last. Instead of working through the situations that are brought up, she refuses to take accountability and let everything fall into her own hands, which never really works out at the end for everyone.

After the argument, I slept at an old house that was completely trashed, absolutely stunk, and did not feel comfortable at all. I do not have enough spoons to handle this on my own, and I refuse to help my family through the mess to avoid unnecessary consulting and other comments.

I will admit fault about not thinking through this situation, but I still need an opinion on this.

AITA for kicking my brother out for throwing a cup at my head? AITA for trying to find a place to sleep peacefully at my own comfort place?

(paws, in case something happens)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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chelseeebe · 1 year

Text

falling. | part 3. to maneater.

summary: steve harrington was the first boy you’d opened up to. so why can’t you stop fucking it up?

c/w: billy is in this and there’s mentions of sexual assault and non-consensual touching so read with caution!

it’s finally done!!!!! i don’t even think i like this but it’s here!!! tumblr deleted a whole chunk of writing so had to redo some parts n ik they aren’t as good as the original <\3 also falling - harry styles especially the first verse rlly got me going for this one.

read part one here. | read part two here.

there had been absolutely no contact with steve. he couldn’t even look at you.

now being shunned from sitting on the table your two groups had taken over, jessica very kindly tells you, ‘it’s probably better if you don’t come, y’know.. just until steve cools down.’

‘right.. guess i’ll see you later then,’ you slink out of the cafeteria, choosing to retreat to your car instead, away from everyone.

to be honest, you weren’t keen on sitting opposite steve anyway. the way his eyes looked at you, all sad and disappointed.

on the friday, you’re sat in your car, willing the next two hours of school to hurry up when your passenger door swings open and a large body collapses into the seat.

‘what the fuck are you doing?’

‘you looked lonely, thought i’d give you some company,’ billy states, throwing his legs on the dashboard.

you shoo his feet off, ‘i was fine on my own, actually.’

‘darling, i’ve seen you sat here every day this week, your boyfriend still mad at you?’ he smirks over at you.

‘he’s not my boyfriend, never has been, but yeah, no thanks to you,’ you hiss, though you can’t solely blame him.

‘you really were wasted, huh? don’t remember what happened after?’ he lights a cigarette, rolling down the window.

‘well no, but i’ve been told.. steve couldn’t wait to throw it in my face, trust me,’ you state, looking over at the curly haired boy.

‘why do you give a shit what he thinks? never had you down as someone that cared what little pretty boys like harrington think of you,’ he takes a drag.

billy was attractive, not in a steve harrington kinda way, more rugged and much less clean-cut.

you reach over and grab the cigarette from him, taking a long drag before handing it back.

‘i don’t,’ you lie, ‘could not care less.’

‘that’s why you’re hiding in your car is it, sweetheart?’ he chuckles, eyes narrowing at you.

‘just fuck off, billy,’ you roll your eyes, unprepared for his home-truths.

he laughs, ‘n leave you all alone? you sure you want that?'

even though it was billy, you had appreciated not being alone at lunch. your friend's hadn't exactly shunned you, but had decided that during lunch they'd rather preserve the peace with their new-found friendship with steve and his group.

'you can stay, as long as you shut up and don't mention steve again,' you fold your arms over your chest, twisting your body to look at him.

'i'm not making any promises,' he flicks the butt of the cigarrette out of the window, turning back to face you.

'there's a party tomorrow, i'll pick you up at eight,' he winks.

in all honesty a party was a welcome distraction to everything at the moment, though billy would not be your usual choice of friend but at this point you weren't left with much choice.

then there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, thinking of steve and how a party and billy had actually been the sole reason steve now wasn’t speaking to you.

he was the first guy you’d let get that close since moving to hawkins a few years back. an inexplicable feeling bubbles in your stomach as you think back to your date. how you had felt so comfortable with him, telling him things not even your friends had gotten out of you.

and suddenly that awful impulsive urge rises from your stomach. the one that only showed itself when things were becoming too serious with someone.

so fuck it.

you spent the whole of the lunch break with billy, in your car. you hadn't ever pictured your friday to go this way, but you were just happy that someone was actually speaking to you.

you'd neglected to notice steve, who had finished basketball practice, standing just a few metres from your car, glaring at the pair of you sat talking in your car. a frown planted firmly on his face, utter disbelief at how you could even be sat with him after that damned party.

tommy notices steve staring, searching for the cause of his scowl, landing on your car. he swings his arm over his friends shoulder in sympathy.

'bro.. c'mon, let's just go,' he tugs steve away and back into the school.

billy is late, obviously.

he wasn’t like steve, ready and waiting for you before you’d even finished getting ready.

you turn your wrist to look at your watch.

8:11pm

you were about to head back inside when you hear the loud car engine pull onto your street, wheels screeching to a halt.

billy grins at you from the window, you roll your eyes and get into the car.

‘you’re late, lucky i was nice enough to wait,’ you pull your skirt down, as it had ridden up past your thighs. not unnoticed by billy.

‘sorry darlin’, looking good though,’ he eyes up your thighs.

‘just drive, i need a fucking drink,’ you stare, flipping him the middle finger.

he chuckles, speeding off down the street.

you’d told yourself that there was absolutely no way you were getting as wasted as last time. but here you were, head spinning as you stumble up to the stairs and into the bathroom.

billy follows closely behind, pushing his way into the bathroom, ‘not tapping out, are ya doll face?’

‘no, i’m fine.. just need a minute,’ you lean your hands on the counter, looking at your blurry reflection in the mirror.

billy presses himself against your back, hands finding your waist as you watch him grin in the mirror.

you spin your body round to face him, placing a hand on his chest to push him back, ‘i’m not fucking you billy,’ shaking your head.

‘oh c’mon, i’ve been waiting all night for this darlin’,’ his fingers begin to slide up your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

‘no billy, i’m not doing that,’ you place your hand on his wrist, trying to move his hand.

his expression hardens as he leans his face closer to yours, his fingers now gripping your jaw, ‘you’re joking.. everyone knows what a little slut you are, what’s the problem? don’t tell me it’s harrington.’

his fingers tear a hole in your tights, latching onto the hem of your underwear and you freeze.

your eyes squeeze shut, ‘i just don’t want to have sex with you.. get off of me,’ your voice shakes.

he runs his thumb over your bottom lip before letting go, backing away from the counter, ‘whatever, you’re a little cock-tease,’ he walks out of the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

you sigh, wiping away the tears that had slipped out and rolled down your cheek.

you’d yet again made a gigantic mess of everything.

now left stranded at some random party, god knows where.

so, you do the sensible thing and walk down the stairs and out of the house, stumbling down the street as you pass the party goers.

you walk and walk, until you end up on the familiar street.

you don’t really know what you’re doing until you’re at the door, boots in hand as your knuckles wrap against the wood.

there were now holes in your tights, black mascara smudged down your cheeks and the red lipstick you’d chosen now anywhere but your lips.

you glance at the time on your watch

3:32am.

it had taken you an hour to even get here.

the door swings open and a shirtless steve stands in the doorway, hair sticking up every which way.

‘y/n? why are y- what happened?’ his tone becoming concerned as he notices your disheveled appearance and the leather boots in your hand.

you shrug, swallowing the lump in your throat, ‘i didn’t know where else to go..’ the lump rises as a cry escapes your mouth.

his arms are around your body, pulling you into his chest, before you can say another word.

you cry as he pulls you into the house, running his hand down your back. you can only cling onto him, only crying harder because you didn’t deserve this kindness from him.

‘hey.. what happened?’ he questions, pulling away to make you look up at him.

‘i was.. at a party and- and billy..’ you’re interrupted with a sob, unable to finish the sentence.

his eyes go from soft to filled with anger at the mention of his name.

‘what? what did he do?’ he spits, with the state of you it couldn’t have been good.

‘he just- he tried to touch me and.. and i said no and-,’ you’re interrupted by a sob, unable to even tell steve.

you can feel his body stiffen, ‘he didn’t… did he?’

shaking your head, you swallow attempting to conceal your cries, ‘no.. he just.. touched me.. it’s my fault, i shouldn’t have even gone..’

‘no, no it’s not at all.. c’mon let’s get you cleaned up,’ he pulls his body from yours, now taking your hand and walking you up his stairs.

the second time he’d come to your drunken rescue. you felt awful for relying on him so much.

but truthfully, steve would rather know that you’re safe with him than out there. no matter what had happened between you.

he gently wipes the remains of your makeup off with his moms face wipes, offering you the spare toothbrush and even turning around as you change into yet another one of his t-shirts, this time foregoing the sweatpants.

‘got my own collection going on,’ you laugh weakly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

he exhales, ‘s’pose you do.. they look better on you anyway,’ he stands in the doorway, ready to go to the guest bedroom.

‘can you.. stay in here.. only if you want to,’ you whisper, pulling back the duvet for him.

he walks over to the bed, ‘of course i want to.. whether i should is another story,’ he climbs into the bed, laying back.

‘you should,’ you lean your head back onto the pillow, staring at the cream coloured ceiling.

steve flicks the lamp off, turning on his side to go to sleep.

you’re sure he’s asleep before you let out the first silent cry, hand held over your mouth.

your shoulders shake as you sniffle, slightly louder than intended.

and then you feel steve’s arm snake around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

‘i’m sorry.. i thought you were asleep..’ you mumble.

‘no.. can’t sleep,’ he grumbles in response, still holding onto your waist.

you turn your body to face his, looking up at his shadowy face, admiring the way the moon cascaded over his features. you can just about make out his eyes staring back into yours.

‘me too..’

the eye contact is heavy, and you’re half tempted to reach up and kiss him.

steve clearly has the same thought, his lips colliding with yours with his free hand now cupping your face.

but this kiss is different, there’s no lust, no desire behind it. not like before. this kiss was soft, full of warmth and emotion.

he pulls back, searching for your eyes in the darkness, ‘c’mon you need to sleep.’

you nod slightly, resting your head on his chest and exhaling deeply.

his fingers trace patterns into your shoulder, chin resting on the top of your head.

eventually your breathing becomes heavy on his chest as you drift off to sleep.

his fingers slide through your hair with his other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, holding you close to his body.

he whispers into your hair, ‘you’re killing me here..’

eventually falling asleep, nuzzled into your hair.

it's noon before you wake up, steve's arm around your waist as he snores lightly.

he looked so peaceful when he was asleep, the usual furrow of his brow replaced with an undisturbed, stillness to his face.

you smile at the image, not wanting to wake him but desperately needing the bathroom.

you manoeuvre your body out of his grasp and tiptoe to the bathroom.

when you come back to the room steve is awake, sat up against his headboard.

‘i thought.. i thought you’d snuck off again,’ he exhales, running his hand through his hair.

you shake your head, ‘not this time,’ sitting at the end of the bed.

‘what happened last night?’ he asks, not wanting to press too much.

you sigh, looking down at your hands, ‘he.. he touched me.. i said no but he.. just-,’ you stop yourself.

steve reaches over, placing his hand over yours for reassurance.

‘he grabbed me.. called me a slut and a tease- i don’t wanna talk about it..’

‘you should go to the police, obviously if you want to.. but he shouldn’t get away with that,’ he squeezes you hand, his tone now full of disgust.

‘no, i’m not.. it’s fine- i’m fine,’ you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears.

‘you do-,’ he sighs, exasperated, ‘okay, it’s your choice.. but i’m just telling you now that i am going to kill him.’

you chuckle through the tears, ‘you couldn’t kill a fly.’

‘hey! i could and i have,’ he feigns offence.

you groan, using steve’s blanket to wipe away your tears.

‘are you okay?’ he questions quietly.

you nod, ‘i’m fine.. are you okay?’

‘why would i not be?’

‘because.. of me,’ you shrug, ‘what i did..’

he squeezes your hand, ‘it doesn’t matter.. you were right, you aren’t my girlfriend.. i can’t expect you to act like it,’ he sighs; slightly frowning.

his eyes are sad, gazing down at you.

‘it was still shitty.. i’m really sorry steve.. i’m trying to be a different person, better, but it’s hard..’

he exhales, ‘look.. we don’t need to speak about this now..’

you nod, appreciating his kindness. even if you were totally undeserving.

‘c’mon, i’ll take you home,’ he runs his thumb over your hand before standing from the bed.

you’re stood at his door when he picks up the skirt you’d worn last night. it had been a favourite but now you couldn’t even stand to look at it.

‘burn it,’ you say, disgusted at the sight of the skirt.

it goes unnoticed when steve grits his teeth, seething at how billy’s actions had made you feel so little. a shell of the you he knew.

you hesitate going into the cafeteria. there was still an air of uncertainty around you and steve despite you turning up on his doorstep sunday morning.

you notice the group of students now stood at the window, jeering and gasping at some commotion outside.

before you can decide whether to join them, jessica sprints up to you, 'you need to come, now,' pulling your arm towards the door to the forecourt.

'what? what's going on?' you query, stumbling as she drags you along.

'it's steve..,' she pants, breathless as she'd had to sprint to find you.

your eyes immediately land on the group of high-schoolers, crowded around the bustle you'd noticed from the window.

pushing through the crowd you spot steve squared up to billy, his hand shoving his backwards, billy tumbling back.

'fucking creep,' steve spits, stepping up once again.

'what's the problem? did i touch your little girlfriend? that little slut wanted it,' billy bites back, returning the shove to steve only a little harder.

you bite the inside of your cheek, guilty that you were the reason for the fight. his words sting, memories of the spiteful words he had spat at you in the bathroom flooding back.

steve lunges for the boy, landing a particularly hard punch to his cheek sending billy backwards towards the crowd.

billy clutches his cheek, a smile on his lips at the utter disbelief of steve's actions.

the denim clad boy tackles steve to the ground, pulling his arm back to sock him in the face, repeatedly, each hit harder than the last.

you gasp, elbowing the boys in front of you out of the way and stepping up towards billy, you grab onto his jacket in an attempt to stop him.

'fucking stop it!' you screech, pulling his arm back and away from steve.

billy pushes you backwards, falling to the floor as the crowd let out a collective 'ooh'.

fortunately for steve, ms. kelly gets into the middle of the circle as one of the gym teachers restrains billy.

you rush over to steve, his face now bruised and bloody. you cradle his head in your arms, trying to clean off some of the blood to assess how badly he was hurt.

he looks up at you, eyes squinting at the bright light, 'i'm sorry.. he deserved it though.'

you shake your head, though you can't hide the smile on your face, ‘we could've slashed his tyres or something, now look at you.'

eventually, you alongside one of his teammates take him inside, his arm resting on your shoulder.

you press the ice pack to his face, shuffling in the uncomfortable office chairs while you wait for the principle to finish speaking to billy.

'i think you're a fucking idiot for doing that.. but i wanted to thank you.. for defending me n' that..'

he turns to face you, 'oh that? wasn't for you.. i just really really wanted to get beat up,' he winces at his split lip as he smiles.

'it was kinda hot.. y'know the ten seconds before he beat the shit out of you,' you giggle. it was true, angry steve was hot, just not when he was angry at you.

your head jolts to the open door, as billy saunters out. steve had got a pretty good hit in, with billy's cheek now adorned with a new blue bruise.

he glares at the two of you, his lip snarling as if to say something but he restrains himself.

‘mr. harrington,’ mr. davis calls, gesturing towards his office.

you both stand at the same time, ‘you can stay here miss. (y/l/n),’ the principle nods.

‘no, i’m coming,’ you walk into the office and take a seat before steve.

mr. davis is shocked at your gumption, beginning his spiel about fighting and how it’s unacceptable in the school environment.

‘so unfortunately, i’ve got no choice but to suspend you-,’

‘no,’ you cut him off, ‘that’s not fair, it’s my fault he was even fighting, so you can either suspend both of us or neither of us,’ you cross your arms, staring at your principal.

‘well.. now we can’t do that.. school policy states that we need to punish anyone fighting,’ david states, leaning forward on his desk.

‘so suspend me too.’

steve gawps at you, mouth open at your brave actions, utterly speechless.

‘i don’t think that would be wise miss (y/l/n), it’s a one week suspension,’ he attempts to persuade you to concede.

you shrug, ‘i don’t care.’

‘okay.. well.. then you’re both suspended, i’ll be in contact with both of your parents.. i expect you back, not fighting, next monday,’ your principal sighs.

you stand up and exit the room, stone-faced as you barrel out of the school.

steve jogs to catch up with you, ‘wait.. wait, why the fuck did you do that?’ his fingers curl around your wrist.

‘because it’s my fault you were even fighting.. only fair that i take some of the blame,’ you turn to him only inches away from his swollen face.

a laugh erupts from his throat at the sheer absurdity of it all. it’s contagious as you burst out laughing with him.

‘we look crazy..’ you mutter, noticing the stares from nosy students out of the classroom windows.

‘you are crazy,’ he says, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

‘i’m not the one throwing punches at someone twice my size,’ you state, grinning at him.

he scoffs, ‘twice? i don’t think so.’

you shake your head, ‘let’s get out of this shit hole, you’ve just bagged me a week off.. i’m not wasting that.’

you walk over to your car, looking back at steve stood gawping at you.

‘i.. i drove so i’ll uh- see ya,’ he begins to walk to his car, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.

‘are you sure you’re alright to drive? your eye’s pretty fucked..’ you were just desperate to not let him walk away once again.

‘yeah.. this is not my first time being beaten up, believe it or not,’ he half jokes, wobbling over to his car.

