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tsimvkas · 8 months

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best friends, uh? — mason mount

A/N: hello 👋🏻 here we are againnnn. please remember that english is my second language so i apologise for any mistake. and thanks to Sid for all the support on this one 🥺 ily bestie!! hope you guys enjoy it xx

word count: 15.5k (lol im sorry for this) | masterlist

content: friends to lovers, unprotected sex, fluff and mild angst.

“Bro, Manchester? That’s so far” your best friend Benjamin brought up the transfer subject, which made your other best friend, Mason, sigh deeply.

The three of you were hanging out since it’s their first day of summer vacation, and your best friends would travel somewhere else soon. It would be only for a few days, but once the league returns everything will be different.

You, Mason and Ben were best friends for a long time now. You met when both of them went to the national team for the first time and you were a journalism intern working

For some reason, they both liked you. And it was easy to like them too, with all the jokes and good energy. When Ben joined Chelsea their bond got even stronger. At that time your career had taken another direction and you were working as a band’s press officer, which allowed you to live in London.

For the last three years your trio has seen each other every week and weekend. You were always attending Chelsea home games, and your boys always came up with something on their days off.

At this point, the three of you felt like family.

Until now, with Mason’s transfer. Ben tried to talk jokingly about it, but you knew he meant it.

Otherwise, you could understand Mason’s decision since the entire last season was a hell of a nightmare to him, and now they both were discussing his last move: signing with Manchester United.

“It’s not like I had a lot of options” Mason shrugged. “I mean, Liverpool didn’t make it to the Champions League and I quite like United, Ben”

“Even Kai will be closer to us” he snorted, clearly upset.

“You’re saying this is a bad thing?” You smirked, taking a sip of your wine. Chilly and Mase were still deciding what they wanted for dinner and the only thing they were capable of ordering was your favourite white wine.

“Don’t tell him I talked about him like that” Ben grinned, finally deciding what to eat. He called the waitress, and Mason ordered both his and yours meal, knowing what you like to eat.

When she wrote everything down and left, Mount spoke again. “Well, actually you’re the only one left behind. Maybe joining City next season and we can be reunited”

“What do you mean?”

“Like the three of us, in the same city”

“Well if you want this to happen then you’ll have to come back to London” Ben frowned, realisation passing through his face seconds later. “No-“

“I haven’t made the decision yet” you cut him. “But the offer has been made, yes”

“You called her to move with you? This is unfair” he snorted.

Mason raised an eyebrow, reaching your thigh under the table and giving a gentle squeeze. “I couldn’t do it without my best friend, could I?”

“And what about me, you prick? You want me to carry that shitty team on my backs on my own? I deserve to have the presence of my best friend as well”

“Why are you so afraid, Ben?” Mason smirked. “Oh, cause you know I’m the favourite and she’s going to say yes”

You tried not to laugh. They’re definitely the most funny people you know, and to you it has always been a pleasure that they both chose you as their best friend.

“We are still talking about moving to Manny?” Ben teased his friend. “I’m the favourite, tho”

“Stop” you playfully rolled your eyes, interrupting Mason before they started an argument in the middle of the restaurant. “I don’t have a favourite. And if the pair of you don’t behave like grown men, I’ll move to… I don’t know, Merseyside”

“You would still be living closer to me than to him” Mason giggled, whispering. “Just admit I’m your favourite”

“Shut up, Mason” Chilly stuck his tongue out at his friend, just like a child.

“Why are you two even discussing? You’re already losing your best friend, no matter if I go or if I stay” you pointed, instantly realising that the reason for the little fight about you was to pretend their separation wasn’t a real thing. “Oh, I’m sorry”

“That’s ok, Y/N. We’ll have to deal with it one way or another” Ben smiled.

“But not tonight, alright? I'm already sick of this subject. Let’s have dinner and talk about nonsense stuff and you can laugh at our terrible jokes and things will stay the same. Just for tonight” Mason smiled at you. “When the announcement happens, we’ll face the truth”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding. “Just the three of us tonight, then. Me and my Chelsea boys” you smiled, raising your glass of wine.

When Mason and Ben raised theirs to toast with you, you could swear their eyes were watering.

You forced yourself not to cry.

—

When he came back from Spain after a week with Ben, he invited you to spend a couple of days at his house. It was something natural in your friendship, but this time seemed different.

Mason opened the door wearing a white shorts and a hoodie you’ve never seen before, and instantly smiled at you.

“You’re late” he kissed your forehead, picking your backpack from you and giving you space to enter his house. “But I forgive you”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn’t find my favourite pyjamas” you snorted. It feels like Mason’s house it's yours too, so you feel comfortable enough to go directly to his living room.

“You left them here” he laughed at you, closing the door and following you inside.

“Right, this explains a lot”

His living room was occupied with a lot of suitcases, and you instantly remembered that this was a goodbye weekend.

“You already packed everything?” you asked, feeling your eyes watering.

“Only my favourite clothes. I’ll leave everything else, can’t take all of my stuff to a hotel room” he shrugged.

You nodded. He texted you during his vacation and told you how difficult finding a house in Manchester turned out to be. You were just wishing he could find a place soon, somewhere he could turn into a home.

“Benji is also coming?”

“I spent a lot of time with Ben last week, it’s just me and you” he smiled, but his face turned serious way too fast. “I’ll drive to Manchester Sunday night. It’s our last days together so Ben agreed to stay out”

You never told him you were staying, but you didn’t have to. Mason knew you.

“I’m so sorry, Mase” you felt that familiar lump on your throat, showing up every time you think about it.

You didn’t like the idea of being away from him, but your whole life was in London. For the past couple of weeks you’ve been thinking about it, and your only wish was that you could divide yourself in two. Or that he could stay.

Dividing yourself in two sounded more easy, to be honest.

Mason put your backpack on the couch, quickly embracing your body in his arms.

“That’s ok, sweetheart. You have a life here, Y/N. Family, friends, everything you love. I’m the one leaving” he sighed. “I just hope you understand I’m not leaving you”

You held him tightly, tucking your head in his neck and letting your cry reach you while your best friend stroked your back. After a few minutes like this, Mason pushed you away just enough to look into your eyes.

“We’re not supposed to spend this weekend crying” he smiled, wiping your tears. “Let’s make it unforgettable, okay?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and smiling back at him when you noticed that he swallowed the lump in his throat, trying not to cry.

“Everything with you is unforgettable” you pouted, resting your chin on his chest, and Mason ran his thumb across your lower lip, staring at you. “I don’t want you to leave”

“I’ll be back soon” he smirked. You wish it was true.

“Liar” you rolled your eyes, and he laughed. “Your contract says 2028. Five fucking years”

“Language, Y/N. Manchester isn’t that far, and you’ll always be welcome at Old Trafford. At least I’m still playing in the Prem”

“Don’t you dare. Suggest something like this.” you punched his chest, staring at him in disbelief. Watching your favourite person moving to Manchester has been painful enough and the thought of Mason living in another country made your eyes burn again.

“You know I’m never leaving England, Y/N. Not as long as you’re here” he reassured you, but the smirk on his face made you roll your eyes again.

The truth is that Mason felt happiness spreading throughout his body when he realised the way you fear being away from him.

And then instantly guilt almost ate him alive. He wasn’t moving to another country, but with his agenda and how much you work, there’ll be months between one visit and another.

Trying to make these thoughts disappear, Mason grabbed both of your tights until your legs were wrapped around his torso. “Alright, this is way too sad” he whispered, taking you upstairs. “Let’s put on our pj’s, it’s movie time”

“You’ll let me choose?” you held onto his neck, just like a child.

“No” he put you down once he got in his room. “It’ll be the last Avengers. Don’t look at me like that, I know you love it just as much as I do”

“I thought the night was being sad enough? You know I’ll cry with this one”

“I can deal with that” he winked. “I know you really like your favourite pyjamas but would you mind wearing one of my t-shirts tonight? Its’s just- I want to take something with you scent ya know? But you don’t need to- I’ll order our food” he closed his bedroom door before you could answer, his rose cheeks making you giggle.

You quickly changed into one of his black t-shirts and your pyjama shorts, texting him to join you.

Mason opened the door, tucking his head inside his room. “Hey”

You went to him, picking your backpack and tipping his nose. He grinned at the sight of you in his favourite t-shirt.

“Let’s clean this pretty face while we wait the food”

“Pretty face, uh?” he followed you into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He always loved when you called him pretty, because it was important to him that you thought he was pretty.

“What you ordered?”

“Five Guys” he smirked. To be honest, you already knew the answer, once your boy is addicted to it.

“Favourite food and favourite movie” you turned to face him. “It feels like we’re saying goodbye for months”

“Don’t think like that. I’m just trying to have a cosy weekend with you, yeah? But we’ll see each other often. I promise”

You nodded, turning around and grabbing your skin products out of the bag and putting them in the sink. Mason realised you didn’t believe what he said, so he hugged you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder.

Your friendship with Mason and Ben has always been like that. They constantly cuddle with you, carry you up and get clingy really easily.

Mason is the touchy one, while Ben is more verbal, and you try your best to love them both in their love language so they can feel loved.

“Help me up” you asked him once you got all of your skincare products in front of you. Mason grabbed your waist when you turned to him, sitting you on the sink counter.

You spread your legs so he could get between them, which he did immediately. He always enjoyed these moments with you, and he knows he’s about to miss this a lot.

“I don’t like the scratchy one” Mason complained, identifying it on the counter and remembering the last time you used it on his face.

“Exfoliating our face sometimes is necessary, Mase. We need to remove dead skin”

“Right, cause there will be no dead skin left if you go faceless. No” he shook his head. “It’s awful”

“You’re being dramatic” you chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. “I swear I’ll be gentle, big boy”

“You’re always gentle but…” he pouted, but your stare silenced him. “Fine. A smooth face could be useful”

You bit your lower lip, feeling your stomach churn.

“I’m sure girls in Manchester loves smooth faces”

“I was talking about rubbing my face in your neck tonight” he closed his eyes, waiting patiently while you massaged your Vichy soap. “But yeah, I bet they do”

“You’ll need someone to make skincare with you” you tried again, For some reason, you felt like testing him.

“I can FaceTime you, simply”

“But you’ll probably find a friend to do it with you, anyways. You’re really good at making friends”

You didn’t know why you were saying that. You just wanted him to reassure you that he won’t need any other friend, that he’d prefer to do skincare alone than with someone that isn’t you.

“You’re trying to get rid of me?” he said playful, tickling your waist.

“No! Stop- no, never. I’m just thinking about it” you pouted, feeling a bit sad.

“You are my best friend, Y/N. Manchester won’t change that. And absence makes the heart grow fonder” he smiled, holding your serum in front of you so you could use it on him.

“Uhm, we’re forgetting something, don’t you think?”

“I have no idea, what are you talking about?” Mason smirked.

You rolled your eyes at him, looking for your facial scrub and pouring some into your hand and despite his complaints, he let you finish.

The pair of you interspersed so he’d also cleaned, exfoliated and moisturised your face, and once you’ve both done he carried you to his living room.

“Oh you’ll make me stare at these bad girls?” you joked, pointing to his suitcases. Mason laughed, waiting for you to lay on the couch and instantly laying between your legs.

“Who knows, maybe they’ll make you come with me” Mason shrugged. He wouldn’t let you know, so you wouldn’t feel guilty, but knowing you weren't coming to his new home with him was eating him alive.

“Ugh, don’t do this. I’m almost changing my mind” you sighed. If he could ask for something, then it would be this. For you to change your mind.

Realising that you only have two days left with Mason made your stomach burn. Your best friend was always there for you, and alongside Ben you did everything together.

He is the one you call when you’re sad, and when you’re happy. Even when you’re angry or pissed off.

Mason and Ben are the ones you search for in every scenario, your boys. The only men you trust with your life.

And now you feel like you’re losing one of them. Because it’s exactly what’s happening.

“No no no, we’re not crying any more tonight” Mason looked up and caught the exact moment a tear fell from your eyes. Facing you and squeezing your tight, he gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re only allowed to cry in Tony’s scene”

You nodded, wiping your own tears and waiting for the movie to start. Mason got up when the bell rang, coming back a few minutes later with the food he ordered.

You two ate together, always touching each other with some part of your bodies. When the food ran out there was still an hour of movie left, and Mason clung to your body after cleaning the mess both of you made.

“You’re going to leave bruises on me, Mase” you pretended to complain about how tightly he was holding you, and he laughed, only tightening more.

“It’s a good idea to keep other boys away” he said.

“What are you talking about”

“Once I’m left there will be a lot of predators around you, I need to find a way to prevent it”

There it was. Your friendship with Mason was always comfortable, and sometimes the pair of you used to flirt and joke around.

But sometimes you keep yourself wanting those little flirts to mean something, and you weren’t sure about how to deal with that. Especially now that he’s about to move to another city.

Besides, Mason is a fucking footballer, and a pretty one. The kind of man who can have anyone in the world.

And you are his best friend, someone he probably sees as a sister. And you couldn’t say anything before understanding what you feel, because it would be so unfair to him.

Mason smiled, leaning to you and brushing his lips against your neck. He kissed the spot before starting sucking your skin.

“What are you doing?” you tensioned your body. Someone who sees you as a sister wouldn’t give you a hickey, right?

“Shhh, stay quiet” his wet lips brushed your neck, and you could feel his breath hitting you.

You ran out of actions, staying still until he was done.

“There it is” he faced it proudly. “Now I have about two weeks of good sleep before it fades and I need to do it again”

You didn’t know what to say, so you kept quiet. Best friends don’t mark each other like that, right? But you can’t think about it now. Mason is leaving London. And you are staying.

—

It was a sad, sad Sunday. You couldn’t believe your best friend was moving to another side of the country.

After spending the Saturday with him, eating snacks all day and cuddling in bed, you weren’t ready to say goodbye.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to cry”

“Sorry I can’t stop” you groaned, stressed. It was such a great weekend with him and now you were forced to watch him leave.

Ben showed up when Mason was closing the house, and he helped his best friend to fill the car with all his things before hugging you.

“I’ll take you to him as often as we can, Y/N” he smiled at you.

Ben was such a sweet soul. You pouted, resting your face on his shoulder while Mase locked the last door.

“Can you please take your hands off of my best friend?” Mason rolled his eyes, standing in front of you.

Ben laughed when his mate opened his arms and you went straight to him. He knows your relationship with him is more intimate, and to Ben it's obvious what’s going on.

Mason stroked your back, smiling when you tucked your face in his neck.

“I’m gonna miss your hugs”

“This sounds like a you problem to me” Chilly smirked, knowing he’s still receiving those.

“He’s a prick, isn’t he?” Mason whispered in your ear, making you laugh between sobs.

You raised your face, trying to stare at him through your tears, and he stroked your chin patiently.

“Don’t find another best friend” you sobbed loudly. “I’ll drive to Manchester whenever I can to watch your games so we can make skincare together and we can FaceTime when you miss me but please Mount, don’t find another girl”

He smiled, feeling warmth in his chest. He wishes he could tell you not to find another boy too, but Ben would be pissed at him.

“You’re my only girl, Y/N. Don’t need to worry about that” Mason thought it was cute the way your lower lip was quivering while you pouted. “C’mon baby, I hate to see you cry. You’ll be fine? I can stay till tomorrow”

“No, I’m ok. You don’t need to change your plans” you sighed. “I’m acting like a child”

“It’s cute” he smirked, stroking your chin. “Here, I have something for you” he pulled away so we could take out the hoodie he wore all weekend. “I bought to leave it with you but I thought it would be better if I use it for some days so it would have my scent”

“I love you” you pouted, wearing it instantly before hugging him again.

“I love you more” he smiled and you closed your eyes, tightening your grip on his t-shirt when he kissed the tip of your nose.

“No, I do” you smirked, giggling when he pinched your nose.

“That’s impossible” he kissed you again, on your forehead this time, holding you against him for a few minutes. “See you soon, uhm? I swear”

You nodded, letting him go to Chilly. They both said goodbye, hugging each other with watery eyes before Mason came back to you, kissing your head and entering his car.

Ben came to hug you, and the two of you watched while Mason left the front porch line.

“Take your hands off her” Mason screamed, making you giggle. “Love you two, take care of my girl Benjamin”

“She’s my girl too, you know”

“Only in your dreams” Mason chuckled. “She knows she’s mine”

And drove off the car. You felt your heart pounding at the sight of his car disappearing at the end of his old road.

“His girl, uh?” Ben teased you as soon as you couldn’t see Mason’s car anymore.

“Shut up, Benjamin” you rolled your eyes, and he chuckled at you. “I miss him already” you started to sob again.

“Oh, fuck off” he laughed, but hugged you tightly, trying to bring you some comfort.

Later that night, Mason checked on you through Ben before reaching you out so he could try to comfort you. You felt even sadder knowing that the only day he can take care of you know is through a screen.

—

You tried to stay happy while living in London, for Ben. You really tried. But the dark hole in your chest wouldn’t let you.

Ben was the best of friends, staying at your house every time he can, taking you to different places and trying to distract you. You both spent a lot of quality time together and he knows how much you love him, but he also knows the truth.

You missed Mason so much it hurts.

You wished you could’ve gone to his debut for United, but you weren’t able to drop your work on a Monday so you went to Ben’s house to watch it with him.

It was a great game and the Red Devils happily won. You cried at the end, when the camera showed Mason, and Ben mocked you for the rest of the night.

“He is glowing” you pouted.

“I would be too, if I had a serious team” Chilly gave a choked laugh, making you chuckle.

You waved him goodnight and went to his guest room, deciding not to drive back home late at night since you lost track of time talking with Ben. He kissed your forehead and murmured goodnight too, giving you your space.

As soon as you entered the room, you changed into a pyjama you forgot there the last time you spent the night, and got under the heavy blanket, reaching out for your phone so you could send a message to your boy.

You didn’t knew but, in Ben’s room, your boys were having a conversation.

Five minutes after your last message, Mason didn’t resist and FaceTimed you.

“Goodnight Mase” you smiled at your phone. He was tucked in his sheets, cheeks smashed against his pillow. He looked so adorable, you wanted to scream.

“Oh, I miss your voice so much” Mason grinned, his voice a little bit hoarse. “Goodnight babe. Hope you enjoyed the game. Ben told me you cried, I got a bit worried”

Your blood ran to your cheeks, and you made a mental note to kick Ben’s ass later. What a traitor!

“Nothing to worry about, they focused on you at the end and I just miss you alot” you admitted shyly, even though he knows how badly you miss him. Mason smiled at your rose cheeks, feeling his heart ache with love.

“I’ll try to visit soon” he yawned, making you smile. “Ugh, I don’t want to say goodbye yet. Can we spend the night on call?”

“Yes big boy, sure we can. Want me to tell you a story?” you smiled, laughing when his cheeks turned red.

“I do, actually”

“Hmmm, alright. The story begins with a boy, a tall one, and a tiny girl. They met one day, when the tall boy hit the girl with a ball straight in her head…”

It was the best night of sleep both of you had in two weeks.

—

“I want to go to this weekend’s game” you said to Ben, after explaining to him how your best friend has been acting lately.. “At Old Trafford”

Two weeks passed since you and Mason slept on a call together, and you were feeling like something was off. He’d still answer your texts and send you good morning or good night with cute emojis, but he was avoiding your phone calls and you didn’t spend the day texting.

You felt childish at first, rationalising that he has a new job and is probably really busy, but on the third day off that he found an excuse to not call you at night, you decided you had enough.

“Alright, we’re playing on different days this weekend so I can take you. Don’t want you driving alone, we never know what might happen”

“I’m a good driver”

“I know that, bug” he smiled. “But I mean, like… we don’t know what you’re facing there. I don’t want you driving back after some misunderstandment or something like that”

You nodded, suddenly afraid that your little trip might end with you and Mason fighting.

“Only a month away and he’s acting weird” you dropped your head on the sofa. “And to think I really believed we could survive the season… or worse, the five fucking years”

“Language, bug. Don’t need to overreact, you don’t know what happened yet. Just… prepare yourself for anything, alright?”

“What do you mean? You think, like… he could be dating someone?” you shrugged.

“I wouldn’t say dating, but maybe seeing someone? He hasn't said anything like that to me” Ben tried to tranquillise you. “But it was my first thought, since one of the first things a man does when he starts dating is to push their female friends away a little bit, you know… so their girl don’t feel insecure or something like this”

“Yeah, I got it Benji, And I feel happy that my friends are this kind of man, but it would be nice if he could tell me instead of ignoring me” you snorted, pretending that the idea of Mason dating someone didn’t bother you at all. “At the same time, I can’t be sure that this is the reason, and he could be struggling with something. I just need to confirm he is okay”

“Fine, bug. I’ll take you. But if something went wrong then we’ll be back in the same minute, alright?” he brushed your hair out of your face. “I know you. It’s not like you’d be happy with him dating someone, don’t have to pretend in front of me. I just hopes he gives you sincerity at least”

—

The game was crazy. Ben tried to hide himself in a big hoodie, a cap and glasses, so both of you enjoyed it together. It was a fantastic result for United, winning three down zero at home, and you could see Mason was really happy.

Chilwell bought you an ice cream and distracted you with different subjects, giving time for Mason to get changed and go home, once he knows how crazy the locker room can get after a win like that.

An hour later, he drove you to the hotel he knows Masons at and asked the receptionist to call his buddy and say his name.

“Call me if you need anything” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “And call me if you decide to spend the night, please”

You nodded, squeezing his hand before entering the elevator.

A half naked Mason opened the door, and you could tell he was really surprised.

“Y/N? What? What are you doing here?”

“Happy to see you too, Mase” you tried to smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m just- I didn’t expect to see you anytime soon, and she told me Ben was here so I thought it was him-”

You stared at him and the silence that came after was awkward. You turned your eyes to the floor and that’s when you saw the ring.

“Oh” you nodded, remembering Ben’s words. “Makes sense”

Mason followed your gaze, quickly taking the ring off. “It’s not what you think it is”

“Right. The same way your weird excuses for not calling me aren’t what I think they are and the fact that you didn’t even hugged me isn’t what I think it is” you grinned sarcastically

You turned around hating the way your voice crackled, and pressed the elevator button, ready to leave.

Mason ran to you, holding your arms to keep you in place. “Why haven’t you told me you were coming? You watched the game?”

“Yes”

“I’m sorry” he kissed your forehead, hugging your waist. “It was a hell of a week and I missed you so much that I thought- that maybe if we didn’t talk that much It could get easier. Sounds dumb when I say it out loud”

“Cause it’s dumb” you tried to be sharp, but Mason always gives you the best hugs in the world and you were instantly melting against him. The elevator door opened, but you both ignored it until it closed again.

“It’s Cartier” he said after a few seconds of silence, pushing you away to cup your face. “It’s just a ring”

You could see that he was trying to hide a smile and you felt so pathetic. Of course your best friend would’ve told you if he was dating someone.

“Sorry” you felt the blood rushing into your cheeks.

“What for?” Mason frowned, stroking your chin. In his opinion, you look so cute being jealous of him.

“For being a jealousy bitch” you sighed, confused. What the hell were you thinking? He’s tired after a rough game and you thought it was a great idea to show up and snap over a ring.

“You were jealous?” he raised an eyebrow at your nod. “You don’t have to. Everybody around me knows I’m yours”

Your body shivered, and Mason smiled at the sign of your red cheeks again. Kissing the tip of your nose, he held your hand and guided you inside his hotel room.

Mason couldn’t wait to cuddle with you, but you weren’t sure about spending the night with him after the scene you made.

“I should leave” you said when he closed the door. “You need to sleep”

“I’ll sleep better if you cuddle me” Mason pouted. “See what six weeks away made to us already? We were almost fighting. Now I need to spend the night with you just to be sure the tension is gone”

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking off your hoodie. Mason celebrated whispering “yes” just like a child, and promptly searched for a t-shirt to give you.

“I’ll go to the bathroom so you can get changed”

“You had dinner already?” you asked, worried that you just interrupted him.

“Hm no, but I can order some food if you’re hungry”

“I’m not, but you should eat something Mase”

“I just want to sleep, to be honest” he yawned, heading to the bathroom and giving you some privacy.

After sending Ben a message letting him know you were spending the night with Mason, you quickly changed into his t-shirt, sighing in relief for being free of your jeans and bra. Since you left your pyjamas at Ben’s hotel room, you searched for one of Mason’s shorts, but most of his things were still in his suitcases and you weren’t able to find it in the mess.

You decided to leave it that way instead of disturbing him any more and tucked yourself into his sheets before he came back, so he wouldn’t even notice.

“Alright, you can come out” you said loud enough for him to hear and he stuck his face out, making you laugh. “Hi baby boy”

“Oh finally, I was almost sleeping in the bathtub” he made his way to the bed and laid with you, looking for a comfy position.

Once you were laying on your back with his body on top of yours, Mason rested his face on your shoulder. Your hands went directly to his hair and you scratched his scalp gently, smiling at his tired groan.

“I’ll let you sleep without dinner ‘cause it was a tiring day at work, but you bet we’re having a reinforced breakfast tomorrow”

“Yes mommy, I got it” he hummed in your ear.

Mason didn’t missed the way your body shuddered and clinged against you. You held your breath when he slipped his hand under the t-shirt, squeezing your waist.

You felt like your heart would stop when he started to play with your panties strap.

“I didn’t gave you a sleep shorts, did I?” for a second you thought you were imagining the huskier tone of his voice.

“No you didn’t, but I can put it on now if you give me one”

You bit your lower lip when his finger went under the strap, stroking your skin, but you stayed quiet. It’s just your best friend, playing with the strap of your panties. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I can be dumb sometimes, but not that dumb, Y/N”

“Hm?” you thought you might have misheard him.

“Nothing” Mason chuckled. “Sweet dreams sweetheart” he whispered, kissing your collarbone.

“Good night, Mase”

You stayed awake for half an hour, hearing his cute snoring and thinking about the way you felt when you saw that ring.

When you closed your eyes, all you could think was that this couldn’t be happening. You knew better than falling for your best friend.

—

Sunday was lazy and cosy. Waking up with Mason’s arms wrapped around your waist always made you feel protected, and you missed this.

You called Ben and sent your location to him, so the three of you had breakfast in a super cute coffee, and Mason showed you both some places he liked in Manchester, taking pictures of you in his new town.

When it was time for you to go back to London, Mount turned into a big baby, pouting every time you looked at him.

Ben said he needed to go to the pharmacy before hitting the road, so he parked in front of Mason's hotel and left you both alone.

Mount helped you get in Chilly’s car and checked the seat belt, but wouldn’t get out of the car window for nothing.

“Let me know when you get home” he kissed your cheek, half of his body through the window, impeding you to close it.

“I can share my location with you if you want to” you chuckled at his concern.

“Yeah, do that. And tell Woody I said hi” he kissed your cheek again, making you laugh.

“Yes sir, anything else?”

