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dira333 · 4 months

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Soul-Food - Osamu x Reader

Enemies to lovers - Requested by @notsochillnerd - with Atsumu as a terrible wingman who just wanted to check out his brothers' nemesis...

There is only one thing more annoying than Miya Osamu with his cooking talent, excellent marks, and unfairly good looks: his twin brother Atsumu.

“No.” You say again, arms filled with produce. He’s in your way and he’s not even sorry about it.

“Come oooon!” He whines, draping himself over the railing of the stairs as if this is a photoshoot for some perfume. “I’m so hungry! And Osamu won’t cook for me! I’ll even pay you!”

“Wow, now I want to do it even less, knowing you might not have paid me in the first place.” You snark, patience wearing thin.

“Now get out of my way, I need to get to my room.”

“To do what?” He steps to the side, but his face remains close to yours. You’re not the fastest as it is, even less when carrying that many vegetables.

“I need to cook.”

“Perfect.” His grin is so wide, it could split his face. “You cook, I’ll eat.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

You hesitate, if only for a second. But Atsumu is like a shark and that was the single drop of blood that he needed.

Half an hour later he’s sitting at the little table in your apartment.

Your kitchen isn’t spacious, but equipped with everything you could possibly need - there’s a reason this school costs an arm and a leg each year. And Miya Osamu got the scholarship instead of you.

You wouldn’t have any problem with it if not for your father breathing down your neck. He’s got the money to send you here twice if he wanted to, but in his twisted mind, a 100% is barely a passing grade and you should have been able to win the scholarship, monetary status be damned.

“What are you making?” Atsumu asks from behind you.

“Udon.”

“Why is it black?”

“I’m using Sepia.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.” You snap back, hoping against hope that he will fall quiet. He doesn’t.

You’ve spent almost a year in a class with Osamu.

He might not always get a better mark than you, but he quickly figured out how much you hated it when he did. There’s nothing worse than someone else gloating over your loss.

The teachers love him and tolerate you.

So far they’ve been kind enough not to put the two of you into a group project, or maybe they just played it safe. The sheer bloodlust you feel when he grins in your direction must have tipped them off.

But this year is going to end soon and your teachers expect you to come up with a dish. Your own creation, not unlike the dish you had to make for your entry exam. This time, however, it’s supposed to showcase what you want to do, going forward.

You can’t bring the same thing you made for your entry exam, even though it was perfect and a delight - you made it roughly one hundred times before.

Your father has always been a fan of the Kaiseki Ryori and while you had loved taking part in the Haute Cuisine as a child, feeling grown up as you nibbled on tiny bites of expensive food, it has lost its appeal on you.

After all, there’s a set number of times you can eat a meal, even Chawanmushi, before you get sick of it.

“Hello? Are you still listening?” Nuisance number 2 asks behind you and you flinch, staring down at the dough that you kneaded for too long.

“What’s Osamu doing for his exam?” You ask, feeling a little guilty about your attempt at spying.

“Why do you want to know?”

Nevermind. Now you only feel annoyed.

“Just because. Maybe I want to talk about something other than you.”

You move to throw the dough out, only to be stopped by Atsumu’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

“I messed it up. It’s not going to taste good.”

“So what? I’m hungry.”

“You want to eat gross noodles?” You eye him warily, but he shrugs with a grin.

“It’s definitely going to be better than what I’d produce myself. But since I hate cooking, I’d probably just get takeout pizza anyway.”

“Aren’t you an athlete?”

“Yeah?”

“And they let you eat Pizza?”

“They don’t know. Or they don’t care. Whatever you like better. I mean, they gave me a list of stuff I should keep away from but that’s like, all the food I usually consume.”

“Here.” You pull out a pen and paper. “Write down what you eat in a day. Snacks included. And drinks.”

“Why?”

“If I have to endure your chatting, you might as well get something out of this. Now, shoo!”

You turn, lid of your composter already open when his voice reaches you.

“DON’T THROW AWAY THE DOUGH!”

“Fine!” You snap. “You can eat your disgusting noodles!”

They don’t taste that awful in the end, not with your delicate sauce with mussels and steamed broccoli that turned out so good Atsumu licks his plate clean.

You’d been part of the track club in Middle School, switched to Volleyball in High School because they had fewer practice hours per week. Your marks had always been more important than any side activities, your future as a part of Haute Cuisine decided before you could walk. But it had been fun, especially when Coach gathered you after practice to talk about the importance of self-care. How certain foods could make or break you. How important salt and minerals were for your body, how food was more than calories, protein, carbs, and fat.

You’re not even a little bit rusty when you scribble down a meal plan for him. You keep it easy and as cheap as possible, light on the cooking because you figured he must be the opposite of his twin in the kitchen if he came begging for food… You’re not sure if you’re buying his excuse of a brotherly fight, but you’re not ashamed to say that you didn’t mind him praising your food over Osamu’s. Suck that, Miya!

Meanwhile, Atsumu’s brows are pulled so high, they’re hiding behind his bangs.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Your new meal plan. You follow that, you’ll increase your stamina.”

“But it’s so much work.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Whatever.” You get up, throw the pen down at the table. Your patience has never been the best anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He follows you to the sink but not to help with the dishes.

“You could cook for me.” He offers it like it’s a great deal. You snort.

“I bet there’s something you want. Something I could do for you…” He wiggles his brows now, looks disgustingly like Osamu when he got a better mark then you. And that kickstarts your brain.

“I want Osamu… I mean the recipe…You know, what Osamu made to get the scholarship. If you can get me that dish of him to try, I’ll cook for you.”

Atsumu grins in a way that doesn’t feel good but he nods.

“Alright, it’s a deal. You’ll cook for me and I get you the dish.” He holds out his hand to sign the deal but you’ve been the daughter of a cutthroat banker for too long to fall for that.

“I’ll cook for a week.” You tell him firmly and watch with a sick satisfaction as his face contorts. He looks awful when he’s pissed and there are definitely not enough moments of the Miya twins looking awful.

“Two weeks.

“One week, only dinner.”

“One week, lunch, dinner and snacks.”

“Are you insane?”

“Do you want Osamu’s food?”

There’s a moment of Silence, and you’re eyeing each other, calculating who’s bluffing and who’s not.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because you feel it in your bones that trying that damned dish will get you a step closer to figuring out what you need to present for your Final.

You feel like a drug addict, going down the deep end, when Atsumu appears at your door one week later, carrying a Bento-Box wrapped in the cutest fabric you have ever seen.

“Are those little foxes?” You ask, eyeing the reddish-tinted animals on the grey fabric.

“What if ?” He asks back, nose up in the air.

“Jeez, I was just curious.” You snap back and muster him. He doesn’t look malnourished.

“What did you eat this week?”

“Why do you ask?” He sets the Bento-Box on your table and saunters into your kitchen, peering into the still empty pots and pans.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“Okay, so I told Samu that you cooked for me.” He throws his hands up in the air like you’re the one making a big fuss about things. “Told him it was fingerlickin’ good. Got him all angry and puffy.”

You are not ashamed to say that comment lifts you off your feet just a little bit. Hah!

“So?” You ask cooly, untying the Furoshiki with eager fingers.

“So he insisted that he would cook for me. Everything went according to plan, I pretended it wasn’t as good as your food until I asked for the dish he made for his entry exams.”

“Did you know what it was?” You ask as you lift the lid of the box.

“Maybe.” He says and you can hear in his voice that he knew. He probably didn’t tell you just to experience this.

“He made Onigiri?” You ask, your voice a little shrill.

You had made Chawanmushi, a dish literally to die for, practiced one hundred times, and he beat you with Onigiri?

“Try it.” He reaches for one of the Onigiri in the box and you slap his hand away.

“Mine!” You hiss angrily and his grin is almost feral.

“I’ll take a walk around the block then.” He jokes, moving toward the door. “Leave you alone with it.”

“Leave.” You wave him off. “I’ll make dinner later.”

“Half an hour.”

“Leave!” You huff and the door clicks shut behind him.

You bite into the first Onigiri and time stops for a second.

The rice is cooked to perfection, but you know the different varieties well. He must have splurged on this kind, bought from a boutique farmer of some sorts.

It’s filled with tuna and spring onion, but it tastes different then all the Tuna Onigiri you’ve had before. You write down all the different things you can taste, compare them to the knowledge you have but still - did he use a spice you don’t know? A combination you’re not familiar with?

The taste lingers, but you cannot put your finger on it. You feel a little weepy too, as if you had just watched your favorite movie from when you were a kid. You sniff and take the other Onigiri, bite into almost cautiously. It’s Tenmusu, your favorite kind of Onigiri.

This time, literal tears run down your cheeks. The shrimp is crisp, the sweet sauce calling you back to childhood, reminding you of the few free afternoons you got to spend with your mother, just the two of you, no work allowed. You only remember to write down the taste and ingredients when the last bite has disappeared and your hands leave the paper stained.

Well… You’re no closer to figuring out what to make for your finals, but you might be getting your period soon. Why else would you be moved to tears by food?

“Onigiri, huh?” You ask Osamu after class the next day. You can’t help yourself.

He looks up from his phone, surprise on his face. It’s ridiculous how good that makes him look.

“What about it?”

“I heard you made Onigiri for your Entry Exam.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiles, the kind of smile that makes you want to slap it off his face. “Tsumu told me he made you try it.”

You can feel your face go slack. WHAT?

“What did you think?” Osamu asks, way too confident for your taste. “Did you like them?”

You can’t decide between a huff and a snort and the sound that does come out reminds you more of a dying walruss.

“They were probably pitying you.” You point out, nose in the air. “I showed up with Kaiseki Ryori. I made Chawanmushi.”

“Ah.” Osamu sounds like he’s not sure what that is. But you’ve gone over that in class, he’s just messing with you.

“Well, when do I get to try it?”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s only fair, right? After you tried mine.”

You swallow thickly, look around for some help, but you’re the only one’s still in the hallway.

“Fine.” You huff eventually, because he does have a point. “As long as I don’t have to eat it.”

His brows furrow and your mind unhelpfully supplies you with the information that his eyes are a different shade than Atsumu’s. Osamu’s eyes are almost as grey as his hair, reminding you of the sky outside.

His mouth moves and you blink, try to focus on his voice, but fail. Your collar feels too tight around your neck and you pull at it, too aware of Osamu’s eyes that flicker to your neck and stay there. God, what’s going on?”

“What did you say?” You ask in the most snooty voice you can manage. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Why do you cook something you don’t like?” He asks. “Don’t you enjoy cooking?”

Something snaps inside you like a rubberband that has been pulled taut for too long.

“Why do you care?” You sniff and he rolls his eyes.

“I was just asking.”

“Sure you were. But you’re psychological warfare doesn’t work on me! You can flutter your long eyelashes at someone else!”

Osamu laughs. “I wasn’t-”

“Neither was I. Well, are you coming or not?”

“Where?”

“You wanted to try my Chawanmushi!”

“Gesundheit.” You turn, not the least bit surprised to see Atsumu standing there. It’s lunchtime for him, he’s coming to collect his goods. “Or was that a codeword for something naughty?”

“Oh god, you’re awful.”

You know that the Chawanmushi has turned out as perfect as all the other times. You can tell by sight and smell, but you cannot bring yourself to try it.

The thought of it has you swallow back bile but you serve it to the brothers with the biggest smile you can manage.

“Here.” You present it in tiny, elegant bowls.

“Are you in pain?” Osamu asks and you drop the smile.

“Go f-”

“Why is it so tiny?” Atsumu asks, eyeing the bowl skeptically. “I’m hungry.”

“I made you Curry.” You tell him off. “This is just a tasting. You can’t eat full bowls with Kaiseki Ryori, you’d never manage that amount of food.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Atsumu digs in, spoon clinking loudly against the bowl to the point you fear for its life.

He’s done with it before Osamu has even tasted his, still smelling the dish carefully, pulling the spoon through as if to check for clumps.

“It was fine.” Atsumu gives his mark as one would comment on an order of KFC. “Now, the Curry?”

You huff but don’t get up, eyes still trained on Osamu. Then, finally, he brings the spoon to his mouth. If you’re focusing a little too much on his full lips, that’s entirely because he’s the world's slowest eater at the moment and nothing else.

His face remains passive.

Cold sweat runs down your back as he slowly but surely finishes the dish and nods appraisingly.

“It was good.” Osamu says calmly. “The Curry?”

Breathing is a little hard at the moment, but you manage to get up, collect the bowls - you don’t throw them at the floor in a fit of rage and you’re very proud of yourself for that - and get them safely to the kitchen sink.

Your hands shake a little as you serve the Curry in three different plates, but if the boys notice, they don’t comment on it.

“I hope you like it.” Your voice is back to normal, your wounded heart tucked safely back into your chest. “It’s packed with protein and healthy vegetables to make sure you have all the necessary nutrients. You could eat this every day and wouldn’t have to worry about losing out on anything.”

Atsumu digs in without another word. He beams around the spoon, curses loudly.

“This is so good.” He says, mouth full.

“Pig.” Osamu announces next to him, puts the first spoon into his mouth and-

You can see it, in the widening of his eyes and the light blush that appears on the height of his unfairly sharp cheekbones. He likes it. He likes it very much.

You should probably feel a bit more upset about the fact that they insult your Chawanmushi but get high on your Curry, but then again, it just feels good to watch Osamu have the same reaction to your Curry that you had with his Onigiri.

“You should make this for the Exam.” Osamu points out in between a groan and another spoonful of Curry. “It’s amazing.”

“No!” Atsumu shakes his head, still speaks with his mouth full. “The Udon you made yesterday. That was crazy good.”

“What Udon?” Osamu’s voice has a tint to it you cannot place. Does he know about the Onigiri you tried but not about the deal itself? Is he jealous he didn’t get to try them?

“Okay, so she makes the Noodles herself, right? This time without the freaky black stuff-”

“Sepia,” you throw in but he ignores you, “But she used pork belly for the sauce and something creamy and mushrooms, I think-”

“Shiitake.”

“And I tell you, Samu, it was so so good! Like, it reminded me of Mom making that stew, you know? When Dad had that big sale thing and we got to celebrate it?”

Osamu’s eyes light up in a way that has you looking down at your food, heart thrumming in your chest like a hummingbird on speed.

“Can you-” He hesitates for a second. “Can you make me that?”

“I could.” You point out, not at all feeling the upper hand. You feel nervous instead as if this is a test or something worse. You swallow thickly, try to think of something to wager against it. Your mind is unhelpful at best, offering the possibility of a date - as if!

“If I get your recipe. For the Onigiri.”

Osamu’s mouth clicks shut. He blinks, clearly surprised. Then he grins, the kind of grin that tells you this isn’t going to work in your favor, at all.

“Sure. So, Udon tomorrow?”

“I was going to make Katsudon tomorrow.” You point out, pissed that he’s overthrowing your meal plan. Atsumu looks like he’s gotten a glimpse of heaven.

“Really?”

You hate to think about it, but the week is nearing its end and Osamu feels less like the devil and more like the dangerously cute boy from your class now. The dangerously cute boy who’s going to get a better mark than you, take the promised internship at one of Japan's leading five-star restaurants and laugh in your face if you don’t shape up right now.

Your father is as helpful as ever.

He’s currently obsessed with the Yakimono part of Kaiseki Ryori, taking you out to dinner each weekend only to try new variants that you should use for your Final Exam.

The food is good, there’s no denying that, but it lacks the emotional touch you had with the Onigiri.

The same Onigiri that you’ve made three times already. They never taste like Osamu’s.

You’re suspecting that he skipped on one ingredient in the recipe, the one thing you could not put your finger on when you tried them.

“Hey.” Atsumu’s waiting at your door when you return from coffee with your mother. She had been even less helpful, talking about the new dessert dish she was creating. You might have gotten her cooking skills, but you hate baking almost as much as Chawanmushi.

“I thought we said we would skip the cooking over the weekend.”

“Yeah, about that.” He lifts a heavy bag. “I wanted to ask for a favor.”

“I’m not setting for you.”

“Why would I- Never mind, I wanted to ask… Could you like, show me… how to cook?”

