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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

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22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him.

I’ve loved you for so long.

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue.

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.”

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know.

It’s why you can’t answer him.

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine.

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment.

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him.

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all.��

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable.

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you.

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?”

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said.

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back.

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.”

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?”

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.”

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?”

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!”

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.”

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it.

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time.

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out.

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.”

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy.

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with?

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound?

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?”

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?”

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.”

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.”

Everything has only changed for you.

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?”

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it.

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.”

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should.

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy.

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?”

There it is again — his silence, your anger.

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?”

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.”

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return.

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.”

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.”

I’ve loved you for so long.

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing.

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.”

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.”

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you.

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder.

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party.

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered.

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.”

“Fuck off.”

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable.

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty.

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.”

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage.

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.”

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.”

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does.

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.”

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.”

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though.

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic.

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care.

He deserved your spite.

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look.

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging.

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.”

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.”

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency.

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.”

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.”

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.”

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out.

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill.

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?”

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have.

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to.

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.”

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still.

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear.

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.”

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless.

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled.

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn.

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble.

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap.

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way.

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release.

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be.

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend.

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way.

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended.

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night.

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.”

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter.

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind.

It’s for the better.

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.

“I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco.

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you.

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy?

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it.

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option.

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions.

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it.

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie.

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.”

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

We aren’t exactly friends.

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur.

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart.

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least.

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.”

“Are you?”

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two.

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender.

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face.

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you.

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same.

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come.

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-”

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head.

Eddie learns two things that night.

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it.

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed.

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him.

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that.

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender.

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy.

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.”

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter.

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare.

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops.

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?”

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest.

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.”

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl.

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment.

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face.

“Oh… her.”

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.”

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him.

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t.

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.”

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended.

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar.

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same.

He fucked up.

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands.

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better.

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night.

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended.

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe.

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s.

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now.

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time.

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place.

“Eddie, I-”

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.”

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible.

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late.

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?”

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches.

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.”

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them.

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.”

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.”

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this.

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.”

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb.

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly.

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.”

Especially now.

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding.

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more.

“I know it is.”

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #my bad #surprise drop because... i am actually sleeping so peacefully right now haha #also might be more mindful of answering asks with spoilers for this round <3 just to give people a fighting chance to read first!!!#eddie pov truthers please rise because my GOD have i been excited to do this

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honeysuckleharringtons · 8 months

Note

just steve harrington being so selfless and not taking time for himself melting into a puddle if the reader or you or y/n (idk which one to put 💀) just asked him if he was okay a lot (I do that 24/7, this is purely self indulgent) and the many times he said yeah and the one time he said no :(

i was originally gonna do a full fic style blurb on this but words have been very hard for me lately so i'm just gonna do a text post about this! hope you don't mind 🫶🏻

warnings: reader is sorta implied to be fem!reader, allusions to steve being treated not so well by his parents as a kid, part of this does mention some upside down violence, tiny mention of food, no use of Y/N, lmk if i missed anything!

send me steve thoughts | ask box

I imagine the first time it happens is probably in gym class when you're younger.

You accidentally hit him right in his pretty lil face with a dodgeball ☹️

And Steve being Steve insists he's okay because "I get hit all the time in basketball and football. I've broken bones and nearly busted my teeth out. A lil dodgeball never hurt anyone."

But you can tell he's hurt.

Whether it's him that's hurt or his bruised ego, you can't really tell.

But some part of him was clearly hurt.

more under the cut!

The second time it happens is when you get paired together for a study group during senior year.

Steve struggles with a lot of subjects, but math is probably his worst.

And it's not like he doesn't want to get better, his parents just never sat down at the table and helped him with anything growing up, and when his nannies told his dad about his report cards, it didn't end very well ☹️

But math is the one he's always had the hardest time with.

So when the two of you get paired to study for the calculus final, you can almost immediately tell he's struggling to understand the questions on the example sheet.

At one point, he just kinda places his head in his hands and groans into his palms.

And you're just kinda like, "Hey, you okay?"

And again, Steve is never one to admit defeat.

"I'll be fine. Can you just help me with question four?"

Surprisingly though, after just a few nights of studying together, you become sort of reluctant allies.

He surprisingly excelled in human biology, which you did not. So, the two of you helped each other where you could.

And then it happened a third time, during the summer after you'd graduated.

Steve had had a rather unsuccessful time trying to flirt with the ladies that often came into Scoops Ahoy.

This day had been no different.

He'd really tried his hardest to get the beautiful ginger in front of you to go with him to the movies on Friday.

But she and her friends just moved along, double-scoop ice cream cones in hand, back to their shopping.

"You good?" you asked, nearly on the verge of laughing, as you stepped up to the counter.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he answered sarcastically. "Just a little bruise to my ego. That was definitely the first time any lady has turned down this beautiful face."

Part of you, though, was hurting. Hurting that, even though you were right in front of him, he'd never bothered to look at you that way.

The fourth time it happened, you really started to question everything you thought you knew about Steve.

Somehow, despite being back in town for a total of two days, you'd gotten roped into something to do with some evil dude named Vecna.

And for once, after everything you'd learned since arriving back in Hawkins for spring break, Steve was the one asking if you were okay.

Also for once, one of you was answering the question truthfully.

However, in the week that followed after, even in the midst of alternate dimensions and weird mutations of bats, you'd learned that Steve might have been causing his previous lady problems on purpose.

And when you saw the painful expression he sported as Nancy Wheeler was reunited with her boyfriend, your own heart shattered all over again.

Still, if there was one thing you were, it was a good friend to Steve.

So, you pulled him aside and asked those three little words.

Steve simply ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a slow nod.

But you could tell he was nearly at the point of breaking.

And the time when he finally answered truthfully, he really did break.

You'd drove with him to the hospital to check up on Max Mayfield, who somehow he'd became friends with despite the age difference.

The room was dead silent, other than the annoying buzzing coming from the lights.

You finally gave him a good once-over as he sat at Max's bedside—his messy hair, his pale face with newly acquired purple spots under his eyes, a small cut under his lip.

And for the first time since you'd known Steve, you watched as tears formed in his eyes.

You were quick to rush over to the other side of the bed, your hand splaying across his back and rubbing soft, small circles against his frame.

"Steve, I know this is a silly question to ask, because we both know the real answer, but seriously, are you okay?"

He knew he couldn't hide. Not any longer. So, he simply let the walls come down, croaking out a small, "No," through his flood of tears.

After crying into your shoulder and allowing himself to finally let go of everything he'd been holding in for all those years, he just simply held you.

Finally, after explaining everything—from the reason why he never told you about the Upside Down, to why he'd used Nancy and all those girls as a distraction from the person he really wanted—he just grabbed your face and kissed you. A sweet and tender kiss, not a desperate or lustful kiss, but a longing one—one he'd waited much too long to give you.

And somehow, even in the midst of all the bad stuff, even in the midst of Steve finally breaking, the two of you could finally find a way to maybe, just maybe, be okay for once. ❤️‍🩹

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

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how-masterful · 10 months

Text

Chaos

Missy X Reader, Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: It's a late night after an eventful day, and in your exhaustion you muse about the Master and his chaos. But the chaos is seemingly just beginning. Notes: Here we are! The fourth annual birthday fic in a row for @plethora-of-imagines! And my first fic in a while! It's been both fun and frustrating getting back into writing, but i'm pretty happy with how this turned out- and where i'm planning for it to go! Don't worry plethora, you'll get your joust soon! Enjoy! (Also reader note, there's mention of Delgado!Master X Reader in here too, just in case that's not your thing!)

To finally rest your head upon a pillow was bliss. The aches and pains of the day that held tight within your bones seemed to melt into the plush duvet, dispersing from your body and leaving you nothing more than an exhausted husk. Today, as ever, had been far more eventful than any plan the Master's brain (or brains? You still weren't so sure about that one) could create.

It seemed these days, even the simplest of visits would end in a universe threatening scenario- whether it was indeed the Master threatening the universe himself was often a flip of a coin. Chaos trailed behind the Master like a shadow, a tangible shred in the fabric of the universe. No matter his reason for visiting, whatever planet he dared to step his foot onto could never be left in the same state. His compulsion for chaos prevented it. He left destruction like footprints in the sand.

You adored it. You adored him. But some days the chaos felt just that- chaos. A heavy weight that made you crave nothing more than a good night's rest.

You sighed deep into your pillow, turning onto your side as you let out a hefty sigh. Even today, what had started as a simple visit to a museum had ended with utter destruction and you being banished from a whole subsection of space. The Master had, perhaps overnight, developed a strong passion for the correct and morally appropriate relocation of artifacts to their home planets, instead of keeping them in museums on the opposite side of space. From memory, you recalled musing about how strange this new desire was, how… benevolent. The shelves in his own office were crammed and sagging in the middle from the weight of all his stolen keepsakes. Since when was he so bothered about things being where they belonged?

Then you noticed the dangerous twinkle in his eye, his hand stretching outwards to grasp hold of your own, his electrifying touch leading you down the exhibition hall and towards the large glass cabinet housing a weapon of, when put bluntly, targeted mass destruction on a single planetary scale.

The Master's moral mission to return the artifact had been nothing more than a vehicle for destruction-the weapon was specially designed to implode the planet the moment it made contact with its unique outer crust, which was why the museum across the stars kept it in the first place. To prevent destruction. To show the universe such chaos must be prevented. Be contained. But with the shatter of glass, and a dastardly smile, the Master had taken it into his hands to wipe that planet from the map.

“That's what they get for working with the Grand Serpent.”

He’d grinned, watching the fire from the safety of his TARDIS, one hand upon your thigh, another bringing his teacup to his lips. He’d never been fond of that slimy old copycat. You’d smiled and sipped from your own cup in return, the curl of smoke in your nostrils a familiar and oddly comforting smell.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the darkness of your own head far more comforting than the darkness of the room. Sleep had begun to sink deep within your limbs, a welcomed relaxation as opposed to your mental debate.

The chaos, as he’d once said, was a wonderful thing. It was routine yet also unique, that strange unicorn of a lifestyle that tinged the edges of everything you knew. Chaos brewed itself in the smallest of fashions and grandest of scales. Cushions that didn’t match, eclectic mugs that filled up the cabinets, mountains of books yanked from the library and piled in precarious structures, minefields of abandoned and temperamental experimental devices that could go off at any moment scattered around the various labs in the TARDIS.

But it shone deep from within the Master's eyes, his deep browns a perilous vortex you could find yourself falling into at a moment's notice, never wishing to crawl free of him. He was a harbinger of chaos, a walking weapon of catastrophe, anarchy at his fingertips. He could send your body and soul into a frenzy as easy as destroying a dynasty. You could never want him any less.

Sometimes, however, it all became too much to handle. You needed much more rest than the Timelord could bring himself to want, need or take with the amount of adrenaline running through his system. With a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, and a request to take full advantage of the luxuriously comfy hotel bed, the Master had returned to the labyrinth you’d lovingly called ‘The Timeline Club’- once more meeting with his former self to discuss new business. Business it was essential they’d both be able to remember.

The other Master had started to become a more prevalent part of your existence, arriving to join your plans on occasion, arriving to join your more personal excursions even more. The Master, your Master, with his wide smile and eyes that could soften to a dangerously innocent doe eyed look, had taken such pride in how willing you were to get to know his former self… intimately. A boost to the ego that could never be matched: No matter what body he was in, it seemed you were destined to find it ridiculously attractive- and you weren’t inclined to argue with his hypothesis, considering the other Masters' visits often ended in you providing damning evidence.

The long curtains that hung beside the wide window began to softly sway, caught in a gentle breeze as your brain began to slow, allowing your thoughts to soften. You’d once suggested to your Master, well, Masters now, that you'd felt an ‘off’ button to your brain would be far more effective in getting the amount of sleep you needed when running on such a tight schedule. Your younger Master (definitely younger, despite looking like he should have been the older Master- much like the brains, it was awfully confusing) had a penchant for that sort of thing, his words were able to guide you to such a wonderful rest in less than a minute. Hard as you tried, no sleep you could muster on your own had yet compared to his.

Making a space for him had been almost as easy as breathing. He was so different to your Master, so refined and stoic, yet the hold he had upon you was exactly the same. Your apprehension upon your first meeting had disappeared with the same ease that your mind had now disappeared into a needed slumber.

That was, until, you heard it. Your eyes barely cracked open at the familiar groan. The groan of the TARDIS, wheezing and phasing into existence. The breeze upon the curtains had swelled into a storm, the fabric billowing as the furniture began to lightly rattle, the cool wind snatching away the warmth of sleep you’d worked so hard to find.

You sat up slowly in bed, pushing the covers back with balled fists as the TARDIS finally materialized upon the far wall of the hotel room, taking the shape of an elaborate wardrobe, swirling carvings of hissing snakes deep within the mahogany wood.

“Master,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “You said you’d be hours, I've only just got in bed.”

The door to the wardrobe swung open, light piercing through the gap and bathing the room in a fierce purple glow. You squinted hard, your eyebrows furrowing. The Master's tardis had a red console unit light.

“Did you change the console room again?” You mumbled, rolling your shoulders. The ache from earlier in the day had finally returned to your joints.

There came no reply from within. Except for the slow click of high heels upon metal inching closer and closer.

“Master?”

“Not quite.”

A figure emerged, bathed in shadow, breaking the glow of the TARDIS with her silhouette. Her voice, a Scottish lilt, made your eyes snap wide open.

“But you’re not far off.”

The other wardrobe door opened, and the figure stepped out of the TARDIS and into the light. Her long brown hair was fashioned into a messy updo of curls, her piercing eyes precisely lined with deep black liner. A pale broach sat perfectly within her white collar upon her throat, her long purple skirt covered by a matching purple jacket, the tops of her sleeves puffing out like a victorian. She smiled darkly with her red rouged lips, brandishing a slender black umbrella in one hand, its metal tip digging into the carpet.

“My my, what big eyes you have.” She teased, stepping closer in her black leather heels.

“All the better to gawk and say ‘what the hell is going on?’ without actually saying anything.”

You inched back slowly, hand carefully creeping towards your phone on the nightstand. The intruder's gaze caught you immediately. She tutted lightly, before raising the umbrella in her grasp and aiming it at your phone. With a loud hiss, the phone jumped from the table and clattered to the floor, an involuntary yelp escaping you.

“That’ll do you no good, dearie.” She teased, shaking her head.

“There's no use calling him, there's no danger. He wouldn’t be so self sabotaging. I should know.”

“Who are you?” You snapped.

The intruder giggled, raising her free hand teasingly to her lips.

“Oh, he hasn’t told you? Typical men, always wanting to keep their shiny things to themselves. Such a boys club, isn’t it?”

“Answer the question.”

“I am!” The intruder replied, gesturing exasperatedly.

“No, you’re really not.”

“Uh, I really am. I’m providing indirect answers through context clues masked with sarcastic commentary! C’mon poppet, you’re letting the side down here.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, narrowing your gaze towards the strange woman.

The intruder sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips.

“Wow. He really didn’t tell you who I am? I’m offended. Seriously, totally offended. You’d think after promising to let you meet me A YEAR AGO he’d fill you in on the deetz- but no, you’ve been running around making whoopee with the silver fox for months, far too distracted to come and visit little old me!”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, when memory got to you first. It was a partial haze, the image muddied by alcohol and exhilaration, yet you could still make out the shapes. One year ago you’d visited the Timeline Club for the first time- a year ago, you’d met your other Master for the first time. After your… antics… the Master, your Master, had carried you out and mentioned something about-

“Workshopping…” You said aloud. The intruder tilted her head like a curious cat.

“He’d said he’d be workshopping it… he said I needed to meet…”

The intruder stepped forward, reaching the edge of the bed and smirking expectantly. You looked up, awe slowly spreading across your features. You gasped softly, the tension falling from your shoulders.

“You’re… Missy?”

The Timelady hummed in approval, her hand reaching to cup your chin with her fingertips, lifting your face to meet her gaze.

“That’s Mistress to you right now, pet. We’re still getting to know each other.”

You gaped up at her, unable to pull your eyes away. You could see it within her eyes, that familiar twinkle of danger. It was the same one you saw in your Master's eyes.

“Now come along, we’ve much bonding to do, so little time.”

Missy preened, bringing her face closer to your own, leaning across the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been so looking forward to getting my hands on you, poppet. Those boys have been keeping too short a leash on you.”

The Mistress chuckled, booping the end of your nose with her fingertip.

“Now it’s my turn to have some fun.”

Missy grinned down at you. And in that smile, you saw the familiar storm of chaos.

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 2 years

Note

After seeing the 'childe slowly turning into foul legacy' i just thought of something..

What if during their stay while tighnari, y/n feels their hand burning and when they look down they notice their also slowly turning into a abyss creature?

I can only imagine the damage they make if they end up getting out of control at some point and they have a electro or pyro vision!