‘well.. uh, do you wanna do something later? i think i owe you for defending my honour,’ you call after him.

he turns to look at you, ‘okay, dinner is definitely on you though.’

‘i’ll even come and pick you up.. six, so you better be ready,’ you open the car door, sliding into the seat.

you both drive home grinning at your nondate-date.

you’d never been so nervous, stomach doing flips at the thought of seeing him.

you pull up on his drive, giving your outfit a once over before sounding the horn. you’d opted for more casual wear, a difference to the usual short skirts and revealing tops steve normally saw you in.

he appears at the door before limping over to your car. he groans as he attempts to sit in the car, his bruises now visible on his face.

‘are you sure you’re okay to go out?’ you question, wincing at his cut hands.

‘yeah.. i’m fine.. just a bit sore,’ he mumbles.

‘mm, you look it, c‘mon.. we can just order pizza and watch a movie, it’s okay,’ you hop out and walk around the passenger side, helping him out of your car.

he wraps his arm around your waist, supporting himself with your body, ‘you could’ve said this before i dragged myself all the way over here,’ he jokes.

‘steve, i’ll fucking drop you.’

you help him into the house, placing him down on the sofa before looking around at the large house.

you’d never really seen it through sober eyes, suddenly noticing the childhood photos dotted around.

‘are your parents not home?’ you question, the quiet echoed around the house.

‘nah.. they never are,’ he shrugs, there’s a certain sadness to his voice as he settles into the cushions.

‘oh.. at least they don’t know that you’re suspended i guess..’ you try to spin it positively but you can tell just how hurt he is.

‘yeah.. i guess..’

you sit down on the couch next to him, grabbing the phone from the table and passing it to him.

‘c’mon.. it’s my treat so get whatever you want,’ you cross your legs up onto the couch, watching him on the phone. completely enamoured with his every little move.

there’s some action film on the tv, not your first choice obviously.

your knees are tucked into your chest as steve leans against you, head on your shoulder. you honestly weren’t even sure he was still awake.

‘i’m really sorry, steve,’ it comes out in barely a whisper.

you hear him sigh, ‘i know.. it’s okay,’ he lifts his head off of your shoulder, now looking at you.

‘no, steve.. it’s not okay.. i hurt you and that’s not okay..’ you can’t bare to look at him, into his sad, doe eyes, instead playing with the hem on your jeans.

‘it is.. im telling you that it is.. you aren’t my girlfriend and..’ he exhales, ‘it’s okay that you don’t want to be.. i shouldn’t have just expected it from you..’

you’re still picking at the loose thread on your jeans, ‘but i do.. i do want that.. i just- there’s something wrong with me and i just can’t help it, i fuck everything up.. i hurt people..’ you shake your head, quickly wiping away the tear that had slipped out.

being so vulnerable with him made you sick to your stomach. the first person in a long time to tap into this part of you, the side you had buried deep down.

he swallows before putting his hand on your knee, ‘you haven’t.. fucked anything up, i’m still here aren’t i?

you’re brave enough to slowly look up at him through sodden eyelashes, blinking at his words.

‘you know.. i’ve been begging to hear you say that for so long..’ he breathes, inching closer to your face.

‘i don’t wanna hurt you..’ you murmur, his hand cupping your cheek as he wipes your damp cheek.

he leans forward, placing his lips on your yours. the kiss is similar to the one you’d shared in his bed on sunday morning, soft with no ulterior motives. affectionate and gentle, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours as his thumb still tracing your cheek, ‘then don’t.’

you nod, placing your hand on top of his before kissing his lips again. carefully placing your other hand on his bruised cheek, sure to be gentle with him.

‘does this mean you’re my girlfriend?’ he mumbles into the kiss.

you laugh against his lips, ‘if you want me to be..’

he pulls back to look at you, ‘i want nothing more,’ the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.

‘then i’m yours.’

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader

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rip-quizilla · 7 months

Text

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Summer brings feelings to the surface; maybe not enough to bloom, but certainly enough to grow.

Word Count: 6K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4

Summer, 1983

Summers are for (fill in the blank).

For you, summers were for stuffing your piggy bank. For Eddie, summers were for spending his time doing whatever he wanted to do rather than what someone else told him to do.

For Robin, this summer in particular was for keeping score of every time she caught Eddie staring at you from across the corridor in Starcourt mall. He had a clear view of Scoops Ahoy’s serving counter from his checkout counter at Radio Shack, which seemed to be a double-edged sword; he could see you perfectly, with no obstructions other than the odd passers by, but this also meant that Robin could see him ogling you clear as day.

She had bought a dry-erase board specifically for the purpose of keeping track. The words “Stalker Score” were scrawled across the top in black, sporting a tally mark for each time that she’d caught him staring at you, enraptured by the way you just…Eddie wasn’t sure, exactly. Existed? Moved? Smiled? Glowed?

Dial it back, Munson.

Eddie shook his head, dark curls that had escaped from his ponytail swishing around his fluorescent-lit face. The vignette that had formed around you in his mind, blurring out any surrounding details in his periphery, cleared away until he registered Robin Buckley grinning smugly at him from behind your unsuspecting frame. She glowered in the little window behind you, brandishing the white board that now showcased six tallies.

Shit. He needed to work on his subtlety.

So far this summer, it had become apparent to Eddie that Robin was under the impression that he had a crush on you. It was ridiculous- was Eddie really the only person at his school besides you who believed in platonic male/female relationships? Was everyone else that small-minded?

Duh, he reminded himself, you’re in Hawkins.

Eddie pulled himself out of his reverie when he felt a hand give him a friendly clasp on the shoulder. “You’re good to clock out, Ed, we’re slow enough that I think I’ve got it from here.”

Half-smiling with his eyebrows raised, Eddie turned toward his boss excitedly. “You sure, Bob?”

Bob- Eddie’s manager- smiled kindly, sending a conspiratorial nod towards Scoops Ahoy. “I know you’re going straight over there anyways once you’re done. If you want to thank me, you can bring me over a vanilla shake.”

Bob was probably the only kind of manager that Eddie could see himself keeping a job for. When you’d suggested he apply for the new Radio Shack opening up across from Scoops at the mall, he’d actually cringed. Like, physically cringed when he pictured himself in a polo and khakis. However, when he thought about how nice it would be to have some money to throw Wayne- not to mention play around with for himself- he’d actually seen more pros than cons. When Eddie had actually been offered the job, he was surprised by how much he actually enjoyed the idea of working over the summer. Part time employment meant his shifts only lasted about five to six hours, and because the location was new, Bob had been happy to accommodate Eddie’s request to line his schedule up with yours.

Because he was your ride to work. Not because he was some kind of stalker or anything.

Eddie grabbed his things from a small cubby in the back with his name on it, hopping into the staff restroom/supply closet to change out of his uniform. Summer was a respite from daily encounters with asshats who seemed to think close proximity was the only reason they needed to beat him up. Eddie wasn’t about to stroll out of his place of work in khakis and a firetruck-red polo and give said asshats a different reason to make giving the freak a black eye their summer pastime, too.

Your smile when Eddie entered Scoops was sunlight after an afternoon bathed in artificial light. Surrounded by the overwhelming and tempting scent of vanilla and waffle cones, he wondered whether the sudden increase in his heart rate was a sugar rush he was getting simply from the sight of you. Was it possible for something to look so sweet, it spiked your blood sugar?

“Bob let you off early!” you said, cheerily. You were shoulder-deep in a tub of rocky road, scraping the last delicious bits of chocolate goodness from the crevices at the bottom before replacing the tub entirely.

A small boy stood with his mother at the counter, waiting patiently for you to finish scooping his ice cream. Eddie didn’t miss the way the mother looked at Eddie- his ripped black jeans, his Iron Maiden tee, his bag that sported pins and patches displaying various offensive words and quite a few hellish creatures drawn in sharpie on the canvas material by Eddie himself. He saw her eyes harden in disapproval as she tugged her kid protectively closer to her leg.

You, however, smiled at him like he was the most harmless thing in the world- and to you, that’s exactly who he was. Harmless Eddie. Familiar Eddie. Couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried Eddie.

He was okay with you seeing him that way. It meant that you let your guard down for him- it was like you had a fence around the real you, the parts of you that he had never really seen before this year. Eddie was harmless, so you trusted him with those parts of you- and now that he’d been allowed behind that fence? He never wanted to leave. You were becoming his favorite exclusive, VIP-access-only club.

“Yeah, and all I have to give him in return is a vanilla shake.” Eddie leaned against the counter, batting his eyelashes at you as he gave you an award-winning smile.

You raised an eyebrow, nestling a perfect sphere of rocky road into a cake cone and handing it to the little boy over the counter as the mother handed you a five. “Well sure thing, one vanilla shake, coming up!” you opened the register and handed the mother her change as your eyes landed on Eddie, “That’ll be $2.50.” You punctuated your sentence with the mechanical sound of the cash drawer closing.

The mother was quick to take her son by the hand and turn tail to exit, but not without throwing one last disapproving glance in Eddie’s direction. He thought about flipping her the bird, but with you here, he felt like taking the high road. Eddie met you at the register, setting his elbows on the counter and pouting.

“But what about the best friend discount?”

Robin appeared in the window behind the counter as if summoned on the spot. “Excuse me, the what discount?”

You replied to Robin without looking, keeping your eyes on Eddie. “Robin, a person can have multiple best friends, this isn’t the fifth grade.” Unbeknownst to you, behind your back was an ever-so-smug Robin Buckley, adding a tally to the Stalker Score.

Eddie shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. She was quick to hide the board when you glanced over your shoulder to see what Eddie was shaking his head about. You shrugged, smiling wryly at Eddie. “I’m assuming the ‘best friend discount’ is free?”

He smiled widely, nodding ‘yes’ with eyes that reminded you of a toddler begging for a cookie. You tried to hold your ground, you really did… but those eyes were your kryptonite.

You sighed, shaking your head exasperatedly as you began scooping vanilla ice cream and dropping it into the blender bowl.

This was how most days went now- without school to hinder either of you from spending your time how you wanted to, you both spent the majority of your time with each other. Sometimes Robin was there too, or some of the Hellfire guys, but you were always together. At first, the reason for that had been your lack of a car- but the third week of summer vacation, you’d received a call from the mechanic that your old sedan was finally road-ready. Eddie had driven you there to pick it up, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d been genuinely afraid that this meant the end of your constant company. He’d been surprised when he received a call from you the next day asking why he wasn’t parked in front of your house, ready to drive you to work.

“You aren’t driving yourself?” He’d asked, confused.

Your voice was crackly over the phone, but he could still hear your frustrated sigh. “We work across the hall from each other, Eddie, we save on gas if we carpool.”

Relief washed over him like summer rain. It nurtured the soil, helped his confidence grow taller.

“I’m not sure you’ve ever even offered to split gas with me, ace.” Eddie leaned his shoulder against the wall, fiddling with the telephone cord as a smirk got cozy on his lips. “Is this you offering?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I walked right into that one.”

Eddie shook his head, cheeks hurting from the size of his smile. “Sure did.” he chuckled. “But I would never ask you to pay, seriously. Just throw me free ice cream every once in a while.”

“I will do no such thing, that’s against company policy-”

“I’ll be at your house in five!” Eddie chirped, interrupting you completely, “If you can have a scoop of cookies & cream ready for me at the end of my shift, that’d be great!”

He snorted upon hearing your scoff across the line. “Oh, it’d be great, huh?”

“And do you guys do that chocolate fudge dip thing? Yeah, if you could just drench that fucker in chocolate sauce too, that’d be spectacular, ace.”

“Since when am I ‘ace’?”

“See you in five, ace!”

Even though you didn’t need to catch a ride with Eddie, you still did. Your car worked perfectly fine, and yet you barely drove it. You enjoyed those precious moments with him too much to give them up. He drove you to work. He drove you to Robin’s. He drove you to Gareth’s whenever he had band practice (you loved tagging along, even if it was just to sit and listen. Sometimes you brought a book and pretended to read it. Sometimes you didn’t have enough self control, and just stared the whole time- Eddie getting lost in the music, you getting lost in him.)

When the temperatures got unbearably hot, Eddie drove you and Robin to Lovers’ Lake. The three of you would make a day out of it, bringing towels to lay across the sun-bleached wood of the dock and a cooler filled with sodas even though you all knew you should probably be drinking water- but you were young and stupid in little, non-life-threatening ways. You let yourselves get drunk on the sun and each other’s company.

For Eddie, lake days were dangerous.

He had always known that your body was not a difficult thing to look at- he wasn’t blind. But there had always been a barrier between Eddie and the understanding of just how not difficult to look at you were. That barrier had been clothes.

The first lake day, you’d climbed into his van wearing trendy, high-waisted shorts and a cropped tee. Safe. Basic summer clothes. Eddie hadn’t thought much of it.

Then, once the three of you had set up all of your things on the dock, you kicked off your flip flops, brought your fingers to the waistband of your shorts, and unbuttoned. Then, Eddie heard the sound of your zipper. And he just…froze. Because he knew what happened next, and in the back of his head he knew it made sense that you were taking your shorts off in front of him, out here in the open- you were probably wearing your swimsuit under there. You were at the lake, so of course he was going to see you in a swimsuit. Duh. It wasn’t a big deal.

But then your ass just… popped out of your shorts.

You brought the shorts down over your hips, and that ass… he saw a lot of your ass. You were the kind of girl that kept up with the trends, and the current trend was a very high-cut hip. You delivered. Your hips were front and center, accentuated by the cut of your suit. The morning’s movement had caused the fabric to wedge itself further…up. In? Eddie didn’t know which preposition to use, but he knew he was thankful for it all the same. Your back was bare, save for just about an inch of fabric that made up the strap of your top. He saw more skin than fabric, more skin on you than he’d ever seen. His brain was short circuiting.

You turned. He forgot to look away. When your eyes locked on his, you smiled shyly. You’d hoped he would look at you. You had bought this suit despite your better judgment- normally you didn’t show this much skin, but for Eddie you wanted to. You wanted him to see you and want you.

And want you he did. Eddie did everything he could to hide it, but oh… every time he laid eyes on you, he never wanted to stop looking. It was a problem. Specifically, his problem was that little fleshy part where your hip became your thigh, where your fat folded just so and formed a little sideways V-shaped crease. He wanted to touch that spot on your skin, wanted to grasp it, palm it, lick it, bite it.

This was bad.

Eddie wasn’t supposed to see you that way. That wasn’t part of the plan- you were his friend, he wasn’t willing to jeopardize that friendship just because he saw you in a bikini and liked what he saw. Liked it a lot. Platonic, guy-girl friends were all he would ever let himself see the two of you as, because anything else came with a whole lot of complications that he really didn’t want to have to navigate. Was terrified to learn how to navigate.

Besides- friendship was simpler. Comfortable. It almost scared him how comfortable it felt, being around you. Eddie had never been good at romance; never allowed the warm fuzzies and butterflies to evolve into anything more than pulling a girl’s pigtails or swiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.

Or dressing up like Jason and scaring girls through their bedroom windows.

Whatever. Eddie could handle this. He was mature enough to simultaneously want to squeeze the skin of your hips and know that he shouldn’t. Won’t.

He was mature enough. Seventeen years old, practically a grown-ass man.

Growing ass man. Definitely an ass man. Growing harder by the second, staring at that ass.

Good lord. Horny bastard, calm the fuck down.

You giggled out a girlish squeal, shielding yourself from the splash of the lake water from Eddie’s cannonball that sprayed you where you sat on the deck. Eddie hadn’t had much of a choice- you and Robin would only see his burgeoning boner while it was above water, so underwater he went.

When his head popped above the surface, however, he accidentally gasped water into his nose and lungs when he realized he was eye-level with where you sat on the deck, dangling your toes into the water. He hoped his coughing hid the effect you had on him, a vision of midwest summer decadence.

Knees, shining with sunscreen that glinted in the sun. Thighs met hips. Hips met love handles, creasing into a little dip that made his dick go from halfie to hard-on.

You were not going to make this easy on him. It was almost like you were trying to get him to break his vow to keep things platonic, because the things he wanted to do between those thighs right now were not platonic. Were you doing this on purpose?

Eddie escaped underwater, and you giggled smugly in his absence.

Yes. Yes, you were.

***

“He was staring at you so hard, I thought he was going to set fire to the deck.”

Ever since Eddie had dropped you and Robin off at your house, she had been spending the better part of an hour trying to get you to admit that there was even the most remote possibility that Eddie might like you back.

You’d finally admitted it to yourself before the end of the school year; you were head over heels for Eddie Munson, fallen victim to a crush of the highest degree. You were aware… but that didn’t mean you were ready to admit it to Robin, especially after an entire few months’ worth of time repeating to her over and over that you and Eddie were “just friends”.

Which was true, but that didn’t mean you wanted things to stay that way.

“He’s a teenage boy and I was next to naked,” you said, trying not to grin like an idiot (and failing). “-of course he was going to look. That doesn’t mean he like likes me.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “He was like liking you so hard, I think I saw him drool.” Throwing herself onto the edge of your bed, she grabbed the magazine you’d begun half-heartedly flipping through and flung it to the floor.

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“Bullshit, you’re avoiding your feelings.” Robin leaned in, burning a discerning, focused stare into your retinas. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not crazy for that dingus.”

You wanted to meet her challenge, you really did… but instead, you squeezed your eyes tight, sighed heavily, and let the words rush out at a rapid speed that rivaled your pounding heart. “I can’t, I am crazy for that dingus.”

