#frenemies to lovers

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #bouncer!eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things fic #frenemies to lovers #stranger things AU #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #bangaveragefics

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention. 

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 6k+

A/N: For this chapter, I played with the idea of having Zoro’s POV. It felt necessary for the story progression that I had in mind. This chapter was a tad fun to write, and I hope that translated well into the story. Originally it was going to be longer, but I realized I wanted to save the dinner to go with all the action to end the Episode 3-4 story arc. Thank you guys so much for the love you’ve given this little story. I hope it continues to be one you enjoy 🖤 Much Love, Jenn

Previous Next

This place is a maze. 

That thought rang true with every hallway you entered and the endless number of rooms within. With every step you took inside Kaya’s large estate, those words kept echoing through your head. How many guest suites could one house possibly hold? But also, why would you ever need so many?

You’d been wandering the halls for what felt like an eternity. Your head poked into each room after a brief knock. Yes, a brief knock before plunging head-first into someone’s private space wasn’t much of a warning but at least you were knocking. 

And all of this just to find Zoro who may or may not help you expose whatever metaphorical skeletons this butler had stuffed in his metaphorical closet. Or an actual closet. The possibilities felt endless. 

You weren’t even sure how you were going to explain to him exactly why you were searching for him without sounding like a creep. You would just have to cross that bridge when you came to it. 

You were about to give up trying to locate him because you were pretty sure you’d just passed that same exact clock for the second time in a row. You let out a raspberry as you placed your hands on your hips. Was it plausible you were lost? Inside a ginormous house like this? Yes, it sure as shit was. Maybe you should’ve been dropping breadcrumbs to find your way back to your own room when this was over. 

Rolling your tongue around your mouth, you looked down to your right and realized there were only two more doors left. What could it hurt just to look? You were already down here anyway. 

With a shrug, you moved towards the second to last door near the end of the hall. You weren’t in a rush to check what was behind either one, but you were also not leaving any stone unturned and all that. If your earlier dozen room checks were any indication of what to expect, you were willing to bet that you were going to find absolutely nothing waiting for you. The joy of joys. 

You were just a few feet from the door when you heard the lock click. The sound caused you to stop dead center, facing the door like an absolutely terrified rabbit caught in the headlights. What were the chances that whoever opened that door was going to be Zoro? And what were the chances that he would be willing to listen to what you had to say? 

The possibility of your questions being answered ebbed the panic in your chest down just a tad. Enough that when the door finally opened and Zoro was, in fact, standing before you, you silently thanked the universe for your suddenly award-winning luck. 

That was until you realized he was just standing there. In a robe. A silk robe with his swords slung over his shoulder and because of his current hold on his swords, said robe in question was flashing a peak of his chest. You immediately wanted to take back your previous thank you letter to the universe. 

This should be illegal. 

The worst part? You were pretty positive from the way Zoro was staring at you - his eyes taking you in from top to bottom lord HELP you - he did not seem as impressed with you as you were of him. Why in the hell couldn’t you say a word? Yes, he was attractive - stupidly so - but he was also just another guy. 

A guy in a thin silk robe and hair still damp from a bath. 

You watched as Zoro’s body began to relax, or relax as much as someone like him could. It was when he let out a sigh as if your very presence was keeping him from something important, that you felt your feet remove themselves from their spot in the carpet and spring you forward. 

There was a split second when Zoro’s eyes registered your movement. His eyebrows raised up in surprise as the almond shape of his eyes widened just a tad before he braced for whatever you were about to do. Zoro was planning on an attack and his body was primed to force you back. Instead of violence, he was met with your hands shoving him back inside his room with your foot kicking the door swiftly closed behind you. 

Once you knew you were both securely back inside the room, you stopped shoving him. You waited for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room before you looked around. It would be embarrassing if you’d done this and someone else - Nami or Luffy or anyone else really - had been inside with him. The only thing you noticed, however, was his previous clothes strewn across the room. 

When your eyes ventured back to Zoro you found his earlier shock replaced by what you could only guess was his usual stonewall expression. 

“Look,” he began the timber of his voice causing you to jump. “You seem nice and all, if not a little disturbed, but I’m not interested.” 

You looked up at him with your confusion knitting your brow together. 

“Not interested?”

You weren’t sure why it took you that long to realize what he meant, but it was dawning on you at warp speed and your confusion was quickly replaced with horror. 

“Oh my god! No, no! I was not trying to like, do anything to you like that.”

The disbelief in his eyes told you plainly he didn’t believe you, and by the tick in his jaw something was bothering him about your statement. 

Shit! He thinks I’m a perv 

You wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and die there. You followed his eyes as they trailed down his chest to find your hands were very much still attached to him, practically groping him. 

“Then why are your hands still on my chest?”

A small squeak of surprise left you as you dropped your hands down to your sides and shook them like it would be enough to get rid of the feeling of cupping his very pronounced…chest. You took a step back from him in hopes that giving him space would save the entire interaction. 

“Sorry about all the ugh…touching,” you mumbled. “But I did come here to speak to you about something.” 

“This is going to be good. Is it to convince me you weren’t trying to grope me?”

“God, you aren’t going to let it go, are you?” 

Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. When you finished, you opened your eyes again and gave him the best smile you could muster. 

“Okay, let’s start this again. I,” you motioned towards yourself, “have come to ask you if you noticed anything weird.” 

Zoro cocked an eyebrow at you. His arms moved to lock his arms across his chest somehow exposing the peek of flesh from the robe even more. 

“You mean weirder than right now?”

You purse your lips together tightly as you try to exhale all the annoyance from gathering in your body. 

“Let’s just move on from this moment, ok,” you began. “I came to talk to you about the butler.”

Without warning, Zoro rolled his eyes and dropped his arms from his chest. His swords clanging against his leg reminding you that he wasn’t making any move to set them down anytime soon. 

“Here we go again about the butler,” he groaned, and the very sound shouldn’t have sounded as enticing as it did.

Focus! 

“Oh, save it!” You snapped. “I saw you, okay? The way you looked at Klahadore before you followed your friends inside. You looked at him like you recognized him. Like you’d seen him before somewhere.” 

Zoro regarded you coolly. The hardness that had disappeared while he’d teased you earlier slid back into place until he was as unreadable as stone. 

“I’ve never seen that butler before in my entire life.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

You couldn’t keep the exasperation from your voice or how your desperation was starting to creep back in. Could you have been wrong about Zoro this whole time? Did you just see what you wanted to see?

No. You know what you saw and you were not going to be called crazy. You took a step towards him and weren’t surprised when he didn’t move back. Instead, he tilted his chin, his full pouty lips still very much pouting, as his eyes carefully watched you. 

“You know, that I know, that you looked at that guy and went, ‘hmph, something’s not right there’.” 

Yeah, that felt like a solid argument. 

You waited under Zoro’s cool gaze for him to reply. For him to show any sign of anything, really. He was literally the most unmoving person you’d ever meet, and you were starting to wonder if he was even real. The shitty part about waiting in silence, besides the uneasy commentary your brain was beginning to make, was the smell of the vanilla and sandalwood that wafted off him in mini waves that assaulted your senses. 

You were so intently transfixed by trying to match his unblinking gaze that when he finally moved his head down to be eye level with you, you’d almost jumped out of your skin. 

“Is everything okay with you? Do you suffer from any brain damage?” 

You wish you could say you handled the next few seconds with grace and poise. Things that all upstanding future doctors did when faced with adversity. However, that was most definitely not you, and you weren’t able to keep an exacerbated yell of frustration from cairning past your lips. 

“Oh! You are literally the most infuriating man I have ever met!”

“And you are the most perverted woman I have ever met,” Zoro shot back, this time taking a step towards you. 

If he was trying to intimidate you, he should’ve tried back when you weren’t ready to tear him limb from limb. 

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Who just pushes a semi-naked man into a room so they can grope him?”

“I wasn’t trying to grope you! I was trying to interrogate you for information!”

God, that sounded so much worse. 

“That sounds a lot worse, actually.”

Of course, Zoro would state the obvious, and was he - was he smirking? Your eyes rapidly blinked as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing because as fast as you’d noticed it, that devilish smirk had disappeared. Now Zoro once again looked as serious as before. You began to move back towards the door with your hands up in mock surrender. 

“You know what - fine! If you don’t want to help me, that’s your choice, but you know I’m right. And I’m going to prove that something is wrong here with or without your help.”

You shot one last look in his direction before turning on your heel and giving him your back. You were at the door, your hand on the doorknob when Zoro surprised you with a question of his own. 

“Why ask me to help you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you expected to see that smug smirk on his face or to get the cold shoulder. What you found instead were eyes so intent on you - waiting for your response - that it caused your lungs to collapse. A million replies played over through your mind, but only one of them mattered. 

“Because out of everyone here, I thought you would believe me the most.” 

It didn’t matter if it was the answer he’d been looking for or the one you thought would win him over. You meant what you said and you hoped he’d felt your admission genuinely. If Usopp didn’t want to believe you, and if Zoro, who you still believed knew or at least felt something was off here, wasn’t going to be able to help you, you would just have to do it yourself. 

Did you know what that entailed? Hell no, but Naan didn’t raise a quitter, and you weren’t going to roll over and just give up just because it was hard. Not when someone’s very life depended on you. 

——————

After your incredible failure of finding a co-conspirator to help you on your quest for answers failed with flying colors, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with yourself. Usopp no doubt must have snuck in by now to see Kaya - sans your “gift” - and the others were probably in the ridiculous closet looking for dinner attire. While you could’ve gone just to socialize with everyone else, Kaya had sent a dress to your room. 

Sham had looked absolutely miserable dropping it off and that was a joy all on its own. 

You considered heading to the closet just to see Luffy again. Luffy radiated optimism like sunshine; at the moment, that sort of unyielding optimism was the mood booster you needed. 

Unfortunately, you knew Zoro must have made his way there by now and you weren’t necessarily ready to face him again. The disappointment was clinging to you and that’s what you hated the most. You didn’t understand why you’d seemingly put all your eggs inside the Zoro basket. Just because he’d looked at Klahadore weird didn't mean he’d sensed something off. 

Shit, Klahadore was weird and deserved every side-eye glance he got. 

All it meant for you was going back to the drawing board for a new plan. One that was going to be able to get you next to Kaya. At least long enough so you could perform some kind of assessment. 

You rounded the corner to what you hoped was the hallway your room was down. The earlier thought you’d had about getting lost turned into an accurate one. You’d spent just as much time trying to get back to your room to get ready for dinner as you had searching for Zoro. 

Zoro.

Even just thinking about him made your jaw clench with fresh irritation. What was more infuriating than your most recent conversation was the fact you could still feel the strength of him in the hollows of your palms. The sharpness of his jaw and the high sculpt of his cheeks- 

No! Absolutely not, you chastised yourself. 

It was maddening how little he believed you - mocked you - and yet, here you were acting like some lovestruck teenager. He wasn’t that handsome. 

You were lost in your thoughts to the point you weren’t aware of your body's attempt to warn you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and a sickening feeling began to rot in your gut and made sure all the imaginary - very imaginary - butterflies disappeared. 

The goosebumps that rose along your exposed skin informed you that the grand hallway, filled with all its riches and fine cherry woods was as ice cold as the dead. Has it always been this cold and you just never noticed? Or the eerie silence that made the manor feel more haunted than alive. 

Your feet involuntarily came to a halt in the middle of the hall. You couldn’t explain the panic that was building in your chest, but it felt like you were being watched. Your heart rate sped up until you could practically feel it thundering against your ribs. 

“You are being silly,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just an old house.” 

“Old houses do have their quirks, don’t they?”

You wish you could say that when Klahadore spoke from behind you, you’d reacted with grace. With dignity. What actually happened was you screamed sharp enough it could raise the dead. 

The whiplash you gave yourself as you turned to face him was dizzying. You wanted to kill the fear that widened your eyes and pressed your brow into your hairline. Your mouth was painfully dry as you took in his presence and the absolute shit-eating grin he wore. 

He enjoyed seeing you afraid. 

“Oh dear, Doc, did I give you a fright?”

Klahadore gently tipped the frame of his glasses with the edge of his palm. You wanted to smack them off his smug face. 

“What do you want, Klahadore?”

You struggled to regain your composure. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you afraid. It was what he wanted after all and didn’t take much to notice. He was already trying to close the few inches your retreat had given you. 

“I was simply wondering why you were wandering around the manor. You’ve been showing highly suspicious behavior ever since you and your friends arrived.” 

Your eyes narrowed in on him and as you held your head high. 

“Have you been following me?”

“Oh, come now, don't be silly. To have someone followed means you’re worried about what they’ll find, and you? You are the last thing I would be worried about.” 

Klahadore dropped his head down until he was eye level with you, but somehow used his size to remain imposing. A thinly veiled threat to remind you exactly what he thought of you; nothing. 

The first time you’d ever received an insult from Klahadore had been just like this. Alone and away from anywhere Kaya could hear him. He’d made sure that Usopp and you were together just so he wouldn’t have to repeat the insult twice. 

“I know you two must feel exceedingly special having Miss Kaya ask for you to come keep her company, but I’m afraid this will be the last time you ever come over unannounced or not. We can’t allow her image to be tarnished from being seen with unwanted children.” “Unwanted?” Usopp had been so confused - he knew he was wanted; wanted by Kaya and you. Klahadore saw in that confusion an opportunity to place doubt in his mind and completely tear him apart.  “Yes - unwanted. So unwanted that your father never returned, and your mother chose death as a final way to be rid of you.” “You son of a bitch!” You’d snarled and snapped. You were only kids.  The world had taught you early on about hardships and fairness; how the world and the people in it could lack kindness. But Naan always made you look for the good in the world, and in the people who sometimes allowed the ugliness of others to warp them into someone they weren’t.  It was a concept child you never understood. Teenage you were barely beginning to grasp it, but when Klahadore spoke those words so full of hate and venom at your best friend: there weren’t enough flames left in hell to cover up your rage.

The memory of that day left a black mark on your soul and you find it replaying at the most inconvenient of times. A harsh reminder of the first time you’d ever considered murder as a means of healing. The world would have to be a better place if someone like Klahadore wasn’t in it. Right? 

Naan, as always, talked you down from doing something rash. From allowing someone like Klahadore to have the last laugh and ruin all the plans you had for your life. 

But Naan wasn’t here to talk you off that ledge or to remind you who she knew you were. Your rage shouldn’t define you. Looking at Klahadore’s retreating back, you weren’t all too sure if it wasn’t you because if he ever showed up needing any form of medical attention, you weren’t so sure if he’d leave on his own two feet. 

A body bag would suit him nicely. 

You watched him until he completely disappeared leaving you alone once more inside the hallway. It felt weird to take those first steps back towards your room. To go inside and see the dress Kaya had sent to your room and know you were going to put it on and share dinner with that man standing in the same room. 

There had to be a way to show everyone here exactly who Klahadore was, and you would spend the whole dinner trying to do just that. 

———————

He’d been searching for a drink since his interaction with you back in his room. Zoro wanted to call you crazy - hell you acted crazy enough, but you’d done something he hadn’t expected. 

You’d surprised him.

He didn’t want to admit it then but he did get a weird vibe from the butler. The minute his eyes landed on Klahadore it had sparked a nagging feeling of a memory he just couldn’t quite place. 

And you’d noticed. 

After you’d left his room, he couldn’t shake the conversation you’d forced him to be a part of. Teasing you had been easy. He’d expected you to be a bleeding heart, but as you’d turned to leave, stomping your feet and spitting back words that stung for just a second, it had been Zoro’s turn to notice something about you. 

It was the fire of your determination that piqued his interest.  

While Zoro wasn’t sure why you held such a stick up your ass exactly about the butler, he was positive you had a reason. Besides the fact he couldn’t seem to pull up a clear memory of why the same butler piqued his own interest, and that was beginning to piss him off. 

What was even more annoying was the fact you’d brought it up enough that he’d asked Nami and Luffy if the butler seemed familiar. He didn’t know why he’d asked. If it had been more for him or for you. 

That pissed him off more. 

You seemed to be good at that. Pissing him off and getting under his skin. 

When he came downstairs, Zoro expected you to be there already. A quick glance around the room informed him you weren’t there, but a row of flutes filled with what he hoped was alcohol most certainly was. 

He carefully set down his strap of swords and moved closer to the drinks. No one else made a move towards them and, for a split second, Zoro was worried maybe the flutes were nonalcoholic. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the delicate crystal and quickly brought it to his lips. 

The smell of the liquor hit him first and his muscles relaxed instantaneously. 

God. This was exactly what he needed. 

“Zoro! You gotta try this!”

Zoro didn’t bother looking because he’d seen the appetizers being served when he came down the stairs. He wasn’t impressed. Plus, if he was going to make it through this evening, he was going to need way more booze than what was inside these little Crystal flutes. 

“I got all I need right here,” he replied and brought the glass up to his lips. 

The first sip erased all the tension that had been binding up his muscles. The next pull from the glass relaxed him completely, and he downed what was left in one giant gulp. He placed the now-empty flute back down on the tray and swiftly grabbed another. 

Zoro was vaguely aware of all the chatting going on around him. The sound of Usopp and Luffy sharing stories and Nami doing whatever it was Nami did during fancy dinner parties. He meant what he said - he did have everything he needed to make it through this dinner inside these glasses. At least, that’s what he thought until the sound of a heel echoing off the step brought his attention to the top of the stairs. 

He was sure the new flute with his latest drink was at his lips. Zoro inhaled the sharp scent of liqueur with every breath he took. He just couldn’t seem to make his elbow bend enough to drop it from his face. 

You were making your way down the staircase, oblivious to the world around you as you came down with a hand carefully placed on the railing. 

The dress you wore was covered in article flowers; all of their small bold colors were bright against the backdrop of black chiffon. The top of the dress left your shoulders exposed, and the style you’d chosen to wear your hair, with beads of pearls intricately placed within each strand, made you seem ethereal. 

You looked like moonlight inside a garden; soft and wild and for the first time Zoro forgot that breathing was important. 

Once you reached the last step, your eyes finally moved up from the safety of your feet. Zoro was vaguely aware the rim of the glass was still resting on his bottom lip, and that he’d yet to take a drink. He felt frozen - helpless - until your eyes found his rooted frame - helplessly waiting - and the smile that curved your lips brightened up the room. 

It was in this second that he realized he was fucked, and the annoyance of that realization was enough for him to finally upend the glass in one large gulp. 

——————

Zoro had looked at you for less than a millisecond before he’d upended the contents of his glass in one large gulp. His disinterest was evident enough throughout his entire body. With one last glance in your direction, he turned back to the waiting tray of glasses. 

Well, that wasn’t the reaction you’d expected. 

The disappointment scraped raw across your chest as you watched Zoro take up another glass. His gaze was steadfast at the wall as he downed whatever was inside. What felt more disappointing was the fact you’d cared. 

For all intents and purposes, Zoro was an asshole. So, it begged the ever-present question: Why did it bother you so much? 

Yes, you’d painstakingly gotten ready around the dress Kaya left inside your suite. Was it your usual taste? You weren’t all that sure, to be honest. It’s not like you’d ever been invited to any fancy dinner parties before. You weren’t sure if this was the proper form of dress or if you’d gone overboard with your hair. 

At least Nami had a feather inside her hair and it looked as if she’d given her blood-orange hair some curls. She looked absolutely gorgeous and you made it your mission to tell her.

“Wow, Doc you look-“ Usopp began. 

You turned beaming towards your friend as you waited for him to acknowledge your hard work. Maybe at least Usopp, of all people, would say something nice. 

“Different.”

You could practically feel your smile deflate at the edges. 

“What did you put in your hair?” Luffy asked around a mouthful of meat. 

“Oh yeah, I was wondering what looked different. It’s the hair,” Usopp confirmed with Luffy. 

The both of them smiled and nodded at one another as if they just solved world hunger. Your tongue rolled around your cheek as you debated on what to say. Maybe you’d expected to much out of a bunch of men. 

“They’re pearls,” you huffed. 

“That’s silly,” Luffy chuckled. “Why would you ever put pearls in your hair?”

“It’s to look nice.”

“I never knew hair needed accessories,” Usopp offered before taking a bit of his appetizer.

“Nami put a feather in her hair,” Luffy offered before taking another bite. “Maybe you guys can talk about putting random stuff in your hair.” 

There was no way this conversation could be real, and yet…

Luffy was still wearing his genuine smile while he and Usopp continued to enjoy the appetizers Sham passed around. This evening was turning out to be the last time you’d ever consider wearing anything like this again. What was even worse was that out of the three of them, Zoro was the only one properly dressed. 

While Usopp went with his usual no shirt underneath his jacket, Luffy was wearing just a petty coat and miraculously found dress slacks that didn’t even reach his ankle. They looked like their usual selves, just dressed in black. 

But Zoro…

No! Absolutely not.

“I’ll go look for Nami so we can discuss…putting things in our hair.”

“That’s great! I’m sure it will make her happy. She seemed frustrated earlier when she asked for help.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you mumbled, as you turned to find Nami speaking to Merry. 

Well, it looked like that was going to be a bust too. Man, she really did look very pretty, though. You were considering what your options were. You weren’t comfortable just injecting yourself into whatever conversation Nami and Merry were having, especially not when she was rubbing his arm like that. 

Luckily for you, the sound of Klahadore announcing Kaya’s entrance kept you from having to go with your final option, which was to get a drink. Next to Zoro. 

You all collectively turned to watch as Klahadore helped Kaya make her way down the stairs. You couldn’t help but smile up at her and her current choice of attire. While she’d made you look like a garden, you could only assume she was the sunshine that hovered above it. The only problem you had with the golden silk material was that it somehow made her sickly pale skin appear paler. 

She must have picked the color in hopes it wouldn’t do that, but all it did was raise the alarm bells in the back of your mind. You’d allowed a pretty dress and a fancy meal to cloud the real reason you’d come in the first place. Instead of being a doctor, you were playing dress-up. 

You were still scolding yourself when Kaya finally made it to the end of the staircase. Her smile was bright and happier than it had been in a long time, as she regarded Nami and the dress she’d chosen. It hadn’t even registered that any of the clothes you currently were wearing belonged to her deceased parents. You made a mental note to make sure to take extra special care not to ruin the dress with any droplets of food. 

“Oh, Doc, I’m so glad I picked this,” Kaya breathed. “You look absolutely magical.” 

You couldn’t help but look down at the dress again. It was an incredibly delicate dress. A work of art to be worn on the body. Maybe that was why you felt like such an imposter wearing it. 

When you looked back at her, you tried to give Kaya a convincing smile. One you could even make yourself believe you felt worthy to have it on. 

“Oh, Kaya you are too nice,” you replied, only for her to shoot you down with a wave of her hand. 

“Nonsense. Usopp is always telling me about all the good you do for everyone. It’s time you let yourself be appreciated.”

Your earlier response to Kaya’s welcoming smile was one of your own, but at the mention of your supposed good deeds, you felt it tighten into a grimace. 

It means nothing if I can’t even help you.

Up close, her color wasn’t pale - it was ashen. The whites of her eyes were devoured with a yellowish tint and - 

Like the parasite he was, Klahadore was there pulling Kaya gently by her elbow to lead her back to the conversation between herself and Merry. Your eyes followed him as he made sure to plant her a few feet in front of you; her back excluding you from following to join. 

Once he made sure she was safely away from you, Klahadore stationed himself a few feet away next to the penguin pillar at the base of the stairs. He thought he was sneaky and that he had stopped your trained eyes from being able to do a quick evaluation.

Unlucky for Klahadore you were quicker than he thought. 

You were getting ready to head over to him when you caught Zoro walking back over to the tray. He was doing his usual of placing down an empty glass only to grab a fresh one, except this time he was talking. To Klahadore. 

What a fucking liar!

You couldn’t think straight as you watched the exchange. The way Klahadore overplayed the flabbergasted victim. You didn’t have to be close to them to know what Zoro was asking him, because just like you’d suspected, he did seem familiar to Zoro. 

It felt like you could breathe fire, you were so pissed. 

At some point, Klahadore ended the conversation by interjecting himself into someone else’s conversation. You didn’t care what it was. They could’ve been discussing flying pigs for all you cared. Your eyes were still honed in on Zoro who regarded you for a split second before he sat back down in the parlor’s middle seat. 

You started making your way towards him when Klahadore called out it was time to eat. You suddenly weren’t hungry. 

Zoro must have sensed you coming for him because in one swift move, he was out of the seat and standing. The strap that held his katana’s back over his shoulder as he followed Sham behind the double doors.

“You son of a-“

“Doc!” Usopp whisper-shouted as he nervously took your hand in his. “Sit next to me. Please.” 

You were still seeing metaphorical red. Your brain firing rapidly on only one main thought and that was to get a hold of Zoro and throttle him. 

It wasn’t Usopp’s fault that Zoro was a dick, and he looked genuinely terrified. Stuffing your current bad mood as far down as you could muster (you were about to see said moss-haired reason for your fowl mood in t-minus two seconds), you planted on a smile and gently took Usopp’s hand. 

“What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t?”

“Oh, thank god,” he laughed. 

The both of you followed closely behind Merry and the others as you were all escorted inside the dining room. Merry quickly took his seat at the end of the table, and you noticed rather quickly Zoro had claimed the seat closest to the door. 

Without thinking, you took the seat beside him and motioned for Usopp to take the last one. The one directly beside Kaya. For a moment, Usopp looked at you wide-eyed and uncertain. You did your best to make him comfortable. 

“You got this, Usopp,” you whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”

His response came in a small nod that did little to erase the terror that shined in his eyes. You gave his arm a light squeeze for reassurance before you straightened up in the chair. Glancing over, you watched as Zoro poured what looked like a freshly opened bottle of wine into a glass. 

You waited patiently for him to finish and when he went to set the bottle down you made your move. With a slight lean to your right, you swiped your hand out to grab a hold of the glass. Zoro caught the movement too late, but you now had his full attention. His nostrils flaring the only indication that he was irritated by your sudden drink stealing. 

Good. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He questioned. 

His dark eyes never left your face as he waited for you to answer. 

“Being petty.”

To bring the point home, you tilted the glass in his direction in a silent salute. You made sure he watched as you brought it to your lips and took a sip of the blood-red wine within. 

Zoro’s jaw ticked in irritation as you gave him a devious smirk, and when Sham came by Zoro waved her over. 

“I need a new glass.”

Now the smile that graced your lips was genuine and you made sure Zoro was aware of it. It was time to have a little fun of your own and that included hogging as much of his alcohol as humanly possible. 

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

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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

Taglist:@thegreatesttttttttt @katiemrty @sorasolarium @ponyboys-sunsets @flowersgirl02 @spilled-coffee-cup @instabull @charleslec-airlines @dixonsbugaboo @amanda08319 @moony-artemis @iloveautumn1 @yoheyyosup @ghostyycat7 @csmbrainrot

If I missed tagging anyone please let me know!

#Chaos in Their Bones #ongoing series #one piece live action #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #op zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #opla zoro x reader #opla #one piece #roronoa zoro fanfiction #opla fanfiction #frenemies to lovers #slow burn #friends to lovers #mutual pining #one piece x reader #one piece x you #reader is referred as Doc

[woncoyo]

★ SHE'S ALL THAT — PSH

synopsis: you're a naive soul clueless about the intricacies of relationships, yet fate has woven you deeply in love with lee juyeon. after awkwardly pouring your heart out to sunghoon, the person you hold the most disdain for, he surprisingly resolves to assist you in shedding your awkwardness and becoming more appealing, perhaps to finally catch the eye of your longtime crush.

or where sunghoon embarks on a journey to help you get together with juyeon, seeking to make amends for all the years he tormented you during school, without considering the possibility of falling for you.

genres: romance, fluff, frenemies to lovers, he fell first and harder, adulthood au, college au, comedy, written series, opposites attract.

warnings: suggestive (more like scenes with a lot of tension), mentions of sex, bad jokes, swearing.

author's note: i'm really excited about this story (which is an improved version of the heeseung long fic 'the way i loved you' that i posted a while ago under the username chacottone). i can't promise frequent chapter updates, but i'll do my best not to prolong the end of this series. feel free to interact and support its progress <3

taglist: open! send an ask or comment to be added.

CHAPTERS:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀prologue.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chapter one.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chapter two.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chapter three.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chapter four.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chapter five.

© woncoyo

#enhypen fluff #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enha #enhypen headcanons #sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon #enhypen drabbles #frenemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #written series #long fic enhypen #sunghoon long fic #enhypen #enhypen masterlist #enhypen written series #enhypen au #sunghoon au #college au

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together: 

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.” 

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could. 

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied. 

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.” 

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to. 

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well.  With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through. 

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years. 

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you. 