Anyways, I'm eating this blog spices and using silverware 🙂

referenced post here

*sidles up to this ask and pets it very gently* oh yes VERY good very BEST

my moon and stars, just imagine you initially thinking it's just your hand being irritated and ignoring it until one day you just happen to glance down and see the skin hardening into plates. and you're absolutely terrified, scared to the bone, but instead of getting help you just slowly turn away and pull your sleeve over the affected area- you have to stay calm, you must stay calm for Childe. it was probably a trick of the light, right? a combination of stress and exhaustion, you're sure, and you continue caring for a suffering Childe

nothing gets better; everything gets worse- Childe's transformation, and you know it's a transformation now, since you can see remnants of Foul Legacy in his appearance, continues. it steals your Childe, your Ajax, and replaces it with a monster, one you still love but unnerves everyone else. Tighnari visits and leaves as quickly as possible, providing any medication he was able to get, and you're left to care for Childe on your own. the transformation has stolen his voice, and he lets out pained squeaks and whimpers whenever you prop him up to urge him to swallow medicine. throughout all this you bear your own pain with a smile, steadily ignoring the hand that looks more akin to claws, even if you can barely move it anymore

ironically it's Childe who notices your hand first after you. your fingers were so stiff and jittery that you accidentally dropped a bowl on the ground, which had promptly shattered. with a sigh you kneel to pick up the broken pieces, and suddenly Childe shrieks in alarm and lunges for you, grabbing your corrupted wrist with surprising strength and staring at your newly formed talons in horror. you try so hard to brush it off with a nervous laugh, but you're so scared and before you know it tears are sliding down your cheeks as you let out a choked sob

"Ajax, it hurts"

Childe cries with you, cradling your mangled hand to his chest and whining in fear. with weak tugs he urges you to your feet and onto the bed, where he tucks you close to his chest, quietly weeping. his own claws curl around your Vision which sparks along to your quickened, frightened heartbeat and allows you to tuck your head into the crook of his neck. he knows you're the same as him, the symptoms similar in appearance and pain, and he wishes that he could take your pain away even if it means to become even more inhuman than he was already. but for now, you need sleep- he can see how exhausted you are- and the same gentle care you provided him. he only hopes he can give it to you without the help of Tighnari and the people of Gandharva Ville

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #chit chat #heehoo you ignoring your pain to care for Childe hoohee!!!!#two abyss monsters trying to comfort each other.....#ohohohohoh this is giving me ideas #i won't say much but they involve dottore and more suffering #my brain is full *rattles it around*#please ask about it ehe #short scenario #other's stuff #FAVE

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brandstifter-sys · 1 year

Text

Infectious

Word Count: 1153 (Ao3)

Pairing: Dukexiety

Rating: T

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, ocd, violence mention, gore mention, innuendo, out of context emo lyrics and song titles

Remus is having a bad day, his intrusive thoughts are loud and stressing him out. He's lucky that his emo boyfriend is willing to ease the tension

(songs referenced linked at the end of each paragraph)

----

It was one of those days when Remus couldn't get out of his head. He tried everything to quiet some of the horrible horrible thoughts about killing his brother or Janus and going all Leatherface on the snake's body, or turning Patton into a casserole, or pulling out a dissection kit and—no no no, he was not giving in to these ideas. Why were they so loud!?

He paced around his room, making sure his heels touched his toes with each step, stretching his room when he didn't have an even number of steps before he hit the wall.

His canopic jars were organized and dusted, and all the pickling creatures were looking toward the wall. His floor was spotless save for one blood splatter that he could not under any circumstances try to clean. It had to stay there. It was supposed to dampen the noise.

He couldn't handle his flood of screaming thoughts. And then they found a new target. Virgil. Oh he could see himself going Dahmer on that edgy snack. He could see Virgil doing the same to him, full of hatred and venom.

Who wouldn't hate him? It was an uphill battle to like him! Remus had to fight to like himself and he fought tooth and nail—which in its own way was something he could like. This was just one battle he was losing.

He fell to his knees and groaned into his hands. He couldn't stop his brain from flooding. He could deal, most of the time but this was too much. He needed something to calm his frayed nerves.

"You know I love it when you're down on your knees—but you should get up," Virgil said with a teasing lilt to his voice. Remus glanced up, wondering when Virgil showed. (x)

"Why would I?" Remus said with a laugh, "I'm in the perfect position to relieve some of your tension!"

"I'm not that tense, but you are. And maybe I want to help," Virgil shrugged and averted his gaze.

Remus got to his feet and tried to focus on anything but the urge to bite off his fingers and eat them.

"Your OCD is getting to you," Virgil said and grabbed his hand, "What kind of thoughts are you having?"

"Skin stealing and cannibalism. They're too loud today."

Virgil brought his hand to his lips and smiled softly.

"I'd like to be able to keep you safe and warm while I get to touch all of you, like you're not under my skin already."

Remus giggled shyly as Virgil gently kissed up his arm and locked their fingers.

"And you already devour me with your eyes," Virgil hummed when he reached Remus' neck, "I don't want you to stop."

Remus giggled as Virgil's bangs tickled him.

"Scare Bear, I'm the horny mustache gremlin here!"

"Don't care. I feel like doing this," Virgil said and pulled Remus' back to his chest, "I feel like treating you like the muse of an emo song."

"Even if I keep thinking about biting you and tearing away your flesh to eat?"

"Babe, if you don't think I dream about being the one to sustain you, to be a crucial part of your life, to know the deepest parts of you, I'll have to prove it to you," Virgil mumbled and got back to kissing his neck and shoulders,

"My fingers are yours to cut off, and my bones are yours to shatter in pieces. My teeth are yours to pull out and my soul is yours to slowly rip apart," he muttered between kisses. (x)

"You know that's really dark, especially when I keep thinking about it," Remus pouted.

"Yeah, but you also keep thinking about how much you think I'd hate you for it. I wouldn't. I'd still do anything just to hold you in my arms." (x)

"You thought I made Thomas bad for being an intrusive thot. You thought I was evil. Why wouldn't I think you'd hate me for going all Buffalo Bill?"

"No I didn't, I never thought you were evil, just acting up and stirring up trouble at the worst possible time."

"But—"

"I'm not exaggerating when I say it was the worst possible time. I wasn't thinking clearly, afraid. You know how that one issue was plaguing Thomas and affecting me and Patton in the worst ways. I know you better. Even if he still thinks you're evil, you look like heaven to me. I'd follow you to hell and back again." (x)

"You mean that." It was not a question, Remus knew Virgil all too well and melted into his touch, even if he was using lyrics to seduce him.

"And I will make your worst nightmares as picturesque as the sea," Virgil said and wrapped his arms around Remus.

"By quoting emo bands," Remus jeered and leaned his head back to flutter his lashes.

"Joke's on you, I only made four music quotes. You just make it easy to get poetic. No matter how gory your mind gets."

"I love it when you get sweet and poetic with me. Am I the only one who ever sees this side of you?"

"You're the only one I want to see this side of me. You're the only one who I want to see me bare and vulnerable, hidden under your covers in the middle of the night. I want to feel your skin on mine, hear your breathing, taste your poison laced lips, and succumb to a taste of death in your arms."

"You want to snuggle in the buff? You know I'll get touchy and then I'll get pregnant from eye sex!" Remus giggled and spun around, feeling less stressed.

He scooped Virgil up and wiggled his eyebrows. Virgil snorted and shook his head.

"This is probably the best, not to mention the worst idea that I have ever had," he said and licked Remus' cheek. (x)

"Is that another—? Scare Bear!" Remus laughed and carried him to the bed for cuddles, "You're such a dork!'

"It's the easiest way to calm you without stripping," Virgil shrugged, "and maybe I like getting you a little flustered for a change. It's cute."

"I love the way that you tease, I love the way that you breathe," Remus jeered and nuzzled Virgil's cheek. (x)

"Kiss me, I'm contagious," Virgil jeered, "And you're just as infected with emo lyrics as me." (x)

"You were peppering me with smooches and emoing all over me, it's your fault if I caught it!" Remus countered, "And I'm feeling better about the thoughts of eating you alive."

"Cuddefish, you know I'm dead inside," Virgil teased and kissed the tip of his nose.

Remus giggled and flopped on the bed, holding Virgil to his chest. The thoughts were still loud but he had an emo nightmare to ease the tension and remind him that he was still lovable no matter what his brain said.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #gore ment tw #violence mention tw #intrusive thoughts tw #sex ment tw #let's make Virgil actually emo for a change #sandyscribed

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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year

Text

Fic Friday

Here we are, once again. I'm tearing you to pieces like a Kelly Clarkson song from the mid-00's. It's Friday, so you know that I have something for you. A brand new chapter of An Invincible Summer is fresh out of the oven and baked with the promise of something wicked; however, if you chew on it for a while, you might be able to taste the hope to come shortly thereafter. We're just shy of 30,000 words now! :O

Mild spoilers if you haven't read the chapter yet (if you're concerned about that type of thing. But I have also been dropping hints about this for a while, so I don't think it's anything earth-shattering.)

Rating: E (canon-typical violence, explicit content, check the tags)

Genre: Romance, action, adventure, drama

Pairing: Dahlia Wintersnow (OC Dragonborn)/Ulfric Stormcloak

Link to AO3: Click here

Snippet:

Lord Kettle-Green begins by opening his desk drawer and taking out some of the objects his friend’s letter specified: white wax candles mixed with the ground bones of an ancestor, nightshade petals harvested under the light of a new moon, and a ceremonial dagger which must be bathed in the blood of an innocent. However, there is one thing which is missing that he has yet to collect and which he has had trouble procuring. Getting into the Temple of Arkay has been a problem to say the least. Ever since the incident with the Butcher, the security patrolling the streets in the area has doubled, and the one time he sought an appointment, that old crone Helgrid followed him everywhere, eyes fixed on him strangely as if she knew something. But how could she? He had not whispered one word of his plan to anyone and has been careful to lock the correspondences he has received tightly in his desk.

Down the hall, he suddenly hears the creaking wood of the floorboards, bending under the weight of someone coming slowly this way. He quickly shuts away his precious items. Even to those with no knowledge of the darker arts, it should be abundantly clear what he is trying to do, and he would be stopped before he even got started.

Soon, a head pokes its way around the corner and the wispy grey hair of the maid he hired, one of the last pieces to his puzzle, makes an appearance. They do not have the money to keep all of their hearths lit, let alone pay her, but he is making an investment in hopes that she will pay dividends later on. At least she had better, or they will soon be out of a house. It is a calculated risk he is willing to take to make sure he has access to a warm body—the blood of an innocent.

There is no turning back now. The wheels of fate are already in motion, and he is not inclined to stop them—only to push them along further.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #dahlia wintersnow #we know exactly what Raffi is up to now...don't we?#innocent whistling #fic friday

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benkeibear · 10 months

Note

I need to go on anon because I've never written a thirst before and feel like I suck at it BIG TIME. But at least I wanted to try to give something back to you, so here we go:

(Also my language might suck)

(MDNI)

You spent hours and hours convincing Bonten's financial manager of the attrivance of your company's offer, always the thought in mind how beneficial and how much of a financial safeguard a cooperation with Tokyo's #1 would be. But Hajime Kokonoi is not infamous as Bontens wallet for nothing. A sly fox, for whom none of your offers was good enough. After 12 hours of complicated calculations and financial speculation, finally the breakthrough: He accepted. And you were a wreck, not even sure anymore if you had convinced him or if he had convinced you, but at this point your brain was too fried to worry about that. He accepted the offer and that's all that matters for now.

Exhausted to the bones, you flip off your office lights, exit the building and get into your car. The drive home must have been on autopilot because all you could think about was your bed, hiding under the covers, putting your drained mind at ease and sleeping for hours. But your beloved husband had other plans.

The moment you enter your apartment, the scent of your favorite food tickles your nose, accompanied by a smell as if an oppossum had been stuffed into the toaster which had been turned to the highest setting. Anxiously you head straight for the kitchen, calling your husbands name. The moment you stumble over the threshold you freeze in your movement. Your eyes meet those of your husband, who stands expectantly in front of you, holding a bottle of champagne in his hands as thick smoke rises from the stove behind him. "Benkei? What the hell are you doing?“ You had not quite finished your question, as the cork removed himself without permission from the bottles neck and flies with a loud „pop" against the wall next to you, where it shatters the glass of a picture frame into a thousand pieces. A shrill scream escapes your throat as your favorite photo from your last summer vacation falls to the floor right next to you, clattering loudly.

"Surpriiiiiiise!" says Benkei, putting on his most innocent smile (😬) and for a split second, you're not quite sure whether to cry or laugh.

"I heard about your deal and thought we'd celebrate a bit. I cooked your favorite meal - or at least I intended to", Benkei points to the burnt haystack of misery in the pot right behind him. "But you know what? Fuck it! Lets order some junk!“ Before you know it, you are lying on your husbands strong arms, who carries you to your bedroom, just as he had done on your wedding night.

Finally you are united with a bed, but your tiredness is long forgotten. You're in for a treatment worthy of a queen. Massages hours on end and the possibility to let Benkei pleasure you with his fingers and tongue or relieving your build up stress by riding out orgasm after orgasm on his hard length - if you feel like it. Otherwise you're in for a cozy night snuggled up in bed with Benkei, watching your favorite show and being fed with some chicken nuggies.

Love, take care & bye ~ 🤍

I- how did I know it's you before I saw your WhatsApp?? 🫣

I AM SCREAMING OVER HERE. BARKING. FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AND NOT OKAY EVER.

thank you so much. You're the loveliest of the loves 🖤😭 the way this was needed after all these meetings and coming home to Benkei is just yes. Yes and yes again.

We all know I want this man to stuff me like a turkey and have him rearrange my guts after taking a long ride on his face until my legs are complete mush. Have him manhandle me because I'm far too spent to even move and grrr 😩 and and and and the way he'd just push his release back inside and give me a last release with those magical fingers of his.

And who says we can't have a really good time AND nuggies after? 🤨 getting cleaned & carried to the couch where we just cuddle up and watch a dumb movie while getting wine drunk and having nuggies. A dream.

#Rhy sins ♡#selfship #Rhykei core #message from: unknown ♡#even tho it's known #get yourself friends that love you like this #no you didn't see me saying all these things. Rhy and private Rhy are two different people I would never #okay i would but you know what I mean 😔✌️#it's always making me blush knowing my irls hear me like that 😂#i love you so much

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wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years

Text

Turn Your Luck

Summary: After a day filled with bad luck and a series of unfortunate events, Natasha manages to turn your day around

Pairing: Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: None

Words: 6,167

When you woke up in the morning and smacked your big toe off your bed frame, you didn't even think twice of it. It sent a jolt all throughout your foot, but after a few swear words, you were already feeling a little better. You didn't bother making the bed you'd just stood up out of. All your life you'd reasoned that it wouldn't be 24 hours before you just messed it up again. You grabbed a towel and moved into the bathroom. The hot shower made you forget all about the sore toe you'd been sporting only a moment earlier.

You were feeling great when you stepped out of the shower. The warm water had always instilled comfort into your very bones even this early in the morning. You wiped some of the condensation off the mirror to brush your teeth. The tube of toothpaste was completely empty, and the drawer where you usually kept the new ones was also barren. You rolled your eyes at your own irresponsibility, before brushing your teeth without any toothpaste and then using some mouthwash to try and compensate for it. You stepped out of the bathroom.

You got dressed in your favourite white shirt and black pants before making your way into the kitchen. You tossed your phone onto the counter as you passed it on the way to the small kitchen table. You were after the fruit bowl, which was already needing a refill. There were still a few apples left, though, and you were expecting to have one for breakfast. You were mistaken. You pulled the empire apple out of the blue bowl to find the bottom had grown immensely soft and was clearly not in any condition to be eaten. You were disappointed but tossed it into the compost bin and moved on.

Humming a soft tune as you moved, you popped a pod into the single-serve coffee maker and pressed start. You were moving toward the fridge in no time when a strange noise caught your attention. You whirled to face the coffee maker. Instead of the steady stream of coffee you usually got, it was spraying the hot liquid like it was a shaken pop can. You jumped behind the small island, using it as a shield. Thankfully, you'd managed to keep your white shirt safe from the wrath of the coffee. When it stopped, you finally dared step back into the kitchen. The dark liquid was dripping down every nearby surface. You huffed, running some paper towel across the biggest surfaces quickly.

You gave up on the coffee. It seemed you weren't going to get it anyway. You glared at the machine as if it had intentionally smitten you. Instead, you reached into the fridge instead and poured a glass of orange juice for yourself. You sipped it before setting it back onto the countertop. When your phone buzzed and indicated an incoming message, you reached for it. Your elbow hit your glass and it fell onto its side. The orange liquid spilled off the counter and into your white shirt. You gave the mess the middle finger, tossing a dishtowel on it to soak it up, with the intention of actually cleaning it after work. You already had to clean the coffee up anyway.

Any attempt at breakfast was abandoned. After the three kitchen incidents combined, you were convinced you'd be better off heading to some drive-thru on the way to work. Now in a new blue shirt, you grabbed your bag and headed out your front door. You unlocked your car, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the ignition. The car sputtered for a few seconds, before refusing to start. You tried again, and then again, before groaning, taking out your frustration on the steering wheel in front of you. You stood up and stepped back out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind you with much more force than necessary.