You blink in surprise.

“Why would I teach you that? Don’t you have your brother?”

“He’s not a good teacher.” Atsumu points out and you snort.

“So you want to learn how to cook? And stop harassing me and Osamu?”

“No, no, I will still harass the two of you for food, but it looked easy when you did it, so I thought you could teach me, maybe?”

“Fine.”

“I’m even pa- Fine? Oh, wow, that was easy.”

“If I can ask you some questions in turn without you judging me?”

“Me, judging someone? Never.” He puts a hand on his chest, probably aiming for his heart, but he’s now swearing on his left ribcage.

You watch like a Hawk as Atsumu prepares the Omurice. He’s got a bad habit of getting distracted, but he’s not a bad student.

“So…” You swallow your nerves. “You and Osamu used to play Volleyball together, right?”

“Yeah. He could have gone Pro, like me. But he said…” He raises his hands to make air quotes and lowers his voice into a deeper pitch to mock Osamu, “Skillswise I'm just as good as you. But I think that, when all's said and done, you love volleyball just a teensy bit more than me.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“Nah.” Atsumu flips the Omurice onto a plate and hands it over to you. “Try.”

“It’s good.” You hand it back to him. “Eat.”

When Atsumu leaves, you’re left with even more questions than before.

What does it mean to love something so much you’re willing to pass up something good?

Atsumu is making good money as a Pro, even now. But Osamu had no idea if he was going to make it into this school until he tried.

And why did he make freaking Onigiri?

Midnight has come and gone when you put a jacket over your sleepshirt and slip out of your apartment in nothing but booty shorts and bunny slippers.

You’re not sure if there’s a nightguard. There might be, this is still a mixed dorm filled with hormonal teens and tweens.

Even though you’ve never been to Osamu’s place before, you know the route by heart. You had memorized it in a childish fit when you realized his room was just below the fire escape.

You wouldn’t allow him to survive you in case of an emergency.

You knock twice before you can hear movement. The door opens and you almost swallow your tongue.

His hair is in disarray as if he’d dragged his hands through it all night and there’s the imprint of his pillow left on his cheek. He’s topless and you keep your eyes trained on the imprint on his cheek as if you don’t notice his happy trail or his still well-trained abs.

He blinks slowly and yawns.

“What’s up?” He asks. Something moves over his face, quick like a sparrow. “Shit, are you hurt? Did something happen?!”

“No, no, I… Shit, I don’t know, I-”

“Come in.” He pulls you inside, but he calculates wrong, uses too much force for your quivering body. You end up mushed against his chest, face plant right into the warm skin.

If you die like this, you won’t even be mad about it.

“Shit, sorry.” He grabs you and puts you at a distance again, blush high on his cheeks.

“Your Onigiri.” You start, before he can realize that you’re flustered too. “You didn’t list all the ingredients.”

“I did.”

“Did not. They don’t taste the same.”

“Ah.” He makes that insufferable sound like he knows everything you don’t.

You want to poke his abs, but you decide against it, mainly because it would make you look weird. But they do look ni-

“Tea?” He asks and you hold your right hand with your left, just in case it turns sentient.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Your Onigiri don’t taste like mine, because I make them for someone.”

“What?”

“The Tuna one.” He looks at the kettle instead of you, but his voice is wistful, distant. “I always make that one for Tsumu.”

“And the Tenmusu?”

“It’s my Mom’s favorite.” He says softly and you can’t help it, but you start to cry.

“Your Mom likes Tenmusu too?”

“Ah, shit, don’t tell me- Wait, here, take this…” He hands you a tissue to blow your nose and dry your tears.

“So you’re saying your secret ingredient is love? You’re really going to stand there and make me believe that you got the scholarship because you put love in your food?”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me. But there’s a reason your Chawanmushi did not taste as good as your Curry.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Gladly.” He smirks at you and this time your hand is faster than your mind, pointer finger digging into the firm muscle of his right pectoral.

“Don’t mess with me.”

“Why not?” His face moves closer to you, or did you move closer to his? “Isn’t it fun?”

Whoever moved first doesn’t matter now as his breath washes over you. His eyes skip to your lips and you lick them, no thoughts left in your brain.

Behind him, the kettle whistles, signaling that the water’s cooking, but neither of you moves.

This could end very badly, or very great, however you want to look at it.

Your mind, helpful as ever, comes up with a sentence that just slips out of your mouth unprompted.

“Atsumu said that you loved Volleyball a little-”

He draws back the moment he hears you speak, face now closed like a window that has let down its shutters.

“Right, Atsumu.” He says, interrupting you. “You should get back to the bed.”

“But the tea…”

“I forgot.” He takes the kettle off the stove. “I was going to make a hot water bottle for myself. Sorry.”

Somehow, somewhere, you took a wrong turn.

Maybe it was when you started liking Osamu, in this weird way that has you enjoy the bickering and the competitiveness. Maybe it was even before that, when you let Atsumu get away with his needling, fed him Udon instead of throwing him out.

Or maybe it was even before that, when you didn’t put up a fight everytime your father decided for you, when your mother put work before spending time with you.

It’s a good thing that Finals are right around the corner.

You can’t focus in most classes, left staring holes into Osamu’s back.

Atsumu’s stopped showing up himself, probably now a master in cooking for himself. Or he’s gone back to Osamu, to fantastic Onigiri and whatever else he knows how to make.

Four days before the Final, someone bangs on your door.

“Jeez, I’m coming.” You pull the door open to reveal Atsumu, soaked and clearly pissed..

“You okay?” You ask. “Or do you need a towel?”

“Why are you not a couple?” He asks back. “Like, the tension was there, you were practically undressing each other at the table - in front of me, might I add - and yet you’re not even speaking to each other? I even cooked all my meals these past weeks in the hopes of hearing good news but Samu’s acting like a bug crawled up his ass and died.”

“What are you even talking abou-”

“Oh, don’t fool me.” He steps inside and moves toward your bathroom without asking. “I just ran here because all I get from Samu are cryptic messages. Did you say something?”

“No, I-”

“Spill.” Atsumu points at the kitchentable, hesitates for a second, then he points at the kitchen itself. “Make some food while your at it. Also, can I have some change of clothes?”

You make Okayu with ginger and honey, the rice porridge a comfort to your heart and a boost to Atsumu’s immune system.

It’s not a long tale. It could be, probably, but you refuse to go into more detail than necessary. Atsumu might be kind of a friend, in his weird, annoying way, but he’s still Osamu’s twin brother.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” He grabs the bag with his clothes and stalks off, dressed in one of your oversized hoodies and bright pink pajama pants, both things slightly too short on him.

“Give him a chance when he comes back,” are his parting words.

But Osamu does not show up.

Neither does he the next morning in class.

One of the teachers calls you over after class.

“You and Miya-san are pretty close, right?” She starts, speaks on while you’re still trying not to choke on your spit. “Could you bring him the notes from today? He called in sick. Tell him to take care and rest, so that he can take part in the Final.”

“I-I will.”

You end up in your own room instead, debating if you should just leave everything in front of his door and run. If he’s not at the final, you automatically win. But that’s not a win you’d feel good about, if you’re being honest to yourself.

Before you know it, you find yourself making Oyaku again, with Ginger and Honey, the one food that always gives you comfort and boosts your health. The process is simple, but it still calms you down every time. When it’s done, you look down at two portions and know what to do.

“Osamu?” The door is closed, but you can hear faint shuffling behind it. “I made you Oyaku. I heard you’re sick and got your notes from the teachers. I didn’t tell them that I’m a friend of yours, but she was convinced of it and didn’t let me change her mind. But I… we kinda are friends, right?” You feel so weird talking to the closed door.

“Even if you don’t like me, we got to keep up the reputation. Eat the Oyaku, okay? Winning doesn’t feel the same if you kick yourself out of the game.”

You put everything in front of his door and leave, lingering at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, until you hear his door. When you look back, the Oyaku is gone and all you have to do is wait.

Osamu is already outside when you step out of the classroom.

“Already finished?”

“Onigiri doesn’t take that long to make.”

“Ah, right.” You nod, don’t know if you should avoid his gaze or follow your instinct and look a bit more closely. He sounds healthy at least.

“What did you make?” His voice is gruff when he asks.

“Ginger Honey Oyaku.” You answer, voice soft. “Which might confuse the teachers because I had all the ingredients ready for honey-glazed pork belly but I decided against it at the last second.”

“I’d have loved to try that pork belly.” Osamu sighs dreamily. “But that Oyaku was so good. I could eat that everyday and never get tired of it.”

“Same.” You smile but it falters when you feel his eyes on you and you know you’ve got to say it. “I made it for you.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“No, what you said… about the Entry Exam.” You can feel your heartbeat, like the fluttering of hummingbird wings. If you’re going to pass out during your confession, you’re going to kill Osamu for it.

Behind you, the door opens and two more students step out. Osamu looks at them and back at you and you nod, point down the hallway. “Let’s take a walk?”

There’s a broom closet not far down and you slip inside only to regret it seconds later. There’s barely enough space for the two of you, his breath washing over you as you try to focus on the words you need to say. Out loud, so he can hear them too.

“I want to beat you.” You can hear him snort, but you keep your gaze on your hands. You won’t be able to speak if you look into his eyes. “But you’re also really funny and caring and cute, in a way. I could see myself, I mean, I already, you know-”

“What about Tsumu?” He asks, voice strangely hoarse.

“What about him?”

“Don’t you like him more? You don’t feel the need to beat him every two seconds, right?”

You roll your eyes and groan.

“Seriously? The best thing about Atsumu is that he looks kinda like you.”

If you had wanted to say more - you didn’t, but you hate letting anyone else have the last word - it leaves your mind the second his lips press onto yours.

Your mind’s not yet caught up, but your body is, hands dragging through his hair to pull him closer, to marvel at the softness of it - what conditioner is he using? - to have him a little closer.

His hands are on your hip, your back, roam over your shoulders, leaving warm trails and goosebumps behind.

Then there’s bright light and a shrill shriek and you burst away from each other only to face one of your teachers.

“What? The indecency! During an exam no less! Detention! Detention!” Her garbled words don’t make much sense, but the last word you understand.

Osamu sends you a look, his eyes speaking of little guilt and a promise to continue this latter. You can’t help but feel the same.

As it turns out, Detention automatically overrules your exceptional Exam marks. Neither of you wins the internship. Neither of you cares.

Osamu had applied to an Onigiri shop not far from the school as a second option and with your last name you have no trouble securing an internship with a well-known nutritionist for Pro Athletes.

Your father is not happy about your change in dreams, but when you explain the earning capacity of this position, and the business plan you’re already halfway through making, your excitement swaps over.

Your mother, as usual, barely listens. But you take it in stride, her usual droning on about a recipe she’s working on, by thinking about how in less than an hour, you’ll see Osamu again.

“You guys owe me.” Atsumu declares during Movie night. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, the last piece of the Pizza in his hands. “I’m talking about food for life.”

“We could have done it without you,” Osamu insists, arm around you, face nuzzled into your hair. He pretends he’s watching the movie, but you know better. He’s been thinking about the cheese crackers in your pantry for hours.

“If I hadn’t pulled you out in the rain to talk things through, you wouldn’t have gotten sick and your girlfriend wouldn’t have made Oyaku for you! That’s enough reason for you to love me forever!”

“If you hadn’t interfered he wouldn’t have had to think we were dating instead.” You point out and dig your hands into Osamu’s grip on your arms, moving away from him.

“Babe, what-” He starts but you nod in the direction of your pantry. “Get the crackers. I can’t watch you any longer.”

“Really?” His face lights up like a child in front of a Christmas tree. It’s worth the ridiculous price you paid for the crackers.

“Really.”

He kisses you and the moment could be perfect. But there’s still Atsumu, fake gagging in the background.

#I loved writing the banter #hope this is something good #my writing #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x you #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader #miya osamu #miya twins #miya atsumu #osamu fluff #osamu drabble

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incorrectbatfam · 8 months

Note

How would the batfam respond to strangers DMs

Stranger: Is your name really Duck?

Dick: Can't even make fun of my name right smh

———————

Stranger: Hey girl wyd?

Cass: *read at 4:03 PM*

———————

Stranger: I have a theory that you're not actually dead. If I'm right, give me something that's not a canned PR response.

Jason: No

———————

Stranger: I know you're not officially a Wayne but I think you're the most inspirational out of all of them.

Steph: You know that saying about never meeting your heroes?

———————

Stranger: Save your SOUL today. Renounce your sins and come to the ONE and ONLY path of Jesus Christ.

Kate: Thank you for subscribing to Lesbian Daily, where we send you pictures of lesbians for the amazing low rate of just $99.99 per day. To stop, please reply STOP.

———————

Stranger: Not to be creepy but I think I saw you on the street.

Tim: It was probably just a trash can

———————

Stranger: Why is your hair blue?

Harper: My mom was a Smurf and my dad was a rejected member of Blue Man Group

———————

Stranger: Lmao not you getting photobombed by some old guy XD

Barbara: That's my dad.

———————

Stranger: Congarts Sir or Madam, you have been selected for our Grand Cash Prize of 1$ million. To claim your winnings, please verify your identity with your Socials Security number..

Alfred: 0

———————

Stranger: How much time do you spend on that Mandalorian cosplay?

Duke: More than I'd like to admit

———————

Stranger: Wanna join my Discord?

Cullen: Yeah sure why not

———————

Stranger: Bruce Wayne is a billionaire but I just know he's ordering you pizza on a Friday night. Leave while you can because you deserve better.

Selina: I'd rather spend the night in sweatpants than an evening gown.

———————

Stranger: You're the Ryan Gosling of men

Bruce: Pretty sure Ryan Gosling is the Ryan Gosling of men.

———————

Stranger: Wanna see my axolotl?

Damian: Yes.

Damian: Show me.

*10 minutes later*

Damian: Hello?

Damian: Where is it?

*30 minutes later*

Damian: I can see you online.

Damian: I demand to see your axolotl.

*24 hours later*

Damian: I'm suing you.

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a-hermit-pining · 19 days

Text

Sukuna as a House Husband

Genre: Fluff Pairing: House husband Sukuna x Reader AN: Might be OOC but humor me people. Coming up Geto as househusband 🥰

First few months of Sukuna's career as a househusband are nothing less than accidents that involved smoke alarms and questionable fire extinguisher techniques. The transition from malevolent kitchen to a less lethal one takes quite a minute.

From handing you Lunchables to becoming pinterest core this man takes quite a journey.

Everyday chores that start with ill concealed annoyance and were in the past pointedly pushed on to you are taken over the minute he notices the residues of shared lunch from another in your lunchbox.

How dare you accept someone else's food? The entire evening, Sukuna glared at the takeout pizza with enough intensity to melt the cheese. You swear the pepperoni visibly cowered under his icy gaze.

And the revelation that some random Joe- Shmoe, a pathetic nameless mortal, had lent you his lunch is enough incentive for this man get in action.

This old man has lived his share of luxury as the king of curses. So, the minute he decides to flex his culinary skills your lunches take an immediate promotion.

The obsolete cooking technique no one can replicate...? You bet he's pulling that.

Puts Uraume on the speed dial as the trials of kitchen begin for him. This time, though much to both their disappointment limited to animal meat.

Does not take long before both become grocery shopping buddies for life. Sukuna scowling at unfamiliar vegetables while Uraume patiently explains the difference between shallots and scallions to his Lord.

Weekends take a turn for the… interesting as you become their resident TikTok handler, phone propped precariously on the counter while they attempt to recreate the latest viral trends. Fruit Roll ice cream remains mind blowingly top tier in your household. Getting a reaction even from Uraume.

Sukuna preens under the praise at office potlucks, basking in the envious stares directed at your lunchbox. Every "wow" and "that looks amazing" fuels his ego.

But the real win? Insanely proud when he sees you take pictures of the lunches he makes and even more so when you show him the stories you post on the internet (save his old soul).

Deep into his retirement phase of immortality, Sukuna discovers the joy of aesthetic. This man takes one look at dark academia, gothic Victorian mood boards and not your living room looks like a lair worthy of a final boss villain (which, to be fair, it kind of already was)..

