#not to mention that car got crushed and crumpled | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetsweetjellybean · 2 months

Text

Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality.

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect.

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it.

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans. A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending."

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all.

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door.

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs.

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side.

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end.

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen.

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.”

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together.

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood. The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump.

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall.

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space.

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today.

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me."

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away. The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you."

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall.

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him.

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat.

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?"

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling.

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group."

"What group? The one for annoying assholes."

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all."

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch.

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed.

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch.

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out.

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school."

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind."

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach.

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?"

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?"

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name. "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards. He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog.

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles. "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–"

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?"

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–"

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads."

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute."

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-"

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room.

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall. Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half. His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there."

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape.

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat.

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly.

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye.

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger.

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body.

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs.

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard."

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over.

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for.

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot.

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid.

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle.

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware.

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now? After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone.

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong.

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment, you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt."

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut.

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?"

"Damn right, I do."

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center.

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered.

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair.

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become. Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot.

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up.

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass.

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest. His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?”

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call.

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets.

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?”

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk.

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–”

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?”

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach.

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state.

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm."

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away.

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed."

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen.

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell.

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain.

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

152 notes · View notes

aneveningsword · 7 months

Text

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader warnings: not proofread, some tough love, mentions of drug abuse words: 713 summary: Spencer needed help and if no one else was going to help him you would.

masterlist

It wasn't the hardest to see the change in Spencer after his time with Tobias. How on edge he seemed, snapping at people for the most minor offences. How uncaring of the feelings of those around him, saying whatever he wished. Everyone tried to turn the other cheek knowing the pain and despair he must be in. But they could only allow the infractions to go on for so long before they grow tired of it.

Everyone knew what exactly was going on, everyone could see the signs. Yet no one wished to acknowledge that it was happening. Maybe if they forgeined ignorance then it wouldn't be true, it would just silently go away and no one would have to worry about it.

But you couldn't, you couldn't keep turning a blind eye, watching the pain he was in. You couldn't stand by as he destroyed himself. That's what brought you to his front door, a bag full of flyers and hand banging loudly on his door. You weren't leaving until you got through to him.

It wasn't long before the door opened, the wood replaced with Spencer's exhausted features. Before he could even open his mouth to question why you were there you pushed passed him. Entering his house like you owned the place instead of simply visiting. A small grumble was heard from the man behind you as the door shut once more.

His annoyance did little to against the determination flowing through you, turning to face him you spoke. "I know." Confusion washed over the lanky man's features, unsure of what you meant. You had bargained into his house after nagging on the door like someone was chasing you, one to declare you knew something.

"You're using." You clarified taking note of his confusion, faked or not you didn't care. You wanted to rip the bandaid off, not give him time to try and snake out of it or distract you. You knew he was smarter than you and with a few words, he could throw you off the course you have been set on.

Spencer's features morph into an expression you couldn't describe before hardening, his face unreadable to what he was thinking. "I don't know what you're talking about." The denial of what was happening was weak, you both knew the truth. "God Spencer, I'm not stupid, I can see it. Everyone can. We're worried." There was a tone of anguish in your voice, pleading with him to just give up and let you help.

"I've got it under control." The words pulled a scoff from you as you shook your head. "But you don't do you? Because if you did, I wouldn't have noticed." There was a tone of desperation to your words as you tried to get through to him. He knows you are here out of the car for him, worried that this may escalate. But he didn't need the help, at least he didn't think he did.

You take a few steps towards him, hand reaching out to grab him in a firm but careful hold. You half expected him to rip his hand from yours and tell you to leave, spitting some harsh words on your way out. It was what he had seemingly been doing too very. Yet, he didn't instead just watched you for a few moments.

"Just... go to a meeting, please. If you don't help if you don't want the team to get their noses into it." With you're free hand you reach into your bag, pulling out a handful of crumpled flyers. Extending them towards him in the hopes he would grab them and at least skim over them. You didn't wish to watch him destroy himself, to get a call that his body had been found somewhere.

You watched his hand reach out, expecting him to take the flyer yet instead you were pulled into a hug. A bone-crushing one as Spencer's arms pin you to him. For a moment you are frozen, but quickly you return the hug with the same force. "Thank you," The words were so soft you almost missed them, the slient acceptance of your help and the admittance that he had a problem.

"Of course, I love you." "...I love you too."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines

147 notes · View notes

dias-writing-corner · 10 months

Text

I keep thinking abt yandere ticci Toby that started off as childhood friends.

You meet him through his sister as the 2 of you were good friends long before you meet her brother. And sure you’ve heard Lyra mention how her brother is being bullied and about his Tourette’s through the school grapevine but you’ve never actually met the kid or even really seen him outside of pics or from afar.

Anyways when you meet him he’s this shy and awkward kid who’s a year or so under you and Lyra. But you don’t judge him for his Tourette’s or anything, you’ve always been a kind person like that. As you hang out with the two of them he starts getting this silly little puppy crush on you and Lyra teases both of you - separately - about it. But you blow her off as you just see him as a little brother.

Soon Lyra gets into her accident and dies. Leaving a hole in both yours and Toby’s lives and hearts. You spend more time with each other trying to remember her, you bring him homework he missed from staying home after her death and start to notice he’s more erratic with his behavior. Prone to outbursts or even aggressive behavior towards you. You can’t stand his self harm - even if he doesn’t feel what he’s doing to his hands - and he snaps at you when you press the issue too much. After you leave each time he lashes out at you Toby feels bad and beats himself up, after all he’s lost his sister, he doesn’t want to lose you as well.

But he eventually becomes so overcome with grief and anger he goes through with the murder of his step dad and burning the house down. And Slenderman wipes his memory of everything before his moment of retribution.