“Hmmm, tell him I miss him” he smiled, kissing your cheek one more time.

“Jesus Mase, you’re so needy”

“I don’t want you to go” he cupped your face, whimpering. You closed your eyes, resting your face against his hand and smiling at his words.

“I’ll be back soon” you repeated what he said the other day, making him laugh.

“Liar”

You giggled, pouting at him. “Love you”

“I love you more” he kissed you again, dangerously close to your lips this time, which made you quickly open your eyes.

You stared at his eyes and found… something. They were shining, and when Mason licked his lips wet, you felt the urge to be a bit cockily brave before living.

“If you want to do it then do it properly” you rolled your eyes playfully. You never said anything like that to him, but the fact that he’s in another city now seemed to make you brave enough. You won’t need to face him if he dumps you.

But instead of laughing and saying goodbye, Mason leaned closer towards you.

“Can I?” his big brown eyes were focused on your lips, and you felt a lump in your throat.

“Well, if you want to” you tried to keep a playful tone but when he turned his eyes at you, Mason he had a serious look. “Do you?”

He stared at your lips, running his tongue between his own and pulling his face closer to yours. You weren’t sure if he was really going to kiss you or if he was just joking along with you about it, so you stayed standing in place.

When he was close enough for you to feel his breath in your lips Mason looked you in the eyes, asking for permission. You didn’t believe in yourself to speak, so nodding was your only option.

You felt butterflies in your tummy, anxiety and anticipation mixed with insecurity.

Your best friend leaned to you, and you smiled at his shaky breath. You’re not gonna lie, you imagined this happening a couple of times, but never thought that it was really possible.

“Are you nervous?” you tried to hide your smile. Realising he was just as afraid as you was something different.

“Aren’t you?” he brushed his lips against yours. “There’s any chance this could ruin what we have?”

“Only if you’re a bad kisser” you teased him and Mason chuckled, enjoying the moment.

Deciding to dive right in, he finally closed the distance between you both. His soft lips slipped against yours and you couldn’t help but sink into him.

It was a soft kiss. Slowly, as if Mason was savouring you. No one ever kissed you like this.

When both of you ran out of air, Mason pulled away. Smirking at you, he gave your lips a peck and ran to his car without saying anything.

You giggled at his shy reaction and stayed there for a few minutes, waiting for your best friend to come back, all smiley and thinking about what you just did.

Chilwell didn’t missed the way your smile was taking your entire face, or your shining eyes and every single sigh you left out during the ride.

When he left you home and kissed your forehead, he also looked you deep in the eyes.

“Be careful, bug” he stroked your chin, and you knew he knew that something was going on.

Maybe you were wrong. You don’t know better than falling for one of your best friends.

—

You came back to London way too fast, and were already missing your boy again.

You both were always texting each other, talking about your day and trying to manage how hard it was to be away from your best friend.

And despite you never talked about the kiss, things were different, in a good way.

He’d flirt with you like a teenager, making you giggle all the time, and even though the pet names were common in your friendship before, it’s the only way he calls you now.

You were so fucked up. Honestly.

Now it’s been two months since you saw him — and kissed him. You feel like the kiss strengthened your bond, but at the same time you felt so insecure about it.

Now that he’s so far away and you can’t be with him as much as you like, in your head it’s so easy for him to be interested with any other girl.

You tried to make these thoughts disappear, since you’re going out with your best friend.

Ben picked you up for dinner. He texted you earlier and told you to wear something nice, because he had a surprise for you, so you obeyed.

You chose a black dress to style it with your new high heels from YSL, and Chilly whistled from the driver's seat.

“We’re a bit late so I’m not opening the door for you, sorry bug” you rolled your eyes playfully, sitting in his passenger’s seat. “You look really really beautiful. Buddy’s having a heart attack for sure”

“Who?”

“You’ll see” he smirked, making you snort.

It was a quick ride, and you and Ben sang along to his favourite songs all the way.

When you both got to the restaurant, he took you to the receptionist to talk about his reservations and you saw a back you know really well.

“Is that-” you stuttered, and Ben looked at you in shock.

“Damn it Y/N, how could you tell from here?”

“Are you kidding? Is it really him?”

“Yes, bug. Surprise?” Chilwell smiled, shrugging.

You hugged him really, really tight. “Thank you, Benji. I love you”

“Right right, I know you do. Now go on, run to him like I know you want to” he teased you. “I’ll be there soon”

You nodded, doing your best not to fall while you ran to Mason. Your heart was in your throat and the sight of him was making you weak.

When you were close enough, you covered his eyes with your hands.

“Oh” he sighed, making you laugh. “I wonder who it could be. Probably my boy Chilly”

You took your hands away, looking him in the eyes. “Hi Mase”

“Uhm, way better than Chilly”

“Oh for fucks sake” Ben complained, rolling his eyes.

They chose one of those tables next to the wall, with sofas instead of chairs, so you could sit between them both. Great anti-jealousy choice.

You enjoyed the night with your boys, eating your favourite pasta and a glass of wine.

Ben laughed when you heard one of the waitresses saying that you had two gorgeous men when they only wanted one, and Mason kissed your cheek.

“What’s that ugly face about?”

“You think I’m ugly?” you asked with a pout, trying to hold your laugh when his eyes widened.

“I never said that”

“Oh, I think you’re in trouble Mase” Ben chuckled, falling silent with your gaze. “She heard the waitress talking about us” he murmured.

“What a jealousy baby” Mason kissed your chin, squeezing your tight under the table. “You know I’m your boy… and Chilly is your boy too” he completed with a giggle after Ben’s stare.

“If anyone could hear you now, they would think we are a throuple”

“Let them think” you shrugged, taking a sip of your wine.

“See? She’s proud of her boys” Mason cocked his head to the side.

“Yeah yeah, now which of you will order my dessert” you asked, reading the menu.

“I was thinking about being your dessert, actually”

“Behave, Mason” Ben snorted, pinching his nose.

You laughed at them, covering your face with the menu, a nice way to also hide your burning cheeks since Mason squeezed your tight again, loving to see you laughing.

When you had your bitter chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream, Ben drove you back home. You were in the back seat while Mase sat in the passenger sit, so none of them would feel unchosen.

Chilwell parked in front of your front porch line, and you thanked him, tapping Mason’s shoulder.

“Want to spend the night with me?” You asked Mason and you didn’t need to ask twice as he quickly jumped out of Ben’s car.

“Yes mate don’t need to worry about me I’ll be fine on my own” Ben said dramatically, making you laugh. You went to the driver window, pecking his cheeks.

“Where’s my smile?” you asked him like he was a tiny kid, but it worked. Ben smiled at you, his eyes shutting. “Good night Benji”

“Good night, bug” he blew you a kiss before turning his head to Mason’s direction, who had already walked around the car and was now beside you. “Take care of her”

“I always do” Mount smirked cockily, resting an arm around your shoulders.

Ben waited for both of you to be inside of your house, leaving with a honk.

Mason entered your house in silence, knowing you have a roommate, and made his way to your room since you’re not eating or watching anything this late.

“Oh shit” Mason groaned when you closed your room’s door. “We just completely forgot that all of my stuff are at Ben’s”

“You can sleep in your boxers” you shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I’m sure there’s one of your shirts here but I don’t feel like looking for it”

Mason stared at the room floor for a minute, thinking about what you just said. You want him to sleep practically naked?

He shrugged to himself, taking off his clothes and staying only in his boxers. You were already in bed, using the hoodie he left with you months ago as a pyjama. It is big enough to cover your thighs, and you feel like you’re flowing inside it.

“It’s my hoodie?” he looked at you and you nodded.

“It’s the one you left for me in July, guess it’s mine now”

“Yeah, it is” he smiled, tucking his head into your neck. “Jesus you always smell so good”

You chuckled at his compliment, scratching his neck gently. It didn’t take long for his hand to reach your waist underneath the hoodie.

Just like the last time this happened, you held your breath when his fingers played with your panties strap.

He thought you were using pyjamas shorts. He really did, but there’s no way he’s taking his hand out now.

Mason tried not to imagine how'd it be to take it off from you. He tried really hard not to imagine how’d it be to make you moan his name.

You are his best friend and even though you always accepted his touches and cuddles and you both kissed last time you saw him, doesn’t mean he has any real chances.

But the way you were jealous of him that night… and you travelled all the way to Manchester… and that kiss was something else…

You left a shaky breath when he tightened his grip on you, and kept telling yourself that he’s tired, slightly drunk and his fingers just found the way to your waist naturally, that he’s not even totally awake. Well, at least you think he had a drink at the restaurant.

Mason was well awake, actually, and he did his best to keep the other part of him sleeping, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing you only in his hoodie, your tights so accessible to him.

He sucked in a breath and you could feel the tension on his shoulders. You could also feel his boner when he tried to move his hips away, and your mind went blank.

He never had an erection when you guys slept together, in all these years. You didn’t know what to think or how to feel, and you were filled with a lot of conflicted emotions.

Mason was hard-on for you and this fed your pride. He thinks you’re pretty? Hot? He enjoyed that kiss the other day? He’s been thinking about it like you did?

Just in that moment you realised how bad you wanted him to want you.

When he left a small groan, you ran your hand through his hair.

“Everything is alright, Mase?” you asked gently.

“Uhm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“No, is not” he sighed. “I’m sorry”

You waited, feeling your expectations die, but still smiled at him.

“That’s alright babe, you’re a man attracted to women and I’m a woman and we are in the same bed and things like that can happen” you reassured him.

“Jesus, don’t call me babe in a moment like that” Mason groaned, making you laugh. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable”

“You didn’t. It can happen all the time, Mase. I was surprised it never happened before”

“This means that- Chilly… ?” he stuttered, raising his face to look at you.

“Oh, no” you laughed out loud. “You are the physical one, me and Chilly almost never cuddle”

“Good” he smiled, relieved.

“Good?”

“Yeah, good. I wouldn’t live much longer knowing he’s cuddling with you while I’m far away, that’s unfair”

There it was again, the reason for your doubts. In what should you believe, for fucking sake?

Is not normal for a best friend to be that territorial and jealous. At least you wished it’s not.

“You don’t need to be jealous of Ben. He’s just Ben” you kept scratching his scalp. “Wanna go to the bathroom?”

“Not really” he tucked his head into your neck and you could feel the warmth of his burning cheeks.

“You don’t need to be ashamed, Mase. I told you it’s normal and I do understand that you have no control over it”

“I shouldn’t want this to happen” he murmured, so sleepy that you could barely hear him.

“Hm? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you Mase”

“I got hard cause I was thinking about it” he whispered against your neck. “I shouldn’t want this to happen, right?”

“You shouldn’t want this because it’s me?” you asked softly, trying to understand what he wanted, how he felt about you.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. Probably my favourite person in the world. I don’t want to fuck up our friendship” he squeezed your waist, inhaling your scent. “But God, I want to fuck you so bad”

You felt goosebumps all over your body and you were sure your panties would probably be ruined by now. This man will be the death of you.

But you think he drank tonight, you remembered yourself, just trying to keep your feet on the ground.

“You’re probably just drunk and horny, Mase. You’d feel like this with any girl laying in your bed”

“I didn’t even drink tonight, Y/N” he snorted, feeling rejected. “But nice way to dump me”

“Believe me, I’m not dumping you. I just thought you had a drink” you emphasised.

“Uhm, keep going” he ran his nose through your neck, lazy.

“You’re my favourite person too and I don’t want to screw things up” you admitted, and the way he pulled back to look at you with hopeful eyes made your entire body shiver.

“But you also feel it?”

“Yes baby, I do” you decided to be honest, even though you couldn’t know how honest he was being. “Now go to sleep, ok?”

“I don’t want to sleep” Mason kissed your neck.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your own body betray you. Mason didn’t missed the way your tights parted under him, which made him smile.

“Mase, you were supposed to be recovering. You really need to sleep now babe”

“Call me babe one more time and I’ll cum in my boxer” he breathed and you closed your eyes, fighting the urge to help him. “Y/N…” Mason whispered.

“We can’t, Mase” you whimpered, feeling insecure. You would have him and then what? He would go back to Manchester where he could find a lot of more attractive girls and you would stay in London.

“Why not” he pouted, nothing like the grown man asking you to have sex with him.

“I can’t risk the chance of you waking up and regretting this”

“I won’t”

“So there’s no rush if you’ll still want this other day” you tried to postpone this conversation, but he was desperate to take his chance, to create an ever stronger bond with you.

Mason doesn't know when you will see him again, so he can’t let this slip through his fingers.

“You want this?” he murmured, looking for your gaze, and you tried to ignore his eyes.

“Jesus Mase, why won’t you just sleep?” you sighed. This man is a tough one to deal with, and as soon he realised you did want him, you lost the war.

“Answer me” Mason kissed your chin, getting in between your legs. “Say you don’t and I’ll stop”

When he pressed his cock against your core, you losted it.

“Fuck, yes. I do. I want you so bad that I’m soaking” you spat the words. Lying to him now would be pointless.

Mason didn’t respond, giving your neck wet kisses instead, and you could feel his smile against your skin. He was desperate for you, and you could tell by his grip in your waist.

“If you want me then you got me” Mason whispered, moving his hand and caressing your core through your panties. “Be a good girl, uh?”

You nodded, feeling nervous. Your best friend was about to touch you like friends don’t usually do and you have no idea how to deal with that.

“Fuck, you’re really soaking” Mason groaned when his fingers touched you under the fabric, feeling how wet you were.

He slid them through your folds, trying to be quiet.

“No one can hear you” you whispered softly when you realised his effort to stay shut. “My roommate went for her boyfriends house”

“Good” he smiled, reaching your lips to a soft kiss. “I can make you scream then”

Your mouth went dry. You know Mason’s sassy and cocky side, and you love it, but you never thought you’d experienced it that way.

He rubbed your clit, gently massaging it, kissing your chin when you started to ask for more.

You couldn’t even think straight when Mason started thrusting two of his fingers in and out of you, always so gentle. You didn’t know if you wanted him to fuck you harder or to savour you like he was doing, so you just called his name, losing your mind.

“You’re feeling good?” he asked you, curling his fingers inside of you. The sight of your eyes shut and your parted lips made him want to scream. You nodded at him, scratching his neck. “And who’s making you feel good, princess?”

Mason smiled as he watched you roll your head back against the pillow. “You are, Mase”

He bit his lower lip in concentration, focused on getting you ready for him. When he couldn’t take it anymore, his dick twitching in his boxers at every soft moan of yours, he removed his fingers, smirking when you cried at the emptiness feeling.

Licking his fingers clean while looking you straight in the eyes, which made you even wetter, Mason pulled away just enough so he could take off his underwear, releasing his dick with a sigh.

Back between your legs, Mason moved your panties to the side, almost tearing them. He lined himself up with your entrance and leaned over you, teasing your hole and stimulating your clit with his tip.

He groaned when you scratched his torso, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Don’t tease baby, or there will be consequences” you hooked your fingers under his chin.

“Sorry” he smiled shyly, thrusting his hips forward to push himself inside. This somehow fed your pride with the thought of your boy submissive to you, but you had no time to think about it as Mason obeyed you, penetrating you slowly.

“Jesus Mase, you’re so big” you whimpered, feeling like you were almost tearing apart, your compliment feeding his ego.

When he was completely inside of you, Mason waited so you could get used to his size.

He started to move when you kissed his neck, trying his best to go slowly, but your soft whines in each thrust was making him crazy.

And he was good. So good. The pressure was perfect and the way he went to the bottom every single time made you wanna scream.

You had no words, only murmuring nonsense stuff and moaning his name. When his thrusts became faster and even more pleasurable, you lost your mind.

“Mase-” you choked out his name as you could feel his cock stretching you out, your walls clenching around him. “Just like that, babe-”

“Fuck, don’t call me like that” he whimpered. “I mean- please call me like that but not when I’m trying to last longer” Mason took a deep breath, trying not to cum with the feeling of you pulsating around him.

“But I don’t want you to last” you whispered, looking nothing like the girl from a few minutes ago who was scared of fucking with his best friend. “I want you to cum inside of me right now”

“Jesus, you’ll kill me” Mason groaned and you could feel him twitching inside of you, but he shook his head, thrusting his hips against you with renewed energy. “You first, princess”

You called out his name when the tip of his dick touched you in the right place, and Mason whined when you clenched around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. So hot damn tight” he cried out, suffering to hold his own orgasm.

He quickly took the tip of his thumb to rub your swollen clit, and you watched how his cock was disappearing in your pussy before you dropped your head back on the pillow, enjoying how good Mason is at it.

It was hot and messy and his thrusts were getting sloppier every second. You could feel your heart, tummy and cunt burning all at once and you knew you were close.

“I'm so close Mase” you whined, moaning loudly when he pinched your clit. “Fuck I’m gonna-“

“Let go for me, Y/N. You take me so good baby. It feels so good to be inside you” he whispered dirty words in your ear, coaxing you.

Your orgasm hits you with full strength.

Mason placed his forehead against your, stroking your waist and guiding you through it, his cock pulsating as he released his own orgasm inside you.

You both stayed silent for a moment, tired. After a few minutes, he kissed your lips and got up, looking for wet wipes in your bathroom.

Coming back with them, Mason cleaned you up gently, knowing you’d be too sensitive.

After tossing the wipes in the bin, he laid beside you, his arm in your waist and one of his legs over your body.

“You’re good?” he murmured in your ear, kissing your temple.

“Mm-hmm” you hummed. “It was good for you?”

“If it was good? Fuck, you drained me” he whispered, strengthless. “Yes baby, I loved to fuck you in my hoodie. Felt special”

“You’re so territorial” you chuckles, stroking his chin.

“Shouldn’t I? People are territorial over what belongs to them. So I’m territorial over you” he mumbled, and you knew he was falling asleep. “Cause you’re mine. Mine, mine and only mine. You and your cuddles and your stories and now your pussy is also mine”

You burst into laughs, his face moving with your chest.

“Good night baby boy” you kissed his forehead, smiling at his rose nose and cheeks.

“Sweet dreams, my princess” he leaned against you, trying to be as close to you as was humanly possible.

Before you fell asleep, your last thought was that It would break your heart to see him leave the next morning.

—

You and Chilly were out for lunch. After a rough week, he just needed to chat a little and you were always happy to hear him.

A venting session later, Ben squeezed your tight.

“And what about you? How you feeling, bug?” he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Not quite sure, Benji. I miss him” you sighed. “But if I go, then I’ll miss you. And everything I have here”

“It must be hard feeling that way” he stroked your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“Yep… and uhm, I need to tell you something” you pinched your nose.

Ben didn’t even hesitated. “You had sex with him”

“Benjamin?!” you gasped.

“What?”

“He told you?” you were surprised that Ben knew it. Since that happened, Mason agreed not to tell your friend.

“So you HAD sex with him?” he laughed out loud. “Oh my- I knew it”

“So I just confirmed to you… great”

“Really? No one was going to tell me?“

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure about it. Like, I was always sure about him, but not about what we were”

“Oh yeah, you’re definitely something. He’s so in love with you, makes me sick of my stomach”

“He’s what?” you paralysed. “He told you that?”

“No but it’s obvious?!”

“Oh Chilly, c'mon. You scared me for a sec”

“Why? You wouldn’t want this to be true?” he took a sip of his soda, understanding your silence. “Oh shit, is the opposite”

You shrugged, not really wanting to confirm it.

“Whatever”

“I mean it, Y/N. I know he feels it”

“You can’t be sure if he never told you this”

“But he’s my best friend, I know him. And I know both of you. He’s been on you since his first Senior England game”

“Fine, even if this is the truth there’s nothing I can do if he never tells me”

“Maybe you should tell him how you feel”

“We were both very clear about how we don’t want to ruin our friendship”

“And then he fucked you. Nice way to not ruin a friendship”

“We’re good Benji, no friendships ruined”

“I’ve seen this film before, Y/N. You two should talk”

“Fine, I’ll try. I just didn’t felt comfortable bringing the subject in a week like this, you know that beating City at Old Trafford was a really big goal for him”

“You have a point, it was a stressful week for him” Ben nodded, finishing his food and trying to decide which dessert he would pick today.

When you finish yours too you reach out for your phone since you’re used to forget it exists every time you’re with Ben or Mason.

You held your breath when you entered Twitter and saw Mason’s name trending.

According to the videos, Mason was at a club last night and even though he’s a grown man and can do whatever he wants, you felt your stomach churn.

He was beautiful as ever, looking a bit tipsy and his hair was a mess in one of the photos.

A specific one made your heart ache.

Mason was holding a girl on his lap. His face was resting on her shoulder, practically laying on her boobs.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and Ben looked at you concerned.

“What happened, bug? You’re feeling alright? Something’s hurting?” he sounded alarmed, and you felt a bit of comfort in his concern.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, feeling your chest hurt, so you nodded at his question.

“What is it? You can’t breathe?” Ben stroked your back, worried. When you put your phone on the table and covered your face with your hands, he had a look at the screen. “Fuck, I’ll kill him”

You shook your head, ugly crying in your hands. Ben kissed your temple, never stopping the comforting stroke in your back and whispering that everything would be okay.

When your sobs became too loud he asked for the bill, paying before picking you up and taking you to his car. You didn’t say a word, accepting being taken care of.

At his house, he sent you to a hot shower. You hugged him tightly before locking his bathroom door and getting under the water.

It was a relieving shower. You cried a lot, and when you felt that there weren't any more tears you let your shoulders relax.

Leaving the bathroom, you found out that Ben had left one of his oversized t-shirts and a new boxer in his bed.

Wearing it and wrapping the towel around your hair, you left his room to find him in the kitchen.

“Hey bug, you’re feeling better?”

“Thank you Benji” you pouted, and he left the stove to get to you.

“You don’t need to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you, Y/N, you’re my little sister” he hugged you, and you tucked your face in his neck. “I love you, and I’m sorry he hurt you. He’ll have to deal with me about this one”

“I love you Chilly, but you don’t need to fight with your best mate because of it” you sighed, letting him go back to the boiling water. “We’re not dating, we just had sex. Maybe I went too far, it’s not his fault”

Ben shook his head, but concentrated on making you both a cup of tea.

Your best friend took care of you, and you both spent the rest of the day cuddling and watching movies.

Ben wasn’t the best with physical touch, but he knew you needed it so he tried his best, and this made your heart pound with gratitude.

You ignored Mason the whole day. You know he’s an adult and can do whatever he wants to, and a few weeks ago those videos wouldn’t bother you as you want him to be happy, and he seems happy, but after the last time you saw him you thought… that maybe he could be happy with you.

When the third movie ended, you yawned and turned to face Ben.

“It’s really late Benji, I should go home”

“You can spend the night here, I have training tomorrow but that’s not a problem”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck off bug, you’re my best friend. Of course I’m sure” he ruffled your hair. “Do you want to sleep with me or do you need time alone?”

“As long as you don’t kick me out of bed in the middle of the night…”

“Hey, I already apologised for that night” Ben gave you the middle finger, turning off the tv, and you followed him upstairs.

“I need to tell you something” Ben sighed, rubbing his face. “I think I might know what happened, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m defending him — I’m not”

“Uhm, ok?” you looked at him, suspicious.

“Friday, after our game… I went to the club with some of the boys, we had a lot of drinks” he started, feeling ashamed. “And we played truth or dare. I’m sorry, bug. One of the guys thought it was a good idea to dare Enzo to send Mason a message about you”

“What kind of message?”

“That you spent a night with him or something like that. They all know how close both of you are and they were sure this would make Mason lost his shit cause apparently he’s the only one that still doesn’t know how fucking in love he is” Ben said it all in just one breath. “But this is not an excuse, he should’ve asked you instead of believing Enzo. I just think that he felt threatened, insecure that you saw another man even after what you guys had”

“Jeez Ben, this is fucked up uh? It’s not a cool thing to do. But yeah, he should’ve asked me before fucking other girl”

“You’re angry or jealous?”

“I’m angry. And jealous. He slept with her thinking I slept with another man and now even though he’ll find out I didn’t, he did” you pouted. “He’s dirty with another woman’s pussy Ben I don’t want him anymore”

Your sincerity made Chilwell burst into laughter. “Oh bug, I’m sorry. You’re just too funny”

“I mean it though, she’s all over his skin”

“I’m sorry you’re passing through this, bug. He can be so dumb sometimes” You shrugged, and Ben’s phone started to ring. “Speaking of the devil”

“The Red Devil” you joked, turning to the other side so he could text his best friend. Ben stayed silent for a few minutes, but you could feel he was angry by the way he was typing.

You sighed when he locked his phone, imagining what they talked about, but forced yourself to forget these thoughts when Ben tucked his head in your neck.

“Good night, bug”

“Good night, Benji”

—

Monday morning, Ben’s doorbell rang like crazy, waking you up. You looked at your phone to check the hour, discovering it was only half past eight.

A lot of messages from Mason caught your attention, and you read them quickly, feeling your stomach twisting.

The doorbell rang again, and you snorted. Chilwell left early for training, so whoever might be wouldn’t find him home, but you thought it would be nice of you to let them know this instead of just letting them wait forever.

You ran down the stairs in his t-shirt, rubbing your sleepy eyes and still yawning. It wasn’t the best night of sleep you ever had, to be honest.

The last thing you were expecting was to see Mason standing in front of the door, ready to start knocking.

You tried to close the door in his face, but he was quick to stop your action, using his foot to keep it open.

“We need to talk” his voice was grumpy, and he looked so cosy in his hoodie. You tried your best to not jump on him, still feeling sad about yesterday.

“I don’t really wanna talk with you”

“But we need to. You’re using Ben’s t-shirt?” he frowned, forcing his weight against the door until you gave up.

“I didn’t think I was staying so I didn’t bring anything” you shrugged, and he forced himself to swallow the jealousy lump in his throat.

“Y/N…” Mason tried to hold you, but you took a step back.

“Don’t. I’m still pissed” you snorted, closing Ben’s door and walking to the living room. “How do you even knew I was here? I’ll beat Ben’s ass”

“I went to your place and you weren't there, so it was a logical thought. He didn’t needed to tell me anything. He refuses to talk to me at all”

Your heart melted a little bit, but even though what happened seems a small thing now, you cried a lot since you saw that video, and despite Ben’s explanation before bed you weren’t letting Mason get away with this one so easily.

You sat on the sofa, and he tried to sit next to you. You shuffled to the side, putting a little distance between you, but Mason followed your movement.

When you reached the arm of the sofa and ran out of space, he smiled at you. The pair of you stayed silent until Mason reached out for your hand.

“I’m sorry sweetheart” Mason said softly and it was enough to make you cry again.

“It’s not like we’re something, right? I’m just being dramatic” you shrugged one more time.

You weren’t his girlfriend, you both never talked about your feelings, he had a night out and now you’re acting like this is the end of the world. Maybe you should see a therapist.

