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seeingivy · 1 month

Text

sofia

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: champagne problems by taylor swift, when emma falls in love by taylor swift, and minor sofia by clairo insinuation (+ the name of the chapter)

“Can I ask for a favor?” Eren asks.

You look up to find Eren and Armin standing in front of the dining table, both leaning on the backs of the chairs. The first whiff you get is a mix of sweat and deodorant, and you instinctively push your notebook closer to you and nod.

You hate that Eren and Armin work out together.

Not really, of course. You’re glad that Armin was able to find some type of segway that felt comfortable enough for him to interact with Eren, that they were slowly building back whatever it was that they lost.

You just hate that Eren always wears that stupid headband to keep her hair back and insists on wearing a tank top – or no shirt at all – for the five mile run they do at the end.

You’re lucky that today is the former and not the latter.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you ask.

Eren places the little glass bowl in front of you, before giving Armin a nod, and sliding into the chair across from you. Armin takes his leave with Annie at his side, before giving you a passive wave over the shoulder.

The first thing you note is that Eren’s fish tattoo is on display. It’s one of the few moments that you get to admire it – the physical reminder of you inked on to his arm – since the makeup team is always covering it up or he’s wearing a jacket.

And the second is that Eren doesn’t really fit in the chair – because his legs are overstretched and hanging against the sides of the legs – and he nearly falls back when he moves a little too much.

It’s crazy to think that there was a time that you and Eren would have your feet dangling in the air from how high the chairs used to be.

You eye the little bowl, before reaching forward for it, and taking it in your hands. There’s only two little requests left, though you swear yesterday that you only had one left – which was Eren’s.

“I know I technically already have a request in there. But could you please do another one for me?” Eren asks.

“Sure. Which one is it that you want me to pull? The green slip or the pink one?”

“Oh, no. It’s a separate request. I need you to write a song about Mikasa for me.” Eren responds.

“Ah, yeah. Sure.”

You reach forward into the bowl anyways and pull both of the slips out but Eren’s quick to reach forward and snatch them from your hands, much to your dismay.

“Hey!”

“I just asked you to write a different song. Why did you take both of these out?” Eren asks.

“Why are you in such a rush? I already have a song about Mikasa somewhere in one of my books, I just need to find it. I’m more curious about who added a request yesterday because there was only one left last night.” you respond.

“It’s part of my gift for Mikasa. The wedding is next week, idiot.”

Shit. You had yet to plan what you were going to give Jean.

Eren looks back at the little slips, before tucking the green one closer to him and handing you the pink. You take it in your hands and find Sofia’s name scribbled over the top and open the slip.

“It’s Sofia.”

You pale when you read the slip.

write a song with historia about how she said no to ymir’s proposal. (please!!!! if you can!)

You hand it over to Eren who reads it before setting it down on the table.

“Just don’t sing it at the end, especially if Ymir is there.” Eren responds.

“I…do you think I should? From my very limited information, I think Ymir would hate it if Historia wrote another song about her.” you respond.

“That information is very limited because you refuse to talk to Historia. And Ymir won’t talk about it unless you ask, which you won’t.” Eren responds.

You slouch back into your chair.

“I’m not refusing to talk to her. I’m just in my nice….ignorance is bliss bubble. I like Ymir and Sofia but I also like Historia. I don’t want to get all complicated with the feelings if I know everything that happened.” you respond.

Eren rolls his eyes.

“You’re already mentally siding with Ymir because you know that Ymir got on her hands and knees and begged Historia to be with her after she said no to the proposal. And because you like Sofia.” Eren responds.

“Can we go back to when you weren’t calling me out on my shit? What gift are you getting, Mikasa?” you ask.

Eren smiles, before leaning forward.

“For the record, I…I sided more with Ymir and Sofia too. Or did originally at least. I feel like you’ll run into the same thing as me, but we can’t really hold it against Historia. She just has different priorities than us and picked differently than we would have, but it doesn’t mean she’s wrong. And I’m making Mikasa an edited video and I want the song in the background to be about her. Preferably written by her best friend.” Eren responds.

“Do you think Historia will hang Sofia at the stake for requesting this?” you ask.

Eren shrugs.

“I’m positive that Sofia just requested it because Historia’s been making lots of snide comments to Ymir all week. And saying stuff about Sofia that she eventually finds out about. Everyone’s been telling her about how the songs and stuff have been helping them with their own situation, so she might have just seen it as a segway. Just don’t tell Historia who asked for it and make it seem like it’s your idea. I don’t think Sofia meant ill will.” Eren responds.

“No. No, I don’t think she meant anything malicious either. She’s so sweet. And she must feel awkward since we all grew up together and she’s the other woman, or something” you respond.

“Yeah, she is really sweet. She kind of reminds me of you, sometimes.” Eren adds.

“As if. She reminds me of you – she literally has the same dimples.”

Eren scoffs.

“Lots of people have dimples. I would look like half of the people on the planet by that logic. She actually reminds me of you, when you first got here. She’s just so…” Eren responds.

“Normal.” you respond.

Eren sighs.

“Yeah.”

You choose to withhold your comments about how you're not that type of normal anymore. And it sours all together – because that was one of the things that Eren really loved about you when you first started dating.

Eren gives you a smile before making his move to leave. But he stops before he retreats to his room, his hand is warm on your shoulder as he squeezes.

“Still the same in all the ways that matter. To me, at least.” Eren mumbles, before walking off.

You sigh.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d call you hopeless. And you’d have to agree with him.

You find Historia on set, intently watching Eren and Armin while they’re filming. You take the seat next to her, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder and catch her attention, as she shuffles to the side and makes space for you.

“Hi Hisu.” you whisper.

“Is the Y/N L/N finally gracing me with her presence?” Historia responds.

You roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You feel a tiny smack, before you turn around to find Levi glaring at the two of you. And the guilty culprit – the pencil he projectile launched at the two of you.

“You two shut up.” Levi warns, before walking back to where he was standing at the viewfinder, with Hange.

You both smile, like you’ve been caught passing notes by a teacher, before looking back down at the script to the scene that they were filming.

“So what did you think?” Armin asks.

“About what?” Eren asks.

“About Y/N?” Armin asks.

You lean forward, tucking your legs close to your chest, as you watch them.

“The makeup team did really well with the hair.” Historia whispers.

“Yeah. It almost looks like he still has the man-bun.” you respond.

“Which hair was your favorite?” Historia asks.

You pause.

“I like the length it’s at right now. But, I kind of liked his short hair, like from before. Sometimes I feel like when his hair is too long it kind of drowns everything else out, like his eyes and stuff.” you respond.

“Imagine thinking you’re not in love with the guy but talking about him like that.” Historia grumbles, as you reach to shove her in the side.

“Who said I think that?” you respond.

You watch as Historia’s eyes widen and you turn back to the two of them.

“Do you think she’ll be able to forget about you and live happily with someone else? Just like you wanted.” Armin asks.

Eren shrugs.

“Well. Who knows?” Eren asks.