Super into thrifting or picking a random haunted piece of furniture to add character to your living space as he insists, despite your very real concerns about the wailing coming from the armchair at 3 am.

Still a baddie tho. Will get into fights with loud neighbors or bachelor pad finance bros when their trash isn't sorted properly. And it, unfortunately is your responsibility to drag this man back home.

Cleaning is where he draws the line. You will not spot Sukuna with a duster. Ever. So, hiring a cleaning service seemed like a brilliant solution. Except, Sukuna couldn't resist micromanaging their every move. The poor cleaning staff — a battle-hardened group of professionals — withered under his endless critiques on porcelain dusting techniques. Needless to say, generous tips were the only reason they continued to show up.

The King of Curses, a being who once feasted in halls of obsidian and dined on delicacies fit for gods. Yet, the peace and ownership of your little townhouse is sweeter than any other possession of past. His dirty little heart is endeared to his home with you.

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #fluff #househusband au #ryomen sukuna

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thisismeracing · 5 months

Text

How you get the girl | DR3

― Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x black!plus size!reader ― Warning: mentions of food and alcohol; Mclaren Danny and tooth-rotting fluff. (1.5k words) ― Summary: Yn is tired of going on dates only to realize that the guy she thought was great, was actually terrible. So that’s why when her friend tells her she knows someone who would match perfectly, Yn accepts the blind date. It’s gonna be her last attempt at love, and now Daniel only has one date to prove he’s worth it. (based on this request)

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There are many ways in which one can fall in love. Yn didn't expect it to happen with her on the first date. To be fair, she didn’t expect it to happen to her at all. Being a plus-size black girl she learned to love herself, well aware that the way society portrays beauty wouldn’t always include her. Her shade, shape, and experiences. Which doesn’t mean she was not pretty. Quite the opposite, she knew she was stunning, and no validation was needed for that, yet you can miss it every once in a while. It rejoices your soul to hear how good you look and how smart you are.

But she left it on the second plan, focusing on her work and studies. Things were good, great even, however, her friends knew she deserved someone good. And as it happens, they knew exactly the pair for her.

Daniel was not looking for love either. He liked how things were going, and liked how he was able to focus in a different light this season, however, he missed it. Missed having someone to celebrate post-races with, to cuddle, and to hold him when he felt down. That’s why when Adam and Amina, two of his close friends from a tight group, proposed to set him up on a blind date he accepted. There wasn’t anything to lose, and he liked to follow his own bits of advice about enjoying being naive, enjoying the butterflies.

Even though it was a blind date, it was Danny who set up everything, with the help of his friends, of course. According to them, Yn would like a beach date. So that’s what he aimed for.

And it felt just right when she showed up wearing an orange summer set with a shy, yet bright smile on her face.

Yn didn’t know at the time, but she had just given a whole meaning to the orange color for him.

“You must be Amina’s friend, Daniel, right?” Yn asked, voice being carried by the wind and getting mixed with the sounds of waves crashing behind them.

Daniel nodded watching her curls bounce and her lips stretch in a small smile, “Yeah-Yeah, it’s me.”

“Yn,” they shook hands with a shy smile because even though Daniel was anything but shy, something about that date seemed new to him, like something he never experienced before.

“I hope you like the beach, and pizza. I wanted to go for something private and chill, Amina and Adam agreed, but still, I hope I got this right.”

She smiles, looks at the blanket on the sand, the pizza box, and the wine, then nods, “I love it. It’s exactly what I would go for had I been the one to choose the setting.”

“Really?” There’s a slight hint of disbelief mixed with amusement in his tone, and it makes Yn chuckle.

“Maaaaybe this would tie with a coffee shop date,” she confesses.

“We can do coffee shop for our second date,” Daniel is quick to shoot his shot and Yn arches her brow, she wants to smile again.

“What makes you think we’re having a second date?”

“I’m just manifesting, throwing it to the universe,” he jokes and she can’t help but laugh while they walk side by side to the blanket. “See? I made you laugh, my chances are getting higher, aren’t they?”

“It all depends on the pizza flavor, now.”

“Good thing I got one slice from each, then.”

“You kidding me?”

“No, and I got a whole one of your favorite flavor, well, according to Amina.”

Yn watches in disbelief and Danny sits by her side and sure enough, opens the two boxes of pizza showing her a pizza with different slices and a whole one of her favorite.

“Ok, and that’s how you get the girl. You might have landed a second date, Daniel.”

He smiles brightly and she can’t help but think that he now has a third one too.

“So, aside from having a great taste in pizza, what else should I know about you?” He asks while opening the wine bottle and Yn chews on a bit of food before starting to tell him about herself.

They go back and forth, there’s never the awkward silence, and they realize they have many things in common aside from the two friends that set them up. Yn has no idea he’s a driver and somehow it makes Daniel even more enamored by her. She seems to like him for who he is truly, and not because of a cool side of his that happens to make him famous and rich. It’s warm and fuzzy, and fun, and the symphony of waves crashing down and giggles envelop their afternoon until the sun starts to set and they decide to head home parting with a timid kiss in the corner of their lips.

It’s on the second date when she makes fun of his milk foam mustache and sips her own coffee mirroring his image that Daniel realizes he might be in love. Her dark skin is glowing, and the hair atop her head is like a halo, while she smiles at his camera with a funny face pointing at her mustache. Both unaware there are other people in the small coffee shop.

Daniel can only see Yn.

And Yn can only see Daniel.

At the end of that date, he takes her home and kisses her at her door. It’s soft and warm, and it feels right. It feels perfect. They fit together like two puzzle pieces. His heart racing under her hand, and her face stretching in a smile under his. He gets inside, and they talk and kiss a bit more before he has to leave.

It doesn’t take long for the third date to happen. Just two days, both counting the hours to see each other while frantically texting. It’s a drive-in theater, Yn’s idea. They watch a horror movie while Daniel gets scared by the jumps every time, making Yn laugh. They also share a popcorn pot, fingers shyly caressing the other whenever they touch by accident. When the movie ends and the credits are rolling around, the moon and the gleam from the big screen in front of them casting a distinctive glow on Yn, Daniel is sure he’s in love.

“Hey, so- I have this race next week, would you wanna go with me? I can fly you out on Saturday, or you can go with me and see how everything works from behind the scenes,” he suggests, fingers crossed in the dark praying for her to accept, praying for her not to think he’s being too fast. Maybe he was indeed, but this was all new to him too. He was fast on the track, he was never this fast outside it, never this fast to fall, to want someone, to seek someone, to show off someone. He wanted her by his side.

“Wouldn’t it be like making things official?” Yn asks genuinely curious and Daniel can tell by the way she bites her lips and one of her eyebrows goes up the slightest.

“Yeah, am I going too fast?”

“I mean, you’re a racing driver, I would say it’s your job to go fast, isn’t it?” She jokes and he laughs throwing his head on the headrest.

“Yes, but outside the track, I only wanna go fast like this for you.”

“That was so cheesy.”

“But did you like it?” He grins, and Yn rolls her eyes playfully before her body bends over the dash to capture his lips in a kiss.

“I loved it.”

And so a few days later Yn finds herself on a private plane meeting a bunch of different people and being introduced as his girlfriend, because sure enough, Daniel asked properly when he dropped her home that night. He got her a necklace and everything the next day. She learns that racing and the whole Formula 1 thing is more hectic than it seemed, but still, it’s fun. Amina and Adam watch the Sunday race with her, making fun of the way she can’t help but cheer loudly sometimes and bite her nails.

That was the Sunday Daniel got P1. The same Sunday he ran to her before the podium and kissed her lips in front of everyone, giving her his biggest smile and thanking her for being there, his lucky charm.

That was also the Sunday he said he loved her for the first time while they celebrated in private after the party. Laced in each other's love, gazing into the other’s eye, the certainty of the truth behind his statement.

Their friends were right, they were perfect for each other.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this piece! <3 I wanted to add a huge shout-out to C (my coffee emoji anon on Tumblr) for proofreading this (Ily, C!)

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @v1naco @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @skepvids @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @leclercsluv @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @noncannonships @fanboyluvr @is-just-a

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

#dr3 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x black!reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x plus size!reader #plus size!reader #f1 fandom #f1 fluff #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo imagine #millie writes #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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despair-erased · 1 year

Text

Welcome to the world to Epithet Erased. Only ⅕ of a group of five people are inscribed, having a word that is connected to their soul that are called 'Epithet'. People who don't are call Mundies. Everyone in this world speak the same language that had all of the languages we know as one.

Though, once you got to this world, you saw an old wanted poster of a 12 year old girl that was called "The Despair Queen". She had brown hair, muted cyan eyes, and fair skin. You couldn't see the actual name of said girl. You ended up finding yourself in the forest, where you found a girl. She looked a lot like the girl on the wanted poster but 16.

She then started walking with her eyes closed, deep in thoughts. As soon as she bumped into you, some weird dust on you. Color pigments? She opened her eyes and saw what she accidentally done.

"I'm sorry! You look like you were ambushed by a bunch of 7 year olds who threw chall dust at you!"

You noticed her hair looks dusty. There was a lot of brown color pigment in her hair. She did look very clean unlike that. What an odd girl, huh?

Tags(interact if you want. Tags are not need to interact):

@mikado-sannoji @human-monokuma @dranother-memory(Emma) @y0u-f4il3d-m3 @yui-samidare-reborn @detective-shelf-collection(Setsuka) @kurokuma-gang @ultimate-rider @pizza-for-my-friends @anyone else.

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

Text

Maneater (Part One) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Dialogue Prompts: "Don’t play friendly with me." + "Try me."

Summary: You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, a touch of abandonment, grudges, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: y'all ever heard of TENSION?? Or enemies to lovers??? Because I'll tell you what, I have :))) Lowkey, you have a good reason to hate Rick, but like... you'll see. also I am living in delusion for what Rick looked like in the Alexandria timeline, so just know I picture the gif, okay? Thx <3 ]]

Before you go thinking this is another long series, this is just a two/maybe three-parter. There was more to this idea than what I felt I could naturally convey in one one-shot. So, let me know if you want to be tagged for the continuation.

"Shit."

This really, truly, was never supposed to happen. This was the worst-case scenario, the kind of thing that plagued your dreams with things that were so not probable they shouldn't be scary. And yet here you were, in nightmare territory.

"Y/N? Really, is that- is that you?" the familiar face spoke -Glenn, you realized now.

God, it had been so long, you'd thought for sure at least half of that group had vanished.

Well, maybe they had. You weren't exactly sure, but Glenn hadn't really looked worse for wear. He suited the lifestyle well, actually, which you were a little impressed by -the pizza delivery guy had come a long way.

"We thought you..." he faltered off, still a bit in disbelief.

"Died? Nope," you finished, bitter, sure, but you'd never really had the chance to get over it, "-despite your wonderful leader's best efforts, I remain unscathed."

Glenn frowned.

The joy from moments before dissipated in the now fairly tense air between the two of you -others you recognized weren't there, but you imagined they were wherever he came from. Which you were currently trying to keep in the very back of your mind -you'd never follow him to them, you just couldn't.

"I should've..." he began, words seeming to come to a stop, "-Any of us should've stuck up for you. It wasn't right."

There was a bit of pleasure hearing that, somewhere deep in your chest, you appreciated it. But while the idea was good, it was very much too late. The resentment that had developed in your chest, had only solidified there -unbreakable and set in stone. You hadn't trusted a soul since, not fully anyway.

This world was filled with broken hearts, and yours was one of them.

And that was something Rick and his group had to live with, whoever they were now because that... was their fault.

You hadn't meant to hate Rick Grimes specifically, above everyone else, but the words came out of his mouth.

'Get out of here, we can't... we can't have a group this divided.'

You could still see him now in your head, clean-shaven and dressed in his uniform, taking the world by storm despite not knowing what the fuck he was doing. You were different then, scared but ready to do what you needed -hell, the first time you'd ever even held a gun was against a walker. It was with that group, they'd taught you.

You swallowed down the bile in your throat, and pushed through the rubble -your feet ached from being on the move for so long. You couldn't remember the last time you slept, or even sat down.

You couldn't not in this world, it was all about motion, about survival, about getting through the next few hours at a time.

"Look, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be," Glenn began -following you close behind, "-but we have a place... It's safe, you could sleep. You could eat. There are houses, hot water-"

You froze in place, the idea spreading a sort of warmth in your chest, something you'd forgotten somewhere along the path. Hope. Yet, there was still a sting there -deep under your skin, "Glenn-"

"It doesn't have to be forever," he added, and now that you looked at him, he did seem clean -his clothes washed and the desperation that dusted your skin was so distant you could hardly see it, "-just for a few days."

Feet frozen to the spot, you exhaled -the breath shaking you to the root, it had been so long, but how could you trust him? How could you trust any of them?

You remembered Glenn had looked hesitant, that day, his own suspicion drawn in his eyebrows but it hadn't gone farther than that. He hadn't said a word. No one had. But now, he was here offering solace, safety. And you knew it wasn't just out of pity.

The world had enough of that on its own. You had enough of that on your own, your story spilling to listening ears -they'd all been the same. Still, you could use a break.

And as much as you didn't trust the group, whatever it had become, you knew that if anyone had survived this long -they'd been skilled. Skilled enough for you to breathe, for you to close your eyes and sleep.

You sighed, wiping the sleep from your eyes, or rather the lack of, "Just a few days?"

"As long as you need," Glenn reiterated, somehow conveying that you never had to leave, it was a small thing. But comforting.

"I get to decide when to leave?"

Glenn frowned, his own body almost shrinking in on itself, disappointment. You'd never thought you'd see this, someone from so long ago -the regret, the remorse, "Yeah, of course."

And you were thinking about it. As your joints ached and your throat burned for water, the breeze felt cold against your bones, and you truly couldn't imagine it getting any warmer. The sun setting only meant it could get colder, and you were currently without a roof.

"Okay," you quietly agreed, despite the churning in your stomach saying otherwise.

That was when one of the others, neither of which you knew, spoke, "But, didn't Rick say-"

"Shut it," Glenn exhaled, tone icy and you suddenly realized maybe they were new to him too.

The walk was long, not grueling since Glenn had known exactly where he was going -he'd always had that sense of direction though. You remembered the early days when he'd been the one to volunteer to go back to the city, he'd known so much. Maybe he was just made that way? Or it was some sort of thing they'd invented. It had been a long time.

"There's a few of us that'll be happy to see you," Glenn spoke, casually walking beside you as the other two paired off behind you.

You swallowed the tensing of your shoulders, the last time you'd been in a group it hadn't ended well, and every time before that too actually. You didn't meld well with groups, let's just say that.

"I don't think so," you hummed, remembering so far back in your brain that day -the eyes all set on you, strong and decisive. You couldn't imagine who else survived other than Rick Grimes himself. Because this world wasn't what you expected, you shouldn't have survived more that a week... but here you were.

Glenn didn't say anything else, you assumed he noticed your more pressed tone -as the opposite of an invitation to keep talking. It stung a bit, watching the man's face solemn considerably, but there was also a sick part of your brain that had been waiting for this day.

As you approached the new community, Glenn spread out his hands -with a voice close to an announcer, "Welcome to Alexandria!"

Alexandria was big, bigger than you thought really. When you pictured the homes, there was bordered up windows and broken glass -blood stained into the wood. But these?

They were almost pristine.

Your head spun as you made your way through the gate, Glenn casually guiding you through the space without much forethought. It seemed he'd known this daze, he'd experienced it himself, maybe?

You knew how this world was, Alexandria seemed to be a new wave of something fresh.

Actually, you'd seen signs once or twice but never pursued it. Things like that didn't quite work in this world, you were scared of what it may truly have been. But Glenn had brought you hear with the promise of a bed to sleep in, so you assumed whatever kinks were there had already been worked out.

Or maybe you hoped they would.

In your haze, you hadn't noticed the two other members bump ahead -headed straight for a particular place, you assumed. Nor did you really notice Glenn kind of easily navigating in front of you.

Until, you heard the voice you'd vowed to never hear until the day you died.