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

 “Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.” 

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door. 

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this. 

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you. 

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning. 

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building. 

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms. 

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked. 

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. 

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.  

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you. 

“I said enough,” he snapped. 

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?” 

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said. 

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before. 

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth. 

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her. 

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team. 

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world. 

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.” 

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm. 

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone. 

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile. 

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said. 

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair. 

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory. 

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them. 

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.   

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it. 

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.” 

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother. 

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there. 

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened. 

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.” 

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.” 

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him. 

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone. 

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now. 

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.  

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said. 

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow. 

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.” 

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Buuut…?” 

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Next Time:

Ready for Part 2 (of 3) of "Love Actually"?

(AKA: Ben is forced to attend Christmas dinner to meet his girlfriend's whole family.)

Here's a sneak peek:

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—” 

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze. 

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke...

😂 Until then, let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#The Epilogue #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 18 #zepskies writes

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His stubbornness and stoic grace.  His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together.  The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares.  At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too.  Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration.  His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you.  Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness.  The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean.  Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection.  You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”.  Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable.  Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other.  Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging.  “Cas made his choice.”  His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.”  You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.”  He states, matter of fact.  “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”  Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh.  “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.”  You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however.  Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala.  Shit!  Angels.  Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt.  How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them.  You, however, are stuck.  With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres.  At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland.  You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins.  Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car.  The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path.  You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood.  That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind.  You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!”  You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone.  “Sam is driving.  He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big.  That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do.  From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.”  Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!”  Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin.  You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain.  “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.”  Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.”  Sam offers.  “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!”  Dean snaps.  “You’re both safe.  I want you to stay that way.  Get someplace and lay low.  We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…”  Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No!  Okay?  For once, just do what I say.  We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response.  You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns.  It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals.  Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady.  Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle.  Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.”  Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax.  He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back.  The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode.  He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset.  You point to the sign and Deans nods.  He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you.  It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes.  You feel it too.  Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release.  You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better.  You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest.  Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever.  You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open.  Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear.  Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed.  You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you.  The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his.  He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him.  Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks.  His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?”  You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long.  Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance.  Your eyes meet as you begin to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it.  He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…”  he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now.  “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair.  He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.”  He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt.  Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby.  Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man.  Damn, he’s hot!  Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet.  Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure.  The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops.  There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you.  It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes.  You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him.  His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes.  With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged.  He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming.  He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell.  “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg.  “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you.  Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body.  Everything feels so right, he feels right.  The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel.  It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest.  There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him.  Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips.  “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?”  You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal.  “Hell yeah!  Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam.  You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away.  You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.”  You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.”  He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?”  You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need.  Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully.  Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x reader smut #dean winchester fic #supernatural smut #dean winchester fanfic #spn #supernatural dean smut #dean winchester x you #spn fanfic #frenemies to lovers #dean winchester #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #cloudy's writing

[crystallizabethine]

Messing with my new human style again. . .

Thanks to @incorrect-tmnt2012-quotes for the dialogue!

Reblogs > Likes

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 comic #jonatello #caseytello #gaptoothshipping #frenemies to lovers #jonatello brainrot go brr #casey jones #donatello 2012 #my art #crystabeth's art

[proseover-bros]

FOR THE ONES WE LOVE | CH. 1

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

SERIES: For the Ones We Love

STATUS: Ongoing

ERA: Prison

PAIRING: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Female Reader (No Use of “Y/N”)

CHAPTER ONE: Backseat Driver

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Daryl Dixon gets much more than he bargained for when his motorcycle breaks down while out on a run. Miles from the prison, he has no other choice but to hot-wire a car he comes across on the side of the road, only to discover that he wasn’t the first person to get there.

RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Language, Mention of Attempted Sexual Assault, Symptoms of PTSD

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: While I’m not new to writing fanfic, this is my first attempt at Tumblr fanfic, which is somewhat different than what I’m used to. I have a whole backstory dreamed up for this character (she’s a nursing student who escaped from Grady Memorial after it was overtaken by Dawn and Gorman), but I know from what I’ve read of Tumblr fanfic, self-insert fics are preferred. This is my first attempt at that, so any constructive criticism is welcome. Please let me know your thoughts on the story as well. I have several chapters already written, just trying to decide what format to proceed with/if there’s an audience for it.

“Wow, thanks for that.”

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice coming from behind him, Daryl Dixon’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror as you sat up from where you’d been lying in the backseat of the car he’d just hot-wired. The all too familiar noise of a hammer clicking into place sounded as you lifted your arms, aiming a revolver directly at the back of his head.

With the way you trained the gun on him, combined with the intense gaze in your eyes, he knew that you’d shot it before.

Of course you had.

A woman, alone in this world?

There was no way in hell you could’ve survived as long as you had not knowing how to use a gun.

Daryl cut the engine and raised his hands. “This your car?”

You shrugged. “No, but I was here first.”

“I got it runnin’, that makes it more mine than yours.”

“I was getting to that.” You said defensively.

“Bullshit.” Daryl scoffed. “Ya don’t know how to hot-wire a car.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause ya ain’t that kinda girl.”

The stranger’s assumption pissed you off, but what pissed you off even more was the fact that he was right. Before he came along, you’d been close to having a full-on meltdown when finding the car just a few minutes earlier, only to discover that the keys were missing from the ignition. There’d been a hell of a lot of abandoned cars that you’d passed during your travels over the past couple of weeks, because apparently even after a goddamn apocalypse, nobody left their keys behind.

And who was he to pass judgement on you? With his Harley Davidson vest, greasy hair and the ability to steal a car in the first place, this guy was lucky you’d given him any warning at all. Although you hadn’t spoken to another human being since escaping the hospital, and were beginning to think you were missing even the most trivial of conversations, you had quickly come to the conclusion that human interaction was entirely overrated.

Especially with this particular human.

“How the hell do you know what kind of girl I am?” You practically growled.

Daryl hesitated, knowing that he ought to tread lightly, yet somehow his mouth decided to run off anyway. “Just do.”

Your eyes widened as you lunged forward to press the barrel of the gun to the back of his skull. “You don’t fucking know me.”

Dumbass, Daryl scolded himself.

What was he thinking, arguing with someone who was pressing a loaded gun to his head? After all this time spent fighting to survive, did he have a death wish all of a sudden?

With his hands still raised, Daryl nodded, his senses finally returning to him. “We can change that. I’m Daryl.”

Suddenly, a memory of your mother warning you not to talk to strangers appeared as the man introduced himself, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. After a few seconds, you lowered your gun and laughed out loud, no longer able to keep it inside.

The entire situation was absurd. You were running on zero sleep, hadn’t eaten anything in days, and hadn’t spoken to another soul since you’d left Atlanta. It was the most inappropriate thing in the world to be laughing in your current situation, and yet you couldn’t stop.

Daryl hesitated. He thought he might be okay at handling a pissed off woman — but a crazy, pissed off woman?

Might as well shoot myself now.

“Ya crazy or somethin’?” Daryl found himself asking.

You laughed harder at his question, leaning against the backseat as your sides started to ache. “Or something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ya gotta name or not?”

Once regaining your composure, you peered over the passenger seat and noticed the large crossbow that he’d laid down while working on getting the car started. You also noted the backpack slung over his shoulder with several arrows sticking out through the flap. “Give me your arrows and any other weapons you have. Maybe I’ll tell you then.”

“Don’t wanna know that bad.”

“Hah.” You rolled your eyes, aiming the revolver at his head once more. “Wasn’t asking.”

With an irritated grumble, Daryl shrugged off his bag and handed it over. There was a brief pause while he rummaged around in his pants and pulled out a pistol, extending it to you handle first.

“No knife?” You asked suspiciously. 

He cursed under his breath, but a few seconds later you had a hunting knife to add to your collection as well. Finally satisfied, you met his eyes in the rearview mirror and told him your name.

“You alone?”

“Looks like it.”

The silence between the two of you clung in the air like smoke. Daryl kept his eyes glued to you now that you had all of his weapons, minus his crossbow, which was useless without the bolts. 

He didn’t pride himself on much, but one of the few things that he’d always felt he excelled at was being a good judge of character. The woman in front of him was young, probably mid-twenties, and pretty. In Daryl’s experience, pretty women were absolute bitches, but not necessarily dangerous. Even so, he couldn’t brand you with that particular title just for pulling a gun on him. You were only protecting yourself.

“Mind lowerin’ that thing? I did give ya all my weapons.” Daryl reasoned.

You paused, but reluctantly lowered your gun, your eyes locked on his as you sat it down on your lap.

“How’s that?” You asked.

“Depends, can I turn around without havin’ to worry ‘bout ya blowin’ my head off?”

You stilled at his words but found yourself slowly nodding your head in agreement.

When Daryl turned all the way around to face you, you held your breath. The last time you’d been this close to a man, it was Gorman, and he had tried to assault you.

The world had been a dangerous place for women far longer than it had been for men. Men may have recently had to learn what it was like to fear strangers now that the world had ended, but it had aways been something to fear for women, which made it twice as frightening these days.

As you studied Daryl, you noticed that he had lighter facial hair than that on his head, and pale blue eyes. With his intense gaze and bare biceps, he had a rugged air about him that you had a feeling he’d always possessed. He seemed like the kind of man who didn’t need an apocalypse to know how to fight for his life.

The two of you remained as you were, staring at each other for a tense moment, sizing each other up and down as you both tried to decide whether or not the other was a threat.

“Lay down.” Daryl grunted.

“What?” You blanched, your hand moving towards the revolver once more.

“Down!” He hissed.

Jumping over the partition dividing the front and back sections of the car, Daryl slid to his knees, tucking himself in the floor space behind the passenger seat, his hands clutching you by the elbows as he pulled you down, tugging your body flush against the backseat cushions.

When Daryl grabbed you, your first thought was a vile one, but your grip around the gun relaxed ever so slightly when he landed beneath you rather than on top of you.

“What the fu—” You cried as you both lurched forward, a series of bangs sounding at the rear of the car. Rather than finish your crude sentence, you cut yourself off when Daryl’s hand covered your mouth. Feeling your jaw tense against his palm, he raised a finger to his lips when his eyes met yours, slowly easing his hand away as a horde of walkers appeared from a clearing in the woods by the side of the road.

You both remained that way for what truly could have been hours, the only sound being your heavy breathing and the groans of the horde as they trudged along either side of the car like cattle. When the noise finally died down some time later, Daryl held a hand out to signal for you to wait, then eased up on his haunches ever so slightly, peering out the front windshield to find that the horde had wandered off up the road.

Once given the all clear, you slowly lifted your body from the backseat, your hand instantly going to the side of your neck as you attempted to work out the kink that had formed there from laying in such an awkward position. 

“Jesus.” You muttered.

Remaining where he was for fear that you’d think he might try something now that he was in close proximity of his weapons, Daryl kept his eyes on you for a few silent seconds.

“Look, I know all about wantin’ to be alone, but no one can make it alone now. You can keep my weapons, even hold your damn gun on me while I drive, but I have a camp a few miles back. My bike broke down, s’why I was lookin’ for a ride, but I can take ya someplace secure. I’m with a group of people back at a prison.”

“A prison? Really?” You asked curiously.

Christ. Was that actual hope in your voice? Had the last year not completely crushed you of that?

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “There’s eight of us. Men, women, a boy, and a baby.” Nodding towards his backpack, he continued. “Open it.”

Cautiously moving your hand to his backpack, you unsnapped the top and drew back the flap to reveal several tins of powdered baby formula. Running your fingers over the lids, you hesitated, your eyes slowly returning to Daryl. If this was some kind of trick to get you to come along, it was pretty elaborate.

“I just gotta ask ya three questions first.” He said.

With your curiosity getting the better of you, you shrugged your shoulders. “Go for it.”

“How many walkers ya killed?”

“Walkers? You mean, the living dead freaks that have taken over the world?”

Daryl nodded.

“I don’t know. Who keeps track of that shit?”

Daryl had to admit, at least to himself, you had a point. But it was one of the questions that Rick insisted on asking newcomers, and he wasn’t about to start breaking his rules for anyone.

Seeing that Daryl wasn’t willing to budge on the question, you sighed as you thought about it. “A dozen, at least.”

“How many people ya killed?”

Your mind instantly went to the lifeless eyes of Gorman and Dawn. 

“Two.” You answered, without a hint of remorse.

“Why?” He asked.

You stared at him, expressionless. “I’m a woman and I’ve pretty much been on my own since the world ended. Why do you think?”

Daryl stared right back at you, and in his fierce blue gaze, you knew that he understood you completely. 

“All right, let’s go.”

“That’s it? I passed?” You asked, surprised.

“Looks like it.” He grunted, using your choice of words from earlier and earning a small smile from you because of it.

“Okay.” You agreed. “I’ll ride back here, and I won’t hold my gun on you . . . unless you drive too slow.”

“Pfft.” Daryl scoffed as he climbed back over to the driver’s side and began to work on restarting the car. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

CHAPTER TWO

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction #daryl fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #fanfiction #frenemies to lovers #mutual pining #eventual smut

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 2

Chris Redfield x FM! Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3 | Part 4

Synopsis: It's the morning after Chris Redfield took care of you and things are oddly... domestic?

Includes: MDNI - NSFW, fluff, banter, angst, oral (FM reader receiving), porn with plot, use of pet names (sweetheart, good girl, pretty girl, baby, gorgeous), minor reader injury from previous part, reference to drinking in the previous part. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' otherwise. Reader is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

A/N: WOO this took so long to get out. I can't write linearly to save my life and my writer brain wanted to work on plot stuff taking place after this chapter. On the bright side the next few parts should get done quicker. Hopefully. This is also my first spicy writing thing so have fun!

wc: 6.5k+

The first thing you notice when you wake up the next morning is the pounding headache behind your eyes and a throbbing in your foot. You lift an arm over your face and groan, the cheery brightness of the morning sun still too much for your blurry eyes to properly accommodate to. For a few precious minutes, you just lay in bed trying to string together a coherent thought other than, ‘I’m never drinking whiskey again,’ because you know that promise won’t last the month.

Then it all comes back to you. The almost-bar fight. Chris driving you home. The broken glass. Chris comforting you. Bits and pieces of the previous night stitch themselves together and you are both relieved and embarrassed of its events.

It feels like a monumental weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sure, the dirty looks would stay along with your reputation, but Chris Redfield doesn’t think you’re a monster. However, the relief is almost overshadowed by a creeping sense of embarrassment. You never show that kind of vulnerability in front of anyone. Not even Albert after the Mansion incident.

Despite the conflicting feelings, you’re thankful that Chris had the foresight to put you into your bed and tuck you in. Everything after crawling into Chris’ lap and crying your eyes out is hazy due to your alcohol consumption, but you do have a distinct memory of being lifted off the ground and carried by a pair of strong, warm and comforting arms past a broom propped up on the doorway to the kitchen.

The broom. The glass. Your foot. There’s still blood and glass in the foyer that you have to clean up.

With a groan, you roll out of bed, stretching to relieve some of the tightness in your muscles that accompanies a bad hangover. It’s at this point you realize you’re wearing a sweatshirt that you hadn’t worn the night before. Your heart stops in your chest until you lift the hem of it and see you’re still wearing the nice shirt you wore to your D.S.O. interview the day before.

Chris. Always the gentleman.

You take stock of what you’re wearing; oversized sweatshirt, nice shirt, nice pants, no socks, but a sizeable amount of gauze is on one foot. While you take stock of yourself and your surroundings, you also notice a couple aspirin and a sports drink on your bedside table that you know you didn’t have in the house last night. Chris cared both about your comfort and boundaries while intoxicated, as well as the aftermath of it. He even went out and bought you items to help with your hangover.

Another event to add to the overflowing list of reasons why you don’t deserve him.

Or do you? He doesn’t fault you for your dead husband’s actions. He goes to bat for you when the B.S.A.A., D.S.O., or any other anti-bioterrorism organization is up your ass. He listens when you need to vent and drink your sorrows away. He’s kind. He’s considerate. He’s a good man. He’s everything that Albert wasn’t.

Stop it.

You pop the aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the sports drink, dismissing any other thoughts on how good Chris had been to you. Things in your life were already too complicated. No use in entertaining far-fetched fantasies. He’s got to be this considerate with anyone, right? You couldn’t recall a specific instance comparable to last night that would justify that thought, but you try to think of one as you strip off the clothes from the night before and throw on some clean loungewear. You opt to wear some sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

As you get dressed, you rediscover an offer letter that you’d forgotten to reject. Even though your last name gave you a reputation, numerous branches of the B.S.A.A. requested your transfer every year due to your expertise in bioweapons research. After all, who would be better at combatting these threats than someone who witnessed their creation and aftermath? This one was more tempting than most; an offer to work in B.S.A.A. Europe HQ in Germany, Head Researcher position, fully furnished apartment included and competitive salary.

You crumple the offer letter and toss it in the trash. Tempting, but stability is on the top of your list of priorities at the moment. An international move is the opposite of that. You go into your bathroom attached to your bedroom and do your morning routine, opting to worry about a shower later.

You go out into the hallway, hobbling a bit with the injured foot but staying upright without trouble. The aspirin is starting to kick in and you’re already feeling a bit better. You make a list in your head of things to get done before burying yourself in blankets on the couch; sweep up the glass, mop the foyer of the remaining blood, take a shower, make a greasy breakfast, binge watch something.

Your mental list is interrupted by sounds coming from your kitchen. Confused, you turn down the hall and see Chris’ car keys still on the table in the entryway. You also see the floor is devoid of glass, blood, and the medical supplies from the night before.

Chris hears you pad into the kitchen and flashes his signature grin as he turns bacon on your stove with a fork. There’s a plate with finished bacon pieces on a paper towel next to the stove, as well as two plates with toast.

“Morning Doc.”

“Morning. You stayed the night?” Your tone is cordial. It’s not accusatory because, oddly enough, you don’t mind Chris sleeping over. At any point before last night, you would have been miffed and probably would have given a speech arguing you could take care of yourself and that he had a lot of nerve spending the night considering your history. But Chris making you breakfast still stirs up that guilt of him doing more nice things for you to add on to the laundry list of favors he’d done for you over the years. But you can’t deny the smell of what he’s cooking makes your mouth water.

“Yeah, I took the couch. You had a lot to drink. I just wanted to make sure you woke up okay.”

You snort. “Right. You sure you weren’t just avoiding having to sleep in the barracks last night?”

Chris chuckles at your joke and holds his hands up in playful surrender. “You got me. Can’t pull the wool over your eyes.”            

You return the smile and hobble next to Chris by the stove, leaning on the counter next to him just watching him cook. You have to make a conscious effort to focus on the food, and not to stare at Chris’ battle toned forearms for too long.

“Now I can accept you making sure I don’t choke on my own vomit, but this-” You gesture to the stove and the entryway, “-is crossing the line. You’re in my house. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”

“What? I can’t treat my host to breakfast and a cleaner house?” He’s still jovial when turns his attention back to the stove and turns the bacon.

“That’s reverse hospitality,” You quip.

“Then consider me a reverse guest,” Chris answers.

You let out an exasperated sigh and your body slumps. “Chris, seriously you didn’t have to do all that-”

“I wanted to.” Chris stops looking at the bacon in the pan and looks you in the eyes.

You two stare at each other in silence, gazes locked in a battle of wills.

“You don’t have to do everything yourself.” Chris says softly, with a hint of authority in his tone.

“I know that.” You bite back, challenging him.

Chris raises an eyebrow, and you see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you?”

More silence. You let out another sigh and you break from his gaze to stare at the floor instead.

“You’ve already done more for me than I could ever hope to repay. I don’t need to owe you more favors for something like last night.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Bullshit.” You look back up at him in disbelief; mouth open and eyebrows knitted together.

“No bullshit. I’m serious.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but Chris shushes you and places a cup of hot tea in your hands before you can protest. You didn’t even notice it sitting next to the stove. You feel the comforting warmth of his fingers ghost over yours as he guides your hand to take hold of the mug handle.

“No bullshit, you have my word. Now sit down, rest that foot, enjoy your drink, and let me handle everything else.”

You open and close your mouth, trying to articulate a response. There’s not much you can say to argue against that, especially when his gentle touch is making your brain go haywire. The captain is a man of his word. Those perceptive eyes of his hold no hint of deception, only genuine kindness like you saw the night before. Not to mention there’s something undeniably attractive about him wanting to take care of you in such a gentle, authoritative manner. You relent and take a sip of tea trying to calm your racing heart.

“Thanks.”

Chris’ face lights up and he flashes another smile. “Thatta girl. How do you like your eggs?”

You try to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach when he says that. “I’m not picky, however you’re having them.” You push yourself off the counter, snatch a piece of bacon from the plate and hobble over to the barstool sitting area at the kitchen island behind Chris.

“Save some for your meal.” You hear Chris smiling as he says that.

“I’m making sure it’s crispy enough. Sue me.”

Your conversation goes on in that comfortable rhythm all throughout breakfast; casual conversation with witty remarks thrown in followed by a joke that starts the cycle all over again. Chris sits on the stool next to you, and you both enjoy the two plates of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon that Chris had made.

“You’re going to spoil me at this rate.” You say with a grin.

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It kind of is. You’re going to make me miss having you around to clean up my messes and make me food.” You eat your toast, keeping up the playful banter.

“And what if I am?” The way Chris says that doesn’t make it sound like he’s joking, but you brush it off and roll your eyes, munching on the last of your bacon. “I’d call your bluff.”

“Why do you think it’s a bluff?”

You sit there just looking at your fork for a beat, trying to think of the best way to phrase your thoughts. You can’t think of anything, but you turn your gaze back to Chris and answer him with a question. “Because why would you care if I miss you?”

“Because who wouldn’t want the attention of a woman like you?” Chris’ expression shifts from that kind expression you’re used to, to a more wistful and romantic one.

Your mouth goes dry and your heart races in your chest. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “People with half a brain and a shred of common sense.” The statement is said with your signature dry sense of humor, but there’s also an edge of something akin to a warning. It doesn’t deter Chris in the slightest.

“Ouch. At least I’ve got my looks going for me,” he quips with a smirk. It amazes you that he’s still joking about something you think is so serious. It makes you want to wipe that sexy smile right off his face. Whether it’s with a kiss or sharp words is still up for debate.

“Chris-” You warn sharply.

“Doc-” Chris says, pleadingly.

“No. It’s a bad idea. End of story.” Your tone comes out much gentler than you intend. You pick at the last of your food, not wanting to look at Chris and betray your true feelings that you’ve tried so hard to suppress over the years. He killed your husband. Your evil, narcissistic, psychopathic husband. Despite who Albert was, it felt like you would cross some sort of moral boundary you couldn’t come back from if you indulged in those thoughts. But the longer Chris looks at you with that wanting gaze, the less imposing that boundary becomes.

“You know me. I love bad ideas.” As Chris speaks in a low, romantic tone, your mind runs wild and your cheeks flush red with all the possible interpretations of his words.

You hear the barstool next to you squeak, Chris’ hand comes into your vision, rests delicately on your cheek, and tilts your head back towards him. His face is dangerously close to yours. You see every detail of his face; his dark hazel eyes, the small mole under his right eye, the stubble on his jaw, the subtle hair growth around his mouth and chin, and finally his lips.

You don’t know who leans in first, but one moment you’re committing Chris’ face to memory, and the next your lips are against his. Your eyes close and time stops. The kiss is slow, methodical and fills you with a pleasant warmth that makes your stomach flip and heart skip a beat.

You can’t remember the last time you had a kiss like this, and you don’t want to. All you want to do in this moment is experience everything Chris has to offer. Everything.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you both finally break for air. You breathe in a shaky breath. Shaky from how weak in the knees the kiss made you, as well as nervous energy from crossing that boundary you’d made for yourself. You just kissed the man who killed your husband and you liked it. Not only that, but that kiss stirred something lustful inside you that makes you want even more.

“Look at me pretty girl.” Chris whispers. His hand still holds the side of your face while his thumb caresses your cheekbone.

You open your eyes, and you see Chris smiling at you. It falters and switches into something much more concerned when he sees your conflicted look.

“We can stop if you want to. I can leave and we can agree this never happened if that’s what you want.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he murmurs in a low tone.

Maybe it’s the residual feeling of safety due to the events of the night before, an accumulation of repressed want from years working alongside each other, or maybe it’s just the need to feel someone else’s loving embrace. Morality be damned. Maybe it’s the pounding of your heart drowning out all common sense, but you crave the man in front of you more than anything in the universe right now. Your next words come out in a wanting murmur.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

This time, it’s you that leans back in to kiss Chris’ incredulous expression, but he immediately melts back into your lips. Once it’s established that this is something you’re craving, Chris earnestly returns the enthusiasm. Sweet kisses morph into fervent tastes for more as your lips intertwine with Chris’. Tongues dance in a teasing duel for dominance that you are all too happy to lose just so you can feel how eager Chris is to feast on your sighs of pleasure. Bask in your shivers of ecstasy. Relish in your desperate pants for oxygen from him taking your breath away.

The only thing you can even comprehend with his inviting tongue intertwining with yours is that it’s not enough. You want more. You need more. More of his warmth, more of his lips, more of him. The heat that Chris awoke in you has grown from mere embers to a growing, starving flame that wants to savor and devour everything that’s yet to come.

It doesn’t take long to know Chris feels the exact same way. Committing your pleasure to memory with his hands and lips won’t do. With how far you were leaning into his embrace, you were halfway to touching his lap already, but Chris eagerly expediates the process. His hands abandon your cheek and neck to claim your hips and guide you to sit on his lap where you belong. You take a sharp intake of breath and clutch Chris’ shoulders for balance from the change in position, but Chris is quick to soothe your concerns while keeping his lips on any inch of your skin he can reach.

“Don’t worry baby I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

You reposition yourself on his lap so you feel more secure in Chris’ grasp, but you accidentally grind against his crotch. A deep groan is released from Chris’ lips and he kisses your skin with more fervor. Being positioned the way you are on his lap, it’s difficult not to notice the growing hardness underneath his jeans.

“All that for me?” You try to be sultry, but don’t do a good job of it because you can barely get any discernible words out with how hard you’re breathing.

“Have you seen yourself sweetheart?” Chris leaves wet kisses from your collarbone to your neck, then captures your lips in a ravenous kiss. “Fucking gorgeous with your cheeks all red like that…”

Chris lifts you up off his lap effortlessly and you gasp and hold onto his shoulders as he places you on the counter in front of him. Once you’re secure, his hands are quick to wander and caress everything he can reach; from your hips, to your ass, to your thighs, then hips, then ribs, lower back then repeating the pathing again. Eagerness and patience are at war with each other as he alternates between greedily clutching each soft feature and methodically caressing every one of your curves as if trying to commit them to memory.

You’re breathing heavily when he rips his lips away from yours and starts kissing you down your jaw to your throat. He feverishly leaves open mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin tenderly yet enthusiastically. You can tell he’s savoring every part of you, clearly eager to do more but wanting to enjoy every detail of your physique first. It takes no time at all for him to find the spots that make you squirm and pant in his embrace. When his teeth lightly graze your pulse point, your legs reflexively tighten around his waist, but you accidentally bump the barstool behind Chris with your injured foot with a loud clunk and curse. The throbbing in your foot is back with full force, making you wince. Worse, Chris pulls away from your neck and stares at you intensely with a worried look. Slightly flushed cheeks and labored breath.

“You alright?” He looks behind him and sees the scene of the crime, and lightly scoots the barstool a safe distance away with his foot. Chris moves to lean down and examine your foot, but you’re quick to grasp his face and lovingly bring it back to yours. You kiss Chris’ cheek and give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” You lean back in to kiss Chris, ignoring the shooting pain from your injured foot and getting lost in the intoxicating taste of his lips. Chris’ worried expression melts away somewhat, but he still speaks lowly between breaks for air.

“You need to rest that foot on something.”

“Later,” You whisper, going back in to capture his lips again.

The captain slides one of his large, calloused hands on the back of your head and strokes the hair there, and you think you’ve convinced him to drop the subject. Oh how wrong you are.

In one moment, you’re getting lost in the feeling of Chris’ hands on the back of your head and shoulders, and the next Chris has pushed your plates to the side and laid you swiftly, but gently, on your back.

“Chris!” You whine as you try to sit up, but you’re stopped by a large hand putting weight on your ribcage and fleeting kisses down your neck and chest. His voice is muffled from how close his face is to your trembling body, but you hear him speak in that authoritative, husky voice again as he continues to kiss further down your chest. “Uh uh, you stay put.” You’re about to protest the change in position, wanting nothing more than to keep Chris’ lips on yours, but his lips on your inner thigh make your words die in your throat. Chris lightly sucks the area while his darkening gaze is honed in on your face.