Armin reaches forward and punches Eren in the face. You bite down on your cheeks to stop yourself from flinching, as you turn to your left to find Reiner and Connie shoving their faces into their own scripts to avoid distracting them with their laughter.

Reiner and Connie never got over laughing at immature stunts. Like punching each other.

“The hell kind of answer is that? I still haven’t forgiven you! How do you feel about the fact that you ignored Y/N’s feelings?” Armin screams.

You bite down on your lip. The deja vu feels uncanny.

“Y/N risked her life and only ever had eyes for you. Did you really think you could say forget about me and it would be just that?”

Sometimes you wonder if Eren’s a sadist for writing scenes like this into the show. You’re positive Levi must have insinuated the same when he suggested the entire thing to him.

“At the very least, Y/N should forget about a heartbreaker like you and find happiness. She might find a good guy sooner than you think and hit it off with him.” Armin responds.

It comes out quietly – Eren’s voice. Almost like a whimper.

In all honesty, you had almost forgotten he was there for a second, with Armin’s screaming. But when you look over, you find Eren sitting there in the water, with tears streaming out of his eyes.

“No. No, that would kill me.” Eren responds, his voice breaking.

You press your hands to your cheeks, letting your fingers block out the periphery as you watch the two of them, and feel your chest compress. It’s almost like you can feel everyone else looking at you – Jean and Mikasa, Historia at your side – and you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“I don’t want her to find someone else. I want to be her one and only for the rest of my life! And after I die, I want her to pine after me for at least ten years!” Eren responds.

Armin pauses, lifting his hands to tousle his hair.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d say something so…pathetic…” Armin responds.

Eren sighs, shoving his palms into the sockets of his eyes to still the crying.

“Don’t tell Y/N any of this. I want her to find happiness. I really do…I don’t want to die. I can’t leave Y/N…or any of you.”

Armin crouches down, hands heavy on his shoulders, as he pleads.

It’s enough to make the wave of discomfort bubble up in your throat – because it’s the exact same as last time. And even in the fictional version, Eren won’t heed anyone’s advice.

“Eren! Let’s keep trying! Let’s find another way!” Armin screams.

You can’t watch them anymore. You reach for your script, giving Historia a smile, before you retreat to the dressing room and give Levi a wave as you pass. You can tell that he shoots you a concerned look, which you shake off, before you settle into one of the makeup rooms at the back and slam the door behind you.

“We don’t need you till later.”

“Yeah, I…just needed a breather from out there. Do you mind?”

The stylist shakes her head as you shoot her a smile and settle into the chair. You lift the script again, still open on the page that they were just shooting out there, as you pause.

You focus more carefully this time on the lines. You had read this scene when Eren wrote it – way back when, when he and Armin were still fighting. But Eren had given you the second half – about meeting each other in hell.

You never read the part that he just said because Eren never wrote it. The only line that he was actually in the script was the first one, about how it would kill him.

He had improvised the rest.

It was like a lingering thought that was in the back of your mind at all times.

Now that your previous excuse, that you needed everything to be settled before you could even think about Eren, was virtually gone.

You had done the awards show, you had given your performance. And as annoying as it was, Eren was right. The heaviness of letting go was because now you had to move forward, because that chapter of york ife was sealed now. Danny and Sareen, Scott Clarkson and Hyla, Ricky even – they were always just going to be a footnote from here on out.

Which is why you spent all three days of the break that Levi and Hange gave you thinking about Eren. About what would be the right way to approach him again. And every idea that you came up with seemed horrible, not good enough to bring him back.

Deep down, you knew that Eren wanted you. That some part of him still loved you, and that if you made the move, he wouldn't reject you.

The fear was what came after that. What if your relationship wasn’t the same? What if you two had changed too much, that there was just too much baggage that you both came with, that it would eventually drag you down?

Then you’d really lose Eren forever. It almost felt safer to keep it the way it was now.

But that came with its own mess. Because Eren wouldn’t wait for you forever and if you had to watch him move on with someone like Sofia, the same way Historia had to watch Ymir, you’re positive that you would handle it worse than her.

There’s a knock on the door and it’s almost like you’ve summoned her by thinking about her. Because Historia’s peeking into the room, gesturing for you to follow her out. And you oblige, as the two of you quietly march back to the townhouse, arm in arm.

Historia takes you straight to her room. And you note the sign scribbled on the door, how Historia’s crossed Ymir’s name out as you walk in. You both settle into the sheets, Historia throwing the throw blanket over the two of you, as you stare up at the ceiling.

It’s quiet. And the thoughts are racketing around in your brain like a pinball machine.

“I’m getting deja vu.” Historia states.

You laugh.

“Tell me about it.” you respond.

“Can I tell you something that won’t help in any shape or form?” Historia responds.

“Please.”

“He improvised all of those lines.” Historia responds.

“I knew that already. I realized it when I went into the stylist’s trailer.” you respond.

“Well, he kept going after you left. He’s either down horrendous or he really wants to win an award.” Historia responds.

You smile.

Eren probably would win an award for this. And if he was lucky, he’d win Actor in a Leading Role – and actually get to celebrate it this time around.

The thought of getting to win a triple threat again crosses your mind, but falls dead in its tracks. No one’s ever gotten it twice. And it was insinuated enough that it was more of a…lifetime achievement award, so your chance was already out the door.

“So. You said no when she proposed to you?” you ask.

She doesn’t respond. You look over to find her staring at the ceiling, her eyes almost blank. You reach for her hands under the blanket, following her lead instead of asking again.

You can only imagine how agonizing it must be to watch someone as…nonchalant as Ymir beg on her hands and knees.

“I would have married her.” she whispers.

You feel your chest tighten, as you pinch your eyes shut. This is exactly what you didn’t want to hear.

“I-I really would have, I swear. I just wasn’t ready.” Historia repeats.

The retort is on the tip of your tongue. How were you not ready when you’ve loved Ymir since you were kids?

But then again, you’ve loved Eren since then you were kids too. And you have yet to muster up enough courage to go for him, when he’s standing right in front of you basically waiting for it.

“It was really perfect. She had invited everyone to fly out and come watch us, after I was done touring. Levi and Hange were there, Sasha and Jean, even Erwin was there. And they were all watching from afar and…and she…”

Historia pauses.

“I…I was already crying when she started by saying my dear, Historia. I could see the little box in her hand and I knew what was coming. And then she….she dropped to her knees.” Historia starts.

She shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to rid herself of the mental image.

“I always had this stupid running joke, ever since we first got together, that Ymir would never humble herself to propose on her knees. That…that was never really her style, to do something like that even though I’ve always wanted someone to propose to me like that. I’m more traditional and…and Ymir really hates that type of shit, so I just figured she wouldn’t do it when the time came.”

You sigh.

“I only knew the answer was no when she actually got on her knees and asked me. Because…because if it was me, I…I wouldn’t ever do that for her.” Historia adds.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t do that for her. If getting on my knees and proposing wasn’t my style, I wouldn’t get on my knees and propose. But…Ymir would, for me. And I know it’s fucking stupid and not that serious, but I just…”

Ymir loved Historia, more than Historia loved her.