Then, it was off to the bus stop. You headed down the sidewalk to the nearest one, pulling out your phone as you walked so you could check your app to find out when the next bus was coming. When you saw big red letters informing you that the bus was halted until further notice, though, you had to refrain from throwing your phone hard into the concrete. You supposed you should have had a little sympathy for those in the accident that had halted your bus, but you couldn't find it in yourself right then. Your morning was not going well.

It was a good thing you hadn't smashed your phone against the sidewalk. It was the only thing you could use to get you to work now. You switched apps and ordered an Uber to come to pick you up. When the driver arrived, you climbed into the back seat and gave him the address of your place of work. He nodded and pressed his foot down on the gas. Your eyes had been glued on your phone, but your gaze flickered at the driver's movement. He was adjusting the mirror and you were absolutely sure he'd angled it to face you a little better. You could have puked when you realized the creep was checking you out. You didn't say anything, at this point just wanting to get to work and be done with it.

You practically sprinted into the building when you arrived. Security didn't seem to mind your rush, having seen your face every day for over three years anyway. You hopped up the stairs two at a time, faster than the elevator would have been able to carry you anyway. When you reached the meeting room door you took a few seconds to catch your breath, not wanting to seem too flustered in your professional environment. When you finally pushed the door open, everyone was rising to their feet. Their eyes all darted up to glance at you. You smiled sheepishly.

"You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry." That was honest. You might have been frustrated, but you hadn't wanted to inconvenience any of your coworkers as well. "I've really had a rough morning."

Your boss nodded. "We've all had those days. I'll send you an email and give you a summary."

You thanked him and left the meeting room with everyone else. You trudged into your office, throwing your bag to the floor, and refraining from slamming the door behind you. You collapsed into your office chair and closed your eyes for a brief moment. But you didn't have time for that. The paperwork on your desk needed your attention. You gave it. The hours you spent on all the files, emails, and documents were the smoothest thing that had happened all day, even if it was mind-numbingly boring and felt absolutely endless. It might have been smooth sailing, but it didn't brighten your spirits at all.

When your phone rang, you reached out blindly until you felt your hand come in contact with it. You shuffled it until it was upright in your hand. You were so completely absorbed in the document that was displayed on your computer screen that you didn't even bother to look at your phone as you fumbled to slide the answer bar. Only when the incessant ringing had finally ceased did you know you'd successfully answered the call. You hesitated before you slowly raised the phone to your ear, eyes still scanning the lines in front of you.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Hun."

Immediately you regretted not checking the caller ID before answering the phone. You could have kicked yourself. In fact, the move was so ridiculously and incredibly stupid that you could have beaten yourself to a pulp. The voice on the other end of the line was familiar, completely unwelcome, and not a surprise after having the day that you were having. You turned away from the screen, resting your elbow on the desk and massaging the migraine that was beginning to form in your forehead. You sighed heavily, sure she heard it.

"Hi," you stated. "What?"

"Hun-"

"Please stop calling me that, I already asked you."

You had asked her that. Multiple times. You'd broken up months ago after she'd broken your heart. Catching her in bed with someone else had left you shattered and unsure if you could trust anyone. You'd been okay for a couple months now after some comfort and reassurance from your best friend, who you were having dinner with tonight. You glanced at the time. Your attention was unfortunately brought back to the girl on the phone, though, when she sighed your name as if she were the one who was hurt. She had no right to be hurt.

"I just-"

"I'm working," you finally said bluntly. "Is it urgent?"

"No. No, I'm sorry. I... I can call you tomorrow."

You wanted to snap and tell her not to bother, but you didn't. You just nodded despite her not being able to see it, said goodbye, and hung up. Once more you were faced with the urge to smash the stupid phone. Once more you fought it, instead shoving it into a drawer so you could ignore it and work on the mountains of paperwork you had to get through before your six o'clock reservations. You got back to it. Soon enough, the information was able to push your ex far from your mind. You didn't want to think about her anyway.

It felt like it had been eons since you'd arrived at work, and yet, according to the clock in the corner of your screen, you still had over an hour until your reservation. You might have slammed your head down onto the desk in front of you had two things not stopped you. The first was the migraine that was still throbbing in your head, and the second was the ringing of your office phone. Even though you knew she couldn't call you on here, you checked the caller ID before you picked up this time. It was the front desk.

"Hey, Tamara. What's up?

"There's someone here for you. She said you're going to miss your reservations."

"Reservations? It's only 4:45."

Tamara hesitated. "Daylight savings. It's 5:45."

You had entirely forgotten about that and even if you hadn't, you would have expected the computer would auto-update something like that. But you had forgotten, and the computer hadn't jumped forward, and now you were going to be late, and you still hadn't turned in the file that you'd promised to turn in today. You groaned in frustration, but transferred the file to a flash drive, shoved it into your bag, and left your office. Clearly, everyone else had remembered the time change, as the office was empty.

You cursed all of your coworkers in your head. You made for the elevator. When you stepped on and hit the button to bring you down to the lobby, you actually crossed your fingers. With your luck, all of the cables on the elevator would snap and you'd plummet all the way to the parking garage and die in a fiery explosion. Thankfully, your little gesture of luck seemed to work, for the doors slid open safe and sound in the lobby. As you stepped out, though, your bag hit the door, and the company ID snapped off and slipped in that tiny little crack between the elevator and the floor and out of sight. You cursed loudly.

You didn't dare shine your flashlight down the crack to try and see how far it'd gone; either your phone would have gone down after it out the doors would have slammed shut on either side of your skull. Neither of those things were a chance you were willing to take. You abandoned your ID and continued to the front desk, letting Tamara know what had happened. She nodded in understanding before pointing out your best friend, who had come to collect you after you'd let her know this morning that you'd taken an Uber to work. You approached her and tapped her shoulder.

"Hey," she said brightly.

"Hey, Nat."

Natasha Romanoff was the best thing to happen to you all day. She was your very best friend. Too, maybe you wanted her to be a little more. She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on, the red waves on her head only accentuating her emerald green irises, which sparkled when she smiled at you. That was only her physical beauty. Though she was, to most everyone that knew her, a tough, scary Avenger, you knew it was a façade. Natasha was the kindest, most generous, selfless, and caring person you'd ever had the pleasure of knowing.

"Tamara tells me you forgot about daylight saving time started last night."

"Shut up," you grumbled.

"Irritable because you lost an hour of sleep?"

"Nat," you said, already feeling bad for snapping at her. You rubbed your head. "I'm not having the greatest of days."

That was how your friendship with Nat was. You both understood that not every day was a good day. She tried to convince you not to compare, but you especially understood that. Natasha had been through hell on Earth when she was a child and you wished with every fibre of your heart that you could bear some of that for her. But you couldn't, and you were sure that if you could have, she wouldn't let you. So instead, you understood the bad days, and in turn, she did too. When you stated that today was one of those days, she turned to you with concern sparkling in those beautiful eyes.

"You okay?" She asked.

Your heart fluttered when her hand took yours.

It was a friendly gesture, of course, but you couldn't help but wish it otherwise. You wanted to hold her hand and have it not be just as a friend. You wanted to be able to intertwine your fingers with hers and squeeze her hand tight and feel that constant touch against her. You didn't want it to be friendly, you wanted it to be more. You wanted it to be so much more. You wanted to call her yours and for her to call you hers. But she was just a friend, and it was far better than nothing.

You hadn't always believed that someone could fall in love without some sort of a romantic relationship leading up to it. Now you realized it didn't need to be romantic. You and Natasha were close. You were closer than you'd ever been with anyone before. Because of that relationship, you knew you loved her. You were head over heels in love with her at this point, and you'd realized that a little while ago when you caught yourself fondly admiring her as she drummed her fingers against the table, deep in thought. It was a habit that had once had the ability to drive you up the wall.

"Hello?" She tried again. Her hand squeezed yours.

Your stomach flipped. "Yeah. I'm alright. Just waiting for my bad luck to run out."

"What happened?"

"What didn't happen?" You scoffed. "My fruit is all spoiled, my coffee maker broke, I spilled orange juice on my favourite white shirt, my car won't start, my bus wasn't running this morning, my Uber driver was a creep, I missed my meeting, I almost missed our reservations, I lost my ID badge and... she-who-must-not-be-named called."

Natasha's eyes darkened, her hand gripped yours tighter, and her gaze moved to meet yours. You took a chance and swiped your thumb over the back of her hand to try and get her to ease the tension out of her muscles. It seemed to work, as she relaxed a little. Her shoulders moved back down, the crease in her eyebrow lessened, she loosened her grip on your hand and exhaled carefully. She nodded in thanks, green eyes once against soft and gentle as she searched your eyes. You knew she was looking for any hint of you being upset. You weren't, though. You were with her.

Natasha hated your ex-girlfriend about a hundred times more than you did. She'd begged you to let her sneak over to her house at night and slash her tires and egg her house. You'd given that a firm no, not wanting Nat to get in any sort of trouble. It was Natasha's idea to never speak her name again, and to burn a bunch of photos and clothes that were left behind at your house. She'd gone so far as to have the bench you'd once carved your names into removed from the park and replaced with a brand new one... on Tony's Starks card, of course.

"What did she want?"

"Dunno. I told her I was busy," you actually laughed a little for the first time that day. "It wasn't exactly a lie. I was swamped today."

"Hey, if Fury is overworking you, I'll kick his ass."

Imagining Natasha kicking Nicholas Fury's ass was utterly amusing. You had no doubt she could, but Fury was a force. She'd kick his ass and the next day half of S.H.I.E.L.D. would be at her doorstep to retaliate. But he was a good boss. It wasn't his fault you'd procrastinated your own work for days. That was on you, and you knew it. So, you shook your head no, he wasn't overworking you. She seemed satisfied by that, but the topic of your ex wasn't dropped yet.

"Next time she calls you can direct her straight to me."

"Tasha, you won't answer."

"Damn right I won't."

You laughed again. It brought a smile to her face too.

With that, you continued on down the street without another word of she-who-must-not-be-named. You had almost reached the restaurant where Natasha had left the reservations when you stepped on something that most definitely was not concrete. If Natasha hadn't had your hand, your leg sliding out from underneath you would have left you on your ass. She held tight to your hand, her other arm catching you around the waist. You had to force yourself from blushing red as a tomato.

You glanced down at what you'd stepped in and could have punched someone. The white paint that was being used on the storefront had spilled onto the sidewalk and of course, you'd stepped in it in your new, black shoes. You scraped the bottom of it off on the sidewalk, grumbling all the while. Natasha had let go of your hand when you'd tugged it away from her to wipe the excess paint on the side of your shoe onto the post of the 'no parking' sign next to you. It was still ruined, but at least you'd gotten enough off that you wouldn't stain the restaurant's floor.

"You weren't kidding with the bad luck, huh?"

You shook your head no. You motioned onward, though. She got the hint, and you closed the distance between you and the restaurant. You shifted your bag on your shoulder as you stepped in, hoping they wouldn't notice the wet paint you were tracking onto their floors. If you managed in and out without them seeing, you'd be alright. It was New York City. You were sure people had walked in with worse things on the underside of their shoes.

You watched Natasha closely as she gave her name for the reservation. You hated how the host eyed her even more than you hated how your Uber driver had eyed you this morning. You didn't want anyone to eye her like that. You wanted to be the only one allowed to look at her like that. You knew you weren't, though. You ripped your gaze away from where it had been travelling along her jawline just in time for the host to arrive and lead you to your table. You sat across from her, keeping your eyes down and you collected your thoughts.

"What are you having?"

When you looked up, her eyes were trained on you. Her eyes were your absolute favourite part of her. They always shone so brightly, and so clearly expressed whatever she was feeling. They sparkled like they could see into your very soul and were so deep you could get lost in them for hours. Even the colour was perfect. They were that amazing shade of green that had very quickly become your favourite colour. You often found you'd been staring into them for a little longer than what might be considered normal. Now was one of those times. You looked back down at the menu.

"I'm not sure. Definitely a drink," you hummed. "Though I might get poisoned."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think your luck is so bad that your assassin will choose to poison you today."

No, because she would protect you from anything. She always had. You might have been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but she was always stepping in front of you to defend you. You couldn't say you minded. You liked having her at your back. Some people had a physical location where they felt safe. You didn't. Natasha Romanoff was your safe place. When you were with her, you felt like nothing in the world could touch you. She wouldn't let anything hurt you, and you wouldn't let anything hurt her.

Soon enough the waitress was stepping up to your table and taking your order. You gave yours first, opting for a simple fettuccine alfredo. Natasha gave hers, unaware of the way you watched her lips moving as she talked. When the waitress left and she looked back to you, your eyes were cast toward the window, watching a young couple pass by, huddled close together in the cool March evening. When she called for your attention and you gave it immediately, looking over to her. She sipped her wine as you did.

"You said your car wouldn't start?" She said.

"Yeah. It keeps sputtering on and on."

"I'll drive you home and take a look at it tonight. I know a thing or two about cars."

It was a good thing she did, because you knew absolutely nothing about what was going on under the hood of the car. All you could think was that maybe the battery had died on you, but that wasn't possible. If you'd left the lights on, you would have been able to see it through the window in your bedroom the night previous, and you hadn't. There was no other reason the battery could have been drained. You'd driven the car yesterday from your house to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York location. You might not have known what the hell was wrong, but Natasha would figure it out in seconds. The thought of her bent over to study the underside of the hood made you shiver.

The image was pushed from your mind when the waitress returned with your food. She placed your pasta down in front of you and you thanked her politely. She set Natasha's down as well. The redhead smiled widely and after double-checking that everything was alright, the server left the two of you to your dinner. Natasha glanced up at you, a very amused smile playing on her lips. You knew exactly what it was about, too. You'd gotten the wrong order and said absolutely nothing of it. Honestly, you didn't really care. At this point in the day, you just wanted to eat.

"You could've said something," Natasha teased.

"It's nothing. I'm hungry and this is just as good."

"We can still say something."

"It's fine," you assured.

"Let's stop and buy you a couple hundred good luck charms on the way back to your place."

You laughed aloud.

Dinner was good, despite having gotten the wrong order. You suspected that was due to Natasha's presence. The two of you had been exchanging stores of the craziest missions you'd ever gone on. Of course, she was winning. She was an Avenger. Your missions as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent were anything but boring, but they didn't compare to the alien invasion last year that Natasha had been at the heart of. You'd been helping from the edges of the city, evacuating civilians and the like, but you suspected she'd killed hundred more of the Chitauri than you did: one.

Before long you'd both finished, and the empty plates were cleared away. The server returned to you with the bill. You made sure your card was out before Natasha could even think about trying to pay. They collected your card, and you gave Natasha a very smug little smirk. She only rolled her eyes and thanked you softly. You thought all was said and done when the server returned. You prepared to leave but she shook her head, signalling you to stop what you were doing. She reached out, handing you your card back. You took it.

"I'm afraid the transaction isn't going through."

It seemed that your bad luck had struck again. You were fully confident that there was enough money in your account. There had been last night when you'd checked it, anyway. Either you'd had the misfortune of your card deciding to kick the bucket while you tried to buy dinner for Natasha, or even worse, someone had gotten into your bank account and cleared it out. That thought made your heart drop into your stomach as you reached for your phone, hardly noticing Natasha pulling out her own credit card this time.

You prayed for one tiny bit of luck today. Your prayers went unanswered. You logged into your online banking to find that someone had managed to get your credit card number and had been online shopping all day. Your card had long hit its limit and you were already dreading the phone call you were about to have with the bank. You huffed as you set your phone down roughly on the tabletop. Natasha glanced over at you as the server took her card this time. She raised an eyebrow. You were sure smoke was billowing from your ears.

"Luck isn't turning yet?"

You didn't answer that. "Thanks for dinner, Natasha."

She laughed. When the server returned her card and wished you both a good evening, she took your hand and dragged you back out the doors onto the noisy streets of New York. She was leading you back to S.H.I.E.L.D., where you knew she must have left her bike. When you got there, she scanned her ID and brought you both down into the parking garage. She brought you right to the motorbike and lifted the helmet off from where it was hanging on the handlebars. She reached out and set it on your head, doing it up underneath your chin. Her fingers brushed your skin as she worked at the straps.

"Normally I would never condone riding without a helmet, but I only have one. This head," she said, rapping her knuckles twice against the helmet on your head. "Is much more important than mine."

"Is not," you laughed. "There's hundreds of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but there's only six Avengers."

"And there's only one you," she insisted. "The helmet stays on that pretty little head of yours, and that's final."

That compliment seemed to awaken the butterflies in your stomach. They were still present when you both climbed onto the bike. They fluttered even more when Natasha told you to put your arms around her and hold tight. You could have stayed like this forever if she'd asked you to. You almost wanted her to ask you to, because you loved the ways your arms fit perfectly around her waist. Facing forward, she wasn't able to see the smile that was growing on your lips. Maybe all that bad luck was to make up for this.