You notice the flames on your way to give him the latest bit of homework. Pressing harder on the gas until you stop your car in front of the building house, leaving the car you run up to the caution tape set up by police and the fire department. Falling to your knees in grief as you sob and scream his name, one arm covering your face as the other holds onto your opposite shoulder in a desperate attempt to comfort yourself.

~~~

Years have passed yet you still hold onto the 2 Polaroids of your dearly departed friends. One was yours originally, the second was Lyra’s and the third that was Toby’s was assumed to have burned in the fire. The Polaroids were of a day you all went out and got ice cream and had fun like kids, one of the last times that happened before Lyra’s death.

Anyways you’d be well into college, perhaps junior or senior year? Focusing on studies has been hard for the past few months due to feeling like you’re being watched constantly. And quite honestly it’s starting to affect your grades. So you go out to the woods, to a part where the hiking path leads to a small clearing with one or two picnic tables. Settling down at one with your books and notes you try to let the sounds of the woods envelope you in peace and quiet to focus. Only for it to get a little too quiet and set off that feeling of being watched once more.

After a while you realize you’re not going to get much of anything done like this. You try to leave but as you get to the start of the path that leads home you find yourself stuck to a tree. Back digging into the harsh bark of the tree, a strange man with orange tinted goggles over the eyes and a strange mask covering the lower part of the face. You can hear the man breathe heavy, only one arm of his presses into you and holds you still.

Something in you tells you to keep quiet, an almost primal urge to make yourself as small as possible. You try to shrink into the tree behind you. Noticing the 2 deadly weapons fastened onto his hips, a small whimper escapes you as tears form in your eyes. He reaches down into his pocket and brings out a folded piece of film, unfolding it and showing you it. It’s crumpled around the edges and worn but you can still make out the smiling faces of a young Lyra Toby and you.

“H-how do you have that? It should’ve burned…” you ask in astonishment as tears threaten to fall from your eyes at the memories of your deceased friends.

The man’s neck twitches so hard you worry it’d snap, he doesn’t say anything and just points at young you in the picture. You nod your head and say “ye-yes that’s me..” assuming that’s what the man was asking. Using his free hand he tugs the goggles off his face and lets them rest in the messy brown hair atop his head.

Eyes crinkled in a sort of joy or maybe excitement as he finally speaks up. “F-f-found yo-ou”

#ticci toby #creepy pasta #creepypasta #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby x reader #ticci Toby imagine #tw yandere #I don’t think I’ll ever write a full on thing for him or any other creepypastas until I work through my personal cringe #this is the closest thing you’ll get from me for any of them. I’ve just been having Toby thoughts #not edited

251 notes · View notes

promptful · 2 years

Note

Could you do a list of prompts where it's enemies to lovers but only one of them hates the other? Thank you so much!

Enemies to Lover Prompts, but Only One of Them Hates the Other

Hi there! Thank you for requesting, here you go!

WARNINGS: Hospital mention!

SCENARIOS

1) Sometimes I wonder why my boss assigns me to you of all people and—why are you blushing?

2) Small car? Fine. Small car with you, and you now hate my guts even more now? Not so fine. Small car with you, hating my guts, and you’re wearing that suit/button-down/dress and looking absolutely amazing? Really good, but really, really bad.

3) I hate you, but you’re bleeding after a mission/an accident and I don’t know what to do but sit here. You want me to hold your hand, and I know I shouldn’t feel this way seeing you so vulnerable.

4) There’s nobody to check you into the hospital, and they won’t let me back there unless I’m related. Congrats, I’m your wife/husband/spouse now. Ready for a shotgun marriage?

5) I’ve always thought you’ve hated me as I’ve hated you. Whenever there was a meeting, you’d do nothing but stare at me, but now that we’re alone in the break room/office/building, I don’t think you hate me as much as I thought.

6) I may not like you, but I’d hate you getting caught by the police even more. Here, hide with me.

7) How, after two years of us being in the same office, I now only figured out that you apparently have a crush on me? And the office knew? I thought you hated me.

8) Group projects aren’t fun, but group projects with you are even worse. Gotta make sure I clean my room, and make sure there’s snacks, oh, and make sure that my mom doesn’t come in the room and—wait… why am I putting so much effort in?

9) I know that when I took this job, I said I’d do anything to get to the truth. But a fake marriage between you and I? Not happening. (It happens anyway.)

10) I saw a crumpled up letter sitting on my desk, and all of our coworkers were snickering about it. It was a note confessing your love for me, obviously trashed. You never hated me?

11) We’re about to be caught, and you pull me into a closet/cupboard/dumpster/alleyway, and now you’re really close. Lord, help me.

12) I got a piece of paperwork that I can’t do alone, so I took it up to your office. Entering your space was a one-time thing, but when did it become a habit to stop here every other day with coffee, then?

13) Our boss is planning on firing both of us if we can’t get along—and he/she even went as far as to threaten a get-along shirt. Come on, let’s go bowling/watch a movie/to the arcade or something… why am I so warm?

14) I never thought that out of this whole room, you’d be the one to advocate for me.

15) I overheard your secretary ordering you coffee, and being the best employee that you have, I got you a second one in the afternoon. You return the favor, and maybe you’re not such a bad boss.

16) You’re babysitting my daughter/son. I hate you, but you do a good job. You hate me, but I tip you well. What happens when my kid locks us into a damned closet after you finish up work, and you start blushing?

17) I am trying not to cry at the fact that my ice cream dropped on the pavement. It’s already been a rough day, okay? But then you, my boss, who should be back at their office and definitely not here, buys me a new one. Who are you, and what did you do to my boss?

18) I called yesterday to not come in today. I don’t want to deal with you, or anyone else for that matter. But then you’re here with groceries and ice cream… thanks.

19) That’s my dog... who likes your dog? Even though you’re my annoying neighbor that blasts music at two in the morning, maybe we can get along. For the sake of our pets, of course. And not because you’re—

20) TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC. DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONE MORE TIME, AND—that’s some tight sleepwear/you’re not wearing a shirt—and… I… uh…

754 notes · View notes

emotionalcadaver · 2 months

Text

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: Racing against the clock to save Charlie, Tommy and Lucy work to seek out who of their allies has betrayed them.

Word Count: 4,927

Notes: Warnings for depictions of violence and references to kidnapping and pedophilia.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

Previous Part • Next Part

Chapter 24: The Line

They burst into the office in a rush, Lucy and Polly right on Tommy’s heels as he headed straight to the phone. As he dialed and raised the receiver to his ear, Lucy shedded her suit jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair. She jumped when Tommy suddenly hung up the phone, then flung it in a wild, violent movement against the wall, storming to another part of the office without a word.

“Tommy…” Polly started, resting a hand, oddly comforting, against Lucy’s shoulder in response to the way she’d jumped, giving her a squeeze before letting her go. Tommy was pacing, mumbling to himself, flexing his arms back and forth.

Lucy gulped. She knew he’d never hurt her; but it was unnerving to see him so obviously spiraling, teetering towards losing control. Polly was trying to reason with him, rushing to the corner where the phone laid in a crumpled twist of wires and metal.

Near the windows, Tommy had squatted down, back hunching and head bowed, arms crossed in front of his middle. Lucy approached him cautiously, making sure that he could hear her footsteps approaching before she crouched down at his side, slowly putting her arms around his shoulders.

“Tommy…” her cheek rested against the side of his head.

He didn’t say a word, but he did lean his weight slightly into her.

Thunder rumbled outside, and she flinched again at the unexpected noise.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. There really was nothing else she could think to say. He didn’t respond, just resting his head more firmly against her.

“You broke the phone,” Polly said, dropping the useless mechanism back to the floor. “It’s alright,” she assured when Lucy shot her a concerned look from over her shoulder. “We’ve got another phone.”

The door opened, and Tommy pulled himself back to his full height at the sound of Ada calling his name.

“There’s someone outside. A priest,” she gestured to the front door. Lucy felt her guts churn at the mere mention of Hughes. Her fingers itched for a revolver.

Tommy went for the door, pointing to both Polly and Ada. “Stay here. Don’t do anything,” he ordered.

Lucy nearly tripped over her own feet trying to follow him.

“No,” his finger was suddenly in her face once he realized she had followed him to the front sitting room. “Stay here.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

His jaw clenched. “I can’t risk you–”

“And I can’t risk you. The last time I let you go at him alone, you ended up with your skull crushed.”

He opened his mouth, but she shouldered past him to the door.

“We don’t have time to argue about this.”

He let out a frustrated growl, but didn’t try to fight her on it, footsteps thundering behind her as he followed her to the front door.

Night had fallen, and it was pouring rain outside. The cobblestones beneath her feet looked shiny and black in the darkness. Two men were waiting for them outside, herding them towards a car parked by the curb. Through the window, she could see Hughes sitting in the driver’s seat, and it took everything within her not to lunge for him, tear him from the car, and smash his face against the sidewalk until not even his own mother would have been able to recognize him.

“We have your son,” Hughes said to Tommy without preamble, while the two men escorting them patted them down. “Get in the car,” his eyes tracked to Lucy, and she had to stifle a shiver down her spine at having his slimy gaze upon her. “She can stay out here on the sidewalk, if she likes.”

Her jaw clenched, glancing at Tommy.

Please, go back inside, his eyes silently begged. She lifted her head stubbornly.

No.

He sighed, and opened the car door, sliding into the backseat. Lucy wrapped her arms around herself as she watched Tommy clamber into the car. If Hughes liked, he could take off at any moment, stealing Tommy far away from her.

Thunder roared from the sky, and it took all her willpower not to flinch. She could not appear to be weak, not now, with Hughes and his men watching her.

The rain that pelted down onto her was freezing, her drenched hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead, clothes thoroughly soaked. But she didn’t move; standing there beside the car, ready to throw herself in front of it if that’s what it would take to stop Hughes if he decided to try to drive off with Tommy. She was close enough that even with the windows closed, she was able to pick up on most of the conversation.

According to Hughes–who’s word she wasn’t exactly eager to give much stock to–Charlie was safe. Though Lucy had a feeling that his definition of ‘safe’ was wildly different from theirs. Tommy’s voice was strained with stress as he spoke, teetering on the line of begging. Hughes shoved an envelope at him, explaining how they were to blow up a train, since Tommy had sabotaged the Soviets doing it.

It would be unpleasant, especially considering that Hughes was demanding six people be killed in the explosion, but it was doable.

But then he mentioned the tunnel they were digging. There was a member of the Odd Fellows who wanted a Faberge egg to give to his wife. And they wanted all the jewels that they stole.

Her brows knit at the mention of the tunnel…how the hell did he even find out about it?

Tommy wouldn’t look at Hughes as he agreed to each and every demand, eyes staring straight ahead. Face looking like it was made out of stone.

At his attempt to explain that they would not be able to get the jewels to Hughes by the time he demanded, Hughes snarled, and for a moment–just a moment–Lucy was pretty sure that they saw the real man behind the mask of piety and good manners. The monster that had left Michael so wide-eyed and terrified at just the sight of him. The thing that had terrorized who knows how many children who had been placed under his care.

“If the St. Andrew’s clock strikes 5:00 a.m. on the night of the robbery, and we don’t have everything that we asked for, the bell will be tolling for your boy.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Whether it was out of fear or fury, she couldn’t be sure. Her hands fisted in the soaked material of her shirt, squeezing tightly to prevent herself from ripping Hughes to shreds.

Tommy got out of the car, a hand reaching out to guide her back towards the house.

“You know it’s a coin toss if he’ll actually give Charlie back to us even if we meet all of his demands,” she mumbled to him in a low voice.

“I know,” he sounded as miserable as she felt, and she gave his arm a squeeze.

Once they were back inside, he darted hastily over to one of the chairs in the front sitting room, plucking up the worn, faded, orange wool blanket hanging over the back of it.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” her teeth had already started to chatter, but the blanket helped cut the chill a little after he wrapped it gingerly around her shoulders. He nodded, making sure she was snuggly bundled into it, before heading further into the main part of the betting shop. She followed right behind him at a shuffle.

Arthur and John had arrived while they were outside, but there was no sign of Linda or Esme. When questioned about their absence, John explained that all the chaos had sent Esme into labor, and Linda was helping her. Lucy ground her teeth together.

Great fucking timing.

A pinch of guilt immediately ignited in her stomach at the spiteful thought, but she shoved it away.

“I need to know who spoke,” Tommy said. Lucy leaned up against a beam, not looking forward to unpleasantness that was likely to come next. “Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside the family.”

The whole room went dead silent, Arthur, John, Polly, and Ada all staring at him in shock.

It took but a moment for Tommy to begin raining down accusations on each member of his family, eyes darting around suspiciously. Still leaning against the wooden beam, Lucy wracked her brain, trying to puzzle out who could be the most likely cause of the leak to Hughes.

They’d only told family about the tunnel, hadn’t they? Of course there were the clay kickers, but it seemed unlikely it was any of them. They wouldn’t even have had the opportunity to blab to someone. Tommy carried the same feeling, clearly, as he dismissed them as suspects when John brought them up.

They started going back and forth with each other, John hurling accusations about Michael, which immediately had Polly arching her back in defense of her son. Tommy dismissed him as well.

“The only people I told about the Faberge eggs are in this room,” he was still looking at each of his family members with unchained suspicion. Lucy frowned at the statement. Was that right? Was it really only these people who knew about the eggs…?

“How do you know it wasn’t her?” John spat out, pointing an accusatory finger at Lucy. She raised an eyebrow at the accusation, not all that surprised.

“I know it wasn’t Lucy,” Tommy said absolutely.

“How!?”

“Because the trust I have in her is more than the trust I have in all you put together!” Tommy suddenly roared, hands slamming down with a massive bang onto the table in front of him.

The whole room went silent once more.

Lucy still couldn’t shake the tickling in her brain that there was something that they were forgetting. Something very important.

Alfie.

The thought hit her like a freight train, choking her. Alfie knew about the eggs. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Oh, she was going to fucking kill him.

Slowly, with quiet, parting words, Ada, John, and Arthur all stormed out.

“Tommy,” Lucy hissed, stepping away from the pillar, shuffling awkwardly towards him with the blanket still wrapped around her.

Head turning at her voice, his brows pinched, leaning his head down when she took a hold of his shoulder, stretching onto her toes to whisper in his ear.

“Alfie knows about the eggs,” she hissed. Upon leaning back, she was greeted with a face set like stone. She could see him doing up the odds in his head, weighing the likelihoods.

He departed from her side, giving instructions to John and Arthur about what needed to be done regarding the train. And then he rounded on Polly, who outside of her defense of Michael had been surprisingly silent, all things considered.

Finn came in briefly, but Tommy quickly sent him away to get his car. Lucy watched Polly’s face carefully the whole time, struck by the realization that she was on the brink of tears.

Had the painter meant that much to her? Lucy admittedly hadn’t been paying that much attention. She’d had far more pressing things to concern herself with over the past few months than Polly’s love life.

Tears finally started to roll down Polly’s cheeks when Tommy asked her why else a man like her painter would have pursued her. Lucy frowned at the statement, but before she could say anything on it, Tommy was stomping from the room.

“Lucy,” he called to her when she didn’t immediately follow him. She shook herself from her thoughts, hastily scampering after him.

“Can I keep the blanket?”

“Yes,” he didn’t even look back at her as he opened the front door. The rain had tampered off a little, and they rushed hastily into the car Finn had already pulled up to the curb.

There was silence in the car for a long stretch of time, as Tommy pulled them out onto the road and accelerated. Lucy cleared her throat, pushing her still damp hair out of her face.

“That might’ve been a little harsh,” Tommy finally said, one hand on the steering wheel and the other at his lips.

“Mm,” Lucy acknowledged, glad that he’d said it and not her. “Maybe a little. It still could be Alfie who talked.”

“Yes,” Tommy conceded, jaw ticking. “I still don’t trust the painter though.”

“I did background checks on him. They all came back clean,” she stared out the window at the dark streets whizzing past. “But I’ve missed things on those before,” she added quietly.

“Hey,” he reached out a hand to caress the side of her face. “You’re good at your job.”

She shot him a sad half-smile, shrugging, and his expression became stern.

“You are,” his eyes grew sorrowful. “This isn’t your fault.”

Tears were suddenly lodged within her throat, nearly strangling her. “I should’ve…I should’ve been watching him…”

“So should have a good dozen or so other people in the room with us,” his throat convulsed as he swallowed, eyes trained on the dark road before them, illuminated only barely by the low streetlamps and the car’s headlights. “I’m the one who fucking handed him to the bloody woman who took him away.”

“You couldn’t have known…”

“No. But I should have been more careful. Especially after all the threats Hughes has made.”

It was truly unnerving, how in a room full of Blinders they’d still managed to snatch Charlie away, right out from under their noses.

“We thought we were safe,” she whispered, helplessly, taking his hands in hers.

“Once we get in, I need you to call Alfie and set up a meeting for the morning. Ask him who he knows in England who would be willing to buy a Faberge egg even if they knew it was stolen because their wife is obsessed with them. Tell him we’ll pay for the information.”

“Okay,” the thumb of the hand not holding Tommy’s rubbed along the ring she was wearing on her index finger. “If it was him…”

“We’ll deal with that once we’re sure.”

“Kidnapping kids really doesn’t seem like something Alfie would condone,” at Tommy’s look, she shrugged. “He’s a bastard, but not that much of a bastard.”

“Mm…” Tommy hummed in agreement, frowning out the windshield. She squeezed his hand.

“I appreciated that, back there. What you said about trusting me.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “It’s the truth.”

“Still; thank you.”

He finally glanced back over at her, face softening just a fraction. Pulling his hand from hers, he looped it around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. She snuggled into him, letting the warmth from his body soothe her a little.

There was silence in the car for a long stretch of time.

∗ ∗ ∗

The meeting with Alfie did not get off to a great start. Alfie didn’t come alone, like they’d asked, and Tommy, his patience already very thin, was not happy about it.

But Alfie did bring them the lists of men who would be potential buyers for a stolen Faberge egg for their wife. Tommy looked over the lists only for a moment after handing over the money for them. Lucy watched his face carefully, her muscles tightened and ready to spring into movement. And the second that he spun around, gun pulled from his coat to level with Alfie’s head, she had her own revolver yanked from its holster in her coat, pointed at the man Alfie had brought with him, who had pulled his own gun to aim at Tommy.

Tommy’s voice was dead in a way that she had only heard maybe a handful of times as he confronted Alfie with his betrayal. Lucy swallowed down the sting of it. Troublesome as he sometimes was, she had always liked Alfie. Had thought of him as perhaps something akin to a distant, infuriating older brother. But this…making a deal with the Odd Fellows…

It hurt more than she had expected it to.

Alfie’s attempt to defend himself didn’t help matters. If anything, it just left her even more disgusted by him.

“You crossed the line, Alfie,” Tommy snarled, apparently sharing her feelings. Alfie blinked.

“You fucking what?” his tone had dropped.

“You crossed the line,” Tommy repeated.

“The line?”

“They’re using my boy!” Tommy suddenly shouted, voice echoing while his face contracted with rage and pain. Alfie’s expression changed, face falling for but a fraction of a second, something that was akin to horror briefly entering his eyes.

He didn’t know about that part.

The thought was at least somewhat comforting. Lucy didn’t think she would ever be able to forgive him should he have contributed in some significant way to them taking Charlie.

But, be it pride or something else, he didn’t admit to that, and Tommy lunged at him, knocking them both to the ground.

At least he didn’t shoot him.

The other man immediately leapt forward, trying to pry Tommy off of his boss. Lucy hurled herself at him, but he flung his elbow back into her gut, and she choked, chest spasming as the wind was knocked out of her.

From the side, where he had been hiding in the shadows the entire time, Michael rushed out, the gun she’d handed to him earlier that day and instructed for him only to use in an emergency in his hand.

Alfie’s man yanked Tommy to his feet, gun pressed to right beneath his chin.

A gunshot rang out, and blood exploded from Alfie’s man’s head. He went down immediately, his full dead weight taking Tommy down with him. Alfie groaned, sounding more just minorly inconvenienced than anything else as he hauled himself to his feet. Lucy moved forward, helping to haul the dead man off of where he slumped half on top of Tommy.

Tommy scrambled up, gun raised. And then Alfie was right there, right in his face, not caring when the gun pressed to his temple as they shouted at one another. Michael tried to get in between them with little success, and Lucy had to pull him away. Otherwise he was at risk of getting accidentally mauled by the equivalent of a furious wolf and an angry bear.

Tommy’s face was drenched with the dead Jewish man’s blood. But he’d lowered his gun as Alfie launched into a truly magnificent rant, complete with clanging his cane around and getting within inches of Tommy’s face. All the while calling out the hypocrisy of Tommy’s statement regarding ‘the line.’

At first, Lucy was prepared to dismiss everything that he said, still too angry by the betrayal to care. But as he went on, she felt the cracks in her armor starting to form, his words seeping in.

She groaned softly, head tilting upwards, the hand still holding her revolver limp at her side.

Fuck; annoying as it was to admit, he had a point.

By the time Alfie was done, Tommy seemed to have come to the same conclusion. When he spoke, his voice was softer, the rage gone as he sent Michael away to call Moss.

Lucy watched the boy walk away, pausing for a moment to stare at the bloodied body of the man he had shot.

“Get out of here,” she mumbled, giving him a little push on the shoulder. Michael turned his eyes widened as though he’d only just realized what he had done, onto her. She jerked her head. “Go.”

With a tiny nod, steps slightly staggering, he walked away.

“Well said, Alfie,” Tommy was saying when she turned back to him. “Well said.”

Alfie looked away, and Lucy had to hide a snort at the sudden look of discomfort on his grizzled face. When Tommy was screaming at him and seconds away from blowing his head off, he was calm as could be, but when Tommy agreed with him, he looked to not be entirely sure what to do with himself.

He groaned, as if what he was about to admit physically pained him. “I did not know about your boy, though.”

Lucy felt some of the constriction in her chest relax. Even though she’d already seen it in his face, the verbal confirmation was still good to hear.

“I know. I saw,” Tommy confirmed.

None of them spoke for a moment. Tommy lifted his head to stare upwards, shoulders heaving with a sigh before he turned, plucking up the gun that had fallen to the ground during the scuffle, and heading back to the car with slow steps. Lucy inched her way to Alfie, tucking her revolver back into its holster, the weight of it snug against her ribs.

She opened her mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say, instead just patting his shoulder twice. When she moved to pull back, he grabbed her arm, keeping her in place, but not gripping so tightly that she couldn’t have yanked herself free if she’d really wanted to.

“Will you be able to get him back?” he asked in a soft voice.

The realization that she was not entirely sure of her answer made it feel as though her stomach had dropped out from under her. Swallowing around the fear that brought, she forced herself to meet his gaze head on, despite the tears no doubt turning her green eyes glassy. “I don’t know,” she whispered with a helpless shrug.

Alfie looked at her with sad eyes, and gave her arm a small squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