“No, we’re not” he sighed, your words hurting him a little bit. “But I’ve always wanted us to be”

You gave Mason a side eye, trying not to cry any more. You wished you could still be mad at him, but if you’re being honest with yourself, just the fact that he was in London on a Monday so he could explain himself to you already made your anger disappear.

“You don’t need to lie to me, Mase. We can still be best friends like nothing happened” you tried to smile like the idea wasn’t tearing you apart.

“I don’t want to be your best friend” Mason snapped, but he quickly recomposed himself. “Fuck, I don’t. Ben is your best friend, ok? He’s your big brother, whatever. I’m your boy, Y/N” he said desperately, giving your thigh a squeeze. His words sounded like they could kill you. “Look at me baby”

When you did, Mason stared into your eyes. You instantly felt the need to cry, and weren’t able to hold the tears when he started stroking your chin.

Unable to wait any longer, he brought you to his lap, his hands going straight under Ben's t-shirt, to your waist.

“It’s not your fault, or mine. We should’ve talked about how we felt” you placed your hands on his neck. “Can’t blame you for sleeping with other girl”

“I haven’t. You’re the only one I had sex with the last four months” he chewed his lower lip. “I went to the club so Rashy could record me because I knew you’d see it and then you’d feel what I felt when Enzo texted me”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me” you shook your head, but you felt good knowing that he hasn’t slept with anyone else since he had you. He’s still your untouched boy.

“I do need to. It was childish, dumb and I hurt you without even knowing the real story. The thought of you with him made me blind. I just kept thinking about you touching him like you touched me” he said shyly, avoiding your gaze. “Kissing him like we kissed. Riding him like you did to me”

You took his hair out of his face and stroked his chin. Shy Mason has ever been your favourite version of him, because you’re the only one to see him like this.

“But that wasn’t the worst part” he pouted unconsciously. “I just realised that once you both enjoyed it, he could take you on dates. And ask you to be his girlfriend. See you every week like I used to and even ask you to live with him. He could do everything I wanted to”

His lower lip quivered and the fragility made you smile.

“I haven’t even met Enzo in person, baby boy. You could just talked to me and I’d told you this”

“Chilly told me it was a truth or dare game and they chose me as the target cause it was always obvious how much I like you” he left out a shaky breath. “But I had already messed up when I found out the truth. I was so dumb, and now you’re mad at me”

“Of course I’m mad at you. Another girl was messing around with what is mine” you felt a boost of confidence knowing he wants you both to be more than best friends.

“I’m sorry babe” he pouted, and your entire body shivered.

“Being sorry isn’t enough” you ran your thumb through his lower lip, quivering when he kissed your finger.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Mason smiled at the feeling of your thighs squeezing around him.

“Maybe if you were so afraid that Enzo could make a move, you should do it before we have the chance to accidentally met” you teased, watching your boy’s eyes go darker.

“Can we not say his name anymore?” Mason rolled his eyes, still stroking your skin.

“Does it stress you out?” you raised an eyebrow at him. “And you haven’t thought for a second that if you didn’t like the way you felt about him then I wouldn’t like the way I’m feeling about that girl right now?”

“I’m sorry” Mason whimpered, tightening his grip on your waist.

“Not enough. Not after making me think someone was touching my man. After making me think you were intimate with her or were looking at her the way you look at me”

“Your man?” Mason smirked, stopping when he saw your serious face. “I’ll never look at anyone the way I look at you. And your name is the only one I like to call”

“It won’t be that easy for you, Mr. Good With Words” you poked his chest, trying not to smile when he held your hand and kissed it.

“Fine, not words then. Let’s have dinner next week, I’ll come after my game” he smiled, pecking your neck.

You tried to hide your own smile again, but Mason tickled your waist and you failed.

“Alright” you giggled. “But I can go to Manchester. You’ll be tired”

“I don’t think so, I’m the one who needs to prove you something” he kissed your neck, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his touch before pulling out of his lap.

His confused eyes made you laugh, even harder when he pouted like a child.

“You didn't think it would be that easy, right? No kisses before my dinner” you shrugged.

“Y/N” he whimpered. “It’s like we're starting from scratch?”

“Yes”

Mason sighed, getting up and walking towards you. “Give me a last one, then”

You got closer to him, slowly. Mason licked his lips wet in anticipation, his hands ready to hold you, when you gave his cheek a peck and ran upstairs.

“Don't forget to close Chilly’s door” you screamed, making him laugh.

“I love you too, sweetheart” he shook his head, just happy that he got another chance.

Once in Ben’s room’s safety, you texted your best friend since he loves to be updated about your life like is a reality show.

—

Mason’s game Saturday afternoon was fantastic, and he even gave Rashy an assist. This would mean Ben was the moody of the moodiest, but he told you he’d be fine, not wanting to mess up with your weekend. You wrote a mental note to spend an entire afternoon with him.

When Mount left the locker room and the boys invited him, he shook his head, smiling.

“What’s about that smile?” Sancho raised an eyebrow.

“It seems like someone visited heaven” Martinez smirked, crossing his arms whilst everyone waited for Mason’s response.

Luke laughed, wearing his hoodie and walking towards Mount. “I know that look” he tapped Mason’s shoulder. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Oh, so the video worked?” Marcus clapped his hands.

“Not exactly, but we’re good now. I’m taking her to dinner”

“That’s my big boy” Sancho jumped on his shoulders.

“He’s actually her big boy, bro” Onana giggled, messing up Mason's hair. “Happy for you, Mount. You found yourself in United, finally have your house and now you have your girl too”

“The start of the season in a new team can be really tough, but you’re going through it Mase. You’ll see, from now on it’ll only get better” Rashford completed, hugging Mason’s head. “We’re happy for you, brother”

He is happy for himself too. No self pity anymore. He’s going to show the world why he deserves his trophies, his fame and his girl.

With that in mind, he knocked at your door hours later, his shaky legs annoying him and your favourite flowers on his hand.

Ben told him your hotel and even gave his name to the receptionist. He felt like he’ll always be in debt with his friend.

Mason ran out of breath with the sight of you. Your red dress was pressing your body in all the right places, ending four fingers above your knees, and your smile was so bright. Your make up was her favourite make up style, a natural one, and your red lipstick matched the colour of your dress. Your white high heels

“Hi baby” he smiled at you, giving you the flowers. “To you”

“Mase! You didn’t need to” you pouted, running inside so you could put them in a vase. He was still smiling when you came back.

“You’re beautiful”

“You’re beautiful too baby boy” you had a look at him. Mason was wearing a white shirt, black pants and his favourite white Nike sneakers. He smiled proudly when you licked your lips wet looking at him.

When he took you to his car, you were a bit confused.

“What happened to your Rover?”

“Washing day” he shrugged, opening his Porsche’s door for you. “Do you like this one?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Everything about tonight seemed so dazzling.

When he sat behind the wheel, you felt your legs shake a bit and you couldn't contain your gasp. “Jesus, this is hot”

“Uhm?” Mason looked at you, grinning as he started the car. “You said something, babe?”

You chewed your lower lip, knowing damn well he heard you. Mount laughed at your silence, driving to the restaurant he picked.

It wasn’t a long drive, but you spent the entire time staring at his hands. How they pressed the wheel, how he smiled every time he hit the accelerator. How he smirked when his eyes met yours.

So cocky and feeling himself.

And you like to see him like this.

When he parked in front of your favourite restaurant, you pouted at him. Of course it was the Manchester franchise, but his concern with choosing somewhere you would like in his town made you happy.

“Don’t” he closed his eyes, smirking. “I don’t want to ruin your lipstick yet”

You rolled your eyes, and couldn’t help yourself but feel giddy. “Who said you’re ruining my lipstick tonight?”

“I said” he opened his door, running to get to yours before you could open it by yourself. You always felt good around Mason, but being his best friend and being his girl were two different things.

And nothing in this world ever felt as good as being his girl.

You never thought you’d have a dinner date with Mason, but you had. And it was unreal. Everything about the restaurant was so cosy, and the way he looked at you the whole night…

“You’re sure there’s no problem if someone sees us here?”

“You need to relax, love. It’s just me, uh? Not Mason Mount, just your Mason”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble”

“I won’t. Now, white wine and cheesy pasta?” he smiled, and you nodded fervently. You both talked about how’s been settling down in Manchester, his first Manchester Derby and your visits to Stamford, avoiding talking about Enzo and Mason’s partying night.

He also asked about your work, your family, Ben and Nathan. You asked about his new teammates and if they’re already friends, Mason smiled at every answer and question, and you were so happy your belly hurts from laughing.

When you were finished with your food, Mase ordered a chocolate dessert, knowing how much you love sweets after a meal.

“Close your eyes for me, princess. I want you to guess what I ordered” he smiled, and you obeyed immediately.

“It has strawberries?”

“Hm, no”

“Mango? Grapes?”

“Wow, you’re a fruity woman. But no” you could hear his giggles.

“It’s dark chocolate?”

“Yes baby, your favourite”

“Oh, oh!! Petit gateau with the 60% cocoa ganache and cocoa powder sprinkled” you opened your eyes, looking at him instead of the table. “Did I get it?”

Mase had the most beautiful smile, his eyes shut. When he didn’t answer you, you looked at the table just to find the dessert you described – and a ring.

“What- what is this?”

“I promise” Mason started, and you felt your eyes watering. “That I’ll love you just as much as you love bitter chocolate. I do already” he giggled, and you felt like your heart was about to stop.

“Baby…”

“I think you should be my girl, Y/N”

“I’m your girl” you murmured, feeling your heart pounding with love.

“Alright, I think you should be my girlfriend then. The last week just proved that we want each other and not being sincere about our feelings will only leave space for us to get hurt. I don’t want us to get hurt”

You walked towards him sitting in his lap not really caring if other people would comment about it.

“Me neither, sweet boy. But we live in different cities-”

“We’ll manage this. We can make it work. It’s what we’ve been doing since I left, babe. But now I’ll be even more anxious to see you cause I know I’ll be able to kiss you” he chuckled, kissing your chin before brushing his lips in your ear. “And touch you in a way is reserved to me”

“Put it on my ring” you whispered to him, trying to focus. He bit his lower lip in concentration, taking the tiny box and admiring his choice, a shining silver with a red jewel.

“I was going to buy a blue one, but…”

“Red is your colour now. It fits you, and it fits me. That’s all” you reassured him, stroking his chin with one hand while he held the other, sliding the ring through your ring finger.

You cupped his face when he finished, kissing his cheeks, nose and lips. It felt pretty good to see your lipstick marks all over him.

“Want your dessert now?” he smiled sheepishly and you nodded, choosing to stay in his lap while you ate your petit gateau.

It was really yummy and you felt happiness spreading over you, realising how much he knows you for asking something you would like that much.

“You shouldn’t press yourself against my cock like that, you know?” Mason suddenly murmured, scaring you. “It would be really embarrassing for me to cum that fast”

You choked a bit, pushing the plate away. “I’m done”

“Already?” he giggled when you nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes.

He asked for the bill and paid for it before getting up with you and guiding you by your waist. When both of you got to his car, he opened your door and kissed your cheek, making you all giddy.

While he walked around the car and entered, you texted Ben.

Already locking his seatbelt Mase smirked at your giggles, imagining who you were speaking with.

Mason didn’t even ask where you wanted to go, driving his home with just one hand while the other squeezed your thigh.

It was intimate and his hand was warm and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking how hot he looked while driving that way.

When he parked in his garage, you instantly felt nervous. It was your first time at his new house, and he could sense your tension.

“It’s just like when you used to come to my house in London” he hugged you from behind. “But we’re not in London anymore”

“And we’re not best friends anymore” you completed.

“No. We’re even better now” he kissed your neck, taking your hand and guiding you inside.

It was a big house, but comfortable at the same time. Mason was still decorating, but already seemed like his place.

It was late already, so he took you straight upstairs.

“Here’s my room, and my bathroom is right there. You can take off your makeup, I brought your makeup remover and a lot of cotton pads”

“I’ll need a t-shirt” you pouted, realising how much you two look like big babies pouting all the time. “And a boxer, it’s more comfortable”

“Yas ma’am. But first” he held your waist, pushing you against him. His other hand went to your neck, his fingers getting into your hair.

Mason leaned towards you, brushing your nose with his and pecking your lips before giving you a real kiss. His tongue sliding into your mouth the second you gave him permission.

He groaned when your nails scratched his scalp and you whined in his mouth, trying to get closer to him. Mason’s hands slid through your body, and he squeezed your bum, making your grip on him tighter.

“I told you” he said once you both broke apart looking for air, running his finger through your lower lip. “Deliciously ruined”

You pecked his lips one more time, feeling your legs a bit shaky.

“I love you”

“I love you so much more” he kissed your neck. “Now go get ready for bed, please. I don’t have strength enough to do what I want to do with you right now”

You chuckled, also feeling too tired for anything. It was a perfect night and you just wanted to finish it laying with your boyfriend, cuddling all night.

After taking off your makeup, you came back to Mase’s room and found him with the most beautiful sleepy face, holding his clothes for you. You quickly changed, letting him look at your body for a few seconds before wearing his t-shirt and boxer.

“Shit, you look so hot. And so cosy. I don’t know if I want to fuck you or cuddle you”

“Well the only thing you’re able to do right now is cuddling” you giggled, and Mason hit your ass.

He tucked you in bed, and you sighed in content. It was always so good to cuddle with him, feeling his body touching yours.

You knew both of you were horny and desperate for each other, but at the same time you were drained with the day’s surprises, and your boy had just won a game earlier. More than that, you were just happy. That you were in his arms, that he is totally yours now, that he loves you.

Happy that you’re able to sleep with his body that close to yours.

—

It’s been two months since Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and you said yes. You both were able to manage the distance, but you were broken to be that far away from him.

When you asked Chilly to meet you that Thursday night, you really thought it wouldn’t be that hard. That you would have time to talk to him before telling the news.

But just like Mason, your best friend knows you, and his soft eyes shined with unshed tears before you even opened your mouth.

You hugged him, instantly tucking your face on his neck.

“I’m moving” you tried to tell him yourself, even though he already saw this on your face. “I’ll go to Manchester, Chilly”

He kissed the top of your head, hugging you tightly. “I’ll miss you, a lot, but I’m happy you made the decision. He was making me crazy with all the texts about missing you”

“I wish I could stay- really” you tried to explain, tightening your grip on hip, but Chilly shook his head.

“I’m missing my best friend, yes. But you?” Ben shrugged. “You’re missing the entire other half of you. I understand why you need to go. I’m happy you’re going, actually. Happy for you, and for my boy that’ll now feel complete”

“I’ll miss you so much, Benji” you pulled back to look at him with big sad eyes.

“But you’ll be happier there. And this is enough for me. Just promise me we’ll text everyday and you’ll visit me on my important games”

You nodded, squeezing his waist. “I’ll visit all the time. And you can always visit too, you know” you stared at him. “I love you. I love both of you so much it hurts”

“We love you more, you know” Ben chuckled, kissing your forehead.

You were happy with your best friend's support, and after a nice lunch with him you texted your boy.

You laughed at him, so silly.

When you had all your most important things in your car hours later, you FaceTimed Mason.

“Hi my sweetie cutie pie” he answered immediately.

“Hi big boy” you smiled at him, locking your old small and pretty house, that was already on sale.

“Big, uh?” a different voice came from his phone, and you felt the blood rushing into your cheeks when Rashford appeared through your screen. “Hi cutie pie” he mocked Mason.

“Hi Rashy. Boys night out?”

“Not actually, is just me, Mase and Sanch”

“You’re coming?” Mason appeared again, and Marcus snorted.

“I’m leaving now, but it’s a long drive, you can stay with them” you assured him, entering your car.

“Wish I could pick you up” he pouted. “Be careful love”

“Join us when you arrive, baby girl” Marcus mocked again, and Mason fulmed him with his eyes.

“Don’t call her like that” your jealous boy complained.

“Ohhhh” you could hear Sancho’s voice. “He’s right Rashy, you can’t call your buddy’s girl like that even if it’s ironic”

“Sorry, sorry. Just tell her to join us”

“You want to come, babe?” he looked at you with his big brown eyes and you nodded.

“This phrase went weird bro” Sancho murmured, causing Marcus to break into laughter.

“Jesus, I can’t with you two” he snorted, causing you to smile. “I’ll send my location and you decide if you want to show or if you’re too tired, just let me know if you choose go straight home so I can come to you”

“Yes sir” you nodded again, starting the car. “See you soon” you whispered, receiving an affected smile.

“God, I can’t wait” he murmured with shining eyes, instantly being teased by his friends. “I love you baby”

“Love you more” you blow him a kiss before turning the call off, adjusting your seat belt and driving off of the porch line. Driving home. To your man and your new life.

#✧･ﾟ: *✧ tsimvkas — works #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x reader #mason mount fluffy #mason mount smut #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fics

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inklore · 2 years

Text

crimson and clover.

part one | next part | series masterlist

premise: maybe you shouldn’t get high with eddie again but you can’t get him off of your mind, and his lips are too inviting to fight the growing addiction you’re succumbing to from the things he can do with them.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 7k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, f receiving oral, fingering, a touch of voyeurism, weed smoking, virgin!eddie, teasing and banter, soft dirty talk, alluded blowjob, jealousy mention, cheesy fluff, shitty parentals.

etc: i’m literally obsessed with these two to the point of insanity!! like i’m not usually that much of a plot heavy girly but buckle up besties we in deep <3.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

It’s quite embarrassing, excruciatingly taxing, vexing and every other big word that you could remember and barely comprehend—but now are having a grave first-hand experience with—from those Jane Austen books you had to read in class.

Every ten sellable verb, feeling, pretext; all of them describing the exact state of your mind right now, and how superficial it made you feel. Aforementioned: excruciating, embarrassing.

A week has gone by since the night you spent with Eddie, and it’s all you find yourself thinking about.

Your mind plays a constant loop reel of everything that happened; the giggles, the kiss, the…other thing. At night when you want to sleep your mind is too busy thinking about whether or not Eddie’s thinking about it too, what happened. Or if he’s out bragging to his friends—something you have your doubts about. The two of you hadn’t discussed if this was an under-wraps kind of thing, it was probably common knowledge you wouldn't want it to be spread all over town. Which it would be, like wildfire.

None of your friends have called you to belittle you yet, so you doubt he’s told anyone.

But was it plaguing his mind as pathetically as it was yours? Or were you just so starved for decent human interaction that your mind was holding onto this one night like it was an aphrodisiac?

Maybe if you had received a call from him you wouldn’t be acting so…mortifyingly in your feelings for god knows why.

"Will we be graced with your presence across the tracks again, princess?" He had asked when he pulled up a block down from your house, not trusting his loud engine to not wake up your parents—or at the very least a neighbor who would see and then go running to your parents about the strange man they saw you with. It wasn’t a mess you wanted to deal with.

"Don't call me that." You had groaned, undoing your seatbelt and hiding your smile by biting the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t thought past this night, were still too busy rolling off that high from smoking and having Eddie against your mouth…inside of your mouth.

And maybe it was his smile, his thumb tapping on the steering wheel, eyes flashing to your mouth and back up like he didn’t know if he was allowed to kiss you again, or if he should.

But you reached across the dash and grabbed the pen randomly rested atop of it, leaned over to pull his hand from the wheel, and wrote your number on top of it.

"Don't call before six or after midnight.” You let your smile spread, threw the pen back on the dash, and opened the passenger door hopping out. “See you around, Munson.”

That was seven days ago and counting.

Never-ending counting.

It’s not like you expected him to call. You figured he probably wouldn’t, the two of you were not about to become best friends just because he cleaned your shoes, or let you smoke his weed, or because he came in your mouth. You didn’t—shouldn’t—have any expectations from Munson and you were sure he had none from you.

History didn’t make you friends. Sharing weed or an incredible kiss didn’t either.

So it wasn’t a big deal he hadn’t called.

And yet as you sit at one of the pristine white table cloth tables of the Country Club, your parents on either side of you, your fingers playing with the straw of your drink; you’re wondering if he’s called.

You’re so hyper-focused on that thought, of the thought of that stupid smile that you can’t shut your eyes without seeing—that you don’t hear your mother speaking to you until the words “I heard you two broke up” are spat through the air.

Reality crashes down on you, and you can’t help the grimace that flashes across your lips. Word really does spread like wildfire in this town. You hadn’t expected your parents to find out until at least a few weeks—or never, a girl could dream. Enough time for you to come up with an excuse at least, anything but the truth. Which would be nothing but unacceptably unrealistic to them.

“He’s not a good-”

“I didn’t ask for your feelings on the matter.” Your mother interrupts. Scowls down at the martini glass in her hand. “Fix it. You’re both going to the same college, a college your father called in many favors just to get you in. Since you couldn’t do it on your own.” Her last words are mumbled, snappy, and hurtful as always. “His parents run in the same social circle as us and could do wonders for your father's business. Don’t ruin this for yourself over girlish feelings.”

Your throat feels tight, constricted, suffocated. Your fingers have dropped from your straw to grip the end of your white pleated skirt under the table. You know even if you told your mother the full story, how you truly felt, how you’ve been with him since sophomore year and neither of you have even muttered the words ‘I love you’. And don’t think you ever will. Would.

Or how last year over spring break the two of you broke up for a month and you had felt more rejuvenated than any hundred-dollar spa treatment ever could. As if you had peeled off a deadweight and could finally feel something other than the caked-on layers of presser that were endlessly put onto you by him, by them.

Then he came back and said the same thing your mother did “don’t ruin this for us” when he had been the one to leave you. And you’d done the stupid thing and said yes. As the two of you kissed and made up your mind searched for the why, the how, the what-the-fuck-were-you doing.

And now with your mother's words as fresh as a reopened wound reminding you of the memory, you know you said yes because of her. Your father. Their need to seem so disgustingly perfect on the outside, to hide how ugly they were on the inside.

Were you as ugly as them?

The question makes your knee bounce, knuckles straining from the grip on your skirt.

Your mothers already moved on from you, talking to the friend at her side. Smiling, keeping that perfect crown in place. Turning towards your father you hope to see a sympathetic look, some wise words—wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do? Wise words and comfort? But he’s not even looking at you, too busy laughing at something the man beside him has said.

You need to get out of here. Go home and scream into your pillow or something.

Standing from the table, a little too quickly. The legs of your chair screeching against the hardwood, your father finally looks at you.

“Everything alright?” A monologue of how everything is the farthest thing from being alright in the back of your throat and ready to be screamed. But then you can feel your mother's eyes on you, don’t have to turn to see her look of impassiveness to know it’s there.

“Yeah,” you give them both your best performed smile. “Just going to do what mom said, fix it.”

Your lie only gets you a hum from said woman and then she’s done with you and turning her head. Your dad gives you the weakest of smiles and asks if you need any money—for no reason at all. Shaking your head you quickly bid them goodbye and do your best walk-sprint out of the building.

The hot summer night air a welcome humidity from the suffocation you felt in there.

You have your parent's driver take you home. Screw your ex and screw your parents.

If your mother wanted him to be in your family so bad maybe she should drop her Pilates instructor and have him instead. It would take a hefty price—that you were sure your parents would gladly pay to get you to shut up and listen to them—to ever bring yourself to his front door and beg for him back.

You didn’t beg. For anyone. Over anything.

You asked. You got. Demanded. Sometimes you didn’t even need to ask. You were just given to. Your bank account and school career showed as much.

Fuck, maybe you were the Princess of Hawkins after all.

You start in a small sprint up the stairs to your room, your throat still feeling as if it’s being squeezed by your mother's words, indifference towards you, demands. Even with her not around you feel like you’re being suffocated by her.

You really shouldn’t have come back home.

Not for the summer. Not anytime. Should have just stuck to the one call a month and check in the mail. Life was more peaceful that way. At least you could breathe.

It was going to be one hell of a long, torturous summer.

“Someone called for you!”

You hear just as your foot lands on the last step. Your heart leaping in your chest as you turn and yell down, ��who?”

“They didn’t say.” Your family housekeeper appears at the bottom of the stairs, a small smile on her face. “But they did leave their number and said to call them if you needed help on biology or something like that.” She shakes her head, “could barely understand them. There was loud music in the background.”

Eddie.

The grin that spreads across your lips is demeaning to your social status. Same with the way your heart feels like it’s pumping from your stomach now as you run back down the stairs and take the number from her, only to run back up them and to your room; dialing the number into the pink phone beside your bed, pacing the floor as you wait, hope, shamefully pray that he answers.

On the fifth ring he answers and when his voice floods through the phone when you hear the “shit-hold on” as he turns down the music blaring in the background, you feel like you can finally breathe again. No more tight throat. Suffocating. The only thing you feel now is that familiar giddy ache in your cheeks.

“Biology huh?”

You can hear the puff of air Eddie lets out from realizing it’s you, from the smile that you can tell is on his face when he speaks through the receiver, “I thought telling her I was ‘the weed guy’ would be worse, town freak was my second option.”

"Munson, it's summer no one's doing biology!"

“Incorrect. Summer school is a prison sentence I have had the displeasure of being sentenced to.” Of course, he has. You can’t help the laugh that comes out, one he joins in on.

There’s a silence that spreads where you can hear him fiddling with something on the other line.

And then he’s saying, “is the Princess busy or can she step away from the castle, and grace us, peasants, with her presence?"

You’re smiling again, fuck.

“She could, but I don't know, she might need payment." You say in your best uppity voice, flopping back on your bed. Your fingers coiling and uncoiling the cord hanging from the phone.

"Drats! Right when I’m out of gold doubloons too."

“Oooh, and I only take gold, looks like the peasants must go un-graced today.”

"Would thy majesty take my humble payment of the best weed in the county instead?" He puts on his best historically accurate voice that has you snorting.

“That’s very presumptuous of you to say it's the best."

"Did I say the best? Sorry, I meant the greatest.”

God, you despised how nice this felt. How the muscles in your cheeks were already sore and you hadn’t even been talking to him for more than five minutes. How you can’t remember someone calling you and it being like this, no gossip, no hounding questions or accusations.

Oh, how the normal half lives.

"I'll meet you where you dropped me off the other night, okay?"

"Your chariot will be waiting, princess."

When Eddie picks you up and the two of you fly across town, sharing silent smiles, the town passing in the rear view, heavy metal blaring throughout the speakers—that he doesn’t turn down until his van comes to a stop through a wooded clearing, in front of a familiar lake.

Lovers Lake.

"Really, Munson? Trying to get lucky again?" You tease, a cheeky grin covered up by him laughing behind the hair that moves in his face as he undoes his seatbelt and moves to the back of the van.

You follow him into the back, sitting on the van floor. Eddie on the sofa, much like the last night the two of you were together. Except now you’re sitting with your legs crossed out in front of you, back against one of the walls of the van.

You let him do his thing of pulling out the metal box and rifling through it while he finds what he needs. Occupying your time with looking at the newly added amps and wires that weren’t there the other night.

"What's your band called again?"

"Corroded Coffin.”