Reluctantly, you took your arms off from around her when she pulled into your driveway. She put the kickstand down and took the helmet once you'd pulled it off and handed it back to her. You straightened out your hair a little bit in the reflection of your car window. Wordlessly, Natasha had moved to the hood of your car and tapped on the red paint to get your attention. You unlocked the car and popped the hood for her. She unhooked the latch and lifted it up, studying the inside carefully. That scene you'd been picturing earlier was coming true before your eyes.

"Start the car for me?"

You nodded. You dropped your bag on the doorstep, digging through the pockets until your hand had closed around your car keys. You withdrew them by tugging on the dinosaur keychain that Natasha had once given you after winning it at the arcade, where you'd spent hours at all the different games. You slid into the front seat, turning on the car when Natasha gave you the thumbs up. The car sputtered loudly. Then it made a sound you might have mistaken for a gunshot. The backfire nearly made you jump out of your seat. You quickly got out.

"You alright, Nat?"

"I'm good," she nodded. She moved away from the car. "It's probably just your spark plugs. When's the last time you had them replaced?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Hell if I know. I drop it off for a tune-up and expect them to tune it up."

Natasha laughed. "I'll grab some tomorrow and replace them for you."

You nodded. You watched as she reached up and grabbed the hood of the car, closing it again. She rubbed her hands against her pants. You clicked a button on your car keys, locking the doors. The lights flashed to indicate that it was indeed secured. You fiddled with the keys in your hand to get the house key out, opening your mouth to invite Natasha in as well, but found you couldn't find the golden key. You growled at nothing and dug through every pocket in your bag to see if it had fallen off in there, but there was no trace of it.

"My house key is missing."

Natasha actually laughed at this. "Did you walk under a ladder this morning? Spill the salt? Break a mirror?"

You glared at her. "Can you help me get in through a window?"

She nodded. You both moved around to one of the windows that you'd left open last night, after telling her you weren't sure you had locked it when you shut it this morning. Indeed, she found that once you'd removed the screen, she was able to slide the window open. You linked your fingers together to make a spot for Natasha to use for leverage. You boosted her through the open window and then moved back to the front door just as you heard the deadbolt slide out of place.

"My hero," you grinned as she opened the door. "I owe you a drink. Come on."

"I still have to drive home."

"Stay the night," you offered. "If you don't, I could very well just get murdered tonight."

Natasha laughed. "Well, I'd better stay and make sure you're okay, then."

You smacked her gently. She knew her way around your small bungalow well, having visited what could have easily been a million times. She made herself at home on the couch, tossing her leather jacket beside her. You moved into the kitchen, only paying half a glance at the towels you'd thrown over the two spilled beverages. You poured the both of you a drink and then brought them into the living room, kicking back on the couch beside her. You grabbed the remote, clicking the TV on. The screen lit up the room. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the beautiful face beside you that had been illuminated. You turned back to the screen.

"I can put Netflix on," you said, pressing a button. "What do you want to watch?"

"Can I test your luck?"

"What?" You responded, turning your full attention to her.

She didn't offer an explanation. You felt her hand touch your thigh. Your breath hitched and the remote almost fell to the floor. You managed to set it down on the table as your cheeks began to burn red. She left her hand there for a few seconds before it slid away, letting you take a moment to remember how to breathe. Her hand moved away and wrapped around her glass. You knew how obvious you were being when you watched her touch the rim to her lips and the slight movements in her neck as she swallowed the alcohol. You needed a drink too, but you were frozen.

"I just mean... I could either turn your luck around or just maintain the bad luck."

You still didn't know what she meant. She was setting her glass down on the coffee table. Her eyes searched yours and you were once again tossed into the sea of green that you were so obsessed with. When she leaned forward and connected your lips, though, you lost sight of emerald green. Her eyes had shut and only a second later, yours had fluttered shut as well. You put a hand on the back of her neck to hold her closer and moved your lips with hers. You wondered briefly if you were dreaming. You didn't have long with your thoughts. Your mind was so overcome with whatever was happening right now.

Natasha pulled back. Her hand had, at some point, moved back onto your thigh, and was resting there gently. Your hand moved to cover it. She flipped hers over so that her fingers could intertwine with yours and for the first time, it didn't feel like it was just in a friendly manner. It felt so much more than that, just liked you'd wanted it to. Your eyes moved from there up to her face. She had been studying you intently. You'd never seen Natasha Romanoff look nervous. Not until that very moment. You chuckled a little, nervousness in your chest as well, and let your eyes fall.

"You definitely turned it," was all you said.

"Yeah?"

"By a long shot. I mean, I think this amount of good luck was enough to actually balance out the bad luck."

You didn't know Natasha could giggle, but she did. The sound made a smile immediately spread over your face. You reached out and took her hands in your own. You leaned forward and kissed her again, infatuated with the feeling of her soft lips pressed against yours so rough and yet somehow so soft. One of your hands pulled out of hers so it could thread through the red waves on her head. You'd wanted to do that for so long. She only pulled back when you'd both lost your breath. Your forehead rested against hers and you could smell the whiskey on her breath.

"Do you know how long I've wanted that?" You breathed.

"I'd guessed it, but I thought it was just my imagination because I wanted the same thing."

You laughed. She put her hands on your shoulders, pushing your back down against the couch and then putting her knees on either side of your waist. Her lips were on yours again, a little hotter this time. You didn't complain. You just let her lean down over you and kiss you and run her hand down your side. You only raised a hand to her chest and pushed her away when you once more felt the need for oxygen burning inside your chest. She didn't move far, face inches from yours, studying you this time from above. You blushed under her gaze.

"I... I've felt really strongly about you for a while," you said, hand moving so you could trace your fingertips across her cheek. "You know what I mean?"

"Are you trying to tell me you love me without saying you love me?" She asked, the teasing back in her voice again. "Because you're not going to scare me off. You can say it if you want."

"I love you, Natasha."

"I love you, too."

You couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't funny in any way, but maybe it was the relief trying to find a way out of your body. The sound seemed to make Natasha's eyes, sparkle. Your heart softened and the laughter fell from your lips and you didn't move a muscle. Her face was so beautiful looking down at you like it was. You felt so right having her touch you like this and touching her the way you were. Her hands were holding her torso up above yours and yours were touching her face so gently. It wasn't like a friend touched a friend anymore.

"Thanks for turning my luck."

"Are you kidding me? I'm the lucky one."

"I think we're both really fucking lucky, Natasha. Thank you."

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #mcu #marvel #wlw #lesbian

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qianinterprises · 3 years

Text

WayV Reaction: to asking them to take over while riding them

Warnings: SMUT!!!! This has 90% smut, 10% fluff, so if you are underaged, be warned!!

Work Count: 1.4k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request, love! This was my first requested request and it was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy it sweet anon!

Tagging: @treasuretaeil

Kun:

Originally Posted Here

Your hands were planted against your boyfriends chest, using him for leverage to hold yourself up as your hips pummeled against his. His hands gripped your hips, loosely guiding your hips down on him. His cock dragged deliciously along your walls, drawing moans from your lips, moans that were spurred on by his lips around your nipple.

You moaned out at a particularly hard thrust. Your hips stuttered, arms beginning to shake with your weight. It was all becoming too much.

"Kun?"

The man beneath you released your perky bud with a lewd pop, eyes flicking up to yours in question.

"Can you take over? I'm getting tired..."

With a smirk, Kun's hands gripped your hips tighter and lifted his pelvis. Skillfully, he flipped you around, settling you against the pillows. He moved his hands from your hips, planting them on both sides of your head.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, hips thrusting into you as your walls squeezed around him.

Ten:

Originally Posted Here

Riding Ten was something you'd always wanted to do. He was always dominant, always putting your needs first. So when he came home from practice sweaty an exhausted, you jumped at the chance to take care of him.

Rather than fighting you for dominance, Ten gave in relatively easily. However, you seemed to have underestimated the amount of energy that went into topping.

Moans left his mouth has his hands fondled your breasts softly. You almost felt bad as your arms holding you up gave out and you were falling against his chest, hips moving slowly now.

"Tired baby?" he asked, voice soft as he ran his hands down your back.

You nodded against him. You really should start working out more.

"Can you take over please?" you asked softly.

With a soft chuckle, Ten rolled you over onto your back and gently thrust his hips into you. He laid over your body as his hips moved, lips softly kissing down your neck.

"Just enjoy," he whispered against your skin as his hips began moving at an infuriatingly slow pace.

WinWin:

Originally posted here

It wasn't uncommon for you to ride Sicheng. You both generally took turns with dominance, however, what was uncommon was how fast you had managed to get tired.

Sure, you could never last quite as long as your boyfriend, but you usually always managed to spur an orgasm out of him before your body collapsed against his chest. However, as your muscles suddenly seized up, you feel face first toward his chest. He only managed to catch your falling body by a few seconds before you slammed your nose against his collar bone.

"Babe?!" he asked, alarmed.

"I'm so sorry," you breathed, arms spasming with overuse.

"What happened?!"

"I couldn't hold myself up anymore..." you muttered, embarrassment rushing through you.

"Do you want to stop?"

You knew he didn't. You could still feel him twitching inside you, and to be frank, your core was aching for a mind-shattering orgasm, the kind only he was capable of giving.

"No but would you mind taking over?" you asked.

"Say no more."

With that, he flipped you around until your back was pressed against the mattress. He lifted your legs to wrap around his hips and pulled his cock almost completely out before thrusting back in, pulling a loud moan from your throat.

Lucas:

Originally posted here

Yukhei's hands lightly squeezed your breasts as your hips bounced on his cock, moaning loudly as he stretched you in all the right ways.

"Oh fuck Yukhei!" you moaned as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

"You like riding me baby girl?" his voice was low and husky, a tone he only used when he was feeling exceptionally good.

You nodded enthusiastically, but you knew you wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. Yukhei had a lot more strength and stamina than you. He could fuck you for hours if you let him, but as your thighs began to quiver more from exertion than pleasure, you knew you didn't have much strength left to give.

As your thrusts slowed, Yukhei looked up at you questioningly, thumbs rubbing over your nipples softly.

"What's wrong baby?" he asked.

If there's one thing you loved about Yukhei, it's how he never got too caught up to care about you.

"I can't..." you breathed as your hips stilled completely. "I can't hold myself up anymore..."

A smirk covered his worried features.

"Want me to continue?"

With a nod, you allowed your thighs to relax. He shifted beneath you, lifting his legs until his feet were planted firmly in the mattress.

"You better hold on baby, I won't go easy," he growled before fucking up into you, sending you grappling for his shoulders to support yourself.

Xiaojun:

Originally posted here

Your first time riding anyone was proving to be a lot more difficult that you would have ever imagined. Typically, you'd say it looked easy enough, just moving your hips on someone rather than taking what they were giving you. However, as you struggled to find a happy medium between holding yourself up and fucking yourself down on Dejun's cock, you were getting frustrated.

"How do you do this all the time!" you whined as your hips moved sloppily, unable to find a comfortable pace.

Dejun, who looked far too amused beneath you, just shrugged.

"There's a training session we all have to go through to ensure we're strong enough to please our woman!"

You raised a hand to slap his chest, but as that support left, you found your body toppling down off of him and onto the bed, his cock slipping out of you, making you whine.

"I think you need more practice."

"Oh just shut up and fuck me!" you demanded.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ask nicely."

You scoffed. Part of you wanted to just say 'never mind' and go finish yourself off in the bathroom, but he felt really good inside you.

With a huff, you conceded.

"Oh great Dejun, will you please do me the great honor of fucking me?"

With a far too satisfied grin, he moved on top of you, not hesitating to sheath himself back inside you.

Hendery:

Originally posted here

It had been his request. You weren't too keen on the idea because you were positive you wouldn't be able to do it for long. Your upper body strength was low, and you knew it was going to take a lot to keep yourself grounded as your hips moved. You had told your boyfriend this, but he'd insisted that you at least try. Which is how you ended up where you were not, laying flat on his chest, arms by your sides, hips barely moving to keep him the slightest bit stimulated.

"I told you this was a bad idea," you groaned, not looking up.

"You barely tried!" Kunhang complained.

"Did too! It's just hard!"

He didn't say anything after that, just moved his hands to your hips. He gripped them tightly and lifted them a little higher before letting them drop, pulling out moans from both of you.

"I have an idea, how about I stay on top but you take over?" you asked, looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, lifting your hips again and letting them drop.

"What will that do?"

You rolled your eyes.

"It will give you what you want and also allow me to practice holding myself up for next time!"

He didn't seem to keen on the idea at first, but as you lifted yourself up, placing both hands on the headboard to hold yourself up while he lifted your hips, he let out a satisfied moan.

"Deal."

YangYang:

Originally posted here

"Can't you go any faster?"

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

"But it's too slow!"

Your eyes snapped down to stair at your annoying boyfriend beneath you.

"How about you do it then!" you glared.

Riding him had been his idea. Something on your list to try, but ultimately his idea. You'd told him when he'd suggested it that it'd be slow. You didn't have great balance. Holding yourself up was going to take some practice and as he was the first person you'd ever been sexually intimate with, you obviously had no prior experience. Thus, here he was, whining at you to go faster when, even though you understood the need, you didn't have the balance or the practice to go any faster.

"Fucking finally!" he cheered.

Not a moment later, he was dumping you off his lap, pulling a yelp from your lips that was quickly drowned out by the embarrassingly loud moan that pooled from your throat as he thrust into you from behind, immediately setting a brutally fast pace.

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diaco1968 · 3 years

Text

Thrill

Shigaraki Tomura x f!Reader

WARNINGS! +18, lemon/smut, heavy NONCON!, Forced! , implied cheating, dirty talk and degradation, unprotected, yandere-ish

The sound of the sharp knock resonating off the walls of the otherwise completely silent apartment had you almost jump out of your own skin, a cold sweat immediately beeaking out all over your back despite the heavy warm blanket you were under. You muted the video even though you assumed it was already too late for the unwelcome guest not to have heard it. Another sharp knock and you knew your assumption was right. Either way you quietly slipped out from under your blanket, feet meeting the cold floor and worsening the already cold shivers rolling down your spine, no one had business visiting you at 3 in the morning. Reaching up you looked through the peep hole. The silhouette of a familiar person with light hair was visible but mostly blocked by a smear of something dark across the glassy cover making it extremely difficult to make out the face.

This time instead of the sharp knock, fingers almost gently rapped over the wooden door as if the person knew you were standing right on the other side, the rapping playing a familiar and serie rhythm. Eerie because you only knew one more person who knew this rhythm.

Your hand rose and your fingers wrapped around the doorknob all on their own accord. The rude knocking was his way of respecting you actually, cause you knew as well as he did that this flimsy door could not stand in his way if he had decided to come in already. Chills from your cold feet on the floor made the whole experience worse than it needed to be. With a quiet shaky intake of breath and a shake of your head to regain your stoic composure you pulled the door open slowly, enough space so that your whole frame was in the doorway and not more, one hand still on the door for emotional support.

And surely you needed that.

He was way more terrifying than you remembered him from last time. His white hair glowing and almost reflecting the moonlight that seeped inside the corridor from the window at the end, the white light engulfing and giving his form a ghostly appearance, with bright crimson eyes staring at you expectantly. And that was not the only crimson in the mix. A big splash of red was covering one whole side of his face as it had either dripped down from his own head, which was likely cause strands of his hair was also still dripping with crimson, or had sprayed onto him from some other poor soul, down his neck, disappearing in the black of his shirt, making it look even darker, all the way down to his left hip. He was leaning his bloodied hand on the doorway, looming over you with his nonchalant yet completely insane face, lips slowly parting into a smirk, knowing by the pale look of your face that he absolutely had not given you a choice for this surprise meeting.

"May I use your shower."

Your jaw went slack staring at him with an open mouth as you clutched the door unable to answer what wasn't really a request.

"Of course, what a dumb question."

He pushed off the wall and gestured for you to get out of his way as he pushed the door wide open, stomping right past you. Feeling way out of your comfort zone you glanced left and right in the corridor before succumbing to your fate and closing the door behind you, staring at the muddy bloody shoe prints going to your living room. You followed them and watched him kick his shoes off in the middle of the living room on the creme carpet, lean in to look at the pictures over the chimney, scoff then make his way over to the kitchen.

"That's not the bathroom-..."

He totally ignored you as he went to the fridge grabbing a cold beer, all the while making sure he smeared everything with the blood on his hands.

His eyes glanced sideways towards you as he chugged the bear in one go, putting the bottle on the very edge of the counter.

"Ahhh."

His eyes locked onto yours, beginning to show a slight bit of annoyance. And as his mouth split open into a wide grin he tipped the bottle over the edge. It hit the floor with a noise that sounded way louder to you than it should've before it shattered on the kitchen tiles.

"Oops. My bad."

Your eyes snapped onto him from where they previously were glaring at the broken bottle on the floor, grinding your teeth together in annoyance.

"The bathroom is the other way."

"I know."

You hissed out from your clenched teeth and he waved his hand dismissively, stepping over the glass and walking towards your bedroom. Of course he was going to use the master bathroom. What else. He stopped in the doorway to the bathroom and looked at you.