"Glenn?" the drawl was deeper now, older and a touch more dangerous, "-The others told me you brought someone back, I thought we talked about-"

"Rick," Glenn interrupted, voice steady and calm -he had been prepared for this, "-it's Y/N."

There was silence there, as you trailed your fingers along the trim of the house ever-so-gently -the dirt stained into your fingertips didn't need to smudge there. It would've ruined it.

"What?" His voice was low, and despite how much you wished you could understand the tone, you couldn't -you didn't know him.

He could be angry, in disbelief, in shock. You had no clue, instead focusing on the ivy running up the sides of some of the houses -rubbing the leaves with your thumb, muttering, "Wow."

"Y/N?"

You blinked out of your haze, stilling at the direct contact with you -it felt odd, hearing your name out of his mouth. So familiar yet, so so far off. Yet, the sting still burned deep under your skin -it would probably never go away.

Without turning around, you acknowledged him simply -direct and without much other force, "Rick."

Then the space grew even quieter, the tension laying thick into the air -you could feel it set the prickling of goosebumps on your skin.

With a heavy breath, you turned around -equipped to set your eyes on his skin.

He looked... different. His hair was much longer, curled at the nape of his neck, and he had a beard -now littered with grey. It suited him, he'd been too uptight back then, now though, he'd seemed more adjusted.

"Y/N, I-" he began, and you could hear it -the pity, the 'I'm sorry'. You couldn't take it, not from him. Not now.

It was too late, it made you want to rip your hair out. And thrash and cry and scream. Scream for all you'd lost, scream for the fear you felt that day, pushed into the woods -separated.

You spoke, pushing back the bite in your tone as much as you could, "Don't play friendly with me. I'm here for a few days, at most."

Rick's mouth snapped shut, jaw setting. He seemed frustrated, but that was hardly your problem, the whole thing was his really. He could die with that regret, aching to give an apology for his wrongdoings... and you would let him.

The area, which you now realized was slowly filtering people in, eyes all beginning to focus on you and Rick. Questioning, mostly, but you figured any pushback on Rick and you'd end up dead. So, you pushed back -the strength of your tone settling and the brush of the cold warming.

You didn't need to make enemies.

And then you heard it, a familiar voice, older than you'd expected, you'd known that voice younger... what was-

"Y/N?"

Your breath stuttered, as you spun on your feet and there he was, taller and older, "Carl? Oh my god-"

You hadn't even thought about it, that where Rick was Carl would follow. You had less than high hopes that he'd even survive this far, and yet, here he was right in front of you.

You'd known Carl early on in the group, he had been so young. Lori needed help sometimes, and she'd grown close to you, so, pretty quickly, she'd trusted you with him. In the early days, he was stuck to your side -playing games with the sticks and rocks you could find nearby, giving him comfort when his Mom seemed too far to touch -she was often like that. Her eyes were far, and her mind farther.

Without much less of an introduction, he ran to you with ease, despite the filth you must've been covered in. Especially compared to him, who seemed to be as perfectly clean as the rest of them. He ran into you, arms wrapping tight around your figure -and god, he was so much taller. You bit back a sob, how much had you missed?

"I thought you were dead," he spoke, muttering into your shoulder and his hands gripping desperately at your shirt.

You remembered the tiny version of him kicking and screaming, 'Why do they have to leave, Dad?!' He had been crying so hard his body was shaking, they practically had to tear him off you. You'd told them you'd leave in the night when he was sleeping, so it wouldn't be so hard on him. He couldn't put up as much of a fight if he wasn't there.

"You've gotten so tall," you laughed, pulling back and wiping at your eyes -gesturing to his stature.

Carl laughed too, wiping away his own tears.

You forgot for a second where you were, and how long it had been. Only reuniting with someone you cared tremendously about. The moment was bittersweet with the eyes of many sliding across your figure, the scar detailed across your arm, or maybe the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd had some run-ins, but you'd taken care of them with what you could.

The next few days were a bit stuffy, the doctor (who you didn't bother to learn the name of) had been keeping a close eye on you -consistently telling you to rest and sticking the one and only sheriff on you when you resisted.

Apparently, she thought that it was the best idea.

The single thread that didn't have you running out of this place wore a sheriff's hat and seemed to relish in your arrival. Carl had been by your side frequently, introducing you to practically everyone (including Glenn's wife, Maggie, what-) -which you had originally been strictly against, but the kid was your soft spot.

You'd felt more at ease after a run-in with two familiar faces, Daryl and Carol. They both did similarly to Carl, and you couldn't seem to fault them too much. Not at that moment anyway. It was midday and Carl had run off with some people his own age, which you refused to separate him from that. It was important, he needed it.

And you needed something too.

The space felt cramped, with someone constantly looking over your shoulder and someone else always in your area. It was a far cry from your previous loner life where your days fell to silence and the slice of whatever your blade was echoed through it. Before Glenn, you hadn't spoken out loud in months.

So, with new energy from the hot water and regular meals, you'd found yourself roaming the streets towards the fence. Just for a sense of normalcy, you needed to taste the adrenaline, feel the blade in your hands, and the urgency in your movements. Dancing with death.

Trying to watch your back, you kept your eyes behind you -ducking behind some of the unused houses that you'd scouted out earlier in the day. It wasn't like you were leaving forever, just a few hours that's all you needed.

"And where are you going?"

You jumped, turning to the sound in front of you, and because god simply hated you it happened to belong to one Rick Grimes. His eyes leveled with you, standing confidently in your way like he'd expected you. And shit, maybe he had.

Stammering, you regained your composure, "Where's Carl?"

"Asleep," he responded with ease.

"Look, I'm not-" you groaned, "-Why are you keeping me here like a prisoner?"

"Doctor told me to keep an eye on ya," he answered, once again too prepared, it infuriated you to no bounds, "-you don't think I'd notice you scopin' out an exit?"

"That's not-" you straightened your posture, pressing your lips into a thin line, "I don't have to explain myself to you. So, kindly, if you would get out of my way, I'll be back in an hour."

Rick chuckled, not in a really joyful way either, neither of you was quite joking, "Yeah, not happenin'."

"Rick," you echoed, tone ice and hand tightening on where your blade rested on your hip -a handmade hilt someone had made you a long time ago, "-move, or I'll make you."

He paused, licking a line across his teeth, and slowly making his way into your space. Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed strong in your place -eyes set on his and shoulders set in place. He didn't speak until his face was right in yours, a breath away, and his expression remained unchanged -his eyes only betraying the heaviness of his words, "Try me."

Rick didn't reach for his gun, which sat with was at his hip -inches from his hands. You knew he wouldn't pull it on you, it wasn't in his character, but there was a chill in his tone -something new.

What happened to him?

You washed out the worry that settled under your skin for a second, that didn't need to be there. He'd abandoned you -they all had.

Setting your jaw, you exhaled -pulling back and letting your hand fall to your side, "Look, I just need an hour."

Rick stared at you, you couldn't read him -years of age, and most likely tragedy by the missing faces, gracing features you once knew. And even then, he was new -you hadn't known him.

"This place is-" you faltered off, looking back to the houses, where most lights were switched off in the dark -except for just a few spare ones, "-suffocating. I've been on my own for so long, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body fucking experience here. This isn't... I need something familiar."

He still hadn't said a word.

"So," you began, strong, before deflating, "-just let me kill some of the dead, yeah?"

Rick pursed his lips, before sighing deep and heavily, "Okay."

You opened your mouth to rebuttal, before the words set in, "Okay?"

"Just let me tell Michonne and Daryl I won't be around for a bit," he continued, seeming to waltz on past you, and then those words hit you.

"Rick, I don't need a babysitter," you answered, that lick of bitterness slinking through your skin again -your mouth opened before you could stop it, "-you weren't worried years ago, were you? Why now?"

He stopped in his motion, frozen solid by your words. A part of you felt vindicated, he deserved it -it may have been years for him, but that was the way your way in this world had started.

You hadn't expected him to speak, but he did.

"You can't do that."

A flash of frustration hummed under your skin -burning hot and bright -who was he to say anything to you, "I can't do that? Do what? Talk about what you did to me? The day you kicked me to the curb at the beginning of the fucking apocalypse...?"

"I've been tryin' to apologize since you got here-" he started, tone angry in the way of hands shaking not voice raising, "-you won't let me."

Something in you snapped.

"So what?" you started, tone shaky and you'd say it was for rage but you could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, "You think I want an apology from you?"

Rick looked lost then, and something in you begged to keep going. The dam was cracked now, and the water could flood out -who better than the man who hit the nail in the coffin, "What...?"

"You, you don't get the resolution that would get you. You don't get to sleep well at night because you said sorry, no."

He didn't speak.

You laughed, the tears were free now, years of being locked behind something as thick as the shell you wore after that day -your breaths were ragged and you felt like maybe your heart would be out of your chest, "I never wanted to live through this."

"Y/N-"

And there was something there in those words, heavy and gravelly against the cool night air. But you couldn't dwell on it. You had too much to say to him, to all of them really, but just him would do.

"No," you exhaled, taking a deep shaky breath in, "-Rick, I just need to know one thing."

He opened his mouth, assumedly to answer your question, but you still couldn't let him speak. Your brain was going so fast, you had to keep up.

"Did you ever ask them why?"

Rick spoke then, slowly, "Who?"

"Shane," you spoke, the air seemed to get heavier, "-and Lori. Did it never seem odd to you that it came out at the same time? That they'd both seen me that exact same day?"

Rick stilled, and his jaw seemed to set.

That was what had gotten you kicked out, Shane and Lori had alleged you'd taken more supplies for yourself -stolen from everyone. You weren't sure of the specifics, whether it be an extra graham cracker or a tissue to wipe your busted lip, as you didn't let them get too far into it. They'd been egging him on, Shane on some sort of masculine level and Lori using their love as a pawn -you'd seen it clear as day. Rick hadn't.

"I was going to tell you," you spoke quietly, barely a brush over the wind of the chillier nights.

He didn't have to ask what. He knew you assumed he had known pretty much immediately after you noticed their absences. Something had happened, maybe not long after you'd left. You could only assume so much.

"I didn't know," he echoed out, his voice strained in a way you'd never heard from him -pained, regretful.

Without much else, you turned back the way you came -voice steady and strong across the space between you two, "I know."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #twd twoshot #does that make any sense?#maneater #twd oneshot #angsty

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nataliasquote · 6 months

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Double the trouble [pt.3] | n romanoff

Double the trouble au: part 1, part 2

Summary: Natasha and Wanda's teenage twin daughters are a lot to handle, but despite their differences and arguments, there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other

Warnings: mentions of cheating, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Pairings: WandaNat, O!C × Valkyrie, Y/n × Bucky Barnes

wc: 5.3k

note: this part 3 was a Wattpad request with this particular plot line, so I’m aware that it moves very fast from part 2. But this ‘series’ of au oneshots aren’t really a series, but more of me just writing this family that I love so much. If you want to see more of this family, my asks are open! So please leave messages in there of what kind of things you want to see :)

- ⧗ -

Y/n and Isla wandered down the hallway in the direction of the cafeteria, their friendship group surrounding them as they all chatted and laughed now that classes were over. Maria was fiddling with the end of Y/n's braid as she walked beside her best friend and she made sure not to tug it too hard.

As they entered through the huge double doors, Isla let out a little sound and sprinted away, darting around the tables as she spotted the head of blue and black braids sitting on an almost empty table. She launched herself onto her girlfriend's lap and looped her arms around her neck as they met with a kiss, making the rest of the group groan with huge grins plastered on their faces.

"They're so perfect it hurts my soul." Maria commented to Y/n who just smirked. The group filled in the rest of the seats around Valkyrie's table, throwing their backpacks down as their shoulders ached from the weight of all their books.

"Lovebirds, no making out at the dinner table." Clint said, sending Isla a glare as she stuck her middle finger up and shoved her tongue in Valkyrie's mouth. Clint yelled out and stood up from his chair. He may hate their PDA but it would never take away from his monstrous appetite. Especially not on pizza day.

Y/n pulled out her boxed lunch, curtesy of Wanda and her love of making lunch for her girls. She knew exactly what she'd find; last night's pasta salad leftovers, some strawberries and blueberries and a small container of cheezits. Nat had slipped a little note and Y/n couldn't help but make a face at how cute her moms were. It didn't matter that she was almost a senior, homemade lunches would always be her favourite.

She noticed a hand sneak to steal a cheezit, but Y/nknew there was no stopping Maria. She was the group's food thief, so everyone was used to it by now.

"Hey Y/n," Steve called from across the table, grabbing the redhead's attention. "Where's Bucky?"

"He texted to say something came up. Not sure what though." They'd only been officially dating for two months, but Y/n still felt butterflies in her stomach whenever he was around. He was the perfect gentleman; picking her up from events, opening doors for her, surprising her with bunches of flowers whenever they went on a date.

Y/n was completely head over heels in love and it made her smile so much brighter. Clint joked that she was like Aurora and that animals would start following her wherever she went and if she started singing.

As they chatted their way through the lunch hour, Y/n's phone started buzzing like mad, almost vibrating so hard it fell off the cafeteria table. She was chatting to Maria so ignored the messages, knowing whoever it was could wait.

"Aren't you gonna check that?" Maria asked, scooping up another forkful of pasta. Y/n just shook her head and shrugged, her mouth full of food so she couldn't talk. "Wow. You've got some serious self control."

"If it bothers you that much then you can check it," Y/n said as she swallowed, reaching for her water bottle. She and Maria were really close, so her seeing messages on her phone was no issue. They were the kind of friends where nothing was TMI.

Maria reached for her phone and tapped the screen as Y/n got elbowed in the ribs by her sister who was still perched on Valkyrie's lap. Isla was asking to trade her blackberries for Y/n's strawberries, who was not at all impressed.

Their sisterly banter distracted attention from Maria, who had all colour drained from her face as she stared at Y/n's phone in horror. Her thumb was hovered over the screen and she didn't dare to take her eyes off the screen, not even with Clint's strange laugh.

"Hey Hill, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Valkyrie called, everyone turning their head to the brunette.

Y/n frowned. "You okay Ria?" Maria looked up at her and then over at Isla who was just smiling widely.

"Yeah I'm ok. I just remembered I've got some homework to finish before class. Sorry." She grabbed her backpack and shoved the rest of her food into it but Y/n seized her wrist, making her pause.

"What happened? What did you see?" Maria had a death grip on Y/n's phone and didn't seem to want to let go. "Maria, I need to know. Show me."

"No it was nothing. Just one of those texts from Bucky, you know how he texts."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Bucky doesn't text like that during school because he knows you're always on my phone. So show me what you saw."

Maria's eyes darted to Isla who's smile had dropped into a look of concern. She slid off her girlfriend's lap and rounded the table, taking the phone from Maria over her shoulder.

It was as if thunderclouds had darkened the sky when Isla saw what was on the screen. Her green eyes turned stormy and her fingertips were going white with how hard she gripped the small device. Her reaction had caused the table to be silent and Y/n pulled her lip in between her teeth, trying to pull her phone from her sister's hand.

But Isla held it up out of her reach before slamming it down hard on the table.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" She yelled, grabbing her back and swinging it over her shoulder, almost knocking out a freshman behind her as she did so.

Y/n swiped her phone from the table and punched in her password, hands shaking from what she might find. But she didn't have to search far, as her phone unlocked a single picture filled the entire screen and turned her mouth sour.

Bucky's side profile graced her screen, which wasn't uncommon as her lock screen was a picture of him and her kissing. But this time it wasn't her that his lips were pressed against. It was a senior girl, someone Y/n had seen at her mom's studio last year.

Blonde, tall, tanned, it was almost disgusting cliche. But the picture didn't stay in focus for long before it became fuzzy by the tears welling in her eyes. Everyone had crowded around her and had taken a look at the phone, Steve punching the top of the table as he grunted about his best friend.

Isla was being held back by Valkyrie, angry tears streaming down her face as she ranted in fury. The twins may tease each other and drive each other insane, but when it came down to it, they would do anything for the other. Which included getting revenge on stupid boyfriends.