“I meant it when I said you need to rest that foot…” Chris places another lingering kiss on your inner thigh slightly closer to your aching core. “…so be a good girl and put those pretty thighs over my shoulders.”

The effects of his words are immediate; blood rushes to your cheeks so quickly that you feel lightheaded, the heat in your abdomen that was kindled by his touch burns hotter, and your lips part in silent shock and anticipation of what he’ll do next. For once, your brain has short circuited, and you don’t have anything to say. All you can do is gape and nod as you hook your knee with the injured foot over his shoulder.

“Good. Now I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Okay?” The low vibrating timbre of his voice is so close to your aching clit that you arch your back and whine, nodding.

Chris continues to be a paradox of patience and eagerness as he coaxes more and more delicious sounds from you. His large hands greedily grasp the flesh of your hips and thighs, but don’t grope close enough to give you the stimulation you crave. His mouth worships the space between your thigh and groin but never dares venture further than the rolled-up edge of your night shorts where you’re clenching around nothing. He never stimulates what is begging to be loved underneath despite how much both of you crave it.

“Chris…please.” You beg, eyes clouded over with lust and need.

“Hmmmm… I don’t hear you say that a lot.” You can practically hear the shit eating smile in his voice as Chris keeps kissing you the same way as before, but one of his fingers teasingly traces the hem of your shorts. He’s right. You don’t. That little comment would infuriate you if the wetness between your thighs and throbbing clit weren’t on the top of the list of things on your mind right now. If you have to say please to get Chris to take care of you, you’ll relent and do it.

“Please just to-oooh!” Your desperate request is cut short by a moan being released from the back of your throat.

Chris keeps kissing the sensitive spots between your thighs, but two of his fingers have slipped under the edge of your shorts by the groin and is lightly rubbing the fabric over your engorged bundle of nerves. He experiments with different speeds and pressures until he finds the ones that make your back arch, eyes roll to the back of your head, and thighs close around his face. Just when you’re bucking your hips into his hand and you feel your pleasure building, you feel his fingers retreat.

“Chris!” You whine, body relaxing back into the counter but desperate for more of his touch.

“I know baby, I’ll take care of it.” Chris assures you as he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your shorts and underwear, pulling them to one side then practically diving into your dripping folds. His mouth is greedy when he’s finally between your thighs where you want him to be. Chris’ tongue laves at your entrance with long, languid strokes at first, but quickly devolves into him thrusting his tongue into your cunt so deeply that his nose is bumping your clit with each plunge of his tongue and you writhing and panting in pleasure as your climax quickly builds back to where Chris’ fingers left off.

He tries to be patient and draw it out for your sake, he really does, but you taste too good. Your moans and whimpers of ecstasy sound too pretty. The way you’re grabbing his forearm arm that’s caging your hips to the counter for dear life that so obviously signals how close you are is the biggest turn on. His mouth gorges on your release and he swears it’s his new favorite meal.

That starving flame in your abdomen that Chris has been feeding this whole time is so close to overtaking you, but you need more and Chris can sense this in how you tremble around him and desperate cries of his name tumble from your lips. He replaces his tongue with one of his fingers and he keeps up the same speed and intensity while his lips latch on to your clit, gently sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and tongue making purposeful, salacious strokes that makes your face contort in delight.

You fall apart in mere moments. Your back arches as you feel your orgasm crash through you like a tidal wave and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You cling to Chris’ forearm as you ride out the powerful sensation. Even with your thighs closing in around his head, his lips don’t let up their assault on your clit until you’re bordering on being overstimulated and trying to push his head away. Your thighs twitch from the aftermath, your cunt and clit throb from the greedy attention of Chris’ lovemaking, and you’re pretty sure you have breadcrumbs in your hair from the toast in the long forgotten breakfast that was made for you.

Even with all of that, it still leaves you with a warm, comfortable sense of pleasure and a blissfully hazy mind.

Chris gently laps up the mess between your folds with his tongue, both determined not to let a drop of you go to waste as well as to prolong your pleasure while you come back down to Earth. With a final quick kiss to your clit that makes your hips twitch into his mouth, Chris tenderly moves the crotch of your panties and shorts back over your pelvis. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe your release from his chin, and licks his finger clean.

You feel boneless when he sits you up. You’re breathing is shallow, but slowly returning to normal when Chris brings you to his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder and lazily wrap your arms around his waist. His hand is under your shirt at your lower back, hand pressed against your spine and rubbing the area firmly while his other hand cradles your head at the back of your neck. For the first time in what feels like years, you feel wanted and loved. The warmth of his hands and arms as well as his breath in your ear feels so addicting. You don’t want him to let go.

“You still with me gorgeous?” He whispers into your ear.

“Yeah…” You mumble, smiling into Chris’ neck as he cuddles you. A deep chuckle vibrates in Chris’ chest, and he plants a soft kiss on your temple. Then another one on your cheekbone. Then another next to your ear…

You giggle and close your eyes, “Someone’s eager.”

“Hard not to be with such a beautiful woman in front of me.”

After a few more kisses Chris gently moves you off his shoulder so you can sit up and look at him with half lidded eyes. For a moment you just sit there blinking slowly at him relishing in his embrace, and he’s just smiling at your fucked out expression. His hand slides from the back of your next to your cheek. He rubs the skin there with his thumb for a moment, then leans in to kiss you properly.

Just when Chris is a breath away from tasting your lips, a jarring ringtone cracks through the air and brings you back to reality. It’s Chris’ phone, but he doesn’t make a move to answer it. He only pauses at the first ring and captures your lips in a sweet kiss on the second.

“You’re not going to answer that?”

“They’ll call back if it’s important.” Chris murmurs against your lips and goes back in for more, seemingly drunk off the taste of you and your affection as you chuckle and kiss him back. After a few more seconds, the phone stops ringing only for it to resume again almost immediately after.

“I guess it’s important.” You sigh against Chris’ lips when you reluctantly pull away. Chris lets out a frustrated breath and pulls back, still not making a move to answer the call. His gaze darts from your eyes to your lips like he’s thinking about ignoring it again. You know better. The captain is a busy and well-respected man. You’ll be damned if that gets ruined because he can’t keep his hands off you. You smile sympathetically at him and kiss his cheek.

“I’ll clean up while you take care of that.” You move to get off the counter, but Chris’ strong hands at your hips stop you.

“I told you that you need to rest your foot.”

“You can convince me to elevate it again after you deal with that soldier boy. But until then-” You lean to the side to grab Chris’ phone, remove his hand from your hip, then plop the phone in his palm. “-duty calls.” You reply cheekily, giving the speechless captain a smirk before lowering yourself off the counter to collect the plates.

Chris shakes his head, smiles, presses a button on his phone and lifts it to his ear. “Hello?” You turn on the sink and begin washing the plates. You hear Chris reply in a more serious tone, and turn out of the kitchen to take the call in the living room. “Yeah, this is Captain Redfield.” Over the sound of the water you can’t hear who’s on the other end, but you can gather this is a serious conversation. You just hope it isn’t notifying Chris of a new outbreak, or something else that would require his immediate attention. You’d hate for it to disrupt such a pleasurable morning.

After you finish washing the plates, you turn off the tap and begin drying them. The speaker on Chris’ phone isn’t loud by any means, but in the silence of your little house you can clearly hear the conversation in the living room from your kitchen sink. And on the other end of the call, you hear a familiar, grating voice.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s the D.S.O. agent from your interview the day before. From the sound of it, the agent still had a stick up his ass and seemed to be grilling Chris with the same intensity he was questioning you. You can make out the tinny voice of the D.S.O. agent, clearly not liking Chris’ answers. “You want to know what I think captain? I think you’ve been soft on her.”

You can hear the scowl in Chris’ voice when he answers the agent with the same level of disdain while also remaining professional. “And I think you’re being harsh because you’re trying to see things that aren’t there. Aren’t government agents supposed to practice due process? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Her husband almost destroyed the world. You really expect me to just take her word that she didn’t help?”

“She has been nothing but cooperative since then. Every bit of information she’s given the B.S.A.A. has checked out. Plus, her work after the fact has prevented more outbreaks than I’m cleared to talk about. There is no reason to suspect her of bioterrorism.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Well captain I called to inform you that I need to bring in a third party to verify your claims. No hard feelings of course, but I do believe your history with her is clouding your judgement.”

A range of emotions hits you all at once when you hear that. Anger at this asshole for being thick in the head. Annoyance at the fact that you’ll probably have to do yet another pointless interview about Africa. Then finally, a paralyzing uneasiness at the agent’s implication against Chris. You’ve been too soft on her. Chris’ high professional opinion of you alone results in distrust.

“Yeah, you do that. We done here?” You hear Chris reply cooly, but the rest of the conversation in drowned out by your inner turmoil.

Chris being in close professional proximity to you already turns heads, and not in a good way. Sure the people who can understand your work respect your intellect and appreciate the help, but everyone else sees the shadow of Albert’s memory.  

All is takes is someone breathing the name Wesker and the seed of distrust is already planted. Chris being in your corner alleviates some of that, albeit with bewildered looks and reluctant agreement.

You working with Chris is already unusual, but people respect him so they go along with the strange dynamic you two have. Would that respect remain if people knew you were fucking him? Would his team still follow him with full confidence into battle with no questions asked if they knew he was making you cry out his name after the mission was said and done? Would Chris still be sent on missions to clear up the loose ends of Umbrella’s misgivings if his superiors knew he was coming home to you, who literally slept with the enemy? In your mind, absolutely not.

How could you be so reckless? So selfish? You know you won’t be able to salvage any of Chris’ reputation by your own volition. Only taint it. In your mind, there can easily be a future where you and Chris are together, but the world slowly falls apart because of the distrust of you and the once infallible captain. True, Chris isn’t the B.S.A.A.’s only veteran, but he’s undoubtedly one of the most revered.

Before you can spiral further, two calloused hands grip your hips and a pair of lips tenderly kiss the space behind your ear. You can hear a smile and a suggestive mischievousness in Chris’ voice.

“I have to head out soon to handle a few things, but I’m going to make sure that foot is nice and elevated before I go.”

You heart flips and you can feel your cunt throb hearing his offer. You momentarily consider letting Chris have another taste of you, but instead you stick to your resolve. “You can head out now. This isn’t going to work out the way you think it will.”

You feel Chris’ grip on your hips soften and wait for his response. You can clearly envision him connecting the dots in his head of why you had a change of heart.

“Don’t let one asshole ruin something good for you.” Chris’ voice is soft, soothing. Pleading. One of his hands leaves your hips and tries to lace itself on top of your hand gripping the sink. You snatch your hand back and move away from his addictive embrace so there is an appropriate amount of space between you two. Your voice is serious and even. You look at Chris head on. His previously captivating eyes are confused.

“That’s not the point. You are so lucky people look up to you. I’m not going to ruin that by entertaining this.”

“I think that’s a joint decision-” Chris starts, but you’re quick to shut him down.

“No. You don’t get a say in this. You need to go, and we are going to forget today even happened.”

“Doc, that’s just one agent-”

“Among dozens more who think what he’s thinking but keep their opinions to themselves, so they don’t speak out against the B.S.A.A.’s golden boy.”

Chris looks like he's carefully picking his next words but you speak out before he has the chance to form a compelling argument. “I refuse to drag you down to my level. End of discussion. Leave.”

Chris is standing a few paces away from you next to the sink, still looking like he wants to keep insisting on a potential partnership that you know is doomed to fail. Your shoulders slump and you try a different tactic.

“I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I changed my mind. I don’t want you here right now. Please respect that.”

Chris processes your words. He nods his head and heads to the door. “Alright.”

You see him put his hand on his keys on the entryway table, but he doesn’t pick them up. His wanting eyes dart over to you one more time while you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I’ll check in on you next week. Do you need me to get your car picked up?”

Your car is still broken down in the parking lot of the bar from the night before. You sigh in frustration. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll handle it. Drive safe.”

You can’t look at the front door. You’re not too sure if it would happen, but you don’t want to risk your resolve crumbling if you get a glimpse of Chris’ face. His infuriatingly kind, tempting face.

After a long pause, you finally hear Chris pick up his keys in the entryway and the front door open. “Keep that foot elevated, will ya Doc?”

“Will do.”

Another long pause, and you hear the front door mercifully close. A moment after, an engine starting up, and a large vehicle driving away.

In the silence of your kitchen, solitary living suddenly feels suffocating. Your mind is still racing. Even after being pushed away minutes after eating you out, Chris still wants to do things for you and it makes your heart ache. As strong as your resolve is right now, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to hold out and it terrifies you.

You need distance. Not just emotionally. Physical distance. You know the solution immediately.

In a matter of minutes, you dig out the offer letter from the trash and call the number on the header. When someone finally answers, you’re cordial. Calm.

“Hello, this is Dr. Wesker. I’m calling to learn more about your transfer offer.”

In the span of an hour, your escape plan is set. Europe HQ has booked you on a red eye flight to Germany for later that evening, a work visa is expedited, your new apartment keys are waiting for you across the globe, and you're throwing everything you can't replace in Germany into a suitcase without much throught for organization.

They were surprised to hear you wanted to transfer so quickly, but they were quick to accommodate your reasonable requests. And when they asked if Captain Redfield would still be checking in with you, they were more than understanding about you wanting a local agent to look after you.

Chris Redfield always tries to save everyone.

It’s your turn to make sure you save him from yourself.

_______________________________

Thanks for reading!

#chris redfield x reader smut #chris redfield x reader #resident evil fanfiction #reader is the wife of (dead) albert wesker #reader is a former umbrella scientist #chris redfield #albert wesker #the Wife the Lover and the Bastard Son #angst #no use of y/n #domestic fluff #frenemies to lovers #no beta we die like men

[dialsforshutup]

Please post part 2 of the larissa fic!!!

your wish is my command <3

Oh, Hello. Pt 2

Larissa Weems X Fem!Addams!Reader

(Slight) frenemies to lovers

2/4. Not proofread, English isn’t my first language, and some parts of the canon changed

formatting might look weird on some devices

Very long chapter, I apologize in advance

There's some trouble in paradise, but don't fret! I promise lots of comfort and fluff in the next part

Thanks, darlings for all the love on the first part! 💕 mwahhh 💋

Part 3 - Part 4

...(Y/N) responded, laying her bag at her feet and saying, "You could never say no to me."

 Those seven words caused Larissa to tap her nails onto her desk, that familiar phrase got the two of them into so much trouble when they were students - she couldn't help but allow a wicked grin to start forming on her face. "No, I suppose not. We were quite the pair back then," she said to the woman sitting in front of her desk, who replied with an uncertain, "Yes, we were weren't we?" They were in a difficult situation because neither of the women ever imagined meeting the other again. However, after so many years, here they were, face to face. Larissa had the power to decide what would happen to them. She could simply reject (Y/N)'s application and send her on her way, ignoring the old, unresolved problems she wanted to stay away from. Alternatively, she could accept the application and gain a friend on the staff in whom she could confide after they cut the BS and discussed what had happened. The choice was challenging, to put it mildly. "So..." (Y/N) said, breaking the awkward silence between them, "Should we go ahead with the interview?" The million-dollar smile returned to Larissa's face as she nodded. She decided that any unresolved issues between them could wait for now. She straightened her position on the chair and cleared her throat, slinking her manicured hands onto her computer and turning it on- opening the mail app to find (Y/N)'s qualifications that should have been sent to her beforehand. Larissa continued, maintaining the interview's formality, "Okay Professor Addams, let's get started."

They had reached the halfway point of the interview, and (Y/N) had expertly and accurately responded to each question, from classifying claw-litative data to the history of sociopathy. This only made Larissa's predicament worse. Surely, as a principal, she had a duty to hire someone with (Y/N)'s level of qualifications. "Well, it's clear that you have a wide range of skills and are very qualified... Welcome to the Nevermore team," Larissa said, quickly closing her laptop as she focused all of her attention on the woman in front of her, her eyes sweeping her from head to toe. (Y/N) noticed the principal’s wandering eyes, and sent a friendly wink once their eyes met once again- even if Larissa was her boss now, they still had a history. “Great,” she said, after winking, a smile creeping onto her face at the principal's flustered face, “Where will I be stationed?”. (Y/N) was ecstatic to begin her new job and have the opportunity to mould the minds of future generations of outcasts, but she was also ecstatic to be around the staff, the majority of whom were her old friends. Clearly aware of (Y/N)'s excitement, Larissa stood back up and moved closer to the new professor. Even though they pretended they didn't want to see each other again, the two women briefly shared a warm smile. The person who broke the shared expression was Larissa, who stood directly in front of (Y/N) while she was seated. Larissa was so tall over the woman's sitting position that (Y/N) had to tilt her head up to face Larissa. The principal simply knelt down slightly, which caused the new professor's breath to falter- almost as if she were out of breath. But when Larissa picked up the bag off the ground and firmly held it in her right hand, her excitement began to fade. “I’ll escort you to the quarters, I’m afraid we don’t have any single rooms open. So you’ll have to stay with me for now,” Larissa said with grace as she began to walk to the door regardless of the other woman’s response. (Y/N) hurriedly walked in the direction of Larissa, trying to keep up with the woman who was moving much more quickly than she was. “I’m not complaining.” She said in a hurried tone, as the two of them left the office and walked through the hallways side by side. (Y/N) found herself once more staring at the pictures of the alumni that were displayed in glass frames throughout the dimly lit, soggy hallways and immortalised for all time, leaving legacies of hundreds on the walls. When she saw a picture of herself and Larissa posing proudly and beaming for the Nevermore book club picture, she chuckled. “What made you so joyful?” Larissa questioned inquisitively: Surely (Y/N) wasn't that thrilled to be back? But when she followed the other woman's line of reasoning, she found the solution. “Oh.” She spoke softly while grinning as she recalled how they had founded the club. Despite being the only two people there, they always had a blast. But during their final meeting, they got into a rambling argument that caused (Y/N)'s disappearance after graduation. “We’re going to lose time dawdling over the past.” More firmly than she meant to, Larissa spoke. “oh, sorry.” Was all that (Y/N) could muster, hurt over Weems' abrupt rejection of their photo, suggesting that perhaps their relationship had changed for the worse. Larissa didn't say anything, just nodded and motioned for the professor to follow. They walked on in silence, with only the murmur of giggling students as background noise. Many of them gave (Y/N) curious looks, while others gave the pair a smug grin as they whispered among themselves. Larissa simply continued to the teachers' dorms, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floors beneath her, amplified by (Y/N)'s heeled boots. It appeared that she had learned to tune out the students' whispers, probably as a result of her many years serving as the academy's principal. She abruptly stopped moving and spun around to face the woman following her.

As a result of her abrupt stop, (Y/N) almost crashed into the tall woman in front of her. Instead, she simply looked at her with an awkward smile, her clumsiness made Larissa chuckle. “We’ve reached.” She said with an opening of the dark brown door behind her. The room itself was fairly large and fully wooden- not practical for a fire emergency. Larissa seemed to have settled down in the leftmost side of the room, as it was decorated with various light colours of cream and the occasional red. (Y/N) smiled to herself and made her way to the rightmost side of the room, and began to softly skim her hands over the soft blanket placed on the bed. The threads of yarn made a soft scratching noise as her long nails floated overtop them. She'd hum to herself as they got caught in between the threads, slightly jumping when the loud thud of her bag hitting the mattress of the bed next to her emerged. She was so caught up in the atmosphere that she hadn't realised that Larissa made her way over to her. "Prepare yourself." the taller woman said, not looking directly at the woman in front of her, "Your first class is in half an hour. When you're finished, make your way to the library, the staff is finalizing the plans for the next Rave'N which is in two days' time. Including today." and with this she forced a smile and left the room, allowing the new professor to unpack and prepare herself. (Y/N) looked uneasy, everything that went wrong between Larissa and herself was because of the Rave'N that took place during their school years. It was not something she was looking forward to at the very least, but it was something she expected- just not so soon. There was no use debating it, she simply sighed and grabbed her bag. Unbuckling the clamps and moving it over to the mahogany closet on the side of her living quarter; just by a hazy glassed window. She began digging through the array of clothes, the bag itself wasn't too large from the outside, but the inside was enchanted to fit a multitude of things; an old family heirloom. (Y/N) had packed every single clothing item she owned, this was her home now, for the time being anyways. "Cet air qui m'obsède jour et nuit...Cet air n'est pas né d'aujourd'hui" she began to mumble to herself, singing along to the marvelous tunes of édith Piaf, her hips slightly swaying to the make-believe music. She eventually prepared everything though, and changed into a different pencil skirt and blazer; this time it was muted pink, to symbolize her new journey. All the equipment she needed for her lesson was already in the classroom, all she needed to bring was herself. Her personal life could wait, her students awaited her, and off she went to make her way to the classroom for the very first time. Larissa didn't know why she got so worked up over the reminder of what happened during her years' Rave'N. She told herself countless times again and again that she got over the fact that the person she wanted to ask showed up with another person; even if they knew she was going to ask them. Here she was, sitting in her office after leaving the dormatory- in her hand was her old yearbook. (Y/N) must be in the middle of her lesson by now she thought to herself, humming a melancholy tune, maybe she should see if her teaching is any good. Maybe she'll do it in a few minutes, she wanted to stare at the old yearbook photograph in front of her, her manicured nails skimming over the person's face. It was quite a tragedy, what had happened to her, she felt betrayed. There's nothing worse than the hurt of rejection, especially when it's from someone she loves- erm.. loved. "Tsk" she muttered, clicking her tongue, "Goddammit Addams...". and she meant it. She still remembers how she was a nervous mess in the hallways; telling her friends how she'd ask Addams to the Rave'N. In fact, she was overheard by the person she was going to ask, which only cut her deeper when they showed up with someone else. Was her past love unrequited? The thought of it made Larissa furrow her brows and close the yearbook.

Yet, it wasn’t Gomez Addams she was referencing, oh no, it was (Y/N) Addams. Eventually, she decided that there was no use thinking about this anymore, and threw the yearbook aside, standing up from her previous seat to make her way to the door. the hallways were quieter than they were earlier today, most of the students were either in class or participating in various clubs. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the giggling and gossiping right now, she had more pressing matter at hand. Her destination was the library, where all the teachers had agreed to meet to finalize some finishing touches for the Rave’N. Larissa certainly didn’t want to have the mood dampened, so she would need to stop avoiding the elephant in the room and confront it, which meant dealing with the issues between herself and (Y/N). The staff needed to be harmonious to ensure the utmost safety for the students after all, no other reasons. The library doors towered over Larissa, which was a rare sight to behold, they were dark oak wood and engraved with stories and tales from Edgar Allan Poe’s writings. Her hand grazed over an engraved drawing of a raven right above the handle, the embossed wood making a soft scratching noise as she did so. It would not be easy to deal with her problems, so she sighed and gently pushed the door open to find everybody waiting there for her. Surely she hadn’t been that late for the meeting? But she apparently was, as disgruntled staff members sat together on one of the library tables, their discussions coming to a hushed tone as Larissa walked in and cleared her throat. “Apologies for being late, I had some things I had to deal with. Student records and such” she said, the lie easily escaping from her mouth with a smile. She had a reputation to uphold after all. “No worries,” said another staff member, Ms. Thornhill, who was sitting at the head of the table, “We already went through most of the things..” she explained. Larissa couldn’t argue, she was late after all, “Perfe-“ she said as she scanned the table, noticing an empty seat. The seat she was supposed to sit in, “Where is Professor Addams?” She questioned, almost automatically. “Oh- uh” Thornhill stuttered, not expecting the principal to have a sudden interest in the new professors whereabouts, this was certainly interesting to say the very least. The confused faces that graced the rest of the staff definitely showed that they felt the same way. “She didn’t attend, said something along the lines of ‘I cant bear to relive it’” The red boot-wearing woman explained, “I have no idea what she meant”

Larissa scoffed, shaking her head, “Never mind then. Let’s just focus on finishing this work” and with that she wasn’t questioned any further by the rest of the staff. As they continued throughout their planning and discussion, Larissa couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N)- the woman burnt into the principals mind like a paper on an open flame. The flame in Larissa’s mind grew larger the more she thought about the woman, about her stupid smile, and her idiotic ignorance in going with someone else to the Rave’N back then. She was supposed to go with her, she was supposed to be smiling stupidly at her. Not with some half-assed random person! Larissa was the one that was supposed to be slow dancing with her, smelling that gorgeous flowery perfume that she loves so much.. and the feeling of the other woman’s lips against he…. Wait.. was she still in love with her??? There was no way, Larissa thought, no, she had gotten over her years go. She just wanted their friendship back, yeah… yeah. And so she would attempt to salvage it, by confronting (Y/N) about her disappearance, hopefully they would learn to understand each other.

(Y/N) hadn’t bothered to go to the meeting. Instead, here she sat, on her bed- engulfed in the blanket she was examining earlier that day. She didn’t want to increase the awkward tension between Larissa and herself by attending a meeting discussing the very same event that drew them apart. But she didn’t understand why it did, why was Larissa so upset to see her with someone else? Wasn’t Larissa planning to ask her cousin to the dance? So confusing. Of course, (Y/N) had considered the fact that since Larissa and herself were sharing a dormitory, that surely the other woman would confront her about it sooner or later. But she wasn’t prepared, the topic of their separation was the sun to her Icarus- she yearned to get it over with yet she knew that she would burn up if she drew to close. She didn’t want to be on bad terms with Larissa, she truly didn’t. Yet the woman wouldn’t leave her thoughts, from the assertive way she stood when she spoke, to the small smiles she used to give (Y/N) when their eyes would meet across a room. Over time (Y/N) developed feelings for the taller woman, her heart was completely shattered when she heard that Larissa was going to ask Addams to the dance- yet (Y/N) never considered that the Addams Larissa was referencing was actually her. The overwhelming return of these feelings and memories caused (Y/N) to start tearing up, she hadn’t even noticed it. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the knocking on the door, and her fears were confirmed when Larissa walked in, looking assertive, with a furrowed brow. She softly clicked the door shut behind her and walked over to where (Y/N) was huddled up, crossing her arms as she roughly shut her eyes, “We need to talk, and sort this-“ her words were cut off when she opened her eyes to find (Y/N)‘s tear- stained face, her expression immediately softened. She couldn’t never stay mad at her, no matter what she did- her empathy and love for the other woman overpowered any negative connotations she had with her, she hated it, but she loved it too. And with this, Larissa sat down on the bed in-front of the professor and softly said,

“Are you okay?”

————

I hope you liked it!!! 💕 More to come very soon, I promise lots of comfort and fluff in the next one :,)

All of these years of hurt just because of a silly misunderstanding from both ends!!🥲🥲

And a special gift; a playlist!

#part two #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #larissa could throw me off the building #wednesday #wednesday netflix #the addams family #wednesday addams #fem x fem #Y/N #x reader #character x reader #angst #hurtcomfort #frenemies to lovers #so much angst #but they love eachother #but theyre both stubborn #yeah #i have no idea #y=mx+b #misunderstanding #jealousy #Larissa is in love #Y/N is clueless

[they-call-me-haiku]

forget friends to lovers. forget enemies to lovers. give me frenemies to lovers. "friends" who secretly hate each other and are constantly plotting against the other, acting like friends on the outside. the more time they spend together, the more they start catching feelings.

#imagine the possibilities the ANGST #they become friends with the other person for selfish reasons at first #but soon realize that they actually like this person and dont know how to come out with the truth #bonus if both of them did the same thing #if yall have any examples of this please let me know!! #writing prompt #prompt #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #frenemies #frenemies to lovers #trope #book tropes #fictional tropes #fiction #movie tropes #tropes #ship #ship dynamics #ship dynamic #the only one i can think of is l and light from death note but they're not really a ship lmao

[20thcentwriter]

Michael Gavey x oc

This story includes- mega asshole! Felix Catton but I mean he was kinda already | frenemies to lovers | mutual pining | Smut | Swearing | Smoking | angst | mentions of violent acts

" I wanna get him back, wanna make him feel jealous, wanna make him feel bad"

A/n please leave your thoughts if this is something you'd be interested in. I'm really excited to start writing this. I love frenemies to lovers so much. I promise it will be much more interesting but I'm still in the ideas floating-in-mind process

Faceclaim : Julia Stiles

So.....

Michael Gavey and Edith Pemberton butt heads.

a lot.

They don't hate each other but they certainly don't like each other either.

They're "frenemies"

When Felix Catton breaks up with Edith before school begins and starts hooking up with Edith's cousin because Edith refused to have sex with him while they were together Edith needs to "get him back" and who better than do it with Michael "all popular rich kids are vapid cunts" Gavey

Oh and Michael and Edith might or might not fall in love with each other in the process

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Header made by me

#michael gavey #michael gavey x oc #oc #original character #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell x reader #saltburn #dark academia #frenemies #frenemies to lovers #smut #series #oliver quick #felix catton #saltburn fanfiction

[bangaveragewhitewine]

I'm yours, all yours

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship) 

October 1991

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since.