"Join me."

You crossed your arms over your chest this time glaring at him directly.

"I see no need for that. You're a big boy."

He faked a pout before shrugging his shoulders and stepping into the bathroom.

"Well I thought you wanted me gone as soon as possible. Apparently not, so I'm gonna take my time then."

You shook your head and sat on the edge of the bed, every single muscle in your body rigid from stress. How long could he take anyway?

Apparently too long.

An hour of chewing your lower lip and tapping your foot nervously later, you decided to check up on him. You knocked on the door but got no reply. Three times. So you opened the door slowly and carefully to peak inside. Unlike what you had imagined the bathroom wasn't filled with steam from the shower. But sure enough he was standing under the running water. You stopped yourself before you could rake your eyes down his body you went to close the door.

"Come on now, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Shigaraki."

You whispered in a scolding tone but didn't close the door, instead staring at his eyes.

"Eh? What happened to Tomura? Or the one I like more, Tomuooo~"

He attempted to mimick your voice with a whiny needy tone and remembering exactly what he was talking about you flushed bright red stammering.

"Oh my gosh... fuck off..."

He laughed, the sound taking you aback not recalling ever having heard him laugh.

"Fine, but seriously. I need your help."

He turned around to show you the half ass cleaned wounds on his back.

And of course you had to inspect so you stepped inside to take a closer look at the gashes. Two long angry stripes across his middle back, not bleeding anymore but spots of dried blood still sticking around them.

"No way I'm gonna blindly scrub at those. They hurt like a motherfucker."

You heaved a sigh finding the reasoning legit. After all you were used to seeing such wounds yourself. You grabbed a towel for the lack of a better option, finding out that he was too far inside the shower for you to reach. Not wanting to hear his retort on telling him to get closer you decided to step in and that's when the cold water ran over your hands and slid all the way down your arm inside your sleeve.

"Shit! Why so cold?!"

"Why not. Not how he likes it?"

You clicked your tongue annoyed and pressed the towel to his back a little too harshly making him hiss and glare at you from the corner of his eye. If you were completely honest it was a terrifying glare but you didn't budge and instead started to scrub away at the skin lightly enjoying the silent tease-less mood. Not for long though.

"Speaking of him. Where even is he?"

'As if you don't already know.'

You bit back your retort and settled for somthing else.

"We were and are not going to be speaking of him."

As if to emphasize, you scraped the towel a little harder over his skin and watched as his shoulderblades rolled and rippled right under the skin but he ignored it.

"We're not? Having a naked man in his shower makes you feel guilty?"

Your nails dug into the towel and you paused.

"Shut it."

"No. He is away working, not even dreaming of his little fiance being unfaithful to him. Trusts you a little too much, huh?"

"I said shut it!"

You growled and slammed the towel onto his back, right into the gashes. His shoulders twitched angrily and he reached back and grabbed you right before you could storm off angrily. A loud surprised gasp left you as your back got slammed into the wall, cold water from the shower pouring over you and soaked you to the bone in a matter of seconds.

"And I said no."

You tried to wriggle out of his grasp or wiggle away from under the onslaught of cold water to no avail.

"Fuck! Let me go!"

His hands grabbed at your wet heavy hoodie ripping it enough to make space to slip it off your shoulders and expose your chest then let it hang around your waist. With your hands still inside the sleeves you felt bounded by the tight heavy cloth unable to do anything but struggle in vain.

"He has no idea his fiance, the love of his life, is secretly a villain fucker, does he?"

"I am not!"

"The love of his life? Cause we both know you ARE a villain fucker."

"Stop!"

"Stop? But you don't really want me to, do you?"

His fingers wrapped around your neck tightly, pressing you harder into the wall forcing a squeak out of you before he shut you up by pressing his lips onto yours and his tongue shoving into your mouth, making you turn your head to the side with a cough.

"You don't want me to stop cause he doesn't screw you like I do,"

His fingers tangled in your wet locks like snakes slithering through the grass, tightening on your scalp with a fist full of hair and forcing your face back towards himself and running his lips over the side of your mouth.

"He doesn't grab you and force you down in your place like the little whore you are-"

"We were on a break! It was one time!"

"It was not one time."

He pressed you into the wall harder with his body, freeing his hand and grabbing your panties. The flimsy fabric turned to muddy dust and washed away down the drain. His hand immediately replaced it and cupped your heat roughly. And for once you were glad for the running water, you could not stand his comments on the moisture gathered between your legs otherwise.

"To your credit, you did try to be a good girl. You just couldn't stay away from me. It must be thrilling, huh?"

You pursed your lips staring at the ceiling trying not to focus on his fingers running all over you, as if he couldn't decide what to touch first. They ran from your sex to your hips, back to your ass then over your breast, pausing to enjoy the erect nipple rolling it harshly between his fingers, making you bite your lower lip.

"Tell me. Which one is your derive? Is it the thrill of being used like a fucktoy by a villain and not knowing if I would dispose of you afterwards?"

He slipped his hard cock between your thighs, tugging your hair down to expose the length of your neck to him, leisurely kissing sucking and nipping on the soft skin as you shut your eyes and opened your mouth to breath cause the water was now angled right in your face.

"Or are you thrilled by cheating on the poor fucker with his enemy and not getting caught?"

You started thrashing your arms and managed to free one before he pulled you over and slammed you back into wall by your neck again making you Yelp and cling to his wrist tightly.

"Is this really how you want to go? Half decayed and well fucked in his shower? And imagine he is the one who will find your body too... tragic."

He was bluffing... he was definitely bluffing... right?

"Is it?!"

He roared in your face, his voice echoing off the walls and you found yourself trembling in his hands, shaking your head no.

"Then be a good bitch like the horny little slut you are and cooperate."

You felt as if his words smeared over you and make your skin tingle with filth. He was right, you were not used to this kind of treatment. And your quivering legs and throbbing pussy was evidence enough that you did in fact find this thrilling.

Sensing your submission he freed your other arm from the hoodie, throwing it away before leaning down to hook his arms under your legs, picking you up and positioning you over his cock, the tip proding between your folds and poking at your hole. And unceremoniously thrusted himself all the way in, by letting you drop down onto his lenght. You gasped at the sudden stretch, arms flying from the wall to wrap around his neck to hold yourself steady as he stepped away from the wall, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

"Mmm your tight cunt never ceases to impress me. Does he fuck you at all?"

"... please stop..."

He chuckled and grabbed your ass with your legs draped over his arms and he started moving you over his cock, the position had you unable to do anything except cling to him tighter and clenching constantly around his dick from the hard angle, moaning into his neck. You could see the goosebumps on his skin and it oddly managed to give you a satisfying feeling.

Untill all sense was drawn out of your head as he started thrusting into you while he moved you up and down, drilling into you deeper and deeper each time. You screamed as your whole body went rigid and hard shivers ran down your spine, your toes curling as you came hard with his cock still screwing into you roughly, your scream drowning out into a quiet gaping mouth.

"Fuck... you used to be way harder to please. Missed me a lot, yeah?"

His nails dug threateningly into your hips but you refused to reply.

He pressed your back on the wall again, moving your legs all the way up over his shoulders, not bothering to pull out while changing the position.

"Still stubborn I see. No problem. I know how to deal with you."

"You're a one night stand gone wrong!"

You spat as you glared at him. Should not have said that. Should. Not. Have.

His fist found its way back into your hair and he pulled it up to expose your neck again.

"Is that right?"

He leaned all the way over you as his hips picked up a bruising pace, slapping against your ass with each thrust with a loud sound. His lips latched onto your neck and he started sucking on the skin. Shocked you went to push against his shoulder and he tightened his fist in your hair, forcing you to grab his arm instead from the pain burning on your scalp.

"What are you doing?! Stop!"

He changed the spot and started sucking another deep purple mark on the other side, before moving lower and sinking his teeth into your chest.

You yelped loudly digging your nails into his shoudlers and in return he move his mouth again biting your other breast.

"Fuck! Fuck! Stop! He will see those!"

"That's the point you dumb cunt. And that's not all either."

Feeling your distress had you clenching around his cock again he moved his hand and started rubbing your clit roughly as you squirmed and struggled.

"I'm going to cum soon with your dirty pussy milking me like that..."

Your breathing was ragged and you were moaning on each thrust and he absolutely loved the way your face scrunched up im horror from the realisation. He leaned in to whisper into your ear.

"That's right. Now tell me, are you a dirty little whore?"

"Please! Please don't!"

You were now half sobbing as you pleaded and gripped onto his shoulders.

"Answer me then. Are you a cheating filthy fucking whore?"

"I am! I'm a cheating whore! Please!"

"Oh but you're not any whore. You are mine. Your thirsty little cunt is all soaked for me alone. Right?"

"Yes! Only for you!"

"Do you think of me when he fucks you?"

You hesitated and he did not like that, delivering a harsh wet spank on your ass.

"Ah! Y-yes!"

"Yes what?"

You were now definitely crying, tears streaming down your face as guilt and pleasure mixed into your system, clinging to him desperate for some little comfort.

"Y-yes I think of you.. when he... when he fucks me..."

"So you missed me a lot, didn't you?"

"I missed you a lot..."

"Address me properly."

"I missed you a lot Tomuooo~"

And with that he rammed himself into you one more time, warmth exploding in your lower belly as to your horror he spilled his load inside you. Your whole body went limp, dread and fear gripping your chest and your throat. He turned off the tab and it was all silent except the sound of the last few droplets hitting the tiled floor before the silence was broken by his evil chuckle.

"Good, cause I'm far from done with you."

#tomura shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader lemon #shigaraki x reader smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha lemon #bnha #mha

291 notes · View notes

bored-storyteller · 3 years

Text

Re-Published

Anon: Hello! Um... I don't know if you write for Tokyo ghoul, but if you do, I might have a one-shot human reader x uta, where he kills someone to defend them so they find out he's a ghoul? Maybe even if they're scared they understand that they can trust, and they hug him or at least touch him though he's all covered in blood or something... I don't mind if you do it a little macabre.

If this is not possible or does it seem too ooc to you, please ignore this. Thank you

I finally finished one of the one-shots! I'm taking a long time with them, sorry.

And thanks Anon for asking about Tokyo Ghoul and especially Uta!

WARNING: VIOLENCE AND BLOOD

32 - Tokyo Ghoul - Uta x human! Reader

"Keep death away"

You could have known it long before, of course you could. Yet you were too stupid to understand, weren't you? Or just, you pretended not to understand. You didn't want to understand, it was easier.

It was a thousand times better to keep hunting in the meanders of your mind the doubt that occasionally arose when he never took off those damned sunglasses in your presence.

"Maybe he has some kind of disease, it would be inappropriate to ask, right?"

You always repeated it in your head as you watched him talk leaning against the counter in his study. In short, not that he didn't have his oddities, one more or one less what suspicions could arise?

Yes, indeed. Why were you so surprised that Uta was a ghoul? It was just one of many oddities about him.

You always knew it, but now you have been forced to face it.

You had to face that the security he gave you from that occasional first meeting was just a lie created by your mind. After all, who could ever find such a person reassuring?

God, the smell of blood was so nauseating, so terrifying, you had never felt it so strong before, nor had you ever seen so much blood. Could a human body really contain it?

Your hand went to your neck, where a slight red trickle burned in a thin scarlet crack that opened above your collarbone. The knife that gave it to you was lying helpless a few steps away from you, you could still distinguish it from the slight sparkle that emanated under the crimson cover that dipped the asphalt.

Now it seemed such a trivial weapon, so ridiculous.

You almost wondered how you got hurt by something so insignificant, to still have a sore wrist from the grip of a miserable human being. In front of the spectacle before you, the previous danger seemed only a bad joke.

But that joke was now literally being devoured. Eaten like you would have eaten a donut for breakfast.

The man who attacked you was literally being eaten. Not just killed, not just torn apart, eaten.

His flesh was ripped off, chewed under voracious teeth, and ran down a still too dry throat. His blood was licked, drunk, his bones shattered, pulled out like his organs, as if he were a fish to be cleaned.

Was it the liver he was now biting?

Did you have a chance to escape? To survive?

You remembered feeling a wave of relief when you saw a familiar figure in sight in your tears, however ...

You wanted to scream, but it would have been worse. You wanted to escape, but who could have escaped from such a creature?

He seemed to have forgotten you, bent over his meal as he was. Bloody predator, hungry, too absorbed in his hunger, in his desire for hideous food.

Yeah, he was hungry. Sure. Hunger, he was hungry. That's why Uta had dismissed you so quickly that evening.

And you were almost worried as you heard him close the doors of his shop behind your back as you left. You thought you did something bad, thank god.

Wait, what? Thank god?

No, no. You couldn't feel relieved. In short, you'd be dead soon, you should find your panic again, the one that blocked you until a moment ago.

He, that boy, would have killed you. He was hungry, he would eat you… right?

Your gaze was now fixed on the demon's pupils. The red irises surrounded by the black sea had slowly turned to you, as if he had heard your question.

Even his back, which until then had been bent in an animalistic position, was slowly straightening up again.

He had nothing left in his jaws, neither flesh nor bones. He was just… red. Splashes of living sap tinged his ageless face up above his nose, his tattoos almost disappeared under the blood of others.

And the silence spoke, it screamed deafeningly among you.

You asking him how much harm he would do you, and him asking you when you would condemn him, destroying the life he had built.

You did not have the courage to move a muscle, you remained there, curled up on the ground, with your hands clasped around your neck almost in the hope that he would not perceive your wound, your being alive. Your clothes also wet with blood and yellowish liquids whose origin you did not want to know.

For a moment, you thought you were going to stay there forever. He staring at you without expression from above, and you, ready to become food for beasts.

Your gaze dropped slightly, focusing on the background behind his legs. It was red there too, dark red. Red that stretched along the road in horrible wakes and crimson splashes.

There was no longer any sign of the human being who had attacked you, or rather, the signs were very little human.

You wondered if you felt sorry for him. Frankly, you didn't know what to think. It was awful, but at the same time how could you have saved yourself from what he was about to do to you?

"Have you been watching the whole time?"

Uta's voice suddenly roused you. God, you forgot that there was that voice of him; so quiet, so peaceful with you.

He knew it too, seeing him eat like that, it had to be traumatic. He didn't want you to see him, he hoped you'd never even have to imagine it. And yet you were there, and this was him. He couldn't change it anymore.

You watched him as a child watches his teacher as he searches for the right answer to a question he couldn't answer. What was the answer? Which would have made you survive if there was a chance?

"I ... I won't tell anyone ..."

What idiocy. Why would he have believed you? But what other choice did you have but that? You would have buried everything, just to survive. You would have buried everything because, it would have been easier. It would have been as it had been until then, you ... you could have done it.

"I won't tell anyone, Uta."

His gaze seemed to relax, but you couldn't be sure. Even though you could see him full face he seemed so good at keeping control over himself.

Was he believing you? Did he trust you enough? Why didn't he speak? You needed to know.

"If you talk, you know ..."

He didn't say anything else. His voice in the midst of delirium was almost reassuring, while he held back the scariest words and simply brought his palm to rest lazily on his abdomen, now full after who knows how long.

A warning that meant a thousand things, a thousand threats but he had the delicacy not to let you hear.

"Did you get into trouble at the right time ... your wound?"

Your lips parted, but all you did was gasp for a moment, not knowing what to say. Your head was spinning, you were dizzy and everything about you was shaking. You couldn't have stood on your legs.

"…Wound…?"

You repeated his words, as if you were unable to think for yourself. You realized it. Well, it meant that at least you were still aware of yourself.

He seemed to accept your status peacefully, and simply gestured with a light gesture of his tattooed hand to his neck, which was also so uniquely branded in black and now dyed red.

"You are hurt."

It wasn't a question, Uta just knew it.

Your hands slowly slipped from your neck until they fell into your lap. Of course, of course he knew. He felt it, that's why he was there.

You were in trouble at the right time, of course, because he was hungry. He wouldn't eat you, if he wanted he wouldn't send you away. If he had wanted he would have done it in his shop, safe. Now you knew it, and the sudden relief hit you like an electric shock, unexpectedly bringing tears to the edge of your eyes. Not the panic, but the relief almost made you throw up, and the awareness of the situation poured on you like a frozen waterfall.

Your mind, drowsy with questions, woke up suddenly, taking note of everything that had happened, of what was around you.

Death and gratuitous violence. Not Uta's, but the one you might have suffered without him.

Nobody guaranteed you that, without the tragic intervention, you would get out alive, and certainly not unharmed.

You had really come close to death, and where the knife had cut you it was now burning wickedly, taking you back to the instant before the devil's executioner arrived.

You did not even remember if there was a reason why you found yourself so tightened by filthy unknown arms, you did not remember if you were able to speak, but to pray yes.

God, you saw death. There was death, you touched it, it was all around you. You saw it, it was colored red, a dark red illuminated only by cold emergency lights that hung almost lifeless and wobbly from the walls of uninhabited alleys. Death flowed under your knees, like revolting rivulets accumulating at the bottom of the dead end.