“I couldn’t say yes in good faith… because I wouldn’t give something up for her like that. Or…or for anyone, at that time. Even if it was something as trivial as where you stand while you’re proposing.” Historia states.

You pause. You can tell what she’s trying to get at, though the comparison is hardly fair.

“Well, your career is hardly trivial to you. But in all honesty, I don’t think you’d lose your career if you were a popstar who was gay.” you note.

Historia sighs.

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I know that…that a lot of you don’t and that…that I must seem stupid but. But –”

You hear her sniffle, turning your side to note that there’s tears flowing out of her eyes.

“I’m not a bad guy for wanting to keep my career the way it is now. I’m not the villain for saying no to her proposal and not wanting people to know that I’m gay. Getting to make music, being in shows like this – it’s what I love. You know that most things like this are…are temporary anyways. I still need something I can fall back on.” she responds.

You deflate. There was a small part of you that was hoping that she would deny it. That this wasn't really the reason that she said no. You lean closer to her, resting your head against her shoulder.

“No one thinks you’re the bad guy, Historia. And you’re not the villain for wanting to keep your own life private. We…we just don’t like that you think you can’t be a popstar and be gay at the same time. There’s….there’s so many people who are successful. Just look at Hange.”

Historia shakes her head.

“Hange…doesn’t count to me. I had even tried to talk to them about it, but…it didn’t really apply. They even agreed with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hange blends in more than I do. Then Ymir and I would. They’re dating Levi and...if you didn’t know, you would think they’re a straight couple. On the outside, when they walk on red carpets together, they still look normal to people. But if Ymir and I…”

“It would be different. There would be no question.” you respond.

“You know that Hange gets overlooked for certain opportunities, right? Imagine if it were me. I’m not charismatic like Satoru Gojo and…and maybe I don’t want to have to forge my own path. I get that it’s glamorous to do things like this to some people but…it feels unfair that everyone else gets to do things normally but I have to be some trailblazer just to get to the same place.”

You don’t know what to say. Because it makes complete sense to you. And she had checked you on what you had been thinking yourself.

That Historia was insanely talented and that she’d continue to prove herself just as she did before people started doubting her. That when she came out of it at the end, people would love and praise her – for going above and beyond mere expectations that were put on her and staying true to herself.

But it wasn’t fair. And you know well enough now, there’s nothing glamorous or fulfilling about climbing your way to the top like that. To have people speculate on every portion of your life, especially something so sacred like the ones you hold ear. To expect Historia to do it would be unfair.

Eren’s words echo through your mind. Just because her priorities aren’t the same as ours doesn’t mean she’s wrong.

It’s a silent thankfulness you have – that you and Eren are on the same page. You wouldn’t be able to handle it half as well as Ymir if he wasn’t. If he had picked his career over you.

“Things like love aren’t temporary, though. You could have fallen back on her when things got hard.” you murmur.

Historia scoffs.

“You don’t believe that.” Historia seethes in response.

“I do. There’s…there’s so many examples of it around us.” you respond.

“I know that everyone’s on a high because Jean and Mikasa are getting married next week. But you weren’t here when they were fighting. I promise you, no part of that was pretty for Jean. She gave him more hurt than he deserved.”

“But they moved past that! They love each other now.”

“But not everyone does. Not everyone gets to rock bottom and climbs their way out – and in fact, most people don’t. Jean and Mikasa are the exception, not the rule. If you didn’t think that was true, you and Eren would be going to the wedding as a couple.”

You sigh. She’s wrong. She’s so wrong – but you can’t throw it in her face.

“It doesn’t seem like you really believe it either.” you respond.

Historia shrugs.

“Two things can be true at one time, Y/N. I can believe in love but know that Ymir and I are hopeless. We have been since she kneeled.”

You reach for your notebook, which you had discarded on the floor, and for the shitty pen that was left in between the pages and scribble on the first open spot you find.

sometimes you just don’t know the answer till someone’s on their knees and asks you

The question bites at you. Historia still loves Ymir.

“Would you say yes if she asked you now?” you ask.

“Yeah. I think I would.”

“Even if she got on her knees?”

“I’d crouch down just to be there with her.” Historia responds.

The earnestness in the statement makes your heart crush. She was already too late.

“What do you think about Sofia?”

Historia rolls her eyes.

“It’s irritating how likable she is. Like it actually pisses me off.”

You snort. That sounds familiar.

“Lacy, oh lacy…” you hum.

“You’re not funny, bitch.” Historia responds, reaching to shove you in the side.

You both laugh.

“I wrote a few songs about her and Sofia. No one knew it was about them, but…but Ymir knew. Sofia knew, but she was too nice to say anything about it. I wrote this song called traitor, because technically, Ymir actually knew Sofia while we were still together. And she got mad because…”

“Because how is she a traitor if you’re the one who said no…” you finish.

“Yeah. It…it really hurt, Ymir. And maybe I did that on purpose, just because…I never actually expected her to move on. It felt like a betrayal to me.” Historia adds.

“I know you’ve been making…comments here and there. To Sofia and Ymir. I know you don’t like her, but…you made your bed, Historia. You have to lay in it now.” you respond.

She doesn’t respond.

“I think Ymir and Sofia just want what’s best for you. Sofia is the one who wanted me to write a song with you about it, just…just so you could get some of it off of your chest. We all want you to be happy.”

Historia pushes up off the bed, hiking her knees to her chest, as she buries her face into the hardness of her knees. You can tell that she’s racking out a sob, her breaths heavy, as you wrap your arms around her, resting your head against hers.

“Historia–”

“If Ymir wanted me to be happy, she would have gotten back together with me when I asked yesterday.” Historia mumbles.

You cringe.

“Don’t tell me you –” you murmur.

“We…we were talking about how nice it was to be around each other again at the funeral. And Ymir was saying that…that I’d always be someone who would bring comfort to her, just like I did to her then. I thought she was trying to say that it was always going to be me so I asked. I begged her this time. And she said no.” Historia adds.

“Historia, I’m so sorry. You–”

She shakes her head. It’s almost like you’ve hit a brick wall, because instead of talking further, reaches for your notebook and scribbles the words onto the page with you. You can tell that the conversation is over, and that in true Historia fashion, she’s so stubborn she won’t touch it again.

Wwith your permission, she rips the page out of the spine. The look she spares you over her shoulder before walking out of the room is haunting.

Eren pops his head into your room an hour later.

“Can you do me a favor?” Eren asks.

“Can you stop asking me that?” you retort back.

“My response is contingent on your answer.” Eren

“Yes. I can do you a favor, Eren. What is it?”

Eren smiles, holding his hand out to you, as he all but yanks you off of your bed.

“It’s not really a favor. I just wanted you to come into my room. Gabi and Falco are trying their outfits on for the wedding.” Eren responds.

You smile as you walk straight across into Eren’s room, to find Gabi and Falco sitting eagerly on the couch. There’s four big boxes in his room, freshly delivered from the courier, as you take the seat next to Eren on the bed.