You smile remembering him telling you that when you were partnered together. Remember how he drummed his fingers on the desk and air guitared you a silent piece to emphasize how good he swore he could play, how good the band was.

"You should come see us play sometime. If you're into that.” He looks up at you through his bangs, his fingers moving in his lap as he rolls the joint.

You give the tiniest smirk as you say, “like a date?”

His shoulders are shrugging, ringed fingers scratching his cheek. “If a grimy bar and drunk geezers falling off their barstools is your ideal date then yes. Absolutely.” You share a smile and then he’s going back to his task at hand.

When he’s finished rolling, and after you’re done eyeballing him: watching how his fingers work along the rolling papers, those damn rings distracting you, and finding yourself at a loss for words when you watch him bring it to his lips and run his tongue along the seam to close it.

You were here to get away. To kill time. To smoke. Nothing else.

What happened the other night should stay a one time thing. With how your insides keep acting up from the mere thought of it. This was dangerous territory already.

"Your payment, princess." Eddie holds out the freshly rolled joint, doing a little bowing motion as he does. Making you laugh and playfully snatch it from his fingers.

Bringing it to your lips, he pulls out a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans. Leaning forward he flicks it and holds it to the other end, lighting it for you. His eyes on yours as you forget to inhale for half a second, too busy staring back at him. The thick smoke almost making you choke after you’ve come to and inhale; an intensity holding between your gazes.

He’s so close, if you were to remove the joint you could lean in and….

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight.

You quickly move back over to your spot and take a few puffs, praying that it chills whatever tempestuous feelings were burning in your lower belly right now.

The two of you fall into an easy rotation, puffing, passing, Eddie making a joke and you losing it. A peaceful cycle that soon has you forgetting about the earlier events of the day and how you had felt; your nerves now lax, body feeling good. And not just because of the weed, but because of the boy sitting in front of you.

A fact you let yourself feel.

The only thing you allow yourself to feel.

You’re tapping your foot mindless against the bottom of the couch to the metal playing through the van, ignoring the friction it causes against the pant leg of Eddie’s jeans; his leg pressed against yours as the two of you have your limbs spread out.

Your fingers are flipping through a random magazine you’ve found in one of the many piles of junk on the floor. “Who sings this?”

"Corroded Coffin.”

Your head snaps up a little too fast giving you whiplash, as you look up at him—he’s already staring back, how long has he been watching? And have your cheeks always been this warm, or is the thought that he had possibly been watching you for god knows how long that’s making you feel overheated right now?

“This is your band?!”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I don't see any blood coming from your ears so I take it your majesty approves?"

You make a face, shrugging. "I was swallowing down my vomit actually, was trying to hide it with being nice."

“Mmm.” He replies, his hair covering his smile as he fiddles with the chain connected to his jeans.

It’s an effort to pull your eyes away from him and go back to flipping through the magazine—as if you were doing anything other than looking at the pictures. Your high mind having very little comprehension of the words printed across the flimsy papers.

That comfortable silence spreads between the two of you again, your foot going back to its tapping. Your head doing a little bob along with the beat.

“Was that a jive I just saw?”

Your movements stop, “a jive?” The snort of laughter that comes deep from within your throat should be embarrassing. If it were anyone else in front of you you know you’d do everything in your power to cover it up.

“Who says that?”

“I know many people who say it.”

“Are they 80 and over?”

Eddie shakes his head, his laugh dying down. “You like it, the music?”

“I’ve heard worse.” You shrug nonchalantly. Close the magazine and toss it back in its pile of junk.

“I’ll take it!” His fist pumping in the air in triumph.

Shaking your head you send an eye roll his way. Your heart doing a little leap in your just at how cute you think he looks right now. Your mind working overtime to hone in on the little things that light up his features when he smiles or laughs—and then the little things that don’t matter at all: like how this is your second time here and the first he had scurried around and tried to move his random messes out of the way, to clean it up. But this time around he didn’t even bother, as if a comfortability has already grown between the two of you. You hadn’t run for the hills, already knew what he was about, that this van was a second home to him by the looks—and he knew you wouldn’t care what it looked like. Hadn’t made a fuss the first time so why not let you see him more in his realm?

It makes a weird affection burn in your gut and has you toying with the bottom of your skirt to distract yourself from it.

Just listen to the music. The band. It’s pretty good.

Which isn’t shocking to you in the slightest. It only took you all your school career, and give or take a few years, to realize that Eddie Munson was a lot of things but mediocre was not one of them.

But your mind is racing a mile a minute, unlike the first time, you smoked Eddie’s stash. Which meant that you were the problem, the issue causing your mind to run from the blissful high into difficult feelings and misunderstandings of said feelings.

Go figure.

Your legs are still touching each other. You can feel the bare minimum of his heat against your legs, but it’s enough to add flashbacks of the other night into the mix of your mind. How you could feel the heat from other parts of his body; under you, beside you, against you, inside your mouth.

The tender skin of your bottom lip quickly becomes raw from your teeth, as the memories bombard you. As you grow warmer and warmer. And make the mistake of looking up at him, watching him, staring at him—and then he’s catching you doing just that and you have the urge to ask him if he’s thought about you sense that night, or why he hadn’t called sooner.

Questions with obvious answers.

But your mind is working against you here.

And the last thing you want him to think is that you’re just sitting at home waiting for him to call. Like you’re desperate for it, begging for it. Something you do not do. And was not about to start for Eddie Munson.

“Did you have plans later?” He asks.

Making your brows come together, a confused look on your face as you wonder if you’ve missed something. If he spoke before this and you just didn’t hear because of your internal war.

“The outfit,” he points with a finger, “it’s chic.” A lopsided grin pulls up the corners of his mouth just as you laugh.

“Chic?” You shake your head, “I was at the Country Club with my parents.”

“And you let me steal you away from such fun with the other royals? Honored." His hand splays over his chest.

You make a face, “my mother thinks I’m crawling on my hands and knees back to lover boy." You drop the same nickname Eddie had the other night for your ex, seeing his expression change from it. His smile faltering, fingers brushing at a few loose strands of hair in his face.

“Are you?”

“If I was, would I be here with you?"

"Maybe you needed some devil induced bravery to help you crawl."

"I wouldn't waste a good high on him,” you scoff.

Eddie’s silent for a second too long for your sanity and then he’s saying, “instead you're here wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste.” The words slip out. Come out so naturally that you don’t realize how sentimental of a meaning they have until you see Eddie’s expression. See the softness of it, and how you cannot bear the way your insides feel right now.

What’s the worst thing that can happen from you hooking up with Munson again?

“At least it doesn't have to be.." you’re pulling at your skirt again, can’t bring your eyes up to his as the words hang in the air—an invitation.

"Hitting on me now, princess?” His leg pushes into yours playfully, “who knew you could be so flattering. So charitable.” He teases.

You only look up to scowl at him, because you were not hitting on him—maybe, not really, you didn’t hit on people, you were hit on. But like many things around Munson it had changed, morphing itself into something you don't recognize; something better. You are going to tell him as much, flaunt your Princess status tenfold. But can’t stop looking into his big brown eyes, can’t stop the burning in your stomach going lower lower until it turns into that same lust you felt for him the other night.

And fuck it.

You’ve already dipped your toe over that line once, mine as well put your whole foot in.

"Shut up, Munson.” Your retort is less ice than it is fire, a breathy huff that you mean to sound playful but miss the mark. “Come here,” you hesitate. "Please.”

The beam that spreads across his face is anything but subtle or shy, promptly dropping down to his knees and crawling the short distance to you. A position he stays in even as he brings his lips to yours.

The kiss, his lips, his fingertips at the side of your neck just as heart stopping and pulsating-ly devastating to your insides as last time. A pang of jealousy shoots through your belly at the thought of how many girls he has kissed before you, he’s had to have kissed a couple, a handful maybe, you weren’t this good at kissing if you hadn’t. Kisses didn’t just feel like this, normally. Right?

Or maybe you just weren’t kissing the right people. Person.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to move into the realm of breathless pants and tongues against each other, teeth biting into lips. And unlike last time Eddie doesn’t need an invitation to touch you; his hands go from your neck to your cheeks, your jaw, chin, the back of your skull, and into your hair. The tips of his fingers making a road map of every sensitive spot above your collarbone.

Eventually, thanks to some maneuvering and awkward giggles the two of you are laid on the floor of the van—you on your back, Eddie on his side with his front pressed flush against you. His lips have veered from yours, leaving a path of kisses and nips along your jaw, under it, to your neck where he runs his tongue along a sensitive spot of skin, his lips wrapping around it to suck softly and then sink his teeth into.

A breathy gasp strangled out of you, your hips moving against the air. An imprint of Eddie smirking against your skin from the noise, left behind when he kisses just below the area. Fuck.

“How many–” you swallow, lick your lips, breathless, “how many girls have you kissed like this?”

It’s probably not the right thing to ask right now, but your mind keeps going back to it. That jealousy making your stomach sink as you anticipate his answer, as you dread and wish your body and brain were working together instead of on separate plains of pain and pleasure.

“Uh, a dozen obviously.” He laughs softly against you when you dig your nails into his arm playfully, in replace of the scowl you’d shoot him down with if you could turn your head—or if you wanted him to stop the knee shaking presses of his lips right now, which you’re delirious but not that delirious to stop him. “Only you, princess.”

The information shouldn’t have you soaring any more than you already are, shouldn’t make those jealousy twists get snuffed out by a belly full of butterflies, and flutters that go all the way down to your throbbing clit. But it does and you’re reeling at the sentiment that you’re probably Eddie’s first everything in this sense. In this realm.

It’s not triumph you feel, it’s something softer and dangerously close to affection and attachment that has no business filling your chest with warmth right now.

And instead of feeling the aforementioned feelings, distracting yourself with giving him pleasure—and to hear those beautiful noises from the other night—your hand is moving from his arm to the bulge pressing to your hip.

Your fingers and palm run up his clothed length and pull those delicious breathy grunts from him. No man should sound this good, no sound should have you feeling like you’re melting into the floor.

Your mouth finding Eddie’s in a hungry kiss, a need to swallow down his noises like a drug, needing sedation. You could get addicted to this if you’re not careful.

Your fingers drag themselves up to his belt, try to blindly pull the leather through its buckle, the loops. And just like a repeat of the night before, his hand is there to stop you.

“Gotten shy on me?” You ask with a coyness that makes him give you a ‘not in this lifetime’ look.

“I just want to make it crystal clear that I didn’t bring you here for this.” His tone only holds gentleness, his hand bringing yours up to his mouth to brush a few kisses across your knuckles.

“Even if you did,” your fingers twist a strand of his hair, “I wouldn’t be upset.”

And you mean that. If Eddie had only brought you here for a replay of the other night or something further than that, you know—even if it was against your better judgment—you wouldn’t be too upset about it, or at all. It was hard to be upset with lips like his pulling out smiles and whimpers from you.

But it also means that Eddie had called you because he wanted to see you, to hang out…which is harder for you to grasp than the prospect of only casual hookups between the two to you.

Those Jane Austen feelings back with a vengeance in your chest cavity.

Your answer makes a chuckle echo in his chest. “But,” he’s looking at you with all seriousness within those doe eyes. “Now that we’re–” he motions to your current positions with his hand, “here. I want to return the favor. For the other night.”

Oh?

Oh.

Pressing your lips together, you do your best to hide the excitement that shoots up your spine, nodding in a super-casual-not-too-fast way. “Yeah, okay, yes, totally.”

“Totally?” He mocks you, smirking.

“Totally.”

Then his lips are on yours again without needing further confirmation. The kiss slower this time compared to the last lip lock that made your bottom lip feel like it was inflamed from his teeth. Your mouths move in perfect sync, and if you could figure out a way you know you could get off by just his kiss alone. He moves your hand back to his crotch, giving you back access to his hardness as his hand begins its travel down your chest. Palming your boobs over your white polo, his thumb moving across your nipple, making you whimper. Your chest pushing up into him.

The closer he gets—the further his fingers move along the fabric of your clothes—the anticipation of where you want him, where he wants to be, makes your legs pull together. Thighs in a tight lock, your attempted relief of the pressure on your clit only makes the throbbing worse. You can feel how soaked you are through the cotton of your panties, know that once you feel his fingers slip inside of you it’s going to be game over.

There's a whoosh of air against your thighs from Eddie pushing up the top of your skirt, putting your clothed pussy on display for him. His mouth pulling from yours as he looks down at you and takes you in. The hunger in his eyes turning the brown hues in them black. You’re about to ask him if he wants you to take your underwear off, his fingers slipping past the elastic of them stopping you. His palm warm against your mound.

Eddie runs his middle finger through your folds, voice low and gravelly when he says. “You’re so wet.” All you can do is mewl, bite your already raw lip as you try to keep your hips still, try to hold yourself back from fucking his hand the way you want to. His fingers explore you for a bit, misstepping your throbbing clit each time the tips of his fingers come close to it. Even as you finally let yourself move your hips a fraction of an inch up, he’s still not touching the spot you really need, instead, he’s moving every place you don’t need him. Until he slips a finger inside of you too aggressively, making an “ahh” hiss out of you.

Your face scrunched when he turns to look down at you, halting his actions. Body tense, “did I hurt you?”

He’s never done this before, it’s not new knowledge and yet thanks to your hormone filled haze—and the need to come—you were expecting him to know all the places to touch. To not be as aggressively pushy right from the get-go.

“No,” you sigh, laughing softly. “Sort of, just…can I show you?” You’re nervous he’s going to take it the wrong way. That this is where it’s going to end because it'll be awkward and he’ll be embarrassed or mad or something.

But there you go thinking Eddie is one thing when he’s the exact opposite. The endless surprise of this boy never ceasing to show you why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—or by its fellow shitty townspeople.

Eddie nods, eyes soft and tentatively looking at you in the same way an excited student looks thrilled to learn from a teacher.

Wasting no time you loop your fingers into the elastic of the cotton covering your pussy, pulling the garment down your legs and tossing it to the side. Moving comfortably back into your lying position, skirt still pushed up, completely showcasing yourself to him. A flutter sinking low into your belly when you watch Eddie’s throat bob from a tight swallow as he looks down at your wet cunt.

And while he watches, stares at you, you’re staring up at him. Watching the hunger and desire to learn—to be taught—displaying itself across his face; your hand moves between your legs, the pad of your index finger putting the lightest of pressers on your clit. The moan you let out has Eddie’s hair falling in your face for half a second as his eyes snap to your face. As he watches your mouth part, brows come together, breaths shaky and weak as you touch yourself. Rubbing slow circles against your throbbing clit, where you wanted, needed to feel him. Where you’ve been throbbing and aching for what felt like hours—days—for him.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he spreads your legs wider, holding it up and against him below your knee so you’re completely open for him. So he can see you run your fingers down between your folds to catch the gathering arousal at your entrance and pull it back up to coat your clit.

You should be talking right now, should be directing him with your words, but you can’t. Have never touched yourself in front of anyone before, never had to, or wanted to. The act of touching yourself strictly permitted for when you were alone in your room at night. Never like this. But you’ve been convinced. Turned over a new leaf in the things you like, enjoy; the way Eddie is watching your fingers, the way he brings his gaze back up so fucking slow to look at your face. To hold eye contact with you as you moan and tremble. That mounting pressure already starting, so fast, so good.

Eddie leans into the small distance of space between your mouths to swallow down one of your moans that comes out at the same time his lips press to yours. “You’re so pretty.” He whispers between kisses. “How many guys have you let watch you like this?”

You whimper, breath hot on his mouth, “none. Only you.”

He’s grinning against your mouth, “you do this at night when you’re alone in your bed?”

“Yes.” Humming, you feel breathless, can feel your hips gyrating against your hand, legs trembling. Know you’re so close. But don’t want to make yourself come. Want Eddie to be the one to make you come, want his fingers to be inside of you when your walls constrict and carry you through that euphoric high.

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, princess.” His head lifts back up to look back down at your pussy, the wet sounds of your arousal against your finger and clit filthy.

Have you ever been this wet before? This turned on? Fuck, Eddie Munson.

Without thinking—reeling off of your own need—you grab his hand that's still holding your leg to him. “Put your hand over mine.” Following directions eagerly Eddie does so, places his searing palm atop yours, his index finger resting perfectly against yours; moving along as you go back to stroking your clit. “Like this, slow–ahh–circles.” The last syllables of your words choked out over a moan. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, know you’re probably making a mess on the makeshift carpeting below you.

He copies your movements for one, three, six circles and then you’re snaking your hand away and it’s his finger on your clit. The change in feeling is instantaneous and has your hips stuttering, whines coming out weaker. Your hand gripping the material of his shirt, needing to ground yourself. To remind you that yes, this is reality and not some crazy out of body wet dream.

“Like that?” Eddie asks against your cheek.

“Yes.” You don’t think your moans have ever sounded this wailing, this intense to the point where you’re almost embarrassed at how good you feel right now. How your body is shaking and mewling and reaching out for him for pleasure. In need of it.

This time when he slips a finger into you it’s slow, so good and gentle as he pumps it inside of you, that amplifies the squelching of your wetness. “This okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He fucks you like that, his middle finger fucking up into you, his thumb brushing against your clit at just the right angle that has you on the verge of seeing stars. You’re so so close, know that if he keeps doing that you’re going to be a goner–

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your brows pull up in confusion as you watch him detach himself from your side, removing his hand from between your thighs. Settling himself between your legs on his knees.

You expect him to start undoing his belt, figure he’s ready to take it further, aren't mad at the thought—but he’s surprising you again. “You got to taste, it’s only fair, princess.” Eddie smirks, situates himself in a comfortable hunching position, and then you’re gasping as he runs the tip of his tongue along your clit. Any rebuttal you could have thought to reply with dead in the water.

“Fuck, Eddie,” there are no missteps like the first time he was down there with his hand. Mimicking the movements you showed him with your fingers with his tongue, with a few added experimental licks and sucks that have your breath caught in your throat. “Ohmygod, and you’ve never done this before?” You curse, feel a breathy laugh fall across your clit. One, then another, finger slipping into you moving in tandem with his tongue.

Only one other guy has gone down on you and it was not as nearly intense or agonizing pleasurable as this—to the point where your thighs are closing in around his head, hands in his hair. Back arching. You feel like a woman crazed, like you had no idea you could feel this searing, pleasure this good.

You mean to say something, to warn him, to say any words that you can dredge up from the crevice of your dysfunctional brain; but all you can do is scream as you come against his mouth, as your pussy convulses around his fingers. Your hips rolling up into him, thighs shaking, body spasming as his name falls from your lips like a sinful prayer.

“Munson,” you whine, pulling at his chin once you’ve come down enough to function. Once you can finally see something other than the white bursts of light across your vision. Eddie’s tongue still running along your sensitive clit to the point of oversensitivity, that you have to pull him up.

His chin and cheeks are damp, bangs pressed to his forehead. Find yourself laughing at his tousled hair—no thanks to your fingers. There’s a cheshire grin stretched across his face as he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Crawling up your body to hover over you and kiss you, a whimper coming from your throat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Wow.” You breathe, smile over at him as he rolls back to his side beside you. A palm resting over where your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

“I’ll take it.” Your laughs are in unison as a look of triumph flashes in those big eyes.

“If only you were that much of an eager learner in school, might have graduated, joined me on the road to success.” You pick.

“Not even seconds after I make her come and she’s already wounding me.” His chuckle muffled by the press of another kiss to your lips. “Better than lover boy?” Eddie teases.

“Can’t compare something that never happened.”

He makes a disgusted noise from the back of his throat, “no wonder you left him for the steerage.”

You hum nodding, turning your head to the side to press a kiss to his throat. Would it be too sentimental of you to tell him that he’s better than anyone you’ve been with? That no one has ever made you come that hard, not even yourself. That you can feel your wetness rolling down your ass cheeks and inner thighs from how wet he made you.

It could be a mood killer, sentiment isn't even your thing.

Plus it’s his turn now. Fair’s fair right?

There’s no complaint from Eddie as you move on top of him, roll your hips against his hardness, the seam of his jeans making you shudder from still feeling over-sensitive, as you move down the length of his body to rid him of his jeans and take him into your mouth.

“Here.” There’s a cassette tape gripped in his hand, the back of his head resting on the headrest of the driver's seat. You’re parked in the same spot he picked you up earlier, a block from your house. “Since you liked it so much,” he smiles.

Sentiment. Fuck.

Your smile is too cheesy and girlish for you to wrap any logistics into your head about it just being a tape, as you take it from and see his band name in black marker at the top. Your stomach fluttering. A simple gift that's not a big deal. You have to remind yourself as you try not to lean over and kiss him on that beautiful mouth of his.

“Here,” you say as you pull off your underwear and drop them into his lap. “A gift for a gift.”

You don’t let yourself stick around to see the heart-palpating look in his eyes as he grips the fabric in his hand and laughs, shouting “gold doubloons could never compare!” out of the open window. Making you press a finger to your lips, shooting daggers at him through the windshield as you pick up the pace towards your house. Trying to quiet your giggles and wipe the big girlish grin on your face.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #heavy metal love !

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chelseachilly · 1 year

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karma is my boyfriend

pairing: reader x mason mount summary: you face some backlash online after your relationship with mason goes public. he reminds you not to worry too much about the haters (with a little help from taylor swift) warnings: suggested smut (no actual smut though), mostly just fluff and some hurt/comfort ft. protective mason!! word count: 2.2k

author’s note: hi! this is my first mason fic, the idea for which came to me while listening to midnights (for the millionth time lol) pls let me know what you think!

There are a lot of things you have grown to love in your first few months dating Mason Mount.

You love his contagious smile and how his positivity improves the lives of everyone around him. You love waking up in his bed to him kissing your neck and murmuring “good morning, baby” in a hoarse, sleepy voice. You love watching him play football, his passion for the game so obvious and moving.

Mostly, you love him. You’ve known it from your second or third date, and it took everything in you not to admit it until he finally let those big three words slip while cuddling on his couch a few weeks ago. Now that you’ve both admitted it, telling him you love him is easier than breathing.

However, there are also things you don’t love about dating Mason Mount.

You’ve managed to keep your relationship under wraps for the first few months, with only your friends and family in on it. You haven’t posted each other on social media or taken many public outings together. When you have done for dinner or out with friends, you’ve been discreet in case there were any cameras around.

Until last week, when you were leaving a club with Ben and Kai and their girlfriends, both you and Mason too tipsy to care about potential paparazzi. The next morning, photos of the two of you kissing on the sidewalk were on the front page of the Sun. And the Daily Mail. And just about every other shitty tabloid in the country.

The Sun @TheSun ✔️- 6d Spotted: Chelsea star Mason Mount kissing possible new girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N outside popular Kensington nightclub!

You aren’t famous by any means, but because of your job in PR - Chelsea FC among your firm’s client base - the media was able to identify you. The fact that Mason and half the rest of the team follow you on social media made it fairly easy to confirm.

You’re well-versed in advising other people how to handle being in the public eye, but this is the first time you’ve had to deal with it yourself. So far, it’s been tougher than you expected.

Due to Mason’s ex-girlfriend being considerably more well-known than you, her fan base has taken to sending you death threats on social media, commenting on your old photos with digs at your appearance.

You know that you shouldn’t let these internet trolls get to you, but you can’t help yourself from scrolling through your socials, watching them continue to pour in.

You insist to Mason that you’re fine, and though it’s clear he doesn’t entirely believe you, you manage to convince him not to post about it or do anything rash. You tell him it will all blow over within a couple weeks.

It will blow over, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt right now. And when you come home from work one day, already tired and stressed and feeling low on self-esteem, only to read a tweet about how you’re an “ugly slag who doesn’t deserve Mason”, you reach a breaking point.

This is how Mason finds you when he gets to your place after training. You’re curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, scrolling on your phone and crying so hard you feel sick.

“Y/n, what happened?” he exclaims, running to your side and kneeling next to you. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head, barely able to speak. You pass him your phone so he can read for himself - you’ve been trying to hide most of it from him thus far, but you don’t think you can anymore.

As he scrolls through the comments on your latest Instagram post - a simple picture of you and your sister - you can see visible anger on his face, his jaw clenched. Mason isn’t often angry, and you haven’t seen this level of rage on his face even after a bad ref call or a lost match.

“Mase…” you say quietly, attempting to calm him down, but he just shakes his head.

“This is ridiculous,” he says in disbelief, tossing your phone on the couch cushion next to you. “Why the fuck would they comment those things? They know nothing about you!”

“They’re just trolls, your ex has quite the fan base,” you explain, sitting up and wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, it’s just been a lot.”

“Of course it has, baby,” Mason says, his face softening as he climbs up onto the couch to pull you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

You immediately melt into his side, letting his touch comfort you. It’s amazing how quickly your negative thoughts fade away in his arms, how being with him makes everything better.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble into his chest.

“I know, but I should still do something about it,” Mason sighs. “I’ll put out a statement asking them to back off.”

“Thanks, love, but that’s not necessary,” you tell him. “They’re mostly her fans, not yours, so you issuing a statement won’t have much impact.”

Mason sighs again in defeat - he knows that you’re the expert in this area, but it’s clear that he just wants to do something to help.

“Well, I can text her, ask if she’ll say something to her annoying fans.”

You know that he and his ex ended on somewhat okay terms, but you also know that he really would rather not contact her unless absolutely necessary.

“Mase, it’s really okay,” you say gently. “I’m not gonna ask you to do that. Us dating will be old news in a week, I’ll just keep a low profile on socials from now on or go private or something, and we can be more careful about being spotted-“

“You shouldn’t have to, though,” he grumbles, his hand squeezing your knee. “I hate this. We should be able to go out and do stuff and post pictures together without people sending you awful messages.”

“I know, babe, but this is just how it is,” you say, leaning in to peck his lips quickly. “It’s alright. I feel better already, I swear.”

It’s true - you do feel much better now that he’s home, and you decide to turn off both of your phones for the rest of the night.

You settle into the couch with a movie playing and order a bunch of takeaway and have a wonderful evening together. At some point, you even forget all about the haters on the internet, content to focus on your boyfriend.

The next morning, it’s Saturday, and Mason asks when you wake up if you feel like coming to the match today.

You’ve come to many of his matches before, both for Chelsea and England, but never since the public has known you’re his girlfriend. You know if you go today there will be people taking your picture and staring at you, even if they don’t mean any harm.

Given the toll this past week has taken, you just don’t have that in you right now.

“I’m so sorry, Mase,” you say, running a hand through his hair. “You know how badly I want to be there and support you, but I-“

“You don’t have to explain, baby, I completely understand,” he says, holding your waist. “I’ll miss having you there, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe and happy at home. Just call if you need anything.”

“Won’t you be a little busy, you know, playing football?” you tease, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his lips lightly.

Mason just chuckles. “They can sub me off for all I care.”

“Don’t say that!” you gasp, biting your lip to keep from smiling. “I’ll be watching on the telly, and I expect a goal from you, mister.”