Wherever you looked there was only death, or soulless things.

Where was the life?

Your forefinger and middle finger pressed desperately on your neck, looking for the place where your heart could testify that you were still alive, that no one had killed you. You were alive, you would have seen tomorrow.

And the figure of the ghoul looming over you senselessly returned to being reassuring.

You watched his infernal eyes peer at you patiently, luminous in the darkness. Oh, he was alive too, there with you.

"Uta ..."

You called him, like a newborn bird.

He took a step toward you for the first time, without threat, only in response to your plea.

"Uta ... Uta ... let me hear your heart ... please ... please ..."

You needed to feel him alive. You needed to feel the life in him, as you felt it in you, to know that in the midst of death you were not alone.

This time his expression betrayed him. His dark sclera widened just below the lids which opened slightly more. His black hair fell soft and long over his shoulder as his head bent slightly, scrutinizing you questioningly.

It was normal that he didn't understand. You were just a human, what a bizarre request was that?

Yet, still, it was you. The human he did not want to eat, the human he ran to as soon as he smelled their blood. The human who occasionally slipped into his shop, spying on his new masks and always asking him a thousand curious questions. The human with whom he went out for a coffee, to forget for a moment how much the world hated those like him.

Yeah, made by you, it wasn't such a crazy request. You've always been weird, so weird that Uta felt the need to save you, despite that ridiculous world that always ran too fast around his stillness.

His arms branded with tribal tattoos relaxed along his sides, opening slightly with his palms facing you. Not an invitation, but a permission to do what you wanted.

"If you are sure ..."

The only words spoken, perhaps slightly more insecure, and his calm voice, slightly broken with uncertainty, and at the same time so sweet in that deadly silence.

An adrenaline rush ran through your legs, and despite your exhaustion you got up, driven by the desire to reach that living creature.

It was not a hug, it was just you with your palms and ear delicately placed on his chest, searching for that desired sound. Like a lullaby it lulled you, his heart beating lightly fast against your cheek.

Under his ribcage you could also hear the organic sounds of the digestive process raging on what had been your tormentor. It wasn't as scary as you imagined, that body that was now keeping death away from you, was destroying it right under your touch.

And while you listened to the consoling heartbeat in the monster's chest, you didn't care about the blood that now ignoble dirty even your face. You were simply there, enjoying the warmth of a living body, while a thank you slipped under your breath that the ghoul's ears didn't expect to hear.

It wasn't a hug, but his hands leaned lightly like ghosts on your hips, holding you there, while the red irises more beautiful than blood rose to the black sky cut by the gray skyscrapers.

And as you listened gradually easing your fear, he felt your weight on his chest, more present with each breath. You miserable human being seeking refuge in the carnivorous beast, how grateful he was that even in the worst revelation he could make to you, you were still there, scared but understanding, and yet you were able to make that world around him seem less cruel.

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul x reader #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x reader #oneshot #violence #anime oneshot #Uta x human reader

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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

The Boy Next Door

Eddie Diaz x Reader

Warnings: mentions of divorce, step-parents, a little bit of arguing, alcohol and consumption of, like one swear word, mentions of sickness

Category: fluff

Word Count: 2.3K

Author’s Note: ahhh okay hi! this is my first 911 fic, idk it’s mostly self indulgent because I can’t get this idea out of my head, so here we are :) also for the purpose of this, Eddie never got married nor did he have Christopher

Italics are flashbacks

----

To say you were average was the understatement of your life, you weren't special nor were you awkward or shy, you were just average. You had always been the average person, in an average neighbourhood with an average life.

But the boy next door, there was nothing average about him.

The first time you met the boy next door was when you were 14, you had just moved into the neighbourhood with your father and his new wife. There was still lots to be done, the air conditioning was broken and your father seemed to misplace his toolkit during the move. He left you in the smouldering heat and ventured off to find a toolkit. Not only did he return with a toolkit but visitors as well.

“y/n!” your father shouted from the bottom on the staircase, “what?!” you shouted back. “Come down here!” you groaned as he called for you again, what could he possibly want now?

Your father stood there with a man and a boy who you could only assume was his son. “Y/n, this is Ramon and his son, Eddie. They live next door and Ramon was kind enough to loan his tools and help me out.” you smiled at them from the top of the stairs.

“Come down and get Eddie something to drink” your father said, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and made your way down the stairs.

“Would you like some lemonade ?” you asked, walking past him to the kitchen, he followed you. “Please” he leaned against the wall watching you move around the kitchen.

“So, I hear you have a step mom?” he asks, you could feel his eyes burning into your back as you got the lemonade from the fridge. “Unfortunately” you mumble and pour some of the liquid into a glass, Eddie made his way over to the counter, he leaned up against it.

“Do you know how to stand straight ?” you glance at him up and down, he laughs and shakes his head.

“Why is it unfortunate that you have a stepmother ?” taking a sip of the lemonade, his eyes fixed on you. “Have you ever seen Cinderella ?” you asked, hopping up on the counter and picking up the other glass, Eddie nods.

“Imagine living with Cinderella’s stepmother but times 100″ you groan, Eddie had a smile on his face.

“You’re joking”

“Wish I was”

“Well that sucks” he gave you an apologetic look

“Big time” your eyes are on your legs which were swinging back and forth. Eddie grabs your leg suddenly, “what the hell!” you jump, he laughs again.

God he has such a cute laugh, wait what ? Stop he’s your neighbour, you barely know him.

“How’d you get that?” his thumb rubs over a scar on your leg by your ankle. “Bike accident when I was younger. It just didn’t heal right and left a scar, also because there was a giant gash there for a few weeks” you shrug. The two of you were in the kitchen for a few minutes, Eddie’s hand was still wrapped around your leg, neither of you saying a word to each other.

“Eddie! Time to go!” Ramon shouted for Eddie, he let go of your leg. “See you around ?” he asked, you nodded, “yeah, see ya” Eddie smiled at you and you smiled back.

You rarely saw Eddie after that day, he had been helping his father at his shop all summer so you never got a chance to hang out. When school started, you had a few classes with him, he occasionally asked for the answers to the homework after his practices ran long, which you gave to him.

Somewhere deep down, you had a soft spot for the boy next door.

Your friendship, if you could even call it that, was built solely on the fact that he lives next door and went to the same classes, if it weren't for that, you’d never speak to him. He wasn't a popular kid per se but he had a solid friend group and played sports, so in his own way, he was a popular kid. You were the kid that had your head down, did what you were told to do and left.

High school flew by and you were glad. The whole “your high school years are the best years of your life” was bullshit, if anything, you ended up coming out more confused than you went in.

The second time you spent time with Eddie was at your graduation party. The graduating class had arranged a grad party for yourselves in the neighbourhood. It consisted of loud drunk teenagers and their tipsy parents. By midnight, the street began clearing out, you hung back simply because you didn’t want to go home and deal with your stepmother and your father.

Sitting on the curb at the end of the street, you could see the entire street. There were still a few kids, a group of boys playing football terribly, a couple making out in the corner and some girls posing for pictures by some car.

Eddie’s shouting broke your thoughts, “Papi I'm going!” It sounded like something had shattered, perhaps a bottle. You got up and slowly made your way over. “You want to throw away your life? Stay here, get a job Eddie, I won’t allow you to do this!” his father shouted back at him. Eddie began walking away from his father, Ramon grabbed his hand. “Do not walk away from me!” he shouted again.

“You made up your mind and so did I. I'm going.” Eddie said sternly and walked away. He walked past you on his way to wherever he was going. He didn’t stop, he didn't talk, he just pushed past you and left.

Eddie left home a few weeks later. You kept up with his parents, stopping by for dinner every once in a while. His father didn’t talk much about him, just that he was good and that’s all. Once his father left, his mother told you about what actually was going on, how Eddie felt as if he had found a purpose there. She shows you letters that he had sent and a picture he had sent her in his uniform.

“Doesn't he look handsome ?” she smiled, showing you the picture of Eddie. “Yeah, very handsome, Mrs. Diaz” you smiled back.

“Do you know when he’s coming back?”

The smile dropped from her face. “He- uh, reenlisted” she mumbled. “Ramon doesn't know”

You nodded, “I won’t tell”

“Who’s not telling what?” his father came back in for a moment, you smiled at him while Mrs. Diaz turned her attention to the sink. “Oh just that Mrs. Diaz is helping me with dinner for my grandparents tomorrow” you pick up the bowls on the counter, “Thank you for dinner, I'll see you guys around ?”

“of course, thank you for coming over. it’s nice to have you around” his mother gave you a hug.

You spent a lot of afternoons with his mom, just helping her out around the house. It wasn't until 4 years after that night that you saw him again. A few bruises and bumps, a couple scars and broken bones you were sure of, but he was back in one piece. In true Diaz fashion, his parents insisted on throwing a party for him. It was supposed to be a small party, just a few neighbours and family. By the time Mrs. Diaz was done inviting people, there was triple the amount of people coming.

You headed over with your father, he had gotten sick recently and required a bit more help now. Truthfully by 25, you had planned to be living on your own but with your father getting sick and your step mother bailing, you stuck around. Once you got him situated, you found Mrs. Diaz in the kitchen.

“Hey” you smiled at her, taking the bowl from her hands. “Hi mi amor, how are you ?” She smiled at you, you rested the bowl on the table across from the two of you, “I’m okay for now.”

Eddie’s laughter filled your ears, that was a sound you didn't hear often but one you loved nonetheless “It’s good to have him home” his mother smiled, watching her son from the window. Mrs. Diaz gets pulled off by someone leaving you alone in the kitchen, turning to the fridge, you look through for a beer. “hey, pass me one too” his voice called as he watched through the backdoor. You pulled two out and handed on to him.

“Thanks” Eddie leaned against the counter, you couldn't help but chuckle. “What?” taking a sip of the beer, his eyes meet yours. “Nothing, just noticing your habit of leaning on things” you stood across from him.

“Sorry, but do I know you from somewhere ? You seem so familiar” his brows furrowed, tongue running across his lip. “I’m y/n, we’re neighbours” you told him, his eyes flickered up and down you, your name leaving his lips.

God, your name never sounded so good.

“Y/n...” his eyes ran over your body once more, his eyes locking on your foot. “Ankle Scar” he smiled, you nodded as your lips curled into a smile. “God, I'm so sorry I didn’t rememb-” “don’t worry ‘bout it, I'm not really anyone worth remembering”

Eddie’s smile dropped, a pout visibly on his face. “Don’t say that, I'm sure you are.”

“Is that why you didn't remember me ?” you teased

“We went to high school together” he took another sip, you nodded in agreement. “We’ve also lived next door to each other since we were 14” you smiled at him. Again, the smile vanished from his face, “okay, now I really feel like shit. God, I'm sorry” “It’s cool really” you gave a smile once more.

“Don’t you have a party to get back too ?”

“Eh, not to fussy about parties to tell you the truth. I might take a walk around the block, care to join me ?”

“Actually, yeah, I’d like that”

Eddie opened the front door for you, letting you step out first. The two of you headed through the front to avoid everyone in the back, you walked down the street together, the dull streetlights lit the sidewalks, beer in your hand.

“What have you been up to?” Eddie asked you, “Well, I'm a nurse but only part time. My dad needs me around.. now that he’s sick”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, your dad’s a cool guy”

Scoffing, you take a sip of your beer, “yeah, you’re the only one that’s ever thought that” your statement making Eddie chuckled. “If you don't mind me asking, what happened to the wicked step mother of the west?” he looked over at you as he walked along the curb of the sidewalk, his arms out to balance himself.

“She bailed when he found out he was sick.”

Eddie stopped walking, “seriously ? that’s a bitch move” “yeah, tell me about it”

Taking a seat on the curb, Eddie sat down too. The street was quiet for the most part, the only noise coming from down the street at Diaz’s place. Your fingers tapped against the beer bottle in your hand, aimlessly trying to keep up with the beat of the music. Eddie’s hand on your ankle startled you, causing you to drop the bottle. “Seriously ?! Again?” you shout, Eddie put his finger over your lips. “Shh! you’ll wake up the neighbours” he muttered, you rolled your eyes at his statement. “Tell me nurse y/n, how does one not ‘heal right’” he laughed, his thumb rubbing against the scar and causing you to roll your eyes again. “surely you can tell me that, Sergeant Diaz”

Eddie looked shocked, “how did-” “your mom, she never stopped talking about her son, the army sergeant medic” you teased, he shook his head, laughing. “I know you’ve only been back for a few weeks, but what’s next ? Are you going to stay ?”

“If I have a reason too, I will but I- I don't know what’s next” Eddie sighed.

“Perhaps a change in scenery ?” you asked, he looked over at you with a questionable expression on his face. “I'm moving, to California in a few months” you told him.

“Oh? What for?”

“A change in scenery” you laughed and he smiled at you.

“I haven't thought about moving, maybe it would be nice. A break away from here, not that I don't love it here, I love my parents too but-” he stopped talking, he realized the more he went on, the deeper a hole he dug.

“You know, I hear the LAFD is always looking for recruits. I’m sure they wouldn't mind having an army medic on the team” you glance over at him, there’s a pause in the conversation.

Eddie looks over at you, “that’s not a bad idea” his arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, your arm his rested on top of his knee,

“What do you say to a road trip and a roommate ?” he looks down at you.

You look up at him, “I think I'd like that”

---

tagging: @ssa-volturi @geeky-son-dr-reid

#eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz oneshot #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz fan fic #eddie diaz fic #eddie diaz fanfiction #911onfox #9-1-1 oneshot #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 reader insert #9-1-1 imagine #9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 fanfic #911 #911 fic #911 fanfic

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dottiechan · 3 years

Text

ICEBREAKER Pt. 2 & 3

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter

Wordcount: 2060 (Pt. 2); 2050 (Pt. 3)

Summary:

Pt. 2: Three are awake on the Marauder. Two are holding onto one another. One is barely holding on. (Hunter-centric chapter)

Pt. 3: You can only keep saying no to your old addictions for so long before they return with full force. (Crosshair-centric chapter)

Warnings: cursing, smoking & implied nicotine addiction

Part 2

The stars streak and melt against the abyss of space, unsteady and bleeding. You miss the stationary points of light, precise and dependable and easy. Stars make constellations that guide you, that show you the way even when you're lost. Hyperspace just confuses you, chills you to the very bones, makes you feel more lost than you already do. Which, to be fair, is not too difficult right now.

Having left the ice planet behind after the successful elimination of a remote Separatist research centre, you're en route to Kamino once more. What's more, you have the cockpit all to yourself, and you sit with your knees up, head rested back, throat exposed, undone by the comfort of solitude as you allow yourself to lower your guard. It'd be peaceful on any other day.

But your mind is plagued by Tech's revelation.

Your rational side knows he must have made a mistake. After all, what's the chance of either of them liking you? And why would they? You're fighting together, and you're bleeding, and sweating, and trying, and maybe even dying together. But that's nothing more than what's expected of you, of each soldier of the GAR, clone or otherwise. You're coexisting now, but you could be reassigned at any moment really. You try to convince yourself that you wouldn't feel the change, that working with a squad other than the Bad Batch wouldn't chafe you terribly, but you see through your own lies.

Of course you'd hate it.

Where would you be without Tech's advice and sage-like aura? Without Wrecker's enthusiastic support? Without Crosshair correcting your stance when you shoot, without him always watching your six? Without Hunter's hand on your shoulder, saving you from dangerous situations, but also, and maybe most importantly, even from yourself?

It would be easy to answer those questions. But you don't have the power to do so now.

So you sit back, wishing for simpler times, times when your greatest worry was Bracca and thinking they hated you. You'd rather they hate you than... than what Tech said. Somehow the idea of either of them liking you in an unprofessional way, even remotely, sends your head spinning. It makes your throat constrict, it makes you feel unworthy and angry and confused beyond belief. The idea of both of them liking you at the same time - as outlandish as it sounds - just makes you absolutely lose your mind.

So you try not to think about them, you try not to think about Hunter's softness, and Crosshair's piercing gaze, and what it would be like to let them close to you. They already feel closer than what you're comfortable with. Maybe they are already closer than you know.

But they can't get any closer. You can't let them, and you promise yourself to shut them the fuck out. No, you don't deserve this, you don't deserve them fucking up whatever respect you've built up with the squad. And you don't have the right to mess up their friendship either. They belong with each other, all of them, and no matter how much you like calling them your boys inwardly, they'll never be yours. They'll always be a family, with or without you. And just who are you to tear it apart?

You try so hard to fit in, but it all seems too much, as if the four walls around you were pressing closer and closer until you suffocated, and you breathe in shakily, afraid of your doubts manifesting into anxiety.

But the slight tremor in your fingers is a telltale sign you can’t ignore. You are good at repressing emotions in the heat of battle, but you weren’t engineered to feel no stress. Nature formed you to thrive on it.

...

He's been awake ever since you refused to turn in and insisted on staying in the cockpit. Hyperspace en route to Kamino is the safest possible space travel for the squad, but he doesn't argue with you. At some point, Crosshair is up - he knows it's him from the very specific way his feet touch the ground. He skulks about the ship for a while before returning to bed. And then it's just you.