“I KNEW IT!”

You clutched desperately at her knees, which were tucked excitedly up to her chin to frame her giddy expression upon hearing your admission. “You can. Not. Tell him.” You pleaded, desperation in your eyes.

Robin was cackling in the face of your pain, still high on the feeling of being so incredibly correct. “Oh I’m not telling him anything.” She giggled matter-of-factly. “You are.”

You blanched, taken aback and immediately defensive. “Like hell I am!” you screeched. “I am doing no such thing, thank you.”

“What’s the harm? He is so blatantly in love with you, it’s hard not to laugh when I see his big ‘ole ridiculous goo-goo eyes-”

“Whoa, I think ‘in love’ is a very strong way to put-”

Robin’s eyes were comically wide. “Because the way he feels is very strong!” Her arms were flung out to either side, flabbergasted at how blind you could be to something that, from her angle, was clear as day. “Eddie Munson feels very strongly about you, if he feels any stronger, he’s gonna combust. You might combust.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a massive exaggeration.”

“Or…” A smile crept onto Robin’s lips, eyes narrowing slyly. “...you both just get so pent up that you combust together-”

Whatever might have followed that sentence was cut short by a pillow thrown into Robin’s face, met with muffled cackling on her end and helpless groans on yours. “What am I going to do?” you whined, flinging yourself back onto your mattress and smacking your palms over your eyes as if applying pressure might just ease the anxiety in your chest and the butterflies that fluttered lower when you thought about her insinuation. What might that look like- combusting together?

“Well, the way I see it,” Robin chirped, entirely too happy about your situation, “-you have two options. Either you make the first move, or you sit and wait for him to do it.”

You remained unmoved, eyes covered in your anguish. “What about a third option, where I keep on doing the same thing I’ve been doing and acting normal and just crushing so hard I want to cry while I pretend that everything is fine?”

Robin was silent for a few long moments before finally jabbing you in your side and causing you to yelp and convulse away from her. She knew you too well- your subtleties, your tickle spots, and especially when you were in denial.

“One of you is going to crack eventually,” Robin said, “and unless you want to wait around for Eddie Munson, lord of avoiding his problems- another way that you two are a match, by the way, you’re masters of evasive action- then I suggest you make the first move.”

You considered her words- Eddie was a serial procrastinator. If Robin was right, and he did like you back, he would probably rather wait around for you to say something about it before making any moves himself.

So the question was, were you willing to bring it up? To change your whole friendship, flip everything you two had built since the spring, based on the hope that he might return your feelings?

“Worst case scenario,” Robin continued, “he doesn’t like you back.”

“And he stops talking to me.” you added glumly.

“I don’t think he could if he tried.” Robin smiled. “Look, whether it’s romantic, sexual, platonic, whatever-” you exaggerated a shiver at the word sexual in the context of Eddie Munson, even though the two of you knew quite well that you were anything but disgusted by the idea. “-he’s crazy about you. Whatever you think that means, it’s probably right.”

You grinned shyly, ducking your head lower to avoid Robin’s eyes. “I’m pretty crazy about him too.”

Now it was Robin’s turn to smack you with a pillow. “Yeah, no shit!” she guffawed.

The two of you descended into giggles, and for the rest of the evening Robin continued to pester you with quips about Eddie and your massive crush on him. Each time you pretended to be annoyed, but in actuality each joke about how you loooooved him just solidified the idea in your mind of the two of you as an item. You imagined Eddie holding doors open for you in a boyfriend way. Stopping by your work to pester you, but the way a boyfriend would.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

Eddie Munson, your boyfriend.

You wanted to speak it out loud, just to taste it on your tongue.

To capture it in a polaroid. To feel it in your hand. His hand, yours.

Boyfriend.

***

Eddie cared a lot about his clothes.

You knew this, it wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything about him projected the type of man he wanted to be perceived as, so his appearance was- unsurprisingly- carefully curated to his tastes.

Now, he seemed to think that his own personal aesthetic needed to extend to you as well.

“Eds, I already have enough shirts, why do you keep handing me shirts? I need shoes-”

Your sentence was cut short by Eddie piling yet another T-shirt and a matching flannel into your arms. You were sure that whatever the limit was for how many items you could bring into the fitting room of this store at a time, you were pushing it.

“Come on, just try them on for me? Please?” Eddie’s hazelnut eyes rounded out in a pout that you knew would be the death of you one day if you weren’t careful. “I don’t know if you’re ever gonna let me pick out your clothes again, the opportunity to dress you up like a paper doll is just too good to pass up. Humor me?”

You sighed heavily, making your way to the fitting rooms and hoping Eddie wasn’t perceptive enough to notice that you were a little too happy that he was so excited to look at you in any capacity, even if it was technically the clothes he was excited about and not necessarily you.

If Eddie could hear your thoughts, however, he’d argue that you couldn’t be farther from the truth. He didn’t want to dress just anyone up in a wardrobe of his own design- no, he wanted to see you in clothes that he picked out.

See, Eddie had been fantasizing about you more and more lately. Not in a weird way… just in a ‘it would be kind of cool to see my best friend wearing the kind of clothes that I like to wear’ kind of way. Was that weird? Regardless, Eddie had convinced himself that it wasn’t weird.

So there you were, shoving a plethora of denim, flannel and T-shirts into a fitting room. Sure, you owned a flannel or two for when the weather got chilly, as well as at least one pair of black jeans. You had a trusty denim jacket. Why was Eddie so hell-bent on seeing you in these clothes specifically?

You understood once the clothes were on.

“Eddie?”

“Yeeees?” You could tell from his voice that he was smiling on the other side of the fitting room door.

Unable to hold back a smirk as you assessed your reflection, you replied, “Was it your intention to turn me into the female version of you?”

Eddie’s heart just about skipped a beat. His palms were suddenly clammy, his face hot. Why did the idea of that turn him on so much? It’s not like they were his clothes.

You in his clothes. Now Eddie was picturing it. Picturing it… then shaking his head hard enough to make the image fall out his ears. Focus, Munson.

“Bold of you to assume you look as good in black as I do, ace-”

And then you opened the door.

Black jeans with rips at the knees. Forest green flannel tied snug at your waistband. Tight black cotton hugging your curves and puckering at your chest. A denim vest hanging loosely over your frame, allowing bare shoulders to peek out the sides.

Eddie’s heart just… stopped. You looked adorable. Fierce. Terrifying and brilliant. You somehow took all of the things he associated with himself and had turned them into things he liked. On him, these clothes looked rebellious to Eddie; they were like armor, meant to scare- keep those who might harm him at a distance. On you? They looked beautiful, striking-

“Amazing.”

Eddie saw your eyes light up and quickly realized he’d said that last part out loud.

“Amazing!” he repeated, this time, slightly less aghast and more enthusiastic, as if he’d known the whole time that you would rock the metalhead look even better than he did. As if the sight of you in a denim vest that looked an awful lot like his didn’t have this effect on him. “But you’re missing something.”

And then his hands were brushing the skin of your shoulders, pushing the denim vest down your arms. You didn’t fight him as he worked, focusing on the way your arms shifted behind your back, the way your chest inflated forward with the motion just enough for the peak of your chest to kiss the lapels of his leather jacket. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. You hoped that he couldn’t see the evidence that you’d noticed through the fabric of your black tank top.

Haphazardly folding the vest and placing it on the floor of your fitting room, Eddie then began to remove his own jacket. He slinked behind you and held the black leather as if to drape it across your shoulders, but stopped just short of letting the body-heated lining touch your skin. You realized he was waiting for you to reach your arm back and thread it through the sleeve, so you obliged.

Eddie’s face was so close; you felt the stray baby hairs at his shoulders tickle your chin when you barely turned your head. As you worked your other arm into the sleeve, he exhaled a little heavier and you felt it as it blessed the back of your neck. You reveled in the goosebumps that rolled down your arms; wanted to know what that breath might feel like everywhere else- anywhere else.

He bent to pick up the vest and hand it to you, but then stopped short as he caught you looking at the new and improved outfit in the full-length mirror. You stared at yourself, decked out in black and plaid but infatuated with the fact that you were wearing a part of him.

Eddie dropped the vest back to the floor, standing up straight again behind you. He didn’t move away, didn’t move to step back and relinquish your personal space- something about seeing the way your eyes couldn’t leave the black leather in your reflection was acting as some sort of visual pheromone. He couldn’t look away, wanted to melt into the light that he’d never noticed refracted off the surface of that jacket until you were the one it clothed. He wanted to drape himself over you the same way the jacket had, wanted to beat this jacket’s record for square inches of your skin being touched at the same time.

You had no oxygen left when you saw the way his face had slotted itself in the right angle of your neck and shoulder, had no resolve left to put on a brave face and pretend you weren’t molten beneath these foreign clothes. Your jaw went slack, eyes wide and wanting. His gaze was…possessive, if you dared to call it that. With it, he painted you in his image and signed his name in black leather.

You would be a willing canvas if only he asked. Was this him asking? Dressing you up like his own personal paper doll?

Eddie Munson’s doll. You liked the sound of that.

“I’d get it if you didn’t want to walk around school in my jacket,” Eddie said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If anyone recognized it as mine, you might get some…”

“...unwanted attention?” you finished for him.

Unwanted. Of course that’s what you thought it would be. Eddie moved to take the jacket from you, but your hand flew up to stop him.

Your fingers curled around his hand, a vice on his skin that begged like a child pleading for five more minutes. “Can I keep it on, actually?”

Eddie froze, confused. Hadn’t you just admitted that you didn’t want the attention that would come with wearing his jacket around?

“It’s cold in the mall.” You looked at him with wide eyes that shone in the fluorescent lights, and for a second he let himself believe that maybe you wouldn’t mind being seen with him; wearing him. Of course people at school knew that you hung out with him, but wearing a boy’s jacket told a different story, sent a different message. Did you know that? Would you mind that?

“Uh, yeah… you sure?” Eddie breathed the words like smoke, exhaling them into your air after holding them in to mull over until he was sure about them. However, the smile on your face when you answered knocked any air left from his lungs.

“Of course I’m sure…wearing it feels like you.”

His lips revealed a smirk that you’d been sorely missing. “Feels like me, huh?” his hand darted out to squeeze your side, causing you to squeak as your waist went concave, bending away from his fingers on instinct. You giggled, breathy Eddie! Stop!s bouncing out of you as you avoided his hands that made to take advantage of the tickle spot he’d long since figured out.

“What’s the matter, ace? Thought you liked the way I feel?”

His fingers wiggled mischievously, and you retreated into the fitting room before closing the door in his face. “No,” your voice rang through the door, “I like the way your jacket feels.”

Bullshit. Eddie had heard you. No amount of saving face now on your end would be able to wipe the joy from his smile.

Feels like you. Wearing it feels like you.

You changed in silence, Eddie separated from you only by a vinyl door about one inch thick. On your side, you pulled his leather jacket back on, pulling the collar up around your neck until it enveloped your skin the way you wanted Eddie to. You quietly inhaled the scent of the well-loved leather, smiling at the way his jacket so eagerly melted into your reflection, like it had belonged there the entire time.

On the other side of the door, Eddie leaned against the wall dividing your fitting room from the next. One tennis-shoed foot rested up against the wall, propping up his knee. Hands slotted into his jeans’ pockets, face tilted upward- he would have made the perfect picture of nonchalance had he not been smiling like a lovesick fool at the ceiling.

When you finally emerged, the two of you walked toward the counter to pay for your new clothes until something caught your eye, bright enough to stop you in your tracks.

Platform Chuck Taylors. Canvas dyed a gorgeous stewed-cherry shade of red, the soles still shiny and new- a whole two inches thick- with that trademark black stripe down the middle. Eddie watched as you stared at the beautiful shoes, and he could have sworn he saw the pupils of your eyes turn to little hearts.

And then he watched you check the price tag.

A pained hiss came from your lips as that little sticker on the bottom of the shoe dashed your wish before his eyes. Eddie winced, slightly afraid of the answer. “How bad?”

You shook your head sadly. “They’re $45, which is absolutely ridiculous. A regular pair is only twenty!”

Even twenty dollars for a pair of shoes was pushing it for Eddie; he was a thrifty guy, excited to find a new-ish pair of sneakers at the secondhand store for less than $5. However, Eddie wasn’t going to tell you that. He took pride in what he wore, kept his things clean and in good condition for as long as they would serve their purpose. He was raised by Wayne to be that way.

You wound up purchasing a classic white pair of Chucks instead. “They’re just shoes,” you’d said, “and how often would I really have worn platforms anyways? I’ll get much more use out of these.” But Eddie didn’t miss the way you glanced longingly back at the cherry-red dream shoes. They’re what tugged on his heartstrings enough to make him do something stupid.

Back to school shopping with Wayne was one of the old man’s least frugal times of the year. First impressions, he’d always said, are everything, boy. Start the year fresh, and you wipe the slate clean. It’s a new year, so you’ll need a new pair of shoes, brand spankin’ new.

Each August, Wayne would hand Eddie a twenty dollar bill. It was meant to go toward a new pair of school shoes. And this year, they would still go toward that.

They just wouldn’t be Eddie’s.

In the middle of your lunch at the food court, Eddie pretended to go to the bathroom. He was gone a little longer than what would usually be considered normal for a restroom break, and he knew that you’d give him shit for taking a shit when he got back. But it would be worth it.

In actuality, he had the sales associate at the store hold the red shoes for him. He’d return to purchase them after dropping you off at home, and he rationalized this decision by saying he’d just give them to you in a few months as a Christmas present. He would have bought you one eventually anyway… what was the harm in spending the money a little early?

His face hurt from smiling. Funny, he’d been smiling so much more this year that he was surprised that the muscles in his face weren’t used to it by now. You did that to him- you, the girl who’d run around the playground in red mary janes. You, the girl who’d chased him down on Halloween. You, who’d somehow gotten him to think a little higher of himself and start believing he might be worth a damn.

Looking up as he re-entered the food court after securing those red chucks in his name, his grin went from subtle to blinding when he laid eyes on you once again.

You, the girl who wanted to keep wearing his jacket because it felt like him.

Part 5

Taglist: @emma77645, @rustboxstarr, @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #impossible to hate you #ithy #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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oopsgracie · 2 years

Note

steve x fem reader

Can I get a request where the group is at the Creel house, and Steve is super protective of the reader.

i hope this lives up to expectations!! super sweet unless you’re scared of spiders like me <3

haunted house with a picket fence

(to float around and ghost my friends <3)

warnings: spiders and swearing

word count: 1.3k

The study door yawns open behind you, groaning beneath its own weight on antique hinges stiff with rust— a classic horror trope. Almost so cliche it doesn't scare you as dust swells into the air like insects, winking in the strobe light of Steve's borrowed flashlight and sinking back between the floorboards as though it were never disturbed.

But only almost.

You start, swinging round to face him, his familiar silhouette backlit against the empty hallway, his eyes narrowed in the face of your flashlight that’s aimed at his forehead. He throws his hands up and grimaces.

“You know is that really necessary?” You stand there, unimpressed, going so far as to scowl at him and stubbornly refuse to lower it like a petulant child, “I feel like i’m being interrogated or some shit.”

“And you deserve to,” you hiss, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Manifest in the doorway like something out of Poltergeist.” You steer the light toward a grate absentmindedly, shaking your head as he leans against the frame and you go to jab two fingers into his sternum, “Not cool.”

“Hey, you’re fine. You’re fine. I was just checking you hadn’t fallen through the floor it’s all pretty—“ He kicks a loose board and it shrieks in protest, “… old.”

“Oh come on Steve,” You giggle, something so strangely uplifting to hear among the cobwebs and the dark, a sound that’s been lacking here for thirty years— in this joyless maze of dingy rooms that sit forgotten in the cold light of day, light that seeps through boarded windows and ripples on the floor like water, “It’s just a big, old house.” You jump to test it’s strength, the floorboards mewling beneath your feet, “I’m totally safe.”

“I know, just— please don’t wander off on your own. Copy?”

“Loud and clear, Mom.” He rolls his eyes but guides you into the hall kindly by the small of your back, his hand warm against your skin as it boldly snakes beneath the hem of your sweater into the waist of your skirt.

“How about you take the big, scary bedroom next and i’ll have a nose around the bathroom?” You turn, eyes level with his throat and tilt your flashlight beneath your chins, carving out the bow of his lips, soft against the hard shadows that gather beneath his brow bone and settle in the hollows of his cheeks. It reminds you of telling stories at camp, nostalgic and sweet.

“Yeah, uh no. That’s not happening.”

“I’ll be just across the hall.” You brush your lips chastely over his, not in a kiss but the ghost of one, your noses brushing delicately against one another.

“What did I say about wandering off?” His adam’s apple bobs in anticipation.

“Steve.”

“I don’t like this.” He murmurs softly, his breath comfortingly warm on your cheeks and different to the damp which festers in the air, stagnant since the 50s. He tastes like toothpaste.

“It’ll be fine I promise, I don’t think this wizard sleeps in the tub.” He smiles unwillingly, the corners of his mouth curling upward in his best attempt at holding back laughter. “And it makes more sense— it’s like way more efficient.”

“Okay.” He relents when you smooth your hands dotingly across his shoulders, sweeping away the stray flecks of dust that decided to settle on his jacket— and fixing his collar too while you’re at it. “Okay fine.”

“Really?”

“It’s not like I can stop you.”

“Correct.” You call back to him. It echoes in the eaves and lingers for a moment after you’ve spoken.