“Anything for my girl,” Mason flashes you a cocky grin, which suddenly makes you desperately wish he didn’t have to leave right now so you could shove him back into bed and kiss it off him. “Alright, I’m gonna be late. One more kiss for luck?”

You oblige, leaning in to kiss him and running your hands through his hair. Once you pull back, he must sense your lingering disappointment at not being able to come today, because he gives you a reassuring look and cups your face in both hands.

“Try not to let those pricks online get to you, okay?” he reminds you. “It’s like that Taylor Swift song you always play. Karma’s on your side, baby.”

You laugh out loud - you’ve gone from Mason enduring you constantly playing Taylor songs when you started dating to him now requesting certain ones every time you get in the car. Not that he would ever let the boys find out, of course.

“Alright, now go before you miss warm-ups,” you smile, kissing him once more and then pushing him away.

A couple hours later, you settle in on your couch to watch the match against Tottenham. You know Chelsea are favoured to win, but you still let out a sigh of relief when Kai scores the first goal in the first twenty minutes.

In the second half, they maintain a strong defense, Kepa successfully blocking more than one strong attempt from the Spurs’ forwards.

With ten minutes to spare, Ben has possession and is moving quickly toward the goal. You assume he’s going to pass to Kai, and the other goalkeeper does too, as he’s on the entirely wrong end of the net when Ben passes to Mason. Mason shoots from a clearly onside position and scores in the top right corner of the net, resulting in thunderous applause at the Bridge.

You jump up from the couch, a huge grin on your face as you watch your boyfriend and his teammates huddle in celebration.

When the camera pans to Mason, he points right at the lens and blows a kiss with a small wink. Your heart soars in your chest as you realize he’s dedicating it to you.

Your chest full of pride and love for this man, you are suddenly reminded of why this is all worth it. It’s worth it to face any backlash that might come from being in the public eye because, at the end of the day, this wonderful guy who just scored a goal for his team on national television is coming home to you. And that’s all that matters.

The match ends with Chelsea winning 2-0. Barely over an hour later, you hear the key turning in your door, and you run to greet him.

The moment the door opens, you jump at him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. Mason catches you immediately and hugs you just as close, burying his face in your hair.

After a minute, you pull back to hold his face in both hands and kiss him senseless, making him moan slightly as you tug gently at his hair. You kiss until you’re out of breath, and then you slowly pull away and Mason eases you back down to your feet, remaining in each other’s arms.

“If this is what I get for scoring a goal, I think the club is going to be very happy with my performance this season,” he smiles, stroking your hair.

“I did love the goal, and I really loved the celebration,” you smile, running your thumb over the dimple in his cheek. “But the kiss is because I really love you.”

Mason grins even wider before sliding his hands down to your bum and lifting you up again, beginning to walk the both of you over to your bedroom.

After you’ve had an even better celebration in-between your sheets, you are laying on top of Mason’s chest, complete bliss washing over you as he traces circles on your back and presses kisses to your forehead.

You still can’t believe he’s yours - all yours, as you just very successfully reminded him. But he is, and you’re tired of hiding that.

“Hey, babe, I think I changed my mind about going private on Insta,” you say, propping your chin up on his chest. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I love you and we’re happy and I don’t care who knows that or what they have to say about it.”

Mason smiles and kisses your nose. “I’m all for that, love, but are you certain? I don’t want you getting any more hate.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking of trying a new strategy,” you smirk. “Like you said, karma will come for those internet trolls who have nothing better to do than comment on my pics. I can’t control that, but I can flaunt my super hot footballer boyfriend who scored a goal for me today.”

You grab your phone and show him the photo you took of the two of you a couple minutes ago, raising an eyebrow.

“Think it’s too much?”

Mason shakes his head, pulling you in for a kiss and grinning when you pull back. “It’s perfect. ‘Gram it, baby.”

You laugh and affectionately roll your eyes at him before opening the app and crafting your post, confidently sending it out into the world. Immediately after hitting post, you toss your phone aside and Mason pulls you in for another round, making you giggle with kisses to your neck.

You don’t check your phone until much later, and funnily enough, any hate is drowned out by many comments from both your friends and Mason’s fans, the majority of which are incredibly supportive.

You scroll through some of them together, laughing with your head still resting on Mason’s chest and his arm wrapped around you, and you know that you made the right call.

yourusername

liked by masonmount, benchilwell, & 32,609 others

yourusername karma is the guy on the screen…coming straight home to me 💙😘

tagged: masonmount

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masonmount 🥰🥰🥰

christianpulisic I am officially blaming you for Mase making us listen to this song in the locker room after the match

yourusername shhh Chris we know you’re a secret swiftie

mountfan19 ok I love this girl for Mason tbh

chelseagirl literally!! they’re so cute

thank you for reading!! 💙

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount x you #mason mount imagine #chelsea fc imagine

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luvghostie · 1 year

Note

Could you do the main 4 after a fight with their s/o, and how they would make it up to them? (South Park)

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎.ೃ࿐

GN Reader

TW: Semi-angst, language, and aged-up characters

When you guys fight it's usually Cartman's fault. He'll bring any sensitive topic to the surface to get back at you. Whether that be something embarrassing or traumatizing he doesn't care. If it makes you angry, that's what matters at the moment.

Whenever the fight gets out of hand the others will step in. Kyle yelling at Cartman for being a dick, Stan telling you that it'll be okay, and Kenny giving you hugs or rubbing your back. This happened at once a week maybe, twice.

After being confronted and proven wrong Cartman runs home. When he reaches his house he cries for hours on end. He cares about you, however, he also knows some things were uncalled for. He shouldn't have brought up such hurtful things. Likewise, Kyle shouldn't have jumped in.

You sometimes hang out with the rest of the group to cool down. They all give their advice and try to help. Some of the advice is awful but you still appreciate the effort. The first thing Kyle always says is, “kill the fat ass.” Of course, you won't, but what the fuck Kyle.

Cartman will sneak out of his house later to see you. When you hear him throwing little rocks at your window you let him in. He apologizes over and over again. Truth be told, he feels horrible for what he did. If you forgive him Cartman will never bring up those subjects again. He loves you a lot and fights happen in relationships.

Kyle and you don't fight a lot. On the downside, the fights always happen because of his mom. She and you aren't on good terms. She's very open about how she thinks you aren't good enough for her son. That being said, you bump heads more than anyone.

You wish Kyle would stand up for you. Instead, he just sits back emotionless. He thinks you are good enough for him he just doesn't want to argue with his mom. He's always been a momma's boy and doesn't dare go against her word. You love him but you wish he would at least talk to her.

In the middle of a fight, you give up. It's always the same things coming from him. “What am I supposed to say?” and “she's my mom y/n I can't be fucking rude!” as soon as you try to leave he stops you. An argument with Kyle has never lasted more than twenty minutes. Either he apologizes or you do.

“Wait, y/n, I'm sorry,” Kyle said hugging you. “I'll try to talk to her.” most times you wouldn't believe what he said. Yet, he actually did speak to his mom. (with encouragement from Cartman and Stan) the next time you saw Shelia she didn't say a single word to you. Whatever Kyle did you were grateful. No words were better than being told you weren't enough.

It takes a lot for you and Kenny to fight. Like, A LOT. Whatever pushes that last button causes you to yell at him. Perhaps, it was the fact he was okay with how badly people treated him. Maybe, it was because of how much you disliked his shitty parents. Something finally made you upset to the point it turned into a fight.

Kenny doesn't get heated until you question his love. He cares deeply for you, so hearing such things are bound to hurt. He's worked many hours to give you gifts. He's even stolen items just to see that beautiful smile on your face. “What the hell do you mean I don't love you?!” he asked still muffled.

The boys watched in silence as you argued back and forth. It was almost weird to see it happening. Cartman, Stan, and Kyle just stared at each other questioning whether or not to stop the quarrel. I mean, it's not every day that something like this occurs.

You were fixing to walk away but just as you took a step Kenny died from a flying football. It felt unreal, but it was horrible to see him dead. You witnessed this all the time but that didn't mean it was easier. It was so unexpected Cartman even let out an audible gasp.

A couple of days later Kenny showed up back up to School. You were so happy to see him that you ran to hug the boy. “Oh, Kenny, I'm so sorry for fighting with you,” you said, burying your head in his shoulder. “I missed you so much.” Kenny hugged you back feeling the same way. Now, whenever you fight (which only happens at least three times a year) you always try to end it on good terms just in case.

Just like Kenny, it's very rare you two fight. Wendy is always the reason it does transpire. You've never liked her and she never liked you either. Stan and she used to have a thing for one another. You assume she still does based on how she acts. Sticking her nose in your relationship, flirting with your boyfriend, and even saying nasty things about you.

Stans made it very clear he doesn't like Wendy to you. You try to believe him but you still worry that maybe he's lying. Your worrying caused the fight to begin. He gets upset knowing you question his loyalty and feelings for you. A year and a half together he anticipated some trust.

Many hurtful things were said to both parties. Unlike Cartman, nothing traumatizing was brought up. Kyle will move Stan away to cool off and Kenny has you sit down. It takes a bit for you to calm down and realize your anxiety got the best of you. You go to find Stan right away and try to make amends. It feels icky knowing you should've listened to what he said.

Stan forgives you and apologizes as well. While you guys were separated he talked to Wendy. He made it obvious the feelings he once had for her were gone. It warmed your heart knowing he did that just to reassure you. As the days passed you began to trust him more and more. No one butted between you and him. If you ever get anxious again don't worry, he'll be there with open arms.

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astupidweeb69 · 2 years

Text

Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader)

Second Chapter is here: Part 2

The Other Chapters: Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Author’s Note: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in over 7 years? Possibly longer than 7? I don’t know. The point is, it’s been a long ass time so don’t judge too hard on my writing skills. I’m so out of practice lol.

I just had Toby on the brain and wrote this on a whim. I don’t know if it’s a one-shot or if I’ll write multiple parts. I guess I’ll figure it out later.

I first got into the fandom back in 2013 and kind of watched the fandom die and then come back again in recent years. And now I’m back in my creepypasta phase and I’m writing fanfiction. Whatever, cringe culture is dead. Here’s my writing I guess.

Cross-posted on my Ao3 account, which I update more frequently.

Warnings: Swearing. Some mentions of murder in passing I guess? The reader likes watching horror movies idk. Written in Toby’s perspective. (2,385 words).

******************

He honestly didn’t think it would go this far.

It started off as an innocent glance towards your face. Sure, Toby has seen plenty of people over the years he was attracted to, he was a person made of flesh and blood after all. He tried not to act on these needs though, and if he did, he would at least try to find others in his “line of work” who wouldn’t pry too much into his personal life and wouldn’t judge him (or run screaming) when they got to know him.

But you were different. You weren’t a killer or some kind of monster. You were just a person. A good-looking one, but a person, nonetheless. You were in no way a part of his world and for this reason, were out of Toby’s reach.

However, despite these complications Toby couldn’t bring himself to stay away. The rush he felt every time you so much as entered a mile radius of him was too much for him to handle. He was addicted to the euphoric feeling, the way his body burned and ached to touch yours, how his heartbeat pounded like a drum, and his breathing became heavy with desire. Even his tics would become more noticeable, his muscle spasms and cracking bones gaining the attention of anyone who happened to be around him. Usually it would bother him, even give him a reason to return to whatever shitty rundown place he was calling “home” that week. But he had become accustomed to the cold, monotonous, and unforgiving world that surrounded being a proxy. And he wanted that to change. He wanted you. From the first moment you two had met.

And he could still remember every detail of that day.

*****************

Toby had been out on a supply run at a gas station close to the proxy’s current base. He’d been looking in the chip aisle when the unmistakable sound of a bell chiming alerted the employee behind the register of a new customer.

Toby’s tired eyes briefly shot up to see who had entered. He was met with a cute little thing absolutely drenched from the rain, slightly out of breath from trying to find a dry place as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for you, it didn’t matter how fast you had run, your clothes were already soaked. And fortunately for Toby, you’d decided on wearing a simple white t-shirt that day. It clung to your skin and was practically see through now. You were fumbling with the hem of your shirt trying to get it to stop sticking, trying to shrink yourself down to not catch any unwanted attention. But it was too late, Toby was already focused on you.

Watching you nervously look around for something, his dark eyes followed your every movement as you started to walk in his direction.

Wait, why were you walking towards him? Your eyes were definitely looking his way.

Were you going to talk to him? He felt his heart rate speed up as his mind starting reeling at the possibilities. What if you hit on him? He couldn’t remember the last time a pretty girl spoke to him. Or even gave him the time of day. When was the last time he even showered? Shit. He’d covered up the gash on the side of his face, right?

“Uh, excuse me?”

He was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice.

Toby blinked. “Y-yeah?” Fuck. His stutter. He tried to compose himself, his face involuntary grimacing and his body twitching despite his efforts. God he can only imagine what you were thinking right now.

“Could you please move so I can grab some (favorite snack)?” You were clearly trying your best to maintain a friendly smile. He could tell you were uncomfortable; he’d been staring far too long. Had you caught him looking at your…? Shit, he hoped you hadn’t noticed. Even though he hadn’t exactly been very subtle.

You cocked an eyebrow. “Or… I could grab a different snack… I guess?” You let out a nervous chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood, getting ready to retreat from the strange guy in front of you.

“No! That’s nuh-not necessary… luh-let me just…” He grabbed one of the bags containing your desired snack, and with a hand getting sweatier by the minute offered it to you.

“Here yuh-you go” He twitched, the corners of his mouth struggling to make any kind of face that would make him appear normal.

Your hand reached out to grab the food, fingers lightly grazing his own.

His whole body shivered with delight at the contact.

You muttered out a “Thank you” and quickly turned on your heels to scurry away towards the register.

You had picked out a (favorite color) umbrella from a bin and set your items on the counter to be scanned.

The cashier was looking you over, with just about the same amount of subtly as Toby. He was about Toby’s age, early to mid-20s, with messy blonde hair, light green eyes and a dusting of freckles across his face. The guy was good-looking, Toby had noted bitterly, and he continued to watch the two of you interact from afar, with an ever-increasing amount of jealousy.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The guy asked. There was a slight playfulness in his tone that you clearly picked up on.

“Uh… yeah? I mean yes.” You began stumbling over your words. “I did… I guess.”

Toby kept listening, still pretending to be invested in deciding what food to buy, all while smiling to himself. You may have understood the cashier was interested in you, but boy were you bad at dealing with it.

“Glad to hear it. And are you part of our rewards program….?” He trailed off expectantly. The cashier wanted to know your name, Toby realized, and he wanted to know too.

“(Y/N).” You replied hastily. “And no, I’m not.”

(Y/N). Toby repeated in his head. It suited you.

The cashier lifted his eyebrows and flashed a wide toothy grin. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks, my mom gave it to me.” You blurted out. It was an awkward attempt to flirt back, failing to match the man’s laidback approach to flirting. Luckily for you, the guy didn’t seem to care, laughing at your small quip in spite of the poor delivery. And to Toby, your embarrassing display just made you more charming in his eyes.

He watched as your items were scanned and placed in a plastic bag. As soon as you finished paying you had grabbed your things while stuffing your wallet back in your pocket, obviously eager to leave so you wouldn’t humiliate yourself any further.

Rushing towards the door, the guy called out to you, “Have a nice day!”

Without thinking you answered, “No thank you!” And stopped, still facing the door, blinking at what you just said.

Eyes wide, you ran out the door and Toby watched your retreating form disappear into the rain.

You had even forgot to use the umbrella you just bought.

*******************

Afterwards, he kept replaying in his head that scene of you scrambling to leave the store after fucking up your conversation with the cashier. Toby had to stifle his laughter after he had witnessed it. It definitely brightened his day, something that pretty much never happens.

He wondered if it would be easy for him to get you that flustered, to be the cause of such a cute reaction instead of that jackass guy. To tease you and flirt with you. Were you always so nervous or was what he saw just a one-time thing, maybe you had just been caught off guard? Toby wanted to find out more about you, see if you could be the source of any more entertainment.

Plus, it definitely helped that he found you easy on the eyes. He could always just admire you from afar if you weren’t doing anything particularly interesting that day.

At least that’s what he had told himself at first. A crush that’s all it was, you were just his type. If his life hadn’t turned out the way it did, he probably would’ve ended up with someone like you. But that wasn’t possible now, he would just have to settle for following you around (stalking) for a couple more days, and then he’d get these feelings out of his system. Get bored.

And he kept thinking that. A couple more days, until he gets bored.

Of course, it never ended up being just a couple more days.

By now he knew almost everything about you. At first, he followed you home so he would know where you lived and could find you easily. Then he moved on to figuring out what your basic daily schedule looked like. Nothing too complicated for someone like him. It was standard procedure when a proxy was assigned a specific target.

However, at this point he knew everything from your favorite color to your bra size.

You were anything but another victim for him to eventually hack to death.

His initial assumptions were that you’d be an intensely anxious person, from what he’d gathered from his first impression he got at the convenience store. Although that wasn’t the case. You had a much more layered personality and Toby was dying peel it back like skin to see all the tendons and viscera underneath.

Sure, you were sometimes awkward, mostly when you were put into a social situation you were not expecting or prepared for. Which admittedly, happened more often for you than the average person. You were just more on the introverted side, not necessarily shy or timid.

He’s seen you hang out with a couple close friends, and with them you acted more natural. You definitely liked to be the funny one of the group, always quick with a joke or sarcastic remark.

At one point while catching up with a friend of yours, they had asked you if “you were seeing anybody” And without skipping a beat you responded with, “As in dating or hallucinations?” Before eventually informing your friend that you were not, in fact, in any kind of relationship (much to Toby’s relief).

You had lots of interests that fascinated him. His favorite by far being your love of horror. Watching you and your friends sit down to watch a scary movie at your place, seeing how you jokingly cheer on the killer while your friend playfully rolls their eyes. And how your face lights up with fascination when a scene shows a particularly gruesome amount of gore. It almost makes him feel like you and him have something in common. But he knows liking horror movies was a far cry from being able to stomach what he does on a regular basis.

But what was with your hesitation whenever your friends brought up your family? You said they were doing fine, but clearly you were hiding something. Did you have a difficult home life? If that was the case, you and him definitely had something in common. He’d have to find out more about that eventually. But with how guarded you tended to be, even with close friends, he doubted it’d be easy information to obtain. He’d have to get closer to you.

And eventually he did. Not by outright revealing himself to you. Although the thought had crossed his mind. Romantic scenarios of him ‘accidentally’ bumping into you in the street, maybe dropping a copy of a book or movie you like, and you’d excitedly tell him it was your favorite one. What a coincidence it’s his favorite as well. But no, he wasn’t ready for that yet.

Instead, he started to sneak (break) into your home while you were gone or when he was sure you were fast asleep. The smell of you on your bedsheets when you were away was enough to make his head swim. Using your stuff, like your shower and toothbrush made him feel like he was almost your live-in boyfriend. He’d also started to take small items he thinks you wouldn’t notice go missing (maybe a few pairs of underwear). Anything that reminded him of you. Unfortunately, he did look to see if you kept a journal or diary somewhere, something that could give him an idea of what really went on in that head of yours, but came up empty.

You had a laptop, one you used religiously and was often the cause of you staying up so damn late every night (like he’s one to talk), but you had a password on it, and he wasn’t about to ask BEN for any favors.

But this unrequited love (obsession) of his was going to have change soon.

You weren’t dumb, that much Toby knew, you were beginning to notice things. You were very observant, almost to a point of paranoia, an aspect about you Toby found rather challenging. He wondered where that came from, something to do with your past maybe?

He could tell you were suspecting someone was watching you and tampering with your possessions. You started to close the blinds on your windows, double check to see if everything was locked before you left during the day. He even saw you set up little traps around your home. Using thin, almost translucent wire you had taped them across different cabinets and doors in your home while you were away, checking to see if any had been moved or broken when you returned. A trick you had picked up from one those scary movies you enjoyed so much. And if Toby hadn’t seen you do it, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the almost invisible strings. God you were smart.

And that was the problem.

He couldn’t stop, that much was for sure. He needed you now. Needed that feeling he got when he saw you, it was like he had gained a dependency on it and he wasn’t about to quit cold turkey.

You were going to have to see him again. This time for real. No awkward stuttering. No running away before he got a chance to introduce himself.

He had decided he was going to become a part of your life now.

Permanently.

#creepypasta #ticci toby #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader #x reader #yandere #toby rogers x reader #proxies #yandere creepypasta #yandere ticci toby #fanfiction #yandere creepypasta x reader #my writing

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letsseethroughdaphneblue · 1 year

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Today is a day of joy. A day of happy tears. A day ten years in the making. There are so many people that have a personal journey connected to the love shared between Blake and Yang. A fair number of my mutuals have heard this story from me, but I feel compelled to tell it again and again. Because Bumbleby truly lives in the deepest depths of my heart and has helped me become the person I am today.

Story under the cut because holy shit: long.

I was presented the first two volumes of this show by a roommate my sophomore year of college. She pulled me in with an interesting premise and cool fight scenes/weapons. I remember sitting in our shitty basement apartment trying to design my own rwby weapon, so consumed by the flashier details at the beginning that I couldn’t see an inkling of self discovery I’d find along the way.

Watching volume three was a joy. There was so much to love about a good old fashion tournament arc, up until the moment it all went wrong. I cried for Pyrrha (my favorite character at the time). It’s a testament to how dense I am that I didn’t get the :eyes: emoji “gay?” moment until Blake reached for Yang’s hand and sobbed an apology on the concrete outside a smoldering Beacon. At that point in my life I still thought I was straight, at most “bi-curious” as I used to call it. Regardless I was not pulled into the ship at the time and looking back I am sad that I wasn’t. It could have made a lot of things easier.

Volume four and five left me wanting - for more story, for more action, for more everything. With time I found the things I loved about those volumes, but at the time it just left me let down. So I unfortunately let life sweep me away and I forgot to look out for the volume six drop. Without going into too much detail, I had a lot going on with work and it made it easy not to remember much outside the walls of my workshop.

Then in the spring of 2019 I remembered that RWBY existed and decided to dive back in. And I can’t thank myself enough for it. Watching Bees vs. Adam was a reckoning. It unlocked something in me that I had never let myself see. I realize that sounds corny, but it really did take Blake and Yang holding hands and facing down Adam for me to realize I had denied a part of myself for twenty six years.

I’ll spare everyone the super personal details, but finishing volume six sent me into a year long deep dive into who the hell I am. I wasn’t ready to let go of who I was.

By the time volume seven was halfway through, I was writing fanfic and reblogging every bumbleby thing I could. I read fanfiction the way people around me drank water; constantly. Then I joined the first bumbleby big bang and I made friends that I will never be able to thank enough for their unfettered support. They taught me how to be proud, how to be comfortable, how to be myself.

As all of that self discovery happened, the pandemic hit and kept hitting. My life changed in countless ways over the next year. I left a seven year long relationship, lost what i thought was my dream job, moved back home, the list goes on. Watching volume eight was the joy of my week, the thing I looked forward to even when it was hard to look at anything else. Keysmashing about stolen glances and the ‘yeah...Ruby’ of it all really helped lighten that time of growth and change.

And now today. Volume nine took so long to get here and the wait was more than worth it. Getting to wake up at 7:30 this morning with my girlfriend to watch Blake and Yang confess their love for each other will be something that I remember for as long as I have memory. It’s a gift. It’s something I have waited so long for and it was worth every bump in the road.

To crwby - the animators, the writers, the VAs - Thank you. Truly, Thank you so much. I wouldn’t be here today without each and every one of you.

#rwby spoilers #i am rambling #but it's bumbleby related so here you go

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noaura · 21 days

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I'm kinda torn in the whole prolife/prochoice thing. At one hand I'd feel so heartbroken if I tore life away from my womb. Also if you can decide some lives at some stages aren't worth keeping alive and giving support to I'd feel the slippery slope that would slide into dehumanizing other groups of people who we at least for now, on general societal level, deem worth enough to let live and support. There's a reason MAID in Canada is so rancid rn.

At the other hand I just don't feel like a fetus of up to a certain couple weeks is the same as a baby. I just don't feel like it is the same, and the reason is how far the development is. Development reaches a point much faster than many realise where a baby of some kind is distinguishable... some women pee out their very small zygote and only later find out, I know of someone. She didn't commit negligence or accidental manslaughter, which legally she would have if indeed a personhood is assigned to a fertilised egg from day one.

I am not the anon ranting at you before, but as you seem to be in contact with some trad blogs, while having your opinion on abortion and I was curious if you had any thoughts you wanted to share further. If not and you don't want to, and this is obnoxious, I'm sorry and that's completely understandable and I'd just wish you a nice chicken wings dinner! Cheers

it's hard to articulate all of my thoughts into one post but i will try to

personally, i do believe that life begins at conception. as soon as the zygote implants into your uterine wall, which is when you become officially pregnant, that zygote now has personhood. there is not even scientific doubt about that - that is the literal moment life begins. but as a person who has experience living with someone who has a severe trisomy, and separate experience living with someone who has congenital diseases that require using another person's organ to stay alive, and as a woman who is currently pregnant, my thoughts are far more complex on whether or not being pregnant automatically means that you owe another person your life and organs to live off of

even though my pregnancy is very low risk and im extremely healthy, being pregnant just sucks. i genuinely think you have to have an intense disconnect with your body and sensations to believe otherwise. my belly button stretching to accommodate my growing belly is extremely painful. my abs ripping apart inside me to accommodate my belly is extremely painful. my nipples are tender constantly. even though i haven't gained any weight yet, the extra mass on the front of my torso is difficult to balance and keep my spine and hips neutral to keep good posture, so that my ass and core muscles don't atrophy. the nausea during the first 10 weeks was horrific. keeping my core strong is hard when there's a bowling ball sitting in the bottom of your torso. the ligaments in my hips and feet softening and spreading is painful. i have no stretch marks yet, but im dreading them. my tits ballooned up to a DDD on my tiny 5'2 frame, so none of my clothes fit right and i feel like a fucking whale. im scared to get loose skin and deflated boobs and a widened waist. im keeping my diet as healthy as possible but it's hard when every craving you have is not healthy at all. you are building every single cell of this person's body using your own nutrients, blood, flesh, etc and the baby WILL take what it needs from your literal bones and teeth if you're not giving it what it needs. and those are only physical symptoms ive listed. the mental ones, like preparing to give birth and parent a child, or even decorate a baby's room, or all the questions you're being asked constantly or shitty advice you're getting, are very taxing as well

so to insist that pregnancy is something totally passive that just happens to your body, with no side effects, even though yes women are designed to be lifegivers, seems delusive and misleading. it's very hard and i could never judge someone for not wanting to go through with any of that

on the other hand, i do agree that it's somewhat of a slippery slope. i don't think it's a good thing to kill elderly people or all disabled people. i don't think we should kill people just because they can't contribute to society in meaningful ways

but also, as a person who intimately aware of the way government funding and welfare systems work for profoundly disabled individuals, i can't help but be miffed at the idea of being fully aware that your child is going to live either on a vent their whole life, sucking up government cheese that could have went to like, idk a disabled veteran or something, and still going through with producing this person. the argument i get alot is "well people with down's syndrome can be grocery baggers! they can have relationships!" that's like, the top 5-10% of elite downies. and even then, they are suffering from seizures disorders, early onset dementia, and a variety of other things that make it impossible to live on their own or ever being capable of living a full life. the rest of them grow older to be fully dependent, barely functioning, and oftentimes have a lot of anger issues due to neurological and learning disabilities. can you imagine being bodied by a 300 pound angry grown man who quite LITERALLY has no concept of calming down? it fucking sucks

at the end of the day, i cannot tell anyone else what to do regarding their pregnancy or children even if i think they have dumbass opinions. i can only offer my own opinions based on experience and ideas

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builder051 · 10 months

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No black cats allowed

(Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise)

This is the We fit like an Enfit ‘verse (tube ‘verse)—HOWEVER, it is completely removed from the currently published timeline. I always mean to fill in the cracks, but I never get to it, so here’s what you should know. The story runs like this: Steve and Bucky were high school sweethearts, then Bucky went overseas with the Army, had terrible experiences, got hurt, and got shipped back home. He tried getting back with Steve when he first made it stateside, but things were a little rocky, and eventually they broke up. It’s then, post-break up, that Steve starts having his own health problems and winds up getting tubed. He tries relying on coworkers to help him, but his issues continue, and he desperately needs a caretaker, or at least someone who can spend time with him and drive him to appointments. He reaches out to Bucky again, and after a little getting used to each other again, they move in together (and with Bucky’s cat), and they’re back to their previous relationship situation.