“Okay. Falco, this is yours. Gabi, you can change in Y/N’s room and Falco take the bathroom. And don’t rip anything or you’re both going to the wedding naked.” Eren instructs.

You watch as the two of them burst out into a fit of giggles, before they shuffle into their respective rooms with the hangers stretched over their shoulders. You turn to Eren, tapping on your thighs, as you wait for them to come back.

“Your dress is here, too. If you want to try it on.” Eren offers.

“Oh! Yeah, maybe I will. Are you going to try yours?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I might.” Eren responds.

It’s swelteringly awkward. You have no idea what to say.

“I…found the song I wrote about Mikasa. Nico and Armin put together a backtrack for me so I’ll send it to you.”

You watch as Eren’s eyes light up.

“Thank you so much! I really hope she likes it.”

“She will. You know how sentimental she is, I-I think she’s really going to love it.” you respond.

“Speaking of. What are you getting Jean? I am morally obligated to hang you at the stake like it’s the Salem witch trials if it’s something bad.”

You roll your eyes.

“I actually need your help with my gift for Jean.” you state.

Eren dramatically places his hands on his chest.

“It’s your lucky day, Y/N! I live to serve. Especially when it’s you.”

“When did you get so theatrical? Are you on something?” you state, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not only am I extremely helpful, but I’m really generous too. I’ll give you some of my fix.” Eren responds, returning the energy back in full flesh.

“Not me getting the princess treatment! What did I do to deserve this?”

Eren shoves you in the side.

“Shut up. What do you need my help with?” Eren asks.

“Well…”

It’s right at that moment that you hear Falco and Gabi’s giggly voices again, as they both run into the room. You immediately press your hands to your cheeks and nearly squeal at how cute they both look – and specifically melt at Falco’s bowtie matching Gabi’s dress.

Seeing Falco wear suits is less cute than it was when he was a kid. Only because he looks like a full grown person, instead of being a sweet little kid, and it makes your heart hurt at how big he’s getting.

You know that Falco can tell what you’re thinking and he preemptively complains about it.

“Y/N. Quit looking at me like that. You’re embarrassing me.” Falco states.

“Do you remember when you threw up on me in first grade? Don’t talk to me about being embarrassing.” you scold.

Eren shakes you off, before gesturing for Falco to walk closer to him. Eren’s readjusting the collar against the coat, tightening the tie, before he gets up and rummages around in his drawers.

“Okay, Falco. I’m going to let you borrow my cuff-links for the wedding, but you have to promise to take really good care of them, okay? These are really special to me.” Eren states.

“Really, Eren? You’re going to let me wear them?”

Eren reaches forward to lightly mess with Falco’s hair, before he hands him the box. Falco sticks his hand out as Eren secures them on for him, before offering him a smile. Falco’s sheer excitement makes your heart flutter – and melt that Eren so freely offered something of his own – as Falco excitedly shows them to Gabi at his side.

“You didn’t have to do that.” you whisper.

Eren shrugs.

“Of course, I did. It’s Falco.” Eren responds.

Eren turns back to the two of them, watching the excitement on his face, as they thank him profusely.

“What’s special about the cuff-links, Eren?” Gabi asks.

“I wore them at one of my first award shows where I won something for Attack on Titan.” Eren states.

Gabi curls her nose in disgust.

“Eren. You hate award shows. You don’t even care about awards!” Gabi complains.

“You’re right. I don’t. But, it was a pretty memorable one for me. Got my first tattoo, performed with Y/N for the first time.”

You turn to him, as he gives you a knowing smile, and you shake your head. And he has the nerve to call Mikasa over-sentimental.

“Wait, Gabi. I have something for you too.”

Eren watches as you quickly rush to your room, noting that you must really be rummaging through things in your dresser since he can hear you drop things and shout in pain, before you run back with a little blue box in your hands.

You hold it open for Gabi, as she admires the little earrings.

“Do you like them?” you ask.

“I love them, Y/N.”

“You can wear them at the wedding. Here, I’ll put them on for you.”

Gabi excitedly pushes her hair back, as you watch Falco with his lovesick eyes as he observes you fixing them. You tuck her hair behind her ears as you admire her dress in full, squeezing her wrists.

“You look beautiful, Gabi. They’re perfect.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I love you so much.”

You can’t help but frown as she presses herself into your arms, returning her warm embrace in full. You look over at Eren, who wraps his arm around Falco and smiles at you.

“Gabi! You’re going to be the prettiest girl at the party. You should have at least given Mikasa a fighting chance.” Eren jokes, as you watch Gabi shake her head and blush at the compliment.

“You’re corny, Eren.” Gabi responds.

“Do you have a date to the party, Gabi? It would make my night if the prettiest girl at the party walked in with me.”

Eren’s so sweet. It reminds you of how Levi used to be with Sasha.

“Sorry, Eren! You snooze, you lose. Falco already asked me.” Gabi responds, linking in her arm with Falco’s.

Eren clutches his hands to his chest, giving the two of them a dramatic display of hurt, before he puts his hand on Falco’s shoulder.

“Fair enough. You’re a very worthy opponent, Falco. Make sure you put the cuff links and the earrings back in the box nicely. And again, if you rip your clothes, you are going to the wedding naked.” Eren states.

It’s an innocent thought that crosses your mind. That Eren would be a really good dad, when it came to it.

The two of them wrap their arms around you again before they run out of the room again and Eren turns to you, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re a copycat. You only got the earrings idea from me.”

“You’re just bitter because she gave me a bigger reaction than Falco gave you.” you bite back.

Eren shakes his head, as he starts shuffling through the tagged clothes and looking for your dress.

“Have to ask. What’s so special about the earrings?” Eren states.

You smile.

“I wore them to Levi and Hange’s vow renewal.”

It was the first time you and Eren said that you loved each other. Eren turns back, giving you a soft smile.

“You’re a sap.” Eren responds.

“Takes one to know one.” you respond.

Eren places the dress at your side. You eye the silver beading through the little zipper, admiring Mikasa’s cursive handwriting on the little label.

“So what do you need my help with?” Eren asks.

“Oh. Well.”

You tap the open spot next to you.

“When we were going to the awards show, Jean told me something. I had asked him back then if he was delaying his wedding because you and I were fighting. He said that it wasn’t just that, but it was because…he wanted you as his best man and he was having a hard time letting go of that thought when it was how he always imagined his wedding.”

Eren nods. You figured Jean had told him as much.

“He said that he’s always imagined his wedding the same way. That Mikasa would have long hair, a short train but a long veil. That you would be the best man and I would be the maid of honor. And that we’d sing a song for them, one that we wrote together for their first dance.” you state.

Eren smiles.

“Fuck. Your gift is way better than mine.”

You laugh.

“Is not.”

“You’re giving Jean his dream wedding. I’m giving Mikasa America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

“She loves that show!” you defend.

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you write the song.”

Levi attempts to ban Connie from coming to set the day you’re filming the kiss scene. Naturally, Connie decides to sneak in by dressing up as one of the crew members, before he’s dragged out by the ear when Hange catches him.