An autumn afternoon together shows you a little bit more of the man you’re falling in love with.

Word Count: 6.2K

Content / Warnings: Contains the main food groups - fluff, smut & hurt+comfort. Reader has some self doubt / anxious thoughts. This is 18+ - if you are not 18+ hit the back button and read something else. Oral (m receiving, minor f receiving), p-in-v sex. Feeeeelings. Eddie & Reader are mid twenties. Reader written as AFAB using fem pronouns.

This is best enjoyed after reading their origin story crazy-mad for you (part of the Happy Hours series)

Author’s note: I’m planning to follow CMFY with some one-shots from throughout Eddie & Bartender’s relationship. I have some loose ideas but this one came from a deleted scene I couldn’t squeeze into the main fic so reworked it! Beta’ed by @specialagentmonkey (theee best)  Thank you for the love on CMFY! Reading your replies and reblogs and tags made my shitty wee brighter. Hope you enjoy this cosy peek and have a gorgeous day 🖤

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since. Every moment your lips aren’t on each other is like a thousand paper-cuts to Eddie’s heart (so soft inside the facade of Mean Metalhead he has curated for himself). He makes you want to write his name next to yours in pink gel pen, framed with sparkly little hearts. 

Two months and counting with Eddie and you learn something new about him every day; he loves tattoos but needles make his stomach twist, he meets his friend Steve once a month for a dude-date breakfast (but sees as much as he can of him and his other friends when their schedules line up), he sings with his band but needs at least five drinks before karaoke.

When you ask questions, when you're curious, he tells his long and meandering stories with wandering tangents which tell you so much about the man you’re falling in love with. He opens up to you, tells you things very few people know - about his mom, how he ended up with his Uncle Wayne. It hasn’t been long, but you already can’t wait to meet him.

Two whole months (closer to three really) and you’re sure you don’t want to ever have a single day without Eddie in your life, and your bed. And yet you still haven’t asked the question that has been on your mind since before you two ever got together. 

It’s October now; Autumn is here and the city has turned chilly. Sweltering summer nights are no longer and you and Eddie have been spending afternoons and late nights when you’re not working watching your favourite horror films. When he had told you how much he loved Halloween - just as much as you, if not a wee bit more - you knew Eddie Munson was the one. 

It’s Friday, late afternoon and you had reluctantly spent the night in your own apartment. The shame radiating from the mountain of laundry in the corner of your room had become too powerful to ignore and so you had forgone a night of being held and loved-on to tackle it and the other life-admin you had been ignoring. Eddie had suggested staying at your place, but you knew he would distract you too much with his kisses and touches (which he doled out generously whenever you were near). 

You had missed your boyfriend terribly, almost like a missing limb or a gorgeous big parasite (affectionate) that you had grown more than fond of. Eddie had the night off work but still drove you to and from the bar, even stayed for a drink until Frank shooed him away for trying to distract you. You had missed him so much that you had kept him on the phone to talk a little longer when he got home before saying goodnight and promising you would see him before your shift together tomorrow. You had spent nights apart before, days and nights when you or Eddie had clashing schedules but you felt his absence more than ever today. 

Your laundry and errands had never been completed with such efficiency as when you had the motivation of seeing Eddie as soon as they were ticked off your to-do list. 

You arrived at his door and buzzed the intercom for his apartment, laden down with an overnight bag (over-weekend really) and Tupperware containers full of homemade soup and lasagna for before your shift at Jackie’s. Your cheeks are warm and you can feel heat prickling under your arms alongside the swelling of anticipation in your chest. Eddie buzzes you in and comes to meet you, a big grin on his face for his girl.

His hair is up in a messy bun, held in place by a black velvet scrunchie you insisted was his now. He looks cosy in sweats, a tank top and his red and black flannel which you know to be softer than soft. Eddie hadn’t even bothered with shoes, braving the stairs in his socks so that he could see you sooner. You match his smile when you catch sight of him; cosy Eddie is far from the leather-jacketed bouncer you had got to know.

When he sees how many bags you’re carrying, he rushes to lighten your load (doesn’t even skid on the tiles). 

“You walked here with all that?! I could’a picked you up!” he said, shouldering your overnight bag before blessing you with a kiss. 

“It’s like two blocks, not a marathon.” You roll your eyes at him but pout for another kiss anyway as he rings for the elevator. 

Eddie will never refuse you a kiss. He pecks little smooches to your smile as it grows wider. “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you too.” You nudge his cheek with your nose, pecking at it like a little bird as the lift arrives; you step in ahead of him, pressing the button for the third floor with your now free hand. 

He asks if you slept okay (not as well without him, but you don’t say that) and tells you about the bag of free bagels he scored as a thank you from the man who ran the deli a few doors down. The guy’s hand-truck had lost a wheel while he was taking in a delivery that morning and Eddie helped him out, fixed the wheel too. He knew how much you loved the bagels from there and it felt fateful that his reward was a bag of your favourite everything bagels.

“Neighbourhood hero,” you sing, following him into his one-bedroom flat. “Is there anything you can’t do?” 

“Trigonometry. French. Um… skateboarding!” he lists, as he drops your bag inside his bedroom door. “I fucking suck at skateboarding.”

The thought of Eddie on a skateboard makes you smile - definitely a little meanly, what a dork - but you store that one for later. 

The bag of Tupperware barely makes it to the kitchen counter before Eddie’s arms are around you,  pulling you back against his chest. His nose presses into the base of your neck, huffing hot breaths against your sweet-smelling skin before kissing up his well-worn path. 

“I really missed you,” he murmurs, hips nudging forward against your jean-clad behind for emphasis. 

“Missed me or missed getting your dick sucked?” you ask, turning your head to look at him. 

“Both. Mainly you.” His grin is impish as you turn to loop your arms around his neck, backed right up to the wiped-clean Formica. You let him lift you onto the counter so that he can stand between your spread knees. 

“I missed you and your dick, so we’re even. And we have the whole weekend together to get reacquainted, huh?” You twist a loose curl around your finger, tugging to watch it spring and coil.

Eddie feels like a swooning maiden when he’s the centre of your attention like this, being flirted with. He loves it and he knows he’s in love with you. He had fallen first, long before you had even realised your banter at work was more than just that. 

His fingers creep up your thighs, the silver glinting at you as you place your focus on making up for a night apart as you make out in his little kitchen. 

Eddie smells shower-fresh, clean with a hint of spice, and the curls at the base of his neck are still a little damp. He shivers, giggling against your mouth when you run your finger down his spine. “Your nails are tickly,” he says with a pretend scowl. 

You know he loves your nails on his back; when they’re digging in like claws to leave him littered with red scratches, and when they’re tickling up and down in soothing strokes as he’s falling asleep. 

He takes your hand and brings it around to see the fresh coat of deep red on your nails. “You painted them!” he says, his nose scrunches cutely when you poke it. 

“I did. The black was getting chipped and gross.” You brought the black polish anyway in case he wanted to try it out again, thrown somewhere in your make-up bag. 

Eddie rests his chin on your chest; your breasts have become his favourite place to lay his head, closely followed by the squishy pillow of your thigh (there’s a third-place tie between your tummy and your butt). You dot kisses to his forehead beneath the shaggy bangs, trailing up into his hair when he presses his face against your soft sweater.

“Eddie?”  “Hmm.” His voice is muffled.  “You hungry?”

His head turns so you can hear him more clearly, “Hungry for you.” 

Hopeful mischief twinkles in his hot-chocolate eyes when he peers up at you. 

“Horndog.” “Yes?”  “Gross boy.” “Unh, yes. Say more dirty things to me, baby.”

He has a look of hammed-up ecstasy on his face, scrunched brow and bitten lip. Even though you know he’s pretending, it makes the horny cavewoman part of your brain think about his face when he is actually deep inside you or desperate for your touch - it makes your tummy feel like lava. One night apart makes you realise just how bad you’ve got it for him. You shove at his head and Eddie leans back with a throaty giggle before squeezing your hips again. 

To balance out your playful push and satiate the need building in your gut, you pull him in for a kiss - open-mouthed with the dirty slide of tongue that sounds loud in your ears. Your legs wrap around him, arms tighten. 

“Carry me?” “Bed?” “Sofa, bed. Wherever.”  “Potato, tomato.” “Eddie.” 

He sweeps you off the counter - you’re still surprised and impressed at his strength until you remember him lifting the barrels and kegs at work. You reward him with distracting kisses as he carries you to the soft brown couch and smile up at him when he lays you down gently. He forgets about gentle as he removes his shirt and pounces on you, resuming your dirty kisses from the kitchen. 

Merlot-red nails push the hem of Eddie’s tank top up his pale back, slipping beneath to pull him tighter to you between your thighs. You can already feel him growing hard; you nip at his lower lip and kiss away the sting. 

“Sit up for a sec.” You tap his side but Eddie needs to kiss you just a little bit more before he can pull himself away. 

“Where you goin’?” he asks, a little breathless. Blown-black pupils eat up the brown warmth with his voracious want; he watches as you sit up on your knees and pull your cosy sweater off, then the white vest beneath, leaving you in your creamy silk bra and blue jeans. 

“Pretty,” Eddie whispers, his fingers brushing the little bow between your breasts. He was in awe of your little collection of bras, the matching underwear too. He even loved you in the cotton comfy pants that hugged just right when your cramps ached. 

“Sit back against that end. And take your pants off, handsome.” You smile when he stares at you, “Do you need help?” 

Eddie barely shakes his head as he wriggles out of his sweatpants and sits where you told him to. You balance each other out, taking turns to take the lead. You’re still learning, and despite Eddie’s non-academic tendencies, he’s studious and dedicated to learning what you like, where and how to touch you. You’re his favourite subject and he’s yours too.

You smile and knee-walk across the chasm between you, situating yourself between his legs to take his face in your hands and kiss him. He makes a small joyful noise when you begin to kiss down to his jaw and nuzzle at the dusting of stubble. 

“Smell good,” you murmur, teasing delicate skin with your teeth before bestowing him sucking a wet kiss, enough to leave just a hint of a bruise there. It makes Eddie groan quietly, a desperate little noise at the back of his throat. He’s louder when you slip your fingers down his chest and into the waistband of his black boxers - they have little skulls on them. 

“Cute,” you run your thumb over the elastic at the top as your knuckles brush his cock. Almost an echo of Eddie’s assessment of your bra moments ago. 

Hips push up, almost like an electric shock. There’s a tiny noise that you just about hear, deep back in his throat, a quiet grunt as Eddie covers your hand and shows you what he needs. His pretty lashes flutter as you look at each other, sparking fire in your gut again. You smile and move your hand away, halting his protest by pulling the black cotton down his thighs to drop them on the floor. 

You can feel saliva pooling under your tongue when you see him - you really did miss him, all of him, while you were apart. He’s thick and a few centimetres over average length; a nice dick (rare and wonderful) and he knows what to do with it to leave you brainless and whimpering. Eddie gets one more kiss before you make yourself comfy, lying on your tummy between his legs. Little kisses are peppered on his hairy thighs, over the black and shadow of ink, before you take him in your hand, then your mouth. 

Eddie is in awe of how pretty you look like this, how your lashes kiss your cheekbones and the stretch of your lips (he goes a little crazy if you’re wearing lipstick too, really gets him going). His breath comes hard through his nose as you tongue the head of him, press against the thick vein before taking as much as you can into your mouth. 

“Shit,” he growls, feeling your nails on his thigh as you begin to bob your head steadily. His hips and thighs tense and spread a little wider, needy, as he keeps himself in check. Your other hand holds the base of him, what you haven’t yet tried to fit into that pretty mouth. 

“Look at my girl, so gorgeous,” he murmurs, smiling when your lashes flutter. His girl. “So pretty.” 

You hum affirmative, taking more in when his head tips back to show off his pale throat and the little mark you left behind. His jaw tenses, twitches and you begin the slow bob of your head again. You look up past your lashes, watching his brow crease when you take him all the way. 

“Shit shit shit,” his voice is a breathy growl that bleeds into a louder moan when he sees you looking up at him - his devil woman. “You’re going to kill me someday with that mouth, huh?” he says. The shake in his voice betrays him as he tries to act a little smooth, a little more together as you’re taking him apart. 

You bob your head, imitating a nod, and bring your hand down to squeeze and roll his neglected balls for good measure. That makes him howl and he covers his face with his arm while you let that playful hand take over so you can catch your breath. 

“Y’okay?” you ask, resting your cheek against his thigh as you move your hand a little faster. 

“Mhmm, peachy,” he replies, eyes a little wild. You love the pink blush on his usually pale cheeks, love knowing that he’s like this because of you. 

Eddie strokes your cheek as you take the head of him back between your lips, a tender little caress of his thumb that makes you close your eyes and lean in. You feel hot and slick between your legs, push your hips to the sofa cushion just a little to temper the ache. 

He catches the little motion and his jaw drops a little - it clears his head just a little, zeroing in on you through his haze of arousal. “Oh my girl feelin’ needy too?” he asks, thumb pushing gently against your cheek.

You move your mouth off of him and nod, turning your head to kiss his palm. “Told’ju I missed you.” 

Eddie’s grin can’t be contained. “C’mere then.” His hands run over your back, coaxing you into his lap. 

Once you have rid yourself of your jeans and underwear you take up your throne on Eddie’s thighs. Your appetite for each other meant that he had started storing condoms in practically every room - there's a fresh box on the coffee table, bought that morning after he saw how low the reserves were. 

Your arms wind around his neck, pressing yourself against Eddie as he kisses you again. Fingers drift between your legs, feeling just how slick you are for him - a combination of missing him and seeing the effect of your mouth on his face. You feel his smile against your mouth as you seek a deeper dirtier kiss, sucking that plump lower lip between your own. 

One guitar-string scarred finger is joined by a second, rubbing slow firm circles that make you moan into his mouth. They press inside and his thumb takes up that slow wet rub, pulling more little needy noises from your lips as you take him back into your hand.

Hands and wrists cramp easily at this angle and you take a moment to pull back, biting your kiss-bruised lip before turning around on your hands and knees to present yourself to Eddie. Peeking over your shoulder with a cheeky smile, you see how his eyes blaze before grabbing for the box of Durex. You hide your grin against your arm when you hear him swearing at the plastic wrapping, calling the box ‘a fuckin’ shitbag’ when his nails struggled for purchase against it. There’s a tiny ‘yes!’ when he finally breaks in and you laugh quietly at you listen to the familiar tear-open of foil. 

On his knees, he bends to kiss the rounds of your ass, then dips lower to taste you just once. “Fuckin’ so sweet,” he murmurs, wishing he had the willpower to not follow his dick that afternoon and dive into you instead - but there’s always later. 

You gasp-giggle at the feeling of his tongue and rock back when you see him line himself up. “Please?” Your lips push into a playful pout, “Show me how much you missed me?” You love winding him up like this.

One side of his mouth curves up as he holds your hip, rubs the head against you to play you at your own game before pushing all the way in. Your jaw drops open, feeling full as Eddie rocks his hips minutely. You can feel him pushed right up against you inside and out, his thighs against the back of yours before he begins a deep dragging thrust.

“Shit, you feel good,” he murmurs, stroking your hip lovingly. “That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, hating that you can’t see him despite how good this angle is for you both. “Eddie,” you whimper, feeling yourself flutter around him.

“Yeah, that’s who’s making you feel good, sweet thing. I’ve got you.” He squeezes your hip, the silver of his rings biting into the doughy softness as he watches his length disappear inside you over and over as he begins to get quicker and harder with his thrusts. 

Your eyes nearly roll back as he pounds into you, fingers gripping the arm of the couch - it’s about the only thing keeping you up as Eddie fucks you and runs his mouth. It feels so good you can barely speak. 

“That’s my girl. Going all cock-dumb on me?” he asks, squeezing the meat of your ass a little harder, watching it jiggle and bounce with his thrusts. “I’ll make you feel good like this every day if you let me. S’what you deserve, getting fucked like you need, huh?” 

Your answering moan is spurred on not only by his words but the graze of his length on your g-spot. “Eddie, god! Yes, right there,” your voice is a babble, the words running into each other ‘yesrigh’there’ as it becomes the only thing you can say. 

The pulsing gush around him, hot wet heat, makes Eddie moan with you. “I know, baby. I know.” His back teeth press together as he holds on, the cord of pleasure pulled tight in his pelvis. The slapping pounding sound fills the room but he can only hear you, almost crying with pleasure. 

“Close,” you murmur, slumped forward a little more. The angle arches your back, pulls Eddie deeper. Your groan is shaky, broken with want. 

“Me too, baby. Got me so wound up,” he murmurs. “Can you touch yourself for me?” He watches your hand move back between your legs, feels the graze of your fingers as you bring yourself closer, small tight circles that sync up with his punishingly good pace. 

“Fuck! Eddie,” you whimper, feeling the inferno in your belly burn bright and hot as you see stars, tears springing as you come hard. 

“Shit shit, that’s my girl. Oh yeah, fuck,” he grinds out,  continuing his thrusts as your body shakes with pleasure. Eddie folds over you, wrapping his arms around you to bring you back into his lap like a rag doll. He can’t bear to not be as close to you as humanly possible as he nears his own orgasm, mouth pressed to your neck to kiss and pant against it as he hammers into you. 

His fingers trail down, finding a quick rhythm that brings you to a shock of a second climax, shorter but no less intense than the first. You feel boneless, yet manage to pull his hand away when it becomes too much, holding his arm around your middle as the other curls up and loops around his neck. Your lips find their way to Eddie’s jaw, pressing wet kisses there. Your eyes are heavy, and yet you see the moment he falls apart. 

His eyes close, face creasing in beautiful blissful agony as he comes holding you in his lap, your name on his tongue. 

Your chest feels heavy, breath synced up as your fingers stroke up against his scalp, past the flyaways. He kisses you messily, so slow and without the same hurry he had mere moments ago. 

Your noses brush against each other’s warm cheeks, lazy smiles pressing kisses as hands smooth and caress wherever is in reach. You feel fuzzy around the edges, warm all over with Eddie plastered to your back. You would both gladly overheat to stay like this a bit longer. Eddie’s lean arms are the only thing holding you together right now, grounded syrupy-sweet kisses that bond the broken bits back into place. 

“Wanna see my girl,” he murmurs after a few moments mouthing at your shoulder, “Easy, babe.” Eddie’s hands on your waist help you to move from his lap, unsheathing him from your body. He wraps the condom in a tissue before lying back, inviting you into his arms with grabby hands.

You bring the blanket from the back of the sofa with you when you lie against his chest, sharing love-drunk kisses as you bask in the glow of each other. 

It’s bright-cold outside the steamed-up windows; the afternoon sun lights the room. His neighbours will surely hate you, but when Eddie strokes his tongue against yours you forget to care.

You brush his sweaty bangs away and press a kiss to the centre of his forehead before resting your head against his chest, tucked under his chin as his hand finds yours. He kisses your knuckles and smiles down at you. 

“Y’okay?” he checks, rosy-cheeked bright-eyed and deliriously happy. Sometimes he feels the need to pinch himself when he realises the woman he had been pining for is now his girlfriend. One time you had been lying together smoking and watching a rerun of Twin Peaks and he had actually asked you to pinch him - his nipple had ached for the rest of the night but at least he knew it was all real. And you had kissed it better. 

Now you smile lazily up at him, real and cosy in his arms. “Never better,” you promise. Your nose scrunches when he kisses it and calls you his little bunny to make you laugh. 

Eddie lights a cigarette and holds it to your lips when you’re too comfy to move. It brings you both back to the real world, back from the plain of absolute bliss. It’s quiet, neither feeling the need to fill the comfortable silence until your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“Where’d you get them?” you ask, lifting your joined hands to finally speak the question you have been meaning to ask. Your fingers slot between Eddie’s, palm to palm, as you admire the silver.

“Been kinda building a little collection since school. Thrift shops mainly.” Eddie shrugs one shoulder; he’s careful not to jostle you too much as you lie against his chest. He pauses to catch a fallen eyelash on your cheek, holding it out to you to blow away. You smile a little and lift your head to wish for a thousand more afternoons like this. 

“I have two nice ones; my friends pooled together for a graduation present for me, and the other one, this one,” Eddie shows you his right middle finger, a harmless flip-off to show you the black enamel heart with wings that he always wears. It’s smaller, less outrightly demonic than the others. The rest of his rings are swapped out, usually a lucky dip into a little dish on his bedside table, but this one stays on. “Bought this one for myself when the band went on tour. Something to remember, y’know?” 

You had heard about Corroded Coffin’s big opportunity last year, playing a few dates as an opening act for a bigger metal band. Your thumb runs over the warm metal as he begins to speak again.

“It was the last day of tour and I was so fuckin’ tired. We were kinda convinced that we were going to be discovered or something, and the crowds really liked us but… it didn’t happen how we had planned.”  

You expect to hear sadness in his voice but there is none. Maybe a hint of resignation that their dream hadn’t become reality.

“Me and Gareth had a fight on the last morning, both of us were hungover as fuck and antsy because it was all going to be over in a few hours. So I stormed off to get breakfast and clear my head, or get more fucked up.” Eddie’s little smile doesn’t meet his eyes; they look a little bit more glossy than usual. “It was my Mom’s birthday and I felt like shit. I would say I found this little jeweller-silversmith place but I think it found me.”

You squeeze Eddie tighter, feeling like he’s letting you see a whole new part of him. A beautiful little sentimental part that houses and holds dear the other woman he loved and the little boy he was when he lost her.

“It was way more money than I should have spent on something so small, but it felt right I couldn’t leave it behind y’know? I went in and it was right there.” His eyes sparkle as he remembers that feeling of all-over calm he felt that day in the little shop. “Went back and apologised to Gare and we played the last show, definitely our best one.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his mouth, “That’s a sweet story, Ed. Thank you for telling me.” Your voice is a whisper against his pillowy lips; you kiss those lips again and feel the silver against your cheek as Eddie kisses you back. Your chest feels like it could burst and there’s an annoying pressure at the back of your eyes. 

“You’re gonna laugh at me but..” Eddie rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the arm of the sofa. He figures out his words before speaking again. “It’s like, everything happened for a reason - we didn’t get a big break but we’re all happy. Gareth got into art school, Jeff moved out of his Mom’s place and… I met you.”

Silence. 

His honesty winds you, it hits you so hard in the chest that you can barely fathom the flurry of feelings like wings battering your chest from the inside. Your lower lip wobbles. Eddie is dead serious too; you know he’s not saying it to be playful. He has so much love in his battered heart and it oozes from him.

Eddie was expecting you to scoff or roll your eyes, call him ‘soft boy’ or something. Maybe a very small part of him thought you might brush him off (he didn’t let himself dwell on that bit). He certainly wasn’t expecting the teary look in your eyes. 

“Shit, baby.” He thumbs your cheek and pouts back at you, pressing the sweetest kiss to your lips; so sweet and slow like the maple syrup you have been adding to your coffees now that it’s Fall. “I mean it. If things went differently, if I didn’t come back, I wouldn’t have met the sexy new bartender, huh?”

You smile, laugh a little wetly and try to blame the post-sex rush for being weepy. “I guess I’m a little bit glad you came back to be annoying. Super selfish of me.” 

You can’t help but think that there might be some parallel universe where you’re still shaking cocktails in Jackie’s but Eddie’s on stage opening for Metallica, Corroded Coffin at the top of the charts. With that thought comes a deep-sinking feeling that maybe someday you might not be enough and he will want that rockstar life; groupies, supermodels, a pretty blonde actress on his arm.... Not you. 

Eddie kisses you again and pulls you close, cocooning the pair of you in the blanket. You find his hand to kiss the black enamel heart before resting your head, cheek to chest. 

You have never felt so in love, nor have you felt so scared. Eddie feels lighter now that he has said out loud the thought about fate that has been rattling around his skull for too long. He feels your arms wrapping tighter around him, like he might disappear. 

He presses his smiling lips fiercely to the crown of your head. “What’s goin’ on in here, huh? I can hear that big brain thinkin’ up a storm.” He thinks over everything he said; was he coming on too strong?

“I just really really like you, Ed,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Telling him that felt so easy; maybe if you weren’t being sucked into an internal doom spiral you could play it up and roll your eyes, pretend it was icky to like him.

“Yeah? I really really like you too.” Your admission makes his heart sing; Eddie tries to temper his smile but can’t. He won’t pretend he’s not head over heels for you, he’d give you a vital organ if you needed it - hell, his heart was already yours. 

He cups your cheek again, coaxing you to look at him. “What else? You’re like… a scared little bunny right now.” He concentrates all his love into how he’s holding you as if it could be transferred like magic from his fingertips. 

“I just...” 

He doesn’t force you to go on when you hide your face in his chest, feeling so stupid for being emotional. Your eyes burn, and he wishes he could be whatever you need right now. He’s not used to seeing his bossy flirty girl so unsure of herself; it makes him love you a little more. He looks up at the ceiling and squeezes your body gently.

“Hey. You don’t have to say anything, just listen okay? I’m serious about you, about... Everything I feel for you.” His voice shakes minutely but he takes a moment, stroking your back to centre himself. “I’m not going to up and leave someday to be a rockstar without you. I need you. Okay? You’re my girl. Best thing that’s happened to me in so so long.” Eddie presses a fiercely loving kiss to your head. “I’m yours, all yours.” 

A tiny shaky sob escapes your throat, leaving you embarrassed. “I’m your girl,” you nod, looking up to see Eddie’s sentimental smile, his wet brown eyes. Your voice is thin and wobbly, like a broken pencil. “I’m so fuckin’ happy with you, Eddie.” 

Neither of you says it, but ‘I love you’ is woven into your confessions, binding you together as you share that moment on Eddie’s squishy, comfy sofa. 

You tilt your head to exchange teary-wet kisses, wobbly smiles on your lips as you begin to feel calmer.

“My baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t bottle shit up, okay? Doesn’t help.” He cups your face, wiping the last stray tears from your cheeks and presses kisses there as a balm. 

“I know. I feel stupid for getting upset, it’s like so early for us..” You look down at his chest, trace the black ink you can reach before looking at his pretty face. You know it’s so early, so why get ahead of yourself when Eddie’s already made you a promise? You take a breath, close your eyes and focus on what you really want, “When can I come to see Corroded Coffin play?” 

Eddie grins, laughs a little throaty. They had taken a little break after tour, played a few bars in the Spring to make sure they didn’t rust up. With Gareth settled back in college, they were ready to get back into it. 

“We’re trying to get a gig for the end of the month. Andy knows a guy putting on a night close to Halloween. Jeff’s the organised one though, I’ll check with him tonight.” He kisses your head and smiles. “I gotta get you a shirt, huh?”

“Mhm, yes please. I heard the lead singer is so hot,” you say, smiling a little when he makes a happy noise deep in his throat. “Might throw my bra on stage if he’s as good as they say…” The thought of seeing your man on stage - your man - makes your tummy flutter. 

“Yeah? Shit, lucky guy.”  

You look up at Eddie and move yourself to rest your forehead against his. “The luckiest. I’m the luckiest girl though.” You mean it too, sealing it with a kiss. 

Eddie cups the back of your head, pressing the loveliest kisses to your mouth. “Lucky fuckers,” he murmurs. You trade kisses back and forth, chasing lazy happy smiles for ‘just one more?’ until you need to move.

“Can I shower? Feel sweaty.” Your time together before work is already ticking away, though you’ve made excellent use of it so far. 

“Can I come watch? I mean wash your back?” he asks, walking his fingers down your spine with a coy little smile. 

“You just want to see soapy boobs,” you tut, looping your arms around his neck as he sits up, taking you with him. 

“What guy doesn’t want to see soapy boobs?” he asks, incredulous at the thought. 

You kiss the corner of his mouth, humming in agreement, “You still got that disposable camera?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide - you half expect his heart to beat out of his chest, eyes on stalks like a babbling cartoon. “Yes ma’am.” 

He dumps you off his lap onto the sofa to root for the camera in his room. The sound of his sweary search carry down the hall as you laugh up at the ceiling.

You love him. You absolutely love Eddie Munson. He’s very easy to love. 

Later, when you’re showered clean (a process which required getting just a little bit dirty again with Eddie worshipping you on his knees in the shower) and full-bellied after the dinner you had brought, you and Eddie get ready for work side-by-side in his room. 

You’re putting mascara on in his mirror, humming to Queen despite Eddie’s protests, when you hear him call your name. 

“Mhm?” 