This story takes place in the “right back home” period, when Bucky has returned from Iraq and is still dating Steve. It’ll make sense as a stand-alone story, but placing it in context might be tricky.

This fic has a lot of stuff regarding war, mental health, PTSD, panic, therapy, hospitals, gore al la blood and vomit, some truly disgusting food talk, superstition, a nod to the existence of sex. It’s the usual mixed bag; there’s a huge amount of backstory, then story, then a tiny wrap-up with an open ending.

_____________________________

He probably shouldn’t have stacked the appointments. Looking back through the lense of hindsight, that’s exactly when things went wrong. It lies some three weeks previously, when he’d taken the return call from scheduling and neglected to note the dates and times in his planner. Bucky should’ve known the system would bite him in the ass. Again.

As much as Bucky hates to admit it, he’s probably the one responsible for the ass-biting. He shouldn’t take calls during his lunch hour. He tries, since that’s the only time he can slip outside the echoing warehouse. The stacks of cardboard and wood pallets do nothing to absorb the noise of crashing boxes and the temperamental swamp cooler. Signal’s always shitty, too, even on the outdoor loading deck. The building’s sad excuse for WiFi lies beyond possibility for the connection necessary for web calls. Regardless of means, the voice on the other end is crunchy and segmented. Bucky’s lucky to hear every third word or so. There’s just enough static to blur words out of meaning. Bucky isn’t quick enough to pack potential consonant blends into their respective gaps, and that’s his fault. His lapse in speech therapy practice. It’s his anxiety getting in the way of fulfilling every carefully noted point on his daily schedule.

Bucky didn’t used to have anxiety. Sure, he’d grown up with all the ups and downs of adolescence. He doesn’t like to think about the shameful day he’d ditched two final exams and barricaded himself in a janitor’s closet, puking up the previous night’s samplings of whiskey, edibles, and potato chips. But that happened to everyone, right? Through the rest of his time spent in secondary school, community college, basic training, Bucky remembers others laughing through self deprecating stories of the same.

It was just a universal thing, he’d thought. It had to be. Stress, probably. He’d had a lot going on during his seventeenth and eighteenth years. Football had him in two grueling practices a day, and the gods of senior year must’ve found his list of trespasses. Whether they were punishing him for his academic faults or general life choices, Bucky knew not. He had a feeling it was both; and he’s still sent reeling from time to time when a bad memory strikes. He leaves the room if anybody pops a bag of anything sour cream and onion.

Bucky had wanted to rush to the nearest exit when his VA appointed counselor gifted him the distastefully pink and quote-filled planner book. The dumpster out back would be a good place to stash it. Then he could hide out with an angry cigarette or two until he was calm enough to drive home. Therapy wasn’t for him, he’d decided, all in the same flustered moment. He’d just stop coming to his regularly scheduled appointments.

Halfway to the nearest gas station, though, Bucky had remembered his driver’s license was over a year out of date. The only valid ID on him was his base pass. It sometimes invited awkward conversations where people thanked him for his service. Truth be told, he’d rather have his arm back than any 20% discount. And the more he’d thought about it, the more he was sure that smoking tobacco would be a bad idea. It would probably have him honking up his breakfast before he could even inhale. He’d been forced to quit cold turkey somewhere in the Afghan desert. Taliban guards hadn’t been generous with their stashes of candy and drugs and diet soda. The same had been true for the nurses in any hospital he’s visited since. He should stick with weed. Edibles could certainly be obtained online these days.

That brought up the question of his ID again, though. Would some text bot in central Colorado rat on him for buying gum drops laced with delta 9? It would have to, if there was a subpoena. That’s stupid, Bucky told himself. It didn’t help much. When he arrived at his apartment, he was just keyed up enough to have the shakes and visual sparks that so often heralded migraines and bad memories. Once he shut the front door, Bucky grabbed an oxytocin from the bathroom cabinet and collapsed onto his bed. His jeans and boots didn’t matter. With any luck, he’d soon be having solely out-of-body experiences.

Bucky gets four hours of relief, no matter what he tries. Chemically negotiated sleep, alcohol-induced giddiness, a couple of chess games with Steve— his outlets, healthy and non, never bring him completely down. He’s never felt satisfied, never fully charged. His year in the desert stole more than just his body and mind; Bucky feels eternally depleted, like he can’t breathe in enough oxygen or drink enough water, despite his esophagus and lungs taking only minimal damage. The blisters from caustic smoke inhalation were completely healed, medical staff in Kandahar had informed him. Apparently mouths and throats and other wet, mucousy areas of the body have superior healing powers. None of it has convinced him to make an appointment with an ENT, an allergist, or a dentist, but Bucky makes a concerted effort not to discount the experts. At least not too much.

Bucky usually catches himself before he does anything too rash. Sometimes his excuses aren’t great, such as the time he used a hammer to smash open a jar of tomato sauce after an hour of fruitless one-handed twisting. The wrist ache and stubborn desire to put a cooked dinner on the table pushed him a little far, he’ll admit. But as far as he knows, Steve is still oblivious to the fact that he’d eaten pasta that was carefully strained to remove bits of shattered glass.

Bucky’s dissected the entire experience with his counselor over multiple sessions, and they’ve pretty much organized his breakdowns into different categorical reactions preceded by similar warning signs. Those urges to run, hide, throw rocks at the pigeons on his balcony— they should cue him to do something grounding. Looking at his planner would be an optimal choice. Breathing deeply and focusing on the pastel watercolors that border each page’s scheduling block. That might encourage him to reap more benefits of the fat spiral-bound book. If he wanted, Bucky could schedule his life from 6AM to midnight every day of every month of every year. Apparently the planner comes from a curated luxury brand, and a trip to its website could enable him to order complementary stickers and expander pages. The counselor cheerfully joked that he could go broke, the array of pastel and neon and vegan leather office supplies were so tempting. Bucky supposes it’s a success, then, that he’s never pulled up the site, let alone sit and browse with his wallet open.

Bucky likes planning his days more organically. He wakes up a solid four hours before he leaves for work, so there’s plenty of time to dress and shovel down some breakfast and call Steve’s office phone and plant an endearing message in voice mail box. They don’t live together anymore, technically, but their pair bond hasn’t completely disappeared. Bucky would lose his subsidized apartment if he put his name on a lease somewhere else. The rule runs the other way too, preventing anyone but Bucky’s solitary disabled veteran of a self occupied the blank-walled studio. It doesn’t keep them from meeting up from time to time. The times do seem to be falling a little less frequently as time stretches on, but thinks he knows why.

It’s Bucky’s fault, again. This time for falling into the greedy trap of bonus pay for work hours outside his regular shifts. He doesn’t want to buy anything with the extra cash, but the rotating schedule does give him something to jot down in his planner. Maybe he’ll get some outrageous stickers after all. Something loud and especially obnoxious, like glittery rainbows. He’d use them to mark special occasions. A dinner date with Steve, perhaps. At one of those nice-but-not-fancy places, like the diner that lights up the end of the block with its 24-hour incandescent window lights and perpetually flashing ‘fresh coffee’ sign. That could easily pin them down together for the four-hour stretch between the end of work and the beginning of Jack Hanna’s Wild Countdown at 11pm. Bucky has begun to recognize the reruns of the reruns, but he’s not in it for the fun facts. It’s the camaraderie he likes. His friend Jack keeping him from other, less savory companions like Jack and Coke.

The VA’s phone tree and call waiting systems haven't changed in the five years Bucky’s been subjected to them. The whole communication setup seems stuck in Windows 98. Bucky’s seen the telltale screensaver bouncing around on his rehabilitation doctor’s desktop. He’s fairly sure the hospital could afford to upgrade, though the staff probably hadn’t realized that patients glimpsing a monitor here and there could trigger memories of young recruits sitting in a sweltering tent and logging into the heavily filtered .gov email system on an ancient Macintosh. Sometimes a loved one sent a sweet message and a picture of a cat, which was always appreciated, even though the hard coded regulations reset the text to all caps interspersed with phrases like ‘censored’ and ‘jpeg not displayed.’ Just as often, though, a buddy with a satellite connection would dash off a succinct report of lives recently lost in the latest (redacted) mission. Harsh as they were, Bucky appreciated those notes just as much. His higher-ups rarely passed down accurate weather reports, let alone information about their brothers in other companies. Demoralizing content was cut more and more as the conflict in the desert stretched on. They said it would detract from the bravery of the young, impressionable troops. Bucky laughs now to keep himself from grinding his teeth. The policy won’t fall out of fashion any time soon, no matter where the army continues to send him.

If Bucky uses his morning free time to call any of the hospital’s departments, the nurse at the desk invariably tells him that they’ll take a note and pass it onto the next in the chain of command. An MA, an intern, some kid doing work study to earn his mess hall rations… As responsible as any of them may be, the note never makes it further than the trash can behind the reception desk. That’s what Bucky assumes, since he hasn’t received any communication back.

The same is true for his evenings; Bucky gets off work around 4:00 most days, and he’s lucky to be put on hold while the desk person searches down for someone with authority. The system shuts down promptly at 5:00, and the tinny classical medley of the hold music dies and gives him a dial tone instead. Some days Bucky steels himself and leaves his name and predicament with the voicemail, trying hard not to sound too angry or annoyed. He’s pondered on the idea of letting his emotions seep into his speech along with some heavy sighs, but he doesn’t want to risk it. The last thing he needs is for his counselor to find out and refer him to anger management.

What he’d needed, badly, was a follow up with audiology. The kind practitioner in plainclothes carefully helped him through the process of a complete ear health and hearing examination. The tiny booth for the beep and button test had given him pause, but, as with everything else so far, he’d survived. After the audiologist collected her data, she’d tried to interest him in filling out the form for his hearing aid order. The diagnosis of partial deafness had come as no surprise, but Bucky had declined to participate. “Whatever brand, whatever color. I don’t care,” he’d told her. Stress had been mounting, and the audiologist had let him escape the office with a fleeting, “See you later. We’ll call when you can come pick them up.”

The call had come, much to Bucky’s surprise. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket as he was pushing a refrigerator box across the warehouse. A quick glance at the screen had shown an unknown number with a local prefix, and he’d figured he should pick up. Maybe it was the front desk at Steve’s office. The community college puzzling over his student loan and GI bill. The local police, perhaps, trying to cite him for abuse of pigeons.

Surprisingly, though, it was the VA. “Hold on, hold on, I have to get somewhere I can hear you,” he’d barked over the rest of the caller’s sentence. Bucky had quickly ducked into the windowless closet they used as a break room before saying, “Ok, go.”

The quality of the call had been especially terrible. “Hearing aids”, Bucky was able to decipher. Then, “Schedule pickup.”

“In the morning,” he’d replied. “I work weird hours.”

“The thirteenth?” The caller had offered.

“What, like, tomorrow?”

“Next month.”

Bucky’d pushed his hair back off his forehead, wondering if he could pin down his work times that far in advance. “I’ll try to make it work.” That was the best he could offer.

“And PT?”

“What was that now?”

“Physical therapy,” the caller had clarified.

Bucky could’ve sworn he’d already graduated from the program. He’d been relieved when he’d stopped going. The humiliation of pedaling an arm bike with only one arm regularly took a chunk of his self esteem.

“No-show last session,” Bucky had managed to understand. “Reschedule.”

“Um…” He could’ve explained his understanding of the situation, but he’d already been eager to get off the phone. If anything, he could pretend to go to PT and really just use it as an opportunity to tell his therapist face-to-face that he was quitting. “Sure,” Bucky had sighed. The rush of air had reverberated through the call and caught him back like a waterpik to his eardrum. Hard of hearing, he was. Not hard of feeling. “Ugh, sorry.”

The caller had paid it no mind. “Nine o’clock for audiology and 9:30 for PT?’”

“Sure.” Now Bucky was cringing at the sound of his own voice. “Thanks.” Then he’d hung up, not waiting to hear a goodbye.

He’d meant to jot the appointments down in his planner. He’d amused himself with the thought that the thing might finally serve a helpful purpose. Bucky’s good mood had carried on through the afternoon. He was even inspired to pick up a box of donuts and drive over to Steve’s office, where he’d sat on the hood of Steve’s car and helped himself to a chocolate glazed. Steve had come out the door shouting at Bucky for defacing his vehicle. But then he’d eaten a sugar dusted lemon creme and inticed Bucky to lick the sweet powder from his fingers. The trip back to Steve’s place was a given. It wasn't the first time he’d given Bucky a lift to pick up his car in the morning.

The next few weeks had passed uneventfully. It was back to the mundane work/rest/tv cycle that drove Bucky’s life. He and Steve were a little tense again. He was living on cereal again. Bucky figured he’d work it out with his counselor at the next appointment. Until then, he’d cope. He hadn’t counted, but he knew there weren’t that many days left in the week.

Friday dawns grey and cloudy. Bucky’s scheduled to work a swing shift, so he doesn’t have to leave his apartment until the afternoon. He gathers the box of cornflakes and the milk carton, then sits at the kitchen table in his bathrobe. He intends to let his cereal marinate for a moment while he browses social media, but he doesn’t get that far. Bucky feels a jolt in his gut as squints at the expiration date stamped on the side of the milk. The thirteenth. Today, he realizes. Friday the fucking thirteenth. He should just go back to bed now.

But no, he has work later, and he rarely sleeps during daylight hours without the help of some chemical or other. Getting high would be nice, though. He could call in sick. The thought of the dishonesty hardens into a lump in Bucky’s stomach, though. On the other hand, he does feel a little sick. He doesn’t particularly want to slog his balding car tires through slick streets and mud puddles. No, he can’t do that. He’d run the risk of becoming the butt of somebody’s joke about being scarce on the unlucky day. Anxiety pits itself against anxiety, and the discomfort moves upward into Bucky’s chest.

Something else isn’t right. Bucky stands and grabs his planner from the top of a stack of phone books in the kitchen corner. The poorly bound yellow and white pages usually serve the purpose of sound damper when he has to resort to a screwdriver or hammer to bust open packaging. Otherwise, they’re a convenient shelf for stuff he likes to keep handy, which is really just a flimsy excuse for not tidying up.

Bucky flips the leaves of the planner. He’d left it open to some date last week, and, though he hasn’t written anything in the schedule blocks, he’s starting to feel positive that he’s missed something important.

Important. Bucky whispers the word under his breath until it slurs into something unintelligible. Appointment, Bucky realizes as he lands on the page for today. “Don’t let the rain spoil the sunshine” the inscription reads. It’s in a curly novelty font, and Bucky can swear he feels the eye strain crystallizing into a headache. Friday the fucking thirteenth indeed.

Bucky can’t remember the time he’s scheduled to arrive at the VA, so he books it, just in case. If he’s late, someone will cancel the appointments. Usually some front desk person, a scheduler or a receptionist, who seems to lavish in other people’s distress. If he’s early, well, he’ll sit and suffer in the waiting area, listening to the front desk person ruin other people’s day.

Bucky leaves his pajama top and hustles into jeans, then grabs his wallet and phone. He stuffs his feet into some clogs. Even slip-ons that require a manual heel adjustment are too much for him today. He’s almost out the door when he spots the milk and dry cereal still sitting on the kitchen table. Bucky falters in an anxious pause, then decides it’s not worth the effort to put them away. The milk is scheduled to expire today anyway.

Bucky pauses again outside the front door when he remembers that he needs keys. They live on a hook next to the door, so he only needs to open it as wide as his arm. He scrabbles at the wall with his fingernails, and the keys fall on the floor. “Fuck,” Bucky mumbles as he bends to retrieve them. The change in position kicks up a wave of vertigo, and he has to lean on the wall for a moment to stop his visual field from spinning.

Now flustered, Bucky races across the parking lot and jumps into his car. He backs up without turning his head, hoping Friday the thirteenth doesn’t bless him with a dent in his bumper. Luck wins, and he speeds toward the main road. He breathes deeply before turning at the stop sign. Getting out of his parking space must’ve been a false positive. He steels himself for whatever terror the hospital has for him today.

When he slides into the hospital lot, Bucky knows he’s pulled in crooked. He cracks the door, and once he sees that his tires are only a centimeter or so across the line, he calls it good enough. He slams the door, but when he goes to lock it, he realizes he’s left the keys in the ignition. Bucky begs the car not to auto lock, but it does anyway. The beep is barely within his range of hearing, but the high, tinny sound makes him squeeze his eyes shut. He has his phone on his body, so he can at least call roadside assistance when it’s time to leave.

“Fuck.” Bucky curses himself again before starting to hold his breath in preparation for the VA’s revolving door. If he’ll ever get stuck in it, it will be today. The door grinds and scrapes over waterproof carpet, but Bucky manages to shove it into working order. It spits him out in the middle of the overly lit entrance hall. Blast fluorescent lightbulbs. Bucky’s head gives a good throb, and he remembers to exhale. His heart’s going a mile a minute. He needs to calm down before some staff member sees him and decides to give him a piss test to make sure he isn’t misusing his amphetamines.

Lo and behold, a woman in scrubs crosses the hall right in front of him. She has her head down and her thumbs moving madly as she types on her phone. She pays him no mind, and Bucky’s glad for it. He hopes she doesn’t run into something, it being Friday the thirteenth and all. After a glance in both directions, Bucky heads to the audiology clinic. With the lights above reflecting in shiny puddles across the floor, he hopes he doesn’t run into something either.

When Bucky reaches the front desk, the elderly man behind the counter glares. “You’re a few minutes late,” he announces.

“Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He swallows and tries to get his diaphragm and lungs back into alignment. “I’m sorry. Uh, traffic, you know…”

The man nods. He knows. He probably thinks he knows everything. He might be a retired general or something; Bucky’s only seen this degree of hatred coming from the eyes of a higher ranking officer who’s dead set on stomping anthills.

“You’re late,” the man repeats. “I’ll have to call your practitioner.”

Bucky averts his eyes as the man picks up a landline and peruses the list of extensions on an index card taped to the side of a computer monitor.

“I can just go,” Bucky offers. Better to leave on his own volition rather than take the demerit and perseverate on it on the drive back to his apartment. No, rather when he loiters back in the parking lot waiting on a tow truck.

“It’s fine.” The doctor in plainclothes appears in the doorway adjacent to the reception desk. Today she wears a t-shirt bearing a stylized painting of a cochlear implant. “You’re picking up, right?” She glances at the back of the desk man’s head. “Appointments like that don’t take much time. You’re good to come back.”

Bucky’s relieved to avoid the tense session of waiting room sitting; he steps quickly through the door the audiologist holds open for him. Her office is the first door down the hall. Blessedly it’s carpeted, and the chairs for patients have real cushions on their seats. Bucky starts to sit, but the audiologist stops him.

“Here.” She grabs a small box off her desk and hands it over. “Just pop them in.”

Bucky takes it and does as he’s told. The box hinges open, and there are the aids. His aids, now. The part that sits behind his ear is metallic grey with a few bright, silver, and overly technical looking buttons. Dark red tubes secure to the slim side of the aids to navy blue molds, which Bucky assumes are custom cut and fabricated from the uncomfortable gel impressions he’d suffered through at his first appointment.

“Alright…” Bucky takes one and pushes the earmold deeply in his left canal. The soft silicone squishes slightly, but maintains its shape. It feels as if he’s shoving a bouncy ball into his ear. Once the aid is positioned, it completely blocks his sense of hearing. He’s reminded uncomfortably of the compressed foam earplugs he’d worn when he was training on the firing range. “Is it supposed to be quiet?” Bucky asks. He points at his ear, and, unable to hear his own voice, hopes he isn’t shouting.

“I’ll turn them on and tweak the programming once you have both in.” The audiologist speaks at what Bucky assumes is a regular volume, but she moves her lips in an exaggerated fashion. God, will he be happy to get rid of that problem. He isn’t good at lip reading. He can if he has to, but just looking someone in the face spikes his anxiety.

Bucky puts in the other aid. He’s disconcerted by the further silence, even though he’d known it was coming. He gives the audiologist a thumbs up. He’s willing to do anything to speed up the process.

The audiologist returns the gesture, then turns to her computer and clicks through multiple drop down menus. The aids suddenly spring to life, making Bucky cringe. The change from silence to sound is more abrupt than he’d expected. It’s as if he’s in the middle of the ocean, but without crashing waves to see and feel to ground him in the experience. Bucky wonders if the walls are moving, the painted cinderblocks rumbling against each other as the room closes in from all sides. The discomfort of his headache moves down to his sinuses and his jawline. No, not now. The last thing he needs is creeping nausea.

“How do they sound?” The audiologist’s voice rings out loud and clear.

Bucky can’t quite reason whether the aids are doing their job or if she’s still just speaking loudly. “Um.” Bucky swallows. “I hear you.”

“Good.” The audiologist moves her mouse and clicks a few more buttons, then presses a few keys.

Bucky hears the sound of her typing. Is it normal for typing to make such a clatter? The whole computer setup is as ancient as anything else in the hospital with a towering processor and large cube-shaped monitor. Old keyboards make a lot of noise, Bucky knows. And the audiologist has long fingernails.

She looks up at him, eyes full of pleasurable excitement. “How do they sound?”

“How am I supposed to know?” The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he realizes he’s probably sounding rude. “I mean,” he tries to backtrack. “I think they’re ok?”

The audiologist nods, unperturbed. “Both sides sounding the same?

“Um.” Bucky tries focusing his attention to only hid sense of hearing. It’s a difficult feat, though. Nausea flares again, and his head gives an almighty throb. “I…yeah? I guess?”

“It’s challenging at first.”

Bucky wishes the audiologist had led with that. It gives him a granule of comfort, though his discomfort stays at the same level.

“The volume buttons are there.” She turns her head and points midway down her ear. “Definitely play with that. And if something feels off with the sound or the fit of the ear molds, just swing by. I do walk-ins.”

Bucky forces a smile. He knows he won’t visit again. He doesn’t want to know what the desk sergeant would say if he came into the clinic unscheduled.

“Yeah, ok.” Bucky nods, then regrets it. He becomes all the more aware of the tension in the back of his neck.

“Alright.” The audiologist stands and walks toward the door.

Bucky follows, highly aware of his clogs scraping the aged fuzzy carpet. “Bye,” Bucky says as he steps over the threshold into the hallway.

“Yeah, see you. Come in any time.”

Bucky makes no response. He hears her voice; the words come in clearly and sound clipped with precision, even though he’s already turned his back. It’s definitely an improvement, but he’s anticipating a learning curve.

With this potentially difficult done with, Bucky should feel encouraged. He’s done a thing; it was successful. His counselor and DBT workbook would want him to evaluate, then non-judgementally file it for safekeeping. He did something hard. Therefore, the next hard thing should be easier. He can’t quite feel the vibe, though. It might be the headache spreading its domination over more and more territory in his brain. He imagines double-masted ships bumping into the coastlines of North America and Africa, then spitting out little red-coated troops to run inland and raise the British flag. It could just as easily be a C-130 dropping off a fleet of Army-colored Jeeps in the desert, Bucky and his buddies lined up to sprint into the cargo bay and jump in the drivers’ seats to back them down the incline.

Great, that’s just great. Bucky grits his teeth. The stupid war that cost him his stupid arm and grounded him out of a career. And now he’s meant to live out the rest of his stupid life, full of stupid appointments and therapy, which keep jumping onto the stupid calendar whether he wants them or not. The sound of moving air in his ears is replaced with a cringe-worthy grind. Bucky stops in the middle of the hallway and looks around before realizing it’s his own clenching jaw. He brings his hand up to massage his mastoids. The pressure in his head and face rearranges itself again. Maybe he could just go home and leave a message with PT. He’d apologize for the last minute cancellation and say he got sick. It wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. Doubt raises its voice in dissent, though. Someone would probably recognize his car… For which he’ll have to call roadside before he can go anywhere.

For a moment, Bucky entertains calling Steve. He hates to look weak and dependent. He hates asking for things. Steve’s boyfriend had gone to Iraq, and this idiot with long hair and one arm came back. Bucky wants to slide back into place as the protective one, not the one needing protection. He can’t make up for the deficit with boxes of donuts, at least not all the time. Bothering Steve during work, for which he’s savagely underpaid and actually seems to enjoy… Bucky slogs on toward the therapy office. He’ll be a lone wolf today. Hopefully his position as the lame one far behind the pack won’t get him eaten by a polar bear or something. The PTs and their wall posters of bisected humans made of red muscle would be bad enough. They probably knew very well how to butcher him and roast his meat on a spit.

Bucky searches in his head for a thought that isn’t nauseating. His stomach feels knotted and lifted into his rib cage. Had he eaten this morning? Had coffee? Bucky doesn’t remember, nor can he figure which situation is worse.

The moment he reaches the waiting area in front of PT, the woman behind the desk tells him to go ahead into the exercise room. Bucky nods. Ordinarily he’d feel a little wary of the familiarity; he doesn’t care for situations when someone he barely knows has all his information. Some days he can’t recite his own social security number. On a day like Friday the thirteenth, he hopes he doesn’t have to sign any forms. He isn’t sure he’d be able to spell or even remember his full name.