You count yourself lucky that Hange and Levi had thought ahead and made sure that the cabin scenes were the last ones that you filmed for the show. Dead last – meaning everyone would have already been gone by the time you and Eren actually prepared to film them.

It was enough consolation that you’d be alone with Eren in the last few days, before it was all really over. Similar to the way it really started, just the two of you in the townhouse.

Eren’s sitting high in the makeup chair, lazily reading through the lines of the script, as the artists paint deep red lines into the sides of his cheeks. You give him a halfhearted wave as you take a seat a few feet away, cracking all your knuckles in nervous anticipation as they start powdering your face.

Levi and Hange walk over, hands on their hips, as they look over to the two of you for weary eyes.

“Are you ready?” Levi asks.

You give him a nod, Eren shooting two thumbs up to them, as they both squint their eyes. They don’t believe you.

“Just one kiss. It’s not a big deal – you’re both grown adults. And you’ve done it before! So it’s not awkward. If anything, it’s like a peck. Just a quick one and you’ll be good, Y/N.” Hange adds.

Eren glares at Hange.

“If it’s not awkward, why are you being weird about it?” Eren deadpans.

Hange deflates.

“Right then. Well, legs up in five!” Hange responds, before shuffling off to the other side of the room with Levi. You can hear the two of the murmuring under their breaths, rolling your eyes at how utterly disbelieving the two of them were of you.

You turn to Eren, the two of you giving each other a shared annoyed look, before you turn back and focus on the scene at hand. You watch as the entire crew tasks themselves with testing the lights, pulling the cameras into view, and scribbling quickly on the clapperboard.

It’s fairly simple. You just have to stand there and kiss him. No lines, no big confession – just one kiss.

The cast stages you and Eren – bustling hands fixing the lapels of your clothes, the stray strands of your hair as you and Eren look at each other.

“Hey.”

Eren smiles. He seems fairly calm, considering things. You on the other hand, you can’t help but feel that bubbling ball of anxiety pulsating in your stomach.

“Hi Y/N. How are you today?”

“I’m good. Good, good. You?” you respond.

“Great.” Eren responds.

You shove your hands into your pockets, wiping the accumulating sweat on the inside of the pants, when you feel the little plastic box in your pocket.

“I have something for you actually.” you add.

You pull the box of Tic-Tacs out of your pocket, before holding them out in front of Eren. He gives you a hearty laugh, before cupping his hands and holding them out to you and you pour three in his hand, before downing your own.

“That was very self-preservationist of you. But, I’ll have you know that I didn’t eat anything all day just to avoid this type of issue.”

You snort.

“No way.”

“They had pizza for lunch. God forbid I taste like marinara sauce when you kiss me. I’m not a dog.” Eren responds.

“I’ll admit. I did eat the pizza, but then I vigorously brushed my teeth for like five minutes.” you respond.

Eren smiles, placing his hands on his cheeks.

“All for me? I’m flattered, Y/N.”

You smile.

“Okay. So, like…do we need a gameplan? Do I lean towards the right? The left? Do you have a preference? Because I can –”

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, as he looks at you like you’ve grown another head.

You can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. You glare at him, huffing as you cross your hands over your chest.

“What?” you seethe.

“Are you…staging a kiss right now?”

“Just so we’re on the same page! You know, I don’t want to just lunge at you and catch you off guard.” you respond.

Eren smiles, before reaching forward and placing one of his hands on your neck. He uses his thumb to rub into the softness of your cheek, before narrowing his eyes at you. You can tell what he’s trying to say.

Relax.

“Okay, okay. I’ll just do what feels right. Sorry for being weird.” you respond.

Eren shrugs.

“S’not weird. I just think you’re overthinking it. We’ve done it hundreds of times. It’s on your move anyways, so you’re in control.” Eren responds.

“You guys ready?”

You and Eren look over at Levi and Hange, their legs crossed in the director’s chair, as you give them a nod. You turn back to Eren, who gives you a mini-salute, as you back up a few steps and shake your hands at your sides.

“Alright, Y/N, we’re rolling. On your move.” Levi calls.

It’s like your feet are cemented into the ground. You can feel the unease that had been pooling in your stomach all day wash over you as you become acutely aware of how thick and warm the air is. It’s almost like it’s weighing down on you – hanging heavy on your skin, nearly throwing you off balance.

You try to shake the feeling off, shutting your eyes before cracking each of the knuckles in your fingers. You can see it out of your peripheral vision, Levi shifting his head to the side to look at Hange, and the embarrassment bubbles in your throat.

“I’m good. I just need a second, sorry.”

Levi shakes his head.

“Take your time. Whatever feels right.” Levi responds, giving you a comforting enough smile.

It’s just a kiss. You’ve done it hundreds of times.

The walk towards him, though it’s only two or three steps, is excruciatingly long. The clothes are too starched, too constricting, as you reach forward, and press your hands to Eren’s cheeks. The makeup pressed to his skin comes off on your hand, as you tilt his head up – slotting your lips against his.

Eren’s quick with it. His lips quickly glide over yours, the familiar taste of the mint you had just offered him lingering, as he lifts his hands too, pulling your face closer to his.

Eren can feel it – your entire body freezing against his, like the first time he had ever kissed you. The urge to swoop in and fix it, even though you’re the one who was supposed to take the lead is too overwhelming.

He knows it’ll crush you if you don’t do it right.

(And maybe Eren’s a little selfish.)

You can feel the blood rushing to your head, as Eren brings his hands up – one hand cupping your cheek and the other one slithering around your back to pull you closer. You nearly gasp into his mouth as he leans forward this time, the softness of his hands making you melt in his hands.

It’s Eren. Tender, soft, and intoxicating. You don’t want to stop. You return the kiss in full this time, properly leaning forward and giving it back.

But Eren’s the one who pulls away, resting his head against your forehead, as he lightly squeezes at your neck, where his hands are resting. You’re both panting in tandem, eyes still pinched shut and foreheads pressed together, as you swallow hard and try to catch your breath.

“Hey guys. Quick note for you.”

You both flinch at the sound of Hange’s voice in your ears, awkwardly taking a step away from each other, as a different embarrassment washes over you. You avert your eyes from Eren and look at Hange, who shoots you a weird look before focusing back on Eren.

“Hm? What, Hange?” Eren mumbles. You can see him out of your peripheral vision – lifting his fingers and pressing them to his lips, a slight shake in his hand.

“Eren, honey. She just decapitated you. Like, cut your head off. You are dead.” Hange clarifies.

“Right?” Eren hums.

“So, you can’t use your hands to kiss her. You don’t have hands anymore! And…and that was way too lively for someone who is supposed to be dead. Tone down the excitement a little.” Hange responds before shuffling off, as Eren’s cheeks go bright pink.

Eren turns back to you, giving you a sheepish smile, as you shake your head.

There was no need to be embarrassed. Not when you were the one who led wrong and he was trying to fix it.

Not when you enjoyed that way more than you should have.