Eddie’s dressed in a black Henley and some jeans - his leather boots and jacket to go on next. You see the glint of silver around his neck as he nods for you to join him on the bed. 

“Help me pick what rings to wear?” he asks, voice soft and tentative. 

Your heart skips and you nod, crossing the gap to perch on his lap as you pick three more for him to wear - an upside-down cross, a very mean-looking skull, a silver signet ring with ‘EM’ engraved (the gift from his friends for graduation). 

He lets you choose where they go and watches as you slip them onto his long fingers. “Perfect,” he murmurs, linking your hands together. 

“Pretty damn perfect,” you agree, kissing the back of his hand so he will show you that bright and beaming grin. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. And Eddie? He already can’t wait to put a ring on your finger. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #bouncer!eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #bouncer!eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things fic #frenemies to lovers #stranger things AU #bouncer x bartender #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #bangaveragefics

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 6

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.  

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 16.7+

A/N:  I swear I don’t start writing chapters with the intention of making them like this. The next chapter is probably going to be smaller because I get so much anxiety giving you guys these big beefy chapters. This chapter is HEFTY and full of angst. There are more one-on-one interactions with the crew members to start bringing everything together. I'm not going to lie, I struggled a lot writing this week because I started to think my writing was trash. I know it’s not necessarily true but ya. I prevailed enough to bring you this. As always, thank you, guys, for all the love and support. For always being so kind and loving my story as much as you do. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story🖤 Much Love, Jenn

P.s. This chapter is sponsored by not really  Halsey’s - Ya’aburnee 

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Previous Next

The background noise that rose and fell in octaves around you told you that they were all still talking; still arguing. Usopp disappeared to find Luffy who you could only guess was inside that damn kitchen. Nami continued to try and talk sense into Zoro who ignored every word she said by lazily running his swords over the wet stone he’d placed on the galley’s island. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Nami was struggling to keep her voice calm but she was losing. She’d looked over at you more than a few times since you’d all evacuated to the ship to help her, but what could you magically say to make Zoro change his mind? He didn’t seem like a man who responded to pleading or demands. 

He strongly held on to his beliefs. They were a system that guided him; molded him into the pain in the ass he was now. While you watched him continue to tune Nami out it was easy to see the dedication he’d given over the years to become who he was even at a young age. 

Behind all that arrogance was a determination that sliced just as sharp as his blade. Zoro knew who he was and what he needed to do to succeed, and that was more than you could say for yourself at times. 

So…who were you to get in the way of his dream?

The answer to that was as startling as a slap to the face. You were the woman who’d fallen hopelessly in love with him, and he hadn’t even realized it yet.

While you wanted to remain steadfast and devoted to the belief that Zoro had a chance and that the probability of him defeating Mihawk was high, the realistic part of you sounded like Naan. 

“Get those foolish thoughts out of your head, girl.”

For once, you wanted to swat away all of her cynicism. All of her realism forced you to fight to still believe in magic and the good in the world around you outside of science and facts. You wanted to believe that Zoro knew what he was doing and that he was strong enough to beat a grown man almost half his age. 

The other part of you, however, howled on the inside for you to stand up and go to him. To take his face in your hands and demand that he look at you and not turn away. Zoro didn’t respond to pleading, but it didn’t keep your own cries from weighing heavy on your tongue. 

Don’t do this. Stay with me. Make a new dream - with me. 

All your life Usopp and you imagined what it would be like to get off the island. To put Syrup Village behind you, all the pain and unknowns that never received answers. You could both leave on your own adventures and replace all the painful memories with ones aboard ships and the open seas of possibilities. 

You never imagined you’d meet people like Luffy or Nami. Like him. 

Looking at Zoro now as he dragged his sword over the stone one last time you felt your heart sink. Zoro had placed all three swords neatly on the table and took his time giving them adequate deadly attention. He didn’t seem bothered that you and Nami were in the room and sheltered out anything she tried to tell him. 

Nami was begging in her own way. What could you possibly say that would change his mind? She was looking at you now, as your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself - constricting the breath from your lungs making it impossible to formulate words. You were holding on so tight because you knew if you let go, you might run to him. 

“Doc-“ the sound of her calling you jolted you out of your thoughts and back into the present. Back to where you didn’t want to be. Nami was flying her eyes like a whip from you and back to Zoro as if you needed help knowing where to direct your pleas. “Is there anything you want to add here?”

Fuck 

Zoro looked up. He actually looked up from what he was doing to look at you. Shit. Did he want you to say something? Or did he just want to know if you were going to be another obstacle in his way?

“I-“  I don’t know what to say. 

What did she expect you to say? Everything you wanted to say wasn’t meant to blurt out in front of her or anyone else. You were still trying to process that you were admitting to yourself that all the feelings you felt weren’t just indigestion. That it wasn’t just the liquor from the fishbowl that made you wish you’d laced your fingers in that moss-green hair and kissed him. 

Luckily for you, Usopp came running back into the galley which told you all that Luffy was right behind him. 

“Oh great you’re here. Maybe you can convince him to call it off.” 

Zoro had gone back to examining one of his swords and making sure it was ready for the morning. He looked so deep into the edge of the katana you wanted to ask him if it was like a magic mirror and what did he see? Did he see a victory inside that blade as he polished it? Or did he see something much darker? 

“I won’t do that.”

“Did you not see the size of that guy’s sword? He will slice you into sashimi.”

“What’s going on?”

“I have been trying to figure that out for the last thirty minutes,” you huffed. 

Your words only earned you an exasperated look from Nami. 

“You were there when it happened!” She shot back, her voice incredulous. 

“And I am still struggling to comprehend how we went from zero to a thousand in less than a minute.”

You hated this entire thing. The tension radiated like a volt of electricity between all of you. One minute, you felt fine, or as fine as you could be in this situation. The next, the anxiety from Usopp or Nami would set you off or you would completely close down like the indifference Zoro was currently showing all of you. 

“I’m even more lost now,” Luffy muttered.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. Your big, bad Marine grandpa sent a warlord of the Sea to bring you in, and instead of getting the hell out of here when he had the chance, Zoro challenged him to a duel.” 

“Which he accepted.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Usopp muttered to Luffy. 

Usopp looked as nervous as you felt. Your body finally removed itself from the booth in the galley to stand beside him, linking yourselves arm and arm. 

While Nami spoke, Zoro sheathed his sword and placed it back on the island. His arms extended out as he leaned his hands against it, his eyes boring a hole into Nami as she spoke. 

“You are a fly to him. Something to be swatted and forgotten.”

“Not if I win.”

“You’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

Your hand fell down to grab at Usopp’s and squeezed it lightly. Big brown eyes turned to look at you and, whatever he saw reflected in yours, was enough to make him squeeze yours back. 

You knew Nami was trying to make a point. This dude was dangerous. He was a pirate warlord, for Christ's sake, but the idea of Zoro no longer existed…

No. No. You wouldn’t think it. Couldn’t. 

“Guys, guys, maybe we need more drinks,” Usopp offered. 

A part of you wanted to laugh. You could feel it bubbling up inside your chest but the wildness of it let you know it would come out panicked; a sound that displayed the current breakdown of your soul. 

No one else seemed to appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood.

“Tell your first mate he’ll get himself killed.”

“Tell your navigator to butt out.”

For once, Luffy looked lost. A look of childish uncertainty replaced the care-free nature that lived inside him. You hated seeing him so unsure, but he was the captain. He was your captain and these situations called for him to make the best decision for his crew. 

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea, Zoro.”

“When you met me tied up on that cross, what did I say?”

Oh, no. No. You knew where he was going with this. Luffy telling you the story in this very galley came flooding back in crystal clear clarity. 

“What makes you think I wanna play pirates with you?”

“No, the other thing.”

“I kill your kind for a living?”

“No!” Zoro almost shouted the word. “Come…” A groan of frustration left him as he finally looked away from Luffy. The desire to get Luffy to remember consuming him - to remember why he needed to do this. 

And like a switch being flicked, a quiet, “Oh,” sounded beside you, and you knew Luffy remembered. 

“That you made a promise to someone a long time ago to become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“The only way to do that is to beat Mihawk in a duel and take his title. I intend to do just that.”

The words left him in a shout. All that determination rolled into a punch of syllables directed at Nami. At you. Anyone who tried to stand in the way of fulfilling that promise he’d made so long ago. 

“Can’t you just fight him without anyone dying?”

Your voice was sheepish, so small it barely carried over a whisper. Zoro wouldn’t look at you. You’d only earned a small flick of his attention before he replaced it back on the galley’s island. 

“To be the world’s greatest swordsman only one can live. There can’t be two-“

“Why not that just seems silly-“

“Because that is just how it is!” 

He’d dismissed you without a second thought. A teacher schooling an ignorant child who wasn’t privy to how the world works. You wanted to throttle him. 

“Even if you die in the process? Will you please do something?”

It hurt to see Nami so frantic. You were used to seeing her composed and smart. Maybe her anger when someone was doing something particularly idiotic. Never broken. Not like this. 

Luffy regarded Zoro one last time and when you saw the soft smile press a hard line into his lips, you knew any chance of getting him to change Zoro’s mind was gone. 

“It’s his dream, Nami. I can’t get in the way of somebody’s dream.” 

“What if I dreamed of being eaten by a sea beast what the-“

Usopp gently tugged on your conjoined hands to get your attention. His head shaking once to tell you now wasn’t the time to make jokes or be angry. Wasn’t it? 

“What’s it going to take, huh? You want me to say you’re the best? You’re the best. Okay? You’re the best I’ve ever seen, but you are not better than him. And if you fight him tomorrow, you’re going to lose.”

Every word she spoke threatened to make your knees collapse. You didn’t know anything about Dracule Mihawk, except his apparent love for overly large things. Big sword. Big hat. Big feather for said hat. There was no denying, however, the sheer power that radiated off him as he stood there unmoving while Zoro challenged him. The fact there hadn’t even been a glimmer of worry that shifted through his eyes told you plainly he was more powerful than you could imagine. 

And Zoro wanted to fight him. To the death. That manic laughter was beginning to bubble up again in your chest and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to keep it quiet this time. 

Zoro finished sliding his last sword home inside his sash as he asked, “Why do you even give a shit?”

“Because you are my friend, you idiot.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have any friends.”

If this was something Nami ever spoke of, it wasn’t something she’d shared with you. Maybe it had been true before you’d all met each other, but that wasn’t true now. In that moment, it didn’t matter if she remembered you were all there or not. His words hit a scab deep inside her and pulled and picked until he ripped it open. 

Fresh blood from an old wound. 

This time you weren’t worried about accidentally saying anything. Warm fuzzy feelings were thrown to the back of your mind as your own blood thundered for you to come forward and defend her. 

“And you are acting like a Grade A asshole.” 

You released Usopp’s hand to take a step forward. You had every intention of going to her and seeing if she would allow you to stand beside her. You never got the chance. Nami’s eyes looked at each and every one of you- her supposed crew mates - just before she turned on her heel and left the room. 

Once she disappeared from sight it left only the four of you inside the galley. Luffy looked as if he was trying to process just what took place and Usopp, well, he was Usopp. He looked about as lost as you were in the grand scheme of things. 

Your eyes flashed to Zoro and found him already looking at you. His wrists hung loosely over the hilt of the sword as he regarded you. He didn’t soften as your eyes met his but seemed to harden further. A silent challenge for you to try and say something that he would only dismiss. 

“What was that?”

“I told her the truth.” 

“No,” you snarled. “You told her whatever was most convenient for you and your feelings. You want to go get yourself killed, Zoro. Fine. But don’t stand there and act like everyone is supposed to be happy about it.” 

“No one told you that you had to be here or that you were even wanted here.”

“Guys-“ Usopp interjected. 

Neither of you were listening. You could feel your eyes narrow in on him. The pain that had moments ago made it impossible to breathe now hardened into stone.  

“You better hope Mihawk kills you, Zoro because if not I’ll make you wish he had.” 

A part of you meant what you said. Your anger was a living thing at how Zoro used his words as an extension of his swords. Your skin felt like brimstone with the current of fire underneath ready to burst free and set him on fire with how fucking angry you were at him. The way he spoke to Nami. To you. And yet, underneath all that building rage was a fear so palpable you could taste the cold sweat on your tongue. 

You didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t wish him dead. You just wanted him to admit that his ghosts screaming for battle also scared him too. Instead, you were locked in a staring contest you knew you would lose. Zoro’s eyes hardened until he was a mask; unreadable and untouchable. While you knew at any minute your regret was moments away from making itself known. 

With one final look in his direction, you turned to storm after Nami. You needed to find her and make sure she was okay. She did have friends. She wasn’t alone like she apparently thought she was. 

You rounded the corner of the galley that led to Nami’s room. Usually, you would’ve knocked or done something to announce yourself. Naan raised you to be aware of everyone’s space and it was rude just to barge in but you weren’t thinking. You were brimming with too many emotions; too many thoughts that fought to be the clearest. So, when you barged into Nami’s room an apology was already forming on your lips. 

Until you saw her standing with a bag in hand. 

“Where are you going?”

The question hung between you like something fragile. Her own throat noticeably bobbed as she swallowed around something she was going to try and sell you. 

“I was just going out-“

“Don’t lie, Nami.” You moved the rest of the way inside her room and closed the door behind you. “No one carries around an entire suitcase just because.”

Her tongue rolled around the bottom of her lip before she turned away from you. You took note that she was still holding onto her suitcase. She wasn’t going to drop it, which meant however this went she planned on still leaving. 

You didn’t want another Zoro-style fight where insults were thrown to prove points or make someone hate you into letting them go. When she turned back to look at you, all the emotion was stripped from her and you prepared yourself for a fight. 

“Are you going to tell Luffy?”

A sigh pressed past your lips as you shrugged. 

“What am I going to tell him, Nami? You left because you got into an argument and someone said something you didn’t like?”

“Like I give a shit what Zoro or any of you think.”

“Is that why you’re worried I’m going to run and tell Luffy you’re leaving? Make it make sense.”

She turned on her heel and walked back over to a drawer she’d left slightly open. Her hand pushed it back hard before she turned back to face you. The hand that held her suitcase dropped unceremoniously on the floor. 

“I need to leave.”

“Why? Nami, If this is about what Zoro said you know it’s not true.”

“Who are you kidding, Doc? We never chose to be a crew. We were all thrust together by circumstances and just stayed together.”

“Usopp and I chose you guys.”

Hollow laughter escaped her like she couldn’t believe you’d claim this madhouse of a crew. Or maybe the joke was on you, and you just couldn’t see you were the butt of the joke. 

“You don’t get it-“

“Help me understand!”

“I had a job to do before I met Luffy. I completed it and I need to get back.”

“If that was true you would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Ugh, what is it with you? Why can’t you just accept that I’m leaving?”

“Because I don’t think you really want to go back,” you replied, cutting her off. 

The two of you stood there in a silent face-off. Deep down, you both knew that you were right. There were plenty of opportunities for her to leave and go back to whatever life she had waiting for her, but she’d stayed. Maybe it was because of convenience, at first, but somewhere along the line, it changed. 

Nami was happy being a straw hat. Whatever life she had previously was one she’d continue to run away from if she could, but something was calling her back. Whether it was family. Friends. Work. You would never know unless she told you. 

“What makes you so sure?”

“People who want to sneak away in the night don’t stay up showing a small town village girl maps they created in hopes of drawing a map of the world one day.” 

It was only a few nights ago when she had done it. You’d been unable to sleep. Your stomach was tossing like the waves outside the ship. You’d tried to make a tea to ease your stomach and it had failed miserably. Nami had found you curled up becoming one with the galley’s kitchen and gently peeled you from the table. In the very corner she stood in is where she’d sat with you under the light of a lamp and showed you every map she’d ever drawn.

“That’s just a dream, Doc.”

“It’s a good dream.”

She shook her head, her hand outstretched to take back the suitcase she'd discarded. 

“Dreams are just fairy tales for adults. It’s better if you get used to disappointment now than later.”

You wanted to reach out and grab her as she moved past you towards the door. You still had time to do it. To shake her - yell at her - that they didn’t hold the commodity on pain or a shitty life. Maybe you would never know what it was that Nami lost. She may never want to share with you that story of her life, and that was fine. You just wanted her to know she didn’t have to keep running. That you would help keep her dreams alive and safe as long as she wanted them. 

When you turned to follow her you found the door wide open and Nami gone. You could’ve chased after her, but it would only cause a scene. She’d made it clear she’d meant to run in secret - you finding out was an unexpected accident. A part of you wanted to tell Luffy so you could both go charging after her and make her come back, but Luffy would never make anyone do something they didn’t want to do. 

How could it be in less than a day everything had gone to shit? Zoro was so eager to die and Nami…Nami was just gone. With one last look around her room, you moved to sit in the chair she’d been in earlier. The sound of her laughing as you tried on clothes brought the ghost of a smile to your lips and you wondered if you’d ever get to hear it again. 

The Going Merry felt like a ghost ship. 

Somewhere in the bridge, you were aware Usopp had run to hide there as the after-hours of fun began to take its toll. Luffy disappeared outside the ship and you wondered if anyone had noticed yet that the ship was one straw hat less. 

You’d been sitting inside Nami’s room since she left, unable to leave just in case she’d changed her mind and came back. You wondered how long you could wait here before reality forced you to face it that the small family you’d chosen was falling apart. 

Not much longer if the rising hues of the sun’s blood-orange tint on the night sky had anything to say about it. 

With one last glance around the room, you headed back out onto the bridge. You didn’t know where to go. You didn’t feel like playing nursemaid, though you were sure Usopp would’ve appreciated the help, and you didn’t think you could keep quiet about a missing orange-haired girl if Luffy asked where she was. 

You were starting to feel your own hangover begin to creep in and one thing was for certain, you were going to need some coffee. 

Your footsteps sounded loud against the wood. The sound only reminds you of how empty the Merry had become. You pushed through the galley’s French doors and found yourself walking into a Zoro deep in meditation. It was something he usually did in the confines of his room sandwiched between his crates of rum and the small window that looked port side. You’d only ever seen him do it once on the stern of the ship in the early morning when no one was around. 

Not that you were staring or watching or anything.

All three of his swords were set on the hanging baby blue table in front of the window seat where he now sat. His bandana was secured to his head about as tightly as his arms were to his chest. His eyes were still closed and you thought, maybe you’d be lucky enough to turn around and run back to the bridge. You’d take your chances with Luffy. 

“If you’ve come to talk me out of the duel I’ll tell you right now. You’ll just be wasting your time.”

He growled out the words from somewhere deep in his chest. It croaked in places as if he’d been asleep and your presence had woken him. Zoro hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he didn’t need to see to know you were there. 

You’d come stomping in like a person ready to perform a verbal battle when all you wanted was some coffee and a little bit of calm before…

“I came for coffee not to tell you how much of an inconsiderate asshole you’re being.” 

That got his eyes to open and focus on you. You only spared him a moment before you made your way to the cupboards. You were just going to focus on getting a cup and what you needed to make your coffee. You weren’t going to acknowledge him.

Even as you reached the cabinets and started searching for the kettle, you could feel his eyes boring between your shoulders. It forced an irritation to set fire in your chest and that only seemed to grow worse until your hands were squeezing the iron of the handles. At any moment, you expected to see blood dripping from your palms. 

You let out a deep breath and tried to push away all the things you wanted to say. To scream at him. You found the kettle and focused on filling it up and turning on the stove because if you didn’t you would start yelling at him about how maddening he was. It was a good thing you had to look for the coffee grounds to steep them or else you would’ve burst with how petty he was; the bitchest man alive. 

If it wasn’t for making your damn coffee you would’ve crumbled into a sobbing mess as you struggled to find the words to make him stay. You were doing a pretty good job at ignoring him, but of course, Zoro could never just leave it alone. He always had to poke and prod and- 

“You seem to be struggling with that coffee.”

“And why does it matter to you? Are you suddenly in the mood to be caffeinated?”

“Just wondering how long it’s going to take for you to finish and get the hell out of the galley.” 

“Okay, that’s enough! Enough, Zoro!”

You hated how your voice betrayed you. The way it broke as his name left your lips. What you hated more was how he responded to the exact sound as it touched his ears. His body language was still rigid but he sat up straighter. His arms dropped down from his body to sit in his lap. 

“I get that this means something important to you. It’s a lifelong goal and you want to accomplish it, but how can you expect to accomplish anything when you push people away.” 

“I’ve accomplished plenty on my own before I ever meet any of you.”

“That’s fantastic. Great for you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to do everything alone anymore. We are all here for you-“

“Why do you even care? What was it you said, that I better hope Mihawk kills me or I’m going to wish he had.”

You knew saying that would come back to haunt you. How many times had Naan told you speaking out of anger never made a situation better? Zoro thought you’d said it because you hated him to the point you hoped he’d lose. 

“I only said that because you are being an ass.”

“I didn’t know you hated me enough to hope I died.”

“I don’t hate you, Zoro! And the last thing I want is to see you get hurt or worse fucking die. Why can’t you see what it would do to the people who care about you? Why can’t you see that I like you, you idiot!”

The words stumbled out before you could catch them. Your chest felt like it was on the verge of collapsing while your lungs refused to release the breath it held captive. It felt like a lifetime passed between the two of you, and yet you knew it was only seconds. It was long enough for the sting of tears to crown your eyes as you waited for Zoro to do something. Anything. 

What made it worse was how unmoved he appeared by your confession. Your words didn’t seem to cause any reaction from him other than his usual empty stare. The cool look of emotionless stone replaced the teasing sparks of mischief that gleamed in his eyes or the smiles that warmed his face when he was surrounded by his crew. 

You would’ve given anything for any emotion besides the empty reply you received.

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I want to know you, really know you, but first, I need the chance to do that. I can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“I’m not going to lose.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It’s obvious that you don’t believe in me. Like Nami. You both think I can’t do it.”

“Oh my god, Zoro - enough! We are just worried for you. We give a shit about you still being alive. I want to be able to wake up and hear your grumpy ass voice or find you drinking on the stern. I want to be able to have conversations with you while you begrudgingly go with me to forge ingredients and put flowers in my hair. I want to see you look at me the way you did standing alone on the Merry like you did tonight.” You took in a shaky breath as you took a cautious step toward his seated position. “You have infuriatingly crawled your way inside my bones, Roronoa Zoro, and have taken hold. I don’t want to know what life is like without you.”

Your breathing was fast and shaky as if you'd been running. It didn’t matter that the tears you’d struggled to contain fell freely down your cheeks or that your chest heaved, ready to cave in at any moment. 

You were vaguely aware of the Sun beginning to peak its way inside the windows. The timer on what could possibly be the last time you were with Zoro coming to an end. Maybe that was why when he moved to stand you allowed yourself to hope. You let yourself believe maybe your admission meant enough to make him stay, but you watched as he silently slid each katana into their holsters on his sash and it felt like the ground opened up and swallowed you whole. 

“Why can’t you just admit you have feelings for me?”

It was true that you didn’t know much about the world or how it works. You’d never been out of the village. Never had many friends outside of Usopp. The boys in the village are always ridiculous or sometimes cruel or just too stupid to look at. You imagined you had to be broken since all you’d cared about was becoming the greatest doctor you could be. So, maybe you’d read into the small glances too much or the way when you almost fell and he’d secured you close to him with his chin dipping into your neck. It was subtle but you felt it. 

People didn’t just do that when they didn’t like someone, did they?

Once he’d made sure everything was secured inside his sash, Zoro came around the table and walked until he stood beside you. He wouldn’t look at you and just kept looking at the battle ahead because now the sun had risen and he had a promise to fulfill. 

“I don’t give a shit about you.” His words stabbed into your chest and twisted. It felt worse than anything you’d ever felt; a storm cloud of emotions that darkened your mind. But underneath that, you could hear the tremor in his own voice as he forced himself to tell you. “You’re just another one of Luffy’s little add-ons to an already big enough freak show of a crew.”

“Why are you so scared to give a shit?”

“Scared of what?” This time when he snapped it whipped his head to look at you. The soft touch of his eyes hardened into something wild and desperate. “Of you?”

“Either you’re scared or you are a coward. Only someone who’s a coward can’t admit to the truth.”

“Or maybe you’re just delusional.”

Maybe you were. You didn’t know how the world worked. How people worked. You’d traveled into uncharted territory when Zoro began to worm his way inside your brain and hold your heart hostage. It was possible you’d only seen what you’d hoped to see. 

His jaw ticked to whatever irritated thought he had while he looked at you. You expected him to say something else. To finally tear you completely down until there was nothing left. Instead, he turned away from you and started towards the galley’s French doors dismissing you completely. 

You listened as he pushed through with the soft sound of the doors swinging on their hinges filling the space. You weren’t going to follow. You couldn’t watch him walk out knowing he may never come back. 

It felt like an eternity passed before you heard the first clash of blades outside the Merry. You were still standing where Zoro had left you. Unable to move, at first, in case you take that move forward and restart time. As if you had the ability to keep it suspended and him safe. 

It wasn’t until that ringing of metal scraping against metal resonated inside the wood of the Merry that your body jerked back into the present. You already knew Luffy would be there with Zoro; believing in him and cheering him on. Usopp too simply because he knew the power of what support could do for someone. 

And Nami…

Nami had to be long gone by now and you? You were here cowering inside the safety of a vessel so you didn’t have to see. The sound of a body colliding into the dock gave yours a jolt. 

Sure, Zoro had ripped out your heart after you’d admitted what you hadn’t been able to admit to yourself. You’d done it, selfishly, in hopes that it would keep him in the confines of the safety of the ship, but that wasn’t Zoro. 

He wasn’t about safety and backing down from anything. From the moment you’d met him, you’d seen the dedication he held when it came to his ability to fight. The fire drove him to consume and lay waste to those who stood in his way, but underneath the harshness of the fire laid something soft. He’d defended that little girl in the bar. He stood up for those who preyed on villages and mercilessly attacked women and children.

For all the drinking and hard-headed idiotic things Zoro could do he was one of the best men you’d ever meet. There wasn’t anything that Zoro hadn’t proved he could do. So, why couldn’t it be possible for him to beat Mihawk? 

With your mind decided, you pushed your back off the island counter and took off running at full speed. You would support him no matter what was shared between you. Zoro deserved it: he deserved to be believed in. 

You were going up and over the stairs to take the ramp down to the dock when you saw Mihawk stab something small into his chest. You could feel your knees buckle. The way your body went limp and forced your legs to collapse in on themselves as they smashed into the wood of the ramp. 

Zoro’s arms were spread out in Y shape. The edges of his swords barely missed the arm’s of Mihawk, the handles of his swords touching the design on his trench. He was close, but not close enough to do any damage and not far enough away from the small blade that Mihawk embedded deep in his chest. 

“No.”

Your denial came out in a hush and was carried away by the wind. 

Mihawk told him something. Maybe about retreating and forfeiting the match to save his life. It was enough to radiate rage through Zoro’s body and hardened his eyes with determination. 

Zoro would never run. It wasn’t in his character. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Nami approach the dock. She came to stand between Luffy and Usopp and for a split moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. Nami was back. The universe was working on fixing all the wrongs that happened in the last few hours.

Mihawk pulled the small blade from out of his chest and you watched as Zoro stumbled back. His swords helped him to stand back up on his feet to face him. 

“I’ll do you the honor of killing you with Yoru.”

No. No. 

The word almost clawed its way out of your throat. A possession so deep to halt time ached through your veins until you thought it was almost possible to do it. As if the very fabric of the air would rip open at any minute just to save him. 

You couldn’t miss the satisfied smirk that curled Zoro’s lips. 

“Now that’s more like it.” 

You watched as he unsheathed the Wado Ichimonji and brought it up to his mouth. His body stood straighter as he connected the two swords as one and began to spin them. You’d seen him fight plenty of times with just the two swords. The sheer strength he had just using them didn’t seem to compare to anyone else. You’d seen him use his three-sword style only once before and nothing compared to the sheer strength and speed that came from him placing that blade between his teeth. 

Hope blossomed in your chest as you watched him spin the swords. His body took off moments later as Mihawk moved to rush forward, meeting him in a clash that rattled like thunder from the impact. Zoro came to a sliding stop just feet in front of you. His swords still lifted up to deflect the blow from Mihawk’s blade before they crumbled to pieces in front of him.

Zoro locked eyes with you, your body mimicking his, as he removed the Wado Ichimonji from between his teeth. You could feel fresh tears streaming down your cheeks turning your vision blurry. With his eyes locked on you, he used it to help him get to his feet. 

If your voice would’ve worked you would’ve told him to stop. That he didn’t need to turn around but you knew he would. This was Zoro. The most infuriating man on the planet and honored bound to his beliefs. You clamored to get to your feet. To run to him to try and keep him from turning to face Mihawk. 