Y/n looked at the picture for a few more seconds before clicking her phone off and sliding it into her pocket. She didn't speak and her face remained neutral as she took a sip of water, eyes remaining fixed on the table.

"Y/n?" Maria asked, slightly scared at her best friend's silence. The redhead slipped her backpack onto her shoulders and turned to leave but Isla grabbed her shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" It was a stupid question but her sister's silence was starting to scare her. Her mom did the same when she was upset; Y/n was almost Natasha's carbon copy. "Y/n?"

"I'm fine." The shortest sentence with the least amount of truth. Isla looked at Maria with a concerned look and they both surrounded her so she couldn't rush away.

"No you're not. You can't trick me." Y/n looked her sister in the eye and only then did Isla see the tears balancing on her waterline, the green irises looking extra vibrant. "Talk to me."

That was all it took. The tough front she'd tried to put up came crumbling down and her forehead fell onto her sister's shoulder, whole body shaking with sobs.

Isla froze for a moment but wrapped her arms around her sister and Maria rubbed her back, letting her know he was there. Isla tried to channel Wanda, knowing she was the best at comforting her daughters whenever they needed it.

"What did I do wrong?" Y/n cried into her sister's shirt, holding on really tightly.

"You did nothing wrong. He is a dick who doesn't realise what he had when he has it," Maria spoke into her ear. "You're too good for him babe."

"Clearly I'm not if he went off with her!" She spat, lifting her head and catching Clint's gaze. "I just-" she let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a roar and Isla winced as it was right by her ear.

Maria suddenly turned her head, eyes bulging out of her head. "Hey Y/n, let's go to the bathroom. More privacy there." The redhead was still crying but protested, not feeling like she wanted to go anywhere.

"I can't. If I see him, I-," her breath hitched as she spoke, crying making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where it went wrong. He kissed me this morning! He told me he loved me, he promised to take me on a date later and now-" that was enough to cut her off from talking and her bottom lip trembled, breaking everyone's hearts around her.

Surrounding tables had turned to look away from Y/n towards the double doors at the far end of the room, everyone watching one thing.

Bucky.

He was strolling through the tables with his backpack on one strap on his shoulder, unsure as to why everyone was staring at him. But his determined steps were soon halted by Steve, who placed his hand on Bucky's chest to stop him.

But it was too late. Y/n had looked up and locked her eyes on him, seeing the boy she loved having forceful words with Steve, his brow furrowed.

She completely froze. Maria was trying to get her attention, as was Isla and the rest of the group, but she was glued to the ground. Her body wanted to run but her brain was in overdrive, emotions clouding every function and blocking out the rest of the world.

She could just see Bucky and she hated it. She didn't want to do it, but she retreated into Natasha's bad habits, ones she'd picked up when she was younger and watching her mother struggle on her bad days.

She hauled the wall up in her mind and blocked everything else out. She shrugged off her sister's hands, Maria's too, and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

"I'm gonna go find Miss Potts. I need to talk to her about the English assignment." This time she didn't wait for a response, storming off down the cafeteria as far away as possible from Bucky as she could be. Students started whispering amongst each other as she passed, but she didn't hear. She didn't care. Not anymore. She didn't care about anything.

She had 20 minutes until the end of lunch, so she kept walking with no true destination in mind. The football fields were pretty empty so she climbed up onto the bleachers and settled with her arms crossed over her knees, resting her chin on her forearms.

She wanted to process, to think everything over but her mind was empty. She had made herself numb in an alarmingly short space of time. It was dangerous but she didn't know what else to do. She'd never been through a breakup before. Or been cheated on. Had never even opened her heart up to anyone like she had to Bucky. And there wasn't a doubt that she would ever do that again either.

She spaced out and time flew really quickly. Science as last period. A boring class but her friends were in it, so it wasn't too bad. Except now she didn't want to talk to anyone. But she didn't have to. She just needed to get through the day and then she could have her whole night.

Technically it was a dance night for Y/n, but she didn't even want to dance anymore. So she wasn't going to. Not tonight.

She made her way slowly to the science laboratories and saw the bright red hair of her sister in amongst the crowd. She didn't bother walking up to them, knowing they'd come to her. And they did, checking over her to see if she was ok. But Y/n just shrugged which frustrated Isla.

"Stop trying to play it off Y/n," she exclaimed, trying to get through to her twin. "I know what you're doing. And mom won't be happy at all." She leaned down to whisper that in her ear, which made Y/n's eyes suddenly lock on hers. "Don't give me that look. You know as well as I do."

"Then don't tell her." Her voice was dull and flat, a total change from her usual bright and cheery tone.

"Y/n don't be stupid, you know I have to do that." Isla looked at her sister for a longer moment, her eyes softening. "Don't shut it out. You know what happened-"

She was interrupted by their teacher calling everyone into class. Isla didn't finish her sentence, only squeezing her sister's hand before disappearing into her seat on the other side of the room.

Maria sank into her chair, trying to act as normal as she could. She showed Y/n a funny video and made a joke about their teacher's bright green shirt. Y/n smiled but it was clearly fake. She felt bad for acting like this around Maria, but she understood why.

Her final classes went by quickly. She wasn't paying attention and her paper stayed empty from the beginning to the end. Maria slipped her an extra set of notes after watching how her pen wasn't even retrieved from her pencil case. As they walked out of class, Maria pulled Y/n into a tiny hug, not wanting to exchange any words.

Y/n knew the meaning of her affection and she secretly welcomed it, even if she wanted to push Maria aside.

"Text me if you need me, okay? And if I see that douchebag I'll..." she mimed a boxing action which made the redhead smile slightly.

"Y/n I'll give you a lift to dance." Usually Bucky took her, but there was no way she was even stepping foot anywhere near his car.

"I'm not going," she replied shortly, making Isla and Maria share a look. "I just want to go home."

"But Y/n-"

"I want to go home Isla. You can either drive or I'll walk." She adjusted her bag straps on her shoulder and turned away, marching down the hallway with her green eyes ice cold. Even the freshmen she usually smiled at were ignored and people skirted nervously around her.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Isla muttered, watching her sister walk away.

Maria placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded encouragingly. "Go. She needs you."

Isla hesitated, checking her phone. "Can you find Val? I said I would meet her-"

"I will. She'll understand." Isla smiled and then took off, her track history coming in handy as she sprinted off down the hallway.

- ⧗ -

"Y/n! Get in the car!" Isla had spotted the black hood of her sister walking down the sidewalk and she pulled over, driving along side her. But Y/n ignored her, keeping her head down. "Fucks sake Y/n! Get in the car!"

"Just leave me alone Isla."

"No. You can push everyone else away but you don't get to push me away." She checked the cars around her and shoved her own into park, jumping out and running over. "What happened to sticking together?"

"I don't care." That was the wrong thing to say and she knew it.

"Okay that's it." Isla grabbed her sister's arm and dragged her all the way back to the car, opening the door and lifting her onto the seat despite Y/n's protests to get away. It looked funny from the outside but neither of them were laughing. They were both pissed.

"Look, I get that you're mad," Isla began as she pulled onto their street, "but you cannot and will not get over this if you push everyone away." Y/n stayed silent, staring out of the window. "So talk to me."

"Please don't." Y/n really wasn't in the mood for talking; she thought that was evident. But her twin's persistent nature carried through strong, even if Y/n didn't break.

Isla had really tried to push to get information, at least something. But as she rolled into their driveway and Y/n had only sunk further into her seat with tears trickling down her face, she felt dejected.

"You won't be able to avoid it with Mom or Mama, you know. They're gonna ask- or I'm gonna tell them."

"Okay," was all that came as a reply before Y/n slammed her door shut and walked up the front steps. Isla watched her as a few spots of rain fell onto her windscreen. She puffed out her cheeks and let out a sigh before following the hunched figure, making sure to lock her car.

Wanda was in the middle of changing the bedsheets when she heard the front door close. She knew it was Isla and so didn't rush to greet her as a pair of feet sounded up the stairs. But they didn't come towards her, which wasn't unusual as the bathroom was in the opposite direction.

As she was replacing the pillowcases, a bright ringtone came from her dresser and Natasha's contact came into view. Wanda frowned but answered all the same, knowing she was calling from the middle of Y/n's private lesson.

"Hey Nat, is everything okay?"

"Is Isla home?" Nat asked as she chewed her lip, a rather annoying habit.

"Yeah I heard the front door go a few minutes ago. Why?"

There was a moment of silence before Natasha spoke again. "Is Y/n with her?"

Wanda frowned. Why would Y/n be with her? "I- well, I don't know. I haven't been down to check. But doesn't Y/n have dance tonight?"

"She does. But there's been no sign of her and Bucky's car hasn't pulled up either. And that girl won't answer her phone." She sounded worried and Wanda felt helpless. There wasn't much she could do to comfort Nat through the phone.

"Stay on the line, I'll go check." She opened the door and peered down the hallway, not seeing any of her girls. But footsteps up the stairs caught her attention and she spun around quickly.

But it was Isla. Not out of the ordinary.

"Hey sweetheart. Is your sister home?" Isla stared at her, eyes wide.

"Uh, yeah. I think she's in her room." Wanda eyed her suspiciously but turned towards Y/n's door. "Wait, I wouldn't disturb her yet. She's um-"

"What's going on?" Natasha asked as she heard Isla's quiet voice. The teenager grimaced and glanced at her sister's bedroom door before dragging Wanda back to her own room.

"Bucky cheated on her today," Isla said straight out, watching the colour drain from her mother's face and a string of curses came flowing from the phone's speaker. "But please, give her some space. She shut me out and if we push her she's only going to hide it more."

Wanda sank down onto her freshly made bed and placed her phone on her pillow, Nat still on speaker so her angry rant continued.

"- and I'll be home in 20 minutes. Yelena can sort the classes out and I'll cancel my privates for today-"

"Nat, no, you can't just leave the studio. They need you-"

"I'm a mom first Wanda. Our girls come first, you know that. And I don't like how Y/n is handling this so I will be coming home. And that's final." There was a jangle of keys before Nat hung up and Isla felt a fuzzy feeling in her stomach.

The twins really were lucky to have moms who would drop everything to go to them whenever they needed. Nat loved dance but she would give it all up for her family in a heartbeat.

"When did it happen?" Wanda asked, patting the bed beside her for Isla to take a seat.

The teenager pulled out her phone and got up the picture that made her stomach churn, holding it out for her mother to see. "She found out at lunch. But she did what Mama used to do and that scared me more than if she had been crying none stop."

Wanda placed the phone down with an unreadable expression and wrapped her arm around her eldest daughter's shoulders, kissing the top of her head. "She had you, even if she shut you out, you're her rock. I think just knowing you were there helped her more than you could know." Wanda's voice was gentle and definitely one of Isla's favourite sounds. Somehow she always knew what to say.

"She cried at first and it made me so angry I just wanted to protect her even more," Isla admitted, leaning into her mother. "And then he strutted in like the king of the school and I swear I could have punched him." Her mind flashed back to Y/n crying on her shoulder and Bucky's cocky face and her fist subconsciously clenched into a fist. Wanda noticed this and placed her hand on top, relaxing the tension straight away.

"She's lucky to have you," Wanda said with a smile as she kissed her daughter's head. "What do you say to ordering those cookies Y/n loves? To cheer her up?"

Isla smiled, nodding. "I think she'd love that."

Twenty minutes later Natasha walked through the front door with a box of cookies under her arm. She had intercepted them from the shy delivery guy who was more than happy to accept the large tip she gave him, accompanied by her terrifying scowl. Hearing Isla's news had put her in a foul mood and Yelena didn't dare argue when asked to cover the senior classes later on in the evening.

"Where is she?" She asked as she entered the kitchen, following the sounds of hushed chatting. Wanda stood up to retrieve the box and took Natasha's work bag from her shoulder, guiding her to a chair. Isla smiled and kissed her on the cheek which soften her glare slightly.

"She's still upstairs, my love," Wanda spoke softly and slipped behind her wife, rubbing her hands up and down the tense shoulders that Natasha wore. Her whole body was tense so Wanda's gentle massage made her let out a deep sigh. "We wanted to wait for you."

"She's less likely to bite your head off," Isla joked with a small smile. "I basically kidnapped her off the sidewalk so she's not too happy with me." Both women shot her a strange and look and Isla realised how weird her comment sounded. "She wouldn't get in the car... stubborn, you know?"

"And I know where she gets that from." Nat would have protested against her wife's comment but she was too into the massage for it to stop.

"I'll take her a cookie and see how she is. Being alone isn't good for that girl."

With a plate of three cookies in hand and a bottle of water in the other, Nat climbed the stairs to her room, her mind racing with different scenarios. Best case would be that Y/n would be crying on her bed. Worst case would be emotionless.

And there she was. Natasha's heart sank as she watched the shell of her daughter return to her bed after unlocking her door. Her cheeks weren't tear stained and she hadn't changed out of her school outfit yet. Her knees were pulled up to her chest as she leaned against the headboard and stared at a spot on the wall.

The framed picture of her and Bucky which usually sat on her nightstand was now tossed face down in a corner.

"Hey sweetheart," Natasha said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Your mom ordered your favourite cookies." Y/n didn't move.

Nat scanned her entire body, the silence growing larger in the enclosed space. It unnerved her because this behaviour was such a contrast to Y/n's usual bubbly nature. There was always music playing whenever Nat came in her room, but now there was just a deathly silence.

"I heard what happened. How are you feeling?" No reply. "Y/n, don't shut me out please."

"I'm fine."

Nat let out a laugh. "Yeah, I can tell," she said sarcastically. "Talk to me lenya, it's okay."

Y/n gritted her teeth, digging the pads of her fingers into her knees. She didn't want to break, but the wall in her mind was growing weaker and Natasha knew exactly how to get through it. She'd learned her coping mechanisms from the best of course.

Nat could see it working. "Mama's here, you're okay. You can talk to me baby. Just let it out. What's going on inside that head of yours?"

That was the final straw. Y/n pulled her eyes away from the wall and found her mama's caring green ones staring back at her with love and compassion, and she cracked. Just one look at her mama and Y/N couldn't hold back anymore. She burst into tears and dropped her head to her knees, hiding herself.

Natasha moved quickly, sliding onto the bed beside her and and pulling her close to her chest, cradling her close. Y/n smooth hair was tangled but Nat ignored it and stroked her hand over it like she had done when her girls were babies. Three or seventeen, they were always her babies.

"I've got you, it's okay," were the words that Natasha murmured over and over. They didn't need to discuss what had happened yet. It was too soon. Y/N just needed her mama and a place to let it all out. Not that she couldn't do that with Wanda, but her connection with Nat was stronger. Wanda was Isla's rock, Natasha was Y/n's.

Nat couldn't help but let a tear slip down her cheek as she listened to Y/n's heartbreaking sobs. She could do nothing but let her cry, knowing that's what she needed. Blocking out emotions was Natasha's unhealthy habit and she kicked herself for letting Y/n learn it too. She encouraged her girls to let out their emotions, helping them do that if they needed.

Y/n choked out a sob and shuffled so she was hugging her mama's torso, looking for more comfort. "Aren't you supposed to be at the studio?" Always more worried about others, Y/n was selfless to the core.

"Nope. I'm supposed to be with my daughter who had a shitty day." Y/n smiled a watery smile and wiped her tears from her cheeks. "I left Yelena to oversee everything."

"That's a bold decision," Y/n said, her voice still shaky from crying. "But thank you."

"Oh my sweet girl, you don't need to thank me." She gently wiped a stray tear that had escaped down Y/n's left cheek. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Y/n averted her gaze and looked at the dance company logo on Natasha's team jacket. "I got cheated on. It's stupid."

"You're right, he is stupid."

"She was really pretty too," Y/n cried, her tears appearing once more as the image replayed in her mind. "She's blonde and tall and probably everything he could ever want. I was dumb to think he'd be happy dating me when there are girls out there that look like her."

Natasha saw red. She hated negative self talk, but hearing it come from her daughter who was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen made her furious.