Eren watches as you march back to your spot, shaking your hands at your side, as you fix your hair. Eren turns back to look at Hange and feels the humiliation increase when they mouth something that looks an awful lot like touch starved.

Eren throws the thought out of his mind as he leans back again, tucking his hands behind his back. The situation is less than ideal, with his eyes closed – because Eren doesn’t really clock that you’re kissing him until you’re actually doing it.

It’s your sweet hands cradling his face and then the warmth against his lips – before he can feel himself sinking into your embrace.

You can tell that Eren’s more apprehensive this time, as you flutter your eyes shut and lightly bump your nose against his on accident. You pull him up closer to you, scanning his face and smiling, before you lean forward and rub into the skin on his cheek. You can’t help but smile as you lean forward, the anticipation palpable as you press your lips to his.

Eren can still feel his heart thrumming, at the way you’re so carefully holding him like glass, while making him feel like his body was on fire. He’s caught off guard when he feels your tongue against his, unable to contain his smile.

You pull back, your lips burning and skin humming, as Eren looks at you, with a soft smile on his face. You give his cheek a little pinch, which he responds to by giving you a wink, before Levi walks over – his hands crossed over his chest.

Eren groans.

“What did I do now?”

“Not you, Eren. Y/N. Well, you too, but she started it. Y/N, you just murdered the love of your life. LIke fully, had to be the one to murder him even though you didn’t want to because you were the only one strong enough to do it.”

“Right.”

“Could you not…smile into the kiss? You have no reason to be smiling.”

You cringe.

“Right! Right, so sorry, Levi. Won’t happen again.”

“Okay, because. You smile and then he smiles because you did. And again, just for extreme clarification, he is dead. This is supposed to be sad.”

Levi rolls his eyes, as he shuffles back to the chair. You spare him a glance while Eren isn’t looking and he mouths something that looks an awful lot like the word freak. You shake him off, as you turn back to Eren, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” you offer.

“Not a problem. I love it when you smile.” Eren responds, running his fingers over his lips again before he drops them.

You can feel your head spinning.

“Okay. Last one.” you clarify.

“Third time’s a charm, princess.” Eren responds.

You walk back to the spot, before you wait for Levi to give you the cue. And this time, walk forward as slowly as you can and repeat it to yourself. No hands, no smiling, no tongue.

You reach forward, placing your hands around his neck, and lean forward. You slide your lips over his, circling your fingers into his neck to ground yourself into the touch rather than his intoxicating smell, as you kiss him. It’s overwhelmingly tender this time – the way you linger over him, before you pull back and let go.

But the second you pull apart, it’s an immediate pang in your chest. It felt too final.

“That was great guys! That’s the one.” Hange responds, as you look over and give them a smile.

You awkwardly drop your hands, letting go of Eren, as he offers you a polite smile in response, holding out his hand to give you a high-five. You oblige, slapping your hand into his, though you can’t help but notice that the smile he gave barely reached his eyes.

On your way out, you can feel the steaming that was pooling under your skin fizzle out as you walk out into the cold air, as you start marching on the pavement back to the townhouse. You prepare yourself for the unnecessary barrage of questions, and for how irritating Connie can be, as you push into the foyer.

When you walk into the main room, it’s unexpectedly quieter than you thought it was going to be, the faint sound of the piano getting louder as you walk closer. And when you push into the room, the quiet warmth that was blooming under your skin is replaced with an ice cold pinch when you catch sight of what’s happening.

Historia’s playing the piano, for the group of them.

Mikasa looks up at you immediately, giving you wide eyes, as you press your hands to your temples, and look to your left. Jean and Connie give you the same look, the group of you all sweltering in the awkwardness, as you avert your gaze back to Historia.

You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse

Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems

Eren walks in right behind you, nearly bumping into you, as you press your hand to his forearm and squeeze hard.

“Wha-”

“Be quiet!” you whisper.

Eren gives you a puzzled look, as you watch his eyes scan around the room, and watch the realization register in his face. He looks down at you, giving you an awkward look, as you shake your head. The two of you avert your gaze to the left again, to find Sofia crying with one of her hands pressed to her chest.

How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through

One for the money, two for the show I never was ready, so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

"She would've made such a lovely bride What a shame she's fucked in the head, " they said But you'll find the real thing instead She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

Watching Ymir is like watching someone get sucker punched in the face in real time. It reminds you of the same reaction that Eren gave you the other day, while you were filming, a visceral physical reaction. You watch as Ymir stumbles back, nearly loses her balance, as the tears start collecting in her eyes.

And even worse, watch as Sofia tries to reach for her but Ymir pushes her away.

And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket Her picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

You won't remember all my Champagne problems

The second she stops playing, Ymir runs up the stairs – her feet leaving a pounding sound before the door slams shut. And you watch as Sofia takes a deep and heavy breath, before running out the front door.

You find Sofia two hours later, a block and a half away from the townhouse, on a bench. You reach down, picking up her bike off of where it’s toppled on the concrete, and rest it against the edge of the armrest, before taking the seat next to her.

Sofia doesn’t hesitate to talk – like almost half of the people you know.

“Is Ymir okay?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Last I know, Eren and Mikasa went to talk to her. I’m sure they talked her down.” you respond.

Sofia gives you a nod, inhaling shakily, as she hikes her knees to her chest. You can barely see her face – the hood pulled over her head obscuring her face – as she presses her cheeks into her knees.

“I didn’t think she was going to sing it. I’m really sorry, I –”

“Did you know that Historia asked Ymir to get back together with her yesterday?”

You deflate.

“Yes. She told me right before I went to film with Eren.” you respond.

Sofia doesn’t respond. It’s chilling – to see someone you’ve only seen smiling for the past week and a half so defeated in one fell swoop. And even more than that, knowing how small it can feel to be competing with things that feel larger than life, in an entire world that you don’t feel like you’re a part of.

“Ymir said no. I know she really loves you.” you offer.

“I know she did. She came and told me right after it happened. She walked in all hot and heavy, nearly red in the face, pissed at the audacity Historia had to say that.” Sofia states.

She pulls her hood back, resting her head against the back of the bench, as she flutters her eyes shut.

“There’s nothing that…that gets Ymir moving like Historia. Whether she’s mad…or happy…or sad, no one can make Ymir feel as much as Historia does. If Historia and her have a good talk about how they’re always going to be important to each other, she’s on top of the fucking world. If she gets on her hands and knees and begs for her back, it’s enough to send her into a blind rage. And if she sings a song about how she got away…it’s enough to send her sobbing into her room.”

You swallow hard.

“I feel like I’m intruding on people who are meant to be. I don’t think I should be here.” she adds, her voice cracking.

You shake your head.

“Ymir really loves you, I-I can just tell by the way that she looks at you. It would kill her if you left, Sofia.”

She shrugs.

“I know I’m never going to be Historia. And I know that first loves and…and sexual awakenings or whatever are sacred to people, but…I can’t sit here when I’m not even a part of the competition. I’m smart enough to know when two people still care about each other more than they should. I feel like I’m committing a fucking crime by keeping them apart.” Sofia responds.