Her head cocked a little, lips pouting with the effort it took not to cry. She knew just how much it probably took for him to say that. “Yeah,” her voice was so quiet it was barely audible. “You take care of yourself, Alfie.”

“You too, little demon.”

She managed a tiny smile at the nickname, patting him again. He let her go when she turned away, picking her way back across to the car where Tommy was waiting for her.

“What did he say?” he asked, once she slid into her seat beside him, the engine awakening at the press of a button. He’d wiped the blood off of his face while she was talking with Alfie.

“Just that he’s sorry about Charlie,” she looked down at her hands. The car started to move, pulling slowly out, then picking up speed when they turned onto a main road. Looking out the window, she pressed her knuckles to her lips. “Do you think that Arthur and Moss will be able to get Palmer to talk in time?”

Tommy sighed. “They’ll do whatever they have to. He’s a posh; I doubt it’ll take all that much.”

She nodded, even though the reassurance hadn’t done all that much to actually make her feel better. “Are you…are you sure that you don’t it to be me who goes after Hughes?” she’d had her reservations about whether or not Michael could actually shoot a man, but those had gone out the window at the same time he’d blown the Jewish man’s brains out. Now her concern was more whether or not he would actually be able to handle going against Hughes.

“I’m sure.”

“I just–”

“I don’t want him anywhere fucking near you,” Tommy snapped. She closed her mouth shut, eyebrows flying up at the tone. It was rare for him to talk to her like that. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…I need you with me, alright?”

Nodding, she leaned into his side. “I know.”

He let out a breath, head moving to peck a kiss into her hair. Eyes darting out over the expanse of the passing fields, she frowned, taking note of the sun’s steadily lowering position in the sky.

They were running out of time.

“How long until we get to the dig site?”

“Probably not until close to sunset,” he pushed the car a little faster.

She pursed her lips, silently cursing the vehicle for not being able to go much quicker. Searching for a distraction outside of the anxiety churning in her guts, her mind wandered back to what Alfie had said, face crinkling.

“What?” Tommy asked when he noticed her expression.

“I really hate it when Alfie’s right,” she pouted, unable to fully keep the huffiness out of her voice. Tommy let out a small snort, cheek resting on top of her head. She rubbed a hand up and down his chest, feeling until she found his steady heartbeat under her palm.

“Tell me what I need to know about tunneling,” she requested.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to help.”

His jaw clenched. “No, you aren’t. I want you to stay up on the surface with Johnny.”

“I’m not going to sit around and be fucking useless. I’m small and I’ll do what you tell me to; I can help.”

“It’s a small space, under the ground…it could bring up bad memories for you.”

“And it won’t for you?” she shot back, brow raising. She could hear him grinding his teeth together in frustration.

“If you panic, I’m not going to have time to comfort you.”

“I’m not going to panic,” she defended. At the look he shot her, she felt her hackles rise a little defensively. “I won’t. If you can do it, so can I. So long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face straining a little with the motion. Focusing ahead on the road in front of them, his eyes hardened. “No.”

Her jaw fell open.

“I’m not letting you go down there when you might get hurt, or slow us down–”

“Then why the hell are you even bringing me out there with you then, huh? I could’ve been helping Arthur and John with the train, or Michael with Hughes, rather than just waiting around beside a fucking hole, hoping that things go alright.”

Tommy sighed exhaustedly. “Lucy…”

“You just said you wanted me with you! And now…what? You’re just going to bench me when we need as much help as we can get in getting Charlie back?”

“That’s not what I’m doing–” his voice rose considerably with his temper.

“No; fuck you, I love that kid!”she shouted back and his eyes widened a fraction. “You don’t get to decide if I do or don’t get to help in saving him!”

Silence fell over the interior of the car. Lucy realized that she was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sniffing, she yanked a hand through her hair, pulling further back from him to slump closer to the door, staring out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. She refused to look at him, even when his hand rested cautiously, lightly, on her shoulder.

“I know. I know you love him, Luce. I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, wiping at her face while her breaths turned shaky. His fingers tightened a little on her.

“But I have to keep you safe…”

She groaned quietly, squeezing her eyes shut against the headache of frustration building in her skull.

“Listen,” the urgency in his voice kept her from immediately arguing back. “Because I can’t lose you too, Lucy. First Grace, and now this–”

Her head snapped around at the way his voice broke a little. He was staring down at the one hand he still had settled on the steering wheel, throat working in the way she recognized as him fighting to swallow down tears. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“I love you. And I need you. I need you more than anyone, and if something happens to you…”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You don’t know that, love.”

She folded her fingers over the hand he still had resting on her shoulder. “No,” she acknowledged, albeit begrudgingly. “But Tommy, I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

His eyes lowered, the fingers of the hand on the steering wheel rubbing together out of nervous habit. Scooting closer, she took a hold of the hand on her shoulder, holding onto it as she rested her chin on his bicep, squeezing him.

“I promise I’ll be okay. I promise I will do everything you tell me to down there. If I start to panic, I’ll leave and stay above ground with Johnny. Just…just please let me help, Tommy? Please?”

He made a pained sound, and when she looked up into his face, it was to see him jam his eyes shut, a crease forming between his brows. She jostled him lightly.

“Don’t close your eyes while you’re driving.”

That pulled a startled half laugh from him, opening his eyes to focus back on the road. She felt his shoulders drop and relax a little, and knew before he even said anything that she had won.

“You do everything I tell you to down there.”

“Of course,” she nodded.

He sighed, slow and deep. “Okay.”

She squished her face into his bicep, then tilted it up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Mm,” he just grunted, but encouraged her to tuck herself more snugly back into his side.

“Sorry that I yelled at you,” she mumbled into the fabric of his coat.

“I deserved it.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You didn’t. You were just trying to take care of me.”

He shot her an affectionate look, then kissed her forehead again, nose brushing tenderly across her hair.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

Previous Part • Next Part

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #my ocs #in the bleak midwinter #love me where i'm most ruined #my fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

pocket-ozwynn · 2 years

Text

Love Isn’t Fragile

Y’all are amazing 🥺 thank you so much for your support and participation with my survey that I posted! This prompt was one that was y’all had voted on to see, and I was more than happy to oblige! I admit, I tweaked the prompt a smidge but I’m still happy with the results. Stay tuned for the other two prompts I mentioned in that post! Until then, enjoy! 💖

---

[Emotional Shifter!AU]

Word Count: 1341

Note: There is intense descriptions with Alice’s involuntary Size-Shifting with similar symptoms to panic attacks. While this definitely is still a hurt/comfort piece, the beginning leans heavily towards the former.

The air was yanked from his lungs as Alice plummeted. The entire room shot upwards as if he reached terminal velocity, and yet his feet remained on terra firma. Anxiety swelled as he physically diminished.

“No no no no…” Alice breathed as he clutched his chest. His phone slipped out of his free hand and fell to the ground with a clatter.

His heart was pounding so fast, he worried it would surely crack ribs. His eyes widened in horror as he grew smaller...and smaller...and smaller still.

Though the panic was familiar, it was no less crushing.

His bones felt like someone was crumpling tin foil and his skin grew hot. What first felt like errant tears erupted into inevitable sobs as he trembled. He fought back the need to cough up his heart. He clutched his biceps and dug his fingertips into the muscle. He couldn’t stop shaking as the floor rushed up and expanded beneath him.

Finally, it stopped.

Alice felt sick as he tried adjusting to his new size. His crying had quieted, but only because his skull tingled with fatigue and his lungs ached. He staggered a bit as he tried to walk, but his knees nearly gave out from under him. Alice wanted to scream, but a whimper was all he could manage.

He remembered the last time he got even remotely close to this small. It was in public, he and Maura were getting dinner. He remembered the look on her face, the words she had for him when they got back out to the car. Maura never did let him forget how humiliating that was for her. And even though he hadn’t seen Maura in years, that pain wriggled its way from his memory and hooked itself into his heart.

His brain felt so loud.

He steadied his breathing and furiously wiped the tears from his eyes–the worst of it had passed, but he knew it’d take some time to recompose himself. With any luck, he could try running a hot bath or something to calm down–maybe that’d help be a little more presentable for when Freyja got home. It’d also give him some time to let his eyes get a bit less puffy and red. Maybe he could even-

Alice froze as the floor shook.

Panic flared back up as Alice realized the cause of the quaking. It was too late, Freyja was home. In the tumult of his own thoughts, he must’ve missed the sound of her motorcycle pulling up.

What would she think if she saw him like this?

Less of a man…weak…she won’t accept you…

And even though words had never been uttered by a single soul, their fabricated edges still cut deep.

Alice couldn’t will himself to move as Freyja came through the front door. She had her helmet under one arm and a bag of groceries in the other. Her hair was a bit matted, but she smiled brightly as she did a cursory glance across the front of their apartment.

“Hey babe!” Freyja called out as she reached back with her boot to kick the door closed behind her. “I’m hom-”

Freyja didn’t finish her sentence. She tipped her head curiously as she seemed to look straight at Alice. His heart raced. How could she even see him? There’s no way she could’ve spotted him from so high up without even knowing that Alice could shrink this small.

Then he remembered his cell phone. He’d dropped it before he shrank. It was right next to him.

For a few breathless moments, Freyja just stood there and studied the phone quizzically. Her brow furrowed slightly as she regarded it. And despite him holding as still as possible, her eyes flicked just enough to the side to spy her shrunken sweetheart. Realization hit Freyja like a bucket of ice water. “Alice?”

Alice bolted as he failed to choke back a cry. He knew he couldn’t outrun Freyja, but maybe he could find someplace to hide. Maybe he could hide under the couch?

Far behind him he heard Freyja drop helmet and groceries in the entryway like an avalanche of plastic and produce. “WAIT, BABE!” The floor SHOOK as Freyja took big, long strides to catch up to him–each sprinter’s bound sent a jolt up Alice’s frame as he felt her footfalls grow closer.

Alice could barely see through his fresh tears. So it it caught him off guard when finally managed to wipe his tears away to now see Freyja’s gigantic fingers in front of him. He yelled as her as he tried backpedaling to avoid them as they curled inwards to grab him, but ran straight into her thumb. He scrambled in his attempts to get out and around her closing grasp,

“Hey…” Freyja carefully rose with him cupped in her hands. But even as she tried to defuse the panic, Alice was squirming to the point where he was getting dangerously close to the edge of her palm.

“HEY!” Freyja gasped as she fumbled with her diminutive boyfriend. She hissed and swore as he nearly fell off. Finally, Freyja wrapped her fingers into a gentle fist to hold him snug. Alice writhed frantically within her grasp in a panicked attempt to escape.

Seeing that Alice was still going to writhe, Freyja tightened her grip–not overly tight, but just enough to try and still him. It shocked Alice at first. He felt like it should have been terrifying to be squeezed like that–or that such a sensation would only compound onto the crushing weight he felt in his lungs…but it felt surprisingly grounding. His limbs were pinned to his sides, so he could do little else but force himself to relax within her grasp. He tried focusing on how his heartbeat felt pressed up against the muscle of Freyja’s finger.

“I gotcha baby, it’s okay,” Freyja rumbled low as she brought him up close to her face. Her other hand was kept close, for extra security should he slip out. Freyja studied him carefully. “Can you please take some deep breaths for me? Here, we’ll do ‘em together.”

Alice nodded–mercy, it felt like his head was going to fall off his neck he felt so lightheaded–and obliged. He took some deep breaths and focus on Freyja’s massive, pale green eyes. Freyja matched her breathing with his to silently direct how big she wanted his breaths to be.

“Alice…are you okay?” Freyja eased up her grip just enough for Alice to move his arms if he wanted. “You’ve never been this small before...what happened? Is something wrong?”

A wave of new emotion: guilt. Alice felt guilty that he had allowed Freyja to see him like this. Alice swallowed. “N-No…I’m not okay…” He slipped his arms out and gently rested them upon her finger. As he looked down, he dug his fingers into the massive muscle as he set his jaw. He fought back tears as he hissed through clenched teeth. “I-I’m sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing?” Freyja chided softly with a loving chuckle as she brought him down to rest against her chest. Alice shivered as he was pressed against the leather of her jacket. He could feel her heart beating. He could feel her deep, swelling breaths as she gathered her thoughts.

“It’s okay that you’re not okay,” Freyja reminded. “I’m here for you on the good days and bad days…no matter what size you are. My love for you isn’t fragile, Alice Beauchamp. Got that?”

Alice choked back a sob of…not relief, per se. But an emotion close to it. He buried his face into the leather and tried to focus on the beating of her heart. He nodded, “I...I got it. Th-thank you Frey...” Alice sighed softly and gingerly kissed her jacket, as if hoping the meager kiss would make it down towards that mighty heart of hers. Perhaps in reply, Freyja’s heart seemed to beat a bit faster.

“Good.” Freyja hummed. “C’mon…let’s take a hot bath. That always seems to help…”

#Emotional Shifter!AU #ogtoc Freyja #ogtoc Alice #wholesome giantess #g/t #giant/tiny #gt writing #g/t writing #hurt/comfrt #gt hurt/comfort #g/t hurt/comfort #size-shifter

123 notes · View notes

bts5sosempire · 2 years

Text

as yours (viii); winter break

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,024

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, comedy, a hint of violence, college au, mention of gang fighting/ involvement, a sprinkle of angst (future updates), cursing and swearing, slow-burn relationship, SIMPKUNA

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "as a child, you have harbor a massive crush on Itadori Yuji; it wasn't until that college happened you dared to ask him. Trying to give him a letter, the one who you ended up giving to was no other than his no-good twin brother, Sukuna Ryomen."

𝐚/𝐧: finally I am back, I wanted to make sure that this get posted this time. Plus tumblr buffer my work, so I had not choice in the end and force to delete it, it was originally around 3k words, but after adding and editing more it got around to barely 4k, which was a feat and should be enough to make it up for lost time.

chapter 7 ✿ chapter 9

You lay in bed, looking at every plushie won for you. It was hard to get them inside Sukuna's car since he was stuffing them like it was a Thanksgiving feast. But then a thought rush through your mind. "How do they even know my name?!" You sit up in bed, ponder how that Majima guy even got a hold of it. No one knew, besides your friends and family, even a few people you don't like. The feeling of unease weighs in. You surf back into your memory and gauge how Sukuna is one-hundred on the line of knowing Majima; the way he loses his temperament for a second and blinks it away speaks for itself.

Remembering that Sukuna gave you his number, you got off the bed to your dirty laundry basket and pulled out your pants. Digging into its back pocket, the yellow note crumpled up and folded in an orthodox origami. Unfolding it on your way back to bed, you grab your phone and shoot him a message.

Sunday, December 1st, 2022

[You: Hey idiot, this is me. I need to ask you something really quick. -Sent: 2:24 pm]

[Sukuna: I didn't think you would text me this fast, ask away anyway. -Sent: 2:25 pm]

Sukuna didn't miss a beat when it came to you.

[You: Are you friends in that past with Majima or something? -Sent: 2:25 pm]

There was 'typing...' On the screen before it disappeared and reappeared a few times, confirming your suspicion. Sukuna does know Majima, but to what level?

[Sukuna: Not really, but why? -Sent: 2:28 pm]

[You: Then how did he even know my name if I never tell him? -Sent: 2:29 pm]

Seen.

Was that Sukuna left you off with? Besides, Majima and their two other people look shady as hell, too; you remember their appearances well, all those tattoos and dark monochrome scheme colors. You rechecked the phone to see if he would text back, but there weren't any notifications. He did leave you on read. Tossing your phone on your bed, your mother calls you from downstairs.

Sukuna felt his blood go hot and cold in mere seconds reading that last line from you.

[Cute Spitfire: Then how did he even know my name if I never tell him? -Sent: 2:29 pm]

Like he wants to toss his phone across the room, he knows that Majima wants dirt on him. But him gaining access and info about you is deemed ambiguous. One thing about Sukuna is that he dislikes disclosing his personal life to other people. The only person who knows is Uraume. Sukuna doubted that it was Uraume from the start. He wondered which mole he should wack for spilling out sensitive information about you. He doesn't tolerate carelessness and betrayal on the spot.

Combing a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath before losing his shit. Sukuna then bark out, "All ride out; tonight, we hunt for fucking rats!" There was a chorus of cheers in the taken warehouse that Sukuna had used for a temporary base. He doesn't like to linger in one place for too long; it would arouse suspicion and the wrong kind of attention. So being constantly on the move is a thing for him when he wants an adrenaline rush.

Hopping in a car, multiple engines mixture of motorcycles and heavily tuned cars revved loudly; that's it's enough to hear from miles away. Hanging an arm loosely on the outside of the car, he gave it a few hard pats to get everyone in line as he ordered the designated driver to lead.

Vehicles pile out in order like it was still some war era.

"Head straight to the backwater of Tokyo." Sukuna's deep strawberry eyes glower in the light, "I'm taking him out." Loose ends are something he doesn't let go of often, but this is personal to him. Considering all the time, Sukuna had allowed Majima to run free despite keeping track of every crime and ordeal he had struck behind his back, thinking that he didn't know. Sukuna is one of the central four Kingpin in Japan; not even the police force and government want to go against him since he is funding them with everything they need.

So if killing someone like Majima, no one would bat an eye since anybody slew across the alleyway is another body in the gutter. Easily replaceable in this world full of billions of people.

Checking your phone as if you're married to it for three days, Sukuna hasn't been answering you nor texting back ever since that day. You cuss his name out under your breath for wasting your time. Deciding to pull the internet up, you saw a news feed of 5 warehouses near the shipping port being burned down. There was a tug on you to read it, so you did.

["Today, on December 1st, there was an attack on five warehouses near the port trading cargo area. There were no people injured, but there were 23 people dead on the scene, and among those 23 casualties, they belonged to a gang called 'Kingsnake,' a minor gang that has been on the rise."]

Scrolling down the article, you see the unrecognized faces of gang members, but out of the 23 that were dead, you saw two faces that you briefly memorize. They were with Majima night. But going onto the article, there was a sentence about 'turf war' and fighting for control. It's been a while since you heard anything about gangs since they're primarily undercover. If not, they're untouchable since not even the police want to be involved with them.

Checking the time, you saw it was nearly time for you to go to college. Unplugging the charger, you grab your backpack and hurdle out of the room in a rush. Not before running back in to grab your notes to study for upcoming exams you have for the end of the month.

Running down the stairs like a madman, you bid goodbye to your family and opened the front door to expect Sukuna there, but he wasn't there. A somewhat despondent strike your heart in a sharp jab. 'Fuck, am I getting used to him?' Closing the door behind you, you rush out of the front gate and hope that the train didn't close on you and that you made it on time for college.

You glance at the papers given during classes on a lunch break. It was practice exams from your subjects and to see a low mark from one of your most minor favorite subjects is susceptible. Your friend group told you they would be at the library when you get your papers. Making a grimaced face, you pull that one specifically out of the piles you did well on. Flipping the pieces, you check to see the red comments on what went wrong or is in questioning; leaning your temple against your fingertips, a huff of stress claims you. You need to pass this semester's class before changing it. You already talked to your counselor before. If you did well on the exams, you wouldn't need to take the entire course semester, maybe doing paperwork over the winter break about the 2nd semester to get two-thirds of the grade, a B+ at best. After all, you want to do courses that align with your career path.

"That's pretty bad," a voice spoke over your shoulder. You jump up in surprise as a string of curses leaves your lips when you notice who it is. Sukuna leans over your shoulder, looking intently at the papers. You were so focused on your practice exam that you didn't see his shadow looming over you or his footsteps approaching.

Flipping the paper close, you shuffle it in between your other documents. "You didn't need to point it out," collecting the stacks, you evenly bounce them on the table to smoothen out the corners before putting them inside your backpack. "Besides, you were gone for three whole days and left me on read."

"Awe, did you miss me?" Sukuna coo, pulling you closer to him by the waist as you suddenly push him back, which he doesn't budge when a hand goes up your back to make sure you won't distance yourself away.

"Hell no!" You denied it quickly. Too quickly for him. A smirk climbs up his face; now people stop what they're doing, and you are trying to push him away; he was too close to your liking, and you felt embarrassed in the eyes of scrutiny. His legs kept brushing up against yours, and you could feel the heat spreading all over your body. "Let go of me, dammit! People are watching, especially your fangirls!"

Without warning, you shriek out more when Sukuna picks you up. Your legs were straddling his waist, and he effortlessly carried you with one arm while the other hand grabbed your bag. He slung it over his backpack. You were whining like a child who wanted to be put down. 'This is so embarrassing!' Your face could explode now, as you felt like you didn't know what to do anymore. Your hands were on his shoulders, gripping and loosening each second.

Sukuna: "Hold on tight; I don't want to drop you. Considered this a free ride that I didn't give you this morning."

You: "Anything but this!"

Sukuna: "Should I throw you over my shoulder or carry you like a blushing bride instead?"

You: "Fuck you!"

Sukuna: "Are you consenting? I would make sure that you're not gonna be walking right after I'm done, Little Spitfire."

During the walk to the library, all you could do was look at the ground and his feet. Too nervous to look at anything else, whisperers and people secretly talking to each other didn't go unnoticed by you. There was a shock when people saw you both. You could tell the fangirls would kill to be in your spot (they envisioned you dead); it's not every day that someone here carried, and you would trade it in a heartbeat.

Once in front of the large double oak door of the library, you were put down, almost losing your footing if not for Sukuna balancing you out and gripping his shirt out of pure fear of being dropped. You weren't focusing on anything else but the way your body bent halfway to the ground, with Sukuna's arm wrapping tightly around your waist and him gripping the door bar for support.

"You can-" turning around to face Sukuna and telling him that you should be okay, your noses brushes against one another at the tip. Surrounding all forgotten, all you could focus on was how close he was, and his deep strawberry eyes had flakes of gold specks around them, almost representing little stars or golden seeds. His breath hits your lips, and if it wasn't intentionally, Sukuna's eyes shift to your lips as his long lashes flutter a few times slowly. A deep bob of his Adam apple was enough to tell you what runs through his mind.

Sukuna never thought this was the closes he would get to you; he was aware of the hundreds of eyes looking at you both. But all he could focus on was you, the way how you suddenly look softer in his eyes, or how your plush lips part and the gloss you wear makes them shine like gemstones. How much he wishes to kiss them. Just a little more, and he would, but not without you consenting him to do so.

Pulling you up, he breaks the spell when you guys suddenly part away from one another to give each other space. Sukuna could tell that you were flustered, the calm persona was slipping away, but he quickly recomposed himself. Sukuna could feel his skin warmer than the cold air in the hallway like it was on fire. Heart beating like a rapid drumming line, he opens the door and allows you in first, and you zoom right past him to the table.

Throwing yourself into an empty chair, you avoided everyone else eyes, "We thought, when are you going to-" Maki paused her sentence when she saw Sukuna right behind you, feet away. Her smile widened as she gave at Nobara with that cocky expression of 'you know, and I know,' by nudging her with her elbow, "-what a lovely surprise to see you here, Sukuna." Maki drawl out with a polite, teasing tone to rile you up.