“Hey uh…” But he clears his throat, hovering at the threshold opposite, fingers caught on the doorframe like an afterthought and drumming anxiously against the splintered wood, “Just yell if you need anything and… i’ll be as quick is I can.” You smile brightly and you nod with silent promise before disappearing into the dark and out of his sight with curious anticipation.

The floor is in better condition here, more stable as you step into the room considering it’s paved neatly with porcelain tile in geometric patterns, even beneath the copper tub that lacks a faucet handle. Besides the dirt that accumulates inevitably over the course of a few generations it was beautiful, had antique charm. And while you rifled through the cabinet, kicked at a few loose slabs on the floor it had no secrets to share with you. There were no clues here. You went to leave, distracted suddenly by an air vent that winks in the beam of your flashlight like crystal. It’s different to the one you found earlier— sunk into the floor and suspiciously screwed shut.

You pick at it, determined, tampering with short fingernails until it eases reluctantly away from the frame.

Jam jars are huddled like spies inside and the cobwebs strung between them are thick with flies. You reach for the tallest one, wanting to know what they hold. The dust is so thick it feels like velvet on the glass and peering through it there seems to be only twigs and something cottony inside, definitely old and dry but caught in it there’s a marble sized spider. More of them, trapped in there like someone’s pet but shrivelled with age and curled tightly into itself, it rattles at the bottom. Truly, truly disgusting and long dead now.

It’s not like you’re frantic, but hastily you shove it back between the others and leave them there as you press the grate haphazardly over the hole, that’s until something twinges on the cuff of your sweater, light but not unnoticeable and when you do, you only have to shriek once.

Before you’ve finished flicking it off, the spider now scuttling into a crevice, steps fly in the hall and you collapse against a warm body who’s arms close around your waist firmly, hauling you backward in the hallway, even slamming the door shut behind him. He twists you by your shoulders, his eyes searching earnestly for injury, raking over your face, your arms, your chest. “Are you okay?” You’re shaken, fingers curling into the sleeves of his sweater until your knuckles are white as you brace yourself against him to catch your breath, pulse beating in your throat, shattering your ability to speak for a moment. “What? What’s wrong? Who—“

“S-spiders.” You croak, staring at his anxiously expectant expression and feeling safer when he tugs you to his chest, cradling the side of your face with an open palm like you’re made of glass.

“Oh god, it’s okay, you’re okay. No need to panic.” You coil your arms around his neck and breathe in the smell of his detergent and hairspray— both are perceptible in the same way his fingerprints are, specific to him. “Here.” He offers and slowly, so as not to startle you, he turns your back to him by tugging gently at one hand and begins to comb through your hair with careful fingers, picking out anything that might have fallen into it. He goes so far as brush it over one side, smoothing the back of your sweater flush to your skin and fondly kissing the point at which it meets your neck, eventually pressing his face into the crook of your shoulder intimately. “Spider free.” You can feel his mouth against your skin as he speaks and lean back into the warmth of his touch. “Totally safe.”

“Thank you Steve.” Gratitude wells up your chest and your eyes flutter closed in contentment, releasing any tension with a satisfied sigh and whispering apologetically, “Sorry for scaring you, it was stupid.”

“No. No, it’s not stupid at all. You know i’ll always be there to… to—“

You laughed quietly into the dark, something that didn’t seem so threatening anymore, and like waves he felt it reverberate through his chest. “Protect me from the spiders?”

“Haunted houses, ghosts.” He snickers. “From anything you need me to. Always.”

let me know what you think!! my requests are open for anything you want to read next!! <3

you can also read my other fic ‘get to it’ - steve harrington x reader here.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve the hair harrington #steve the babysitter #mom steve #stranger things s4 #stranger things four #oopsgracie #eddie munson

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year

Text

Part 3

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 2 🍂 Part 4

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Series warning: Bring in the angst, boys!

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: My girl @keanureevesisbae is on FIRE, at 35k! I'm so proud! ❤️ And because she's on a roll, y'all have to suffer today. You're welcome!

Any and all mistakes are grass-fed and organic.

“No, Mattheijssen.” Could you spell it? Of course you could! They were the ones who couldn’t. Don’t say that out loud, you reminded yourself. “No, e-i-j-double s- e-n.” You said that the first time. And the second. “No, you’re right, it’s not an American name.” Fuck. Every. Single. Time. Finally, you hung up the phone after what seemed like an hour (it had been), completely ready to throw the phone through the window - which would have been easy, all these windows were single glazed – when you noticed a text from Sy.

Sy: How does 7 sound? You: Perfect!

Actually, 7 never sounded better. But you couldn’t tell him that. Alright, it is now… 5? Since when?! There is no way, text him back that 8 is better, you still have to shower. And then pick your outfit? Wash your hair? Is today wash day? When did you last wash your hair? Oh and makeup. And shave? Do you need to shave? Like, how necessary is shaving? Is… You really just stood there in the kitchen, panicking, wasting time – and then it hit you: you had a working kitchen sink, but not a working shower. You’d been showering at Jules’ place – or the gym, if you ever went – for weeks now…

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” you muttered under your breath as you paced through the kitchen, squeezing your phone so hard you thought it was going to break.

“Jules! Oh my god!”

“Did your house burn down, Lara?”

“Wha- no?”

“Then stop screaming in my ear?”

“Sorry. Eh… Can you come pick me up, like, right now? Sy’s going to be here at 7 and I don’t have a working shower…” You heard Julie sigh.

“You are calling about that driver’s license on Monday, okay?” You promised her that you absolutely would – it was quite annoying to not have a valid driver’s license yet, you missed the independence. And it was silly to have a car in the driveway that you weren’t allowed to use, that, too. She was at your house in record time – either she’d been halfway there or she ignored the speed limit the entire time. Knowing Jules, it was the latter. On your way back to her house you texted Sy.

You: This is embarrassing… I don’t have a working shower, so you’re gonna have to pick me up at J’s place… Sy: Promise to meet me outside, I can do without the third degree.

You and Julie laughed about that last text. Unfortunately, while Sy would be escaping interrogation, you surely weren’t.

“So, dinner, huh?” Jules asked with a wicked smile on her face.

“Jules, it’s not like that.” You weren’t planning on it, at least. No matter how hot he was, he wasn’t getting any just yet. Now those were some sturdy principles that you hoped with all your heart you could stick to. You always had. That being said you’d never met a man like Sy.

“Girl, it has to happen at some point?” Oh, God, the way Julie continuously brought up the fact that you’d never slept with anyone could be so extremely infuriating.

“Would you kindly fuck all the way off, Julietta?” You hated saying her full name almost as much as she hated hearing it. “I’m not jumping on the first dick I can.”

“It wouldn’t even be the first. Or second. Or…”

“Thanks.”

“Hey!” Why did he have to drive this massive truck? Why did you have to wear these massive heels? Oh no, he’s getting out, fuck. Sy was next to you in no time, offering you his arm for support.

“Don’t want you twisting another ankle, right?” He winked – or tried to.

“Do that again!” You laughed, more at the thought of finally having something to tease him with than the fact that he looked really silly when he tried to wink.

“That’s a lot of lip from someone who can’t get dressed without spraining an ankle,” he threw back at you. Both of you laughed nervously.

“I’d invite you home for a drink, but I have one room that isn’t a mess right now," you told Sy when you were done with dessert and your final cup of coffee, and you were running out of excuses to sit at that table any longer.

“I’d take you back to my place, but I currently sleep on a friend’s couch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I was lookin’ into buyin’ a nice li’l fixer-upper a while back. Good amount of land, not too big a house. But I was too late.”

“Oh, shit, Sy, that really sucks,” you replied, not catching on to what he was trying to say.

“Yeah, it did. Place was perfect. But some European author slash college student…”

“Oh…” So you’d swiped his house. Lovely…

“Oh, Sugar, I don’t mind, I’ll find someplace else. Real question is: why’d you buy it? With the amount of work that needs doin’?”

“I don’t know… It passed the vibe check?” And the award for ‘dumbest answer ever’… Except… Sy didn’t look at you as if you’d gone crazy. Instead, the expression on his face kind of told you that he understood. Maybe?

“Right, feels like the kinda place you could really turn into a home, doesn’t it?” You nodded in reply to his question. He did understand.

“Except it’s barely even a house now…”

“Y’know what, Sugar? I’ll help ya out.” “Sy…” “Lara, I’m a small town contractor. You’re gonna be callin’ me sooner or later.” He moved his hand next to yours, not touching you. You remembered what Jules had told you. If he starts being touchy, you’re golden. But he wasn’t being touchy. This was the opposite of being touchy. This looked like being deliberately not touchy…

“But…”

“I’m not offering to do all of it in my spare time, but I can take on the project. And maybe offer up some evenings or Saturdays.”

And then you said the most immortally stupid words ever known to man: “Thanks Sy, you’re a great friend.”

“You’re just friends? Sy you absolute… God I thought even you couldn’t fuck this up, but here we are. Leave it to you to let the whole thing go to…” Julie was pissed, there wasn't much more to say about it.

“Jules, would you step out of the way?”

“No, Patrick,” she said to her boyfriend, “I will not. That stupid game can…”

“Jules, move.” Sy snapped at her. Patrick turned around in his seat, one eyebrow raised, wondering if he was going to have to start a fight with his best friend for the way he talked to his girl.

“Do you want to sleep on that couch tonight?” Julie couldn’t hide the irritation in her voice.

“This is my house!” Patrick said, “you can’t boss him around in my house!”

“If you keep going like this, Sy can’t sleep on the couch because you will be needing it." She shot back at him.

“Listen, Jules, if it’ll getcha to leave,” Sy said reluctantly, “she was the one who said I was a great friend, I decided not to push it. I’m okay with that.” Julie just rolled her eyes in reply to that last bit – the hell they were okay with that. Neither of them could be okay with that.

“Lara, I am done sticking my neck out for you, you know that? This was the last time. I can’t do this again.” There was no way she was going to give Sy an earful about this and not her best friend.

“Jules, please I’m…”

“Tell me you’re sorry and I will murder you, I swear,” Julie hissed. She took a deep breath before continuing: “What on God’s green earth have you got to say for yourself, huh?”

“I… It was too much, too fast. He got too close. He’s different. I like him.” You really tried to forma coherent sentence, but you ended up with word vomit. Oh well, might as well get it all out… “And he offered to help me with the house, it was so nice, but I don’t want to owe him. Not like that. And I thought it would be better if we were just friends. And he didn’t protest…”

“You have four braincells and they are taking a permanent vacation.” Jules was probably right about that.

“What do I do?”

“Nothing. He’ll be remodeling your house. You may be a total fool but you’re not made of stone.” She was probably also right about that. You had to admit to yourself – and let’s be real here, was anyone surprised? – that you hadn’t even thought about that. He’d be at your house.

“He’ll be at your house,” Jules said as if she could read your mind, “hammering, drilling. Nailing.”

“Jules, knock it off!” You laughed, but the truth was that you couldn’t shake the thought of a sweaty Sy handling power tools. Fuck.

#syverson fanfiction #syverson x ofc #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters

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elliexmylove · 2 years

Text

Let me care for you

PAIRING: Peter parker x GN reader (I imagined tom hollands Peter while writing but it works for any)

SUMMARY: You're sick and Peter wants to take care of you even if you don't let him at first

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: none :)

NOTE: I changed the first person pov half way through for some reason sorry and idk how I feel abt this but enjoy<3

Being awoken to the vibration of my phone was annoying to say the least, my head hurt, my eyes were watery and puffy, and my nose was runny and slightly blocked.

"Hello?" I croaked,

"Y/n? Are you okay, why do you sound like that?" Peter's voice came through the other end,

"oh, hey Pete, I'm fine, I just woke up."

"Okay, well, I'm about to come over,"

"By that do you mean like a normal person would, or do you mean swing over?"

There was a pause,

"Does it matter?"

I slightly smile, "No, but I'm sorry you can't come over,"

"Excuse me?"

"Not today Peter," I say as kindly I can,

"I've never been told I can't come see you y/n, this is like freaking me out what do I do if I can't see you-"

"Bye Pete, love you." I say needing to blow my nose badly,

"No y/n wait-!"

Hanging up, I reach over to the tissue box my mum bought this morning, although they feel soft of my hands they feel rough on my red nose from doing it so many times.

To sum up how I feel is the word eugh.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

An hour later I had fallen asleep watching a movie on my laptop, so failed to hear the gentle knock on my window. The knock was louder the second time, and a little louder the third time.

With a crying groan I sat up, squinting my eyes to the window in my dark room, Peter?

There he crouched on the fire escape, spider suit on, mask in hand.

I peeled the blankets off of me and got up, seeing white for a second as I regained my balance, obviously I got up too fast.

Window now open I spoke,

"Peter, what are you doing? I said not today."

"I've never been told that by you! You can't just expect me to stay home and not see you all day," he waves his hands around, and you feel the need to sneeze,

don't look at the light, don't look at the light, don't look at anything light.

Well, too late, you turn around and sneeze into your arm. Ah frick. Gross.

You race to get a clean shirt, that being an oversized t shirt. After getting changed and throwing your pajama top in the wash Peter now sits on your bed in the dark room.

"Are you sick?"

You give up on acting as though you're not, he basically knows now anyways.

"Yeah,"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Becuase I knew you would want to come over and take care of me, as sweet as that is I don't want you getting sick as well."

"Well I don't care about getting sick, c'mere," he opens his arms up,

"Uh uh, you're not getting sick because of me, it's a really bad cold."

"Exactly why I should comfort you."

"No."

"Yes."

I begin walking put my door, to which Peter puts a stop to by shooting a web and pulling you back.

"You wanna watch movie?" He asks once he has you sat in his lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Already watched one."

"Do you want snacks?"

"Don't feel like it."

"Cuddles?"

"Nope."

He puffs his cheeks and blows the air out.

I make a move to get out of his embrace,

"No." He tightens his grip around you, leaning slightly to get to back in place.

"I need to blow my nose," he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously but allows you to get the tissues. Once done you lie back onto the bed,

"Hey," the boy whines,

"You can stay, but we're gonna keep our distance so you have a better chance of not getting sick."

He doesn't look happy.

"Can you imagine spiderman being sick? You would have to swing through cold wind, and fight people with a stuffy nose, not to mention the mask feeling disgusting and getting other people sick,"

"Don't care." He webs the box of tissues to you, and suddenly you need to sneeze, so you take one just before you do.

"How did you-"

"Spidey senses."

"Thank you,"

"You wanna repay me?"

"By doing what?"

"Cuddles,"

"No Peter."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I had been playing pocketlove on my phone for the past while while Peter had a shower because I "so rudely refused to do anything with him".

A knock on my door made me lift my head up, mum appeared checking if I'm okay,

"You alright hun?"

"Yeah, thank you,"

"I'll be in the lounge if you want anything,"

I smiled at her and she closed the door, one second later another opened and Peter walked out with wet hair, he walked to my clothes draws and rummaged through them,

"You can turn the light on if you want,

"No its okay, do you still have one of my hoodies here?"

I scoff, "check the third draw,"

As he does five hoodies come into view and he gasps,

"I wondered where this was!" He holds up the last one I stole, he yanks it over his head and it falls a little below his waist, Peter also bought oversized things, just not as much as you.

I tap on my phone bringing up my heartstopper lockscreen, and also the time, 3:02.

"Quiet day on crime huh?"

At this Peter looks a little guilty,

"I don't know,"

"Aren't you a little obsessed with this stuff?"

"Wha- pft no,"

He crosses his arms playing it off,

"Yesterday you were looking for stuff to help with, and stopped a guy from stealing a bag of sweets."

"It was a bad thing to do!" He defended,

"I would have done it,"

He collapses onto the bed,

"You put on the spidersuit just to do it-"

"okayokayokay, shhh." He holds his hand against your mouth,

"get off, my germs are going to spread onto your hand," your words echo a bit, and he rests his hand back by his side,

"You needa wash them now,"

He sighs and goes to the bathroom, leaving you and pocketlove to spend quality time together.

Peter emerges from the bathroom one minute later, "what're you doing?" He lies on the bed behind your back,

"PocketLove," You say eyes intently focused on the game,

"Do you want food ye-"

"Shh, I'm going on a date with my partner,"

"Well alright then." He fauns being deeply hurt,

"You could download it, actually please do."

"Okay, gimme a sec,"

He shoots a web to his phone lying on your desk.

A few minutes later and he's chosen his character,

"What should I name my boyfriend?"

"Uhmm, Jupiter?

"Jupiter it is."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Both of you were very focused on the game, obviously Peter had taken a liking to it as well,

"Can I see your house?" He rested his chon in the crook of your neck while you lie on your side.

"C'mere," You shuffled around so he could lie his head on your chest.

"I originally had a normal house but I decided to recreate places from heartstopper."

"oh no-"

Peter webbed a tissue to you,

ACHOO

"Thank you," your voice came out croaky.

"Back to your house?"

"You're going to get sick." You whine,

"What places in heartstopper?"

You were a little obsessed with the comic and now series, and he knew this, he also knew asking about it would get you ranting about it which is exactly why he did it.

"Okay so, this room is from Charlie's birthday at the arcade, and this is the cinema, I haven't got all of the stuff for it yet,"

"Oh my god it's amazing,"

"and lastly the uncompleted beach room."

You seemed pretty proud, and for good reason.

"Its amazing. My house has plants, chairs a bed and a frog mat."