Those thoughts disperse immediately when he walks through the door to the exercise room. He’s used to it smelling like rubber gloves and past its prime gym equipment. Today, though, the scent of potato chips is overwhelming. Just plain, salted, greasy chips. Bucky tells himself he actually likes regular chips. It’s kitschy flavors and toppings that set him off. He has to try willing away his disgust. It has to be the headache. Bucky likes food, at least better than the reflux of tube feeding formula. Even military hospital food outweighed the NG. Other people eat. He isn’t offended. He just doesn’t feel well. It’s completely his own problem.

Bucky looks around from the threshold of the exercise room, expecting to see his usual therapist. Natasha is unmistakable with her high red ponytail and chiseled musculature. She makes black scrubs look high fashion. Bucky hasn’t dated a girl since 8th grade, but he’s open minded. About friendships and things. He’s a little jealous of Natasha, when he gets down to it. Had he not been injured, he too might’ve maintained his shape and strength and social life. She’s alluring, but also intimidating. It seems as if every time Bucky comes in, he’s forced to remember how different things could’ve been. She’s successful and he isn’t, and that’s the way things will stay. He’s very set on his decision to quit. Then he might improve at talk therapy with the removal of Natasha as a trigger.

There seems to be no Natasha today, though. Two male therapists sit facing each other, one sitting on a desk and the other perched backward on the seat of a stationary bike. The one on the desk has the crinkling, yellow bag of Lay’s.

“Hey, sorry.” The man on the desk chews and swallows quickly before crunching the bag into a ball and shooting it into a trash bin. “My kids have me hooked on snack time.”

“Hm.” Bucky inclines his head and makes a sound of acknowledgment, trying not to react to the angry sound of the chip bag hitting the rim of the bin.

“Yeah, well.” The man on the bike stands up in one fluid motion. “Client’s here. Gotta pretend to go back to work.”

“M, yeah, I guess.” The one on the desk wipes his hands on his knees, chip crumbs and grease prints now adhering to his pants. He hefts a file folder. “Data entry. Super fun.”

The man now off the bike gives Bucky a wave. “I know you belong to Nat,” he says. “But they’ve got her running a training in Baltimore today.” He pauses a second, then asks, “I’m Sam. You mind working with me?”

“Um,” Bucky wavers. “I was, er, going to turn in my papers?” He’s met with silence, so Bucky goes on. “Like, telling you all I don’t want any more appointments?”

“Oh, sure.” Sam nods. “Yeah, we don’t have to reschedule you. I think you’re on the list of recurring clients.” Then he addresses the man at the desk. “Hey, Clint, while you’re entering data, can you put his name on call-to-schedule?” Sam looks to Bucky. “It’s James, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. There’s no need to explain how he goes by his middle name, but also not really.

“Sure…” Clint squints at his monitor and scrolls slowly. “Yep, there you are. And done.”

“Thanks.” Bucky shuffles his feet. He wants to turn and run, but adding any kind of bounce to his gait will surely stir up his gut in the worst of ways. Maybe he can inch backward first to initiate a smoother exit.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Sam offers. “Legs or abs or soft tissue?”

“Uh.” Bucky feels called out. He still has every right to leave, but now there’s pressure. He hates not delivering. He hates giving up a challenge, knowing it contributes to his air of disability. Statistically, a lot of vets get caught up in PTSD and alcohol and drugs and wind up hibernating until they’re arrested or dead. Shirking commitments is a primary sign, and with Bucky’s awareness of his want to ingest substances and get horizontal… He has to remind himself that even trained therapists can’t read his thoughts. “I don’t know…” Maybe he should offer an excuse? “I really have a headache and I have to call to get my car towed…” he trails off, feeling much more lame than he had when he’d started.

“You’ve done soft tissue work with Natasha, right?” Sam points to the door of one of the small private rooms coming off the main. Bucky knows there are massage tables and rolling stools inside. He has done soft tissue work with Natasha, and it has alleviated his back and neck aches before. It’s overly personal, though, and awkward. Bucky’s never sure if he’s supposed to keep his eyes open or closed.

Honesty takes control, and Bucky answers with “Yeah, I have.”

“Might bring down the headache. I’m no magician, but I do know pressure points.” Sam grins at him. “I went through all this when I came back, too. PT saved my basketball game.”

Bucky knows he’s being kind, but he can’t help thinking of his unbalanced body trying to dribble and shoot lay-ups. He’d look worse than the last kid in gym class.

“Or you can just lie down for a while.” Sam laughs. “I don’t disclose what happens in there. HIPPA, and all that.”

And there, without even trying, they’ve formed such a close friendship that now they’re in the territory of dirty jokes. It’s stranger intrusion, one thousand percent, and even though it makes the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up, he no longer has the choice to leave. Bucky wonders if this guy’s a master of manipulation, whether he knows he’s contorting the inner threads of Bucky’s brain and removing all traces of his own volition.

“Um, I guess.” Bucky’s voice is so loud in his own ears that it makes his head throb. Once the pain has reverberated to his stomach and back, he continues, “I guess we can try.”

“Cool.” Sam reaches for a clipboard and pen, but stops before picking them up. “No notes today, right? It’s your sunset session.”

“Right.” Maybe lying down would do Bucky some good. The sickness that’s been building in him is edging toward physical sensation. It’s no longer confined to his mentality, and any hope of thinking it away is far gone. Bucky walks toward the private room. He’d better not look as terrible as he feels. He doesn’t think he can take any comments of sympathy.

“Face up, ok?” Sam closes the door behind them and plants on a stool.

Bucky obliges and sits on the edge of the massage table. One of his shoes falls off as he’s lifting up his legs. He jumps at the sound of the clunk and quickly apologizes. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s cool. Probably more comfortable to take them off.” The wheels on the bottom of the stool squeak slightly. Bucky both hears and feels Sam coming closer. His spine tingles and an ache starts up between his shoulder blades. There’s nothing like anxiety throwing spears at his body. Wholistic approach to medicine aside, Bucky swears his brain and body are egging each other on.

Once Bucky’s flat on his back, he combs his fingers through his bangs to keep the hair from sticking to clammy sweat. Sam will probably be grossed out before even touching him. He’s infinitesimally glad to see the therapist putting on exam gloves.

“Alright.” The stool squeaks again, and Bucky feels Sam slide his fingers beneath the arch of his neck. “We’ll start right here at the top of the spine.”

Two thumbs plant on either side, just below Bucky’s occipital lobe. The pressure brings with it a feeling of pain that’s just short of pleasure. If he didn’t have vertigo, Bucky might’ve thanked Sam for spotting a problematic area on his first go.

“Ok. And here…” Sam’s fingers rest lightly on the jaw muscles stretching under his chin and down his neck. He adds force to the pressure points behind Bucky’s head. His touch is light, and his fingertips stay still and professional. Natasha’s work on his tense muscles had been just fine. Maybe Sam had more advanced training? Or was he pushing a fallacious invitation of intimacy that comes when people mistake shared backgrounds for real empathy. The first and last time Bucky had tried attending a support group, someone who’d last fought in Vietnam had tried to give him a hug.

Sam slides his touch outward toward Bucky’s ears, and a horrific scraping noise resounds in the hearing aids, which seem to have barely escaped disturbance. “Turn your head to the side.”

Sam hasn’t stated a direction, so Bucky falters, and the weight of his head wavers to the right before he commits to turning left. Vertigo swells over all other sensation, and Bucky holds his eyes wide open, looking for a substitute horizon. There are subtle lines between the painted white painted cinder blocks of the wall. Bucky tries to choose one to lock his vision upon. He daren’t blink. The overhead light sears into his peripheral vision, though, and dark and light spots start to gather on both sides.

“Alright.” Sam puts his palm against Bucky’s jawline and directs his fingers to the tight muscle running lengthwise from his ear to his shoulder. “You comfortable?”

“Um.” Bucky can only stutter before he has to gulp down something horrible and sour. His thoughts run frantically. He hadn’t consumed the spoiled milk this morning; he remembers that for sure. It was probably treating his tiny apartment to dank odor of curdling dairy. The first day of his deployment, Bucky had learned not to leave a cup of yogurt outside in the sun. He’d opened it when he sat down at the outdoor table, then obviously misjudged how long it would take him to finish the rest of his meal. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before it had developed a thick skin and gave off a smell of sweet rot.

“James?” Sam lifts his hand. The imprints of where his fingers had been develop a sensation of negative pressure. Bucky can’t remember which line he’d chosen on the wall. He blinks, and he’s disoriented even more. Bucky’s stomach races upward ahead of his heartbeat and turns liquid somewhere inside his esophagus.

“You ok?”

“I—actually—uh—“ Bucky’s entire body trembles, and it seems gravity has loosened its hold on him. He can barely feel the floor under his stocking feet when he pushes himself up on his arm and turns. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Sure, man.” Sam pulls his stool backward with the shove of one sneaker, then turns back to Bucky and proffers a small trash bin. “Here.”

Bucky holds down a retch long enough to get the bottom of the bin between his knees. The next heave is huge and convulsive. Bucky instinctively breathes in, then chokes when the air hits liquid resistance in his mouth and nose. He coughs hard to clear his airway. His vision swims and brings on another wave of sickness. Bucky doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until his sternum aches from pressing against the bin’s hard metal rim.

It’s all Sam’s work keeping him stable, Bucky realizes. His mind would fall into weakness and stupidity if his body wasn’t already robbing every bit of his attention. It’s just his luck, just his Friday the thirteenth, pushing him into such a compromising position. What had he been doing, thinking about spoiled milk? Bucky’s mental image quickly replaces the milk with a rumpled chip bag. He’s never eating a potato again, whether it’s a chip or a fry or a baked potato with sour cream and chives…

“Ugh.” Bucky hacks again, feeling ropes of mucous and saliva sticking to his lip. He squeezes his eyes shut, and unintended tears roll down his face. They get caught in the scruff of his beard before passing his cheeks. Bucky wonders how soiled his mustache will be. And the hair on his chin. But those are small potatoes compared to his rushing thoughts of food. Fuck potatoes. Fuck cereal. Fuck donuts and starches and sugar.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam’s voice is uncomfortably close. Bucky assumes Sam’s leaning forward too, trying to bump their heads together or something. When he peels his eyes open, though, Sam’s still at a reasonable distance. His hands and knees hold the bin while his back remains straight and tall.

“I’m—fuck.” Bile runs down his tongue, and Bucky’s unsure whether he wants to spit or swallow. He tries the swallow, but his epiglottis refuses to close, and he winds up letting more liquid sick flow into the bin. “Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He wants to rake his hair back again, but he’s afraid he’ll fall over if he doesn’t keep his hand grounded on the massage table beside his hip.

“Hey, no big.” Bucky isn’t sure how Sam’s able to maintain such composure. Maybe he has kids? A loved one with cancer? Steve takes good care of Bucky when he’s exceptionally down, but there’s always a nervous jumpiness weighing in on the situation. It’s just Steve, Bucky thinks, who has a nervous jumpiness about everything. He stresses over other people’s stress, constantly puttering and hovering. It’s probably why he still looks like a skinny teenager; he burns so many calories with his perpetual motion.

“It’s ok,” Sam says. “Humans are messy sometimes.” He must’ve absorbed the entire DBT book, Bucky decides. Wise and observant and unemotional. He could be one of those kids unnaturally excited for Anatomy and Physiology Lab. Blood and guts might turn him on. He could be a CSI on the side. Or maybe a serial killer.

“I’m—god, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes again. He lifts his head an inch and catches a glimpse of Sam’s face, trying to reset his flighty sense of judgement. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, Bucky says inside his head. Calm. Observe. Bucky shakes his head a little from side to side, but the world shifts on him again, and he wraps his arm around his abdomen. It does nothing to help steady him; his organs are still shoved up in his chest.

Bucky dry heaves. A rancid tasting belch pops in the back of his throat, but it brings nothing up with it. Good, maybe? He’s done? Bucky’s sure he’s empty now, at least.

“No, you’re good.” Sam pauses a moment. “I mean, I can’t imagine you feel good, but don’t rush. Try not to stress. It’ll make you tense up. Then you’ll have to come back to visit PT.”

Bucky’s never stepping foot in this office again. Not into the VA at all, if he can help it. He can push his meetings with his counselor back to Telehealth. He’ll figure out his hearing aids by himself. There has to be a website or something.

Now that he’s thinking about them, Bucky recognizes the swirling water sound coming in. It’s amplified enough to shake his eardrums. Bucky presses the balls of his feet into the floor and lets his arm free to pull the aids out of his ears. They make a high-pitched squeal as he holds them together in his palm, but Bucky depresses the off button on one, then the other. Bucky enjoys the blessed silence, but then Sam says something again, and Bucky’s right back with his original deficit.

“Those new?” Sam nods toward the aids in Bucky’s hand.

“These?” Bucky checks. “Yeah. This morning, actually.” He swallows a couple of times, hoping to kick the chafing and hoarseness out of his throat.

“Ah.” Sam gives a half smile. “I wouldn’t advise ophthalmology right after breakfast, either. Or load up on Zofran. You got a script for that?”

“One of the boxes on the bathroom counter, I think.” Bucky thinks he has a pack of the foil-coated pills. Or was that Xanax? No, Xanax comes in a regular prescription bottle. Either way, Bucky should probably carry both on his person at all times. He’s turning into a stereotypical civilian. Though jeans and shirts are severely lacking in pockets when compared to Army duds.

“If I had any, I’d give you a hit.” Sam’s smile turns mysterious. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. No secret chat with someone at the pharmacy counter.”

“Naw, I’m good.” Bucky waits a tick, then says, “You’re not going to tell on me for this, are you?” He glances into the bin, then lifts his gaze quickly. “I don’t want to be called in for a flu test or anything.”

“No worries.” Sam looks toward the bin as well. “Done with this?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. “Definitely done.”

“How’s the headache?” Sam asks before setting the bin on the floor out of Bucky’s line of sight.

Bucky wonders if Sam’s reading his mind again. But Bucky had fed him that intel, he remembers. And he’d spilled the beans about his car. He really couldn’t be caught any worse. “Eh.” Bucky shrugs. “It’s a pretty constant thing. On and off, I mean.” Everyone who’s read his chart notes knows everything about his TBI and its physical symptoms it causes. Most of the world could probably guess, too. The scar along his hairline is as good as poof. The crabby looking guy with a battle mark— his look is enough to turn people away.

Sam remains quietly engaged. He really could be a sociopath. No, Sam’s probably the normal person. Bucky might be the sociopath. He hasn’t really come to terms with the man who came home from the desert, despite Bucky’s inability to retain the identity he had before shipping out.

Normal people ask questions back when chatting with others, Bucky remembers. He should do that. “You, uh, you said you’d served?” Bucky thinks he remembers that too.

“Yeah. Air Force. Two tours,” Sam says with little emotion. “I thought being a PJ was all about jumping out of airplanes.” He averts his eyes momentarily before looking Bucky in the face again. “But it’s way more putting in IVs in the back of an H-60. Talk about turbulence. Had to grow an iron stomach for that.”

So that’s where he gets it. He got to load the wounded and dying into the bright yellow cage lift. Bucky hadn’t been conscious through his own medevac, so he has no triggers regarding bungee cords and helicopters, thank god. He wonders how Sam had managed to make it back stateside, but Bucky knows he isn’t allowed to ask. Bucky tries looking at things from Sam’s end, dredging through red blood and orange sand, looking for skin sticking out of singed uniforms. He probably hates Army green now. And maybe bright yellow bags of chips.

Bucky’s pondering has allowed the conversation to trail off again. Another fail on his part.

Sam seems not to mind, though, and as soon as Bucky’s mentally checked in again, he asks, “You ever been in a helicopter? In the seat, I mean?”

“Uh…” Bucky struggles to recall. “I think we did an aerial tour of the map once before I got assigned to a camp.” The memory comes back as he verbalises it. “I had the jump seat, and they didn’t give me any headphones. I think I looked at a bunch of piles of sand.”

“I wish I’d had a pleasure tour,” Sam replies. “I usually didn’t know where we were going until we were ready to repel. I guess it didn’t matter so much. Helped keep us focused, maybe? I honestly couldn’t point to all the places I’ve been if you gave me a map. I was just along for the ride, you know?”

“Every ride in a tank is just as long and bumpy,” Bucky tells him. “And hoping I didn’t draw the short straw and have to sit backwards.”

“Oh, yeah. Flight school, it’s a big thing.” Sam laughs. “Tank school, though? Drivers’ ed?”

“I never went.” Bucky puts up his hand to mark his innocence. “I can only speak for myself, though.”

“I feel you.” Sam takes the pause to switch subjects. “You said your car wasn’t working, right? Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, well.” Bucky bites his lip. “I locked the keys inside,” he admits. “It’s Friday the thirteenth. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Sam repeats. “I actually had no idea. You’ve had a day, though, man. And it’s only…” He glances at his watch. “9:37 in the morning.”

“I better call the insurance. Can I come back in here if it’s raining?”

“Sure. Or we can walk together across the parking lot. I have an umbrella. And leather seats.” Sam rises to his feet.

“I should just bite it.” Bucky picks up his hearing aids and stands as well. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and slips the aids inside. “I mean, I should call someone. My boyfriend has a car…” As soon as he says it, Bucky knows he’s slipped. He’s stuck in non action again. It won’t be a big deal unless he makes it a big deal, and then there will be full-on tension.

“Can he come get you?” Sam asks, nonplussed.

“He works for a travel blog, actually,” Bucky says, hoping he isn’t disgracing Steve by talking about him and his work. “They’re in this old newspaper office. It’s kind of a cool place.”

“Sounds neat. Old places are nice. Unless they’re here,” Sam says with a laugh. “I’ll probably be old and grey before they give this place a facelift.”

“Oh, I agree.” Bucky laughs too, then averts his attention back to his phone.

“You still have more than twenty minutes of appointment time,” Sam says. “And I have a break before I’ll be needed here again. You sure you couldn’t use a lift? I don’t want you getting tripped up over a sidewalk crack and fall into a mirror or anything. Step in front of a black cat, probably get all hissed and scratched at.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting a cat,”Bucky says, somewhat seriously. Then, “It really won’t be a bother? I’d hate to give you and your car any of my bad luck.”

“Seriously,” Sam assures. “I’ve got to go do a weather check. Take out the trash, all that stuff.” He’s already bending to remove the trash bag from the bin. As he speaks.

“Oh, I can—“ Bucky starts.

“No, I’m good.” Sam twists the top of the bag and ties it off. The bag is a frosted clear color, so its contents are not immediately apparent. It has a liquid sag visually, though. Bucky feels an edge of sick guilt, so he engages in putting his phone into his pocket. It bunches up on top of his hearing aids, but he’s determined not to be caught picking at his ass and losing his last shred of dignity.

Bucky and Sam exit the private PT room side by side. “Here, we’ll go out the back door,” Sam says, pointing.

“You bringing back Starbucks?” Clint, still at his computer, raises his eyebrows.

“No,” Sam says blankly.

“Where you going, then?”

“Going to take out the trash and take this brother for a drive.” Everything Sam says is plain and glib, and his tone could’nt be mistaken for anything but the honest truth.

“Can you take my trash out?” Clint points to the bin behind the desk, which is overflowing with wadded balls of paper.

“No,” Sam tells him again.

“Come on.”

“I’m not catching the blame for putting sensitive material in the dumpster.”

“It’s not sensitive. It’s trash,” Clint tries to explain.

“I don’t make the rules.” Sam waves him off. “Check your calendar, though, I think you’re scheduled to have a bad day.”

“What?” Clint shoves a pile of folders to the side so he can scrutinize the desk blotter. He squints and looks closer, and the top folder slides onto the floor, absenting itself of all the paper within. “Fuck. Really?” Clint gives the mess a dirty look. “You really should pick me up a Starbucks.”

“It’s probably raining and the drive through’s closed.” Bucky laughs as Sam blatantly bull shits.

“Huh?” Clint seems to know he’s been insulted, but can’t see exactly where. “You haven’t done a weather check.”

“I’ll text you,” Sam offers. He turns the knob of the exit door and ushers Bucky to follow. “There’s an emoji for that, right? Happy cat for sun and crying cat for rain?”

“Yeah, text me.” Clint gives Sam a final unsure glance before returning to his calendar.”

“Roger,” Sam says as he steps out the door. As soon as Bucky is out as well, he says, “The dumpster’s just behind this wall, and my car is there.” He points to a shiny red BMW. A fine layer of miniature raindrops coat the hood and windshield. The air itself feels cold, yet muggy. Bucky feels slightly choked, and he’s glad he’s already emptied his stomach. With the weather and the remaining headache, it’d just be his luck to ruin some new friend’s upholstery.

Sam clicks the remote to unlock his car. Bucky doesn’t hear the beep, but the solid click of the two front doors alerts do the job to alert him that it’s time to open the passenger door. There are indeed leather seats. And it still smells like new car.

“One second.” Sam picks up his pace and disappears behind the edge of a grey and weather stained wall. There’s a moment of silence, but them Bucky hears Sam’s voice again, shouting, “Oh, shit, man, you’ve got to come see this.”

Bucky shuts the car door, wondering if he should be concerned. He follows Sam’s route around the wall, then laughs at what he sees. Two green dumpsters sit side by side, accumulated rain dripping down to the pavement. Sam must’ve already thrown the trash, and he’s pointing at an old wooden ladder leaned against the face of the far dumpster. Its bottom step is busted, missing a good amount of wood between the jagged ends.

“I’m not touching that,” Sam cackles.

“I can see why they left it,” Bucky offers, pushing down his own mirth. “You’d have to hold it over your head to toss it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be leaving that right there.” Sam walks toward Bucky, and they return to his parking space. “I’ll make Clint take his trash out later. I wonder, is there a ladder emoji?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky opens the front passenger door again. “But which cat are you going to use for cloudy as fuck?”

“I don’t know that either.” Sam slams his door and puts his key into the ignition. “Maybe somewhere there’s a black cat? Past the smiley faces and in the animal section?”

“That makes good sense.” Bucky takes his phone from his pocket again. He recalls his aids being in the pocket as well, and he takes the opportunity to get ahold of them before he winds up throwing them into the washing machine. The car is quiet, so Bucky cautiously turns them on and snugs the earmolds into his ears.

“Testing the waters again?” Sam asks, glancing Bucky’s way.

“Yeah.” Bucky ruminates on the sound of his own voice for a second. “No harsh lights. And your engine runs really quiet.”

“I really hope they run better for you.” Sam comes to a smooth stop and turns out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, I hear a difference already. Bucky catches his phone as it’s about to slide off his knee. “I would look up an emoji for you,” he offers, “But I don’t want to risk any consequences.”

“I trust your judgement.” Sam laughs and slowly brings the car up to speed.

“I—“ Bucky goes to say something else, but his breath catches in his throat. There’s something in the road several feet in front of them. It looks to be moving across the lane. “There’s a—“ Bucky hopes it’s not a cat.

“It’s a plastic bag,” Sam assures him. The object moves again and turns in a 180 as it enters the next lane. The huge, red Target logo stands out boldly on the other side.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, relieved. “Those damn sneaky plastic bags…”

They stop at a light, and Sam says, “Just tell me where to turn.”

Bucky realizes he hasn’t given him a hit of a direction. He supposes he’d thought Sam already knew, with the ease of their bond and all.

“It’s up a little ways. On Sandersville.” Bucky pronounces the street name a little awkwardly. He finds it displeasing, since it doesn’t lead to a village or a sand pit.

“Oh, yeah, I know what’s around there. I’ve had a few buddies who’ve lived in the buildings.” Sam nods. “I’ll get you home nice and safe. And, here—“ Sam pops the center console and pulls out a business card. “It’s probably too formal, but it’s got my number. The work line and my cell.” He points out the bottom line as he hands the card to Bucky.

“Thanks,” Bucky replies. “I’ll text you when I’m all settled? Then you’ll have my number, too.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Sam offers him a smile. “Call me if you get on the wrong side of any more plastic bags.”

“Steve works till six, so I guess I do have a lot of bad day left.” Bucky recalls his former plan to get toasted and lie on the couch. It still appeals, but maybe he’ll do something a little productive first. He’ll download a user guide for his hearing aids. Maybe see what the cable channels play Jack Hanna during the daytime. And he’ll call for his car, when he’s up for it.

“You take it easy, now.” Sam looks at him again. “It’s good to get to know you, James.”

“I, um. I go by Bucky,” Bucky says, embarrassed. It’s a perfectly natural thing to tell a new friend, he reminds himself. Sam hasn’t had a reason to call him by his name yet, anyway. “It’s short for my middle name,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

“Well, good to know you then, Bucky,” Sam replies without missing a beat. “Let me know when you’re all good. What do you think, the grinning cat with its eyes closed? To sound the all-clear?”

“Perfect.” It may be the worst possible day, but now that Bucky’s sealed the deal with a new friend and a secret handshake. “I’ll have to explain the cat thing to Steve, though. I don’t want him getting jealous or anything. I don’t think he’s a great fan of cats.”

“No worries,” Sam says. “Maybe you can introduce us later. Something casual, you know. Like at Starbucks. I do like coffee, and we don’t have to talk about cats.”

“We like our coffee, too,” Bucky laughs. “It would be fun to meet up later. On a nicer, luckier day.”

“Sure.” Sam reaches the light for Sandersville. “That is such an odd name for a street, especially for one all full of vets’ houses. Did they call it Sand Ville when you were over there?”

“Yup,” Bucky says. “My thoughts exactly.”

Sam brings the car to a halt when they reach the edge of the first building. “This you?” He asks.

“Yeah, right there.” Bucky points to his front door. He undoes his seatbelt and tells Sam, “Bye.”

“Yeah, text me.” Sam waves as Bucky steps out onto the curb. “I still have my med kit and my EMT license, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Back at you, man.” Sam waves again and does a U-turn in the street and heads off it the other direction.

It’s still cold and wet, but the rain seems to have stopped, at least long enough for Bucky to get back to his apartment. He stops dead at his front stoop, though. His keys are back in the car. At the VA.

“God fucking dammit.” He’ll call Steve. The upturn of the day has collapsed in on itself. He listens to the low sound of the wind for a moment. Everything sounds more balanced now. The hospital must just produce its own woeful environment. Bucky tries to reign his breath and focus on the principles of his DBT. He feels the weight of his phone in his hand. It’s hard and smooth, until he passes his thumb over the edge of the business card, which is a slightly different quality of hard and smooth. Bucky decides he can buy himself a few more minutes to think while he sends a text. He awakens his phone and dials Sam’s cell number into the top of a new message.

Hi, it’s Bucky, he types. No emojis. He presses send.

Barely a second later, the same number sends him a reply. Hi Bucky. Another second, and there’s a third message.

Are you locked out? Occurred to me when I got back to the corner.

Bucky feels his face flush with embarrassment. He backspaces through a few quivers typos before he manages to send back his undignified yes.

Bucky still has his eyes on his screen as it populates with another text.

Turning around.

Thank you.