Without saying a word, she got up from the bed and tugged Y/n to her feet, holding her steady as her head spun from crying. She walked over to the full length mirror on the wall and held her daughter in front of it, hands on her shoulders.

"You see that?" Natasha pointed in the mirror at Y/n's reflection. "That girl right there is perfect. She's so much better than any blonde girl who looks like a supermodel. You are beautiful, smart, thoughtful, funny, talented, this list would never end. Y/n Romanoff is perfect and you better remember that."

Y/n could barely see her reflection through the tears that had once again made another reappearance after her mama's speech. She tugged the hands on her shoulders so Nat's arms slipped in front of her and she had something to hold onto. Y/n pressed her cheek to Nat's forearm and leaned on it, feeling her mother hug her from behind.

"If I'm everything you say I am, why did he cheat?" She turned away from the mirror and looked up at her mother who's gaze softened as she cupped her daughter's face.

"Because men are shit," she stated bluntly. "Why do you think I married a woman? Why do you think Isla is dating one? Men are shit and he didn't deserve you one bit. You, my girl, deserve the very best. Not some immature high school boy who didn't realise what he had with you."

"I really thought he was the one," she said dejectedly. Nat kissed her forehead and brought her back to the bed. "How did he change so fast?"

"I don't know honey. But you don't need him anymore. My girl can find someone miles better than him."

"I don't think I want to date."

Natasha stroked her hand over Y/n's hair and reached for the bottle of water laying on the blanket. "Even better. Means I get you all to myself." She pulled Y/n into her side and held up the bottle for her to take. "Crying makes you dehydrated, so drink up."

Y/n took a few sips, feeling the cool liquid soothe her raw throat. She made sure the lid was on tightly before placing it on her nightstand. "Every time I see him in the hallway I won't know what to do."

"Unfortunately that will just fade with time honey. But you've got Isla and Maria who will be beside you at all times. They'll keep him away, you know your sister."

"Im scared she's gonna punch him."

Nat paused for a moment. "Part of me wants to let her, but I guess I have to be a responsible adult and talk her out of it." Her joke worked and Y/n laughed, smiling properly for the first time since lunch.

"Unless you want to be called to a meeting with the principal, then yeah I think so."

Natasha tightened her arms around her daughter and hugged her hard, breathing in the remains of her floral perfume. "You think you're ready to see Isla and Mom yet? They're worried about you."

As much as Y/n wanted to stay in that blissful moment with her mama, she knew she needed to see the others too. And also apologise to Isla who was only trying to help.

"If you'll help me talk to them?"

"Of course sweetheart. Of course."

#fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #double the trouble au

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inknopewetrust · 2 years

Text

𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

Summary: a conversation at lunch reveals much to be decided as senior year races to a close.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Stranger Things) Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, smut, outdoor/public sex, fingering, slight angst, secret relationship, anxiety.

Quick Links: Masterlist

The tray’s plastic pushed deeply into your palms–not that you could truly feel it, however. Your gaze was glossed over, vacantly staring into space as time ticked within the line. The smells of steamed canned corn, chicken with a less-than-flakey coating, and cardboard frozen pizza couldn’t break the spell.

Overwhelming—high school was.

Sometimes it lost you.

And that clock was ticking too, just like the one behind you signaling 12:17 with its skinny, frail arms pointing to the numbers. May had arrived with a flurry as the spring air quickly turned to summer and the transition hadn’t allowed anyone to prepare themselves for the end of the year. 29 days left and you’d be free.

No more expectations from people you’d grown up around since you were five, no more eyes constantly staring and expecting the best. You’d be free of expectations, and your mind wandered with the weight beginning to lift every day that passed.

Even in the middle of a busy school day in the lunch line, your thoughts couldn’t help but stray.

“Corn?”

The hairnet on the lunch lady squeezed her hair so tight it began to poke through the top of the netting. Her soured expression grew as the spoon became heavy in her hand and the subject of her calls had ignored her. Unmoving, static, the woman dumped the corn back into the tray and hit the spoon on the metal buffet stand twice.

“I said,” the woman spat, “do you want corn?”

Your stupor broke. The tray became lighter, the dim lighting reflecting against the woman’s face startled your inability to form words in that moment.

“Sorry…” You chuckled, shaking your head and giving her a smile. “I got lost in my head for a second.”

The woman, even in the disturbance to her flow of lunch delivery, gave a small smile and nodded. She picked up her spoon and shucked the corn onto it once more and asked: “Corn?”

“Yes, please.” And you picked up the pace in line.

Senior year. What was it supposed to be like?

You had just seen that movie… The Breakfast Club… and it challenged you. The way goody-two-shoes Claire found her way into your soul and pulled it out for the world to see; asshole activity girl with perfectly white Adidas and a dazzling smile. Perfection was only seen as such if others bolstered the idea. For you, that had always been the case and it was eating away at your consciousness as the legacy of what you’ll leave behind as you walk across the stage becomes more clear.

A little preppy girl with no record, no sense of danger, who held her head high amidst the other social groups that merged to their tables in the Hawkins High cafeteria. For a moment after you had exited the small room that served you two pieces of stale chicken and watered down fruit cocktail, you stood holding your tray clutched between your hands and watched.

The world revolved around you without your input. The accomplishments that littered your parent’s refrigerator and awards that dangled from the pegs on the back of your bedroom door meant nothing to anyone in that moment. As the crescendo of the year crept toward its close, you felt as though you were not doing anything for yourself—just what others wanted from you.

Was there anything they didn’t know?

Had your life become an open book for everyone to read and discard it once it was complete? You were concerned you had peaked and were slowly descending into a downward spiral.

The chaos of the cafeteria accentuated those feelings.

You felt it from the top of your head through the socks that rested over your toes and somehow, you managed to get moving again. The crippling world around you opening up once more as Nancy Wheeler’s hand shot up and began waving frantically in your left peripheral vision. Your name breaking through the loud chatter of each subgroup of misfits, jocks, nerds, and metal heads.

“Y/n! Quickly!” Nancy was almost frantic which meant whatever she was squirmy about, it had to deal with the newspaper—not that you were a part of it in anyway. The eldest Wheeler found it comforting having you check over the articles for proof before she laid them down for printing.

Your feet moved quickly, squeaking in the slightest with that new-shoe feel.

“Come here, come on!” Nancy rushed you and you set down your tray a bit harder than you would have liked as the juice from the fruit mix going over the sides and onto her pencil.

“What?” You asked, pulling out the orange chair and plopping down. Your green tweed dress riding up on the sides as the shift fabric was less than forgiving.

“Read it.” Nancy handed over two pages of a typed story as she shoved a piece of apple in her mouth, wiped her hands and cleaned the juice off the pencil with a napkin.

“I don’t know why you make me do this… it’s not like I contribute anything to the paper and I have plenty of homework to do right now.”

“I make you do it because,” Nancy dropped the napkin back on the table and rose her eyebrows high in judgement at you, “you have an eye for spelling mistakes. I might know how to write but I can still miss letters or butcher a word now and again.”

“Can’t you get one of the kids to do it?” Well, you were both months over 18 now so kids? Not like some of the students who went to Hawkins High. “What about Mike? Can’t force him, huh?”

“Like he would even give me the time of day…” Nancy laughed, glancing over at Mike as he settled with Dustin at a table with other members of the Hellfire Club… nerds? “You know he spends so much time reading letters from El that I don’t see him unless its dinner time or he passes me in the hallway. Not that I am complaining though,” Nancy digressed, turning her head away from the table as quickly as she looked. She put her arm up by her face, nearly shielding her eyes from the direction to your right.

“And being your only friend leaves me to do it,” You mumbled, “It makes me wish that Jonathan was here to– “

“Don’t you dare!” Nancy cut in. She was still in denial about what was truly happening. The two were growing apart and she spent so much time putting herself into extracurricular activities this year that she hadn’t even had time to really think about it.

“Fine, fine,” you put your hands up in defense, the papers in your right hand going up. “But I’d rather you stop doing this to yourself.”

“Y/n…”

“I mean it, Nance. Come on…” The eyes you gave her were pitiful, but she wasn’t watching you. Her hands clutched her fork, knuckles turning a shade of white she wasn’t. “He hasn’t written you back in weeks.”

“Y/n…” Her voice was small so you barely heard her over the sound of your own voice.

“I love you, I do, but it pains me that it’s been eight months of this and there is no end in sight.”

“Y/n!” She shrieked and you furrowed your brows at her outburst. As if the world had slowed, the paper began lifting from your fingertips and Nancy’s eyes looked up to the intruder in concern. Nancy with her doe-eyed innocence gulped as if she were afraid and Nancy Wheeler wasn’t afraid of anything.

“The end is in sight with that dress you’re wearing today.”

The hand that had been holding the paper dropped to the table and barely missed the tray.

Did they know everything about you?

“Let’s take a sneaky-peak at tomorrow’s headline, hm?” His hum was melodic, antagonizing yet playful; scary, to those who didn’t know him. “Tigers win!?” He read aloud, “predicting the news a little early, don’t you think, Wheeler?”

Eddie Munson was a two-year flunker whose presence in the school grew every year. Everyone knew that the guy had crawled his way through each semester to skate by with D’s just to make it to his senior year which had been repeated two times before 1986 arrived. Stoner, nerd, metal-head… from his looks but you wouldn’t necessarily call him a nerd even if his table had a lingering few large-lensed glasses kids with pants that were floods. On most days, he looked like a mix between John Deacon and a member of Mötley Crüe. Eddie’s metal rings glinted in the poor cafeteria lighting as he held the paper high above the both of you.

“And what about you, Y/n?” The paper shot down quickly and ended up covering your tray, halfway bent between your milk carton and fork. “Getting the inside deets with miss clairvoyant over here?”

“That’s a pretty big word,” you responded, not turning in your chair but looking up at him as he leaned against the table with his hip. Unlike Nancy, you did not shrink. “Are you sure you know what it means?”

Eddie smiled. His pearly whites biting down on his lower lips as the grin made him less intimidating. You felt the effect from Nancy–her hands less white, her jaw less tense–but what it did to you… well your heart lurched. You felt that in your toes.

“Oh I don’t know…” He careened, turning his head and looking back at his table–all of whom were looking back anxiously. Mike and Dustin who sat there each lunch period since the second week of school looked as though they weren’t even breathing. “I’ve been in a lot of English classes so I might have picked up some things.”

Nancy snatched the article back into her hands after her nerves had settled and huffed. “So what do you want? Can’t you just leave us alone?”

Eddie’s face dropped for a second, his attention drawn to Nancy as her sour mood soured his own. Smile gone and no longer doting, Eddie focused his attention onto her.

“I want a lot of things Nancy but we can’t have everything we want, can we?” He played her words carefully, no true intention as to why he waltzed over to the two of you in the middle of the day. Eddie acted on impulse, even if that meant going against social rules he already disliked.

“Go back to your table then… We don’t have anything you want.”

“Actually,” Eddie held up a finger and pointed it at her. His face was scrunched before proving to her that he indeed did have a question even if it was trivial, “I have a question for Miss President over here.” He pointed to you and she shut up. You looked at him expectantly, not sure exactly what could go flying out of his mouth at any second.

Instead of speaking right away, Eddie crouched to your level. You cleared your throat and shifted in your chair, wiggling a little as you pulled your dress as it tried to ride up again. Eddie’s eyes flashed down, watching as your fingers gripped the fabric and pulled. The dress was unforgiving in the best of ways. Not willing to expand as you had attempted and shot back up to where the Dean of Students would surely comment on the “fingertip” rule he so admired when you broke it. He lingered there for a moment as your fingers dragged against the fabric and barely skimmed the skin of your thigh that remained uncovered. As he looked up again he met your eyes already looking into his own. Those dark brown beauties dilated and mischievous without a blink; a smirk quickly forming on his face as tongue quickly wet his lips.

Nancy couldn’t see the twinkle in your eye as you looked down at him from the side; your eyes perfectly hooded for such a simple question.

“Student Body President…” Eddie began and Nancy’s skin crawled compared to your own which had not. “How does one even get there?”

“What’s your question, Eddie?” He wouldn’t admit publically that his name from your pretty lips had sent a tingle down his spine.

“Rufus isn’t gonna be here tonight for Hellfire and I need keys to get in the room. Thought you’d be able to pull some strings and make it happen.” You noticed he was wearing the club shirt and remembered it was Thursday. Spring break was a bit late this year and fell on the third week of March and a Friday which made the week unnecessarily busy and long. Busy week for a busy year and everything was so close to ending.

“You think I have keys to meeting rooms?”

“No,” Eddie shook his head and titled his head back. His hair blew behind his shoulders and you could see a small bruise on his neck to which Nancy coughed as if it were inappropriate, “but you can convince Principle Higgins to leave it open because he’ll close it if Rufus isn’t there to open it.”

“And why should I do this for you?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do I gain from this… associating with a club such as yours?”

Eddie heaved in a heavy sigh and craned his neck, flashing it more as if showing it off in a way. He ran his hand through his hair and pulled on the spot to let his long fingers linger and your eyes trailed as he wanted. Eddie knew what he was doing. When he had you, he shrugged.

“Just asking a favor.”

“Hm.” You hummed and glanced over his lowered shoulder at the table of other misfits that sat staring with their mouths agape as they watched their seemingly fearless leader retreat to his knees to get what he wants. One look at Dustin and Mike you knew that there was no way you’d say no, but there was hardly a chance of that in the first place.

Miss goody-two-shoes needed everyone on her side–the people believed.

“Fine, I’ll ask him but I can’t promise anything.”

Eddie smiled again. He turned to the group and gave them a thumbs up and you could just about see their relief wash over their faces.

“Thanks, Madame President.” He awkwardly bowed with his hands, rising back to his feet with a little jump that made the pins on his vest jingle. “My club will honor your decision by giving you an honorary title and ranking that holds no significance what-so-ever.”

“Oh that’s alright–” You shook your hand in front of you and returned to your tray trying to divert anything that will spiral into an embarrassing outburst. Eddie shook his head and got louder and louder as his declarations began spewing out into the cafeteria. Some listened, some didn’t, but the moment he mentioned your name, all the heads turned.

“Hawkins High! This shameful, scummy place! Listen here good people!” Eddie knocked into the chair beside you and in one second he went from feet on the ground to feet on the chair and stood tall before everyone. Members of the school newspaper scrambled to get the drafts off the table so he didn’t ruin them.

“Madame President here, Y/n L/n,” all heads turned and the conversations stopped, “is OFFICIALLY an honorary member of the Hellfire Club! Just another one to add to her long list of activities…” He glanced down at you as you covered your mouth with one hand and watched him carefully. “I hear by induct her as a level 12 Paladin for her devotion to her oaths as leader of our dear class.”

The Hellfire Club clapped. Loudly.

Their cheers were the only thing that sounded in that room and others could hear a pin drop. Nancy Wheeler sat with her mouth open and waiting for a fly to dart in, not sure what exactly to do. She had never seen a spectacle like it.

Once Eddie was satisfied with the few cheers that his friends gave, he jumped down from the table and turned to you once more.

“And if you ever find your way to our little club, you’ll have to start at level 1 and earn your spot.”

You moved your hand back down to your lap and shook your head. “I expect nothing less.”

Eddie left without another word and the room slowly went back to its usual chatter with others making their frequent glances toward the prep table and toward you. Nancy closed her mouth and opened it again to say something but nothing came out. She had few words for the ordeal.

“What the hell was that?” She asked lowly, looking in your eyes for an answer she wasn’t sure she’d find.

“I don’t know, Nance… you know how that group is…” You trailed off, picking up your fork and moving the corn around in its small square.

“Yeah! But! I don’t expect Mike to come over here and make a scene!”

“Mike isn’t Eddie.”

“Thank God.” She muttered and you tried to not let the bite of her dislike sting. “You don’t need to be associated with them when graduation is just around the corner. Imagine if they start running for student council and doing debate, or, or, whatever!”

“Oh come on…” You looked at her exasperated, “they don’t want to join the clubs I’m in. He asked for help so I helped. End of story.”

“You know he sells drugs?”

“And?” You shook your head, not realizing that your attitude had turned as sour as hers had when Eddie first approached the table before.