He's trying his very best to ignore you, he presses his pillow over his head and bites down on his lower lip so hard it almost draws blood. He hates the power you have over him, he hates how he can't have anything to himself anymore that isn't tainted by thoughts of you. And apparently, he can't even fucking sleep without knowing you're okay, calm, quiet, dozing off, hopefully dreaming about him.

But your next breath, it really sounds disturbed, almost gasping, and his heart clenches in his chest. He'd protect you from your very own thoughts too if he only knew how, but he grows shy whenever he sees an opportunity to really be there for you. All he ever wanted was to make you happy, and he doesn't know how it ended up like this, how his own happiness ended up being intertwined with yours so irreversibly. His own breathing grows a little more restless, chest rising and falling with your anxiety, throat tightening with your worry, mouth running dry with your confusion. And he'd take it all from you if he could, he'd drain you of all of your worries and pains if he knew you'd feel better.

He says he hates the power you have over him, but what he really hates is his inability to fight it.

He slips out of his bed, carefully and quietly to not wake the others, for once in his life grateful for Wrecker's loud snoring as it covers the sound of his footsteps on the metal flooring.

Before opening the door leading to the cockpit, he looks down at himself in his blacks, bandana abandoned with his gear back at the crew's quarters. He runs his fingers through his long curls in vain, fighting the urge to turn back and make himself more presentable, someone you could like. He's not doing this for himself, he scolds himself, but his insecurities keep buzzing in the back of his mind as he presses the button on the control panel and enters.

You've been crying.

The red rims around your eyes shatter his heart into a million pieces almost instantly, and he struggles to say anything for a second as you stare back at him wide eyed, startled. You're beautiful and sad and Hunter just wants to undo your pain any way he can. He'd be your collateral damage if you'd only let him.

"You should be resting," you say suddenly, the heels of your palms flying up to your tear streaked cheeks in a futile attempt to hide the fact that you've been crying. He wishes you wouldn't, he wishes you were comfortable with just being unapologetically yourself around him, sharing whatever sorrows and joys you had in your heart with him.

"I couldn't... You..."

"I'm fine." The little lie is so soft, almost like a caress against his cheek, a plea to let you wallow in your own misery. He'd never forgive himself for walking away now, and he can't understand why you want him to treat you so shitty.

"As your superior, I have a duty to make sure you're alright." He wants to wince when his words escape his mouth - he sounds so strict and stuck up and distant, and he wants to take it all back when a sour smile appears on your lips for a split second.

"I'm not crying as a soldier."

Hunter wills himself to sit, and forces himself to keep holding your gaze even though he wants to retreat. He's afraid, he's never been so close to breaking around you, but that damned shine in your bloodshot eyes doesn't let him back down. He knows he's already started down his road. Maybe it was time to commit to it.

"Well, I'm not asking as your sergeant then. I'm asking as your-"

"Friend?"

"I'm whatever you need me to be."

"I can't talk about it," you say after a short pause, looking away, leaving Hunter wonder whether that flush on your cheeks is because of him or not. He's disappointed you don't trust him, but he can't really be mad at you. He probably wouldn't trust himself in your place. And yet he can't stop yearning and wanting and tripping over his damn feet to make you feel better.

"That's okay. I'm still here, if you need me."

But maybe you don't need him, he thinks, his heart sinking, as he watches the colours of hyperspace reflect in your silent eyes. He stands, a hand stretching out towards you. He grabs the leather of your seat, digits sinking into it with helplessness before letting go completely, of the headrest, of your sadness, of you, and allows his own hell to swallow him up completely. He'll go back to his cot, and Wrecker snoring, and Tech mumbling in his sleep, and he'll listen to your misery in silence, suffering along mutely with every hitched, disturbed breath of yours. If that's how you want it to be, then he doesn't have the strength to change your mind.

You grab him in the corridor, catching him off-guard. He's always been off-centre around you, but so far it was only your retreats that unbalanced him. Your proximity is another intoxicating distraction, and for a moment, he feels like he can't move, he can't swallow, he can't reach out to touch you.

But you're hugging him, and how could he not return it?

Change comes slowly for him. First, it's his fingers that find your hair, and they tangle themselves in it at the nape of your neck tentatively. Your face is turned away from him, but your cheek is pressed firmly against his shoulder, and your arms have him locked in a tight hug, your ice cold fingertips seeping in his own heat. Hunter can't think straight, but he knows he's your lifeline now, and he slowly warms up, and tightens his embrace around you, and eventually holds you as if the world was ending, and you seem to need it. If only he could make your problems disappear simply by squeezing you against himself tightly enough.

It's unprofessional, so unprofessional, and yet nothing felt more natural to him than you in his arms, his nerve endings singing with the joy of your proximity. Now that he knows how sweet having you this close can truly be, he doesn't know how he's ever going to go entire days without your embrace. As if he needed anything else to prevent him from sleeping peacefully. He doesn't think he's slept well ever since you joined his team, and he doesn't seem to find it in his heart to regret it. It's bad, and destructive, and unhealthy, but it's also out of control, and Hunter promises himself not to stand in its way anymore.

No more swimming against the tide.

He just wishes, so desperately wishes he didn't have to hurt Crosshair in the process.

...

Fucking hell, he knew it'd hurt, he knew it'd come, inevitable and destructive like a tsunami, but he never actually believed it would be this bad, this paralysing. He hates it, he just wants it all to stop, he just wants to get out. But loving you doesn't seem to have an exit, and just like with breathing, the only way he'll stop doing it is when he dies.

But what's even worse than all the repressed anger and helplessness and loneliness is the hope, small and fragile but blinking steadfastly amidst the darkness of his feelings. The hope that - despite you being in Hunter's arms right now - somehow you'll still end up falling in love with him. It's false hope, Crosshair knows, but he just can't help holding onto it like a fucking lifeline.

He leans his head against the doorframe for a second, dizzy and momentarily overcome with sickness. Then he turns and lays down, curling up alone. Crosshair can't watch another second of this, of Hunter acting out all his forbidden fantasies until there's nothing left for him anymore.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but all he sees is Hunter's fingers tangled in your hair.

Part 3

You glance sideways, head propped up on your hands. He's surveying the street once more through the scope of his rifle. You consider yourself a rational person, someone who's not gross and would never violate any lines of decency, but there's something so unbelievably attractive about Crosshair as he aims his sniper rifle that you have a hard time restraining yourself from staring too much. Well, maybe you're willing to cross a few lines for him, but what the hell.

This stakeout is lengthy and has you stretched a little too thin anyways. Might as well pass the time with something.

Crosshair seems bored as well, more restless than usual. He lowers his gun and slings it over his shoulder, and you observe his lazy but meticulous movements, hoping to catch his attention before the silence drives you absolutely crazy. He comes to sit beside you on the rooftop as you watch the busy streets below you. You both know the rhythm of this place by heart now. First, there's a great bustling crowd in the late afternoon, mostly the poor workers of the adjacent factory fighting their way over to the beaten up shuttlebus station, and the merchants packing up shop and going home, leaving their stalls behind for the night. Then there are a few odd stragglers later, mostly seeking out the cheap watering hole on the other end of the street. And then around midnight, your separatist spy would finally show up to drop off his intel in the form of old, harmless looking datacards in a seemingly abandoned alley that ends in a cul-de-sac.

And then of course you'd alert the squad before the intel was retrieved, and Tech would make copies and start tracing the spy's sources, while Hunter would inform Commander Cody about the developments. Because there's a war on the other side of the planet that your information can help win, and while things look sad and boring here, at least this dusty city hasn't been bombed into oblivion yet.

"I can't wait to finally get the jump on this guy."

"Tech says we ought to wait a few more days," you remind Crosshair as you stretch your feet out in front of you.

"We're wasting our time here. There's a battle to be won on this very planet. So why are we stuck with this boring job?"

"Don't you like spending time with me?" you tease him, but you're scared of his answer, so you don't give him enough time to respond. "This is important. We're saving lives, Cross."

He bristles at the nickname, but nods reluctantly in the end. You hope it's the job he can't stand, and not you, because deep down you like this, you like not being shot at, you like having the upper hand, you like spending time with Crosshair, away from Hunter's suffocating lingering heavy with expectations posed towards you. You're none the wiser since you had that conversation with Tech some time ago, but you're all the more confused, and you're trying even harder to get back to how things were before. So maybe taking a page from Crosshair’s book and outright ignoring Hunter wasn’t the smartest idea, but you don’t have a better one yet.

"And who's going to save us before we die of boredom?"

From somewhere he produces a cigarette, and he flicks his toothpick off the roof before placing it between his lips. You raise your eyebrows, and he catches your eyes and smirks. He knows you've been trying to beat your own addiction, he knows how Hunter fucking hates the smell of smoke lingering about you, and maybe at this point he's only doing this to spite him, but he lights it, takes a drag and offers it to you.

"I really shouldn't," you wince, your rekindled craving suddenly running rampant in your veins. "I've been off it for a few months now."

"I've only got the one. But suit yourself," he shrugs, and takes another drag, smoke curling past his parted lips so enticingly that you lean closer involuntarily.

"I can't let you ruin your lungs alone." You break, and extend your hand. He chuckles, his fingers brushing against yours as he passes you the lit cigarette. You inhale the smoke, and you remember why you used to be so hung up on this shit as the nicotine soaks in your blood. Then you look at Crosshair, sweet and angry and oh so bitter Crosshair, and you soak him in too, unsurprised when he triggers the same reaction in you as nicotine does.

You remember why you used to be so hung up on him and you swallow hard, because all you can think about is what Hunter would say if he knew.

...

"I think I'm getting some sleep."

"Knock yourself out."

"I don't get how you're not tired."

"I am." If only you knew just how tired he really is, with all the pretending he has to do, with all the looking away whenever Hunter is by your side, hands drawn to you as if you were magnetic. But you are magnetic, you fucking are, he knows, he has a hard enough time to tear his gaze away from you constantly. He dreads to even think of what it would be like to have to keep his hands away from you too. He'd probably go mad.

That's why he never touches you, he avoids you, he withdraws like the losing party he is.

"Well, spyboy has already made his appearance tonight. It wouldn't be characteristic of him to come back again," you shrug. “Maybe we could both turn in for the night.”

"You really don't understand the concept of a stakeout, do you?" A snort and an adjustment to his posture later he's back to being mean to you because he needs to reinforce those walls he's pulling up between you. He'll be as cold as ice and you will burn your fingers and pull back and never come close to him again. Or at least that's the plan, he can't account for all times he's slipped out, all the times you made him laugh, made his heart race, made him wish he was more bite than bark with you. "There's a reason why we need two people here, remember? Someone needs to watch the street while I'm resting. Otherwise it'd be pretty difficult for me to do my job properly."

You take the bait so easily, and the pout and the crossed arms almost makes him smile. "Oh, so that's all I am here? Your backup? Your sidekick? Number two?"

"Pretty much." It clearly hurts you, but you deserve it a little. After all, he's your number two as well.

"It's such a joy working together with you."

Satisfied, Crosshair turns back to the street, ignoring the ache in his heart. He goes against his own wishes, but he's always taken care of himself, and he knows what's best for him. And pining after you like a lovesick cadet is not it, he can do so much better than that. You'll go now, probably pick a spot on the roof that is far away from him, you'll curl up on your mat and fall asleep, angry with him for the rest of the night.

But damn you, you're probably right, and the spy's not coming back again.

When you sit next to him, he's blinking in confusion, blank, nothing witty coming to mind. You sigh, annoyed but already letting it all go. Your elbows are touching, and he's too afraid to move.

"Do you have another cigarette?"

"You think I was lying when I said I only had the one?"

"Yeah. I think you were planning on waiting for me to fall asleep and then smoke them all alone."

"Smart girl."

The praise awakens something feral and primal in you, but Crosshair is too busy fishing out his pack of smokes to see it. You're sitting under the stars soon, ducking behind the half wall to hide the burning tips of your cigarettes, arms pressed together as you lean into his side more. You flick the ash off absentmindedly, and he watches your fingers, knowing he couldn't possibly look into your eyes now without feeling things he shouldn't feel.

"I don't mind being your sidekick."

And there you go again, fucking up his plans once more as he has nothing smart to say. He just sits, and smokes, and ignores the drumming of his heart in his ears as he focuses on you being so close to him. Just one last slip-up, and he'll do better tomorrow, he'll chase you off, he'll make you fucking hate him. But tonight is his, selfish or not. Tonight he will steal from Hunter, and then he'll never insert himself into your life again.

By the time you've put yours out, he's already lighting a second cigarette, and you blink slowly, exhaustion creeping up on you. Crosshair is about to shove you, about to tell you to fuck off finally and get some sleep, but then you put your head on his shoulder and he shuts up.

He's too scared to move, to ruin this moment. Tomorrow, tomorrow he'll stay true to himself, but tonight, he'll stay true to you.

...

"They've missed their check-in."

"Actually, they haven't. Crosshair gave me a status update not long ago. Looks like it’s all quiet - we won’t be seeing more of our spy tonight.”

While Tech is busy tracing the origins of the spy’s latest intel, Hunter paces up and down the abandoned cellar they established as their momentary camp. This temporary imprisonment has them all restless and stupid and twitchy, and he blames his own jumpy nature on being so understimulated. Listening to nothing but Tech’s datapad and Wrecker’s whining all day in the dark and damp confinement of these four walls is enough to drive him positively mad.

It has nothing to do with not seeing you or hearing your voice for days on end, no. Nothing to do with not catching a whiff of your scent in the mouldy air underground. Nothing to do with knowing you’re up on a rooftop, exposed, with no other than Crosshair.

Hunter trusts him to keep you safe. But he’s being irrational and jealous even though it is totally unwarranted.

Because he loves you.

It was a hard labour, to give birth to that internal confession, but he’s never felt so relieved ever since he’s done it. He finally has a name to put to all the yearning and pain and hope he’s harboured for seemingly endless months. But you’re not ready, he knows that. And maybe he isn’t ready to say those words out aloud either, and yet he knows the day will come. Because in the corridor of the Marauder those few weeks ago, while the rest of the ship slumbered, the two of you shared a moment that meant something.

You’ve been careful not to repeat it again, and he’s respected your wish, but he sees the way you look at him. Sees the purposefulness in your avoidance of him. Hell, he can practically smell your confusion. So he backs up as much as he can to give you the much needed time and space to hopefully figure out how him wanting to be close to you makes you feel.

But he likes to keep an eye on you nonetheless, not necessarily just to keep you safe, but also for that. And allowing you to tag along with Crosshair on a stakeout doesn’t exactly help him do that.

So he paces, dragging along his love for you with every step, ignoring his festering jealousy. Crosshair doesn’t even seem to like you anymore, he’s been vocal about it lately too, so there’s nothing to worry about. Despite it being an irrational fear, he still dreads leaving you alone with him, but he won’t have it. He knows you and his brother better than this. He knows. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

And as Hunter paces, Tech occasionally glances up to check on his sergeant, his friend, heart heavy with worry not just for him, or you, or Crosshair, but for the future of the whole squad in general.

#dottiechan writes #hunter x reader x crosshair #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb x you #crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb fanfiction #star wars

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honesthammie · 3 years

Text

Prompt 39: Death wants you to be terrified. But the scariest thing is wanting death.

13th Doctor x female curvy reader

Warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts, alcohol and drug abuse, domestic abuse, fat phobia

I'm sorry for this. Its really depressing and I've been hesitant on letting you guys see it but I kinda like how it's written. I've made the abuser gender neutral as females can also be abusive. I promise the next one will be much happier!

"Come on (y/n), you can make it! Just jump across and reach for my hand. I promise you won't fall." The Doctors voice echoes across the widening canyon. If you looked down, you would only see pitch black. You didn't know how long you'd fall. Maybe this would be the perfect time to just go for it. Its not like you'd matter, you're only slowing the team down as is.

They wouldn't even be in this mess if you didn't slip and hit the world shattering drill, turning it on full blast. Unfortunately, you smashed the button making it unable to turn it off. Of course the only way you'd be able to turn it off is to actually go towards it. Everyone in the room screamed at you and some raised their tentacles to attack you if the Doctor didn't step in front of you. You know the Doctor noticed you flinching and your eyes gloss over and noticed you bracing for the impact.

You learned over the years to just accept your fate. You can't run from anyone when you weighed this much. You couldn't hide either, which often left you to just accept what was coming and hope nothing broke. Bruises were always easy to cover and so were any cuts but broken bones, that was always on display and you'd have to break your number one rule: never lie. You hated lying. The truth always comes out anyway so why hide it? If you hide it, you get punished worse anyway so why bother?

If you jumped and actually went with the team, you'd get questioned about earlier and about hesitating at jumping. But if you fell, would the Doctor miss you? As much as you hated to admit it, you were absolutely in love with the adorable alien. Why did you hate to admit it? Because she was a goddess and you were a waste of skin and bones. You weren't skinny and you didn't fit in with the team at all. You were only here out of pity.