"Hi," Sukuna gave a short, curt response and settled himself next to you. He hands you your backpack, and you accept it without looking at him. Your hands were shaking when you pulled out the reviewing materials, which Megumi caught.

Megumi: "You doing okay, (Name)?"

You: "Hm? Huh? Y-Yeah."

Megumi: "You're shaking a lot-"

Maki: "She is fine, Porcupine, just her nerves being tease since love is in the air."

"Maki, you're this close to being tossed out the window." You show her a thumb and finger so close to being touched, and she laughs at your threatening attitude.

With the gang complete, Sukuna lingers on the side, watching everyone interacting, passing around each other's practice exams around in what shared class or period they have differently. Sukuna saw you invested in the practice exams and glanced at the paper from afar. You guys were discussing what the answers are or how to solve them. But seeing you trying to figure out how to solve it since no one in the group got it right or doesn't have that shared class, Sukuna can't help but tell you.

"That is wrong because..." Sukuna went off on a tangent of explaining, pointing at the paper, his forefinger running around the problem as everyone, even you included, listened intently. With him writing it down and presenting it with a thorough explanation and the correct terminologies, Sukuna explains it much better than the professor. Then the group started taking advantage of the situation by asking more of the questions that they got wrong, and Sukuna was in a good mood today and had become a teacher. Well, to your group of friends, an unofficial teacher.

"Not only he got good looks, but brains too," Panda commented, which makes Sukuna's ego sore through the roof. "Guess not all rumors are true." He continued with his praises, but for somewhat of a reason, Sukuna remains humble about it. Maybe this was a ploy to get on your friend's good side and romance you without the barrier of them protesting or convincing you otherwise.

With the hours getting late, the sky got dark quickly after five hits. Sukuna grabbed you along to follow him, as it went from your wrist to your hand when your little habit from the days before the fair play his mind. His warm hand engulfs your delicate, cold one.

"Tell me that they're dating without telling me they're dating," Nobara snickers out loudly when you were away with Sukuna at a reasonable distance, which got you are screaming back at her to 'shut up' when your ears are burning up. The group laughs out wholeheartedly. Wanting to chuck your bag at Nobara like a brick, it might be immobilized her since it got books and other heavy stuff. The you're weight isn't something to be messed with.

Sukuna paused in his steps; he felt you bump headfirst to his backside. He turned around to your friends. "Oh yeah, if you guys are cool with it during the break, I know this nice bathhouse forty miles from here! It's located in the mountains run by heated lava beds, and I'm paying for it!" Your group didn't hesitate to say yes, since it's Sukuna's offering, and it's free too! Megumi looks at everyone and sighs at his fate. You could relate too.

You were in shock when you arrived at the given location with your friends when you refused to ride with Sukuna. Sukuna told you about the bathhouse but didn't say it was the Ice Lily, which was exclusive only to VIPs. Even celebrities are dying to get into this bathhouse as they had to sign up and be put on a waitlist which could range from months to a year at most.

What you know about the bathhouse is that it was magical to people who managed to get inside. So to say this was on your bucket list as a kid before you died. Sukuna arrived promptly when he got out of the car, not his bike when he handed his key to a valet to park, and they gave him a token number for his car. He pops out his duffle bag from the truck and meets up with your group.

"What do you guys think of the place?" Sukuna asked; he knew that everyone was stunned.

"This is out of my pocket range," Panda spoke up, with Inumaki agreeing. Nobara and Maki can't wait to try everything out or what the bathhouse has to offer since beauty care and personal care are what they only think of since, in their head, it's only fair to treat themselves when they're so busy slaving themselves to the college system. Megumi only tagged along because he didn't want to hear his father nagging and his mother coddling him. His sister is the same as his mom, so Megumi figured this was the best choice before getting thrown back into his family.

Sukuna leads the group inside when a guard recognizes him and hurriedly opens the door and gives him a formal greeting. Sukuna gave a head nod as an acknowledgment without speaking and headed straight to the front desk, where a lady presented seven critical cards with your guy's names inked in cursive gold. Sukuna took one and explained that everyone was located on the same floor.

You peer at Sukuna's key card and notice that his room number is just next to yours, and you suddenly want to smack him. 'All the rights by trying to get close to me.' Lasering eyes at him, Sukuna felt like eyes were on him. He turned around, and you looked away simultaneously. The Cheshire grins return.

So you knew? Good. Spending time with you has become scarce these days with him working none stop and not being able to entertain you as much as he should, so cornering you is an idea.

"Ah, I'm beaten." Maki relaxed into the warm water after getting a full body massage and a facial; she said she was reborn. You glance at Maki, a lot more toner than you in body training since she was in a sports club. Her muscles move around whenever she flexes, and damn, what a great time to be alive since you barely see her wearing short-sleeved shirts. You had to admit that being bisexual or being born as a guy would be great.

As for Nobara, who was toned, but on the delicate side, she cares about her figure very much and would indulge in those 'keto' diets or just diets that would help her maintain her weight.

You, on the other hand, are a random mess; whether it's by luck or genetics, you didn't care about your appearances much overall. Since your family was an instead blessed one, you thought that would be the case. Whether you're thin or not, you don't care about fitting into society's standards much when there are other things to care about than the superficial stuff that constantly changes with the trends or over time.

Reaching over behind Maki's back, there was a chill bucket filled with alcohol. You pulled it out of the ice and saw a warm amber color through the glass bottle; popping the cork open, you took a whiff of the smell and made a face. There was a hint of sweet apple with the strong notion of vodka; you decided to give it a test by pouring it into a cup, enough for a shot.

"By the way, what's with you and Sukuna? You guys are so close to each other that you don't even think about Yuji anymore. Are you guys dating behind our backs, thinking we won't know?" Nobara questioned her brows, wiggling, and when you up the glass into your mouth, you suddenly spat it back out the second.

Choking and putting the glass behind you, tears wounded up in your eyes, trying to form sentences and words, it comes out with you hacking, still trying to catch your breath. Nobara only laughs at your misery. "You already asked me that before, and you're asking me again!"

"I mean, I'm not wrong." She shrugs.

Clicks!

"You guys heard that?" Maki asked in a low hush tone when you and Nobara paused your ongoing bickering.

Clicks!

Maki grabs a floating bucket in the water and hurdle it at an incredible speed where the sound comes from. And with great accuracy, a loud cry of pain was heard when a body dropped out of the tree. There was a camera in that stranger's hand.

A peeping tom has occurred!

You scream when the stranger has recovered and dashes out of the women's side of the bathhouse. You never thought this would happen to you guys, considering this was a private resort.

With Maki hot on the stranger's tail, she got a towel around her when you and Nobara emerge from the women's section chasing after the peeping tom. Nobara tossed whatever she could in her arm at the pervert but missed every time, or it's just that the pervert has excellent agility.

You were speeding up the paces, too, when Maki finally caught up and put the guy into a tackle and put him in an arm lock. She takes the camera from the guy's hand and kicks him down to lay still. She flips through the pictures and sees that the guy had taken it when you three first walked into the bathhouse to the bathing parts, meaning he saw the nudes.

With the guys coming out of their section, they wondered what was wrong until they saw a person being held down by Maki's impressive foot strength. They all went 'oh.'

Sukuna was the last to emerge, "What's with the screaming?" Then he pieces the clues together, Maki with a camera, you in nothing but a sexy towel still have water droplets all over you. You must've rushed out to catch the guy, considering you and Nobara were out of breath. "A pervert? Really?" Sukuna then called security, as if he wasn't pissed off suddenly since this was a resort that he rented out personally for you and the others. Before the guard could reach the culprit, Sukuna went over to them and whispered low in a meaningful tone, to only what they could hear. "I expected nothing but great quality from this place, but you failed to secure the area."

The security guard felt like his soul was taken out of his body and was dumped into ice; the way Sukuna's eyes glowered was enough to make him pick up the culprit hastily and notify the front desk to call the cops.

Maki destroyed the camera by smashing it into pieces on the ground and snapping the memory card in half, causing the pervert to cry out in low agony. It's like his whole life had flashes in between his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Sukuna asked once he was near you enough; the extra towel he had around his shoulders, he shrugged it off and covered you instead.

"Yes," with a brief answer, you walk back to the women's section to get changed into the new clothes before entering your room.

Sukuna knows that you're pissed off, considering the tone you use on him. It was easy to decipher how your face tried to mask that you wanted to beat up that stranger. But so much for a break, and getting you to be alone with him.

Taglist: @fxckingsimp @valoruzky @zairuko @mistalli @gourcuffiana @agentdedf1sh @monotoneclown @soupasoup @http-problemchild @acehyacinth @cloudsinthecosmos @charlie-xo

#fan fiction #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #masterlist #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen: as yours (series)#jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk anime #fanfic series

257 notes · View notes

jangofctts · 3 years

Text

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

835 notes · View notes

albertasunrise · 2 years

Text

Let the Best Man Win - Part 6

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’ve known Frankie all your life and have harboured a crush on him for as long as you can remember. Thing is, he doesn't feel the same. Little do you know, his best friend has a thing for you. What happens when you learn this leads to a messy chain of events that’ll leave more than one person with their heartbroken...

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader, Reader x Ben Miller

Warnings: Angst, mentions of infant death, drug abuse, hospitalisation, Smut 18+

Notes: Sorry this took so long... been super busy with Family!! Hope this was worth the wait.

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

This was the worst thing you'd ever had to experience. You were sat with Ben at your side, starting at the entrance to the waiting room and praying for news. Will and Santi were sat on chairs that lined the walls to your left and Tom was laying on the couch opposite you. You'd arrived an hour after Ben had called and had been waiting 3 hours since then, not a single word from anyone. Just nurses coming every now and then to offer you tea or coffee.

Ben had been in pieces when you'd arrived. Crumpling into your arms and sobbing as the others just sat there numbly and watched the youngest of them fall apart. No one knew what to say. What was there to say? Frankie had finally gone too far.

"Why were you on your way home?" Ben asked quietly, the first thing to be uttered since you'd settled down to wait.

"I fucked up." You sobbed "Frank and me... we went to see Luka's grave today and it was really special. He's done such a good job with it but when I dropped him back at yours well... he uh... he."

"He what?" Ben pushed and you sighed.

"He kissed me and I rejected him." You confessed "Quite brutally if I'm being honest. I should have dealt with it all better but it took me by surprise and the next thing I knew he was telling me he didn't need my help."

"Shit." Ben breathed as he scraped a hand over his tired face.

"I was so fucking mad at him that I said goodbye and got in my car, grabbed my shit from the hotel and jumped on the highway." You paused a moment, glancing around at the others before you continued "I told him I didn't love him anymore." You sobbed and Ben looked at you with a sad expression "But that wasn't true... I do. I never stopped and I never will but I just, I don't think I can ever let myself be with him."

"He's different now you know." Ben started and you looked at him, listening intently as he spoke "Our last tour... It hit Fish the hardest. He then met this girl and she was, well she was pretty fucking incredible Bug. She loved him so much and he loved her, we all thought he'd finally found someone he could settle down with. Have the family he wanted so badly."

"What happened to her?" You asked, brows drawn together as you awaited his reply.

"She died." He answered and your heart broke "Cancer. Was real fucking quick too." Ben paused, fresh tears streaming down his face "She got the diagnosis and like two months later she was dead. Think that's what finally toppled him over the edge."

"Shit... I." You choked on a sob as you shook your head and cried "I had no idea."

"Yeah well. He doesn't really like talking about it all that much." Ben confessed and you nodded "She's buried in the same cemetery as Luka yet in the 5 months since she died he's not gone to see her once."

"We all deal with grief differently." You said, your own twinging in your heart "Sometimes you just want to escape it. Pretend it's not real."

"That why you left?" He asked and you sniffed, wiping away your tears as you nodded.

"Partly yeah." You admitted "That and the fact my boyfriend had dumped me and the guy I had been in love with since I was old enough to know what love it didn't want to be with me."

"Bug I-"

"You did the right thing for you Ben and I don't and never did blame you for that. I just... well, it was hard to lose the guy you potentially saw yourself spending your life with and then your baby less than two months later. So I detached myself from the hurt." You continued "I did what was right for me."

"You thought we'd spend our lives together?" He asked and you nodded weakly.

"Yeah but that was selfish Ben. I loved you but I was in love with Frank. I dealt with it all wrong and I've never stopped regretting what I did to you."

"Water under the bridge babe." He said sweetly which made you smile "We're good."

"Family of Francisco Morales?" Called out a voice and you all glanced up at the white coat that approached you.

"That's us."

"Yeah"

"Right well, Mr Morales is in a bad way." He confessed "He was already stage 3 by the time the ambulance arrived. We've got him on life support and we're monitoring him closely but he's made a bit of a mess of himself." You all nodded numbly "He's had several seizures since arriving. We've given him anticonvulsants to try and combat this but we won't know what long term effects these have caused until he wakes up."

"And that will be?..." You trailed off and the doctor sighed.

"I should probably say if he wakes up."

"If?" You all said in unison.

"It's a small miracle he's made it this far if I'm being honest with you. We've done all we can for him. It's down to him now."

"When can we see him?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I can take you to him now but you can't all go in at once. Two at a time." The doctor instructed and you all nodded, following him wordlessly as he led you to the ICU.

The ward was less chaotic than you'd expected. You were led to a private room that was encased with glass walls and door. You could see Frankie before you'd even entered, his broad form looking tiny, smothered in the tubes and wires he needed to live.

"I uh... I can't right now." You said upon witnessing the horrid sight "You guys go first I need time to uh... to process this."

The boys nodded and you watched as Santi and Tom went in first, followed by Ben and Will. Each one was with him ten minutes before leaving his room a blubbering mess and you felt your stomach twist painfully. You stepped up to his door and after taking a few steady breaths, made your way inside. You took your place at Frankie's side and sobbed. His skin looked sallow and he looked even thinner, clad in the standard-issue hospital gown he wore. You stood there in silence a moment, taking everything in before you gently took Frank's hand, careful not to nudge anything.

"Oh, Frankie." You sobbed "Why?"

He didn't answer.

Seeing him this way made everything clear. Everything you'd tried pushing down, everything you denied all these years was now undeniable.

"I uh... I need you to know something." You said after a few moments "I didn't mean it. When I said I didn't love you anymore, I didn't mean it, I... I never stopped loving you."

There was nothing still, just the woosh and click of the vent and the beep of the monitors filled the silence that surrounded you.

"I need you to wake up okay. You wake up so we can talk and work on all this." You pleaded "I promise I'm not going to leave again. I am going to stay right here, with you so I can see those pretty brown eyes of yours again."

You leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, your tears streaming freely as you whispered in his ear.

"I love you, Francisco Morales. Please come back to me."

2 weeks later...

You and Ben had taken it in turns to sit at Frank's side. The first few weeks had been awful, watching the man you love suffer from seizures despite being in a coma but as time had gone on they seemed to cease and now it was just a waiting game. You just wanted him to turn that corner, to start getting better yet he just seemed to be paused in time.

"Got you a coffee." Came a soft voice and you looked up to see Ben walking in with two paper cups in hand.

"Lifesaver." You practically moaned as you graciously took the cup from him.

"Any change today?" He asked as he sat in the chair beside yours.

"Doc said his vitals are a little stronger today but he's developed a fever. They've done some tests to see what's caused it but currently, it's not high enough to be a concern." You announced and Ben sighed.

"Just wish he'd snap out of it now." He choked "This whole situation has been driving me mad." He paused to scrub a hand over his mouth, letting out a deep sigh before continuing "I tore the entire house apart and found all his stashes. Will's started looking at Rehab facilities for him. Found a really good one but I don't think Fish would want that."

"He wouldn't." You agreed, returning your gaze to the man in the bed "I think we should help him get through this. We know why he's fallen into this rabbit hole so we should be able to pull him out of it."

"Will offered to sit with him tonight so we could both take a break," Benny said as he took a sip of his coffee.

"That's nice of him." You replied giving Ben a sweet smile before you two took a sip of the beverage he brought you and you hummed at the flavour "Is this a caramel latte?" You questioned and he beamed at you.

"Your favourite." He replied and you nodded, returning his smile as the two of you held each other's gaze a moment.

Time seemed to stand still as you both took comfort from each other, Ben's blue eyes giving you a sense of calm that you couldn't remember when you last felt. It was almost silent for a moment but then alarms blared and your stomachs dropped. Frankie's body started to convulse and you both sobbed as you were pulled to one side so the doctors and. nurses could work. It seemed to go on forever but you knew, in reality, it lasted a few minutes at most yet it didn't make it any easier to witness. You thought he was past this. After what felt hours you were pulled out of the room by a nurse and asked to wait, Will appearing in your path and giving you both a concerned look.

"What happened?" He questioned and you sobbed.

"Fish had another seizure," Ben stated and Will scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I thought those had stopped." He sighed and Ben nodded.

"So did we but..." He trailed off and Will just have him a gentle nod.

"Take her home. I'll stay with him but you both need to rest. You're not doing yourselves any good."

"Okay." That was all Ben could say before he walked you out and towards the car park where his truck was sitting.

...

He pulled into his drive and let out a sigh as he threw that truck into park. He was exhausted. His nerves were fried and his heart seemed to permanently ache from all the turmoil it was suffering from. He looked over at you and saw that you were numbly staring out the window.

"He's gonna pull through Bug." He said softly, grabbing your attention "He's a stubborn bastard."

"I hope you're right Miller." Was all you could say before you opened your door and hopped out, proceeding to wait patiently at the door for Ben to open it.

You went your separate ways for a few hours. Ben showered and you did after. You changed into some shorts and an oversized t-shirt whilst he rummaged through the take out cards to find something for you both to eat that evening, you both seemed to be numb. Unable to process what had happened at the hospital but both knew you needed to. This wasn't a healthy way to process things.

"How's pizza for dinner?" He asked as you stepped into the kitchen.

"Sounds good." You replied plainly as you grabbed the wine from the fridge and poured yourself a large glass.

Ben didn't say anything else. He just dialled the number on the menu and ordered the usual. There was something familiar about all of this. You practically lived together when you'd dated so it wasn't that strange but what did feel strange was how it made you feel.

Hours later you were sat on the couch, drinking your third glass of wine and finally, allowing yourself to feel everything. Ben was sitting beside you, sipping on his beer and you turned your head to look at him.

"How did everything get so messy?" You asked and he looked at you, shrugging a little.

"I don't know." He said, "I thought at first that it was because of what happened between us and with Sophie but now... now I don't know. His grief just got to be too much I guess,"

"I always regretted it." You piped up and he gave you a bemused expression "Leaving... I always regretted leaving." You continued "I just... I didn't know how to handle everything. Losing you, losing the baby, it just... it all got to be too much and I needed to leave."

"I understand," Ben said softly, taking one of your hands and giving it a squeeze.

"I thought when I met Steve that I'd finally be able to move on and for a while, I managed to not think about it all. We were happy, planning our wedding and our futures but..." You trailed off, eyes locking with Ben's with a sad expression painting your features.

"Why did it end?" Ben asked, his brows knitting together.

"We lost a baby." You confessed and Ben gasped "Wasn't far along but... pregnancy failed basically but well, Steve had been so excited and then we lost it and... he'd not been able to handle it and we broke up."

"Shit Bug, I'm so sorry." He said as he looped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug "For what it's worth, I'm so glad you're back. Well, all missed you like crazy."

"I missed you all too." You replied as you looked up at him "I guess I'm just not meant to be a mum."

"I don't believe that for a second." He argued, "You will be a mum and when you are you'll be an incredible one." He paused, cupping your cheek with one of his large hands "You are the most beautiful, kind, special woman I've ever met and one day, you'll make a guy the luckiest in the world and you'll have a family with them and get everything you deserve."

"You think so?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I know so." He replied with a smile.

You weren't sure who leaned in. Or if the two of you just leaned in together but all you knew for sure was how good Ben's lips felt against yours. You squeaked when he pulled you up and onto his lap, hands on your hips and you started to grind your core against his growing erection. He pulled off your shirt and you ripped off his before he pushed his jeans down enough to free his length as you yanked off your shorts and panties, leaping onto his lap. You lined him up and sank down, moaning at the familiar feeling of being filled by Ben Miller and then you rocked your hips, wailing as he held you close. He thrust to meet your movements, the two of you drinking in the feeling of being joined as his length hit that devastating spot inside of you over and over.

"Cum for me baby." Ben cooed as he felt you flutter around him before he laved your breasts with attention.

This combined with the pleasure of him hitting that spot had you cumming hard and you cried out as you clenched around his member, pulling him right along with you. You collapsed against him, your heart thundering in your chest as you pulled your head back to look at him.

"Shit." He breathed and you chuckled "That was..."

"Yeah." You breathed, your brain foggy from your high but as you started to come down you realised "Fuck, Ben you... your girlfriend she..."

"We broke up." He assured you and you breathed a sigh of relief "She uh... well she wasn't right."

"I'm sorry." You said as you rested your forehead against his.

"I'm not."

You couldn't help but feel guilty the moment you laid eyes on Frankie. Memories of what you'd done with Ben last night flooded your mind and you weren't sure what to do. Ben seemed so happy after and you would be lying if you said that a part of you hadn't felt like it had felt right at the time. But now, as you looked at Frank laying there you felt like you'd made a mistake... because you loved Ben but you were and always would be in love with Frankie.

"Here's your coffee." Said Ben as he entered the room, handing you the paper cup before placing a soft kiss on your lips "Caught Fish's doctor outside, they were able to take him off life support last night. He's starting to make real progress."

"That's great." You replied with a smile.

"Yeah." He beamed "Just a case of waiting for him to wake up."

You smiled at him again, only to lean back when he tried to kiss you again and instantly you regretted everything because you knew you were about to hurt the kindest man you knew again.

"Ben we uh... we need to talk." You said, your eyes dropping to your hands "Last night it... well it was amazing." You started "But it shouldn't have happened. I uh... I'm in love with Frankie and I can't, I can't..."