He must have seen it on your face. You were probably doing a terrible job of keeping your thoughts off your face. All the panic. 

A soft smile slid across his lips. It wasn’t big enough to crack his lips or show teeth. It never reached his eyes, but it didn’t have to. It was a smile just meant for you. His way of telling you it was alright; to soothe you before the final blow came.  

For one last fleeting moment, you looked at one another and you imagined yourselves back inside the ship. Zoro sitting in his hammock being his usual broody self while you clean up the wound on his chest. You could practically hear him mumbling some shit about you not being gentle against the lip of a newly opened bottle of rum. 

It felt so real that, for a split second, you thought it was. You’d been so caught up in your own daydream that you hadn’t realized he’d turned his back on you. Now he was facing Mihawk his arms spread open wide giving him a perfect kill shot of his chest. 

“Wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame.”

“Magnificent.”

In one swift motion, you watched as Mihawk sliced through the air with his blade cutting perfectly through Zoro’s chest. 

“NO!”

This time you did find your voice and it was unhinged. All that panic you pushed to the side and all that hope you’d allowed yourself to blindly follow came crashing down like a wave. It strangled every last bit of feeling until all that was left was the crushing weight of despair. You were aware that Luffy was there at his side. You could hear him calling out to Zoro with his hands pressed at his body. 

You were sprinting down the last of the ramp and onto the dock. You couldn’t remember bending down to be at his side but your eyes could see him. It was Zoro but not the Zoro you were used to. 

Already he was turning ghostly pale as the wound continued to bleed. We have to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood and he was in so much pain. The wound Mihawk created went from the left shoulder down to the beginning of his sash. It was massive. Zoro’s breathing was shaky and would quiet down until you weren’t even sure if he was even taking in a full breath. 

You reached over to feel his pulse. It weakly flutters against your ring and middle finger as you press down. When you pulled away you noticed your forearm streaked with blood. 

“Monkey D. Luffy - what is your goal?”

“I’m going to become King of the Pirates.”

“King of the Pirates, eh? That’s a much more treacherous path than even defeating me.”

“I don’t care.” Luffy looked back at Mihawk. His usual determination in his voice, but it missed the warmth and it trembled with each word. Whether it was from anger or sadness you would never know. “It’s what I am going to do.”

“Hmm. Maybe you will at that. This world could use a few more wild cards. Roronoa Zoro, It’s too soon for you to die. Grow strong and come find me. I’ll be waiting.” 

You wanted to scream at him to go to hell. You wished you could send him there yourself, but Zoro was still alert. He was fighting and that meant maybe it was his fate to be the one to send the big feathered asshole there himself. 

You wanted to tell him that. To make a joke. You owed him the one about the Marine and the Pirate walking into a bar. You just couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your hands were trembling violently every time you moved them to try and touch him. So, you clenched them down and kept them pressed into your thighs. 

Usopp came to kneel beside Luffy and Nami slowly made her way to stand next to you. 

“He’s losing so much blood. Doc, what should we do?”

What should we do? 

What were you supposed to tell them? You were the doctor. Their doctor. It’s why Luffy had asked you to join. It was your job to heal them and keep them well. 

Doc, what should we do? 

You should know the answer. You should be the one ordering them around and telling them what to bring you to start staunching the wound. 

“He’s gonna be okay. Hey Zoro, can you hear me? He said it was too soon for you to die.”

“Luffy-“

Fuck. Zoro sounded so weak. All the broody, snarky asshole comments that he’d made were full of life. Each word was rich with the baritone of his voice that dripped down your skin like honey. That same voice now barely rose above a whisper.  

“If I fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman…you’ll be disappointed. Right?”

Each word came out strained. With each breath, he fought to take through the gash in his chest. 

“You could never fail me.”

Zoro opened his eyes and looked over at his Captain. The pain began to make tears spring into his eyes and run down the corners. 

“Never. Again. From now until I beat him.” A grunt of pain burst from his mouth as he grabbed his body to the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji and lifted it up to the sky. His free hand covered his face as if he was ashamed. “To become the world's greatest swordsman I will never lose again!”

Zoro swore it with such conviction you expected him to stand up at any moment and walk himself back to the Merry. Your assessment was wrong, however, when he suddenly went limp with the sword and his arm crashing down against the dock. 

“Zoro?”

This time he was unresponsive. The blood pooling around his middle and seeping into the front of his gi blossomed into a flower that grew ever brighter with each passing second. 

“Doc!” Usopp shouted. It was enough to finally tear your eyes away from Zoro and focus on something else. “What do we do? You’re the doctor here.”

“Right.” The word came out in a huff through your nose. 

Your eyes scanned the scene that was laid out in front of you. It was time to be scientific about this. To focus on what was fixable in front of you and to put whatever feelings you had to the side. 

Why did that feel easier said than done?

They were still waiting for you to direct them. Six pairs of eyes equally as lost as you waiting for direction on how to save their crew mate -  their friend - in front of them. Your tongue lashed out to nervously wet your bottom lip as you scrambled to your feet. 

“We - we need to move him back to the ship. We have to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, right good call, Doc,” Luffy offered as you all scrambled to grab a limb. 

“Just make sure that when we lift him we do it carefully-“

Luffy and Usopp didn’t wait for you and Nami to grab a hold of either leg. They just lifted and his legs flopped against the deck. 

“Jesus, she said to do it together and carefully!” Nami snapped. 

“I’m sorry I’m just nervous.”

Usopp was obviously as panicked as you. 

“It’s alright, let's just grab him and get him back to the Merry.” 

The four of you grabbed a hold of Zoro and this time smoothly picked him up. Luffy and Usopp carried his upper body and thank god he did. You weren’t expecting him to feel like you were trying to carry a sea cow. Scratch that. It felt like you were trying to carry a sea beast. 

The first steps you took were good, but by the time you started making it up the ramp back into the Merry, you were all struggling not to drop your end. 

“Easy! Easy! Jesus, be careful!”

Nami instructed the boys - mostly Usopp - as they took the last step down onto the bridge. 

“Guys. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold my end,” Usopp grunted. 

“We are almost there, Usopp. Just hold on.” 

“I’m trying but this guy is really heavy.”

To prove his point, Usopp started shuffling backward quicker than you expected. He shoved his shoulder into the double doors of the galley forcing you all to catch up with him. The movement causes you and Nami to bump into one another as you each hold on to one of his legs. 

“Easy. Don’t drop him!”

“I didn’t. He’s just heavy. I mean, he’s got a really big head. It’s, like, freakishly big.”

“Now is not the time, Usopp,” you grunted as you all moved to set him down on the island. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

The question came from Nami as she made her way around the galley’s kitchen. She was searching through cupboards at a furious rate and you didn’t have to ask what it was she was searching for. She’d heard you loud and clear about needing to stop the bleeding. You had some clean linens that were stashed inside your room. You should’ve gone for them, but suddenly, seeing Zoro lifeless on the island of the galley…you couldn’t recall any of your training. 

“Zoro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Luffy’s soft question was drowned out by Usopp asking where the first aid kit was. 

“Why would we need a first aid kit when we have a doctor?” Nami shot back. 

“That’s right. Doc, what are we doing?”

They were looking to you to direct them. You are the doctor. This was your time to shine to be able to prove that you were worth the space Luffy had offered you. So, why couldn’t you move? Your brain was moving at a thousand miles a minute and yet every time it landed on free space it came up empty. If it wasn’t empty, it was screaming that Zoro was dying and you weren’t going to be able to save him. 

Nami returned to the head of Zoro and was holding it in place. You weren’t sure why. The wound was on his chest. Usopp was now thrashing around the room looking for rags. 

“Doc!” 

This time Nami smacked your arm to get your attention. Your feet moved of their own accord to the edge of the island as you reached out and started peeling back the soaked fabric of his shirt. 

There have been times when you were daydreaming in the privacy of your room that you imagined peeling back Zoro’s shirt just like this. To expose the taut muscles underneath. In all of your daydreams, it was never like this. Not like this. 

A sharp hiss of air cut through your teeth as you exposed the large gash to the room. It was approximately two - almost three inches in width. The first and second layer of skin was severed leaving the third exposed and dangerously close to opening it to severe infection. 

“These towels are all I could find. Where’s he bleeding from?”

“Everywhere.”

“Nami, I need you to add pressure with the towels. I have to run to my room and get some supplies.” 

“Ok, but Doc hurry.” 

Asking for speed felt like an understatement. There wasn’t a soul alive inside that ship who didn’t realize that Zoro was beginning to show fewer and fewer signs of breathing. His skin was taking on a grayish tone like a corpse making his green hair look sickly against the grotesque hue. 

You didn’t bother telling her you knew he was dying. You just needed out of that room. 

Your feet carried you out of memory to your room which sat directly across the hall from Zoro. How many times had you gone to go inside your own room and paused, considering knocking on his just to see him leaning against his open door? The thought of never having the chance to make it a reality spurred you inside your room. 

You knew you were going to need thread and a good stitching needle to close the wound. What you really needed was something to fight infection both outwardly and inward. The tonic would have to wait. Without further thought, your hands started going through every jar that held a gathered plant and salves you’d previously made. What you needed was the same Chiterra you’d used on Zeff mere hours ago. It’d been left inside your satchel. 

You ran to its place sat on your bed and upended the bag onto the mattress. Your hands flung everything off until you came to the jade-green bottle and held it up to the light. You didn’t need the sunlight to tell you there wasn’t enough in the bottle. You’d applied most of it on Zeff. 

With a scream, you hurled the bottle against the wall. All that panic was turning to rage and you couldn’t keep it bottled in. You went to grab the things you did have and noticed on the small desk in the corner the snowdrop Zoro had placed behind your ear. 

Suddenly, you were standing back inside that forest. The feeling of his fingertips gliding over your ear as he deposited the flower, hand lingering longer than it should’ve. There was no mistaking the way he looked at you then was the same way he’d looked at you on the deck. The same way he’d looked at you seconds before Mihawk and tried to slice him in half. 

No. Zoro wasn’t going to die today. 

Grabbing what you had, you rushed back out of your room and to the galley. 

“We need to go to the Baratie and ask if they have any supplies.”

“What are you talking about?” Nami asked, flabbergasted. “How do you not have the supplies?”

“I used most of it last night, mending Zeff.” 

“Why the hell were you doing that?!”

“It was to help, Luffy-“You took a deep breath and pressed your hands out, as if it was going to push all the panic you’d pressed down from climbing back up again. “It doesn’t matter now. Luffy, can you go to Baratie?”

“I’m not really hungry right now, Doc.”

“Luffy, no-“ deep breath. Breathe. “I need something that is able to fight an infection. Something we can put on the skin.”

“Right! Right, I can do that!”

Luffy looked over Zoro’s body one last time before he sprinted out of the kitchen. It left the three of you waiting there until he returned but you were done with waiting. You were a doctor and it was about damn time you acted like one. 

If only you could get your hands to stop shaking. 

“Usopp, I need you to take this needle over to the stove and sterilize it for me, please.” 

“I’m on it, Doc.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Nami patiently waited to take whatever direction you would give her. You were sure if you told her to bring you fifty buckets of seawater she would do it without question. 

“Just go back up towards his head and talk to him. I’m going to sew up the wound and, well, it’s not going to feel too great.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

You both went to move around the other to get into position when you lightly grabbed her arm in passing. She turned to you with eyes too wide to be anything else but shocked and you wondered if you mirrored her expression. 

“Thank you for coming back.” 

You weren’t sure why you needed to tell her that, especially at a time like this, but you meant it. No matter what was happening right now, Nami had proven to be the sister you’d never had. Without her here now you might have been lost. 

You let your hand fall away as you came to the side of Zoro and began to unravel the thread. You had most of it unraveled when Usopp showed up beside you and handed over a very sterile needle. You threaded the black thread through the stitching needle and decided to start working on the smallest area. 

Maybe by the time you finished with it the tremors in your hands might have disappeared. 

Luffy arrived back from Baratie with Zeff and Sanji in tow. All three of them walked in just as you finished the last crisscross of stitching on Zoro’s chest. 

“Oy, I was wondering why he was asking for me,” Zeff huffed as he came around the opposite side of the island. “I could’ve sworn you said you were a doctor.”

“I am. I just don’t have anything to put over the wounds to support healing or to keep them from getting infected. I asked Luffy to go in case you did.” 

Sanji set down a basket on the island and you couldn’t keep your brow from quirking up in question. 

“Are we having a picnic?”

“Very cute, smart ass,” Zeff shot back. “Yellowtail skin is known to have enzymes in the skin that staunch the wounds and speed up the healing process.” 

As he explained it all to you, Sanji unrolled a set of very sharp-looking knives and handed the second largest to Zeff. Right after he unrolled the yellowtail from its wrapping and held it out for the older man to take. 

Zeff stroked the fish in appreciation before he began to cut it. Once the head was removed and he sliced it in half, you all watched as he carefully thinly sliced the yellowtail’s skin in sections. Each section of the fish was cut and placed on a plate until the entire fish was flayed. When he finished with the last slice, Zeff motioned for someone to grab the plate as he made his way around to join you on your side of the island.

“It’s my turn to teach you a little something, girl.” 

You wouldn’t deny that you didn’t know about yellowtail skin being able to do any of this. As you watched Zeff carefully layer it over your stitch work, you wondered if Naan was even aware of it. 

“Is he going to be okay?”

Usopp’s question was so soft you wondered if he’d even spoken. His eyes, like the rest of you, all focused on the motionless body of your crew mate. 

“I’m not going to lie to you. He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m sure your doctor can even tell you that. It might be too late for him.”

“But it might not be.” 

Luffy wasn’t going to give up on Zoro. He refused to think of any possibilities where Zoro didn’t wake up. You wish you shared the same belief as him. That Zeff’s words didn’t sit heavily in your thoughts because it was the same one you had.

“He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world. Talk to him. Tell him stories. Sing him sea shanties for all I care. He may not reply, but at least he’ll know his crew is still with him.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “Singing lovely little tunes isn’t going to save anybody.” 

“It’s not about science or what’s up here,” Zeff replied, a thick finger poking you dead between the eyes. “Sometimes it’s the heart of the matter that saves people.” 

Naan would’ve hollered about Zeff being the biggest idiot she’d ever met if she’d heard one word of that. A part of you wanted to ask if he could tell by the look he gave you. 

“We need to wrap him.”

“God, does that mean we gotta hold him up again?” Usopp whined. 

“Yes,” you shot back. “Usopp it does mean I need you guys to help hold him up.”

“I can help you. If you like.”

Sanji stepped around Zeff to come to your side. All his earlier flirting was replaced by the genuine desire to help. You were sure if Zoro knew Sanji had helped him in any way he would implode, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“Sure. I would appreciate it. Thank you, Sanji.” 

You waited on bated breath to hear a cheesy pick-up line and found yourself coming up empty. You got your wraps ready as you motioned for Sanji to lift him and when you finished, Nami offered to let Zoro stay in her room. You didn’t help carry him inside and figured it was only a few short feet from the galley to her room. 

You needed air. You needed rum. You still needed to go fix up your room. 

The only thing you did was the first on that list. 

You’d found yourself standing on the stern of the ship. Your arms hung over the railing as you took in the endless blue that surrounded you and the last few stragglers of ships remaining from the night before. You tried to let your mind relax by wondering who was on those ships; the stories Usopp could create would either leave you in wonder or hysterics. 

That was what you really wanted. Your best friend to tell you a story as far-fetched as the one you’d all been a part of in less than twenty-four hours. You went to remove yourself from the rail when Luffy appeared beside you. His eyes scanned out over everything before him before he turned to smile at you. 

“Hey, Doc.”

“Hey Luffy. Everything alright?”

He still looked shaken by everything that had happened. The smile he’d tried to plaster on his face while Zoro was still conscious on the dock was replaced now with something you never thought you’d see: fear. 

Monkey D. Luffy was afraid. You wanted to reach out and hug him. To remind him that life came with no playbook and you were all just fumbling around trying to make the best decisions without ever knowing the outcomes. 

“Yeah. No. Maybe Nami was right and I should’ve tried harder to stop Zoro.”

“Luffy, Zoro was always going to do what he wanted. I don’t think you telling him not to do it would’ve mattered. What he wanted to know was that you were in his corner believing he could do it. You did the right thing as a Captain. As a friend.”

As the words left you, you knew every single one of them was true. The stubborn idiot was going to go out and do this duel no matter what. It’s what he’d trained himself to do and why he continued to train. Who were any of you to tell him all of that was for nothing? 

While Luffy listened and filtered your words through his head, you could see the small worry lines that had creased his forehead begin to ease. The darkness behind his eyes lightened just enough that you could feel his sunshine beginning to peek through the storm. 

“I’m always going to be in every one of your corners because you guys are in mine.” 

You tried to give him a weak smile. Something that could equal the one he’d given you. You could feel it falling flat and decided it was safer to look back over the side of the Merry or at your hands. 

It was a mistake. How you’d missed the blood - Zoro’s blood - that had caked on your fingers and between them was beyond you. Instantly, you felt like you needed to bathe. To scrub your skin raw before it leaves a deeper imprint like an unwanted tattoo. 

Luffy must have noticed your panic because he moved closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, and gently reached out to stop you from scratching through your skin. 

“Why are you out here, Doc?”

His question was light. Soft. A whisper that forced you to hang your head before a flood of emotion threatened to burst from the dam in your chest. 

“I should’ve believed in him more, like you do. I should’ve shown him or had more faith in who he is.”

“The Demon Pirate Hunter?”

That did make a snort of a laugh leave you as you looked up at Luffy. 

“Your first mate.”

You were surprised when Luffy suddenly wrapped a long arm around you and pulled you into a tight hug. You thought you were going to have to tap out and tell him it was too much. Damn, could he give a good hug. But you didn’t. You wrapped an arm around his waist and allowed yourself to be consumed for just a little while by sunshine. 

“You did an amazing job today, Doc.” 

You pressed a scoff into his chest before you pushed away and secured yourself back over the railing. 

“That’s really sweet Luffy, but no I didn't. I was sloppy. Unprepared. My response time was shit.” Your delay in helping Zoro could be what cost him his life. You didn’t want to say it out loud. The guilt - shame - of that hard fact sat like stones in your gut. “If Naan were here she’d have my ass.”

“But you saved him.”

Luffy looked so confused and you weren’t sure you wanted to explain it to him. He believed in you more than you believe in yourself. 

“No. All I did was make him comfortable if he died.” 

It felt like you were speaking through molasses. The idea of him dying filled your body with such raw grief it threatened to topple you over. 

“That’s not true.”

It was true, and Naan would’ve used this moment as another one of her hard lessons. One just to prove why getting attached to others was never good for a healer. Everything she’d ever taught you had gone right out the window as you watched Zoro fall. All the training and knowledge wasted as you acted like a lovesick girl and not the one who maybe could’ve saved him if she hadn’t been so lost in her head. 

No. You weren’t who Luffy thought you were or who you’d even thought you were. You should’ve stocked up on ingredients more. Noted all the tools you were missing and got them instead of worrying about a world full of promise and adventure. 

“I’m going to go wash up, Luffy. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Make sure you stop in to see Zoro, Doc. I know he’d like to hear from you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Would he want to see someone who selfishly tried to keep him from being who he was? You could still hear the last conversation playing in your head. The way his voice cracked just enough to notice. 

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

You didn’t mean it. You weren’t sure if you could face him but another part of you wondered if the last memory you wanted to carry of him was him lying bleeding on Baratie’s dock. 

The bath had been scolding hot and your skin was still slightly red from how furiously you’d scrubbed it. You’d had no intention of going in to see Zoro. 

Not yet. 

But as you left your room you heard Nami’s voice raise and you bolted toward the sound. What if something was happening to Zoro? Instead of the possibility of you going into doctor mode, you noticed it was yelling of a different kind.

“And I would like it if Zoro wasn’t dying in my bed!”

No! Not dying…

You came shooting around the corner and into the room. Your eyes take in a small-looking Luffy as Nami stands on the opposite side of where Zoro lies. Her eyes were piercing and sharp and full of anger directed solely at your captain. 

“I can’t get in the way of someone’s dream, Nami.”

“What’s going on here?”

Nami’s gaze moved over to you and it made you want to stop in your tracks. It felt like she was almost blaming you for the dying friend in her bed. 

“Nothing. I was just leaving.”

“Again?” 

The word came out before you could stop it. The irritation sparked from her in waves. You hadn’t meant to say it but you were too emotionally exhausted to care. 

“Again?” Luffy asked, visibly lost. 

“It's nothing,” Nami quickly dismissed your words as she set down the book she’d been reading. “Just a slip of the tongue. Right, Doc?”

She wasn’t giving you time to answer her because she wasn’t trying to have more conversation. Not with you and definitely not with Luffy. Somehow, you’d both ended up in the shit yard. 

You turned to watch her retreat and didn’t take one step forward until you were sure she was gone. You reached out to Luffy and touched his arm briefly before you dropped it back down to your side. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just-“ 

He was back to looking lost. His eyes searched for answers ingrained in the wood of the ship and coming up short. He looked up at Zoro still lying motionless in bed and turned in your direction. 

“I’m going to get the Wado Itchy Monkey ready for him when he wakes up.” 

“Itchy monkey?”

“His sword.”

Now this was the Luffy you knew. It wasn’t as cheerful as it should’ve been but you would take this smile over the wounded look any day. 

“Oh, right. The Itchy Monkey.”

You hoped somehow Zoro could hear this and was screaming. 

“Do you want to come with me? I think Sanji is also with Usopp in the galley cooking something. If you want to eat.”

“Maybe later. I need to do an assessment first.”

“Oh, yeah. Let us know how it goes.”

“You got it, Captain.” 

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what? 

“Captain. No one else does.”

His question took you back. Was there something else he wanted to be referred to instead of Captain? He’d seemed to make it pretty clear his dream wasn’t just finding the One Piece, but having a crew all his own. 

“Uhm, because you’re my Captain and that is false. Usopp does say it…sometimes. In between calling himself Captain Usopp.” 

You waited to see that infamous smile brighten his face. The one that reminded you of the good that was housed inside him and the painful realization he was still so young. What you got instead was a softer smile, one that still reached his eyes but spoke plainly of gratitude. 

“Make sure that when you’re done you get something to eat. That’s an order.” 

You offered up a mock salute as you replied, “Aye, Captain.” 

It felt ridiculous. It felt silly but it also felt good. Like you weren’t standing in a room where Zoro was slipping in and out of death. Silly like sitting back in a restaurant. All five of you enjoying a meal filled with laughter and teasing conversation. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned to face the unconscious man before you. He looked incredibly peaceful and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve believed he was just sleeping. But his breathing was still too shallow and there wasn’t any eye movement indicative of dreaming or thought. 

He looked like a shell of the man you’d fallen in love with. The color hadn’t returned to his skin and there was a noticeable sheen of sweat to his forehead and upper lip. Gently, you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead and felt the warmth to his skin. 

You figured there would be a fever, but not so soon. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad sign but you wouldn’t dwell on it. A fever meant he needed medicine, which was your specialty. You set to work pulling what you needed out of your satchel and began to make something to help reduce the fever and hopefully help whatever infection was in his blood. 

After you steeped all the ingredients through the strainer you walked over to Zoro and gently lifted up his head. You had some trouble wiggling the nose of the bottle between his lips when you remembered you still had to contend with his teeth.

“A pain in the ass even while dying,” you groaned.

You placed his head back down against the pillow and quickly ran through your options. You tried to prop him up as much as you could before you placed your hand on his chin and applied a small amount of pressure until you felt his jaw begin to open. Finally, you were able to deposit some of the medicine between his lips. Your hands gently coax his throat to swallow by running your fingers against the skin. 

Once it was done you placed the jar behind you on Nami’s dresser and went to get a cool washcloth. You weren’t sure if you were going to stay until you started wiping the sweat from his brow. 

You found yourself sitting in the chair Nami no doubt abandoned and the book she’d been reading to him. The tale of Noland. The liar. A man who claimed to have seen something and there was never any proof. 

Liar. That’s what stuck out to you the most. 

You’d been staring at the cloth in your hands, fingers picking at the fraying pieces unable to look at him. Not until now. 

You weren’t sure why you felt so unsure of whether you should be there. If you should bother staying. The last time you’d spoken he’d made it clear what he thought of you and yet…

Reaching out you took hold of his hand for the first time. It felt wrong doing it like this but what were the chances of you being able to do it again? Your thumb moved slowly over his knuckles as if trying to outline each one perfectly to memory. 

“How are you supposed to train me to kick your ass if you don’t wake up?”

Zoro didn’t show any signs of stirring at your words. You expected him to turn his head at any minute. His eyes flew open in horror at the idea of you ever kicking his ass. You could practically hear all the remarks he’d make. 

“The day you ever kicked my ass is the day hell freezes over.”

“It’ll take a miracle for you to even get close.”

But they were the only ones that you heard in your head. Figments of previous conversations warped to fit the crazy narrative that he would be able to answer you back. 

“You know, if Naan could’ve seen how I acted today she would’ve killed me.”

An empty laugh left you as you looked up at his face. There wasn’t the usual dart of a raised brow in teasing. No hard stare that made you feel like he was silently yelling at you for getting on his nerves. 

“She would’ve been disappointed. She taught me over the years that a doctor who can’t think on their feet at lightning speed is useless. A doctor who got emotionally attached to their patients was equally as useless.” You tore your eyes away from him to look at the safety of your lap. Unable to look at him as you spoke, “I was useless at being able to help you when it mattered.”

The sob you’d been struggling to hold back erupted in a burst that forced you to cover it with your hand. You couldn’t let anyone else hear you as you shattered. 

“Maybe that was my final lesson from her. To prove that caring for all of you the way I do is only going to harm you later.”

What good was having a doctor who was only going to fail them later? But Zoro still being alive proved that it wasn’t just medicine that kept people going, but their own desire to live. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need him to wake up and proclaim his undying devotion to you. Even if he woke up still hating you, you would accept it. Anything was good enough for you if it meant you’d get to see him smile one last time. 

Walking into the galley you expected it to be either quiet or at least filled with light conversation. Maybe even a couple of gloomy faces. 

What you hadn’t expected? For it to smell like Baratie inside the tiny space, and to find the reason for the smell to be Sanji talking away with Luffy and Usopp while he cooked. 

“It smells like heaven in here,” you mused, taking in a deep inhale of all the aromas floating inside the kitchen. 

Usopp was leaning against the island - in the same exact spot Zoro had been in mere hours ago. His blood still stained part of the wood. You couldn’t bring yourself to go near it. So, you made your way around it completely and over to sit with Luffy. Who was currently cleaning the Wado Ichimonji for Zoro just like he said he would. 

Everywhere you looked Zoro’s presence was a constant reminder. A ghost haunting you that you hadn’t signed up for. 

“If this is heaven then in walked an Angel.”

Instantly, all your sadness was quickly replaced with irritation - and relief. 

“It’s a little too early to be flirting, isn’t it?”

“Nah. It’s never too early to let a beautiful woman know just how breathtaking she is.” 

“Ugh, I wouldn’t let Zoro hear you talk to Doc like that,” Usopp chuckled nervously. “I think he’d probably implode.” 

“I’m sorry. Who?” 

Sanji either must have had the worst memory you’d encountered in a while or he was playing dumb for the hell of it. Usopp took a bit of the apple he’d grabbed from the fruit bowl. He held up a finger letting Sanji know he needed to wait while he chewed before he spoke. 

“Green-haired guy. Three swords.”

“The one from this morning?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Sanji cocked his head to the side as if he was questioning if Usopp was telling him a joke and he’d missed the punchline. He was in the middle of folding something in the middle of what looked like dough and you were tempted to interrupt their small discussion about your nonexistent love life to see what it was. 

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

Sanji smiled warmly at Usopp and sent another eye twitch in your direction. 

This guy was going to give you trouble. 

You watched as Luffy softly ran one of Zoro’s clothes over the sheath of the blade. He was taking his time and made sure he didn’t miss a single part. He was dedicated to making sure Zoro knew his things were safe here, with all of you, on the Merry. That he was a captain who would do what was necessary for the things you all loved and held valuable. 

“So, how did he look, Doc?”

Luffy’s question tore your eyes away from watching him do another round of polishing. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you knew the minute you started talking he would give you his undivided attention. 

“He’s doing okay. No real change in vital signs. A slight infection has set in and gave him a fever. I made some medicine to give him every few hours just to make sure it’s nothing major.” 

Luffy placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a light shake. A smile graced his lips as he replied, “The best doctor in all of the East Blue and soon, the Grand Line!”