You remember when you first met the team. You were the only person alive when they searched underneath the hotel. Even the spiders didn't want you. You were at the hotel because you heard about killer spiders and you wanted an out. You could never do it or something would come up stopping you from ending all your misery. You were the complete opposite of the Doctor. She was so brave and said whatever she wanted and didn't really care for the consequences.

You focused on the Doctors sparkling eyes. Despite the situation, she still sparkled with hope and encouragement. She wasn't upset with you. You really wished she was. This would be such an easier decision to make. Your head was pounding and your heart was going faster than her two hearts. Did you even want her upset? You couldn't tell, your head was spinning wildly, one thought going to another without a chance to process the last one.

You had come to a clear decision. You ran back and let momentum do its thing as your feet left the muddy gravel. You felt so free as you glided in the air for a few seconds. It was the most beautiful feeling. No punishment, no tears before going to sleep and no terror of going back home. Just you and gravity.

Then with a clearer mind you regretted your choice. You were horrified. You weren't ready. It wasn't time yet. Graham can't lose you. He'd only recently lost his wife. He'd feel the same as you and that thought terrified you. He'd survived cancer and gained himself a new family. He can't be like you. Ryan needed him, wether he was willing to admit that or not.

Suddenly you panicked and last minute reached your hand out hoping you'd grab something. Anything. You felt a soft warm object and latched on for dear life. You were then lifted up and onto soil. You focused on your breathing a moment and waited for your heart to calm down. You looked up and saw what, or rather who, saved you. You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the Doctors worried face above yours. She gave you a questioning look, knowing the question, you nodded your head and she straightened herself and helped you up.

"That was great (n/n)! So brave of you! Let's go gang, we've gotta turn this drill off before it splits the planet in half!" She shouted as she ran forward, seemingly knowing the way. She didn't let go of your hand until you reached the drill about 10 minutes later. You couldn't help the blushthat formed on your cheeks. The Doctor quickly opened a panel on the side of the drill.

The drill was massive, bigger than the Eiffel Tower and that what was on surface level, it went down much deeper that it had reached halfway to the liquid nitrogen that ran in this cold planet where our magma centre would be. The drill itself was purple and spherical. The panel box was the size of a human head which was about the size of the civilisations sucker pads. Inside were 3 buttons and 1 lever. You needed to type the pattern that would gain the access to the drill and force stop. If it goes wrong, it speeds up rendering this planet uninhabitable.

You watched as the Doctor quickly typed the pattern in. Red,blue,red,red,red,blue,black,black,blue. That was the pattern she quickly pressed in and held the lever down for 10 seconds. Soon the drill came to a halt and the planet was peaceful once again. You all let out a sigh of relief as it stopped.

You made your way back to the chief of the race and explained that they should dismantle and never use that drill again unless they plan to empty the panet of everything it has within. He quickly agreed and the fam made their way back to the TARDIS.

As soon as tye TARDIS was parked on the edge of your solar system, you got into your comfy clothes ready to nap or maybe play a few games to slow your adrenaline until you were tired enough for a full nights rest. You played a few rounds of uno and some poker where you used some bits of metal instead of chips. Eventually everyone had left except you and the Doctor.

You made your way to the doors of the ship and settled down just watching the stars in front of you. If the sentient machine hadn't already been aware of your darkest thought, you would have jumped out there and been amongst them. Just floating eventually turning to nothing but bones drifting, maybe to never be found. All the sights you've seen and yet this is where you were the most impressed. This was your home, your galaxy and because of all the light pollution, you had never been fully aware of how many neighbours you had because you had been literally blind. This was only stuff captured and faked and now, it's forever in your mind.

You heard movement and a shuffle next you. You knew who it was because she was the only other person awake and you knew she was going to ask and not let it drop until you tell her truth. And you were going to give her it but that doesn't mean you were ready to do so but you had to, someone had to know. Maybe you wanted help or maybe just someone to listen and know everything making you mentally naked in front of them.

The Doctor waited a few moments. She was figuring out how to word it without sounding horrible. "Is everything alright at home?" She asked her voice laced with genuine concern. "Sorry if this sounds a bit abrupt but let me explain. You've been really weird lately. You hardly speak and when you its with as few words as possible, you keep going elsewhere mentally and Rassilion forbid anyone getting angry with you! I also noticed how you hesitated today when jumping and I saw your worry and panic when you jumped. I think I know but I can't help you if you don't at least tell me what is going on! And don't change the subject or anything, just answer me please. I lo-. I can't lose you too." Her voice raised a little as she panicked just speaking about it. Halfway through she grabbed both of your hands and continued her speech.

You looked deep into her eyes for any sign of a lie but there wasn't one. Just like at the canyon, her eyes showed nothing but love. Maybe you should tell her, just her. No Yaz, no Graham and no Ryan. Just you, The Doctor and the TARDIS. You looked away for a moment as you collected your thoughts. However, as you opened your mouth and tried to speak, you found no voice. You couldn't tell her about them. Lord knows what she's capable of. But you've been looking for an out for so damn long. Maybe this is it. She's your out, no death involved.

You walked towards a panel in the console and pushed your hands inside and focused. You focused on the worst time it happened. You concentrated on the fear and everything attached. You couldn't tell her, but you could show her. The TARDIS disappeared into the vortex but didn't seem so sure on landing. She was picking it all up, she felt everything you did and she did not like going. "Please baby girl, I need her to know. I need help but I can't tell her. She's my only out that doesn't involve death and that terrifies me! Please. I understand your hesitation but she needs to see." You spoke mentally to the sentient blue box. She made a sad sound as she gently landed in the moment.

The Doctor looked at you bewildered. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. You walked up to her and grabbed her hand reassuringly. You led her to the doors that separated her from your darkest secret. You took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

You appeared to be in the basement of your house. You walked up the stairs and took her to a storage room where she could see it happen. You sat in silence for a few minutes only the sounds of breathing and your heartbeat could be heard.

You knew this day off by heart, it plagued your nightmares often. It all started to sweet and went sour so quickly. At this time you were currently on your way back from doing your weekly shop to Tescos making sure you didn't forget their vodka and gin on your way to pay. Thankfully, the shop was only 10 minuets away and you doubted that the TARDIS would make you wait longer than nessacary. Just as the Doctor opened her mouth to speak the door opened and in walked an 18 year old you.

You set the bags down and started sorting the items into their new places. The canned foods go in the cupboard and the meat goes into the fridge. There were loads of food and stuff to go through and place properly. After you placed the last can of baked beans into the cupboard, the door swung open, nearly breaking the door.

They came home from their dealers place early. They stunk of weed and alcohol and had a little white powder around their nose. They looked like they had a good time until they had to come home. It was their dealers birthday so he was having a brothel themed party meaning there were strippers, pole dancers and prostitutes as well. The dealer was a rich guy who practically ran this city. The cops couldn't do anything as he could always bail himself out of jail.

They looked you in your comfy clothes and scoffed. They looked angry. "Why aren't you in your normal clothes babes? I thought I told you to throw away all of that shit. Come on now. Don't tell me I wasted all my well earned money on those clothes I specifically chose for you?"

You shuddered, both in the past and now except now they only made bile rise into your throat. You were so young and vulnerable. Now you know better.

The past you quickly scampered off to get changed. After only 5 minutes you reappeared in what was sexy school girl. The blue miniskirt covered less than most underwear so you were forced to wear a thong. The shirt was a bralet that barely covered your nipples. Your hair was in pigtails and you wore thigh highs. The sight made you silently sick in your mouth. You looked pathetic and weak.

You looked at them expectingly. You were waiting for your next order from them. They seemed to drool at the sight of you. "That's better babes. Why didn't you go shopping like that? Show the world your fat ugly figure? I want you to walk out there and see that no one else wants you but here I am, loving you. I am the only one who will ever like you in the way we have now. Your lucky I've had some fun tonight. All I want is my vodka and a new blunt darling"

You quickly went and grabbed their stuff and walked towards them as they settled in front of the TV. They turned the TV on and put Love Island on. How you hated that show. It made you feel bad for being the size you are. The women on there were beautiful but you also knew that, that kind of beauty costs money. So while your partner had fun watching the show for the romance, you watched it to spot what part of them was bought and what was real. Almost all the women had fake teeth and breasts. You hated how your partner would make snide comments on how they looked compared to you.

"You should be looking like Becky ya know. Beautiful teeth, big perky tits and a fucking great ass. What do you have? Flabs!" And there was the first comment of the day. The first of 30, you counted.

"Yeah well you are fucking broke so I can't look like fucking fake ass Becky or the others!" You thought. Then the Doctor gave you a look of shock and pity and then you realised you said that aloud. Not loud enough for them to hear you but enough for the Doctor.

"Make yourself fucking useful and make me some dinner. I fancy a steak and chips." They ordered as you got up and waddled over to the kitchen. A few minutes in you realised you put too much oil in the pan for the steak but the steak was already in and cooking quick. So quick that it started to smoke just a little bit. You tried blowing it away from them before they realised that you fucked up their dinner but ut was too late. They were already on their feet a marching towards you.

"I'm so sorry. I accidentally poured too much oil in. I'm so sorry. I have a spare steak, you can have my meal for tonight, I could do with skipping a meal anyways, helps me lose weight!" Past you was panicked and present you wasn't much better. Even though you were safe from them, they still made you uneasy. If you were to ever see them again, you'd freeze. They made your blood run cold. Even their voice sent unpleasant shivers down your spine.

"You better make me another steak but I still have to punish you. You fucked up, a lesson needs to be learnt." They said scarily politely. They grabbed your left arm and marched you towards the sink. They also grabbed the burning pan and pinned you so you had no escape as they poured the boiling oil onto your skin. You knew not to scream do you bit into your other arm knowing a bite out of it is better than causing more punishments for screaming.

When they were done left to watch the TV and you knew what that meant. You had to cook the spare steak and make there meal before you can get proper treatment at the hospital. Through your tears of agony, you quickly ran your burnt and bleeding arm under the cold water of the sink. You bit deeper into your other arm and tasting blood, but thay didn't stop you until the left one had cooled down. Then you got an old shirt, ripped 2 pieces of fabric off and wrapped them around both arm Injuries. You then continued their meal.

Once they had the meal they kicked you and punched you in the stomach because the chips were slightly cold and then they drove you to the hospital as they promised. When you had left you didn't realise you had been crying until a drop fell on your arm. You walked out of the storage room and sat on the sofa, turning the TV off.

The Doctor looked shocked for a moment before walking over and kneeling in front of you. The Doctor went silent for a moment. Before she could speak, you decided to speak first.

"I couldn't tell you because I couldn't think if a nice way of telling you. I didn't want to appear weak to you." You cried as your voice cracked in the middle due to the tears and the strain. The Doctor looked at you in pity and disappointment.

"This does not make you weak. Being abused does not make you weak. Because being abused is like being tortured by someone who supposed to love you and cherish you. They are meant to protect you from danger not be the danger. I would never hurt you. I know that I put you in risky situations but believe me, I would never intentionally put you in danger. You mean too much to me" The Doctor softly spoke with tears making a little river down her soft cheeks and onto your black carpet below.

"Before I met them, I was like you or Yaz. I was so happy at everything. Very little could bring me down. But I met them and started dating them and suddenly, my world of sunshine faded to grey. There was no light. I wanted to die Doctor. When you found me at that spider hotel, I wanted to be free from them as I couldn't do it. I can't because they'd kill me. I don't want to be alive whilst I'm with them. I have so many scars from either them or me trying to end my own life and that the scariest thing. Death wants us to be terrified but wanting to die is so much more terrifying Doctor, I know that." You cried as you emptied all you could to her. The Doctor was silent for a moment, taking in everything you said. Waves of emotion flashed through her, anger, sadness, pity and something you couldn't quite place.

"You said wanted. That's past tense. You said wanted to die. What changed? What made you want to live?"

"You did. You saved me from the spiders. You gave me a temporary out of the relationship for a while. You made me smile for the first time in 3 years! You made me laugh. The world of grey is now full of sunshine and rainbows Doctor. You also saved me today. When I jumped across that canyon, I jumped to end my life. I made a mistake that nearly ended a planet! If I wasn't so fat and clumsy maybe i-"

"Don't you dare say that! You are not fat (n/n). Yes you have more plush to your body but you are not fat. I hate that word. Its such a nasty word. You are gorgeous, amazing and so brilliant. You can't see what I see and I really wished you could for just one moment. You are worthy of being loved and cared for. You are precious, rare, one of a kind. I've never met anyone like you. There's always some skinny, fake bodied and caked up women but there's no one with as much natural beauty as you! Let's get back to the TARDIS and we'll talk more when looking at the stars because I can see that being here isn't doing you any favours" The Doctor spoke with such passion that you started to believe that her words held more than those of a supporting friend would.

Once the TARDIS was parked in the Milky Way you settled by the door once again and found yourself accompanied by the sweet alien. You both sat there for a moment just content with wrapping your heads around what's just happened. You looked over to the blonde and noticed how the stars made her glow in such an ethereal way that you felt almost compelled to worship her. Maybe you should after everything she's done for you. Her eyes sparkled with si many emotions from the past senario.

"Are you still with them?"

"Why do you think I never left this place? I mean even if could, I wouldn't want to but it's mainly because if I go back home, I'll come back with more injuries. I feel safer with you. You are my sunshine and rainbows and they are my storm clouds. Whilst I'm here, I'm alive and mostly unbroken. Whilst I'm there, I'm as alive as a puppet and severely broken. I can't leave, not on my own anyway."

The Doctor looked at you in thought. "The starlight compliments you. You look so pretty and almost angelic. I just wish they never hurt my angel. My innocent angel had broken wings and I'm going to fix what the Devil broke, I promise. Just hold on, I'm going to take us somewhere."

You held the nearest crystal as the TARDIS transported you somewhere but it seemed like the sentient machine was determined to take you there as quick as she could. As you opened the doors you noticed a familiar smell of weed mixed with alcohol. You heard the familiar tune of Love Island and knew exactly where you were. You were home. The Doctor saw your hesitation and whispered softly, "I want you to pack everything you want. I've written a note for them to find. I'm going to put it on the bed. If they notice you scream for me and I'll be there. They will not hurt you much, hopefully not at all. I just need to do something in the TARDIS before I help you." She turned and left into the TARDIS and disappeared down a corridor.

The atmosphere sent chills down your spine and you were frozen. The TARDIS seemed to notice and words of encouragement were sent into your head which helped you move towards your bedroom. You quickly buy quietly opend your suitcase and started to fill it with clothing and hygiene products. As you entered the bathroom a bottle of their shampoo fell into the tub giving you away. You knew you only had so long before they came in and hurt you so you closed the door and barricaded it with whatever you could.

As you pushed the last cabinet to the pile they roared through the wooden door. "Let me in you fat dumb bitch. You've been gone for 3 weeks and you've got some balls coming back! You're lucky I haven't burned all your shit! Where have you been?"

Your heart ran at an extremely fast pace nd you knew only one person could help you now. And so you screamed her name so loud it hurt your throat bit that didn't stop you. You screamed until you heard talking. You couldn't understand what was said but suddenly a thud was heard and then silence.

"Hey Starlight! It's only me. I've taken care of them. They're not dead but in a venishion aikido. They can't move, they're paralysed. You can come out and finish packing"

You moved everything out of the door and opened it to a view you expected. The Doctor with 2 fingers to their pulse point on their neck. The Doctor smiled at when they saw you. You finished packing and zipped the bag up. Then Yaz walked in with her police uniform on and arrested them for domestic violence and many other things. Now you understood why The Doctor left, it was to get Yaz as a back up option to completely take them out of your life.

The Doctor helped open doors for you as you got your room and you set the suitcase to one side to empty another day. You both sat down on your bed. The sound was filled with nothing but 2 lifeforms breathing and the TARDIS faint buzzing. You two stayed like this, staring into each other, trying to read the others emotions. But we all know what The Doctor is like, she can't stay silent for long.

"I had to save you because as long as you were with them, you weren't ever going to be truly happy. I didn't want my big bright star to turn into a black hole, I wanted her to be a supernova. My Starlight deserves to be happy."

"You keep saying my Doctor. And you asked if I was still with them and then when I basically said yes, you quickly, as in a rush, sent us home so I could leave them. You keep saying all these things about me. You held my hand from the canyon to the drill. You are always the first to check on me and you always make sure I'm OK first even if I'm the farthest person from you! Doctor, be honest, I don't want any more bullshit. Doctor why?" You spoke softly but with determination. The Doctor blushed and shifted her gaze to the stars and quietly gulped. She knew this day would come. The day her secret was revealed. And she dreaded her answer and she dreaded your reaction. And whilst she figured out what to say, you already knew the answer.

You gently grabbed her chin and made her look at you. Once her gaze caught yours, you smiled and placed your lips to her soft ones. Quickly she caught up and kissed you back with all the love and passion she could muster. She wanted to relay that she did love you and that she would do exactly as she said earlier, she would cherish you.

As for you, you smiled. You finally had an out that didn't end in death but instead ended with the same love that you yearned for, for years.

#13th doctor #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor x reader #depressing post #im sorry

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