"It's okay." He said softly, his hand taking yours "I appreciate you being honest with me... I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't hoped maybe we could give it another go but... well, Fish is a lucky bastard." He finished before getting up and placing a kiss on your temple "Be back in a few."

You smiled at the younger Miller, watching as he left the room before letting out a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding before you turned your head only to be greeted by two brown orbs.

"Hey, you." You said softly as you smiled at him "How are you feeling?"

"You're in love with me?"

Taglist form

Tags: @hayley-the-comet @mishasminion360 @ajeff855 @pedritomando @supernaturalgirl20 @dihra-vesa @nicolethered @practicalghost @theanothersherlockian @gallowsjoker @little-mrs-morales @sunnshineeexoxo @aliwritesfic @maryfanson @sherala007 @ayrusss @greeneyedblondie44 @elegantduckturtle @dobbyjen @jediknight122 @goodgriefitsawildworld @pascalstheway @voteforpedro09

122 notes · View notes

whosjunglejim4322 · 3 years

Text

SMUT, collegecrush!au, tattooed Johnny agenda, bff Jaehyun! And brief mentions of him being drunk, all the yearning, Johnny is whipped for you but you didn't hear that from me, he's got a big dick, brief dry humping, finger fucking and pussy eating bc....I'm a whore, sensual fucking cause he thinks ur precious teehee ngl I have a crush on this Johnny

A month ago, if someone would have told you that Johnny Seo would be watching The Matrix trilogy with you while sitting on your living room floor under a blanket that he'd brought to the routine occasion - you would have thought them to be crazy. Insane, even.

And not because Johnny is unpleasant to be around, quite the contrary. Despite his popularity he's one of the most levelheaded, endearing frat boys - for lack of better term - you've ever met, and you also happen to think of him as a superhero of sorts, always there the moment you need him.

It had been a party, where the two of you met - sort of. Not shocking, in the least bit, but also not the first place you would have planned to be on a Saturday night. Jaehyun, being the stubborn and puppy dog eyed best friend that he is, insisted that you come along with him - that he'd keep you glued to his side all night long.

Of course, in proper Jaehyun fashion, three tequila shots in and a game of beer pong had him barely cognitive and passed out on some ones bathroom floor within two hours. The house was big, but filled with people and between trying to lift him up while he giggled about your hair smelling so good and sweet - you also feared anyone seeing him like this. Even if it weren't the first time.

His presence spooked you, at first, a light tap on your shoulder from somewhere behind you just as you attempted to lift your aforementioned best friend for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You nearly dropped him back on his head, if it weren't for quick hands and a sturdy grip on the drunk boys slumped shoulders.

He looked like sunshine, honey skin and dyed blonde hair with the dark roots growing out - a soft, comforting smile across the smooth planes of his face. Dark ink peaked out from where the collar of his shirt had drooped, appearing to be spilling from his shoulder. Your arms felt weaker than before, and embarrassment regarding the situation began to make your skin hot.

"I got him, don't worry," he'd assured with a gentle grin, lifting your bestfriend with an ease you almost wanted to scowl at. His height had been startling too, and not just because you were sitting on someone's bathroom floor. "did you guys drive here?"

You shook your head, a sigh of frustration leaving your lips and slumping your posture as you remembered that you both had walked here. Johnny slung Jaehyuns arm over his broad pair of shoulders, and jerked his chin towards the door, which you opened warily.

"I'll drive you home, it's no problem," his voice was soft, reassuring and you were taken aback. He obviously knew Jaehyun, and you'd never met any of his friends that were so...pleasant. "let's get him to my car first."

It wasn't nearly as painful and humiliating to push past crowds of intoxicated people with Johnny leading the way, as it would have been if it were just you. No one even batted an eye at the way he was dragging Jaehyun like a ragdoll, while the boy grumbled under his breath like a child.

People looked at him, of course. Oh, they looked at him. But not because of his human luggage, and it felt odd to see so many eyes on one person, to realize that his presence has the same effect on everyone else as it did you.

He kept looking back, making sure you were still close behind him, and it wasn't until you were outside in the open that you realized he'd been clinging on to the fabric of your jacket, making sure you didn't stray. Your heart felt like it was bursting open. Focus. You'd thought to yourself.

"That's my car over there, can you open the door for me?"

You jogged towards the sleek, onyx colored SUV that looked like a shadow against the dark bushes, and in just a split second Johnny was behind you, maneuvering Jaehyun into the backseat.

"Mmm...leather." Your best friend's giggle made you all the more grateful for the fact that you hadn't had to do this alone, his cheeks bright red and eyes crescent moons from the way he gleefully grinned. Still, you love him nonetheless.

You pulled your jacket off and prepared to drape it over his body before Johnny stopped you with a gentle hand, shaking his head. "I've got two on, let me."

His jacket probably sufficed more anyways, a heavy denim that would actually cover most of Jaehyuns body. You thanked him with a shy smile while he closed the door, and headed towards the passengers seat.

This experience had been the beginning, the car ride home that night being one full of conversations - genuine conversations, and he didn't leave once you both arrived at your apartments. Jaehyun snored in the background while the two of you talked, laughed. It was hard to look him in the eyes, to not make it so obvious - it's hard now, too.

Neo and Trinity kiss on the screen in front of you, and you wonder how Johnny sees you. Sure, he's flirty, overtly sometimes, but there's never been a definitive line to mark where the both of you really are on the friendship spectrum. If you even want to call it that.

Every time he touches your cheek or catches you staring, even when you're walking to your classes and his hand graces the small of your waist just before he waves you goodbye - you have to assume that he knows what he's doing - that the tension hasn't ever just been one sided.

His hair is a light chestnut brown now, longer than usual and flopping into his eyes from the sides. It's unfair, how he doesn't even have to try. The sharp slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, even the elegance of his neck and jaw. That awe from when you first saw him, has never left.

Not to mention that you often times forget he has so many tattoos whenever he decides to wear short sleeves, the art inky and stark against his olive skin - riveting down from his biceps like silk, cascading over his thick forearms and ending at his knuckles.

You turn your attention back to the laptop upon realizing that you've gotten caught up, heart still rattling underneath your ribcage. It makes it worse, the fact that the heat of his body is so close, that you can smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging onto the fabric of his shirt along with the natural allure of his skin.

"Why were you staring at me?" His breath is warm against the shell of your ear and you shudder, surprised by his sudden closeness and the timbre of his voice. You turn to face him with an incredulous expression, feigning innocence - but he makes it damn near impossible with the way he's looking at you - a dark eyebrow raised and a sly smile playing on his heart shaped lips.

"I was looking at your tattoos, cause - uhm, I forget they're underneath your clothes sometimes." You confess, and his knee knocks against yours underneath the blanket.

"Mmhm, so you think about what's under my clothes?" He teases, and takes pride in the way your eyes glower at him, a scoff leaving your mouth. It's hard to be annoyed when he's so vibrant, right here in front of you.

"Just the art, this one's my favorite." Eager to not have the pressure on you anymore, you reach out to grasp his wrist - not realizing how deeply of a need you've had all this time to do so, until you're tracing the flower that's decorating the top of his hand.

In hindsight, it's a bold move - but you can't go back now, not when he's staring down at you so fondly, scooting closer and placing his hand in your lap while you admire his body art.

"Yeah? Why's it your favorite?" He asks, genuinely curious. He nudges your shoulder with his when he sees the shy smile spreading across your lips, your skin hot to the touch. His comfort level has you less nervous than you were before, and the whole thing feels oddly natural, being so close together.

"I don't know, it just suits you. Your hands are so big, and the little vines looping around your knuckles really makes them look...delicate."

You don't dare look up, not when you realize his chest is rising and falling faster than it was before, just like yours is as you spread his fingers out and play with the digits, his face just inches above yours, voice warm in your ear.

"Second favorite." It's not a demand but it's not exactly a request either, and there's a safety in the energy pulsating around you both - mutual, rippling like a current through your bones.

Your eyes deliberately trail up the length of his long arm, scanning, and your fingertips press against the belly of the dragon that wraps around his bicep, sinewy tail tapering off just below his elbow. You've secretly admired this one for a long time, sneaking glances whenever you can. He turns more towards you just the slightest bit, and the closeness begins to make you feel dizzy.

"Your hands are soft."

This time, you can't not look at him, belly filled with a need to see his face, to save the memory of his features so up close in the back of your mind. However, once you do, look up at him - you almost wonder how you'll be able to handle it at all, his amber eyes boring into you as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"So is your skin." Is what you manage to reply, willing yourself not to look at his soft, inviting mouth - afraid you'll give yourself away. You feel something stroke the side of your cheek and it takes you a second before realizing he's touching you, apparently giving yourself away isn't an issue. You feel like you're being set ablaze.

"Is it really just the tattoos, you think of?" You're not imagining things, he's definitely moving closer - you can smell the starbursts that he ate earlier still sweet on his breath, the wrappers crumpled on the coffee table next to the laptop.

It's all settling in, the realization that this hasn't been just you, fantasizing and daydreaming about someone who hasn't even realized how his natural charm has made you feel.

You're afraid to speak, so you shake your head as a response to his question, the atmosphere thickening impossibly now that he's cupping your chin between his fingers, the tips of your noses almost touching. You've placed your palm against his knee without even realizing it, steadying yourself.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met," he confesses, dark eyebrows furrowed as if he's restraining himself, waiting. "is this...is this okay?" Your lower belly flutters, and you're almost afraid to move, to change anything about this moment and the way it is right now.

"Me too. I've wanted to kiss you, I mean." You breathe out, and now your lips are ghosting against each other, a moment of hesitation that feels both infinitesimal and fleeting. "It's more than okay." A heartbeat passes and he presses his mouth against yours, so pillowy soft that you gasp, surprised.

It's just a second, that he pulls away to look down at you, and your expression is so heavenly - so hazy and delicate. He kisses you again and this time your lips begin to overlap, from top to bottom, suckling and getting used to the feel of each other. He's still holding your face, but with both hands now, thumbs on your cheeks and fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck.

You cling onto him like you've no other choice, desperate to have him underneath your fingertips, reminding you that this is really happening and that your mind isn't just creating very vivid daydreams. He pulls you closer and you grip onto his broad shoulders.

"Mm, you're so sweet," he lilts between his kisses, tone somewhere between bliss and desire. You're not expecting to be so worked up already. "even better than I imagined." His tongue slips past yours, wet and warm and it's like your body is being put on vibrate.

He senses this too, with the way you're almost in his lap, breath unsteady. His arms are around your waist before you can move any further, pulling you on top of him and locking you to his torso.

"Johnny." You strain, as the feeling within you becomes overwhelming, craving his touch, his mouth. It doesn't help that he's being so vocal, as well - the sounds sweeter, and more desperate than you'd expect from him. It has something feral igniting within you.

What shocks you the most is that he's already hard underneath you, and the thought alone is enough to have you keening further against his chest, tightening your thighs' grip around his trim waist- not to mention you can feel him snug against your ass, material of your shorts so thin it's palpable when he twitches.

So, naturally, your whine is petulant when his mouth departs from yours, his plush lips a deep blush, matching his cheeks in their hue. He's just as worked up as you if his erratic breathing and the way that he grasps onto your sides is anything to go by, and you shouldn't be as surprised as you are about it.

"You...have no idea," he pants, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. "how badly I've wanted you. In so many ways."

Your heart feels like it's attempting to burst through your chest in an effort to be closer to him, his sharp eyes lowly lidded but fierce in their honesty. You take this brief moment to touch his face, his soft cheeks and the smooth, taut ridge of his jaw. It all feels too real to be a dream. This must be reality.

"I'm only stopping because, well I like you," it's hard to pinpoint if the trembling of his hands is fueled from his desire or his nerves, but either way he's got your rapt attention. You doubt anyone could look away from those eyes.

"I like you a lot and...fuck, I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with or...sure about. Because I'm sure about you." He finishes, sincere and stoic while holding you against him. You feel like you're floating.

"I have a really big crush on you, Johnny," you kiss his mouth and he smiles against it, humming in contentment. Suddenly, your nerves are replaced by pure adrenaline. "and I like you a lot, too." When you pull back from his lips with a soft smack, his expression causes your skin to burn hot.

"So it'd be okay if I did..." he tilts your head to the side, and a flurry of goosebumps descend across your skin, his breath warm against your throat. "this?" A kiss, soft but purposeful, is placed there, and you shudder.

All you can do is nod in affirmation, heartbeat in your ears among other places. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck while his mouth begins placing warm, wet pecks against yours, and his body lurches when your thighs tighten around his torso.

It only manages to work you up further, of course, brain already high off of the fact that Johnny likes you back...in fact...he truly is as good as you've always thought, sweet and kind and nasty, groaning when you rut your hips against him.

"Baby, you're shaking." He mouths against your jaw, wondrously and laced with an undertone of hunger. His strong arms hold you tight, eyes softening when he looks down at you and realizes just how worked up you really are.

"I just want you really bad, Johnny." Your body emphasizes your point, chest pressed against the firmness of his, nipples hard behind your shirt. He can practically feel you throbbing.

It's a little fucked up, honestly.

No ones ever had him this head over heels, he feels himself melting against you, your voice sweet and syrupy, dripping with this ache just for him and he's losing it.

"Yeah?" He muses, the wide palm of his hands sliding down the curve of your back, and over the swell of your ass where it's planted so firmly atop of him - massaging you there. "Where do you want me, honey?"

The pet names have you too worked up, you really could get off of anything right now and he's tracing the back of your thighs now, swirling his soft fingertips around, leaving a wake of searing heat in their path.

"Want you everywhere, just - mmph." This kiss interrupts you, bruising in it's intensity and he cups your face softly as a silent apology despite the fact that you're letting out small coos of satisfaction, tugging at the ends of his messy hair.

For a second you feel like you're being lifted, not realizing he's just moved you both to the couch until your head is resting against the cushions, inky arms caging your body against the length of his. He groans when you palm at his stomach, touching and rubbing his sides and then the broad of his back.

All the while his free hand, the one that's not attached to the arm holding himself up, does some exploring of its own, palming your breasts through your shirt and squeezing with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

Automatically, your legs wrap around his middle and your heels dig into the dimples of his back, and his hips pivot downwards to nestle right in between yours. You're both instantaneously struck by the sensation of your centers meeting, his length jerking inside of his pants, your clit throbbing in yours.

"Gonna touch you..." nimble fingertips dance over the skin of your inner thighs. "...here, is that okay?" The warmth of his hand cups your sex and now you're positive that wetness has begun to soak through your underwear, senses gone haywire from the way he's rubbing you, up and down.

"Mhm that's - yes, that's okay." You pant, desperate to feel him as well and reaching in between your bodies in an attempt to grasp at him - his height doesn't make this as easy as you thought and your pliant hands meet just his navel, the faintest of happy trails soft against the skin here.

He switches to his thumb now, instead of the heel of his palm to rub you through your shorts. He searches, for a short moment, finding what he's looking for and pressing the pad of his finger against your bud.

He kisses your whimper, shifting his hips and shuffling upwards just a smidge so that your hands can reach his hard cock. You have to maneuver your arm underneath his but it's working out fine so far, your eyes widening once you feel the twitch of his length.

"Oh." You gasp, expecting to have felt it all while you were on his lap, but missing by a longshot. He's big, bigger than anticipated and you're a bit too flustered as you follow it's bulge through his sweats. He groans your name, and you might be short circuiting.

"You're so hard...and b-big, Johnny you're really big." The incredulity of your voice only has his hunger growing, threatening to swallow him whole. In one breath your hands are pulled from him, pinned above your head with his gentle fingers barring your wrists.

"You're so fuckin' cute," he professes with an awed lilt, moving his hips in circles between yours - his shaft, heavy and thick, nudged against your lips. "wanna make you feel good...mm, wanna make you cum."

Butterflies threaten to flutter into your throat and suffocate you, his breath warm and sweet against your cheek before he's nipping at your earlobe. You feel like you're high, spinning yet completely grounded by his weight above you, against you.

"I want you Johnny, want you to fuck me." You try to turn your head, bashful of the way you're being so shameless but he's not having it, keeping his gaze on your every expression, trying not to lose his sanity when you grind yourself against him. Your voice, petulant and needy, is enough to have him at his wits end alone.

"I will baby, I will," he promises sweetly, accentuating his point by letting go of your wrists, and using one of his hands to pry your thighs open. He rolls his agile hips against you and the friction has you reaching out to grasp at his waist - trim and firm underneath your fingertips. "just gotta get you ready first."

He sits back on his haunches and you pout about the lack of content, his pleased grin a beacon as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your shorts off your hips and past your thighs - till they're at your ankles, and it feels surreal when he throws them somewhere behind the couch, too eager for his own good.

You're brought back to current reality when his big hands caress the tops of your thighs, before creeping down into the soft crease where they're shut closed in embarrassment, and pulling them apart.

He outwardly marvels and you wonder if he can see you clench, the moment overwhelmingly intimate with the way he's staring directly at the wet spot that’s soaked through the crotch of your panties. He takes only a moment to reach out and press his thumb against the dampness, balls tightening with the need to release each time you whimper or gasp.

With his cock leaking in his pants, he wastes no time, taking the flimsy piece of fabric off so fast you don't even have time to by shy about him seeing you naked and glistening in front of him. Furthermore, you don't think anyone could feel even the least but bad about themselves if he looked at them like this - slack jawed, and starved.

"Fuck...you're so beautiful," two long, inky fingers formed into the shape of a V, spread your lips open and then he's moving further away - no, scooting down onto his stomach, and suddenly his breath is a warm puff against your most sensitive parts. "so wet for me, hmm?"

You're not sure you can look away, too enraptured by the visual stimuli that's correlating with the circling of your swollen clit. You want to cry, a little bit. Scream, maybe. He's so beautiful you can't help but to reach out, running your fingers through the front of his chestnut hair and then his eyes are piercing through you like the shock of ice water.

Your body seems to register the feeling before you can process the sight by itself, back bowing off the couch, hips bucking. His hot, wet tongue licks at the hood of your clit, starting slow and picking up pace when you start to squirm. The blossoms painted across his skin decorate the arms that hold you down while his pillowy lips envelop the bud, suckling lewdly.

"O-oh, oh fu-mmm." You're already blubbering, lost and falling into the sensation of everything all at once. You've no doubt that he's had years of experience but this, you're not sure you've felt pleasure like this before.

"Feels good?" He mumbles between the flick of his tongue, hands traveling up the length of your body to grip your waist, kneading your skin. You almost laugh at the question, assuming your trembling body and the way you're involuntarily bucking against his mouth would suffice as an answer. Still, you humour him.

"Mmhm, feels- ohh, mhm feels good." Your voice is barely there, strained and whiny but he feeds off of your every utterance as if it's something he so desperately needs. The smacking between your legs becomes louder and like a magnet, you're drawn to the sight again, coil in your belly tightening impossibly.

He's a muss of hair, the dark strands tickling your thighs when his head moves from side to side. Your thighs attempt to clamp shut but then he's looking up at you again - purposeful in the way he maintains eye contact while he dives down and licks a stripe over your entrance.

You're not going to last long, and he knows this, from every twitch and squirm and whimper - he's preparing for your demise, humming in contentment while the lewd sounds of slickness continue.

He slips a finger inside of you, and then another once he realizes how soaked you are, and this proves to be the beginning of the end. You grip onto his forearms, needing to be grounded to something while he buries the digits inside of you, curling in a come hither motion.

It's all beyond what you thought pleasure could be, it's violet and red and all things euphoric behind your eyelids and the sound of his pleased groans are what finally have you giving out, melting against the couch cushions.

You're not sure if you're making any sound at all, honestly. It comes so quick, violent in it's force and you're hazy headed - tears welling in your eyes from the way he's still massaging you, licking you while your walls squeeze and contract around his fingers.

"That's it baby, mmm, let go."

The velvet voice is warm against your sensitive sex and you're still twitching as you peel your eyes open to peer down between your legs and see him there, staring up at you like you're the sun, slowing his movements while the aftershock of your orgasm seeps through you.

His knuckles are buried to the hilt inside of you and he pulls them out slowly, petal pink lips kissing your clit gently, adoringly. With your brain still foggy and embarrassment no longer present, you grab his wrist, bringing his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and wrapping your lips around them.

He moans an expletive and then he's hovering over you again, watching with a soaring heart as you suckle your juices clean from his digits, lashes fluttering when you open your eyes.

For once in his life, he's speechless. You have to pull him down to kiss you in order to breaks him from his reverie and it's now that he's realizing how excruciatingly hard he is. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been this worked up without his dick even being touched for more than five minutes.

It's safe to say he's taken by surprise when your hand slips into his bottoms and briefs to palm him this time, and his body lurches against you while a desperate sound bellows in his throat.

"Baby." he coos, relishing in the softness of your palm, the difference in size of his own. He wants to protest when the intense bliss of it is gone, momentarily, only to feel your fingers attempting to pull his sweats down.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm but you've never been more positive about something; about someone. Your whole body feels as though it can't be satiated, not until you have all of him after having such a sweet taste.

"Please, now, want you now." You nibble on his bottom lip and he has to pull himself away or else he'll get too caught up in your mouth by itself, but he's on a mission - searching for his wallet and scrambling for it when he sees the leather square sitting on the floor.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle with a mixture of unbearable anticipation, and nerves for what's about to come when he pulls the condom from his wallet and tears the corner of the foil.

It's just a second but it's enough to admire him silently, the twitch of his mouth, the elegance of his fingers even when they're eager and uncoordinated. A part of you feels overcome by the need to be encapsulated by his presence, for his skin to be a permanent silkiness against your lips.

He catches you in the midst of staring and it's like he's glowing from the inside out, pulling his pants down his thick thighs along with his black briefs, kicking them to the floor.