You wish you could smile back brighter or maybe with something that looks genuine. Instead, a grimace meant to resemble a smile graced your lips. 

“I don’t know about the best doctor. I had no idea yellowtail skin had so many wonderful properties in them.”

“I don’t think any of us did, honestly,” Sanji offered. 

“It makes me wonder if Naan even knew about it.”

“What? You mean the resident doctor in your village never used the wonder that is yellowtail.”

“I think if you told Naan to go fishing for an ingredient you’d end up fishing your teeth off the floor.” 

“Oooh,” Sanji chuckled. “Is she really that bad?”

“Worse,” Usopp interjected. “Naan isn’t really known for taking new age information or techniques very well.”

“Hey,” you interject with a pout. 

“You know it’s true. She follows what her mother taught her religiously and makes Doc follow it too. I’m not saying she’s not a great doctor just…really old school.”

“I mean, she is old, Usopp,” you deadpanned. 

“You know what I meant.” 

“You two seem to know each other pretty well.”

Sanji was keeping himself busy still with scooping batter into a piping bag. You were so tempted to ask him what the hell he was making and how soon would you be able to get any of it. His statement was said with an inviting smile and a look of interest in his eyes as he looked between you and Usopp. 

“Doc and I go way back. She was literally, like, my only friend in the village we grew up in.”

“That is not true. You had Kaya. I had you and Naan and that was about it.”

“I’m sure a beautiful woman such as yourself has plenty of friends and admirers.”

God, please make him stop calling you beautiful. 

“Well, you’re wrong. No one in the village liked me.”

“They were actually scared of her.”

You loved how casually Usopp could just drop information without a care in the world. He was always like that since you were kids. You figured it must have been part of his ability to weave stories so intricately. Sprinkle truth throughout the lie and no one was sure what part was real and what wasn’t. The only problem here? He didn’t follow it up with anything else but the truth. 

“Usopp!” You shot out in a groan. 

He’d taken a bit of the apple again so all you got in response was a shoulder shrug. 

“Why would villagers be scared of you?” 

It wasn’t hard to miss the disbelief in Luffy’s voice or the small chuckle that clung to the back of each word. 

“Because-“ 

“Because she just showed up out of thin air on the island.” Usopp interrupted trying to swallow the remaining apple pieces in his throat. “No parents. No nothing. They all thought that a Siren or something dropped her off on the shores. All the villagers thought she was a bad omen.”

“Oh my god, Usopp! I’m like right here I can tell it and, by the way, you are the reason why everyone thought I came as a curse from the ocean and that my mom was a Siren!”

“I was trying to help you. It got Johnny Fittsmore to stop cutting pieces of your hair, didn’t it!”

“Wow. Okay.” Sanji mumbled. “Weren’t kidding on the friend's part.”

“Why was he cutting pieces of your hair?”

You weren’t surprised Luffy was confused. He was kind-hearted, and would probably never grasp the concept of people choosing to be mean. 

“I just showed up on the beach aboard a small lifeboat. Naan said she could hear my cries from her house.”

“Cries? As in a baby?” 

Sanji stopped all he was doing to rest his hands on the counter. His broad shoulders hunched forward as he looked at you through a small window of hair. He looked visibly upset and the last thing you needed was the new guy to think you were broken.

“I don’t know if I was a baby. I just know I was small and Naan decided not to let the birds eat me.” 

“No parents?”

“I mean, does anyone really have parents at this point?”

Usopp’s mom unfortunately passed away while you were both young. He’d never met his dad, Yasopp, wherever that no good baby daddy of a pirate was and basically had Usopp chasing after shadows in hopes he would ever return. Luffy seemed to only have a crazy stalker grandpa and that left Nami and Zoro with the chance of having actual functioning parental units somewhere.

“The lucky ones do.”

Sanji’s reply was delicate, like his smile, as if he said it too loud it would spook you. 

“I guess that makes us an unlucky bunch of misfits,” you replied. 

“I think we’re pretty lucky,” Luffy interjected. “We all found each other.” 

You were not going to cry. 

In the few hours this all happened,  you couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and meant it. A handful of those times had been with Luffy and, just like the times before, you could feel your own smile curving your lips. A real one. 

“I could drink to that.”

“Funny you mention a drink,” Sanji began as he placed something in the oven. “But I think you still owe me one.”

You got up from your seat and made your way over to stand next to the sink. Your eyes watched as Sanji did, in fact, have a bottle waiting in the basket he’d brought back from Baratie. 

“You always carry a bottle around with you?”

“Only when I get the chance to share a drink with a talented woman, such as yourself.” 

“Do any of these lines usually work on women?”

A full-throated laugh left him as he grabbed two glasses and began to pour the drinks. You would never say it out loud, not even if someone threatened to cut a limb off, but you enjoyed Sanji’s company. He didn’t take himself too seriously, except for his cooking. 

He let you tease him and took everything you served in stride. Although…you did miss the way Zoro always seemed to have something equally sharp to send back your way. Sanji just liked being in the company of others, especially if that company happened to be the opposite sex. 

“Sometimes,” he answered honestly. “It’s usually my charm and not my words that do it.”

“I can see that.”

He was charming. He was handsome. There wasn’t a point in denying facts just because your cup of tea was currently brewing on life support in the back. Sanji handed you your glass and lifted his up in a toast. 

“To the first drink and, hopefully, to many more.” 

You moved your glass to meet his and a light clink filled the space between you. You brought the glass to your lips and swallowed the liquid in a few gulps. As you set your glass back on the island you could hear a soft chuckle from Usopp coming from behind you. When you turned to look at him he was grinning from ear to ear. 

“What?”

“Zoro is going to be so pissed when he gets up.” 

You were about to tell him to shut up and remind him you were both very much single and in no way romantically involved. Even if you might have wanted that to happen, Zoro made it clear it wasn’t what he wanted. 

You started to open your mouth when Nami came crashing in through the galley’s doors. 

“Luffy! Luffy! The Arlong Pirates are at Baratie. We have to leave now.”

“What? Why? Why should we leave?”

“Because they are looking for you!”

“Just fucking great,” you sighed as you grabbed the bottle Sanji had left on the table.

Her last words were directed at Luffy. Of course, someone was here for Luffy. When wasn’t someone here for him? Stalker grandpa. Stalker grandpa’s war dog. Now another pirate who may or may not be working with stalker Grandpa. 

“Me?”

Luffy seemed as surprised as the rest of you. A finger pointing at himself just to make sure we were all physically sure it was, in fact, him.

“And the map. Those fishmen will tear this place apart if Zeff doesn’t turn him over.”

In a flash, all the joking and light conversation disappeared. One minute Sanji was beside you and then he was bounding around the island to get to his coat. 

“Where are you going?”

“If Baratie‘s in danger, I need to be there.”

You knew what was going to happen before Luffy even spoke. The goodness that was the core of who Luffy was would never abandon people to possible pain and suffering. It wasn’t in whatever strange and stretchy DNA that made up who he was. It was why you’d joined him and why you would continue to be aboard this ship until he no longer wanted you there. 

“Alright, I’m coming with you.” 

“Did you not hear what I just said? They are hunting you. We need to run.”

“I’m with Nami on this one. I’m really not trying to ruffle any feathers or scales.”

“Usopp. There are innocent people inside that place.

“How do you know that, Doc? It’s a restaurant that serves pirates!”

“Usopp - we,” you indicated between the two of you, “are pirates.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s a solid point, but still-“

“I’m not running,” Luffy cut in. “We’re going to protect this place.”

“This isn’t your fight. Why would you do that?”

You could feel yourself waiting for the answer - for Sanji to experience the man that was Monkey D. Luffy. With a kind smile, he simply replied, “You fed us.”

Kindness for a kindness. 

“Look, I know this crew. Their captain, Arlong, has the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. You do not want to mess with him.”

“It sounds like he messed with us first.”

“Luffy, please. Please.”

“Nami. What are you so afraid of?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it or why you moved towards her. It didn’t matter if she tried to deny it or cover it up with anger this time. You’d seen her and the fear that rolled off her like a sickness appeared to cripple her. 

“What do I have to be afraid of? You are all going to rush in there and get yourselves killed!”

“Nami,” Luffy said, “I can’t let innocent people get hurt because of me. If those fishmen guys want a fight, we’re gonna give them one.” He looked between Nami and you and walked over to her. A solid hand cupping her shoulder. “You two stay back with the ship and protect the map. Hmm.”

“Fuck that!” 

You stepped forward to the other side of him forcing him to turn from Nami to face you. 

“I’m going with you.”

“Doc, it’s safer-“

“I don’t care. You’re down a man right now and, no offense Usopp, he isn’t the greatest choice for backup.”

“Hey! I’m taking all the offense!”

“Take it all I don’t care. Luffy, I may not be a three-sword-wielding badass but I can help you. Let me help you. Please.”

Luffy regarded you for one long moment before he slowly nodded. 

“You can’t be serious?”

Nami regarded you like you’d gone insane. Maybe you had. You weren’t a soldier. You didn’t know much about fighting besides when you punched Isaki Quade in the nose in the lemon grove. 

“I’m going with him, Nami.”

“It’s going to be alright, Nami,” Luffy interjected. “The ship and the map will be safe with you.”

With that, Luffy turns on his heel and heads for the door. As you walked past the island you reached up and removed a pot from the upper rack. If Zoro could see you now, you could already hear what he would say in your head. 

Seriously? You’re bringing the pot with you? 

“What’s with the pot?” Sanji asked. 

You twirled it around in your hand as you both tried to keep pace with Luffy’s quick steps. 

“It’s my weapon of choice.”

Sanji still looked confused but you didn’t have time to explain. Luffy was already up and over the side of the Merry and walking towards the deck. If you didn’t catch up fast he would be inside Baratie before you even made it to the door. 

“This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea.”

You knew Usopp was trying to whisper it to himself. He’d always been one to talk his thoughts out when he wasn’t even trying. You tried to soothe him as you passed through the door into Baratie with a pat on his back, and instead, he nearly became one with the ceiling. 

“We are going to be okay, Usopp.”

“You shouldn’t even be here, Doc,” he snapped back. “You are the ship's doctor. What happens if we get injured and so do you?”

“The good news is in that scenario I’m just injured - not dead. So, I can still patch you guys up.”

“That doesn’t make me feel the least bit better.”

If the mood wasn’t so serious you would’ve laughed. The moment felt like you were back in Syrup village with Usopp rambling on and on about if he should or shouldn’t tell Kaya he was in love with her. No matter what you told him, his head would still worry. It was his nature. 

Everything froze in time, however, when Luffy pushed open the double doors and stepped inside the eerily quiet dining room. 

“Who here is Arlong?”

That was one way to make an entrance. 

“That would be me.”

A deep voice boomed from below you and when you looked over the railing, immediately you wished you’d stayed on the ship. He was holding an older man by the collar, sharp teeth exposed at his throat. You suddenly wished Zoro was here. 

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy and I hear you're looking for me.”

“Why, yes I am.”

You had to hand it to Luffy. Arlong looked terrifying to look at and overly confident. Luffy didn’t seem the least bit phased by any of it as he led you all down the stairs. 

“So, this is the pirate I’ve heard so much about? You know? I was expecting someone…bigger.”

“So was I.” 

If you weren’t so fucking terrified you would’ve laughed. At least Luffy was able to smile for the both of you, because the minute eyes darker than the trenches of the ocean peered up at all of you ready to rip out your throats you swear you felt your soul exit stage left. 

“Do you know who I am, boy? I’m Arlong the Saw. Even the Marines flee before my flag.”

“Not ringing a bell. How’s you find me anyway?”

A sickening chuckle that reminded you of gills taking in water filled the room. 

“An old friend helped me track you down.” 

He clicked his tongue right after he finished, and you hated the fact that you jumped. You hated it even more when Sanji moved to stand just a little in front of you to protect you. 

In all of a second, the dirty blonde-haired fishmen reached into a black bag and took out a- 

“Is that a fucking clown head?!” 

You wanted to scream but swallowed it down as it started talking and- oh god moving. The neck area actually wiggled as he shouted, “Heya, Straw Hat. Did you miss me?”

“Burpy? What are you doing here?”

“Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice either. But these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain’t easy when you don’t have any hands.” 

He let out a laugh like this was like any other day. All completely normal. 

“How’d you even know how to find me?”

“I told you. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.”

To prove his point, you watched in horror as an ear fluttered its way out of Luffy’s hat and back to attach itself to Burpy’s head. 

“What is happening right now?” 

Your whisper was aggressive and you weren’t even sure why you were even asking Usopp or Sanji like they even knew. It just made you feel a bit better when all three of you looked at each other equally disturbed. 

Luffy, as usual, looked less shocked about the ear in his hat and more that he’d been listening. 

“You were listening all along? You heard everything?”

“Everything. And that got old quick, ‘cause you shidiots have no idea what you are doing. By the way, Doc, it's so nice to finally meet you. You’re equally as delicious as Dreamsicle. Wherever she is. Hey, Lips!”

Burpy turned to yell at the fishmen who did have rather large lips to scratch his ear. You were still stuck on the fact a clown head was trying to hit on you. 

Maybe you should’ve just stayed with Nami on the boat. 

The fishmen denied him his apparent scratch and Burpy went into full shriek mode. You instantly winced at the sound and tried not to cover your ears as his head was shoved back inside the black bag. 

“Listen here. I want my map and half of whatever you plunder as tribute. And if you bow down to me, I might even let you serve in my kingdom.”

Arlong was walking slowly towards you - towards Luffy. You weren’t sure if while he talked he was smiling or snarling. 

“I don’t bow down to any man.”

“I’m no man.”

“Or fish,” Luffy corrected. “You’re no king.”

“I will be when I get my Grand Line map.”

“Then…” Luffy placed his hat back on his head and you already knew what was coming. “You’re going to have to fight me for it.”

Shit. 

Suddenly, coming in with a fucking cooking pot felt ridiculous, but you were gripping it tightly all the same. 

“Then let the fighting begin.” 

Right as Arlong smacked his fist into his hand, the sound of a gunshot went off and your eyes traveled up to see a rather large Chef’s hat in the middle of the room. Attached to that hat was Zeff who held a small muscat in his hand. 

The other fishman who sat at the table with Blondie immediately got up and kicked the wood of Zeff’s wooden leg. It broke without pause and sent the older man tumbling to the floor. When he looked up, the Fishman kicked him hard and sent him flying back through three tables. 

“Zeff!”

Sanji’s voice was filled with so much pain your chest aches but it was also thundering to life with adrenaline. How the fuck did you think a pot was going to help at all against them? You could hear Zoro chastising you, calling you a dumbass and you swiftly pushed it away. Now was not the time to talk to imaginary Zoro. 

Sanji ran down the stairs and kicked Blondie away and used the momentum to land on their table. He spun off and kicked the Fishman who’d hurt Zeff. 

“Usopp!”

He ran past you and shrank down small to get under the table. No one else saw him do it. They were too busy watching Sanji as he took on the fishman. 

“Usopp, get bac-“

You moved down the stairs to get him and were greeted with Sanji’s body landing on the exact table. It tipped over instantly and exposed Usopp underneath. He immediately clamored out from underneath it. 

“Get the people out of here! Get them out now!” 

You rushed down what was left of the stairs as Luffy started shouting out his gum-gum pistol. You could hear his body stretching impossibly far back, but you were busy trying to get to Sanji. He was choking on the air trapped in his lungs and your body was seized in terror that he may have a punctured lung. 

“Sanji,” you asked, placing a hand on his face to bring him to focus on your face and the other gently on his side. “Are you alright? Does anything feel broken?”

“Just…my pride,” he wheezed back. 

You ignored the fact he’d placed his hand over yours and lightly began to move him towards Usopp who was now on the other stairs. You looked back and saw Arlong toss Luffy violently against the pillar. 

“Get up!”

“Luffy!”

You tried to move down off the stairs and felt Sanji grip you tightly around your waist to keep you there with him and Usopp. He kept throwing punch after punch and Arlong took them all with stride. Luffy wasn’t making a dent and to Arlong this was just a game. 

Luffy tried to swing on him one last time and Arlong caught it. He tried to swing again to make Arlong let him go, and he easily caught that one. With both fists in his hands, he used them to pull Luffy to him. 

You tried to wiggle free but Sanji held on tight and the feeling of Usopp’s hand on your shoulder joined in. Luffy looked so scared; so angry as Arlong told him something through sharpened teeth. One minute they were there and the next Arlong flung him up into the foray. 

“Luffy!”

This time you did scream as Arlong took the stairs to reach him. The continued sounds of a body being thrown through stained glass windows. 

“Doc, I know you want to go to him but you can’t! It isn’t safe.”

“Fuck that I can’t just let him die!”

You were nearing hysterics. Why couldn’t they remember that Luffy was a Devil Fruit eater? That outside was miles and miles of ocean and Arlong knew it. All it would take is one splash, and one toss, and Luffy would be defenseless. All it would take is him falling over the dock and he would drown. 

“He isn’t going to die!”

“Usopp, he ate a Devil fruit! Mother Ocean turns her back on those who do and what is outside with them?” 

You needed them to understand that it wasn’t because you wanted to be a hero. You weren’t that kind of person. You just wanted to save the life of your Captain. 

You refused to lose two people on the same day. 

“Oh, shit,” Usopp mumbled and you felt your head shaking along with it. 

“Yes! Shit. I need to make sure he’s okay. Please.” 

Sanji looked from Usopp and back to you. Blue eyes desperately searching your face to come up with a reason to tell you no. Finally, he released the hold he kept on your waist and nodded up the stairs. 

“Go check on our Captain.” 

You mouthed the words thank you as you bolted up the stairs. You took them two at a time and rounded the broken foray doors to see the sunlight coming from outside. That door too had been completely smashed open with Luffy’s body. 

The adrenaline in your veins screamed at you to move faster; be quicker. Your feet thundering onto the dock just in time to see Arlong holding Luffy up over the edge of the dock and…was that Nami?

“Nami!” You called out to her. “What are you doing?”

“Doc! Stay back!” 

Each word that left Luffy came out choked and ragged. His hands weakly clamored at the grip Arlong had on his throat. Your eyes didn’t know where to look. Luffy who was in danger or Nami who…had a suspicious-looking tattoo that looked like Arlong in tattoo form and the Grand Line map in hand. 

“What is going on?”

“A business transaction, girl,” Arlong chuckled. “Don’t be a pest and interrupt.” 

“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole,” you snapped. You should’ve cared when the smile left his face. When he looked like he would throw you into the ocean along with Luffy. “Nami. I asked you a question.” 

She turned on you then. Her whole body facing you as she gave you a shrug and a look so icy it could’ve frozen hell slid across her face. For all her show of hatred, however, she couldn’t hollow out the heartbreak in her eyes. Nami didn’t want you to hate her but she would make you, and you wanted to know why. 

“What is it that you aren’t comprehending, Doc? I was sent to steal the map and bring it back to him. I’ve been a part of Arlong’s crew this whole time. I played you.” 

You didn’t believe her for one second. Your friendship isn't something that could be faked. The way she cared and pleaded with Zoro to not fight Mihawk. She’d even pleaded with Luffy to run while Arlong was here and maybe…maybe it’s because she was running too. 

“I don’t believe you-“

“Believe whatever you want. It’s not going to make a difference or make any of this less real,” she snapped. 

She dismissed you by completely turning away from you and headed towards a Jolly Roger that held the same emblem as her tattoo. Arlong went to bite at Luffy’s neck and Nami called to him. 

“Why waste your time killing a Devil Fruit eater when the sea can do it for you.” 

No! “No!” 

This time when the fear threatens to freeze you in place and to keep you from making that critical step forward, you don't hesitate to burst into a full sprint. Your words leave you in a rush. 

“I’m a doctor! Do you hear me Arlong!? I’m a doctor.”

“Doc, no-“ 

“What good is a human doctor to me?” Arlong snarled in response. 

You could hear the sound of his fingers releasing Luffy. The sound of his body edging closer to the lip of the ocean. 

“Columnaria! Fish rot. I can cure it.”

That caused him to pause - for everyone to pause. 

“How? You’re a human.”

“We had fishmen who served one of the wealthy businessmen where I lived. They would get sick and Naan- the healer would have to treat them. She taught me how.”

Cautiously you moved towards him with your hands up. If he did decide to not take you up on your offer and drop Luffy into the ocean you wanted to be close enough to jump in. 

“I can treat any of your fishmen who are sick with it. I can teach you how to care for it yourself. But if you drop him into the ocean you’ll get nothing.” 

It was easy to see how much Arlong hated that you knew how to cure a disease that killed fishmen like wildfire. A human. You bargained his men’s life for the life of your Captain and that seemed fair. 

“Don’t do this, Doc.” 

“I’m sorry, Luffy. I have to.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d failed Zoro somehow. You wouldn’t fail Luffy too. 

Arlong took all of a second to consider your offer. He showed you he accepted it by dropping a very weak Luffy back onto the safety of the dock. 

“I accept your bargain, human. Welcome to the Arlong Pirates.”

_________

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always welcome.

_________

Tag list: @violetmatcha @justacornerofmybrain @ninablue @depressed-but-make-it-cute @jamieeboulos @sanemishina @thegreatesttttttttt @katiemrty @sorasolarium @ponyboys-sunsets @flowersgirl02 @spilled-coffee-cup @instabull @charleslec-airlines @dixonsbugaboo @amanda08319 @moony-artemis @iloveautumn1

@yoheyyosup @ghostyycat7 @csmbrainrot @selmasemlan @yeetedandoboi @snixx2088 @sourairi @nerdiestmothman21 @swthxrry @throwmethroughawindow @heyitz-julia @sabrinadelreyy @illusory-segurity @naomihatake @mrs--imperfect

@shabzy1644 @fckwritersblock @glaciuswduo @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @fangeekkk @tfamidoingwithmylife @zaphira-san @kieth-reblogging @alotofrandomfangirling @emelia07 @kagatinkita @sarcastic-sourwolf @humblereaper21 @frankenstein852

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @kaykay0315 @geminidas

#Chaos in Their Bones #ongoing series #one piece #opla #one piece live action #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #opla zoro x reader #opla zoro x you #one piece x reader #one piece zoro #op zoro #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #frenemies to lovers #idiots to lovers #slow burn #friends to lovers #mutual pining #reader is referred to as Doc

[woncoyo]

★ SHE'S ALL THAT — PSH

synopsis: you're a naive soul clueless about the intricacies of relationships, yet fate has woven you deeply in love with lee juyeon. after awkwardly pouring your heart out to sunghoon, the person you hold the most disdain for, he surprisingly resolves to assist you in shedding your awkwardness and becoming more appealing, perhaps to finally catch the eye of your longtime crush.

or where sunghoon embarks on a journey to help you get together with juyeon, seeking to make amends for all the years he tormented you during school, without considering the possibility of falling for you.

warnings: mentions of alcohol.

taglist: open! send an ask or comment to be added. @faerinini @juyuppang @bywons @yenqa @luvyu @hysgf @shinrjj @isoobie @skzenhalove @s7noo @amoulives @rormyass @seunghancore @jjklvr9 @ms-no1kpopstan @semisemirin1i82 @oldjws / can't tag: @lovelyharin

PROLOGUE.

word count: 870.

there were certain things you avoided talking about, mindful of their potential gravity. among these was the enigma that had kept you single for twenty two years—sure, there were situationships here and there, but these only served to highlight the loneliness looming in your future. you tried not to dwell on it too much, believing that fate would bring someone into your life when you were emotionally ready.

however, despite your efforts to downplay the weight of being single while all your friends easily found their soulmates, sixty-year-old women pushed their available grandsons onto you. maybe it was the wedding atmosphere that prompted yunjin's grandmother to hassle you for nearly half an hour about the importance of finding a husband before the age of twenty-five, but regardless of what was influencing her to do so, you just wanted her to shut up.

"he's adorable! give it a shot. a lovely girl like yourself shouldn't be flying solo," she chirped, her smile bright for someone embarrassing you in front of everyone. a chuckle rang in your ears, and you were far too accustomed to that sound not to recognize it as sunghoon's.

you shot him a disapproving look, yet he maintained his smug smile without batting an eye. son of a whore. park sunghoon was the type of guy you used to avoid, but the romance between your best friends had thrust him into your life more than you'd prefer.

it was surprising to know that someone like jay was friends with someone like him, although yunjin failed to see any difference between them. nevertheless, your view of sunghoon wasn't merely baseless disdain; there were specific events that led you to that conclusion.

during the first year of high school, he caught you spilling melted chocolate on the back of your pants and wasted no time in spreading to everyone that you had an accident. "it was just a joke!" he claimed when confronted. people called you shitty pants for months until the 'joke' wasn't funny anymore.

the following year, yunjin and jay started a thing, and sunghoon vowed to reconcile with you, all for the sake of your friend's love. unfortunately, despite the peace agreement, the gossip about you continued, like when he told classmates about the awkward kiss you shared with soobin at your seventeenth birthday party. he had overheard your conversation with yunjin about it and found it hilarious that the school prince was a bad kisser. soobin never looked at you the same way again.

after graduation, you wanted to cut ties with yunjin because her harmless relationship with jay was becoming too serious, which meant more time with sunghoon. but suddenly, the teasing stopped.

sunghoon shed his childish and bothersome personality, adopting a different demeanor. the teasing stopped, but sunghoon was still a jerk. so, you realized that no matter what phase he went through or how hard your friends tried to patch things up, you would always hate him.

considering all this, who would've thought that at the end of yunjin and jay's engagement dinner, you would be completely drunk in sunghoon's arms, pouring out all the frustrations of your unrequited love?

blame it on the seven glasses of wine.

"i really, really like him, you know?" you sobbed, your voice slurred, and your face all gross with a runny nose. "but he'll never want anything with a girl like me — which is understandable because i'm a huge mess!"

"yeah... i'm sorry to hear that," sunghoon sighed, dragging out the words due to his lack of interest in what was happening. he was supposed to be downstairs with the others, celebrating his best friend's engagement, but he ended up stumbling upon your drunken, collapsed body in the way to the bathroom, and he couldn't leave you stranded. yunjin would never forgive him. "but i'm sure you'll get over it."

he gave your shoulder a light pat, and you glanced at him with frowning eyebrows. "do you think i can win him over? i know you guys are friends. has he ever mentioned me?"

sunghoon almost chuckled at your words but stifled the amusement in his throat. "you must be getting me mixed up with someone else, 'cause i was never his friend. actually, i'm surprised you like that goofball."

you scoffed. "how could you say that?!" your hand shoved his shoulder away, and he grumbled at the sudden gesture. "just so you know, juyeon is superior to you in every aspect. he's handsome, cool, kind, funny, handsome... oh god! he's so handsome!" your voice began to rise, and sunghoon tried to shush you, wary that it might draw attention. "lee juyeon is the most stunning man to ever grace the earth! i need to marry him. like, right now." you attempted to get up.

"shut your mouth before someone hears you!" he yelled-whisper, pushing you back to the floor. "and drink your goddamn water."

"no! he needs to know that we are meant to be together." you spat out the words, literally spat it out. droplets of saliva fell on his face as he tried his best not to freak out about it. "lee juyeon needs to know that i'm in lo-"

your desperate shout was cut off by sunghoon's lips.

soft, and at the same time, aggressive.

he didn't do it out of love, but because juyeon himself was standing just a few meters away from you, holding a drink in one hand while having an arm wrapped around of yunjin's cousin.

you both stood frozen for a moment, lips locked. sunghoon held the side of your neck, keeping you close, though you made no effort to break away. when juyeon realized that it wasn't the ideal place to be with his girl, he swiftly retreated, while sunghoon didn't wait for the former classmate to disappear before pulling away from you.

"tomorrow you might hate me even more than you do now," he said. "but i just saved your ass."

masterlist next

author's note: im literally dying here and the story has barely begun (already wrapping things up for the first chapter) anyway thanks if you've stuck around this far and plan to keep going!! means a looot <3

© woncoyo.

#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #sunghoon fluff #enha #frenemies to lovers #enhypen written series #sunghoon au #sunghoon headcanon #sunghoon imagines #enhypen fanfiction

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 17

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: *Gives you a box of virtual tissues.* Just in case. 😘

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Macho angst ahead, hurt/comfort, major, major fluff…

Part 17: More Than Words Can Say

Mount Sinai Hospital was one of the largest private hospitals in the city. 

Fortunately, it was also the closest to Vought Tower, or what once had been the focal point of the superhero industry. It had been reduced to mere rubble and whatever dilapidated parts still stood. 

All the news outlets were covering the tower’s collapse, and speculating on what could’ve created the blast that made the entire city tremble—not unlike last year’s incident, when Soldier Boy killed the most powerful supe in the world.