"Oh! I still have that,"

"It must have taken so long to get all this stuff,"

"It did." You smile,

"Oh sorry Pete, sit up for a minute,"

He reluctantly does as you asked and you turn away coughing into your arm.

"D'you want some water?"

"Yeah I probably should." You get up and walk towards the door,

"Huh? Wait no! I meant it would get it,"

He quickly scoots off the bed,

"Just come with me," You walk out into the light and he trails behind you like a puppy.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Peter, I didn't know you were here!" Your mum says, rather surprised from the couch, Peter flinches a little not knowing she was there.

"Haha yeah, I'm here."

"But I didn't see you come through the door-"

"Hey mum, do we have any lemons?" You intervene, relieving Peter.

"Yeah in the bowl on the bench hun."

"Thanks." You croak out feeling worse again.

Squeezing the lemon juice into the water you try to make sure no seeds get in it. Turning around you see Peter, arms filled with snacks, ready to go.

"Just in case." He defends himself.

"Okay let's go I need to blow my nose."

Back in your dark room Peter let's the snacks fall onto the bed and you get a tissue your head was pounding and you felt very sick again.

"Can we cuddle?" You finally give in wanting to feel love and comfort,

"Really?" Peter's face lights up and you nod, without wasting time he fell onto the bed taking you with him,

"Pete,"

"Sorry."

A little more gentle this time, you two got comfortable, Peter's arm was under you allowing you to lie on it and his other was wrapped around you.

"Do you wanna watch Narnia?"

"Mhm." You sigh,

Peter shoots a web to your laptop lying on the ground then sitting right on his lap, "what's your password?"

"That's top secret information."

"Y/n what's your password."

"Itsallbanterinit"

"You're crazy,"

"There's no helping my obsession Peter,"

He grins and squeezes you with his arm lying under you.

"Is it on disney+?"

"Yeah I think so."

The comforting movie starts playing and you already feel better, but still sick.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

As Lucy meets Mr tumnus you feel the presence of marshmallows calling you from the end of your bed, trying to ignore the urge doesn't work,

"Petee,"

"Yeah?"

"Marshmallows? Please?" Once again he uses those amazing webs of his and pulls the packet right to you.

"Thank you love." You kiss his cheek,

"Wow so now you're trying to get me sick?"

"No I'm sorry I just thought-"

"No wait wait I'm sorry, I was kidding!"

You let out a quiet, wheezy sigh, one second later sirens sound from below, on the roads,

"You gonna go spider man?"

"And leave you? The chances of that are very unlikely."

"Wow, an avenger, not doing his job so he could take care of me, I'm in love."

He scrunches his nose in a dorky little grin looking at you,

"Edmund made me want a Turkish delight."

"Would you trade me to the white witch for one?"

"Yeah probably." Peter gasped,

"Sorry Peter you know I love them, and you know I got slytherin in the pottermore quiz."

"Yes yes okay."

"In fact I would probably trade you for her coat too."

"Okay I get it."

"Maybe even her crown."

"Y/n!"

"Love you."

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #imagines #fictional lover #sick peter parker imagine #y/n x peter #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral y/n

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igot-sarang-ggg · 1 year

Note

Hi, could I request a oneshot with SDC DIO and partner/servant who has vasovagal syncope (basically they sweat, feel dizzy, go pale and faint when they see blood.)? I am so sorry ig this is too specific but I hope you have a lovely day 🩷

Thank you submitting a request! I had fun writing this, Hope you like it!

Blood (Pt. 3 Dio Brando x reader)

Masterlist

Small Summary: You're Dio's servant and he calls you in to find someone so they can "assistance" him.

Small mentions: SPOILERS, gn!reader, mention of blood, murder, Dio draining blood,

Men and women alike keep throwing themselves at Master Dio. I've been a servant for a few months and never spent more than a couple of minutes in his room and would rather not stay any longer than that. Those who have walked in and stayed longer never come back out.

It was finally night, Master Dio should have awoken from his slumber by now. I walked downstairs to check for any strange activity. "Y/n, my love. Could you come here for a moment?" Dio's voice echoed throughout the mansion, I made my way up the stairs and into his room, "Yes, master Dio?" He stood by the window looking outside, he seemed to be deep in thought, but he didn't respond. I walked a bit closer to him tapping his shoulder he turned around to face me. I quickly knelt before him "Sorry, master Dio. I- I waited for your response, but it seemed that you didn't hear me." Shit, I just touched him without his permission.

I closed my eyes waiting for his punishment any sort of punishment really, but instead, he gently placed his hand on my shoulder "It's fine Y/n, just keep in mind that you can't touch me unless I say so." He's not gonna punish me this time? That's a bit odd. Will he do something far worse? "Raise to your feet my dear," I did as he said, "Do you remember that women I told you about?"

"Yes, the one with the colored red nails and blonde hair, if I'm not mistaken." He sat down on his chair, "Yes, that one." Why would he be asking about her? "Could you find her and bring her to me?" The woman he was asking for was some lady that come to the mason looking to be a servant for Dio. Pet shop didn't attack her when she approached, Master Dio declined her offer, and she left. Why does he want her now? "I require her assistance at the moment. Would you mind looking for her and bringing her here?" I lowered my head bowing to him, "Of course master Dio. I'll bring her."

I spent the next few hours trying to find the women he wanted in the city. Eventually, I found her at what seemed to be a bar, I slowly approached her, "Aren't you one of Dio's servants?" She asked. "Yes, I am. Master Dio is in need of your assistance. Would you kindly follow me to his mansion?" She took one last sip of her drink and aggressively placed it down the cup. "It's about time. He probably got tired of you and is wanting a replacement." She began laughing at me as I rolled my eyes, "Please follow me." I lead her to the mansion and towards Dio's room.

I stopped her from proceeding further and knocked on the door. "Master Dio I've brought the women you requested for." Dio walked up to the door, looked at me, and grabbed me by the neck he didn't apply a lot of pressure. I closed my eyes knowing that I might die at his hands, he has killed a few people with this movement. His grip loosened, his hand moving up my neck and towards my jawline, his fingers running towards my chin. I opened my eyes only to be inches away from his lips. "Thank you, my love." He kissed my lips.

Dio pulled away and looked at the girl beside me. "I'm glad you made it. Come now I need your assistance." The women stepped forward. He grabbed her by the neck, "I'll do anything for you, lord Dio." Dio smirked "I'm glad to hear that." He picked the woman up by the neck and applied more pressure, "Killing you won't be a problem then." His fingers dug themselves deeper into her neck, she started coughing and blood came out of her mouth. Her skin became pale and now she was a corpse.

I felt lightheaded at the sight in front of me, "Thank you again Y/n... Is something the matter? You look pale." He threw her body and walked to me but it felt like everything around me began spinning, "My love, are you okay?" Dio placed his hand on my chin making me look at him, but before I could say anything I lost consciousness.

I woke up feeling a bit of a headache. Where I am? This isn't my room. I looked around through the darkness and saw that I was in Dio's bedroom laying in his bed. The last I remember was fainting when he killed that woman. "I'm glad you're awake. You had me worried." Dio walked up to the bed with a cup. "Here drink some water." He placed the cup up to my lips, I drank from it. After I was done he wiped my lip with his hand.

"Have you always fainted at the sight of blood?" He asked, "I would get lightheaded and nauseous, but this is the first time I've fainted." He sighed, "I see, I'll be more mindful of that next time." He stood up, "Please get some rest, I'll join you in bed in a bit. I'm still in need of some food and I don't want you fainting again." He kissed my forehead. "I'll see you in a bit Y/n. I've brought some fruit. Eat so you can regain your energy." With that, he left.

I found out later from Vanilla Ice that Dio had grown quite fond of me. That is the only reason why he tried to help and didn't kill me when he could. Master Dio had a side to him that no one had seen. I was lucky enough to see that side.

Request for One-shot are open!

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Text

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Twenty Four

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!!

As always, thank you so much for the love on this fic! This chapter is heavy, as is this weekend's chapter of Home...so I promise there is fluff coming this weekend too <3

Please let me know what you think, I'm particularly anxious about this one as it's a chapter that has been in the works for quite some time.

-x-

Words: 3.3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along. Please note that more warnings have been added.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

April 1996

She can’t sit still. Nervous energy thrumming through her veins, making her skin itchy. Her leg bounces up and down subconsciously as she stares straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the door to the doctor's office.

She couldn’t explain how she felt if she tried. She was sad that her mother was sick. Angry that it was down to her own actions. But mostly Emily was afraid that she was the only real option her mother had left.

“Miss Prentiss?”

She looks up from the floor and smiles politely at her mother’s doctor, her doctor now too, and she stands, “Call me Emily, please,” she replies tightly, “Miss Prentiss always makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“Of course,” he replies, leading her into his office and indicating towards a seat for her to sit down before he sits at his desk. “I’ve looked over your results Miss Prentiss,” he says, smiling when she raises an eyebrow at him, “Sorry, Emily, I looked at your results and you are a good match to be a donor for your mother.”

It’s somehow what she wanted to hear and what she didn’t want to hear at the same time. The resolution she had hoped for and also feared. It made her feel guilty, but part of her had wanted the test to come back negative. Vague and awful hope that there would feasibly be nothing she could do to help, that her focus could be on the job offer she had received, the letter from Agent Easter folded up and next to her appointment letter for today.

“What…what happens next?” She asks, even though she already knows the answer.

The doctor smiles kindly, “Well if you choose to donate part of your liver to her we’ll get you both listed for surgery. The best thing for your mother is to get this done as soon as we can.”

Emily nods, blowing out a breath before she bites the inside of her cheek, the slight pain enough to distract her from the tears she won’t shed until she’s back in her car.

“And if I choose…”

“If you choose not to,” he says, mercifully finishing her sentence for her so she doesn’t have to, “Then there will be a long wait for your mother. Given her history of alcohol abuse, she won’t be prioritised by the hospital's organ donation board.”

Emily clears her throat, a sound chased by a bitter laugh, “Well, in that case, it’s not much of a choice is it?”

“It’s your body, Emily,” the doctor says, unknowingly repeating words Matthew had said to her a decade ago in completely different circumstances. The comparison that the memory creates makes her wince, and she feels her chest tighten, “It’s your choice.”

“The choice is between helping my mother live and leaving her to the mercy of a group of people who will judge her purely based on what it says in her files,” she half-heartedly shrugs, “It’s not a choice,” she wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “Book the surgery,” she says, looking back up at the doctor from her lap, “Let’s get this done.”

When she gets home she throws away the letter from Interpol, knowing from her conversations with Agent Easter that this was a now-or-never opportunity. She pours herself a glass of wine before she stares at it. She feels anger pool in her gut, and she yells out, knocking the bottle and full glass off the counter.

She sinks to the ground, careful to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, and cries as she buries her face in her hands. Grieving for the things she has lost, for the opportunities she is passing up. For the relationship with her mother that deep down she knows literally giving up a piece of herself won’t fix.

The phone in her apartment rings but she can’t move to get it, her body heavy as she sits on the floor and cries. It rings out and the voicemail clicks in and she sits and listens as the message is recorded.

“Emily, my doctor called and told me the good news,” Elizabeth says, sounding more hopeful than she had in weeks, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, and we can figure out the logistics. I promise this is the end of it, I’ll never…this is the end. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

It isn’t lost on Emily as the message comes to an end that her mother hasn’t said thank you. She chokes on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and hopes that somehow, someday, this will lead her to something good.

___

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches Dave walk away, his words hanging heavily in the air around her in the still mostly empty bullpen.

“The last time I saw someone knocking wine back like that I was in a bar with you.”

Her mother was drinking again.

Suddenly everything makes sense. The cancelled plans. Her mother’s evasiveness. The lack of over-the-top questions about the wedding and the baby, things that Emily had expected she’d have to battle with whenever she pictured doing these things. Her mother had been pulling away for weeks, for months if Emily was honest with herself, and it was because she was hiding from the one person who would be able to see what was going on. So achingly familiar with the signs, with the glazed look in her mother’s eyes, the way the smell of liquor would cling to her skin, that she would instantly realise that she had broken a promise from over a decade ago.

Her mother was drinking again.

The L-shaped scar on her abdomen burns as if it’s fresh, not almost 13 years old. Her skin feels as if it could tear open, ripping apart where she’d been sewn back together all those years ago. It’s all-consuming, her cheeks burning with it as she stands abruptly, the usual pregnancy-related nausea she’d feel at such a sharp movement nowhere to be found.

She stands so quickly her chair rocks her desk and her tea spills out of her mug, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. She’s grateful no one else is at their desks yet, that no one is around to ask if she’s ok because she doesn’t know how she’d answer.

Her mother was drinking again.

She finds herself standing in Aaron’s office doorway before she realises what she’s doing, her body taking her towards him almost on autopilot. As if even subconsciously she knew he was what she needed. She knocks on the door absentmindedly, her brain still trying to catch up with the way Dave had unknowingly scattered her life into countless pieces around her.

Aaron looks up from his desk, his smile fading as his eyes meet hers. To anyone else, he’s sure she’d look ok, tired at most, something that could easily be attributed to her pregnancy, but he sees beyond that.

He can see past the defences she built when she was young, the strong foundations she forged before she truly understood what the building blocks her mother had handed her were for.

Her shoulders are tight, and she’s grasping her engagement ring between her fingers, twisting it back and forth. Her eyes are ever so slightly dazed over, a sure sign she’s trying to regulate her emotions, that she’s pushing whatever she’s feeling deep down inside her chest.

“Em,” he stands up, walking over to her his hand ghosting over her lower back to guide her further into his office, just enough that he can pull his door closed to give them as much privacy as he could, well aware that it would be his only chance at getting the truth out of her here, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” she drifts off, looking up at him, her voice catching in her chest. She doesn’t know how to say it, how to put it into words. A naive part of her believes saying it would make it true. “I don’t-”

She’s interrupted as there’s a knock on the door a second before it opens, JJ steps into the room, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a case, it’s…urgent.” She starts to drift off as she notices the atmosphere in the room, and how closely they are standing to each other. The concern deeply etched into Aaron’s face. “I’m sorry, did I-”

“JJ, we’re in the middle of something.”

“No, it’s ok, it can wait.”

They all speak at once, their sentences overlapping, and Aaron looks at his fiancee, watching as any signs that something is wrong disappears. Her walls fly up all at once, a smile on her face as she looks at JJ.

“How urgent?” She asks, her voice normal even though it feels like her heart is in a vice.

JJ looks back and forth between the two of them again, her eyes lingering on Emily before she replies, “Florida.”

Emily chuckles politely, “Well, we’d better get going.”

JJ leaves the room first, and the second they are alone again Aaron grabs Emily’s wrist. She sighs and turns to look at him, her jaw tight as she swallows thickly.

“Em, what's wrong are you ok? Is the baby ok?”

She sighs, cursing herself for not even considering that would be where his mind would go, and she nods, placing her hand over his on her arm, “We’re both ok. It can wait.”

“Em-”

“You heard JJ,” she says, hoping her smile is somewhat reassuring, “It’s urgent.” She wants nothing more than to be comforted by him, than to unload the weight that had just been put back on her shoulders, but she knows this isn’t the time. That work had to take precedence and she had to be the one to enforce that, knowing that Aaron would put her first every time. “Please.”

Aaron looks like he wants to argue, but both of them are broken free of their little bubble when Derek calls for them from the main bullpen, an impatient look on his face. Aaron sighs and nods, squeezing her arm as he looks back at her, “Later?”

She swallows thickly, forcing back tears she knows she can’t shed because he absolutely would never let it go if she started crying.

“Later.”

___

He keeps close to her all day. He assigns himself to stay in the precinct with her, and when she doesn’t argue, doesn’t even so much as roll her eyes, his concern only deepens. She’s quieter than usual, withdrawn into herself, and occasionally he catches her biting her cuticles as she stared off into the distance.

By the time they get back to their hotel room, it’s late and she asks if she can shower first. He lets her go without comment and sheds his tie and jacket before he sits down on the bed and rolls up his sleeves. The Florida heat was oppressive even at this time of year and he knows Emily will want the air conditioning dialled all the way up so she could still sleep against him.

When she walks out of the bathroom the air that follows her is cool, and she’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of sleep shorts, “It’s too hot for me to wear anything other than this,” she complains, smiling at him when he looks up, “And it’s your kid's fault,” she says rubbing her hand over her bump as she gripes about another symptom of pregnancy “So you’re going to have to deal with it.”

He smiles at her and pulls her close his hands on her hips, pressing a kiss to her belly, which was all the more obvious in her outfit, “I’m sure I can manage you being practically naked just this once,” he quips and she rolls her eyes before she sits next to him on the bed.

“Florida is bad at the best of times,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder, “Let alone when you’re pregnant. And I’m still relatively early on.”

Despite his worry for her, his need to know what had clearly shaken her that morning, he laughs, and kisses her forehead, “How about when you’re further along I try and make sure we go on a case somewhere cooler?”

She smiles at the offer, his attempt to cheer her up, and she chuckles, “Alaska?”

He nods and kisses her forehead again before he rests his chin on top of her head, “Sure, sweetheart. Alaska.” They fall into silence and she feels him hold her tighter, his embrace comforting despite the oppressive heat. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

She sighs as everything she has tried to avoid all day comes rushing back, pain and fear and sadness she can no longer avoid clawing up her through, all battling to be the thing she felt the most.

“Yes,” she chokes out, “But once I do it…it becomes something. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Whatever it is, sweetheart,” he says, pulling away to look at her, “I’ll be right here.”