Without thinking your arms are reaching forward, gripping the small of his waist as if to still him, and he pauses at your will. He's cupping your chin with one hand while your fingertips explore underneath the hem of his shirt, and you're grateful that he's allowing you to soak this in, that he's not rushing despite the fact that both of you are like exposed lit wires.

"Here, let me take it off." His arms are reaching behind him before you can blink, biceps curling as he pulls his shirt off of his broad shoulders before discarding it with the rest of his clothing.

Your breath is audible, pupils blown wide while you examine the length of his torso and the permanent shapes that are marked there. Only patches of his honey skin peek through the array of tattoos he's got climbing his sides, over his chest, and you swear you've never seen someone so beautiful.

"Take mine off too." You barely manage to get out, and he's kissing your lips again with a soft sort of fondness, while his knuckles graze your skin and your shirt is being stripped from your body. He's back to kissing you and your naked chests meet for the first time, a fierceness gripping you by the throat when when when the shaft of his cock nudges your clit.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, gentle in the way he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, pecking your mouth between glances at your nipples where they rub against him. His touch travels to your jaw and down your neck, before he's tweaking the buds between his fingers, and your legs wrap around his middle in an effort to solidify your answer.

"Yes, I'm sure," you run your fingers through his hair. "very sure."

Lips press against your cheek and then you're presented with the sight of him again, bare in front of you, just a few inches away. It's now that you really find the courage to look at him, not expecting to be out of breath and shock stricken once you lay your eyes upon his dick.

It's pretty, as pretty as you knew it had to be; curved just slightly, the tip swollen with arousal and a shade deeper than that of his lips that you've come to have photographically memorized.

You watch with probably more fascination than most while his slim fingers roll the condom onto his length, down the shaft that protrudes with a small vein right in the middle, until it's snug and securing the fact that you and Johnny Seo are about to have sex.

As always, here there right when you need him most, aiding you in forgetting about anything that isn't crucial to right now. His arms are wrapping around your thighs and pulling you closer - your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed.

And then, there's also the way he's looking at you, again. It's like he's compacted every emotion you could feel in a moment like this, and somehow managed to reflect it's opacity back at you through the glimmer of his irises.

You jerk your hips against him and he grins at your urgency, diverting his attention to the space between your legs and holding you steady by the hips with one hand while the other goes to grip his cock.

He levels his pelvis with yours and brings the pink head down to your entrance where it leaks for him, gathering the slickness and smearing it through your folds, around your clit.

His fingers search for yours and suddenly he's interlocking them while you feel the initial stretch of his dick finally entering you, a soft expletive leaving his mouth while he pushes himself into you halfway, peering down with half lidded eyes as a silent affirmation.

Your expression must be as expressive as the soft mewls that involuntarily fall from your lips, and he bottoms out while leaning down to kiss you as he's come to realize that this action is single handedly way more addictive than it should be.

You feel so full it's impossible not whine, and within seconds he's pulling himself out of you nearly all the way - mouth hovering over yours so he can watch your features contort when he sheathes himself back in with a snap of his hips.

With the need to hold on to something becoming incessant, he allows you to throw your arms around his neck while your thighs tremble around him, his hips creating a slow but steady pace that draws lewd sounds from between your bodies with every slow drag of his thick cock.

It's strange, how you provoke such tenderness within him when you shudder and pant beneath him despite the fact that he's barely done anything yet- a juxtaposition to the feral, nagging type of ache that brews in the center of his belly to have you even more a mess.

It's not that he's fairing any better, though. Even you can see that, feel it in the way he keeps his lips on your skin, trying and failing miserably to hold back his groans while your nails create crescent moons on the broad of his back.

"You - f-fuck you feel s-so good." He stutters, and if you could find your words maybe you'd even have the confidence to tease him, but right now all you can comprehend is the feeling in which he's providing, the nudge of his tip so deep inside of you.

"Faster, can you - oh yes, yes." It's like he knows what you want before you get it out all the way, and his tongue is warm against your throat while he obliges your request, furthering your haziness.

You're quick to realize that Johnny is a generous lover. Despite the fact that he's holding himself together on the edge of his coherency, he's already atuned to each tense of your muscles, the strain of sweet sounds you coo in his ear. He uses this as a guide, working his hips skillfully, circling when he pushes himself back in.

The fact that you're sopping wet helps as well, audibly soaked and your walls are taking him in so generously he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your hands are in his hair and tug at the dark strands without thinking, drawing a sweet, serene moan from the back of his throat.

"Mm, feels good?" He asks despite knowing the answer, your countenance painted with the colors of bliss. He peers down in between your bodies and almost regrets it due to the pulse it sends through his groin - threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

But it's a sight too mesmerizing, his entire length disappearing inside of you with an easy glide, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs and your clit waiting to be played with. You're just as taken by the sight, surrounded by only him, inside of you and around you like a life force. Your hands travel over anywhere and everywhere, down to his belly where the muscles flex underneath the painted skin with every thrust.

"So good, you feel s-so good Johnny." You're becoming even more petulant but he doesn't mind, not when you're clinging onto his biceps and mewling his name. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his hands cup the back of your knees, hiking your thighs up higher around his middle.

Your skin burns where he touches, his pace increasing and now you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors knew exactly what it is that the two of you are doing, skin against skin and coos of pleasure echoing through your small apartment. You have a hard time forming thoughts that make sense.

"M' all the way up there baby," his voice is deceivingly sweet, hips dangerous and borderline ruthless now that you two are drenched in the essence of lust and desire, driven by your need to come undone. "such a sweet pussy."

He means it, too. Maybe that's what makes this all so much more enthralling. From the clench of his taut jaw, to the way his dark eyebrows are furrowed, even the crimson of his lips from the way he's been biting down on them - Johnny is nothing but honest. It's somehow stripped you of the shyness you'd normally be harboring, compelling your mouth to speak without a filter.

"It's all yours, I'm yours."

This seems to spur him on, more than you thought because now he's all but cradling you in his arms, mouthing his words against your lips, not allowing even a centimeter of space to reside between the two of your bodies. It feels whole, complete.

"Mm, yeah sweetheart? Mine. Fuck, you're all mine."

It's a growled statement and you quiver against his solid form, warmed from the inside out like a furnace and set ablaze. You're still sensitive from his mouth but that doesn't change the orb of pressure within your belly, or the waves of pleasure that spread through your thighs and up your spine from the way your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while his cock reaches new depths.

You should've known his mouth would be filthy, and it's really ticking every box you've literally ever needed to be ticked and you're sort of embarrassed by how far gone you are already, properly mewling with your fingers gripping onto his bulged biceps where he uses them to hold himself up.

His face is a sight to behold in itself, as well - plush lips parted, cheeks hot and a shade of deep, ravishing plum. If he weren't steadily hitting that sweet spot inside of you maybe you'd actually be able to keep your eyes open long enough to admire it more - but it's obvious it won't be long until you're unraveling.

He's thankful, in a way. Because you're sighing out sweet words that profess how good he's doing, and he swears that he's never felt anything as good as this. Through and through. You're made for him, wrapped around his being, tight like cellophane and it's silly but this is all he's dreamed of for months.

"Open your eyes sweetheart," his hips stutter at the same time you involuntarily squeeze around the tip of his cock as he goes to seep back into you and you're drawn to the plead of his voice. "let me - fuck, let me be yours, please?"

His voice is honey, coating you in it's sweetness and you're teetering on the edge of your release. It beckons you soothingly, like a siren in the wake of a wave and it doesn't calm when you pull him down to your mouth by the nape of his neck, your shared groans being swallowed by the other. Your thighs are a vice around his waist, keeping him locked against you as he grinds his cock into you.

"You're mine, J-John- oh, oh please." His fingers have reached down in the limited space between your shared skin to rub your clit in circles and you know this is it - mind and body completely encircled by everything he's made of, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body and even the way he says your name.

"Want you to cum for me, please, please cum for me baby." His breath is warm against your ear, a vibration that wracks through all of your senses and your body knows it's coming before you do - instantly under the influence of his begs and pleas.

You're descending, voice nothing but a gasp and an echo of an expletive when the dam inside of you finally bursts - leaving you to tremble like a leaf beneath him while the feeling threatens to consume you inch by inch, nerve by nerve.

You've all but gone limp, bright dots of light flitting through your vision and you feel his mouth everywhere, like a soft, warm reassurance that he's not going anywhere while you spasm around him.

"Just like that, oh fuck, yeah just like that."

In this place of completeness, you bask in the rise in octave of his usually low timbred voice, in the way he's holding you so firmly in his arms, as if scared to let go and put even an inch of separation between the two of you.

You're still twitching when you feel him throb inside of you, your name a warm whisper against the side of your neck while he pumps himself into you with no real rhythm; filling the condom with spurts of his cum while your fingers gently scratch the back of his scalp, through his hair.

Your breaths are ragged and have only that in common, his weight comforting despite the fact that both of you are in such a fragile state. It all feels surreal, like maybe you’ll wake up soon even with his cock still buried inside of you, half hard. More than anything, it feels right. Apprehension nor guilt nor worry brews underneath your skin, instead overshadowed by pure elation.

Wet pecks travel across your throat like marks of gratitude and your smile is automatic, involuntary.

"I meant it, you know," he's out of breath but concise, palm cupping the side of your face as he makes his way to your mouth and kisses you there, afraid to look you in the eyes. "about...about what I want. About wanting you."

You actually do laugh this time, suddenly outrageously giddy at the words leaving his pretty mouth, mildly entertained by the fact that someone could be almost as oblivious as you are. Almost.

He looks worried for only a split second until you're kissing his face, over his nose and fuchsia cheeks, a feather against the soft autumn ground.

"I meant it too," your voice is light, airy and he swears he'd believe anything you told him, even if it weren't as absolutely resolute as it is right now; your smile against his lips like a seal of promise. He meets your gaze, and everything within him calms, settles.

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

This, he thinks to himself, is all he's wanted to hear since the day you looked up at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Completely worth Jaehyun stealing his Armani denim jacket, honestly.

730 notes · View notes

cloudytamaki · 3 years

Text

bnha » a kick in the balls drabbles

warnings. cussing, crack, mentions of balls companion piece. drabble version of the hcs a/n. a lot of this was based on my own family 😭 anyways enjoy..

KATSUKI BAKUGO.

You mindlessly scrolled through Instagram as you waited for your glass to fill up with water, lifting your head to take it to the fridge as it dispensed some ice in.

You scoffed at this one woman’s post; it was so fake. Caught up in your Instagram feed, you didn’t look up as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom. As you rounded the corner to get into the bedroom, a scrunched face met your own and a loud snarling snort left the creature.

You shrieked, dropping your phone and your glass of water, your hands flying up to shield your face as your feet acted on their own, slamming themselves into the thing’s crotch. Did it even have a crotch??

Another loud sound could be heard as the creature dropped to its knees, now revealed as your boyfriend Katsuki as you turned on the light.

“What— what the fuck was that for?” He choked out, his voice barely above a pained whisper.

“You scared me, dumbass!” You scoffed again, walking into the bathroom to grab a towel, using your foot to wipe up the spill as you picked up the surprisingly unbroken glass.

You went into your bedroom, laughing at Instagram videos and whatnot until Katsuki burst into the room, demanding cuddles for his suffering.

KEIGO TAKAMI.

“Keigo! Stop!” You screamed, your voice pained but still happy as his fingers attacked your sides ruthlessly. Your breathing was messed up, your limbs flailing about as he dug his fingers into your ribs. He recently added his feathers into the action, the long plumes tickling other parts of your body he couldn’t focus on.

“I – I can’t fucking—” Your voice was stuttered as you laugh-shrieked, your chest heaving as you tried to scramble away.

“I’m gonna pee myself, Keigo! Stop it—” Your boyfriend cut off your words with more tickles, his half smirk - half smile growing.

“Never!” His wings were fluttering as he watched you, the cerise feathers glossy in the light.

You were floundering uselessly under him, your legs and feet thrashing about in different directions. He was laughing too, your expressions and sounds hilariously cute.

“Keigo—” He laughed maniacally, his fingers pressing into that one secret spot on your side, the sensation driving you over your limit. You squirmed even more, your foot now colliding with his crotch.

Keigo’s fluttering wings had stiffened as he groaned in pain, dropping onto you, his fingers forgetting his mission at your sides, his feathers settling on the bed. He was on top of you, his body on your own, pretty much crushing you under his weight.

Well, at least he’d stopped tickling you.

TAMAKI AMAJIKI.

“Those fuckin’ bills and receipts can kiss my ass,” You declared, your voice raspy from sleep. You were alone in the dark kitchen, no light at all. You had just woken up from a restless slumber to drink some milk to relax your body.

It was a known practice to drink warm milk to sleep. Would it really work?

You poured the white liquid into your glass, opening the microwave and setting it to thirty seconds as you placed the glass inside, closing the door. You capped the milk jug, placing it back into the fridge as you slumped against the counter, waiting.

The microwave beeped in no time, letting you take out the warmed glass. You took a sip, sighing as the warmth loosened your tight muscles. With the colored glass in hand, you began to walk out of the kitchen to slip into bed beside your boyfriend Tamaki.

Just when your blood pressure was slowing, a figure appeared right in front of you in the darkness. It let out a surprised sound, something like a gasp and a squeak. You on the other hand, mind groggy from sleep, immediately thought of the sticker on the blue car you saw today.

Not today, Satan!

Determination and fear fueled you as you screamed, gripping the glass tightly as you swung your foot into the demon’s groin, landing a perfect and square hit. The demon squawked and yelped at the same time, sounding a lot like a cat that got its tail closed in a door.

The sound echoed throughout the apartment, your eyes checking over your glass to make sure you didn’t spill it; not a drop had left the cup.

You were about to get Tamaki until you realized: demons don’t squawk.

The thing completely crumpled to the ground, falling onto its knees. It was practically doubled over, panting as pained sobs left its lips.

Shit. You had attacked the wrong demon. You hastily placed the glass back onto the counter, sliding down beside the now identified creature. “Tamaki?” Your voice was soft and had completely changed since the attack.

He winced in response, shying away from your touch as he clamped down on his lip, trying his best to stop the cries leaving his lips. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, bunny. That was a complete accident.”

“I – I was just going to ask what you were doing up.” He stated, looking down at his hands as he spoke, the area between his legs throbbing now.

“Oh. I was drinking some warm milk, they say it helps you sleep. I was just a bit stressed and worried. You startled me.” You kept your voice calm and neutral, not intending to blame him at all.

“Are you okay?”

Tamaki exhaled, wiping the tears from his eyes, slowly getting up. “I guess.” You hugged him, slowly walking him over to the couch. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

He nodded silently, sitting close beside you as he crossed his legs, watching you turn on the television.

SHOTO TODOROKI.

“—Yeah, I was talking to Marcus, the guy who runs the coffee shop near my office. He said he’s only been there a few years, can you believe that? There are so many locals that go there.”

Shoto hummed, sitting cross legged. He looked towards you, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “That’s interesting, Y/N. Coffee places are really popular, as well as tea shops.”

“We should go to the tea place downtown,” You suggested, “It’d be so much—”

Your words were halted when you saw a large, brown thingy skitter across the floor. Your jaw dropped, your thoughts immediately leaving your lips.

“Holy shit. Is that a fucking cockroach?” You didn’t swear much, so when you did, Shoto knew something was going on.

“What? Where?” He leaned down a bit, looking at the grey wooden floor. Your feet were touching the floor, making you shriek.

The wind blew outside and seemed to startle the roach, prompting it to move closer to the couch. You jumped up immediately, shrieking as you scrambled to get behind Shoto so he could kill it. You stepped on some bones and soft flesh in your panic to get away. You clung to Shoto, sitting on the top of the back couch cushion, your eyes wide with fear.

He let out a guttural groan and yell, pulling you off of him; your balance wasn’t quite correct at the moment, since you ended up on the ground, beside the cockroach.

You screamed, Shoto screamed, and the wind screamed outside. (You were sure you heard the cockroach wail as well, but maybe that was in your head.)

It was a complete shitshow. There was screaming, yelling, cursing, and groans from Shoto. You noticed something off about the cockroach; why didn’t it have antennae or eyes??

You took a closer look, inspecting it closely – then you realized that it was just a ball of fluff and lint from one of your many sweaters. You picked it up and showed it to a glaring Shoto, who was massaging his ankle as his lips turned up in a frown.

“I’m so sorry,” You apologized deeply, placing a cool hand on his warming ankle. “I kinda just... got scared for a minute.” You hugged him, scooting closer to him, confused when he closed up his legs.

DENKI KAMINARI.

“Fuck! Someone help me!” You shouted loudly, your chest burning as your feet pounded against the dirt ground. “Anyone! Help me!” Your breathing was unsteady, the sounds of the rampaging beast behind you getting closer.

Denki yawned, opening his eyes as he slowly smacked his chapped lips. He stretched, the sun shining down on his face. Ah, how he loved waking up in the sun with you.

“Shit! Where are the tranquilizer darts?!” You dug through your bag, now currently perched on a wobbly tree branch while the large beast clawed at the trunk below you, roaring loudly.

“Good morning,” He turned to you with a soft smile which immediately faded when he caught sight of your clenched and slightly moving fists, your furrowed expression. “—Babe? Wait, is everything okay?” He placed a hand on you, gently shaking your shoulders.

“No, no, FUCK!” Branches and leaves whipped your face as you fell twenty feet from your now broken tree branch, awaiting the beast below. You landed hard on your back, scrambling to your feet when the beast approached you. It had the head of a chicken, teeth of a bear, and body of a bear. The arms were feathered, the back feet chicken feet. Suddenly it dawned on you – you were facing the Bearicken.

“Baby? Please wake up.” He continued to shake your shoulders, worry shooting through his mind at your sweating forehead and balled fists.

“Get away from me!” You yelled, backing away in fear as it came closer to you. There were no weapons; you had nothing to defend yourself. Your fists clenched, anger surging through you as you raced forward towards the Bearicken.

Now your legs were moving as if you were running, the speed picking up gradually as your fists clenched and unclenched. Denki just laid there, unable to do anything else.

You slammed your fists into the beast’s meaty chest, your feet coming up as you kicked it in the lower stomach, legs and arms. You heaved for breath, not even bothering to address your bloody nose as you kept on, pressing forwards with the attacks.

Denki was watching curiously now, still worried but mostly intrigued. Why were you ‘running’? When he saw you punching the air and kicking your feet he stayed silent, confused as ever. He placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit harder. “Wake up, babe. It’s okay; I’m here.”

In your dream the Bearicken clawed at you and swiped your shoulder, leading you to deliver a hard kick to your left; where Denki lay. Your heel slammed into his balls, eliciting a scream of surprise and pain from the blonde.

He clutched his shorts, groaning as he buried his face in one of the many pillows on your bed. His scream startled you; your eyes snapped open and you screeched, still absorbed in your nightmare.

This startled Denki, who started yelling in pain about his nuts while you started yelling that you’d never order Chick Fil A again. More screaming and chaos; in your panic you fell right off the bed, as did Denki.

EIJIROU KIRISHIMA.

“Crap!” Eijirou jumped forward, internally shrieking at the subsequent back pain that followed the sudden movement. He gritted his teeth as he began groping his right thigh in the dark, his fingers stopping at the sudden pain.

His muscle had completely tensed up and was aching so badly that he couldn’t help the yell that slipped past his lips. Curse words left his mouth as he fumbled to get into a comfortable position, the stiffened muscle making his movements much harder.

“Fuck!” His loud cursing which he hadn’t bothered to muffle woke you up, confusion etched into your face as you sat up quickly. Your red haired boyfriend was doubled over, clutching his right thigh as he spewed profanities from his lips.

“What the hell?” You hair was wild and you were tangled in the mess of sheets and blankets as you rubbed your head, looking towards the clock. 2:48 am.

“M-my thigh!” He shouted, bewildering you even more. He continued going on about his leg while you tried to ask him what was wrong in between his moaning and groaning.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, calling his name to try and get him focused on you so he could speak normally. “Babe?” No answer. “Eijirou?”

Another curse word left the male’s lips, as if you weren’t even there. The hell was going on?? “Eijirou!” Worry was bubbling up inside of you - what was happening?

“Eijirou, take a deep breath.”

He barely exhaled before another wave of pain hit him and his entire body jerked in response, his grip around your wrist tightening. So, like any rational sleep deprived person, you delivered a hard smack to his right thigh to get it to loosen up.

Except your hand hit something much softer and you didn’t hear the loud smack that should’ve accompanied the hit. “Fuck, Y/N!!” His thigh had loosened and now he was... holding onto his crotch???

You screamed, Eijirou’s anxiety riling you up further. After a few minutes of shrieking and yelling and cursing, you two finally settled down enough to sit down and talk.

“The hell happened earlier, Ei?”

“Charley horse.” He rasped, “I could be asking you the same thing. What was with that slap to the balls earlier??”

“That was your crotch?”

“Yeah...”

“Oh shit, sorry. I was trying to get your attention or at least loosen your thigh up. Sorry.”

“Please don’t slap any places where I have a spasm.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You moved closer to him, hugging him as you gently stroked his face.

a/n. yeah so kiri’s was inspired by my dad’s 2 am screams over his muscle spasms, the car sticker in tamaki’s was something i saw today, katsuki’s was inspired by my dad’s constant jumpscares tf.

#denki kaminari #denki x reader #bnha #bnha crack #bnha drabbles #katsuki bakugo #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #hawks #keigo takami #hawks x reader #tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader

407 notes · View notes

aliwritesfic · 3 years

Text

The Night Shift part 8 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's time to do what's best for you . . . also fuck Kurt

Warnings: physical violence, emotional abuse, brief mention of trauma

W/C: 2.2k

AN: So.... I'll be honest, I was quite sick when I wrote this (and I'm still not 100% but I'm at like 75% which is good enough) but I have a mentality of not editing or revising my work otherwise I embarrass myself and convince myself I'm The Worst(tm), but I hope this makes sense and the pacing is good <3

Spotify

Part 1 Part 9

Frankie was glad to see you finally opening up. Even if that meant tears he couldn’t wipe away, or a hand he couldn’t hold. The last thing he wanted was to put you in a position where you thought the only reason he was helping was to swoop in while you were vulnerable.