In the hospital, M.M. walked through the Emergency Department until he found Yvette and her son, Devon. They sat beside each other on a single cot, now joined by Yvette’s husband Chris while she signed her discharge papers. She’d gotten off with a minor concussion and a bandage over her temple. 

“Just checking in on you guys,” M.M. said. Yvette smiled, but she asked about you. 

“She’s in surgery,” he told her. 

Yvette nodded, though tears welled up in her eyes. Chris rubbed her back and held his son’s shoulder. 

“Please call me with any news on her,” Yvette asked. 

“You got it,” M.M. said.

“And please,” she said, holding her son. “Thank Soldier Boy for us.”

M.M. paused at that. 

Seeing the family was well in hand, he returned to the trauma wing. There in the waiting room sat the whole team, minus Butcher, who’d been admitted to the hospital as well after the ED doctors didn’t like what they’d found on his lab reports. (But M.M. would look into that later. Hughie was with him now anyway.)

That left Frenchie, Kimiko, and Annie to wait for any news on you. Even Grace had arrived an hour ago. 

But M.M.’s attention was drawn to the dusty motherfucker standing near the hallway. 

Soldier Boy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The collar of his supe suit was undone to give his neck and chest some breathing room. He’d removed his gloves, and an empty gallon jug of water lied at his feet. 

He was covered in a fine layer of soot and grime, though he’d since washed his hands and face to the best of his ability. He was also flanked by his two hired men, Frank Cardoza and Lorenzo Rivales. 

Grace had run a quick background check on both, and as M.M. had learned, they were ex-Marines Soldier Boy had picked up in Colombia, while he was busy infiltrating a drug cartel.   

Fucking figures, M.M. thought, shaking his head as he watched the man. Grace stood and joined him.

“He’s not just gonna fuck off back to South America,” he told her. “You realize that right?”

She considered that with a tilt of her head. “Let’s just see what happens here.”

As if right on cue, your surgeon made his way down the hall and over to the waiting group. Ben pushed off the wall and went to meet him, as did Grace, Annie, and M.M. 

Annie and Ben eyed each other with mistrust and annoyance, respectively, but then he ignored her to regard the surgeon with a terse, expectant gaze.  

The doctor was a graying man in his fifties. He seemed to internally brace himself before he spoke, glancing at Ben first before the others. 

“We’ve repaired the damaged muscle around her right leg. The femur is broken. We also addressed the wound near her shoulder,” he said. “However, the rebar did nick her heart. She’ll need additional surgery to repair it.”

Ben sensed a but coming. He crossed his arms. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

The doctor gave a nod and a short sigh. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he explained. “We’ve given her a transfusion, of course, but she’s in a delicate state right now.”

“So why’re you wasting time? Do your fucking job,” Ben snapped. Grace shot him a glance, but addressed the doctor herself.

“What are her odds, doctor?” she asked. Ben eyed her with a glare. She ignored him for the time being. 

“She needs this now. But, there is a chance she won’t make it out of surgery at this stage,” the surgeon replied. “The OR will be available in thirty minutes…so this would be the time to be with her, just in case she’s unable to get through this.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said. 

His tone was dark and deep with grit, and the doctor stepped back. No one dared attempt to hold Ben back, but Grace quickly thanked the doctor and urged him to move forward with prepping you for surgery. 

Loco shared a saddened look with Frank, who watched their boss with a deepening frown. 

Annie turned to Ben with a measure of sympathy, hidden underneath her irritation at his attitude and her worry for you. You were still her friend, and she felt guilty for how cold she’d been treating you lately. And she could see, at the very least, that this man cared about you. 

“Look, can you just calm down a bit? We’re all here hoping she pulls through,” Annie said. 

M.M. stood behind her, silent, supportive. But Ben just ignored her, and everyone else for that matter. 

He stalked down the hallway. And when he turned a corner, out of eyeshot, he growled and punched a hole deep into the closest wall.

Hughie perked up when Butcher finally started to rouse in his hospital bed. They had him on a hefty dose of morphine. 

He blinked his weary eyes, his head rolling over on the pillow. His lips quirked when he noticed Hughie, who was glaring at him. 

“Watching me sleep now?” Butcher remarked. “Pretty fuckin’ creepy, Hugh.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Hughie said. 

That was something Butcher couldn’t refute. He nodded. “I see they told you.”

“When were you gonna say something?” Hughie said. “When you fucking dropped dead?”

“Probably not even then,” Butcher teased. But when he took in the younger man’s face, all he saw was his little brother, Lenny. Butcher sighed. 

“Ain’t nothing any of us can do about it.”

“Fucking cancer?” Hughie said incredulously. “You could’ve gotten treatment.”

“Would’ve bought me a few more months, maybe,” Butcher admitted. That fell between them for a moment with stony silence. 

“It’s all right,” he added. “I’ve had my fucking time. Got to see the life drain from that golden cunt’s eyes…got to let my girl rest easy.”

Hughie didn’t buy that. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to. His eyes burned, both with emotion and determination. He stood from his seat and set out to find Grace. If there was anything that could help Butcher, she would know. 

While the others went down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat, Frank sat in the waiting room with Loco beside him and Dr. Baker’s briefcase on his lap.

He was sorting through its contents while Loco sat with crossed arms and slumping shoulders. He looked over at Frank’s stoic profile with a frown.

He was older, but not by much. They’d gone through one fresh hell after another together, and somehow, Frank always managed to pull their asses out of the wringer. It seemed Frank was trying to do the same for their boss. 

It was funny, actually. Soldier Boy wasn’t their first contractor. You were their first kidnapping though. Neither he or Frank had felt good about it when Antonio brought you back to the mansion in Medellin, but they’d agreed to do a job. Guarding you became part of that job. 

And yet, you had somehow reminded both Frank and Loco that they used to be respectable members of society. They used to have families, friends. They had once been soldiers. Good men. Maybe that was why they’d grown fond of you over the past few months. 

And Frank…well, Loco knew the man had his reasons for wanting to be done with this work. Loco couldn’t blame him; he was feeling tired himself. 

“Found anything good?” Loco asked in Spanish. Frank’s dark brows had drawn together in new interest.

“More than good,” he said. He looked up, but didn’t find Soldier Boy in the waiting room. “Where the hell did he go?”

Loco pointed to the reception desk. “Try asking someone.”

With a sharp sigh, Frank gave Loco the briefcase. “Guard that with your fucking life. Don’t let anyone from the CIA take it from you.”

Loco gave him a look of offense. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, bro. Fucking hurts.” 

Rolling his eyes, Frank got up and went over to the reception desk. 

“Excuse me,” he said. There seemed to be no one at the reception desk. Granted, it was late at night, and they technically weren’t supposed to be there. Grace Mallory had worked out an agreement with the hospital to allow them all to stay overnight. 

He didn’t have to wait too long though, as an on-duty nurse came over with a clipboard in hand. Her red hair caught his eye, along with her pretty smile. 

“Hi there. Can I help you?” she asked. 

Frank faltered, just for a moment. But he cleared his throat and met her eyes. 

“Did you happen to see which way Soldier Boy went?” he asked.

She gave him a wan smile and pointed down the hall, to the left. “That ‘a way. Think he had an argument with the wall over there.”

Frank followed her gaze and caught sight of the hole in the wall. He frowned. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. 

The nurse gave him a sideways look. “No worries, hun. It’s not your fisticuff outline in the wall, now is it?”

Once again, Frank didn’t know quite what to say to her slightly teasing smile. But he returned it, more reserved, but genuine. 

“Thank you,” he said, with a nod. Then he remembered then what he needed to do. 

And he took off brusquely down the hall. 

It took him a few minutes to pull his head together, but Ben eventually worked up his nerve to go and see you. 

You were still drugged out asleep, of course. He stood outside the large window of your private room in the Intensive Care Unit. He wouldn’t go in though. Part of him refused to believe it had gotten to this. 

And the reality, that this was his fault. He’d caused the blast that destroyed the tower. His fault he hadn’t gotten to you sooner.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you’d told him once. 

You were right then, and it still held up now. 

So, no…he wouldn’t go in there, into your room. The truth was, he couldn’t. 

But Ben’s awareness prickled before he noticed, Frank had joined him. Ben tolerated it. While he wanted to be alone, maybe part of him (one he wouldn’t acknowledge) craved some kind of company. 

“You’ll get paid, don’t you fucking worry,” he said dryly. 

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,” Frank said. 

It felt like a confession. Ben didn’t reply though; he was focused on your pale face, covered by the breathing mask. Shallow puffs of air fogged the inside of it while your heart monitor clipped on.

“There’s another solution here,” Frank said. 

Ben gave him a cursory side glance. “She wouldn’t take Compound V. Not even to save her fucking life.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Frank mentioned. 

Ben didn’t answer, but he’d been internally debating it ever since he’d spoken with the surgeon. 

“All right, get it over here,” he said. “The temporary stuff.” 

Frank rose a brow. He’d been curious enough to try testing the man. But now, he frowned.

“She won’t forgive you,” he pointed out. 

“What’re you, devil’s fucking advocate? She’ll get the fuck over it,” Ben snapped. 

But after his initial anger subsided…he knew his subordinate was right. 

“She’ll be alive to hate me,” he said, more honestly.  

Frank inclined his head. “There could be another way.” 

Ben glanced over at him. 

“She lost a lot of blood,” Frank said. Ben frowned.  

“They’ve given her fucking blood transfusions—” 

“Yeah, normal blood. A supe’s blood is stronger. Yours could probably heal her,” Frank said. “But, the only one who can break your skin is you.”

Ben eyed him in suspicion. “Who told you that?” 

“Read it somewhere,” Frank said evasively. 

Ben huffed in response, but as that realization truly sunk into his mind, his lips pressed together in new determination. He left Frank to start a brusque pace down the hall. 

He ignored the red-headed nurse calling at him at the reception desk when he shoved through a locked security door, into the OR unit. He searched until he found your surgeon and pulled him from the sink he was washing his hands in.

The man gasped with fright, though he tried to hide it looking up at Ben. “What the hell’re you doing?”

“I’m making a donation,” said Ben. He raised a blunt nail to his wrist. “You better hurry the fuck up, because I’m about to open a vein.”

It was morning by the time another doctor returned to deliver an update on your progress: the “treatment” was working. Your wounds had knitted closed within an hour following the blood transfusion, and you no longer needed surgery. They had also x-rayed your leg and found that the bone was whole once again. Even your broken ribs had healed.

Ben nodded at the news. He didn’t respond, and just started walking down the hall. Grace, Annie, and M.M. stared after him with mixed reactions of confusion and curiosity. 

“Where are you going?” Annie asked. She was exhausted; all of them were. 

The supe ignored her though. M.M. shared a look with her before he decided to follow the man. 

Meanwhile, Ben once again stopped in the middle of the hallway when he was out of view. He took in a slow, steadying breath of relief, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Congratulations. After today, you’re gonna get your statue put back up,” M.M. said.

Ben turned around to stare back at the man, schooling his face into a stoic frown. 

“Yvette and her son are going to be fine, by the way,” M.M. added, as he crossed his arms.

Ben paused slightly at that, filing that information away with secret satisfaction. 

To M.M., he merely raised a brow. “You got something to say, or are you going to keep wasting my fucking time?”  

“You think saving one black kid makes you a hero?” M.M. asked, point blank. “Taking down Vought. Saving her. What does that all mean to you?”

Ben frowned in irritation. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Just answer the question. Be honest for once in your motherfuckin’ life,” M.M. said. “Do you really think you’re a hero?”

Silence fell between them. 

Ben didn’t know what it was about this guy. Maybe it was his persistence, or the fact that he’d pulled you out of the rubble and got you to a hospital in time to save your life. 

But Ben actually considered the question.

Killing Stan Edgar and Black Noir. Saving you. He’d done it all for selfish reasons. The kid…that was something else. His face stuck in Ben’s mind, how he’d trusted the superhero, like dumb kids were supposed to do.

But in that moment, carrying the tower on his back and knowing he was the only barrier between a mountain of hot rubble and this one kid…Ben hadn’t wanted to fail. 

And still. You are the reason I needed saving…

It wasn’t really saving the fucking day if he started it, was it?

Ben’s lips turned on a humorless smile. Still, he had saved the kid. And his mom. And you. For now, that was enough.

“Looks like I am,” said Ben.

But he met M.M.’s stare, briefly allowing him to glimpse beyond a wall of arrogance and pride.

And Ben walked away. M.M. watched him go in silent contemplation.

Grace intercepted Ben before he could visit you in the ICU. 

Christ. What the fuck now? he thought sourly. 

She gestured for a word, and with an annoyed look, he followed her down the hall.

“I’ll get to the point,” she said. “Butcher is sharing a floor with your girlfriend, down in Oncology.”

Ben raised a brow. That prick had cancer? Par for the fucking course, if he said so himself. 

“So?” he remarked. 

Grace sighed. She’d expected that reaction. “They’ve given him weeks, but the way he’s been pushing himself, more likely it’s days. Taking the untested Temp V long-term has had its adverse side effects…if you were to make another blood donation, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

So now his blood was some fucking wonder drug? Hell no, Ben thought. 

“You’re asking me to save the guy who’s double-crossed me, tried to hunt me down, tried to end me?” he said, with a dark, incredulous chuckle. “You can fuck right off, sweetheart.”

She grated at the sweetheart remark, but Grace leveled him with steely blue eyes.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be on ice right now,” she pointed out. 

Ben’s lips pursed. He’d really like to snap this bitch’s fucking neck on principle…but then he thought about it. He could work this into his favor. 

“You know what. I’m having a good day, so maybe I’m feeling fucking generous,” he said. His mouth edged into a smirk. “But I think it’s time we renegotiated our contract. Don’t you?”

Grace stared up at him, and she inhaled a deep breath. 

“Fine.”

You slowly woke up in a hospital room, in a paper gown with an IV drip and a heart monitor. Which made sense, as the events of yesterday came back to you in a rush. 

But beyond feeling relieved to be alive, you also felt extremely well-rested. You didn’t feel like a building fell on you. 

What kind of masterful drugs are they giving me? You tried to read your chart on the wall, but you didn’t see any pain medication on there. 

Annie popped into your private recovery room. Her face brightened when she saw that you were awake. 

“Hey, hun! How do you feel?” she asked, lowering into a chair at your bedside. You wouldn’t know that this chair had been occupied by various members of the team over the past few hours, including M.M., Frenchie, Frank, and even Grace. 

“Great, actually,” you replied. But now you frowned. “I shouldn’t feel great.”

You remembered nearly being crushed under a pile of rubble. You remembered falling on a piece of rebar, and unable to move your crushed leg. You remembered the worry in Ben’s eyes… 

And panic stung at yours.

“Did they give me Compound V?” your voice shook when you asked. Annie calmed you down with a shake of her head and a reassuring hand on your arm. 

The door to your room opened once again. Ben’s frame filled up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. He was still in his supe suit, and with his hands resting on his belt, he strutted inside the room. 

M.M., Frenchie, Frank, Loco, and Kimiko came in behind him and at least looked showered. Ben looked like he hadn’t even done that much, nor slept all night.

“It wasn’t the V,” he said at last. “Just a little blood donation. Seemed to work like a charm.”

His resulting grin had a bit of charm in it as well. Your head tilted in confusion.

"Whose blood?" you asked.

"Mine," he said. His expression faded, slightly more serious.

You found yourself slowly smiling, though your brows still furrowed in surprise. He gave me his blood…instead of Compound V.

While you tried to wrap your mind around the gravity of that, you reached for the pitcher of water on the rolling tray beside you. You grasped the pitcher, but the plastic actually crunched in your hand. You gasped and moved your hand over so the water inside wouldn’t spill all over you.

Ben raised a brow. 

The room fell silent as all eyes stared at you. When the water finished pouring out onto the floor, you gently set it back down on the tray. 

“Seems you got some of his strength in the deal,” Annie remarked. 

“Great, there’s two of them,” Hughie quipped with a grin. 

“Well, that’s probably just temporary,” M.M. sighed. “Hopefully.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, and it brought a slight grin to Ben’s lips. 

After a bit of well wishing, everyone cleared out of your room to let you rest up…except for Ben, Frank, and Loco. 

“What are you guys going to do now?” you asked of the latter two. Loco cracked his knuckles. 

“Got another job lined up in private security,” he revealed. “I’ve lost the taste for drug running. Nearly lost a damn toe on the last one.”

You laughed. “Well, thanks for doing one more job here.”

“Anything for el Capitán,” Loco said, giving Ben a respectful nod. “He pays exceedingly well.”

You raised a brow at Ben, who shrugged with a cocky grin. Smiling, you turned to Frank, who was sitting in the chair beside your bed. 

“And you?” you asked. Frank gave you a rare smile. 

“Going home,” he said. “To my daughter.”

Your eyes began to sting, but you tried to blink away the beginnings of tears. You nodded and squeezed his arm. 

“Give her a big hug for me. And thank you again…for everything,” you said, even though you realized that thanking your former guard keep was strange. Still, there had been no part of your kidnapping that was normal in the least. 

Frank hesitated, but he covered your hand with his. 

Though he caught the way Ben’s face tightened, and Frank let go of you. He stood with Loco, giving you and Ben a final nod. Then the two men left your room and disappeared down the hall.

Part of you felt melancholy, like chapters of your life were closing. But you also felt like new ones were waiting in the wings.

Your gaze turned to Ben, who stood near your bed.

He was looking over your chart to see if the doctors needed anything else before you were discharged. But your soft voice called to him, earning his attention. You beckoned him closer.

He went over and sat down on the edge of your bed, laying a hand on your thigh. You reached out for his arm. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Ben scoffed, though a hint of humor glinted in his eyes. “For what? Saving your reckless ass for the millionth time?”

“For saving Yvette and her son,” you replied with a smile. “And yeah, all that other stuff.” 

Your hand slid down his arm and slipped into his hand. Your fingers curled around his palm. 

“Really. Thank you…” 

Tears welled up in your eyes again. You still couldn’t fucking believe he opened up one of his own veins and gave you his blood. He gave a public hospital his blood in order to save you. 

He could’ve easily slipped you V24 again, or worse, the permanent stuff. But he didn’t just save you. He’d respected your wishes. 

What you wanted to say next got stuck in your throat.

Ben had something hiding behind his eyes, like he was reluctant to show you his real emotions. But when he focused on your face, his hand tightened on yours. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He only let go of your hand to brush a falling tear from your cheek. His lips twitched at a smile.

“Come on now, baby doll. You’re tougher than that.”

You choked on a laugh as more of your tears slipped down your warming cheeks. “Nope. I’m actually not.”

“Hmm. Could’ve fooled me,” Ben said. You matched his grin with a beaming smile of your own.  

Slowly, you pushed yourself up and took his dirty face in your hands. You guided him down to you, and you pressed your lips to his. 

He allowed it with his usual demanding, fervent kiss. But then it slowed. He held your wrist to keep your hand in place on his cheek, and his thumb drew bath and forth over your skin. 

You parted from him, pulling back enough to see his face. There was so much you wanted to say…but maybe right now, it was too much. 

You met him with another tearful kiss.

Before you were officially discharged from the hospital, you had one more visitor. 

Grace was once again there to debrief you. This time though, Ben sat at your side on the bed, a silent statue who regarded the woman coolly. He seemed to be tolerating her presence with more ease than usual, and you wondered why.

“You’re going on medical leave,” she informed you. “For three months, and then a psychiatrist will need to clear you for duty.”

Part of you wanted to argue, considering you were completely healed of your injuries. But you knew you needed a break from the S.A.—from all of this. 

“Your mother and sister will be brought out of witness protection soon, after we determine that the threat is sufficiently neutralized,” she said. “You can return home today as well.”

You could finally go back to your apartment…though the thought didn’t call to you as much as it should have. You glanced over at Ben.

“Is this the part where you try to ship him back to Colombia?” you asked. 

“That was the agreement,” Grace said wryly. You frowned, trying to blink away the tears forming once again in your eyes.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you also didn’t want to give up your life here. You didn’t want to leave the S.A., or your family, or your friends. Ben put you out of your misery, however.

“We renegotiated,” he said. 

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Grace explained, “In exchange for his assistance in another case, he can stay in the U.S. on a trial basis. As long as he agrees to live within the law.”

You didn’t entirely trust Grace. Ben would be watched at every moment. That was a given, but considering he still didn’t have full control over his nuclear power, you were surprised Grace would allow him free roam within U.S. borders. 

“And, provided, he agrees to a relocation. Preferably not in a densely populated area,” Grace added.

There it is, you frowned. You shared a look with him, and you could see he wasn’t entirely on board with this. You had no doubt he’d agreed to her demands by lying through his teeth. 

You turned back to Grace.

“What if he becomes a contractor for Supe Affairs,” you proposed. “There may be some fallout after Vought’s collapse, and more of their records to go through. Other labs to clear out. Ben would be a lot of help, if he’s willing.”

You glanced at Ben again. He met your eyes, then Grace’s, and he nodded marginally. He was getting bored of the heat in South America anyway. 

Grace heaved a sigh. Ben’s lips formed a smirk. 

“Oh, relax. I just ended Vought. You’d be an idiot not to cash in on that PR,” he pointed out. 

“Need I remind you that you caused the tower’s collapse?” Grace said tersely. “And you did not end Vought. There will be repercussions to this, believe me.”

Ben’s face tightened, but you grasped his hand. 

“But he fulfilled the mission,” you said. “He took out Black Noir…and Stan Edgar in the process.”

“The idea was to arrest him, but I get your point,” Grace said. Her hand raised to cover her mouth as she thought about your proposal.

Eventually, she spoke. “If you can play by our rules, then we’ll contract with you. But until you get that atomic bomb under control, you can’t remain the city. Upstate is the best I can do.”

Ben chafed at being told what he couldn’t do. What the fuck was he going to do in Upstate New York? Slowly rot to death in dusty-ass suburbia?

You shot him a knowing look, raising a brow. 

“It’s a fair offer, Ben,” you pointed out. His lips pursed in annoyance. But he glanced at your hand in his.

Then he looked up at Grace. “Fine. But first, unfreeze my fucking bank accounts.”

Ben later led you out of the hospital. There was a car waiting outside, and he got in to drive, despite you offering. He must’ve been going on very little sleep, if any over the past two days. 

And of course, he’d refused to be seen at all medically, saying he was fine. You were still concerned about that destabilizing gun Black Noir had shot him with. 

“I’m fine,” Ben had claimed. “Just need some sleep, that’s all.”

You watched his profile for a moment, and a smile started to raise your lips…until you finally remembered something that felt like a heavy stone in your stomach.

“Um…” you said, earning Ben’s attention. You looked up at him. “My father’s dead…”

Good fucking riddance, was Ben’s initial reaction. Followed by a frown, as he now realized he would never get the pleasure of choking the shit out of Jon himself. 

Ben had been fucking livid to learn from Frank that you’d been left alone in the Tower with your father while it was coming down (and Ben was petty enough to dock that little slip up from Frank’s pay). Had that asshole lived, Ben wouldn’t have put it past him to try and take you with him after escaping the building. The mere thought grated on him. 

“Black Noir killed him,” you said, heaving a shaky breath. 

That cut through Ben’s thoughts. He glanced over, watching you fight some conflicting emotions. 

“…Punched a hole straight through his chest,” you added.

Ben hummed in acknowledgement. You turned to him with a raised brow and glassy eyes. When he realized you were expecting a bit more from him, his lips pursed.

“Well, he got a quick death,” he said. “Better than he fucking deserved, far as I’m concerned.”

You sighed and leaned your head back on the head rest. Your eyes closed. 

“Goddamn it, Ben.”

Ben eyed you with a deepening frown. “What the fuck do you expect me to say?”

“How about some decency?” you asked, as a tear fell down your cheek. “He tried to apologize. But I wouldn’t let him.”

He paused at that. While he thought you were being unreasonable, it begrudgingly dawned on him what you wanted, and maybe, what you needed. He sighed through his nose. Even now, you were a handful.

Ben reached over, taking your hand from your lap. He pressed the back of it to his lips, earning your mild surprise.  

“That’s not your fault,” he said. And he briefly took his eyes off the road to look into yours. “None of it was. You understand me?”

Your face softened. Though you tried to blink away your tears, a few of them still fell. You wiped at them with your free hand, while the other squeezed around his fingers, resting against your thigh. Despite how you were fracturing inside, warmth still kept you afloat. 

So you looked up at Ben, and you nodded. He seemed satisfied by your answer. He turned back fully to the road, but you kept a tight hold of his hand. He allowed it.   

“We’ll have to go to the safe house to get our stuff,” you said eventually, with a small sniffle.

“No need,” Ben said. “That’s taken care of.”

That confused you. Was he taking you to your apartment then? 

But instead, he drove you out of the city, and an hour upstate into Scarsdale. You’d never been there, but you knew it by reputation—as one of the most affluent towns in the state.

You were even more confused when he drove down a street flanked by tall hedges within a private community. He pulled into a circular driveway in front of an immense white house, with a red brick roof, colonial architecture, a manicured lawn, complete with matching fountains lining the front door.

Ben parked the car and encouraged you to get out with him. You followed him up to the front porch, expecting an old billionaire to pop out of the tall bushes at any moment to chase you away. 

“What’re we doing here?” you asked. His hands fell to the belt of his supe suit as he surveyed the stood, the door, and the walls for anything amiss. 

“I’m looking into buying it,” he revealed, as if he’d just told you, It’s pretty fucking sunny today, huh? 

“Our stuff is ready to be shipped out when the deal closes with the owner,” he added.

Your eyes flew wide. “What? When did you have time to scope out houses?” 

You’d only been discharged about an hour after the conversation with Grace. 

“I had Frank look into some shit. He found this one,” Ben shrugged. “Could use some work, but not bad.”

Our stuff, you repeated in your mind. This house…was he trying to recreate what the two of you had in Medellin?

And more importantly, was this his way of asking you to move in with him? 

Well, there’s not too much asking going on, you thought in annoyance. And yet, you blushed; the sentiment in itself was enough to warm you. 

You brought Ben back down to Earth by grasping his hands, earning his attention from the old grout in the tile.

“Ben, this place is amazing,” you said. “But I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable living like this.”

He frowned down at you. “What the hell do you mean? You could have anything you want here. It’s safe. Got plenty of room—”

“A bit too much room,” you said, holding up your thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart. 

He looked adorably grumpy. You smiled and squeezed his hand. 

“Did you really feel cozy and at home in that mansion with fifty rooms and nobody in ‘em?” you asked.

He didn’t answer you, and he didn’t seem happy either. You didn’t want him to take this as a rejection. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you said, “then can we start a little smaller? Somewhere that feels like home to both of us?”

Ben stared back at you in annoyance. “You need to broaden your palate.”

You just managed to stop yourself from laughing.

“You haven’t had a normal home in a long time, Ben,” you replied. Maybe ever, you realized. “How about you trust me?” 

He gave you a dubious frown.

“What about this,” you tried. “Let’s pick it out together! If in a few months you still hate the new place, we’ll try it your way.” 

“You’re assuming we’re gonna make it that long.” Ben was starting to wonder if this was going to work after all. The two of you were from very different worlds. 

You offered a cheeky smile. “I’m optimistic.”

He huffed. “Sure.” 

You reached up on your toes, and gripped the front of his suit when you leaned up to kiss him. His hands rose naturally to hold you, resting on your jean-clad hips. He followed your languid kiss, his furrowed brows relaxing when you touched his cheek.

When you broke from his lips, his eyes opened to find yours. 

“I am, Ben,” you said more seriously. “I’m not playing games. This is real to me, and I want to be with you.” 

But then you hesitated. You lowered back down to your feet. 

“But if it’s not to you…if you’re just passing time with me, until you get bored,” you said, “tell me now. Please.” 

It was Ben’s turn to hesitate. It was the please that got to him, along with your downturned gaze. He captured your chin between his fingers and raised your face up to him. 

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

AN: *squeals* It's happening! We've really gotten here, folks. How'd you like how it all wrapped up with Grace, M.M., and even Butcher?

But we're not quite there with these two yet...

Next Time:

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months.

Keep reading: THE EPILOGUE

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#More Than Words Can Say #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 17 #zepskies writes

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Series Trope: Frenemies to lovers - please read individual chapter warnings.

Slice One ® - The pie thief has struck again. You know who it is but how to prove it? The answer is on the tip of his tongue.

Slice Two ® * - Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Slice Three ® + - You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Slice Four - Coming Soon

A/N:  + denotes 18+ smut  |  * denotes violence, death or disturbing themes  |  ® is a reader insert  |  ~ denotes a WIP

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader smut #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #frenemies to lovers #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural smut #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester fanfic #cloudy's writing #dean x reader smut