Bucky’s day has reached uncertainty yet again. He feels like he has better odds now, though. If nothing else, he’ll live it out with his friend.

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birdlungg · 2 years

Text

Billy Hargrove x #9! Reader

Chapter 4: Let Me Tell You My Story

The nightmares have come back. You wake up screaming and sweating every night. You usually have a better hold on your emotions but after the fight with the Flayer, and seeing Eleven again…

No, you think to yourself. I’m done running and hiding from this. Papa isn’t going to take anything else from me.

It’s been a few days once the mall, and you still haven’t felt up to facing Eleven. You can feel her reaching out through The Void, but you’ve been hiding yourself well. All things need to reach a conclusion though. You get up, get dressed, and pack all of your things. Taking one last look at the little New York hotel room that had become your home for the last few weeks, you let out a soft exhale. No time like the present.

You close your eyes, so quickly that anyone else would think you’re blinking, and then you’re gone.

————————————————————————————————————

“You haven’t heard from her at all?” El shakes her head at Dustin, wrapping her arms around her knees as best she can with her bandaged calf as she sits on the floor of Mike’s basement. The party is there, along with Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve. It was decided a few days after the “Mall Fire” that they would meet and talk about everything that happened after the most injured of them had time to heal. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks would have been too much for most people. Even with their “unique expertise” in the monster ass kicking area, they all needed to process it.

“Honestly,” Steve starts from where he’s lounging on a chair, “that’s kind of shitty of her.”

“STEVE!” Dustin yells at him as he throws a pillow as hard as he can in his direction. “That’s her sister!”

“Hey! I’m just saying, El has been waiting years to meet another person like her. I don’t care how hot or badass she is, she should have stuck around.” The party glares at him as Mike rubs Eleven’s shoulder as he sits next to her. Yes, she’s upset that her sister didn’t stay, but she understood. Nine didn’t need to help them, she could have done what every other one of the escaped children did and forgot about the rest of them. But she didn’t. She decided to put herself in harm’s way to save them, and while she was grateful… she thought for a moment that they could have a relationship. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the other’s had disappointed her.

Everyone is silent for a moment, stuck inside their own heads as they think.

“He does have a point. I should have stuck around.” You say from the stairs as everyone jumps. They whip their heads toward you in shock as you descend and drop your duffel at the bottom. YOu wave awkwardly at everyone, not used to the attention on you.

“Nine!” Eleven gasps, trying to get to her feet quickly to greet you. She stumbles, forgetting that she is still injured and stands in front of you. Everyone stands with her, curious about her newfound sibling and hesitant at the same time. In lieu of a hug, you touch the tip of your finger to her nose, still not comfortable enough for the embrace. She smiles widely at you and does the same, lifting her finger up so she can brush against the tip of your nose.

Eleven turns so you can come into the room, addressing the group as they stand there. “You guys saw her at the mall, but this is my sister Number Nine.” You give a two finger salute with your right hand as you flush under their stares.

“So this is awkward, but I sort of already know all your names.” You say, shifting on your feet. They all look at you strangely and you roll your eyes a bit. “Ok, I guess I’ve got a lot to explain.” You take a seat on the metal folding chair at their D&D table after moving it to face the room.

“This story starts with a baby.”

————————————————————————————————————-

You tell them about your birth. How your mother, who many considered to be evil, and a witch, gave you up to the strange lab men. How you went through torture after torture because Papa realized your were different from the others.

You tell them how you started to have visions of things that haven’t happened yet. You kept that part to yourself at the lab, figuring that it would lead to more danger than you were already in. Your “warping” as you called it, was their main focus. Sure, you could move a paper clip a few inches if you tried hard enough, but your warping was what they really wanted. They kept you under lock and key when you weren't training, keeping a collar that dampened your abilities on you almost 24/7.

But one day, they made a mistake. The orderly turned their back for a moment too long to get your collar, and you were gone.

You avoid eye contact as you speak. You wished you could have taken the other children with you, but your warping ability wasn’t strong enough yet. You landed in Seattle, Washington and spent days wandering around in your hospital gown until someone decided to help you. They gave you a place to stay and food to get you settled. But you were skittish. You warped again then, and again and again, constantly moving. They can’t hurt you if they can’t find you.

Your vision started coming more frequently. Little things at first. A car accident in the town you were going to next. An album announcement from that band you liked. As you got older, your powers got stronger. Until that day in your hotel room, when you saw Starcourt Mall, and you decided to stop running.

You finish your story, and the room is silent. Everyone is speechless, unsure what to say as they stare at you. Do they offer pity? Do they avoid the subject? You know that Eleven is the only one who would really understand.

“So, we call Eleven Jane, since that was her birth name. What should we call you?” Max asks. You appreciate the change from the heavy subject matter, and smile at her appreciatively.

“You know… I never really decided on a name. The entire time I was on the run I would just go by “Nines”. Max nods, seeming to understand.

“What about… like, Nina?” Steve asks. Everyone looks at him like he’s the dumbest person in the room. Which might not be far off. You burst into laughter, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts and your eyes start tearing up. The group laughs with you, feeling the tension in the room dissipate finally.

“Ah Steve,” you laugh, wiping at your eyes. “At least you’re pretty.” You wink at him. He blushes darkly and crosses his arms with a huff.

#birdlungg #birds r us #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove smut

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marypsue · 11 months

Text

You know the drill, it's Sneak Peek Sunday and I'm here with samples from former heroes who quit too late, the third and final part of the AU where (almost) all the Hawkins kids have powers. Enjoy! Or don't, I'm not the boss of you.

...

It’s finally summer, and Robin Buckley is bored out of her mind.

Obviously she didn’t expect that working a minimum-wage job at a mall food court was going to be a font of constant entertainment. But she’d kind of hoped working with one-fourth of Hawkins High’s own resident superteam might mean at least a little excitement. The odd caped villain popping up to monologue dramatically on top of the freezer counter. Alien invasion in the storeroom. Little things, to break up the monotonous mundanity of existence.

Instead, her sole intellectual stimulation’s coming from helping Steve Harrington help his gaggle of impressionable youths sneak into movies without paying, and arguing with him over who has to refill the toppings. The only time Robin’s even seen Steve play the superpower card is to drive off the other gaggle of impressionable youths who like to hang around the food-court fountain and abuse Scoops Ahoy’s free sample policy. And even then, they’re always back in a day or two. Some superpower.

When Robin points this out to him, though, Steve just says, “I could make you do the toppings refills every time, if you really want,” and she realises she doesn’t need to see his powers in action that bad, after all.

She doesn’t even get to see Barbie all day, despite working in the same food court. The smoothie place Barb’s working at wouldn’t hire Robin too, and the manager is a tyrant and a sadist and never lets Barb take her breaks when Robin has hers. All they can do is cast commiserating miserable glances across the rows of tables in the middle of the food court when Robin has to mop the front, and swing by each other’s fine establishments to talk on their breaks. And the Orange Julius Caesar shoos Robin right off if she doesn’t buy something while Barbara’s working. Robin’s spent way too much of her hard-earned Scoops money working her way through every flavour they offer, and started again from the beginning. If she never sees crushed ice again in her life, it’ll be too soon.

So of course Robin’s interested, when she catches Steve and the toothless one with the curls – Henderson? Robin’s pretty sure it’s Henderson – hiding in the breakroom and playing a tape of nonsense, over and over and over again.

Okay. So ‘interested’ might be a slight overstatement. Maybe ‘pissed that Steve’s abandoned her to deal with the mall maggots alone, again’ is more accurate. But still. They’re doing something, and Robin would literally rather set herself on fire than keep manning the counter for one more second.

“Hey, shitbirds!” she announces, storming into the back room and grabbing the tape player from the middle of the shitty card table before either Steve or Henderson can stop her. She holds it over her head, out of at least Henderson’s reach, still spilling its weird droning message. “At least one of you is getting paid to be out front right now. Enough word puzzles.”

She doesn’t really have a lot of patience for the nonplussed look Steve and Henderson trade over the table.

“…word puzzles?” Henderson asks her, at last, and Robin frowns at him.

“Yeah? The week is long, doofus, but it’s not over yet, and if you dillweeds haven’t cracked this thing yet, then sitting back here staring at it isn’t going to make it happen. Do your job.” This she directs at Steve, who has the nerve to frown at her like she’s not making sense.

“Buckley,” he says, squinting at her the way he used to squint at the blackboard in Clicker’s class, “what the hell are you talking about?”

It’s Robin’s turn to stare at him like he’s not making any sense. Because he’s not.

“Your job?” she tries, after a moment. “I mean, I didn’t think you wore that outfit just because you liked the way it looked, but -”

“Hey,” Henderson interrupts, with growing excitement. “Forget about the job for a second. Can you understand what the tape is saying?”

And now Robin gets to stare at him like he’s not making any sense. Because neither of them are.

“I’m not solving your stupid puzzle for you,” she says, at last.

“Not the message, okay! Just the words. Do you understand the words that are coming out of that tape.” Henderson says it like he’s explaining a particularly simple concept to a particularly stupid child. “Do you recognise them.”

Robin glances over at Steve, but sees no help coming from that quarter. “…yes? Is this some kind of trick question?”

“That’s cool,” Steve says, breaking into a grin, like everything makes sense now. “Hey, Buckley, you’ve been holding out on us. You never said you could speak Russian.”

“What? I don’t -” Robin starts, and then sees what she’d seen but hadn’t taken in: the notebooks strewn across the card table, the open dictionary, the scribbled notes… “Wait, this is Russian?”

Henderson nods. Steve nods. Robin looks at the tape player. Now that she’s listening for it, she can tell they’re right. The words spilling out of it definitely aren’t English – the syntax and pronunciation are all wrong. But the message, nonsensical though it is, is coming through loud and clear.

“…huh,” she says, putting the tape player back on the table. “Must be similar enough to – Spanish, I guess.”

Henderson’s giving her some kind of eyeball. “Russian and Spanish are nothing alike,” he informs her imperiously, like he’s the polyglot here. And then his eyes go wide. “Steve. Robin Buckley – wasn’t she on Nancy’s list?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Robin asks. “What list?”

The bell at the front counter dings four or five times in quick succession. Steve huffs out a sigh, and yells, “Coming!”, pushing himself up out of his seat. Robin follows hard on his heels.

“No way. No. You are not getting out of this that easily – Harrington! What list!”

#this is mary's fic tag #stranger things #former heroes who quit too late #the hawkins indiana psychic baby boom #i did some development on a subplot and shuffled a few things in my outline and we are ROLLING on this one again

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xexiar · 6 months

Text

I’m An Idiot. 4

Ch3 Ao3

——

“Bro! What happened to your room?” I watched as shitty hair and dunce face slowly entered my room. When they reached the wall with burnt marks shitty hair pointed at it while looking back at me. “Like, seriously?”

“Deku left for the week.” The way they both fully turned to face me made me sick. But thanks to that jean turtleneck, I promised I would try to reach out more. And since shitty hair kept insisting that I could talk to him no matter what, I took the chance. Especially since I’m not sure I could handle this week on my own. “Deku left for the week.”

“Dude.” I looked up from my feet to dunce face. “Repeating yourself isn’t answering the question.”

Damn it. But how else am I supposed to say it. “Deku. Left. For. The. Week!”

The way they both looked confused just made the sickening feeling worsen. “Oh… OH!” I looked at shitty hair as he slapped his forehead. “You got to be kidding me. Did he tell you that he was leaving?” I shook my head. “And you really thought this,” gesturing to my damaged wall, “was a good response?”

“It’s probably why he didn’t tell you.” I looked over to dunce face. “Maybe he was scared of what you would do to him.” At that I looked over at my bed. “Bro, he had every reason to be terrified. Especially with everything you told us.”

That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I looked it was shitty hair. “And what exactly am I supposed to do when feeling frustrated? Sit and do nothing? For goodness sake. What if Deku…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it as I tried to push shitty hair away.

“I’m not saying you should do nothing. But maybe try something different. I don’t know…”

“Maybe call us first before you blow up.” We looked over at dunce face, and I couldn’t deny it was an option.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s the spirit bro! But now I see why you insisted we didn’t invite Mina.” After a short talk, they helped me move things to the other room. While we went about it was quite between us. “Did you even get a hold of him!”

“Yeah. Super late though. He’s ok and let me know he was coming back Saturday. I even got to ask him about spending a day at the Hero Con.”

“Like a date?”

I suddenly dropped the box of clothes in my hands and turned to face shitty hair. “It’s not a date! We always go to the Hero Con around his birthday!”

“Then why are you getting so worked over it?”

I walked over to dunce face and grabbed him by the collar. “Because I fucked up! So, I will fucking do anything to make it up to him.” The way he looked unbothered by what I said made me uneasy. Why was I feeling that? Especially since for the rest of the morning they both kept stating I was taking Deku on a date. “It’s not like that! He’s a damn nerd! And it’s his birthday weekend!”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Kacchan.” I threw one of my house slippers at dunce face. But he ducked to avoid it. “You asked him out to do something. Which just happens to be something he enjoys. And weren’t you also planning on making him a bento box?”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

“I hate both of you.”

“Whatever you say, Bakubro.” I was not taking Deku on a date. There was no way that was possible. We’re just two guys that happened to be going to a convention. Granted I was going to make him a bento box. But that nerd barely eats. So, someone had to feed him.

And besides, we done this before. So of course, it wasn’t anything super special. Right? We spent many of his birthdays together. Sure, some ended with him crying. And there was this one rule we had that nobody was to know I was nice to him. Not mention last year where he broke down crying and screaming how I hated hm.

Oh god. No wonder he was avoiding me for his birthday. He has every right to avoid me. Damn it! I just kept fucking up everything. Which leaves me to question if he only agreed to come to the con because he didn’t feel he had a choice. I’m such an idiot. What will it take for me to stop fucking everything up?

Once all my stuff had been moved to the other room, I sat on my temporary bed. “So…” I looked at shitty hair as he spun in the spare computer chair. “Are you going to get Midobro flowers while you’re at it?” God damn it.

“What about some chocolates?” I can’t believe these two.

“For god sake it’s not a date. So, just drop it.”

“It could be a date if you just admit it.” I looked to dunce face as he looked through my box of games. “Did you already plan out an outfit?”

I hated how they both looked at me in time for when my face started to burn up. “Yes.” If it wasn’t for the fact, I promised my parents I wouldn’t use my quirk in my temporary room, I would have been blasting the two cackling idiots. “Shut up! I always planned my outfits no matter the occasion.”

“Dude.” Shitty hair was practically rolling on the floor laughing, while trying to not to look at me. Even dunce face was wizzing from how hard he was laughing. I went over and started kicking him. But instead of making him stop, he just laughed harder. “Stop it. Haha. My. Owe. Ribs.”

“I fucking hate you two.” It took them a while before they started to breathe again. Especially shitty hair who held onto the chair like his life depended on it. “For god sake, my folks are in the fashion industry. Of course, I have to plan outfits for any given event.”

“Yeah. Like the event of going on a date with Midoriya.”

“One more word out of you, dance face, and I’m telling ears you’re the one who keeps stealing her pocky sticks!”

“You wouldn’t dare! Because I’ll snitch that you helped.”

“Try me.” Shitty hair started to chuckle behind his hand. “I’ll tell raccoon eyes you’re the one who keeps drinking her soda when she’s not looking.”

“Damn, bro. Are you also going to tell Aizawa that you been ditching English class?”

“I don’t ditch. That’s tape face.” It suddenly got quiet again as dunce face went back to looking at my games.

“So…” I looked over to shitty hair. “What’s so wrong about calling it a date? You do like Midobro, don’t ya?”

I could feel my face burning up but just as quickly a deep pain in my chest made itself known. “Why bother? I already fucked up. There’s no way he could ever like me back. Besides—”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there.” I looked over to shitty hair. “Respectfully, stop your bullshit. And for godsake, just ask him. What’s the worst he gonna do? Say no? But there’s also a chance he’ll say yes.”

“There’s no doubt he’ll say yes.”

“See. Even Denki sees it.”

“You’re both wrong.” I looked down at my open plums and could feel the pain in my chest grow. “There’s no way he would like me. Not after everything I put him through. I bullied him to the point he always left bruised up. I told him to jump off a roof. I made him believe that I hated him. I’m a monster. So, I shouldn’t even try to to ask for the impossible. The fact—” That’s when I felt something hard hit me across the face. “Did you just punch me?”

I watched as shitty hair deactivated his quirk from his hands, before grabbing me by the collar. “Shut the fuck up! Damn it! You keep this up I will personality send you to the hospital. For crying out loud! Anyone with eyes can see that you and Midoriya have a thing for each other. Most days it’s just so painful to watch.”

I shoved shitty hair off me. “If that’s the case than why did Deku leave?” I slowly felt burning wetness trying to make itself known on my cheeks. “Why did Deku leave for a whole week and didn’t tell me? Clearly, it’s because he doesn’t like me! It’s so obvious that he wanted to avoid seeing me! HE HATES ME AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT!” The way shitty held his hands up as he walked backwards was pissing me off.

“Bakubro, chill.” I shoved shitty hair back until he made contact with the wall. “Chill. Chill. Time out, bro.”

“Fuck you!” That’s when I felt someone trying to pull my arms back. “Deku left without saying a word to me! I only found out through his mom telling my old hag! He was never going to tell me that he left! He fucking left me on read when I first tried to reach out to him! Then he didn’t answer me ALL FUCKING GOD DAMN DAY! Deku has every right to hate my fucking guts!” I started to kick at his legs. “I FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!”

I don’t recall when shitty hair and dunce face left, but it has long past dinner time. All I remembered after yelling was that I had kicked them out of my room, and I started crying. It didn’t help that I just don’t know what to do with myself right now. On one hand, I could just sit in my room in silence and let the crushing pain I feel consume me. But I always did that. Or I could try to talk to someone. Anyone for that matter.

I wonder what the nerd was doing. With that thought in mind and went in search for his contact. But I suddenly stopped when I found his name. When was the last time I saw his face? Maybe when we were at that 2-day weekend earlier this month. Would it be bad if I FaceTimed him? Would he even answer?

Taking a deep breath, I just went for it. The worst that could happened is him not answering. As I sat through the ringing, my mind wandered on what if I got ignored again. Would calling or texting be worth it? But those thoughts quickly went away when a certain green hair appeared on my screen. “What took so long, nerd?”

As I watched Deku do his usual fidget, I couldn’t help noticing a few things. “Um… sorry about that. I was doing something.” While looking at him, I could clearly see he was in a sort of bathroom. Mainly based on the tile patterns behind him. But what really caught my attention was the silk like material that hugged his shoulders. Especially with its rich black and orange details around the collar. The fact it closely resembles the colors of my hero costume. Funny enough the colors looked good on him. But I would never say that out loud.

“What in the hell are you wearing, Deku?” The way his face started going red as he fumbled with his words was very cute. He soon went about saying how he was going to show me what he was wearing. And as he did the motions of getting up, I happened to notice more of the robe he had on. The orange collar was almost sheer that I could see the faintness of Deku’s freckled skin. Oh, I didn’t like that. Something about that was pissing me off.

I then watched as the camera was facing a full body mirror and could see the full scale on the robe. To top it off, Deku even hiked up just enough of the robe to show case part of his leg. “It’s my new robe.” The more I looked at his reflection the more I could tell he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Especially with how the lighting in that bathroom shown at the right angle that the robe was see through. Meaning whoever he was spending his birthday week with would be able to see all of that. And just the mere thought was ticking me off.

“Are you even wearing anything underneath?” I know he wasn’t, but I couldn’t help to ask to be sure. There was a chance the lighting was playing tricks. But the way Deku opened the robe enough to drape over his shoulders, made me aware of a tight sensation in my boxers. Especially with how slowly he revealed more of his leg. It almost seemed like he was giving me my own private show. But it did not erase the fact that I was pissed. In turn, seeing that he really didn’t have nothing but a cloth to cover his front, he was naked under that! “What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry.” When the camera returned back to Deku’s face, I almost forgot why I was angry. Seeing how his neck and collarbone was bare for my viewing pleasure. But the robe that hanged off his shoulder kept my anger at the forefront. “It’s just that this feels strangely comfy. I have pictures of the other clothes I bought. Do you want me to send them to you?”

Pictures? As in more than one photo? Maybe once I can calm down from being angry, I could enjoy those later. “Fine.” While watching the nerd fumble through the screen, I silently enjoy the little show before me. The way he mumbled to himself. How there were a gorgeous array of freckles scattered across his chest and arms. The way he looked good enough to eat while also being cute. It would be a dream to bite that Adam’s apple of his.

The more I stared at him the more I wish I was there. It should be illegal to look like that. I wonder what sounds he would make as I kiss every scar. That’s another thing I wish I could do. And the longer I looked at him, I tried to memorize every fine detail. What was wrong with me that I bullied him. Before I could venture down those thoughts my messenger went off.

When I looked through the photos, I slowly started seeing red. A number of them had him wearing in different types of lingerie. Most of which were taken in what seemed to be a bedroom, in front of a mirror. But what really set me off was this one photo that was clearly taken by someone else. Someone had full access to viewing Deku in such an intimate manner. I felt my jaw tighten as I locked eyes with the nerd. “Who the fuck is with you?” The way I saw him visibly shake was setting me off. Even more as I saw him start to hyperventilate. “NERD!”

“Momo, Tsu, Ochako, Ida and…” The way Deku broke eye contact with me and stutter, I already knew who the last person was. But I want him to say it. Oh, fucking god damn it, I’m going to beat the shit out of all of them. Including, “Todoroki.”

Before I even got a chance to scream, I quickly covered my mouth. For a brief moment I remembered what shitty hair and dunce face had said. After all, the fact that I always blowup when I’m angry is one of the many reasons Deku was trying to avoid me. I don’t want that. Taking a deep breath, I tried to not to scream. “Why didn’t you tell me the first time?”

“I was scared you would bother them if I didn’t answer you. For goodness sake, you texted Todoroki when I didn’t answer you. So, I had every right to be scared.” He was right on that. And the way I wanted to curse every single one of them out right now is proof.

Leaning back against the wall, I happened to notice that Deku started to bite his bottom lip. Oh great. That’s the face he makes when he’s trying so hard to not cry while someone is screaming at him. Do I scare him that much when I’m mad? Even though he looks cute when he does that, I rather see that face for a whole different reason. “Next time answer me and that wouldn’t have happened.” The way he nodded his head had his robe fall even more off his shoulders. It was to the point that his whole upper half was exposed. I want to touch him. Damn it! “Fix your robe.”

As I was now looking at a ceiling, I enjoyed the painted details. Besides the bright lights, it was nice. I wonder where he was that had those types of ceilings. Would any of the photos he sent me have a detail view of the room he was in? Oh god. Thinking about those photos is making a certain member feel sensitive against the fabric of my boxers. That’s when I suddenly heard whimpering.

“What the fuck?” When I saw Deku’s face again, I almost couldn’t believe it. What was it now? “Why are you crying now?” The way he avoided eye contact was annoying. But he did more than what I could ask, so I’ll let him off the hook for now. “Did you eat?”

“Yes. We ate a big breakfast here, in the hotel.” I wonder what hotel. “We also enjoyed stuff at the mall. Before taking the pictures we also ate a big dinner.”

“I didn’t ask about them.” The way Deku’s face started to have the shade of red oh his cheeks was perfect. “What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

“I”m not sure yet. Since I didn’t really plan anything past the location I wanted to visit.” As I watched Deku fidget with the collar of his robe, I couldn’t help but notice the way he was facing away from me. Which always meant he was hiding something. When he talks to me, he’s always either looking down or in my general direction. What is he hiding?

“Why are you in the bathroom?”

“It had the best lighting.”

“Is someone in your room?” He looked up at me and said no. “So, go to your bed. There’s no point in standing the whole time.”

“You’re right.” He stood quiet as he moved around. “Do you… want to see the suite… I’m staying in?”

“Sure.” The moment he switched the camera around, I was left speechless. “Who the fuck is paying for all this? Is it icyhot?”

“No, actually. I told you how I been doing deliveries for someone.” That’s right. The nerd did mention he works, which is how he had those storage units. “So, the person I work for is paying for everything as a birthday present.” He then went about showing me around the penthouse suite he was in. At that, it was huge. From the decent size waiting room to the walk-in closet, and the lavish king size bed. “The others have smaller rooms. Which happens to be located one floor down from me.” That was good to hear. But it didn’t make me feel any better. “So, what do you think?”

“Meh. Do you like it?”

The way the nerd frowned as he looked away, had me on edge again. “It’s so big. Even though it’s all for my birthday, it feels too much.”

“Just enjoy it.” I watched as the robe started to fall off Deku’s shoulders again. “Are you really going to go to sleep like that?” The way he rubbed his shoulder as he mumbled had me wondering what his skin felt like. Especially with how delicate he looked just standing there. “Nerd.”

“I was thinking about it.” Deku then started to pout as he started to move. “But I’ll put on a proper pair of boxers and my sleeping shirt.”

“Good.” At that, Deku’s face started to turn a light shade of red. I wonder why.

“Kacchan?” As I watched as Deku set me down somewhere, I eventually was able to see him fidget with his fingers. “Do I really have to change now while you’re on the phone?”

“Seeing you like that is pissing me off. So, hurry up and change.” It wasn’t a lie. I was pissed at how naked he was planning to sleep. And I wanted to make sure he actually switched his clothes. But I was not expecting the nerd to cry as he fully removed his robe. Especially when I had clear view of his full body. “Stop crying.” That just made him cry even more. So, I put my phone down, so I didn’t watch him. “Let me know when you’re done.”

Why did that seemed to make the crying worse? Did Deku want me to watch him get changed? Was it something I said? It’s not his fault I was pissed that he was in a hotel dress like that. Especially when other people were spending his birthday week with him. What if he opened his hotel suite fully uncovered? The mere thought of all those extras seeing Deku naked sent my nerves on fire. “I’m done.”

I picked up my phone and saw a proper dressed and puffy face Deku. “Good.” Deku started to sniffle as he grabbed his phone. “Did you pack any sunscreen?” He shook his head. “God damn it, nerd. Did you forget you turn to a fucking lobster when you get sunburned?”

“Sorry, Kacchan.”

“Sorry nothing.” I watched as Deku bit his bottom lip again, as he whimpered. It didn’t help that I saw the tears running down his face again. “Make sure to buy some sunscreen tomorrow before you do anything else. And drink some water.”

“Yes, Kacchan.”

“Nerd.” Deku made eye contact with me. “Get some sleep and have fun tomorrow. I…” Was I really going to say this out loud? Damn it. Whatever. “I want to hear all about your day tomorrow.” I felt my face heating up as I allowed the words to be spoken. It also didn’t help the way Deku had a soft smile as he nodded.

“Good night, Kacchan.”

“Night, nerd.”

#mha #bakugo katsuki #fanfic #izuku midoriya #bkdk #bnha bkdk #bakugou x deku #bkdk fanfic

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