You sat next to him in his truck, your eyes were puffy and red from tears that once they started seemed to come in waves of intensity, from a few sniffles to shoulders heaving, gasping for air sobs. Manny sat beside you, holding your hand, which Frankie was grateful for. He was glad to see that you had people that cared about you. When he had messaged Manny that morning, it was more to find out if his suspicions were correct about the ‘friend’ you had talked about while drunk was you.

“You don’t have-“

“We want to,” Manny interjected for the fifth time. It occurred to Frankie that you weren’t used to people wanting to help you. “I’ve been praying that you’ll let me help you.” That made you sob again. You gave another apology, chest heaving as you tried to breathe.

Truthfully, Frankie was also glad that this was an excuse for him to skip talking about his own feelings. His own mind was a muddy mess of flashbacks and night terrors and bouts of anxiety that became so crippling he forgot how to breathe. How well would that have gone down in the little group he now found himself apart of? If he had to guess, about as well as it went down with Portia – pitying looks and urges to see a proper therapist, and a new distance that neither was willing bridge.

Manny answered a call as Frankie drove back. He wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, but when it had become clear you wanted to be anywhere but that bistro, he had suggested the three of you pile into his truck and see where the road took you.

“Mateo, honey, I need to ask you a few things,” Manny said into his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie saw you lean your head back and squeeze your eyes shut. Frankie wanted to reach out and squeeze your knee, take your hand, do anything to show that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere so long as you wanted him around.

Manny’s voice faded into the background as you turned to look at Frankie. He pulled up at a small nature reserve, which was just an algae slicked pond and a few oak trees surrounded by recently mowed grass. Frankie noticed how bloodshot your eyes were.

“You okay?” he asked, realising it was a stupid question.

“I will be,” you said, your voice hoarse. You cleared your throat with a wince. “I’m not upset . . . I’m just overwhelmed. Like, I’ve been holding this all in for so long that once the lid was opened it was impossible to put back on, and now I’ve just gotta let it all out. Does that sound stupid?”

Frankie shook his head. “Not at all.” You smiled weakly at him.

“Bet this is the worst lunch you’ve ever had,” you said.

“Nah, I think it ranks pretty highly,” Frankie said. “Mainly because of the company, though.” You rolled your eyes and Frankie could see the corners of your mouth twitch in an effort to keep a smile away.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said softly.

“What isn’t?” You asked, but before he could answer, Manny interjected.

“I’ve found you a new place,” he said. You shot up, confusion written on your face plainly. Manny smiled the type of smile when someone knows they’ve basically saved the day. “That was my dear friend Mateo on the phone. He is taking his first steps towards being a real estate mogul and recently brought a one bedroom apartment to rent out. And because he is such a dear friend and owes me like, a billion favours, I told him the minimum of what your situation was, and he has told me that he’s willing to rent the place to you for lower than market value. A hundred and twenty a week, including water.”

You’re silent for a few moments, and Frankie watched you carefully.

“When can I move in?” you said finally, and Frankie felt an invisible weight lift off your shoulders. He could only imagine how difficult this would be for you; making decisions that would change how you lived in a matter of hours, basically upending your life.

“He can get the keys to us on Wednesday, he’s just got to replace some fixtures and finish painting some walls,” Manny said. You nodded slowly.

“So, I just need to last till Wednesday,” you said.

“You can stay at my place, if you want.” Frankie said quickly, not exactly comfortable with the idea of you staying with Kurt. You had said he was never physically violent, but Frankie also knew how quickly a man could change when they didn’t get their way.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose,” you said carefully. Frankie nodded.

“Of course, you’re my friend, and friends help each other.” Just friends. Only friends. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you in this state just because he had a stupid crush. He had once had a conversation with a pissed off Eve Miller, who was ranting about the guys she thought were her friends instantly making moves the moment she became single. That had solidified Frankie’s resolve to not make moves on women he was friends with – it wasn’t fair to them or to him.

Before you could answer, your phone was ringing loudly. Your face crumpled as you looked at the contact, and Frankie frowned.

Kurt.

You took a deep breath and hit answer. “Hey! What’s up?” Your light and airy tone was at odds with your sombre expression. “No, I have lunch with Manny on Sunday, remember? You’re home already? But –“

Frankie listened to the angry buzzing coming from your phone, his revulsion growing.

“My phone died – no I just went out with Sara last night, she wanted to go to fight night . . . it’s not that short . . . No I didn’t fuck anyone else, Jesus Christ, Kurt! No! Look, I’ll be home soon, we can talk about this then.” You hung up with a shaking hand, your mouth twisting with effort to contain the tears.

Manny met Frankie’s eye over the top of your bowed head and gave a small nod.

“We’ll come with you to get some of your clothes,” Frankie said. “And anything else you need.”

“You’re really too sweet for this,” you muttered with a hiccup. “I’m sorry for dragging the both of you into my shit.”

“I crawled willingly into it,” Manny said breezily, “which I would only do for about five people in this world.”

The trio remained silent for several minutes, interrupted only but the sound of your occasional hiccups. Frankie reached out and patted your shoulder awkwardly, cringing internally while he did. Inexplicably, you leant into his touch, your damp cheek brushing against the back of his hand.

“Can you drive me home so I can get my stuff?” you asked softly. Frankie nodded and turned on the truck.

~*~

You were a ball of anxiety as Frankie pulled into the complex’s parking lot. Kurt’s car was already in the spot reserved for your apartment, sending you to the verge of a full-blown panic attack. You squeezed your eyes shut and counted to ten, then backwards from ten. Distantly, you felt Manny take hold of one of your hands.

“You’ve got this.” Manny’s voice sounded far away. “Francisco and I are behind you one hundred percent.”

“You’re calling the shots,” Frankie said, touching your arm. His hand was warm and calloused, and you didn’t know why that observation seemed to be at the forefront of your mind, but it was. You opened your eyes and met Frankie’s warm brown ones, suddenly feeling infinitely stronger.

You told them what you wanted to do – for you to go in by yourself and for them to wait outside the door, plug their ears if necessary, only come in if they felt like you were in any actual danger. Frankie’s face darkened at this, but to your relief he didn’t protest your plan.

You felt stronger with the two of them behind you. Every single step towards your apartment door solidified your resolve that this was the right thing, that this relationship hadn’t made you happy, fulfilled, in years. The click of your key in the door felt like one of finality.

Kurt sat on the couch, glaring at you. You left the door open a crack as you walked in, hovering by the dining table. You took him in fully and came to the conclusion that you were no longer attracted to this man at all. His skin was reddened by the sun, pale patches around his light blue eyes. His thin mouth was curled into a sneer.

“Care to explain what the fuck you’ve been doing while I was gone?” he said.

“Not really, no.” You replied. “Here’s the thing, Kurtis, you don’t get to go out with your friends for the whole weekend doing who-knows-what then turn around and get angry at me for spending time with the only friend from school that I still have! That’s not fair.”

“And who’s fault is that? You’re the one who pushed them all away!” Kurt stood up and advanced towards you. Normally, you would have taken a step backwards, given him space, but this time you stood your ground, clenching your fists tightly to stop them shaking.

“I’m still allowed to have a social life,” you said, struggling to keep your tone even. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“If you wanna go out and act like a fucking whore-“

“Think what you want, Kurt,” you said, “it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m leaving. You can’t stop me.”

Kurt spluttered for a moment, turning a shade of deep red. “Like fucking HELL you’re leaving me, you bitch!”

“I am!” you shot back. He was only a few inches from you now, so close his breath was hot on your face. “I’m miserable, I don’t love you anymore, and I’m done. I’ve been done for so long I can’t remember a time I was fully invested in this relationship! I deserve better! I deserve love that doesn’t make me so sad it hurts, and I can’t have that with you.”

Kurt’s face twisted into an ugly contortion of the features you once found perfect. “No. Nobody can love you the way I do! Nobody can understand you like I do! If you leave, I won’t want to live anymore. Don’t you remember? I can’t live without you!”

“Then go to a fucking hospital!” you snapped, moving to get past him. Kurt grabbed your wrist tightly. His grip was like a vice, cutting off blood supply to your fingers.

“Let go!” you begged. Kurt tugged you closer, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, your noses almost touching. He’s going to kill me. Oh my god, he’s actually going to kill me. You saw movement by the door out of the corner of your eye, and your heart swelled.

“You heard her,” Frankie said, “let her go.”

Kurt didn’t let go, but instead gripped harder. He’s completely lost it, you thought dimly, the expression Kurt wore sending true fear into your heart.

“And just who the fuck are you?” Kurt demanded.

“Let her go,” Frankie repeated. He didn’t raise his voice, but you could still hear the power it held. Kurt scoffed and spat at Frankie’s feet.

“This is an issue between me and my girlfriend, now get out of my apartment before I make you.”

Frankie didn’t reply, instead, he strode forward, pushed the sleeves of his flannel over shirt up as he did. Kurt didn’t wait. He pushed you hard against the kitchen bench, knocking the breath out of you and sending a shot of pain through your back, and moved to meet Frankie in the middle of the room.

It happened in an instant, blink and you miss it. Frankie swung, his fist connecting with Kurt’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Kurt went down like a lead balloon, howling as he collapsed on the floor. Frankie stood over him, breathing hard through his nose.

Manny ran forward to help you, holding you to him like the protective brother you had always wished for. It took you a few moments to realise you were shaking, out of fear or adrenaline you didn’t know.

“Come on,” he whispered soothingly, “we gotta get your stuff.” You nodded and let him help you up. You didn’t feel like you were connected with your body like you were watching the whole thing through a separate set of eyes. You saw Frankie standing over Kurt, arms crossed and boot pressing into Kurt’s chest.

Manny held your hand as you walked to your bedroom. You were distantly aware of the aching in your body, your back, and wrist especially. It was Manny who packed your bag for you, grabbing anything he thought you might need. The whole thing was done in less than ten minutes. Before you left you turned to face Kurt.

“I’ll be back sometime this week to get the rest of my stuff. Do not contact me.”

You felt your strength returning to you as you left with Frankie and Manny with you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

#the night shift #frankie x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales

80 notes · View notes

gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Missing Pieces

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Years pass since the battle and you’ve loved and lost. But your secret isn’t forever when you encounter the one thing you’ve had to hide from.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, mentions of heartbreak, fluff, requited love and kissing

A/N: This is for @iliveiloveiwrite 3.5k song challenge! This fic is based off the song Empty Space by James Arthur, and I’ve gotten a bit carried away with the length on this one. I haven’t written angst in a while, so I hope you enjoy it! Congratulations again, Millie!

You sensed a presence near you, one that lingered behind you ever since you left the shop. One that was only further confirmed when you risked a weary glance over your shoulder, eying a darkened figure slip out of sight just as quickly as you had spotted it. It’d been foolish to be out and about at such an hour by yourself. But you became accustomed to this very feeling over the last four years, it was the only choice you had.

Each time you passed under a street lamp it became a race to get under the next pool of light, as if the glowing sphere that was cast on the cement would make you invincible. You could only hope for that to be so. Because not many people cared for a walk on a chilly evening like this, much less in the drizzling December rain. It was a small town that was rather off the grid after all, you shouldn’t even really be out if you were being honest. But you couldn’t risk being seen apparating nor did you feel like it.

The footfalls behind you were distinct, setting themselves apart against the dull tap of the raindrops on the cracked pavement and you couldn’t deny your racing heart. But you pushed on with a vigor, wanting nothing more than to reach your front door and lock out the world behind you for the night. That’s how you ended every day and every single one to come.

Another hurried glance gave way to the same shadow, a growing frustration forming in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you were just seeing things. Maybe it was just a trick of the eye. The wizarding war had left you rather paranoid after all, and that was never something that’d completely go away. You tried your very hardest to convince yourself you were just tired. However, the soft metallic clinking of what had to be keys was certainly not in your imagination, you knew that for a fact.

You were quick to grip the wand tucked within the side of your boot, fed up as you turned on your heel. “Who are you?”

Your voice was firm as you held your wand tightly in front of you, knuckles white as your eyes squinted to better see in the darker alleyway. It probably wasn’t the best place to confront a stranger, but you had never been one to back down.

A tense silence settled around you, heart hammering away in your chest as your gaze bounced around the seemingly vacant street. It felt like seconds had turned to hours. You were moments away from casting a Lumos spell when the figure stepped out from the alley and revealed themselves. The breath you held now remained caught in your throat, mouth growing dry as your eyes widened a fraction. The gray eyes and platinum hair were unmistakable, the very person you longed to see but knew you couldn’t. He was now standing just a mere two feet away from you.

You were paralyzed in your own thoughts momentarily. Taking in the way his hair nearly tangled with his lashes, or the misty rain droplets that beaded across his pale skin. The forest green scarf that wrapped loosely around his neck, the one you got him for Christmas a number of years ago, now tattered and frayed. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, solemn and hopeful that it really was you. That, it was definitely that.

“Draco?” You whisper, still in disbelief. All the color drained from your cheeks and you nearly dropped your wand, a shockwave of something coursing through your body. You didn’t know if you wanted to run and never look back, or stay.

He swallowed thickly, nearly flinching at the sound of his name falling from your lips after having been deprived of it for so long. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching under the pressure of his own tears as he fought the urge to cage you in his arms and never let go. He couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t do that.

“I thought you were dead.”

The words were strained and low, spoken through gritted teeth as the pain of the last four years doused each one as they fell from quivering lips. It felt as though your heart dropped to your stomach, sitting there heavy as a boulder as tears sting in your eyes.

“How long have you been following me?” You snap defensively, tone ice cold as you try to avoid his statement, finding yourself failing miserably.

“That’s not important.”

It very much was important, though he wasn’t ready to inform you of those details. He’d first found you seven months ago. He was on a home call to the small town you currently resided in, the hospital deeming Draco to be the best fit to heal this patient in particular. Though he was regularly sought out because no other healer within the wizarding world was quite like him, no one held the astounding skills he possessed, and the consideration of that title was something he was rather proud of.

Regardless of the details or their importance, he found himself wandering through the town after he’d finished his job, feeling somewhat compelled to do so. It wasn’t a very interesting place, nothing to set it apart from the next town over or any that happened to be in the near vicinity. However, day in and day out everything had seemed mundane to him, everything blending together in a repetitive and bleak manner. His very world had seemed to have lost its spark. One thing and one thing only had put that miserable town on a pedestal to all the others. You.

He blinked a few times, feeling like his sleepless nights had conjured up the illusion that the very love of his life had been just on the other side of the street, tucked away in a cafe and seated in the picture window. He was more than tempted to cross the cracked street to get a clearer confirmation but the blaring sound of a taxi cab’s horn brought him back to reality. The car promptly swerved around him as he stepped back on the sidewalk, followed by the drivers string of curses out of the window. But he didn’t care, it was undeniably you.

First he was confused, then he was profoundly angry. So much so his skin flushed and burned and passers by had given him odd looks, making a point to avoid him on the narrow walkway. Had you really hated him so much to go so far as to create that kind of deception? One that impacted him so deeply it felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs for months on end thinking you were gone. He was beginning to think you never really loved him at all, that all the whispered promises of a better life together were tall tales spoken in vain.

He’d apparated to his home immediately, unable to bear another glance at you as nausea swirled in his stomach, abandoning the rest of his shift entirely. Resentment filled his empty heart and clouded his mind for days and weeks after that day. The empty space you left behind felt all the more daunting, your memories together no longer a bittersweet recollection as they replayed in his mind. Now they had been permanently tarnished, worsening the utter despair your absence had left him in. Dozens of letters were written in haste and either crumpled or ripped up, thrown across his room with the addition of a nearby object to shatter against the wall.

He hated you. But most of all he hated that he couldn’t move on from you, and yet still, he didn’t want to.

It took him three months to come down from his anger and try and reason with himself. There was no question you had been hit with a hex that day. He watched you writhe in agony at his very own fathers malicious and spiteful doing, those same hands holding him back from joining your side. It couldn’t have been anything but real, your screams permanently engrained in his memory as you left him in the ruins of the courtyard to face his fate alone.

The unanswered questions still fueled his frustration, however, but he found himself returning to that very town. It started as once every two weeks, and when almost four more months had passed he found himself going nearly every day. He wasn’t one to chase after the things that hurt him, but you seemed to be an exception, you always seemed to be an exception. He had been desperate to see you despite the jab he felt in his chest every single time he did.

Now it’s brought him here.

He remained stoic as he stood in front of you, the proximity making it seem as though he towered over your smaller frame. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, not in the slightest, but it made you take a step back nonetheless. He fought against the unbearable pressure seemingly crushing his chest, weaving its way around his heart and wrapping around his throat as he concealed the tears pressing just behind his eyes. The sight had you at a loss for words.

“Draco I—”

“How could you let me think you were gone for the last four years, Y/n?” His voice was raised by this point, his hands clenching at his sides before he released them, leaving small crescent-shaped indentations of his nails behind on his palms.

This was absolutely not the conversation you were looking to have at eleven at night, certainly not one to be had in the middle of the sidewalk. But Draco had seemed insistent that this was happening right then and there whether you had liked it or not. You were beginning to feel like you never wanted to have this talk, the panic bubbling in your stomach as you scrambled to give him an answer.

“It was for your own good,” You say quietly, throat beginning to ache as you suppressed your tears, your own frustration building. It was a feat that was easier said than done. A stray passerby had looked in your general direction to discern the source of the commotion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you dismiss, turning to leave.

His hand shot out and grabbed your own, the feeling nearly electric against your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily. “No, it’s not nothing. I have a right to know.”

His hand lingered in yours for a moment or two longer than it should have before it dropped back to his side, his gaze fixed on you as he waited for your explanation. Of the hundreds of ways you thought to broach this conversation in the many days and months apart, they all seemed to erase themselves from your memory now that the moment had arised. “Go on, tell me.”

You stood there hesitantly, afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he’d turn around and leave you behind much like you’d regrettably done to him all those years ago. Though at that point if he chose to do that, you knew it was something you deserved. You owed him the reason, you knew that. But it took great effort to choke out the words, scared to know what would come of the interchange.

“Your mother,” you timidly managed to get out, quiet voice trembling as you spoke your words carefully. “She saved me after I was hexed by your father. I wasn’t in the best shape but she saved me from dying that day.”

You studied his face, watching the crease between his dark brows deepen, bottom lip beginning to noticeably tremble.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” His tone was angry and insistent, jaw clenching as he tried to process what you had just said.

“She told me it’d be better this way. It’d only cause trouble if they knew what she had done for me because I very clearly wasn’t going to make it, it wouldn’t have made sense if suddenly I bounced back from it. Said we were better off apart because at least we’d both make it out of there alive and in one piece, you could have the life you always wanted for yourself.”

He scoffed in disbelief, looking away from you briefly as if to gather his thoughts that rapidly bombarded him. “You really believe that?” He asks quietly.

You shrug, a tear spilling over your reddened cheek. “Look at all the heartache it’s caused, Draco. What was I supposed to do? Should I have just shown up on your doorstep and said ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I know I’ve abandoned you for a few years and made you think I was dead and left you to be heartbroken, but I’m not really.’ Is that what you wanted?”

“It would have been a start.” A humorless laugh left his lips as he shook his head.

You scoff as you narrow your eyes up at him, drawing in a shaky breath. “Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.”

“Ridiculous? You basically ripped my heart right out of my chest and stomped all over it, and I’m being ridiculous?”

He bit his tongue after that, taking a deep breath to stave off the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to say something to further create anymore regrets.

“I didn’t ask for this!” You nearly shout, his expression softening. “I didn’t want this to be our fate, I fought it as best I could because I didn’t feel right living a life without you in it. It wasn’t ever my choice to make, Draco, and I think you know that.” You manage to say, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. “You deserve better than that.”

He looked at his feet, taking a moment to gather himself as he wiped his cheek with a trembling hand. He shook his head then, lifting his eyes to meet yours again with furrowed brows. He took that moment to take you in, to really look at you, something he’s wanted to do far more often than he ever cared to admit. Your eyes still sparkled the way they always do, and it wasn’t just from the tears that glossed over them. Or the way your cheeks and the very tip of your nose reddened in the chilled winter weather, accentuating every freckle that dotted along your skin. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, nor did he want to.

He took a step closer to replace the one you had taken to widen the gap between you, taking a deep breath as he tried to properly articulate his next words.

“If you think for a second that there was any moment in any day that I haven’t thought of you, you’re wrong. You’re etched in my bones, Y/n, there’s no moving on from you. Don’t you understand the only life I’ve ever wanted is with you?”

He was pleading by this point, voice louder than before as he tried to get you to understand his words were sincere.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve, the cold weather seeping through your jacket no longer there with the fire ablaze in your chest. “You can’t possibly mean that anymore, and there’s no way I’ll let you forgive me either,” you laugh bitterly, softly, and you shake your head again. “Not after that. That would be ridiculous and I won’t allow it.” You inhaled a quivering breath, meeting his eyes. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

He wouldn’t call it forgiveness, but the very person who left his heart in tatters was the same one who kept it beating. Seemingly the only one.

His breath caught in his throat momentarily as he listened to your words, voice wavering as he whispers, “I could never hate you.”