“What has gotten into you?” She threw up her hands turned to the others at the table to tried to pretend they hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time and their eyes immediately diverted too late. They were all guilty but neither of you truly cared.

“Nothing! I’m just saying. That’s all.” You said, drawing out your words in protection and she felt she had an inkling of clues beginning to trickle in. Did she know you? What had she missed?

“You’re not keeping secrets from me, are you?”

“Nancy…” You sighed, pushing away the tray and losing all appetite the longer she kept talking about this. “You are my best friend. Why would I keep anything from you?”

“I don’t know!” She exclaimed, focusing her attention back on the articles as her levels of comfort dropped further into the pits of Hell. “I just think that something’s been going on and you don’t talk about anything anymore.”

“I’m fine,” you stated bluntly—perhaps a little harshly and she stared at you for a second before scoffing, shaking her head in disbelief and returning to the article before her. You sat for a moment until you couldn’t stand the silence and hunger had left you. You stood up, the chair squeaking against the ugly as you grabbed your tray and left the cafeteria.

On your way out, you glanced at the table of the Hellfire Club and Eddie caught your eye, winking as he popped in a chip and you couldn’t see the way Nancy crinkled the paper up in her hands and threw it on the table with her tongue in cheek in incredulity.

You barreled out of Spanish at 2:45 when your final bell of the day rang.

As everyone remained preoccupied with their thoughts leading to the final class of the day, but you reached your locked, shoving the folders and books you knew you needed for homework into the bag and slammed the door closed as people truly began to fill the halls with an amlost–end of the day relief.

Outside, the sun was beating down on Hawkins with a sweltering heat. In the Midwest, it was as though the mix of spring and summer was always skipped to lean right into summer. A trick, if you will. One or two days of good, hot weather only to be brought back to a wintery spring where a jacket and hat are needed just to walk out the door.

In the front of your backpack, you unzipped the small compartment and pulled out your Walkman and foldable headphones, pressing play when the system was in place. The world around you disappeared as you passed the parking lot and went behind the school beyond the trees.

Play the game, you know you can’t quit until it’s won/ Soldier on, only you can do what must be done.

You wanted to chuck the device so far into the distance that even an evening of searching couldn’t find it. St. Elmo’s Fire… It felt too on the nose for it to play first–you had sworn you rewound the tape before you left that morning.

You know in some way you’re a lot like me/ You’re just a prisoner and you’re tryin’ to break free.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled and continued on through the forest until the break was found. The beat of the song falling with your steps every second and by the time you reached the opening, the next song in the rotation began playing.

In the opening, it was clear. The sun shining, the trees bristling even if you couldn’t hear it and the picnic table remained unused and empty. You lobbed your backpack on the ground and took a seat on the table, not the bench. Its raw, warping wood threating a sliver every time you sat down with anything more than jeans but today was an exception.

You liked the dress.

It was freeing and fun; a pretty green with white buttons that matched the blouse underneath and shoes you had chosen that morning.

You had forgone the tights because it wasn’t something people expected of you… but no one noticed and that bruised your polished ego as the clock pushed further and further into the days’ end.

On top of the table, you leaned your arms back behind you and lifted your head to the sky that the clearing allowed to break through. You closed your eyes to soak up the small piece of joy that was the heat and you could feel the sweat begin to build at the back of your knees, at the crest of your forehead.

Bliss as Madonna began to play through your headphones.

In your quiet reflection with your eyes closed and the Queen of Pop ringing through your ears, your mind wandered back to a few hours before. The scene in the lunchroom; how Nancy gave you the cold shoulder for even offering to help Eddie in the smallest of ways. That burned–her irritability to such a tiny piece of your existence. The man pushed boundaries. It was in his nature and whether anyone liked it or not, he was often outside the box because of sheer conformity of others to act a certain way.

You knew that better than anyone: a picture perfect image that cannot be tainted by the simplest forms of excitement or pleasure. A fool enjoyed life more than those who stayed within its lines. And this had all settled within the last year.

Finally, Hawkins had gone back to a sense of normalcy that you could live with and although there were pieces of the town that left a gaping hole in your heart, you tried to heal by becoming something bigger and better than you were before but you hadn’t healed. Hopper, Joyce, El, Will, Jonathan… all gone in the span of a month and even those you weren’t close with like Billy and those who fell to his corrupted being were missed. You buried it all for the sake of getting out of this God-forsaken town and yet there you were, keeping secrets and trying to perfect an image that was already blemished but trying to be something you weren’t.

In some ways, you were spawning into something along the lines of Nancy and although you had been joined at the hip since you were kids, you weren’t her. You always were something more, something aching to be different than the girl who was so popular and once had a boyfriend who wore polos and drove a nice car.

It wasn’t you.

And at some point, you recognized that as the winter turned to spring and you went looking for a blunt.

Lost in your thoughts for the hundredth time that day, you didn’t hear or feel the clatter of a metal lunchbox meeting the wood of the table. Madonna’s lyrics swirling in your mind, you wanted to be like her: edgy, fun, and exciting. Except you were a Claire—searching for someone like Bender to break you free of a life of conformity.

It was your dirty little secret.

The lunchbox’s lid opened with a thud–which you did hear because it coincided with the change in song. Slowly but surely, you felt the chord of your headphones being lifted and lifted until a snap caused the music to stop and as the muffled padding of your headphones did not give you the clearest sound, the music remained playing louder in the open. You needn’t bother cracking open your eyes to know who disconnected them.

You imagined he shrugged as Jefferson Starship began playing even though he had put the mixtape together.

Then, you imagined him debating on whether or not he should remove the headphones or leave them on–half for giggles and the other for sheer enjoyment of the moment. He also knew he might have angered you for what he had done earlier that day, but was willing to take the chance. So, he carefully lifted the headphones off your ears so they didn’t snap back and add another problem to the list you may have already began building.

He sat them down beside the Walkman that continued to play and moved around the table to stand in front of you–your knees almost knocking into his chest as his stood at the side of the table beside the bench and guided his pointer finger onto one of your kneecaps.

He wanted to see if you’d open your eyes.

His finger was cold–like the kind that had been in air conditioning too long when it was too early to put it on. But as your skin met his, it warmed to an even degree. One finger quickly became two, then three, then his entire hand rested on your exposed knee and gently caressed the skin before silently, and not forcefully, nudging it open. You kept your eyes closed but the inability to contain your growing slime gave him the confidence to keep going.

Just as your legs parted enough, you heard the rustling of the wood chips underneath the table and he drew close standing between the spot he created for himself. You, however, were still leaning back against your arms and that wasn’t good enough for him. So, he bent over to meet your body and his face aligned with yours in a mirrored look. You could feel his breath on your ear; hot and melting in the blaze of the sun.

“Don’t be shy…” He muttered quietly as his hands fell on the outsides of your knees trailing upwards toward your waist. “Put your arms on me.”

You complied by lifting off the warping wood until your fingers met the taut leather of the jacket’s sleeves. He must have been overheating in a jacket like that just to look cool. In one quick swoop, he grabbed at your waist and pulled you to the edge of the table so your body connected with his and the space between the two of you was limited.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as the smile could no longer be contained and you opened your eyes to see his dotting brown ones looking back at you.

“I thought you’d be mad at me.”

Eddie Munson was always looking for trouble; you had learned to accept that by now.

“But I really did need the help.” That was truthful, you knew.

Were you angry at what he had done? He was a showman, one prone to cavalier outbursts that people often shook their heads at but in the end, why did you leave? Nancy’s disgust and disapproval to something she did not even know about? It wasn’t Eddie, no. He had few boundaries but enjoyed the spectacle of a game.

“I know; I know…” You nodded, running your hands over the fabric of his jacket one of his rested wrapped around your waist and the other just at the end of your dress’ skirt. “It wasn’t you.”

“Nancy Wheeler still got a chip on her shoulder?” He smirked knowingly.

“Yes,” you replied, moving to try to readjust a button on his vest that was intentionally crooked but awkwardly upside down, “I don’t think she appreciated your little display.”

“I couldn’t help it…” Eddie laughed, his smile drawing wide. “This dress, baby.

God, you felt yourself blush at his words.

“I couldn’t look away!” He exclaimed happily, looking down at the way the dress hugged you and flattered you in the best of ways.

“Oh, please!” You shook your head, looking away from him with your chin tucked into your chest.

“No, no, no, no!” Eddie said over and over, quickly and efficiently as he worked your own belief that you were as attractive as he said. “I really, really love it.”

“Well I’m glad someone does.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know!” Your reaction was killing him, his heart thumping so loudly for you and this blood flowing so freely. “I can’t stand the length sometimes!”

“Well I love it and the fact you didn’t wear those white tights either.”

The first time he met you, he made fun of a pair of white tights you had been wearing. Eddie called them “fuliginous” and it was the first time someone had ever said something that made you open a dictionary because it intrigued you.

“Yeah… well… I thought the outfit looked better this way.”

“And it does!” He reaffirmed your thoughts, rubbing the tweed material between his fingertips as his temptation brewed. You could see the impish gleam in his face; it was only fitting for a guy like him but it wasn’t as though you didn’t know that.

A part of you wanted him to think that way.

It helped you break away from the preppy mold you were stuck in.

“You know,” You began, looking at his face, lips, and then the little peaking bruise on his neck from where his vest met his skin, “you don’t have to show that off.”

“What?” His hand left your waist and pulled down the side of his vest just enough. Eddie feigned innocence. “This?”

“Yes, that!” You smacked his arm away as it returned to you. “It’s gross!”

“It’s gross!? You’re the one who did it!”

“I know but you don’t need to flaunt it!”

Eddie laughed, moving to place a kiss on your forehead that evolved into one on your cheek, one on your nose, and one on your chin but not where they were supposed to be.

“I might not have girls lining up like Jason Carver but I’d still like the ladies to know I’m taken.” You felt Eddie’s hand run up your back, moving to grip the back of your neck with a gentle yet stern grip. He was always unlocking something new about you that hadn’t been awoken. He tilted your head enough where he had you at an angle that he liked.

“Yeah?” You questioned knowingly.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s nose lightly bristled yours in anticipation.

“When is…” You trailed off, sucking in a breath as your eyes threatened to flutter close and his lips barely touched yours. You gripped the sides of his jacket fiercely. Eddie hummed in curiosity. You wet your lips with your tongue and looked up at him. He was so close, so warm on this sweltering day.

“When is the last time you washed your hands?” You asked, not breaking the seeming trance he had set upon you. Eddie opened his eyes and furrowed his brows, not backing away or taking his hands off of you.

“Wha– “

You gave him and look and it sent his mind right where you wanted it to go. At first, he looked surprised at your suggestion but he knew you took nothing lightly. The decision was yours and he’d follow you to the pits of Hell if he had to.

“Right here?” He asked seriously and you nodded your head, eyes steady on his moving lips.

“Mhm,” You nodded.

“We have like a-a half hour before school gets out.” He wasn’t finding an excuse, just valid reasoning.

“You already have me,” You told him honestly, “what’s a little more today?”

He was speechless. Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape and he felt like a fish searching for food. A short circuit in his brain brain as it went into overdrive. He liked you in control.

“So,” You asked him again, running a hand over his chest where the distorted words of his club were beginning to fade, “those hands clean?”

“As a whistle.” Eddie mumbled and crashed his lips to yours in a fury.

His kisses are desperate and hot, both in passion and in the heat of the day. His lips claim yours as your tongue begs for refuge in his mouth, your hands moving from his chest to hair as your fingers glide across his skull. Eddie’s right hand clutched your right thigh tightly, reveling in the exposed skin that remains so plump underneath his fingertips and guides your legs open further as you bend backwards from the weight of his kiss. With one on your thigh and the other on the back of your neck, he positions you as needed, open for him and the skirt of your dress rides up enough to gather near your hips.

“I’m so fucking glad you wore this dress.” He groaned as you broke the kiss and did as you had two nights before this moment–guiding your lips down his neck and pulling on his hair to give you better leverage.

Eddie’s hand roamed higher and higher on your leg until you felt that same pointer finger bend and run from the junction of the top of your thigh to the top of your underwear. Your breath hitched as you tried to focus on pleasing him as much as he was you. The palm of Eddie’s hand that had been on the back of your neck moved to grip your opposite thigh and hike it over his arm. He would hold you like that forever if it meant he had better leverage on the pinnacle of pleasure for you.

“Baby you’re fucking wild.” He muttered it almost in disbelief you’d propose this in the middle of the school day. Having the same free hour brought so many benefits.

Eddie’s nose nudged your jaw as his hand slipped underneath your underwear and you could feel him descend down in calculated inching, finding your aching folds already wet for him. In a fell wisp, he cupped you and pressed down sending your back arching outward and giving him the perfect second to lift your leg a bit higher.

As he pulled his hand back upward, two of his fingers barely breached your entrance and had you swooning. He watched as your eyes shot closed, mouth went slack, and you held onto his being just a bit tighter.

“Already, baby?” He was as breathless as you.

That fucking nickname.

Eddie kept those two fingers on the outside of your folds as you pushed to get him inside, setting his thumb on your clit with precise stress. You could feel the cool metal of his rings just barely grazing the skin too.

“Dammit, Eddie.” You gasped as he began moving it in small circles, watching your face for the simple pleasure of his own. You had sent him into a euphoria.

You hadn’t even noticed the three songs that had transpired on your Walkman.

“Just do it already.”

“Why?” His light smile teasing, “You been thinkin’ about this all day?”

“You know I have.”

It’s all you could think about in Spanish.

“Well if my girl commands.” Eddie nipped at your chin playfully and kept his thumb on your clit as the two fingers slowly, but efficiently entered you. You moan and clench down on his fingers for a moment as you adjust to the welcome intrusion. Your chest was heaving and he wished you hadn’t worn the blouse so he could get his lips on them and leave marks that surely had faded by now.

As if it were a test, he began moving his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace. The ticking clock of a half-hour final hour class ready to be released at the top of your mind, you moved one of your hands off of him and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was inside of you.

“If you don’t hurry up, we’ll be arrested for public fornication.”

Eddie laughed, letting the pressure of your hand guide him faster as your hips slowly met his fingers’ thrusts. He’d be dreaming about this encounter for the rest of his life.

“I think we can manage.” He worked in unison to press hard and circle your clit while continuing to thrust his hands in and out, working himself up as the barreling heat coincided with his own exertion.

Your body was in overdrive. Your senses were heightened, the feel of his hands in you in such a precarious moment of the day gave you a jolt of danger. Breaking the rules… You kept your vocalizations as quiet as you could, but Eddie could hear the low pants, the whines that you tried to suppress when he hit those spots just right. Even in this position, he sent you to the heavens and back with a simple movement. The coil had been winding. Winding higher and higher since you thought of this very moment an hour before as you stared at the teacher’s projector on Spanish foods.

But maybe you weren’t fast enough.

The tip of the iceberg was so close. His fingers working diligently as he assaulted your mouth with his own, begging for the dirty truth of your feelings toward him. He gave you everything in that moment and wanted the final precipice to be given to him as well. So close.

And then the bell rang the moment you began feeling that tingling sensation through your lower spine. The coil was wound, reading to spring. The bell was off in the distance but it jolted you.

“Shit!” Eddie mumbled, breaking your kiss as he reveled in your swollen lips and the plumpness that he had given them. He didn’t stop his fingers.

“I’m close. Keep going.” You groaned as your head fell onto his chest. He picked up his movements even faster–surely his arm would be sore tomorrow.

“I’m a-almost ther-re.” You fumbled through your words as you focused on only him. Eddie nodded and noticed that the only sounds he could hear were the whistling of trees and your panting. You gripped his arm tightly in his jacket, sweat beaded from his hairline and onto his temple. He could see it in your face that the coil was springing to life.

“Come on, baby… I got you, come on. Show me what good girls do.”

Eddie was enraptured by the beauty of you in that moment. The way your dress was now hiked above your hips and all he could see was the bulge of his moving hand in your black underwear. He gripped your thigh tightly and whispered those words of encouragement until finally it snapped.