She smiles tightly at him and nods, “Dave said that he saw my mother yesterday at some fundraiser,” she closes her eyes and blows out a steady breath, “And he told me that he saw her drinking,” her voice shakes and she laughs bitterly as she watches the shock set in on Aaron’s face, “Actually, what he said was that he could see where I get my ability to drink from because she was drinking wine like I do.”

Aaron feels his shock briefly turn into anger, irrational irritation at their friend who didn’t know any better, “I’ll ki-”

“Honey,” she says, reaching for one of his hands to link their fingers together, “He doesn’t know, no one does. He was just doing what he’s always done - he was trying to wind me up.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he tries to rid himself of his anger towards Dave and Elizabeth. Emily didn’t need anger from him, not right now, she needed his love and his support. He knew that Elizabeth’s sobriety was the very thing her and Emily’s relationship was pinned on. Delicately held together by a promise, what Emily had done for her mother, and the things they never spoke about. She’d told him once that her mother had never directly thanked her for what she’d done.

He knew it was more about the opportunity she’d lost out on than the surgery itself. The loss of what she’d seen as her escape from the life she hated. That’s what the scar on her abdomen represented to her. Not the physical part of herself she gave her mother but the job she had given up.

“Could he have been wrong?” He asks, tucking some other damp hair behind her ear and she shakes her head, a sigh that catches on all of her ribs as it forces its way out.

“No,” she replies, looking up at the ceiling as her eyes burn, a failed attempt to stop tears that fall past her lashline anyway, “No it makes sense. She’s been cancelling on us, she’s being evasive. She hasn’t asked any annoying questions about the wedding in weeks. And she hasn’t said a thing about the baby since we told her,” she places her hand on her stomach as she mentions it, her thumb rubbing just below her belly button, “No phone calls insisting we enrol them at some private pre-school or set up a trust fund. Nothing. She’s…”

“Avoiding the one person who would figure it out,” he finishes for her. He was well aware of the patterns himself having grown up as the child of an alcohol too. He berates himself for not putting it together sooner, for not being able to save her from the pain she was currently feeling.

“Yeah,” she replies, her chin trembling, “And now I don’t know what to do,” she wipes her cheeks fiercely, getting rid of tears that are immediately replaced, “Can you tell me what to do? Because I’ve been thinking about it all day. And it’s not just me to consider anymore. So I need you to tell me what to do, Aaron.”

He feels his heart shatter for her, for the way she is all but begging for help that with anyone else, she’d refuse entirely. He can’t help but picture her at 25, realising her mother’s life and health relied on her making a decision she never should have had to make. It makes his anger come back, fury directed at Elizabeth for not being able to see what she has done, despite the fact he knows it is not that simple.

“I can’t tell you what to do, baby,” he says, cupping her face in his hands and pressing his forehead against hers, “But I’ll help you figure it out, and I’ll be there every step of the way. You don’t have to do it alone this time, Em.”

In the end, that’s what breaks her. His unwavering love and support that she’s so used to now she can’t remember how it felt to live without it. The sob that escapes hurts, cracking every rib as it forces itself out, her hand failing to capture it as she covers her mouth, her cheeks already wet with tears. Aaron pulls her into him, and she curls up in his lap, her head against his chest as she lets years of suppressed emotion out.

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing the top of her head, adjusting his hold on her to pull her even closer, “I’ve got you.”

“I’m going to have a baby, Aaron,” she sobs, her words muffled against his chest, “And I know it’s not…our relationship has never been…” she heaves in a breath, his shirt wet against his skin, and she pulls back to look at him, “She was never going to be someone who gave me advice or held my hand or whatever the fuck it is a mom is supposed to do when her kid is having a kid but…she’s still my mom.”

She sounds so wrought, so devastated, that he wants to take her home. To just leave now and call the others in the morning and give an excuse for their absence, but he knows she wouldn’t want that. That by morning, with everyone other than him she’d pretend everything was ok.

“I know she is,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, “We’ll figure it out. I’ll be right here.”

“I can’t do it again, I won’t expose you, or Jack or…” she presses her hand harder into her stomach, and she shakes her head, “I won’t do it.”

He pulls back to look at her, “We don’t have to make any decisions tonight. ” He says, waiting for her to nod in response, “We’ll get through this case and then get home and figure out what we’re going to do, ok?”

“Ok,” she croaks out, her voice thick with tears, “Ok I can do that.”

Aaron smiles encouragingly at her and stamps a kiss against her lips, “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She nods, her tears renewed by the reassurance she hadn’t even known she’d needed, by the way she knows he’s telling the truth, and she rests her head against his chest again.

“I love you too.”

She wasn’t alone this time and that had to count for something.

-x-

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39 notes · View notes

asclxve · 10 days

Text

Two Faced

So this is a small short story I wrote for a class, thought I'd share it here :3

It's not a light-hearted story, it gets dark and gruesome. This is your only warning.

✦

Beep.

Be-

Thud.

A bronze hand flew out from under the mountainous covers, smacking the nightstand rather lazily until the alarm that destroyed the peaceful morning sleep was silenced and pierced the ears of the sleeping Half-Fae. Soon after, a soft groan and some rustling filled the air, and not long after, Klara Callia sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and the dull feeling of a jackhammer pounding in her temples. Perhaps the extra margarita was not the best of choices now, but at the time she was simply celebrating closing one of the more difficult cases she and Emric had for the last year, among the hundreds that scampered across her desk.

The Viper Killer, a rather fit man sired from an ancient line of Greek Gorgons, had finally been caught just the morning before, though not alive by Emric’s hand. He had left behind a dreadful amount of bloodied, petrified bodies, 28 to be exact. She had gotten quite lucky that her ability allowed her to memorize the features of the vicious serial killer and create a sketch. When his face was matched in the database, off she and Emric went to gather a team to capture the man. The chase only ended after the killer ran into the busy street and was met with a heavy charter bus.

The Viper Killer was now a thing of the past, and that warranted a night of dance and margaritas with her team.

Despite the dull aches of her temples, she got herself up and out of her safe, cozy cocoon of blankets and padded over to her bathroom and get herself ready for a new day: shower, skincare, do her hair, and light round of makeup. 30 minutes and she found herself standing in front of her closet, choosing a more business casual outfit than she normally would wear: a soft, blue, satin blouse with fitted black slacks and a pair of comfortable yet work-appropriate boots, not to mention her gun and holster and her FBI creds. When all was said and done, Klara reached for her bag, wallet, and keys, and off she went to her favorite cafe, Miss Taffy’s Coffee and Diner.

Miss Taffy was an Unseelie Fae, and a kind but stern one at that. It was quite rare to find full-blooded Fae that weren’t immediately red flags walking, especially ones like Miss Taffy who made it her business, literally speaking, to create a safe space with food everyone would enjoy. And Klara was most definitely a loyal customer.

Her morning was just about as routine as it could’ve been as soon as Klara stepped foot inside the cafe, the smell of fresh elderberry croissants and blueberry muffins wafting through her nose. It reminded her of her Papa’s homemade elderberry pastries in a way. Miss Taffy stood behind the counter, stocking the display window when Klara walked in, the first customer of the day as usual.

“Klara Callia, my sweet, good morning. Your aura is glowing today, have you got good news for me?” Miss Taffy asked, her mixed Welsh-British accent soft and elegant.

“Good morning, Miss Taffy. I do, The Viper Killer is officially gone from the streets,” Klara replied, smiling kindly as she stood before the register.

“Ah, that is splendid news! Would you like your usual order or something more rewarding?” Miss Taffy exclaimed, clasping her hands together as she joined Klara at the register.

“My usual coffee please, but throw in one of the elderberry croissants please,” Klara asked, smiling warmly.

“Of course, my dear. Now, how are you and Mr. Emric?” Miss Taffy hummed, ringing Klara up while she put together her order.

“Oh, Miss Taffy, I’ve told you before, Ric and I are just partners. Would I lie to you?” Klara mused, chuckling softly. Klara couldn’t lie even if she wanted to, her Irish Fairy side made it impossible.

“Like you could even if you wanted to,” Miss Taffy snorted, handing her a steaming cup of coffee and a bag with two elderberry croissants. “Send my love to Emric, would you?”

“Always, Miss Taffy, have a good one!” Klara replied, turning to the door and bumping into someone. “Oh, I’m so so-”

Screaming. Pain-filled, torturous screaming.

Let me go!! Please let me go!!

Blood splattering, cries of anguish, and raw-fire-searing pain in the shape of a lunar crescent with an arrow.

Please, I won’t tell anyone, PLEASE!!

Hello, Klara Callia. Come find me. Come find ME.

✧

Her hands shook as she came out of her car, parked at a dead body scene in the parking lot of the club they were at just the night before. Never has a memory of another shaken her up so horribly. Most don’t even know of that kind of ability, let alone actively acknowledge her inside of it. She couldn’t shake the sound of the raspy, distorted voice. Couldn’t shake the sight of the cloaked figure where the only thing she could see was how tall the figure was. It wasn’t normal. No one ever sought her out, no one ever-

“K.C., over here!” Klara was pulled from her spiraling thoughts, putting an impassive expression on her face as she walked quietly over to Emric, who stood with a pair of fresh blue gloves.

“Might want to put them on now. Victim has Elven blood, and I know it doesn’t exactly feel great to Fae skin if memory serves correctly,” Emric hummed, amusement in his tone despite the seriousness of his expression.

“It was my first month, I liked the short-sleeved blouse I had on, and you had yet to inform me of the victim’s species race if I recall correctly,” Klara deadpanned, shaking her head while tugging on the blue gloves. She still had the scar of where the dead Elf’s blood had burned her arm. “What do we know?”

“Victim’s name is Eldra Poppet, she was missing for two weeks before her discovery today by Mr. Hendrik. Remember him?” Emric replied, studying Klara’s expression. Of course, she remembered him, she wasn’t fond of him. He kept trying to infuse Fae Grape Wine into her margaritas the night before to “loosen her up,” despite knowing the effects it would have.

“Of course. You interviewed him yet?”

“Not yet, wanted to survey the scene first before that. Reeks of metal though.”

“Know what kind?”

“Best guess? Iron.” Klara was afraid of that. She took a slight step away from the body.

“Hope you brought that Epi-pen from hell.”

“Haha. Just means I can’t touch the body, Ric.”

“Sure you can, you got the gloves.” Klara rolled her eyes at the teasing smirk on her partner’s face, the brat.

“Not how that works. You don’t hear me telling you how to turn into Wolfy now?” Klara shot back jokingly.

“Thought we agreed not to call my wolf side Wolfy?” Emric huffed, shaking his head. He crouched down beside the body, scanning it and cocking his head slightly to the right. “K.C., there’s a branding here.”

“What kind?” Klara peered over his shoulder to try and get a better look.

“It looks… like…a lunar crescent with an arrow through the middle.” All the color left Klara’s face.

Blood splattering, cries of anguish and raw-fire searing pain in the shape of a lunar crescent with an arrow.

“K.C.? Hey, what’s wrong?” Emric stood up, immediately trying to get a read on her. “You’ve seen this before? Where?”

“Just…just before I got here today, I went to Miss Taffy’s. I bumped into someone and got…got a memory that wasn’t mine. A girl, Half-Fae like me, tortured to hell being branded on her thigh with that exact branding,” Klara said weakly, glancing up at Emric with a worried expression. She could see his eyes, could see his heart drop.

“Did I just bump into the killer, Emric?”

✧

Klara pinned the last red string to her board, having connected Eldra Poppet to a two-month-old case, the death of Licissa Henry, who was a jaguar shifter that was so scarred and burned (with what Emric later smelled was silver) that she was hardly recognizable anymore. Among the scars and burns was a very familiar lunar branding that they had failed to notice at first. Klara swore every Spanish cuss word when she spotted the branding, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before.

Emric went over the details of each case, trying to get a read on their killer’s behavior, but it was erratic to not just Emric and Klara, but to their team as well. It didn’t make sense.

Licissa was doing grocery shopping for her family when she disappeared, with only an email that she was going on a weekend getaway with her mate. Licissa’s mate, Julian, was overseas in Japan, leading a huge design conference.

Eldra never went out unless necessary. She even had her groceries delivered. According to her mother, she had massive trust issues to the point of even working from home. And yet when her parents went to visit her, her home was clean and she had vanished into thin air, with no note or email. Just poof.

The only thing these girls had in common was their age. Both were 26 years old, just like Klara.

She would’ve sat down to pour over the files if she didn’t get a call from Emric to meet her by the old warlock warehouse by the river. That made her heart drop into her stomach. She didn’t need to hear him say there was a body, she could just tell by the tone of his grave voice.

Twenty minutes later, she stood before the very girl she witnessed being tortured in that memory. Iridescent eyes that once sparkled were now cloudy, and dull. Pale, clear skin was now marred by iron burns, slashes across her torso, the lunar crescent branding on her thigh, and…

And on her arm, when Klara crouched down and carefully turned the girl’s wrist in a gloved hand, read in Fae Runes: See you soon, my dear Klara Callia.

“K.C., what does it say?” Emric asked, studying her expression and spotting the subtle signs of recognition in her golden eyes.

“Fae Runes. Irish Fairy ones to be specific,” Klara swallowed. “It says ‘See you soon, my dear Klara Callia.’” She was expecting swearing or even a sigh. She wasn’t expecting the harsh snarl and to be yanked up by her arms to her feet and tugged away from the body as if it were ablaze.

“You mean this psycho is targeting you now? Tell me the rest of that memory, Klara, now.”

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“Her name, Ric.” Klara nodded to the victim who lay before them.

“Myra Lily Blackwell. Why?”

“Because Myra was in the memory.” Emric let Klara go, studying her expression again with his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Everything, Klara.”

“A few weeks ago, I bumped into someone while leaving Miss Taffy’s. I got hit with… by this figure, cloaked from head to toe, the only thing I could discern was his height. He had her chained to the wall with iron shackles, slashing her, whipping her, branding her… it was one of the worst memories I’ve ever gleaned from someone by far, Ric.”

“Do you remember who you bumped into?” Emric asked, cupping her face with gloveless hands to get her to focus on him. He could see her eyes dulling as she spoke.

“No. No, they were gone before the memory was even done playing out,” Klara swallowed, looking at him. “But it was Myra Lily in that memory, Ric. I saw him torturing her. And at the end…”

“What, K.C.? What did he do?”

“Not what he did, what he said. He told me to come find him.” Emric frowned, pulling away to look back at Myra Lily’s body.

“Right. You’re going back to the office, I can do the interviews.”

“Ric, I can do this!”

“You’re called out by name by this fool, K.C., I’m not taking any damn chances. Go back to the office, look for more patterns, and write the memory down. I’ll do the interviews and meet with you there, okay?”

“I’m fine-”

“Your eyes are glazing over on me. Go.” K.C. studied his expression silently before reluctantly doing as told, and heading back to the office.

Yet, she felt as though someone was watching her the whole time.

✧

A slow descent into madness. Into obsession, they called it. But Klara wouldn’t call it an obsession. She’d call it determination…

…Though she wouldn’t say it aloud.

Myra Lily was from a High Fae Court family, the Nature Court from Greece, despite only being Half-Fae, Half-Dryad specifically. Klara had a rather uncomfortable discussion over the phone as she was the only Fae in the department capable of communicating with them. Mama’s insistence that she learn most of the different Fae languages was paying off in this instance.

After promising she’d find who caused their daughter such a painful death, she hung up, tacking her memory description to the wall under Myra Lily’s picture alongside interview notes Emric had passed her three weeks earlier the day after they discovered Myra Lily’s body.

A blunt person who was an absolute busybody was what they could gather from the interviews. Myra Lily deemed herself someone who must know everything just to use it against other people, according to her parents. She was a snake according to her roommate. And yet…

Klara had seen her room. The small affirmations taped to her mirror signaled the self-esteem issues she had. The extensive journals in different shelves based on their use: the top shelf was for food tracking, the middle shelf was for personal diaries, bottom shelf was for tracking her moods and her day-to-day schedules; they all told Klara she needed to be the one in control. The writings of her diary were filled with rants, some of the pages stained with tears, that was not a person who would purposely blackmail others, that would be a snake of some kind.

Klara noted all of that as she stared at the board. She could only see two similarities among the victims: all of them were 26 and branded with that mocking, horrid branding of a lunar crescent with an arrow…

Frustrating, infuriating, tiring.

That’s all Klara could think of when she viewed this case. Even if she took a break from it to give consults to other cases, she kept thinking of this one…

…

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Screaming. Pain-filled, torturous screaming…

Let me go!! Please let me go!!

Blood splattering, cries of anguish and raw-fire searing pain in the shape of a lunar crescent with an arrow…

Please, I won’t tell anyone, PLEASE!!

“Hey, K.C., I brought food…K.C.?”

Screams. Pain-filled, terror-raising screams…

Please, please let me go!! I won’t tell anyone, please just let me go!!

Gargled gagging turning into spitting…

Flailing arms…

“K.C., can you hear me?”

Stabbing, slashing, gargling and spitting…

Pain screaming turning into weak cries…

“Earth to K.C.”

Hello, Klara Callia, come find ME!

“Klara!” The memory fizzled out and in came the vision of her partner staring at her worriedly, holding food with…a pale man standing behind him matching his worried expression.

“Ah, sorry Ric, didn’t hear you come in. Who’s your friend…?”