Those five words were enough to make your heart pound so hard it couldn’t possibly remain in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to run to his arms and pretend nothing ever happened, like you hadn’t kept yourself hidden from him for years while he suffered. But you couldn’t forget it. It wasn’t something you could brush under the rug because the guilt wasn’t quite something you could get over.

“I love you, Draco, very much. But I can’t. I can’t just let this go, and you shouldn’t want me to,” you start, tears falling freely and mixing with the rain. “For that reason, I can’t stay, I have to go.”

You could hardly get the words to fall from your mouth, and through your heartbeat pounding vigorously in your ears you weren’t entirely sure if they did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you knew he’d try and get you to stay and you didn’t know if you were strong enough to hear it. So you turned your back to the love of your life, rushing off as your face scrunched with unshed tears before disappearing around the next corner. He choked back a sob of his own as he followed after you, turning the corner and finding himself to be the only one left.

4 Months Later

Four months. It had been four months since the night that remained burned in your memory, replaying the interchange word for word every time you closed your eyes. For having gone years without seeing him you thought this would be a simple task to do it again. To rid yourself of the pain that came with loving Draco Malfoy. But really this seemed to be the hardest part of it all, the last four years had paled in comparison to this.

The hole in your chest, the one you’d created twice over was widening with each passing day. You saw him in every thing you did, perhaps you really did see him. Flashes of memories would flood your mind and taunt you. Memories of running through the gardens of the Manor like kids every time you looked at the flowers surrounding your home. Memories of nights in the astronomy tower when the moonlight trickled in your window, curtains promptly being closed. Or the pang in your chest when your fingers brushed over the fabric of his sweater that hung in the very back of your closet. The intense, all-consuming heartache was something you’d never wish on your worst enemy. To long so deeply for someone just might be the worst kind of pain.

Four more months of living in the same looping regret, guilt tightly lacing itself around your heart and constricting you more with every day that goes by. You wondered where you might currently be if you hadn’t been so stubborn, if you hadn’t sabotaged the very thing that made you feel the most alive. Or if you had defied Narcissa’s wishes and ran away with him like you always wanted.

The thought of what should have and could have been tore you up the more you paid them mind. It could have been the two of you in that house, decorated with shared books and memorabilia. You could be waking up together for the rest of your life, rather than occupying the mattress alone. But any scenario that crossed your mind always seemed like it was far out of the realm of possibility, and you were at fault for it. So, you continued on with your everyday life.

You walked up the mossy cobblestone walkway to your home with a huff, groceries tucked in the crook of your arm. You were too tired to apparate, having lacked the energy to do so long before that moment. It was proving to be a challenging task just to find the right key one-handedly, having dropped them completely when you looked up. The metal clang sounded as they hit the ground, the paper bag you held crinkling under your tightened grip, but you soon settled a bit as you sighed. You weren’t sure if you could do this again.

The same blonde that had haunted your every day stood just under your covered porch, sifting through the envelopes that carried his name across the front of each and every one.

“I see my letters have reached you,” He says upon seeing you, quiet as he takes the time to look over each one, not even having to glance inside them to know what was thoughtfully written.

You were quiet, embarrassed that he was now aware of your ignorance to them as they accumulated into a pile just outside your door. It hadn’t made matters any better. “I’ve read some.”

It was true, you had plucked a few from the growing pile and read through them, even reread multiple times. But it quickly became unbearably painful to read his words, the metaphorical blade in your heart twisting with every line your eyes skimmed across. So you let them gather—one turning to two, two turning to five, five turning to ten. They sat, weathered by the outside elements with hopes to be opened and read as intended.

You wanted to write back. You wanted desperately to fill pages detailing how much you had missed him dearly, how fully you loved him. You wanted to pour your very heart onto every piece of letterhead you could find in your house and send it to him, he deserved to know that much, he deserved much more than what you gave. Yet you still wanted to be selfish and have him all to yourself.

He laughed softly, holding no humor as he set them down carefully in a much neater pile on the old rocking chair behind him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Why didn’t you write back?” His tone was curious rather than angry, though disappointment was still very much there.

You pushed back your truthful reasoning in favor of a simple answer. “I didn’t feel it was appropriate for me to get your hopes up.”

His brows furrowed as a bittersweet smile formed on his lips, one that hadn’t fully reached his tired eyes.

“Love, I’m afraid that’s already happened the moment I saw you again.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at the nickname, one you certainly didn’t deserve to be referred to as. It took everything in you not to crumble, not to burst into tears.

“Why are you here, Draco?” You ask, desperately wanting to change the subject to keep yourself from lingering on the way he looked at you, gingerly and full of longing.

He shifted on his feet, a brief silence settling between the two of you as he looked at his surroundings. The gray stone walls of the medium-sized cottage, the bursts of color dotting the perimeter from the blooming flowers planted in unkempt flowerbeds, the worn paint on the porch from repeated foot traffic; it was clear to see the path you walked in on a daily basis.

“Has my mother picked this place out for you?” He asks softly, seemingly avoiding your question as he lightly ran his fingertips over the dark green railing. He feels he’s certain he already knows that answer. “It’s quite beautiful.”

You sigh, cheeks burning a rosy pink when he caught your gaze again. “Draco, what are you doing here?” You repeat.

Once again he’s quiet, mulling things over as he carefully thinks about his next words. While waiting, you find yourself trying not to focus on the way the spring breeze blows his hair out of his face, or the way the tip of his nose reddened in the brisk weather. None of those details should have been important but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, not really.

“I suppose I wanted to see you.”

The hesitation in his quiet admission was indicative that there was more to it than he’d let on. And once again it felt as though your heart had been somersaulting in your chest, but you fought the warmth that blossomed in waves within your body at the short statement.

“I don’t believe that’s a very good idea for either of us.” Your words were soft and you hadn’t really believed them, not as much as you should have, but it felt like something you were supposed to say.

You could tell his anger had been rising, could tell by the way he turned his back to you and clutched the wooden railing, gathering himself. You could see the deep breaths he’d been taking, slow and steady as his knuckles turned an ivory white. Your stubbornness had always been a quality he had loved about you, but now that very trait was the thing that’s been ripping him apart.

“And just why is that, Y/n?” His frustration was beginning to become more and more apparent as he turned to face you again, cheeks flushed a pale scarlet. He threw his hands in the air to accompany his words, letting them fall back to his sides. He took another deep breath to control his emotions. “Why?”

“What do you want me to say, Draco?” You we’re defeated by this point, the emotional turmoil having stripped you of the light you once held. This very love had completed you while being your downfall all the same. You felt like you wanted to run in this very moment, as far as possible, but your feet remained planted in place just outside your front door.

He looked at you with such intensity, utterly spellbound by you, that you had to look away from him for a moment, his gaze never faltering no matter how many tears had blurred his vision. His nostrils flare as his eyes continue to gloss over.

“I want you to tell me you love me,” He starts, voice wavering though he kept going despite it. “I want you to tell me you won’t leave. Not again. I have tried and tried to rid myself of you and everything that came with loving you, to fill the gaps you left in my life but there’s far too many. I’m afraid nobody will ever hold a candle to you. So please, I want you to tell me you’ll stop running and stay with me.”

You blinked away your tears as you swallowed thickly, voice coming out in a soft whisper. “Draco, please,” you plead, “I—”

He held up his hand, silently asking to continue as he stepped closer to you cautiously, scared that if he moved too quickly you’d slip away again.

“I didn’t have a choice my entire life, and going another minute without you isn’t a choice either, not really,” he chuckles through tears, his lip trembling and he brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m so tired of holding grudges. And you can try and keep yourself from me all you want, but I need you with me. I don’t know who I am without you.”

You stood there, clinging to every single word that fell from his lips as you looked up at him. Every passing second was detrimental to the wall you tried to build around yourself, diminishing piece by piece. Your heart pounded in your chest, so much so you thought it might burst then and there. You turned away from him to catch your breath, missing the way his face scrunched in a quiet sob he’d tried to keep you from bearing witness to. But you hadn’t missed the sniffles sounding just paces behind you, and it was something you knew you never wanted to hear again.

You weighed out all your options, rapidly finding yourself unable to find a reason to walk away from this, a logical reason, other than yourself and your inability to let this go. You were tired of fighting, and you were tired of living without the one person you felt you were meant to love. It was useless to do such a thing anymore because no matter how hard you could try to find love in someone else, it always circles back to him.

Against all self doubt and the crushing guilt that told you to let him go and close that chapter, you spun on your heel to find him staring as his breath caught in his throat. You crossed the porch with certainty, leaning up on your toes, fists gripping his coat tightly as you kissed him fiercely. He was knocked back a step or two but his arms were around you in an instant, pressing you as close as he could.

Something akin to electricity ignited across every inch of your skin, and you ignored the nagging thoughts that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this right now. That maybe it was too soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about technicalities and ‘maybe’s’. You parted and he felt it was all too brief as he chased after your lips, but you hadn’t strayed far as you released his jacket, smoothing the crinkled material. You looked up at him, his breath fanning across your face. These quiet, fleeting moments felt like they stretched into hours as you allowed yourself to bask in the moment you never thought you’d experience again.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he laughed softly in relief as a tear slips down his cheek, then another, your lips finding his again in a much softer kiss.

He still held you tightly, fingers splayed across your cheek as if to have confirmation that this was real, that it was really happening. Still to make sure you wouldn’t take off, that you were real.

It was. And he was never losing you again.

—

#iliveiloveiwrite3.5k #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff

281 notes · View notes

bts5sosempire · 2 years

Text

as yours (vii); sugar & spice

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2,703

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, comedy(?), a hint of violence, college au, mention of gang fighting/ involvement, a sprinkle of angst (future updates), cursing and swearing, SIMPKUNA

𝐚/𝐧: this took me forever istg, almost got the semi-writers block. we getting to the good parts of the story here *evil smile* let’s see what happens next!

chapter 6 ✿ chapter 8

You felt that the bathroom was starting to be some meet-up point or something. In front of you was a woman with white shoulder-length hair, with a strip of red pink going across it. They somewhat resembles a koi fish, in a way. They also had dark pink eyes and a blank expression; you couldn't make out if they were a man or woman by their androgynous appearance and body shape. But they sure do wear some expensive clothing brands close to more than your father's yearly salary.

"I am Uraume," they introduce themselves to you with a monotone voice; they dig inside their expensive coat pocket without taking their eyes off you. You eye Uraume suspiciously. It hasn't even been a week since you were cornered not too long ago by Sukuna's Fanclub, and you shouldn't expect less if they were with the girls too. Like Uraume read your mind, they tried to assure you, "If you think I was like those girls the other day, I'm not. They're pathetic." They handed you a yellow paper that was folded neatly. "I was ordered to deliver this to you; please do not disappoint the sender."

Looking at the paper, then at them, you look at the article again before taking it off their hand slowly and then with a quick swipe. Uraume then left you alone in the bathroom to ponder as they didn't bid you anything else.

Examining the yellow paper, you turn it around before opening it. You wonder who it was from. What you see inside almost made you want to crumple it immediately. Sukuna had scribbled his name and number on it along with a message, but what caught you was what was written at the bottom corner of the paper.

["Don't stand me up either, or I'll come to you if you don't come on time."]

'Some nerve he has!' You fume out before shoving the paper in the back of your pants pocket.

Sukuna waited patiently against his costume-made car. He was playing with a lighter, opening the lid and closing it as the sound of metal clinging against each other made a nice ring. There were barely any people around since there were not that many people who occupied the street or his chosen area. Sukuna's attention pitched up when he saw a taxi pulled near the meeting point. He could see you in the back seat, chatting with the fare driver and paying them.

"Thank you, have a nice evening!" Closing the car door, you walk towards Sukuna. Sukuna let out a low whistle at what you're wearing before putting the lighter back in his pants pocket. When you're near enough in front of him, he has a smile of fondness and adoration floating in his eyes. "What's with that stupid look?"

Sukuna: "Why? I can't admire my woman?"

You: "We're not dating."

Sukuna: "Yet."

You roll your eyes dramatically, "What are we doing here in a rich bourgeoisie area?" Crossing your arms together, you look up at Sukuna, who pushes himself off his car and steps closer to you; he uses a finger to wipe away a piece of hair behind your ear. And you, slap his hand away.

"Would you believe me if I said I live somewhere around here?" Sukuna motion a hand behind you, and you look around all these modern houses that have large yards, even double garages. Not to mention two stories.

You: "No, not really."

Sukuna: "Look at me; I'm the real deal."

You: "Haha."

Sukuna: "What do you say we get out of here?"

The drive was quiet; the soft scent of cedar filled the car. You were focused on the view as the car drive-by the ocean across the bridge. There were ferry ships with glowing lights and people lounging/ mingling together.

Sukuna side-eyes you out of his peripheral view, seeing you being enchanted by city lights in the distance or anything that glitters across the night sky; he felt the familiar thumping of his heartbeat that races for you and your presence.

"We're here," Sukuna announces, stopping his car in a parking lot. Up in front of you was a fair/ carnival. Colorful lights of any shades and hue decorate the expansion landscape. You were in awe; it's been a few years since you had last visited any main fun attraction.

Sukuna saw how the very sight once again enraptured your eyes. Excitement danced in your eyes, rambunctious energy exuded from your persona, and you could barely contain it. But yet, you still maintain that sassy attitude, "You're trying to get me to date you faster by taking me to these events?"

"If it helps, then yes." Sukuna took off his seatbelt; he leaned over the car and got close to you like he always does. He pulls a small gift bag and hands it to you. "For you."

Reluctantly taking the bag from his hand, you peer at what's inside by removing all the colored tissues to the side and see a gift. "What's this now?" It was a red velvet box with gold lining across the case, making sigils and symbols. You opened it, and on the inside was a gemstone of your birth month with a pair of matching earrings. The jewelry shimmers under the dreary light brilliantly before you close the case and set it back inside the bag. You had to admit; that even if it was in the form of simplistic, it's still pretty enough for everyday wear. "This is nice, but it's too much for me."

Sukuna: "I had it made for you."

You: "Dude, we aren't even dating."

Sukuna: "And as I said before, yet."

"You're so insufferable," you push him aside and set the gift bag back into the backseat. Unbuckling the seatbelt, you got out of the car. Walking ahead of Sukuna, he follows after you. Waiting in line, he was right behind you, and Sukuna's body heat almost buried you when a few people stepped back and were close to hitting you with an arm swing in the air. He had an arm wrapped around your waist and one to shield your head.

"Sorry!" One of them apologize.

"Watch what you're doing next time," Sukuna warned them, eyes drooping low in the process and voice suddenly cold. The one apologizes for sweat-drop at Sukuna's stare when a shiver of danger skittles down their backbone. Suddenly they and their friends were far ahead all of a sudden.

You ignored what Sukuna had said to them, but your mind went blank when you landed in his arms. His thumping heart and the sound of his heated breath all enter your ears. It's all so clear that when Sukuna tries to get your attention, you owlishly blink back to reality. A little bit dazed.

"Am I that cuddly that you didn't want to let go?" Sukuna teases out. Peering down at you, a blush dusted across your cheeks that you pulled away in embarrassment. A sensation of chill rushed through the gap and your warm skin.

"Don't get too happy, Bakakuna." Creating a space that two people could fill, all Sukuna has to do is close it in one step. He set a chin on your shoulder, nose tickling your cheek when he nudged it close, and you shrugged his face away in annoyance by leveraging your shoulder out of the way.

Once you got inside, Sukuna paid for the entrance price and bought a hefty amount of tickets to play for each game. And whatever your eyes linger on or slightly glance at, he got it all. You never took him as a person who got competitive or enjoyed giving things out; as long as his money covers it, he will get it. Sukuna had rented out a few lockers to put all the winning prizes that he got for you to put in.

The time went eventful, with him paying for all your needs and wants. You're just thinking about how much you'll owe him once the night ends. A part of you somehow feels about what he wants when it's over.

Through the sea of people, you spot a familiar head of pink salmon hair and a pretty woman. You thought that seeing Yuji would make your heart hurt, but seeing him now doesn't hurt as much as it was before. But after helping Yuji a few times, contact had been almost nonexistent besides the little small talks. Sukuna noticed your precipitous mute and watched where your eyes lingered, he found where your attention went, and a sense of jealousy eased its way in, such an unnecessary feeling he was letting it grow. But a part of him wanted to prove that he's a much better man than Yuji, despite not knowing what you're going through at the current moment.

Sukuna: "Let's go say hi to them."

You: "Wait, what?"

Sukuna dragged you by the wrist, which you didn't opposed. A resolute look was etched into his face, catching your observation. Your focus went to his hand, where his thumb caressed your wrist with benevolent affection. Sukuna thought you would tear your wrist away in detest like you always do when it slipped away, but it slid to the soft touch of your palm. A rush of adrenaline/ dopamine filled his heart and head, the way your finger slithers into his when it gives a few reassuring squeezes to make it grasp and tight. He does it right back, but he has to admit, you almost threw him off track even though he didn't anticipate what you said next.

"Sorry, a force of habit," you told him, "my mom almost lost me once as a kid during a shopping outing, so she made me hold her hand like this."

Sukuna: "All the better, the closer, the better."

You: "You know what? I change my mind."

Sukuna: "Oh? So you did want to hold my hand?"

You: "In your dreams! And I said it's a force of habit!"

Sukuna: "Nice dream indeed; the chances of holding your hands are slims to none."

With Yuji and Shimei getting closer and closer, Sukuna greeted, putting his charming semblance on. "Hello there." He stops in front of them with you right beside him, still holding his hand. Shimei notices the closeness, and a spike of envy strikes her heart, but she masks it with a shy smile. Instead, she even got closer to Yuji.

"What a surprise to see you both here?" Shimei pretends to be joyful. Sukuna's awareness of her sudden change in mood made him feel elated, so he pulled you even closer, to which you didn't object as you had no clue what was going on. "Yuji told me a lot about you." Shimei extends a hand for you to shake, and you sheepishly shake her hand back, in awe of her beauty.

No wonder Yuji likes her.

"Are you dating my brother (Name)?" Yuji asked, which surprised you as you were going to answer, but he rambles on excitedly, "You know I'm happy for you since he-"

"Yuji," Sukuna cuts him off with an icy glare and a tone notifying his younger twin to shut up. Yuji nervously looked away, almost slipping up, and whistled away while scratching the back of his head like he didn't do anything wrong. You wonder why he would do that. "(Name) and I are nothing like that, but we're close to it."

That caught your ears, and you slapped your free hand to his chest. Sukuna puts a hand over the spot you hit and pretends to be in pain when you shout in immediate denial, "No way in Hell!"

"Little Spitfire," Sukuna hums out the nickname, "holding hands like lovers say something else otherwise." This time you're tugging your hand away, and Sukuna finally got some death grip of a boa. He tuts and clicks his tongue away when he tries to calm you down from fighting against him.

Yuji and Shimei were like the third wheel, seeing something they're not supposed to. It's like you and Sukuna were an old married couple that quarreled daily but still managed to fit into each other perfectly. Shimei's bubbling bitterness almost spilled out, but she held herself back. She reminded herself not to overdo it when that same smile she wore resurfaced. "It was nice meeting you both," Shimei then tugs on Yuji's arm, wanting to leave immediately. "But Yuji and I need to continue our date." Hauling onto Yuji again, they both disappear into the multitude of crowds.

Sukuna had left you alone for a bathroom break when you were on your phone with your friend group chat, but three pairs of shoes entered your vision with a cane. Looking up from the glowing screen, a shift of intolerable feeling seizes you. "Can I help you guys?" They all wore baggy clothes, mainly grey and black, and tattoos crawling all over their body; not even their face was saved. But a sizeable noticeable red and black color of a Kingsnake snake tattoo was scribbled on the back of their left palm.

"You're (Name), right? The name is Majima." The middle one asked; he leaned down to your level, head cocking left and right, scrutinizing your appearances, "You're even cuter upfront and better than the photos." As he was about to cup your chin, you swat his eager hand away in disdain. Majima looks at his hand, not believing that you dared to do that, before switching his attention back at you. His curiosity grew.

"Please leave me alone," you inform them; the ever-growing feeling of discomfort that is spreading is hammering your flight or fight response. The three men were much more burly than you in size and height; if you were going to pick a fight, maybe taking one down is only your best shot.

"I think we should get to know each other better. Let's get out of here." He cooed at you, tried to reach for your chin again, and got the same response.

"What do you freaks thinks you're doing?" Sukuna showed up in time, anger glowering off of him slowly. You never felt a sweet relief from seeing Sukuna before.

The guy on the left tapped Majima on the forearm to grab his attention. Majima turns his head to see Sukuna, and his smile widens. "Nothing, my bad. You're with her?" Majima's back was from you, and he held his arm up in surrender, "I thought this pretty lady was alone. Didn't know she was here with a date."

You watch Majima limp away with his crew, and when he nears Sukuna, he bumps their shoulder with a fake apology. You saw the alter of Sukuna's face change but couldn't make it out what Majima had said to make him look so angry. This is the first time that you saw Sukuna losing his cool. You weren't sure if that indicated a dark road because of the gut feeling that this wasn't the first time Sukuna had met them.

"Sorry, are you okay?" Sukuna dissipates the rage once he nears you.

You: "Who are they?"

Sukuna: "Not important."

You didn't want to push the question further, seeing how he locks his jaws at the mention of them. "Let's go; fun is over." Sukuna, hold your hand and gives you a firm tug to follow him. One thing about today for Sukuna is that if Majima is here today, then it's something he's after, and he's not taking chances with you as his priority.

Majima hides in the shadow, eyes glinting at the sight of you and Sukuna leaving, but his eyes linger the most on the way the both of your and Sukuna's hands interlace together. Like a red string of fate that he couldn't wait to cut. "Sukuna, just you wait; I will take what you value the most." Majima's eyes veer to his leg. The very leg that Sukuna had broke that night in the warehouse caused him to be the disabled man who is now relying on a came for the rest of his life.

taglist: @fxckingsimp @valoruzky @2guysonascooter @zairuko @mistalli @gourcuffiana @agentdedf1sh @monotoneclown @certaininternetkryptonite @soupasoup @http-problemchild @acehyacinth @cloudsinthecosmos

248 notes · View notes