Your breath hitched and the faintest of moans released from your mouth as his fingers slowed with the feeling of your release on them. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to remember that moment forever. Eddie pulled his fingers from you, enjoying the way the aftermath makes you squirm just a bit more than before and carefully dropped your leg once he was out.

He wiped his fingers of in record time with a bandana that stuck out of the back pocket of his jeans.

Under the hot summer sun, you breathed in deeply to level out your heartrate and calmed yourself down. Eddie shuffled in front of you and adjusted the front of his jeans which made you laugh.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all?” You commented with no obvious agreement looming. This was the best part of his day.

“I would have a million boners in public if that means I get to do that again.”

Sometimes, he was crude. But, then again, you had convinced him to finger you in public with classmates just beyond the forested hill.

You knocked the side of his leg with your white shoe and motioned for him to move so you could get down. The uncomfortable stickiness in your underwear a cautioned reminder that no one knew your secrets. They didn’t really know you at all. Pulling down your dress, you adjusted the fabric just right and dapped at your forehead as neither the heat outside or inside of your soul had cooled.

“What are you doing later?” Eddie had moved to his lunchbox and pulled out a joint already rolled, lighting it with the barely fueled lighter from his pocket. You shrugged, remembering now you had to go ask Higgins to help keep the room open for Hellfire to meet.

“I guess I have to go to the game… not that I want to.”

“You could always come to Hellfire. It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he proposed, hopefully optimistic even if he knew the response was going to be no.

“And have Nancy even more upset?” You quirked a brow and took the joint from his fingers, looking at its fiery bud before taking a hit. Fuckin’ Reefer Rick and his brilliant dope. “I have to go.”

Eddie watched as you took it like a champ.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he took it back once you were done. Your backpack hadn’t left the spot you had dropped it in, so you stuffed your Walkman and the headphones back in once you gathered your thoughts.

“Oh!” Eddie stated rather loudly as he locked up his lunchbox again and let the smoke dissipate into the air. “You’ll never believe who wants to buy from me!”

“Do I have to guess or will you just say?” You shrugged the bag onto your shoulders and tossed the keys you retrieved into your palm.

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

“What!?”

“That’s what I thought!” Eddie laughed, taking another hit and offering it you but you passed. The time was ticking, you needed to go. For the duties you were questioning were calling.

“Hawkins man…” You breathed out a sigh. This town was always turning over new ways to surprise you. “Never a dull moment here.”

Eddie looked over at you with that brilliant twinkle in his eye and couldn’t help but grin at you. Yes, certainly never a dull moment. You kicked at the wood chips and nodded your head at the direction from whence you came nearly 40 minutes prior.

“I gotta go before he leaves. I don’t want you guys not to meet because of Higgins’ judgment.”

Eddie took one last hit and put the bud on the steel of his lunchbox–the sizzle diminishing its light so he could litter it on the ground.

“Don’t let Chrissy catch you on the way out… Wouldn’t want her to spread a rumor or something.” He meant it as a joke but the truth of it stung. A secret.

That’s the way it had to be, right?

“Yeah I won’t.” Your voice was smaller than you thought but you stood up, letting him grasp your face with the hand he hadn’t used to ruin you and pull your lips to his once again before you departed.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” He asked with a closed nod.

“Mhm,” you nodded, giving him a smile that made the sides of your eyes crinkle. “Have fun at Hellfire. Don’t let Vecna ruin the night.”

You meant it honestly, as part of the game.

You hadn’t realized how on-the-nose you were about the night.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson stranger things #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x female reader #I am in love your honor… for the 100th time this year #joseph quinn

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a-case-of-attachment · 2 months

Text

Lucifer Morningstar / reader

Warnings: religious references, alcohol, stupid drunk decisions, hallucinations?, slight horror elements, questionable friends, no use of y/n, also don't sell your soul kids!

A/N: this is just a one shot, at least its supposed to be. I just liked the idea and it wouldn't leave me alone so here you go! Have my weird little story gremlin

It’s a relatively normal night when you sell your soul to the devil. Or at least it had started out that way. Admittedly it had been an accident and a drunken one at that. You hadn’t really expected anything to come from your friends stupid dare but it seemed the old and tatted book she had found in the back of a junk store had been the real deal and you were the one now paying the price for her curiosity. Quite literally it would seem.

On the last Friday of every month your normally quiet and relaxing apartment suddenly became the place to be, the small space crammed full of people and so noisy you could barely hear yourself think. Well, crammed might have been a slight exaggeration. There were six of you in total, somehow managing to fit on your small couch and armchair and not feeling like there wasn’t any room to move. Though there was only six of you they were loud though, their voices getting louder with every new bottle of wine that was opened and leaving you convinced this would be the one where Mrs Crouch from downstairs finally logged a noise complaint with the police like she was always threatening to do. You couldn’t really bring yourself to care too much about old Mrs Crouch from 3B though, four glasses in and having too much of a good time for it to be an issue.

It was somewhere after the XXXL pizza had been demolished and the fourth bottle of wine had been opened that a game of truth and dare had been suddenly suggested. It had been meet with a mix of groans and cheers, you very much not wanting to take part after the last time it had been suggested. You had gotten so drunk that you could hardly remember what had happened that night and as a result had spent most of the next day hugging the toilet and feeling sorry for yourself. You were just tipsy enough that it hadn’t taken much to convince you to play the childish game and soon enough the empty wine bottle had been set on the middle of the table and spinning towards its first victim.

It had all been standard stuff to start with, like run to the end of the hall and back naked, who did you actually make out with at your work’s Christmas party and down the pickle juice out of the jar. Childish and innocent enough that had all of you laughing and your neighbours shouting at you to “shut the hell up!” Well, it had been until it had gotten to your turn and then tings suddenly took a turn for the weird.

You weren’t religious, hadn’t been since your dad had run off either his secretary when you were a teenager. You had been though, and your mother still was, often calling up on a Sunday afternoon to complain that you had gone yet another week without going to church and that you were opening yourself up to the devil’s influence, starting with “those so called friends of yours. Mark my words their satanists, the lot of them and your letting them corrupt your soul. If you don’t repent soon, you’re going to end up in hell. Is that what you want, eternal damnation and suffering?” It reminded you of your childhood, listening to your local preacher damning all of humanity at bible study and the church run groups you had been forced to attend.

Your friends knew about you strict bible filled upbringing and it was often a point of their teasing so it shouldn’t have surprised you that when you picked dare they had managed to include it somehow though you would never have expected it to go the way it had. You had out right laughed when they had dared you to sell your soul to the devil, mockingly saying “oh please Mr Devil Sir, take my soul in exchange for another bottle of wine,” to a chorus of laughs from the rest of your friends and loud agreement as you clinked your mostly empty glasses together. It hadn’t stayed funny for long though, especially not when an old and tattered book had been pulled out from a long forgotten bag, the thing smelling musty and slightly like rotten eggs with an aura about it that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up and goosebumps covering your arms.

No, you weren’t religious, but you did find the whole thing weird as the ritual was explained to you, your friends seeming uncomfortably eggar and already having some of the odder things the ritual called for. It seemed to much like it had been planned, no one questioning it as animal bones and weird herbs you had never heard of were pulled out of the same bag as the book like it was normal to carry them around. It left you feeling nervous, like you were breaking some sort of taboo that never should have been spoken about let alone acted upon. It hadn’t bothered anyone else as much as it had you, but you supposed that was the whole point of them giving it to you as a dare. It was just a bit of fun for them, a chance to make fun you because you used to go to church every Sunday and were still a little reluctant to take the lords name in vain.

You had said no to start with, instead opting for the forfeit because having to take a shot of the weird sludgy grey concoction you had all had a hand in making seemed better than messing around with the occult. The problem was that you had always been a bit naive, your upbringing leaving you isolated and lacking the knowledge that others your age had from just every day life. You had always felt like you were at a disadvantage and as a result you were eager to fit in, not wanting to seem like a prude or killjoy. The alcohol didn’t help, lowering your inhibitions and it hadn’t taken much teasing and cajoling from your friends to change your mind, snatching up the book and demanding to know what you needed to do whilst trying to keep your hands from shaking.

It had taken all of ten minutes to get everything set up, your poor wooden floor now supporting a pentagram with a weird array of symbols drawn in sharpie around it and every candle you owned now placed at every point of the pentagram. You had just a handful of seconds to worry about what your land lord would say if you couldn’t get the pen off the floor before your attention was drawn elsewhere, the clatter of someone rummaging through your kitchen cupboards to worrisome to ignore.

When everything was in place, and everyone sat around the drawn circle the nerves had come back tenfold. It must have been obvious how reluctant you were as the mix of herbs and various animal bones were thrown into one of your pasta bowls, along with a couple of odd looking things that you had no clue what they actually were. No one seemed to notice though, your friends laughing and joking as they passed around another bottle of wine. You had declined a glass when offered, suddenly feeling sick. Your mother’s words chose that moment to come back to you, her sharp angry insistence that your friends were damning you to Hell apparently now a fact. She was going to be so angry if she ever found out you messed around with this stuff, even as a joke.

Only one of your friends had seemed to notice your sudden queasy state, sitting down next to you on the floor and reassuring you that it was “all a bit of fun, yeah? It’s not like any of this stuff is actually real. Trust me, the only thing that’s going to happen is a whole bunch of nothing.” That had gone some way to easing your worry. Not that you believe in that sort of stuff because let’s be real, angels? Demons? A fiery pit of damnation or an eternal paradise of peace and happiness? It was all just made-up nonsense to scare people into doing the ‘right thing’ whatever that was and it was way more likely you were just a jumbled mess of atoms and electrons that returned to the either when all was said and done. Right?

Slight religious panic aside it took all of five minutes before you were butchering your way through several verses of Latin, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to keep your voice from doing the same. The pin came next, a simple pricking of your finger and a few drops of blood squeezed out, falling into the bowl that had been placed in the middle of the circle. You can’t help but be slightly fascinated by it, swearing you can hear each drop splashing as it hit the strange assortment of things already in there. A ridiculous notion but you would aware it to be true, each little drop followed by a gentle sizzle like it was hit red hot coals instead of bone and dried herbs.

Soon enough all that was left was for you to decide what it was you were going to ask for in exchange for your soul. It wasn’t real, you knew that, but you still hesitated, your pen hovering over the scrap bit of paper you were supposed to write it down on. Your friends had their own ideas, telling you to ask for a box or skittles or for the cutie from your local grocery store to ask you out on a date. They even suggested asking for money, enough that you would never have to worry about the cost of anything ever again. It was all frivolous things, nothing of any real value and even though it was just a game your couldn’t bring yourself to write down any of it, knowing a souls worth was more than a few material possessions. Instead, you had written something down that seemed impossible to you, something the devil would surely turn down if he was real. It was just as stupid and childish as the other’s suggestions but that hadn’t stopped you from writing down ‘to be happy’ before folding it up and setting the paper alight before anyone else could read it.

The burning paper had set whatever else was inside the bowl aflame, a dense white smoke curling up from the pot and smelling a lot like those new age shops that burnt incense like it was going out of fashion. The room fell silent, everyone watching the pot and seemingly holding their breath as they waited for something to happen. The flames of the candles flickered, like a gentle breeze had blown across the room and then…nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing changed and whatever weird spell that had fallen over the room broke, a couple of people bursting out into laughter about how serious everyone had been, already getting up and going after another bottle of wine whilst they teased one another. Not you though, you stay where you were, back straight and eyes wide as your heart thundered away in your chest.

Had it been nothing though? You could have sworn that as the candles had flickered you had felt a presence at your back, large and ominous as it pressed up against you. Like it intended to devour you whole. Something that had felt suspiciously like fingers had wrapped around your neck and wrists, long and burning hot like coals as their grip grew impossibly tight, your breath catching as your body stilled in fear. And then came the voice, carried on the strange breeze that had blown through your home and somehow sounding both light and musical yet somehow solemn as it had whispered “deal” into your ear, it’s hot breath causing shivers to run down your spine. It had only been a second, a fleeting moment but it left you shaken, the feeling like you had made a grave mistake washing over you. It wasn’t real, you knew it wasn’t. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, they didn’t exist. It was just a mix of your upbringing and over active imagination playing tricks on you. It had all been in your head, no one else seemingly noticing anything. You were just being silly, that’s all it was.

It didn’t take long after your little make believe ritual for the others to leave, all of them suddenly tired or having plans in the morning. You didn’t really care, for once glad that they were leaving earlier than planned so you could get yourself to bed and forget this night had ever existed. No one offered to help tidy up, but they never did, almost always just leaving everything where it was. Maybe if you were lucky a glass or two would make it into the kitchen but you didn’t hold out much hope.

Once alone though that uneasy feeling started to creep up on you again and despite your best efforts you found yourself staring down at the pentagram like you expected a portal to open up and some demonic beast to pop up and drag you kicking and screaming down to Hell. The room seemed to get hotter, a weight settling around your neck and wrists, almost like you wearing a choker and bangles made of metal. The lights began to flicker, one after the other as the room filled with the crackle of electricity. Suddenly all the shadows seemed darker, more sinister, like they were crawling up the walls and spreading across the floor to get to you, their inky black tendrils looking far to much like claw tipped finger as they reach out for you. Your heart rate picked up, back pressed firmly against the door as your hand blindly searched for the handle. “Not real, not real, not real,” you chanted to yourself, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers brushed against the lock.

The loud slam of a door had your eyes flying open, a startled panic filled cry falling from your lips as you stumbled backwards, the door handle digging painfully into your back. Your fear filled mind struggled to keep up with what you were seeing or in this case the lack of what you could see. The room beyond looked just like normal, no creeping shadows or ominous presences to be found, the lights on and filling the space with a warm and inviting glow. Of course there was nothing there. It wasn’t real, none of it was. You just needed to sleep off the worst of the hangover you were most likely going to have and move on with your life. Chalk all this up to Catholic guilt and be done e with it.

Feeling embarrassed and stupid you pushed away from the door and started the arduous task of clearing away the mess that had been left strewn around your apartment, knowing that you wouldn’t have time to do it in the morning despite how badly you just wanted to forget it and collapse into bed. You avoided the satanic mess on your floor though, the heavy feeling around your neck and wrists getting worse the closer to it you got. That you wouldn’t leave till the next day when you would be better equipped mentally for trying to get the sharpie off the floor. If it would come off that is. If not, you would have no choice but to spend the last of your spare money on a rug to cover it up and hope your landlord didn’t want to look under it on your next inspection.

Feeling drained you finally started on your normal nightly routine. Though you checked the windows and doors were locked twice tonight, your paranoia getting the best of you. You would normally leave your bedroom door open as well but tonight you closed it, not wanting to see the shadows that lurked beyond. Slipping under the covers had felt like sweet relief, whatever fear and worry you had been carrying around all evening vanishing as you snuggled down into your pillows. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, the late hour and alcohol you had consumed finally taking its toll on you.

Somewhen in the early hours of the morning though the quiet and stillness of your home ended. The small bowl still in the middle of the pentagram began to smoke again, the candles that remained half melted at the points relighting all on their own. The red flames flickered and danced, casting long shadows that shifted and pulled together creating the silhouette of a man, with a cane and top hat. Silently the shadow moved through your apartment, your bedroom door silently opening with just a wave of its cane. You were so deeply asleep that you didn’t even stir as your bed dipped slightly under a new weight. You sighed softly as a clawed back hand gently brushed across your cheek, its sharp thumb nail dangerously close to your closed eye. The hand trailed down, nails not even pressing hard enough to leave behind so much as a red mark. They stilled at your neck, thumb brushing against the hollow of your neck. There came a glimmer of gold, a large decorative collar appearing around your neck, decorated with snakes and a large red apple at the front, a matching golden chain hanging from a loop at the front and leading straight into the shadows hand.

From within the shadow came the same disembodied voice from before, soft and slightly forlorn as it whispered “happiness huh? I hope that’s possible, for both our sakes.” Unaware of what lurked over you, you slept on peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the fact that you had been wrong and now, because of a stupid drunken game you were bound for all eternity to the Devil himself, no longer the one in possession of your soul.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #reader insert #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin lucifer x reader

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