You bite down into the hardness of your cheek, before leaning your head against her shoulder. She welcomes the touch, leaning her own against yours before you break the silence.

“I don’t necessarily think you’re wrong. There isn’t anyone that gets Ymir going like Historia. But that doesn’t mean that they’re right for each other. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t Ymir’s perfect match.” you respond.

You shift.

“Just because Ymir gets to these big…big emotions with Historia doesn’t make her better than you. In fact, I think that’s the leg that you have up on her. Why you’re the one who is marrying Ymir and not her.”

“Really?” she whispers.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with Jean and Mikasa’s situation but –”

“I know. Jean slept over at our house once when they were fighting. We ate ice cream together at three in the morning and talked till the sun rose.”

You smile.

“Jean told me that there’s lots of different types of love that you have in your life. And I just think that there’s one person…or one situation that deeply cuts into you, so hard that it changes you. I think that’s what Historia is for Ymir. Because to her, it must have been devastating that she would have done anything, that she could have changed herself any type of way, and she still wouldn’t be enough for her. I think that would get anyone moving, being reminded of the deep hurt, the complicated feelings that come with that person.” you respond.

You feel your phone buzz, as you look at the little screen.

[eren]: did you find her? [eren]: ymir wants to see her. [eren]: really badly.

You respond back, before turning back to her. You have to turn this around for Ymir.

“The big feelings aren’t the ones you chase after, Sofia. They fizzle out eventually, when the spark is gone. You pick based on comfort, on consistency. And Historia’s never…been consistent. She could never give Ymir what she wanted like you could. Like you do.”

Sofia gives you a halfhearted smile.

“You’re really sweet, Y/N. I really like you.”

You smile, your chest panging with hurt.

“I really like you too, Sofia. I hope you know that Historia didn’t do any of that to hurt you. She just…feels first, thinks second. It’s how she’s always been. And it’s not fair to you, but…but I hope you know it’s not personal. Or anything about you.”

Sofia puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks.”

You can tell that she’s ruminating over your words and the two of you sit there quietly, dangling your legs over the side of the bench, as you wait for Ymir. Your stomach rumbles loudly, as you shoot her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t take my lunch after Eren and I were done filming.”

Sofia’s eyes light up, through the redness and puffiness.

“Didn’t you kiss?”

You groan. You only oblige the conversation because you know she means well.

“Yes. We kissed.”

“Was it hot?” Sofia asks.

You snort.

“Um…kind of. I accidentally used my tongue the second time.”

Sofia gasps, excitedly pressing her hands to her chest as she leans forward.

“The second time? Meaning you did it more than once?” you ask.

You bury your face in your hands.

“Three times. He…he got too into it the first time. Then I got too into it the second time. It’s supposed to be a really sad scene but –”

“But you guys are horny, I get it.” Sofia finishes.

“We’re not–”

“Ymir says you guys eye fuck each other. I thought she was being kind of crude, but you really do.”

You groan.

“Sofia–”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You guys are actually really cute and I hope you don’t think we’re all pressuring you. I just think it’s really neat the little things you guys do for each other. Connie was telling me about the mints that you got him before you kissed.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was just kind of trying to break the ice so he was comfortable and stuff.”

“No, I totally get what you mean. Okay, like. The first time Ymir and I went on a date, I was so ready to kiss her – I had been thinking about it all week. And before we got into the car, I ate an entire box of Altoids.”

“An entire box? Doesn’t that get painful after a while?”

“Listen, she’s like way out of my league. I had to impress her! Plus, it gets rid of that doubt in my head when I lean in and stuff.”

“You wanted to impress her with minty breath?”

“Okay, don’t question my methods. She’s my fianceé now. After we kissed and I went home, Ymir told me that she really enjoyed it. So every time I went to see her, I would eat another box just so that she would enjoy it again.”

“You know that Ymir hates mints, right?”

“Is this just common knowledge that everyone knew or something? I literally had no idea. Mikasa told me a month later and I was fucking furious. God, I never bought another pack again.” Sofia complains.

“You didn’t? I thought you said it got rid of the doubt.”

“Yeah but, why would I? She doesn’t like them. I got over it.” Sofia states.

You pause, leaning your head back. You refuse to comment on it, because winning her over was Ymir’s battle. And you surely hoped Ymir would be able to do it, because this was, in fact, her perfect match.

Who would give up trivial things for her, like kneeling on the ground or chugging mints, just because Ymir asked. Just because it would make her happier.

“How did Connie know I gave Eren the mints? Hange kicked him out.” you state.

“Oh. He climbed onto the roof. That kiss was really important to him and Mikasa.” Sofia states.

You roll your eyes.

“Of course it was.”

You scoff, before shaking your head. It’s enough to make her laugh through her tears. And surely enough, Ymir and Eren appear after twenty minutes – out of breath and panting. You take the cue and jump off the bench, reaching for Eren’s outstretched hand, as the two of you quietly walk back to the townhouse and leave them to it.

“They’ll be fine.” Eren murmurs, trying to pull you into walking the other way. He’s trying to reassure you.

You look up at him and smile.

“Yeah, I’m sure they will be.”

Jean and Mikasa don’t do bachelor or bachelorette parties. Early on, Eren had clocked that something like that, a party celebrating them get married without the other present, wasn’t something that wouldn’t even be remotely fun to them.

But you still had to do something. Which is why Eren settled for throwing the two of them a laid back party after filming at the end of the week, with enough alcohol for them to get drunk to their hearts desire.

“Sometimes I have genuine concern for how their livers are still functioning.” Eren states.

You avert your gaze from Gabi and Falco – who are sitting in the corner playing a very intense game of cards together and giggling – to Jean and Mikasa, who are very drunkenly dancing with Niccolo and Sasha, who unfortunately got roped into it.

“Tell me about it.” you respond.

You can’t help but smile as Niccolo takes turns spinning Mikasa around, as Sasha and Jean attempt a very dangerous version of a dip, which results in Jean dropping her flat on the floor. Eren’s ready to jump up, but Armin gestures for him to keep sitting before jumping up.

“Sometimes I think it’s sweet though. I think back to all those award shows and realize that they probably had a really great time together. Just dancing together, enjoying each other's company.” you respond.

“Yeah. That first one we did though was really fun. I mean, Sukuna and the lollipop thing was like really fucking annoying. But besides that, I really liked that we were all just sitting together having a good time.”

You snort.

“Do you ever think about how…important moments seem after the fact? And that…sometimes you don’t really know how much something will mean later?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“When we went to Seattle, I was talking with Lana. And I was telling her that Sukuna and I are nowhere near as close as you and her are. And she was telling me that Sukuna and I were like that. And that back then, when I met him, I was the one of the first people to kind of… understand that he was joking. To not immediately think bad of him or be weirded out by it, I guess.” you respond.

Eren shrugs.

“I guess. I mean, you showing up for my birthday dinner, it must have seemed to you that I was being so reserved when I left with Hyla. But that was the moment for me that I knew I wanted to be out of that thing, that kind of started everything.” Eren responds.