“Ah, this is Sean Washington. The vampire CEO is helping us with that vampire coven killing case. Here,” Emric explained, setting a cup of coffee in front of her. “Miss Taffy says hi, by the way.”

“Oh- I’m so sorry, Mr. Washington, I completely forgot you were coming,” she apologized, sipping the coffee to give her some energy.

“Nonsense, Agent Fuentes, you were preoccupied,” Sean said warmly, smiling as his sharpest canines gleamed in the light. “Agent Kingston said you two had a moment to get my statement?”

“Yes, of course, let me get a pen and paper. I believe I have some blood candies in my drawer if you’d like one?”

“That’s alright, dear, I had my batch this morning. Miss Taffy makes the most lovely bloody tea,” Sean chuckled. His accent was nice to listen to, Klara found. She must be really out of it today.

They spent twenty minutes getting his statement before she noticed his eyes. They were bright, resembling the sky in the intensity of the blue within them. And they felt familiar somehow…

“Well, that should be everything. Thanks for coming down, Mr. Washington,” Emric announced, snapping Klara out of her stupor.

“No, thank you, Agents. I despair at the thought of not being able to help keep trust and keep the community safe,” Sean replied, shaking his hand firmly.

Klara didn’t shake his hand at first, and at his confusion, she said kindly, “It’s your rings, sir. They’re made of iron, I’m quite allergic to them and any residue they leave behind.”

“Ah, of course, my apologies. Have a blessed day, Emric, and Klara Callia,” Sean nodded, smiling as he soon left. She liked a little too much the feel of the name from his mouth, but…it still felt familiar.

✧

“You’re obsessed!”

“I am not obsessed with wanting to find the psychopath responsible for these deaths!” Klara was standing toe to toe with Emric, staring furiously into the eye of her partners. Her golden eyes glowing with fury, while his brown eyes were filled with frustration.

“You have not looked at another case properly in weeks, Klara! You’re losing sleep, and barely eating! We are nowhere near solving this one, and you’re driving yourself mad trying to piece together things that don’t make sense!”

“I am not!”

“Maybe we should pass it off.”

“No. No! We are not passing off something that took almost four months of work, Emric!”

“You’re obsessed with this psycho! Need I remind you of his sadistic ways?!” Emric jerked an arm pointed at their board, with a new victim on it. Kelsey Jones, a vampire discovered by her mother, Lydia, and Sean Washington, who had consoled Lydia and looked positively green at the sight of Kelsey.

Shortly after, he asked Klara on a date, which she had kept postponing. Klara knew she was growing obsessed with this killer, whom the media dubbed Thanatos for his many methods of torturing and killing his victims. Klara hated that nickname. This killer was far from a Greek God, especially one known for collecting people after they had passed. It was distasteful.

“Obsessed with a sadistic psychopath that leaves his victims like this?!” Klara practically shrieked, her nails sharpening and hair growing longer for a split second before she took a deep breath. “What, pray tell, do you propose then?”

“We need a break before we claw each other’s eyes out over this case,” Emric said sternly. Klara narrowed her eyes in silence at him, Emric staring at her back. Silence descended…

“I’m not obsessed.”

“I taught you how to profile, Klara. You’re obsessed.”

✧

“I was getting worried we’d never meet,” Sean chuckled, sitting across the table from Klara, looking delicious in a tight-fitted blue dress shirt and slacks. Klara chuckled, her dark red dress matching the color of wine in her glass as she took a sip.

“Work troubles. More gruesome than you’d like to hear, no doubt,” Klara admitted.

“Ah yes, I’ve been meaning to ask, have you found any leads on Kelsey? Lydia has just been so melancholy, I’d love to be able to tell her something,” Sean asked, sipping his Bloody Mary.

“I can’t discuss details of a case with you, unfortunately. What I can say is it’s been a difficult one to follow,” Klara admitted with a sad smile.

“Pity…though I supposed your hands are tied,” Sean chuckled. Klara tilted her head at him.

“Odd choice of words, Sean.”

“Are they?” he mused, sipping his drink with a warm smile. “It was a quip. I remember seeing the board. You work yourself too hard, luv.”

“...I guess I have. Ric thinks I’m obsessed..”

“Are you?” Klara felt defensive almost immediately, but…Sean wasn’t asking to mock. He seemed genuinely curious.

“I…suppose I am,” she said finally. Sean set his glass down and leaned slightly against the table, giving her his full attention.

“What made you so intrigued?”

“How…erratic and yet so consistent this person is. The torture is different across the board and yet the only pieces that align are the brand marks and the ages. At least for the first three, I’m not quite sure how vampire aging works.”

“Born vampires age as everyone else does. Turn vampires have two ages, the international age if you will, and the age they have from the moment they are turned. Say a 15-year-old was turned, then they’d have 15 years of age internationally, but be considered a mere fledgling, a toddler almost in that sense amongst the vampire community,” Sean explained.

“And Kelsey?”

“Was a born vampire.” Klara mulled it over in thought, smiling softly. They changed the topic eventually, moving on to Sean’s work while they ate and refilled their drinks. Klara felt warm, though she chalked it up to the wine she had drank through the night.

When their evening was over and the bill was paid (by Sean of course), Sean held his arm out, walking her to the parking lot that was sparsely populated at best.

“I must say, I had a splendid evening, dearest,” Sean mused. Klara smiled, though the warmth through her began to feel sort of… fuzzy.

“Yes, I had a wonderful time. We ought to do this more often,” she replied. The sight of her car felt rather far…and hazy…

“Yes, but it’s a shame we won’t be able to, my dear Klara Callia.” Huh?

“Wu…what?” This feeling, she’s felt it before. She thought back to the wine… Fae Grape Wine. She grasped onto his hand, weaker than she would’ve liked, and the memory of Myra Lily bombarded her senses yet again, then of Kelsey… Only her words were different. Oh no…

“Sean… Sean, what is this?” She asked.

“Oh but it’s not Sean, Klara Callia,” he said sweetly, but his face unfocused in her vision as she stumbled over her feet. “What was it that sweet Kelsey called me?”

“Tha…Thanatos, you’re not..not ge…” Klara couldn’t get the words out, losing her balance and slowly beginning to lose consciousness. Sean caught her, smirking down at her finally.

“Sweet Klara Callia, my name is Blair Blayney. And I do believe I have you.”

✧

Ache. Ache seeped through to her hands, her feet, her muscles, bones, down to the very core of her soul.

She strained her ears to listen, her eyes uncooperative. I hate Fae Wine…

She never drank it. To anyone with an inkling of humanity, it’s no better than a date rape drug. To full-blooded Fae, it’s no better than a beer on a Saturday night.

“Klara Callia, I know you’re awake, my dear.” Sean’s sultry voice floated over her ears. “I can hear your little heartbeat quickening ever so slightly.”

She swallowed quietly as she finally got to pry her eyes open…to a guest room. A guest room?

Her arms weren’t tied down. Her head felt like she was just fighting off a hangover. She felt…okay. Except you’re not okay.

Sean…No, Blair sat across from her bed, smirking with his arms crossed. “Welcome home, Klara Callia.”

“Sean…” she said slowly, mouth feeling like cotton as she struggled to sit up.

“Tsk tsk. Memory failing you already?” The vampire shook his head, standing over her and bending down just close enough to her face. “That’s not my name, darling. What’s my name?”

“..’s…It’s Blair. Blair Blaney.” She managed to get her words together, more coherent…But why? Why did he do this?

“Excellent, very well done. I typically don’t use Fae Wine. It’s sticky, too sparkling, like the Twilight vampires.” Blair stood up, smiling at her sweetly, kindly. Like the day he gave his statement. Like how he smiled last night earlier in the date…

“You’d be the only person to ever see my home, darling. Your little…what did your partner call it? Ah yes, obsession. Your little obsession with me caught my eye, Klara Callia,” Blair continued, his kind, warm smile starting to feel sinister.

“It wasn’t an obsession,” she argued weakly, but it only made him throw his head back, carefree laughter falling from his full lips as if she simply made a joke. But this wasn’t funny…

“Tell me, Klara Callia, that seeing my masterpieces didn’t send a rush through your spine. That you weren’t frustrated that you couldn’t connect me to the bodies. That Myra Lily’s screams don’t paint your every thought?” Blair’s voice was smooth as he approached her. He watched her every move with amusement. He watched her swallow, watched gold eyes watching his every move. Breathe… just breathe…you can make it outside...

“Oh sweet Klara Callia. You’re not going anywhere.”

She watched the Cheshire cat grin form, and her heart dropped. She had only heard rumors but…

“Yes, my dear.” He tilted her head up gently by the chin, his thumb trailing from her cheek to her lips.

“I can hear every. little. thought,” he whispered, smiling warmly as the color drained from her face.

✧

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

“Shut up.”

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Toc-

“Shut up.”

Tick.

To-

Klara flung the closest object in reach to the nearby clock, breaking the glass and knocking it off the wall. Time lost all meaning to her by now, and the incessant tick-tock frayed what little sanity she had.

Blair would come in, sweet-talk her as though he hadn’t laced her drinks with Fae Wine, feed her elderberries grown directly from the Unseelie gardens, and watch her struggle to wrap her mind around him. He’d cup her face and watch her eyes glaze over as the memories of Myra Lily, of Licissa, of Kelsey flood her brain until she blacked out. He’d watch her anxiety and fear build until she’d shut down, then tuck her back into bed. And they’d do it over again. And again. And again.

But…it was a pattern just for her. She picked up on it. He’d do so in the evening, always before she had to sleep. In the morning, he’d dress her up in the softest dresses, feed her proper meals that wouldn’t drug her, and let her roam the house and read. He treated her kindly.

And yet that didn’t change the psychological torture she endured every night. Didn’t change that her service was dead so Emric couldn’t ping her phone. Didn’t change the fact that he still managed to outsmart her and now she was here.

Sitting across from him at the dining room table.

Watching his smirk as he sipped a wine glass full of blood while hers was a simple sparkling cider.

Swallowing a gulp of the drink as he studied her blank expression, every movement, her every thought.

“Klara Callia, you are to be quite a long-time guest of mine,” he finally spoke, setting his wine glass on the table. She mimicked the actions, holding his gaze.

“And what, pray tell, could you possibly tell me that would make me not wish to throw myself out the first given window?” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“Well, for starters, dearest, the windows are coated in iron, so you wouldn’t last very long,” Blair replied wryly, enjoying the irritated look on Klara’s face that turned into one of wariness. “And you’ll come to see that what I’m doing is more fun than wasting before a board of victims.”

“I highly doubt that you torturing them and then branding their dead bodies as if they were cattle. Blair, you think I’d ever be like you? A falsely good man?” she sneered back at him. It was the truth, and yet her tongue prickled like she had just eaten a pair of Fae-grown berries.

Blair stood and walked to her with each step. His bright blue eyes reminded her of being on the other side of a predator shifter. Then again, Blair was a kind of predator, but the worst kind of predator out there. “I think, little Klara Callia, that you will be at my side. That you will turn in those credentials and watch as I torture them as you put it.”

“I’d rather live off Fae Wine the rest of my damn life,” she growled at him.

“That, Klara Callia, can be arranged.”

✧

“Stop!! Stop it!!” Klara broke, the memory of the most recent victim, Millicent Leroy, bouncing through her skull like a ricochet of bullets. Blair grinned maliciously, dark clothes bloody, some of it smeared across her cheek.

“Oh but we’ve only just begun, darling,” he sneered back, gripping her chin. Not forcefully, never forcefully.

“You rip more and more of my sanity away, you make me-”

“Enjoy it? Am I feeding your obsession with my work?” he interrupted. I am not obsessed. I am not obsessed. I am not obe-

“Technicalities don’t make good lies, Klara Callia,” he tutted, booping her nose.

“But I’m not obsessed!”

“And yet here you are. Unrestrained, letting me use your power against you,” Blair replied, smirking again.

“I don’t enjoy it. I am not obsessed with…with…”

“If you’re not upset, say it. Ver. Ba. Tim.”

Klara couldn’t do it. She couldn’t force the words out. Because you know he’s right.

No. No, he’s not right. I am not obsessed.

“Pity. We could’ve ended this session early,” he murmured, degloving his hands, cupping her face, sending her headfirst into the blood-curdling screams of Millicent Leroy once again.

✧

I am not obsessed.

He’s torturing them for fun.

For games.

I am not obsessed.

I am not obsessed…

The daily mantra, as she was forced to watch news of her disappearance, did little to ease her anxiety. The daily mantra, as she went through the motions of her new routine, did little to make her fully believe the opposite.

The daily mantra, Klara realized, was slowly starting to become more difficult to repeat to herself. That terrified her more than the psychotic vampire holding her hostage within what she gathered was his private estate.

He gave her enough free rein to watch the news, but the phones had iron residue, preventing her from calling anyone. She could cook, but only from the pantries that didn’t have clovers or iron residue. Otherwise, it was the daily getting up, brushing her teeth, dressing, eating, lying in boredom or watching TV, eating, going back to her room, showering, then enduring hours upon hours of her ability forcing her to relive the violent memories that she could only escape from in her sleep.

It was infuriating.

It was exhausting.

It was…

Klara wasn’t sure how it was anymore.

✧

“Say it. Word for word, say it,” Blair growled against her, Klara was pinned to the ground under him as she tried to fight him. Her nails had grown and left sharp, jagged scarring across his cheek and nose.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction! I’m not ob…I’m not…argh!”

In a moment of fury, she managed to shove him off, her dark curls lengthening, her nails sharpening, appearing to be so angrily ethereal to Blair. He barked out a laugh.

“Tell me the truth, Klara Callia Fuentes-Sweeny! Tell me the truth!” he howled in crazed laughter.

“I’m not ob- I’m not-”

“Fae can’t lie, no matter how much humanity resides in you,” he mocked. Klara was seeing red now, swiping and adding another cut to his face. It only encouraged his mocking.

“Tell me the truth,” he commanded, eyes flashing with mirth, his hands catching her claws, restricting her again. “Irish Fairy, I forbid you to outfox me!”

That little sentence sealed her fate. The words bubbled out before she could even try to swallow them back down.

“Your sessions intrigue me. You…You feed my obsession in ways I didn’t know,” she grunted out, trying so hard to make them go back into the forbidden box that she deemed dangerous.

“And?” he prodded, giving a malicious grin.

“And you…you making me see the kills over…and over…”

“Only makes that obsession grow larger than your control,” he finished for her, watching her features return to normal as the tears filled her eyes out of frustration.

“You broke me.”

“Oh no, Klara Callia. I never broke you.” He bent down to her ear, relishing in her body involuntarily stiffening.

“I released you.”

#writing corner #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #short story #writing assignment #please enjoy :)#writerscommunity #college writing #fiction story #fantasy story

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ohraicodoll · 1 year

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Figment | Chapter 7 (Finale)

Chapters: 7/7, Complete Fandom: The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating: Mature Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne Additional Tags: Mix of TV Dream and Comic Dream, Spice a little later, kinda enemies to lovers, Cause Dream likes when people backtalk to him, lots and lots of tension Summary: She had only been able to enter other’s dreams two years ago, but she knew the rules. Don’t interfere with the dream. Don’t create anything in another’s dream. Don’t destroy anything in another’s dream. But then she stupidly broke one of those rules and the Lord of Dreams does not take kindly to others messing with his domain. Chapter Summary: In the light of the morning after. Read Here on AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Next in Series: Touch Starved (Reminder that the entire series and sequels are on AO3)

CHAPTER 7

Cross legged, I sat on my couch and let the Sunday morning light cover me through the window. I chewed on my nail, distracted completely, images from the night flashing through me. I’d jumped off the knife’s edge and it had been glorious, all consuming, nothing I could have imagined. Though it had been in the Dreaming, I’d woken with faint marks dotting my skin and delicious aches all over. It had happened. There was no denying it. I could still feel Morpheus’ touch and lips on mine. But there had been a bitter sweetness when I awoke and alone in my room, insecurity had settled in, swift and brutal. The game was over so what was there now? We’d been so drawn to each other but now that it had reached the end goal, would that be it? The fun was over, what else was there to draw Dream to me? In the eyes of gods, maybe that’s all humans were. Quick games to preoccupy their eternity. I felt frustrated, falling into the same dumb mind trap of wondering if a person liked me or if was just a one-night stand and it felt so petty and small considering the person I was wondering about was barely a person. He was bigger than a god, a lord of his domain. Older and more powerful than anything I could even fathom. And I was busy wondering what we were.

I felt pathetic and I hated that. The courage that had propelled me forward in the Dreaming gone in the stark bright morning light. Throwing on some jeans, a loose black shirt, and comfy sweater, I shoved my feet into some boots and left the house. I needed to get out and distract myself instead of thinking. The emptiness of my apartment for the first time in a while was pressing in and I needed sound, voices, anything. There was a certain irony that not that long ago, I had done this very same thing but to avoid thinking about Morpheus possibly killing me. I hadn’t wanted his attention, hid from it, feared it. And now it was the opposite. A mere caress could send me tumbling into a deep chasm of longing and my body still hummed, feeling the ghosts of his power running over it. Maybe because of that reason, I ended up strolling around until I arrived at the café. The morning air was a bit chilly, but my long hair covered my neck from the wind and the sweater did its best to keep me warm. The sun heated my skin, working to fight off the cold, but I didn’t really feel any of it as I slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. Because there, sitting at the same table we had shared before on the patio, Dream sat there and caught my eyes. Thick black wool coat, messy hair, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes. So beautiful that my breath caught under his gaze. A faint smile painted his lips and my heart skipped, thumping loudly in my ears. My brain raced to reason it all away, that smile having to be because he’d managed to catch me off guard, not because of me exactly. Slowly, he stood, hands in his pockets, and waited while I anxiously approached the table, filled with trepidation and something close to fear. I wasn’t sure what I was scared of, but this felt unexpectedly big. His rejection maybe, telling me it was fun but he had work and don’t forget not to break any rules. In the wake of all the games and passion, I was left with uncertainty and any of the bravado that had fueled me. “Hi,” I whispered in greeting, voice breathy, shivering but not from the cold. His lips curled even more, amusement playing in those blue eyes, “Hello, little dreamer.” Silence and tension filled the space between us, my tongue heavy and dry as I tried to find the words and he didn’t seem all too eager to help. Finally I cleared my throat and sat down, him following my lead like a gentleman, sitting only after the lady herself was seated. “What are you doing here?” I asked with clenched fingers under the table, feeling so small under his gaze. Morpheus’ brow rose, a slight tensing under his relaxed façade, “Do you not wish for me to be here?” “No!” the words all stumbled together as I tried to backtrack, “Uh, that’s not what I meant! I want you- I mean, I’m thrilled you’re here! Uh, I’m just confused I guess.” I groaned and covered my face in my hands at the growing smirk on his face, “Sorry, I’m an idiot and am going to shut up now.” His soft chuckle reverberated through me, velvety and rich and not unlike the sheets we had laid against. The table shifted as he leaned forward and cool, long fingers pried my hands from my face and intertwined them on the table between us. I stared at them, the way my hands seemed dwarfed by his and the feel of his skin against mine. “I rather like when you are flustered, but there is no need,” Morpheus reassured, thumb tracing over my palm, “As for why I am here, I wished to see you. Nothing more.” And my heart wrenched at that, the sentence chipping away at the insecurities that had been eating at me all morning. I took a shuddering breath, allowing myself the small privilege of tightening my fingers in his and enjoying the feeling of holding on to him, “I thought…I don’t know, maybe after last night that you would be done with me.” The waitress decided to come by then, always at the perfect moment. I wasn’t particularly hungry or wanting anything but Dream spoke up, eyes not leaving mine and not letting go of my hands, “A black coffee and a London Fog for her.” I raised my brow at that, the knowledge he had remembered something as dumb as my drink last time and had ordered for me, and watched the waitress walk away, “Are you going to pay her in leaves or something and make her believe it’s gold?” He shook his head, wind teasing the wild locks of black hair, “That is a Fae trick and I am no Fae. It is in my capabilities to pay with real money if I have need to. I learned that lesson years passed when my elder sister admonished me for it.” From the few times he’d mentioned anything personal, it had always been about his sister. Who happened to be Death. But besides that small fact, I could tell he was closest to her and held her in high esteem. I would say I wanted to meet her, but refrained. I wasn’t in any way eager enough to have Death on my doorstep. The waitress came and left quickly enough with our drinks but Dream didn’t move to release me, letting the air chill both hot mugs. He seemed to ponder for a moment before drawing me back to my previous remark, “I am not one who easily gives my attention freely. If you are not opposed to it, I am most definitely not done with you yet.” My breath hitched and my body suddenly felt too hot, too tight under the intensity of those blue eyes. Shakily, I nodded and blinked under long lashes, “I think I’d like that.” With hands so pale against the bright light of the sun, he raised my own and pressed a soft, long kiss to the knuckles of one and then the other. Memories of those lips on mine, lips and teeth dragging down my neck and in the hollow between my breasts, assaulted my mind. From the satisfied smirk on his face as he finally let go to drink his coffee, he knew exactly what I was thinking about. Anthropomorphic personification or not, he still had the pride of a man. I picked up my own cup and drank to hide my blush. “So should I expect you to be showing up unexpectedly in the waking world now?” I asked over the rim of my mug, the hot liquid warming my body even further but it was a welcome heat in the chill of the morning. “Not all the time, I’m afraid,” he leaned back in his chair and those long legs of his brushed my own. This time I let myself enjoy it, leaning my own against his. “There is much that needs to be done in my realm, but sometimes, yes. I would like to visit, if you’ll have me?” “Yes,” I replied quickly, face quickly heating up, “Um, yeah, I think I’d like that.” The dream lord seemed endlessly amused at my eagerness but he simply smiled and nodded, “Good.” “Good,” I repeated, smiling back, “I should warn you though, I’m not good at whatever this is.” Tilting his head, Dream stared down at his cup in understanding and almost a tinge of regret, “Then we are the same in that. Most would say I have not been the best in handling others…and so I ask for your patience. I am…trying…to be better.” The statement felt loaded, a history in those words, but I didn’t want to push it. This was still so small and new. An agreement to keep doing whatever this was but it’s not like he had said he wanted to date or whatever immortal beings do. Court? I’m not sure. So having the previous relationships talk wasn’t on the table yet and I didn’t want to open my own bag of trauma. My book had been blank in the library meaning he didn’t know everything about me. That made me feel slightly better, like we were more on equal footing, even if his past was eons long. It meant he had to get to know me just as I had to get to know him. “Deal. If you’re patient with me, I’ll be patient with you,” I agreed, chewing on my lower lip. The weight didn’t completely leave his body but he nodded and some of the lightness came back, “Apologies, but I do have to leave. I do not have as long as I wished I did.” He seemed genuinely remorseful at that, like leaving the small little café that had come to be where we had our first real conversation was painful for him. Standing and pulling some money from his pocket, he moved to leave it beside his now empty cup but I grabbed it and raised it to the light of the sky. “What are you doing?” he asked amusedly. “Checking if it’s real or if you're handing out counterfeit money,” I grinned, squinting at the bill in my hand as if I even knew what counterfeit money looked like. At that he actually did roll his eyes, a first that I’d seen, and plucked the paper from me to set it back down. And before I could comprehend the movement, he gently grabbed my chin and leaned over me, pressing his lips to mine. The experience of kissing him in the waking world felt so different than in the Dreaming. He felt real, not just a figment of my imagination. His lips were slightly chilled from the air but demanding and I breathed him in. He tasted of coffee, something that surprised me because of how normal that was but shouldn’t have. I let out a breathy moan and he managed to drag himself away, pulling back just far enough that his eyes the color of the sky filled my vision. “Take care, little dreamer,” he whispered along my lips. I let out a barely audible goodbye, wanting nothing more than to wrap my hands in his hair and drag him back down to me, but he pulled away fully and the absence of his heat creeped along my body. With a nod, he left and I forced myself not to watch him go, knowing I was already down bad. Seeing him leave would just make the longing worse. I wanted to hide and soak in the lingering traces of his scent and taste of his lips, but I settled for holding my blushing cheeks in my hands. “Dahlia,” that familiar voice called behind me. I turned at the sound of my name, jarring at hearing it for the first time from his lips. The sound was heaven and I wanted to bottle it up, save it just to hear him say it over and over again. Looking over my shoulder, the King of Dreams stood there still a few yards away. With a downright devious smirk, hands in the pocket of his rich black coat, he spoke, “I suggest you do well to go to bed early and get a restful night’s sleep. We wouldn’t want our plans to be interrupted.” My face burned hot and liquid fire shot through me. That wicked asshole. I playfully glared at him, shaking my head, and watched him finally walk away. We both knew full well how loaded those comments were and how now I was going to be anticipating the moon to rise just so I could go to sleep early. Our game may have been over, but I guess we were due for a rematch.

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kalpasio · 3 months

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Beauty and Decimation

Things Go Well Until They Don't

A Kalpas x Reader fic loosely based on Beauty and the Beast, Chapter 3 below!

Honkai never had a particularly strong presence in your village. The reason as to why seems clear now. Nearly every night, Kalpas goes out. At first you thought he enjoyed walks, or perhaps the curse drew Honkai beasts to his home; but as Su put it, the prince still clung to his destructive ways. Even if that was what got them in this mess in the first place. Any fight was started by him. Not the creatures outside.

Occasionally, Sakura or Elysia (and sometimes even Mobius) would join him on the outing, but it was more to keep Kalpas from destroying the forest rather than to keep him safe. In the month that you had stayed here, you had only seen him return injured once. That was also the first time he voluntarily spoke to you.

It was to tell you to get out of his way, but that still counted, right?

Eden would clean up his wounds, while Hua (who you still haven’t met) would clean the blood from the halls.

Even though you shared all your meals together, it wasn’t until the second month a proper conversation was struck up. To your surprise, Kalpas asked if the castle was to your liking. Shock kept you silent until you heard an unhappy grumble come from the other end of the table.

“Truly, you have a lovely home!” The halls could be crawling with spiders, and you would have declared this the most wonderful place in the world. Anything to keep from angering your host.

“You haven’t left your room,” he pointed out the one fact that you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Leaving the room felt like a gamble. You could win the bet, run into Eden or Sakura and enjoy a lovely conversation. Or you could lose and run into Mobius or the beast. It hardly seemed worth it at this point, though you were well aware the number of books in your room that had yet to be read was dwindling.

More than once, you had thought of sneaking to the kitchen for a snack or tea, but every time, Kalpas’ mask would appear in your mind like an omen of what would happen, should you stray too far.

“Your servants take such good care of me, I have little reason to,” you gave a polite smile, hoping your excuse would be accepted.

“Elysia may dote on you, but that is hardly enough to distinguish you from a prisoner.” The prince—you had learned—hardly ever spoke in a tone that could not be considered a growl. Knowing this still didn’t make you feel any better.

“I greatly appreciate your hospitality; I do not wish to presume you are willing to offer more.” You were spouting nonsense at this point, though the sentiment held true. The time you spent in the castle was remarkable, even if you rarely strayed from your room.

All of your clothes must have come from the wardrobes of nobles, each piece fit as though custom made for you, and there was no shortage to choose from. After a week of not understanding the complexities of the bathroom, you had given up and decided to simply enjoy the inexplicable features to their fullest. You had been spoiled and returning home at this point seemed impossible. Not only would it mean a drastic change in lifestyle, but you were positive the town thought you dead you’re your neighbors didn’t take kindly to ghosts.

“The world never asks before it takes; why should you?” Kalpas was being oddly philosophical, but you understood the point he was trying to make. Not that you necessarily agreed with it. “If you do not leave your room by choice, I will drag you out of it.” That was a threat you fully believed he intended to follow through on.

Unfortunately, you did not realize quite how short the window for you to leave by choice would be.

Not even forty-eight hours later, he was throwing you over his shoulder and marching down the halls. When you were returned to your feet, you found yourself in the middle of a courtyard. Sakura and Rin were pouring tea and setting little cakes on a tray underneath the shade of a gazebo. The whole scene screamed ‘Elysia’ but she had yet to make an appearance.

Kalpas refused to take his mask off to enjoy the treats with you, but he remained seated across from you (looking annoyed, like he’d been placed in time out) until the tea had gone cold and Elysia announced that lunch was ready inside.

Chats with the prince usually consisted of him recounting a battle—whether it be from the night before or decades ago—while you chimed in about life in your village. He never failed to make a disgusted face you could sense even through the mask. Hearing how mundane your existence had been appeared to only inspire him to change your habits.

Where you used to take short walks around the castle’s gardens, Kalpas would insist upon horseback rides that lasted hours across the entire property. After his late-night fights, you were now expected to stay awake until his return so he could regale you with all the details. The only moment of peace he allowed you to retain was the hours spent in the library.

After the courtyard, this was the second part of the castle you visited. It had taken Kalpas a few weeks to figure out where you had disappeared to (no thanks to Elysia). He burst through the doors so loudly the first time, you nearly threw your book in the air and fell off the couch. Now, when he joins you, he’s much more subtle, though you could hardly say he’s quiet. The two of you will share a couch and simply enjoy the time spent together.

Sometimes the prince will read his own book, surprising you with how careful he is to not singe or tear any of the pages. Other days, he will bring his whetstone and you find yourself transfixed by how diligently he sharpens his knives until they can cut through beasts as easily as they do through air.

One day, after a couple of hours reading in the library, you had fallen asleep. This wasn’t uncommon; on multiple occasions, Sakura or Eden would cover you with a blanket or you’d awake to find another resident of the castle (usually Kalpas or Rin) waiting next to you. The prince was surprisingly good—by his standards—at keeping quiet while you were trying to focus or rest. It still didn’t take much to rile him up, however, and that was what happened today.

Apparently, Kalpas had entered the library shortly after sleep overcame you. His natural body heat only lulled you into a deeper sleep, meaning you didn’t even notice when Mobius joined the two of you. What roused you was her furious shushing after Kalpas grew too loud. To no one’s surprise, it had no effect, and the yelling continued. You managed to fake your continued rest and overhear the rather noisy conversation.

“We only have one year Kalpas,” Mobius’ voice had lost all hint of teasing, the harshness of it sending shivers down your spine. “How you’ve gone this long without warming up to any of us, I’ll never understand--”

“You make it too easy to hate you,” he growled back, the rumble in his chest vibrating through the couch you laid on.

“Well, now there’s someone new. We’ve spent too much time together to ever get along, and you’ve wasted too much time to be picky about who you use to break the curse.”

Your heart froze for a moment. What did she mean by use? Were you about to become some unwitting sacrifice?

“This is none of your business.”

“Oh?” Mobius sneered, “Really? You think you’re the only one suffering?” Kalpas remained silent but you could feel him getting hotter next to you. “Doing this your way has gotten us exactly nowhere. Your options are to give in to Aponia or do it my way.”

The sound of heels on carpet marked her exit, but the bitterness Mobius brought still lingered in the air. Before you had a chance to say anything, Kalpas was up and had left the room as well. That left just you and your thoughts in the overwhelming silence of the library.

Su had said Kalpas needed to find someone he truly cares about in order to break the curse. That may be true, but Mobius seemed to have a different theory, and you didn’t think getting involved in any of her plans would end well. ‘Giving in to Aponia’ likely meant accepting the curse permanently, never leaving the castle, and never being able to move on from this exact moment in time. It was certainly a horrible fate, but you weren’t willing to die to remedy the situation.

As open as everyone had become with you, there was no doubt in your mind that they still held several secrets close to their chests. Trusting them so blindly had been a mistake. It was clear now that the only reason they were so kind to you was because you were a means to an end. You needed to get out of this place before that wasn’t an option.

Escaping had not gone well.

Kosma supposedly guarded the castle—though you doubted Kalpas left him many enemies to guard against. Your first time meeting him was when he pushed your face into the ground with his knee pressing into your back. By the distant light cast from the castle’s windows, you could see the horns curling out from his head and you knew you’d been caught.

Now you sat in front of Kalpas.

Leaning back into his throne, legs spread and mask firmly in place, he truly fit the role of crown prince. His elbow rested on the right arm of the throne so his head could lean upon his fist. Sakura stood at attention to his right, prepared to strike, though the relaxed position of her ears said otherwise. Perched on the other arm of the throne, Elysia had one foot on the ground for balance, the other lazily swinging back and forth. Mobius seemed to be the only one interested in confronting you.

“Was our generosity not enough for you?” she asked, circling you like a snake around its prey. At the shake of your head, you could feel the coils tighten around you. “Then you must have grown tired of this place, surely?”

You could practically feel the scales pressing into your skin as she continued to pace in circles. “If not that, what could have possibly driven you to leave in such a hurry, little guest?” Mobius finally stopped in front of you, the look in her eyes all but spelling out ‘danger.’

“I don’t want to die,” you whispered, unsure of what more to say.

“Oh?” She feigned ignorance, clearly not understanding the meaning behind your words.

“I heard you in the library.” It sounded as though you were being choked, and very nearly felt like it too. Mobius’ glare pierced through you as she stopped in front of you, but you refused to meet her—or anyone else’s—eyes.

“Then you know how important it is that you play your part--”

“I won’t!” You shook your head twice before the feeling of nails digging into your cheek made you freeze.

“It’s not your choice little guest.” The harsh whisper and heartless eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“Mobius.” As cruel as her tone had been, this one word alone was worse.

Sakura now stood completely alert and Elysia’s carefree air had disappeared. Embers flared and rose from the throne behind Kalpas while the entire throne room grew hotter. For a brief second, the claws dug deeper into your cheeks, nearly drawing blood before releasing you so Mobius could turn to face her so-called master.

“Yes, my prince?” her voice was sickeningly sweet. Suddenly, it became clear that Elysia and Sakura were not there to protect Kalpas from you, but the other way around. Or so it would seem in Mobius’ case. He lunged at her with such speed you were shocked the two girls saw him move, let alone reacted quick enough to stop him. Between the both of them, they managed to wrestle him back while he struggled like a caged animal.

Mobius must not have realized the severity of her situation, because in the next breath, she was taunting him again. With the blazing flames surrounding the room, you couldn’t hear her. Seconds later, however, the flames grew hotter, to the point you could hardly breathe. Just before you passed out, you heard Kalpas shout, saw him break free, and all you could do was hope you wouldn’t be part of the casualty count.

Why do I always have Kalpas kidnap reader :( also KALPAS CAN'T READ. KALPAS CANNOT READ. HE JUST WANTS TO SIT NEXT TO READER AND KNOWS BETTER THAN TO JUST SIT THERE AND STARE INTO SPACE SO HE PRETENDS TO READ. Reader does not know this shhhh

#kalpas x reader #azaryawrites #tamalethebear #HI3 x reader #x reader #cross posted on ao3

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