You feel your cheeks heat up. And you’re sure that the four shots that Mikasa gave you earlier, the slight buzz in your veins, is what makes you say it.

“This is one of them too. The important moments I’ll look back on.” you respond.

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, before he awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck and smiles at the ground.

“How so?”

“All of this time that I get to spend with you. It’s up there, with everything else.”

Eren reaches forward, linking his hand in with yours, before he squeezes three times.

“Me too.”

The two of you keep your hands that way, linked together and raised in the air, before the wind nearly gets knocked out of you by Jean leaning his entire weight on you. You can see that Mikasa is doing the same to Eren, hands tangled around his neck and nearly strangling him.

“Did you guys know you’re the best maid of honor and best man ever?” Mikasa whines.

Eren takes her hands, untangling them from cutting off his circulation, before letting her lean against his shoulder. You can see that he’s pleasantly surprised from the affection, wrapping his arm around her and leaning his head against hers as well.

“Yes, Mikasa. We know.” Eren responds.

“Stop being cocky, Eren.” Jean grumbles, as you turn your head to the side to smile at him.

“Yeah, Eren.” you respond, emphasizing each syllable as he rolls his eyes.

Eren shakes his head at the two of you, before looking down at Mikasa.

“Are you ready for your gift, Mika?” Eren asks.

“What? Really?”

Eren gives her a nod as she nearly jumps up with excitement, teetering on the heels of her feet as Eren momentarily disappears to grab the little tape. Jean looks down at you, giving you a steely glare, as you roll your eyes.

“What, Jean?”

“You are getting me a gift, right?”

“Do you think I’m a nutjob? Obviously, I’m getting you a gift. You’re getting married.”

“It better blow my fucking mind, Y/N. I have seriously high hopes after finding out what Eren got Mikasa.”

You grin.

“Trust me. It’s going to be everything you wanted and more.”

Jean glares at you.

“I don’t like your tone. If it’s a gag gift, you’re not meeting any of my children.”

“They’re also Mikasa’s children. She’ll let me see them.”

“No, I won’t let her.”

“You don’t own the kids, Jean.”

“The fuck do you mean? They’re my kids.”

You elbow him in the sides.

“These aren’t even real kids yet! Why are you getting territorial over people who don’t even exist yet?”

Mikasa slings her arm around both of your shoulders, before squeezing the two of you way too hard under her grip. The two of you give each other wide eyes as she nearly cuts off your circulation and scolds both of you.

“Why are you guys always so mean to each other? I thought you guys were getting along.”

“We do get along!” Jean responds.

“So along! We’re two peas in a pod!” you respond.

Mikasa slightly loosens her grip as Eren walks up, twisting the little CD in his hand, as he eyes the three of you. She absentmindedly links her arm in with his and Jean, as Jean and Eren mimic their motions and loop you into the circle.

There’s tears bubbling in her eyes, as you and Eren spare each other a glance, and prepare yourself for the waterworks that are going to follow. Mikasa was always an emotional drunk.

“Thank you guys for planning such a good party for us. And for being really good friends to us.” Mikasa responds, voice cracking.

You smile, cheeks nearly hurting, as you squeeze Eren and Jean’s arms.

“Of course, Mikasa. You-”

“We’re never going to be able to repay you both. I never forgot how many times you both took the fall for us back in the day whenever Levi got mad at us for switching our rooms around. And that you guys always did it whenever we asked.”

Eren shakes his head.

“I promise that we wanted to switch rooms just as badly as you guys did. Relax, Mikasa.”

“I want you guys to be so happy. You guys are both such good people that it makes my heart hurt. You’re so, so perfect for each other.”

You can feel Eren stiffen at your side as your cheeks heat up, the awkwardness sweltering in the air.

“Thank you, Mikasa. That’s very sweet of you.”

“I want my kids to be like ring bearers or flower girls at your wedding! I want our kids to be best friends like we were best friends and make those stupid videos like we used to do back in the day.”

“Speaking of those videos, can I give you your gift now, Mikasa?” Eren asks.

Mikasa lifts her hands, wiping the wetness off of her face, as she nods. Eren walks towards the TV, setting up the little video player, as you grab the group of them and signal them to join you around the couch to watch the video.

The song starts playing, the soft little piano, of a song you had coincidentally written about Jean and Mikasa years prior. You and Jean had visited Mikasa on the set of one of her old films, Emma, and you had half heartedly scribbled some lyrics about it. You were able to find the old book in the back of your drawers and piece it together properly with Armin and Niccolo’s help.

When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor Closes the blinds and locks the door When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong She waits and takes her time 'Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain When Emma falls in love, I know That boy will never be the same

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her

Eren pieced together the perfect videos. You’re positive that he’s stolen from all of Levi’s old tapes, as well as the dumb camera that the group of you all used in the early seasons. The clips are all of Jean and Mikasa – of such seemingly unimportant moments that nearly make your heart burst at the sight of the two of them now.

There’s sprinkles of you and Eren in the videos, of the two of you recording them in the background holding hands when you were trying to catch their attention. And of Connie and Reiner just blowing kissy faces at them or Sasha and Bertholdt trying to imitate the two of them.

Nearly everyone’s laughing at the clips – at how little Jean and Mikasa look at all of the clips – and Mikasa secures her hand in with yours.

“Is that you singing? Did you write this song about me?”

“Yeah. Way back when you filmed Emma.”

You can see her face curl up in emotion, before she leans her head against your shoulder. She still has one of her hands wrapped in with Eren’s, stopping every few seconds to give him a really big smile that you can tell means the world to him.

Emma met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now he'll be her shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

The clip ends with the group of you hugging, when you had finished wrapping season one. You remember the moment distinctly – the dread that came with it. Because you didn’t know if you were going to get a season two, if anyone was even going to like the show, or if you’d ever see any of them again.

Armin initiates it first, by leaning forward over the couch and wrapping his arm around Eren and Mikasa. And then one by one, you’re all piling on each other – warm tears in your eyes as everyone ruffles Jean and Mikasa’s hair – the two of them pink in the face with their tears.

You stand up to pop the CD out of the box as you watch Eren and Mikasa give each other a long hug, Eren responding warmly to the babbling mess coming out of her mouth.

“Eren. Eren, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mikasa.”

“This is perfect. This is so perfect, you’re one of my best friends ever, you know that?”

Eren laughs, before placing both of his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re one of my best friends too, Mikasa. Save one dance for me at the wedding, okay?”

“Of course. Of course, of course we have to dance together. You can’t leave me hanging, Eren.”

“This was my idea! And you’re the one who’s going to be so busy. Just don’t forget me.”

You’re caught off guard from watching the two of them when you feel a tapping on your shoulder to find Ymir at your side. You give her a smile as you both lean against the wall.

“Hey.”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. You can say no.” Ymir states.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“That was…a really sweet song you wrote about Mikasa. I’ve always really loved how you can feel the emotion in songs you write.”

You smile.

“Is there any way that you could write a song with me? About Sofia? Because, we’re good but I want her to know that she means the world to me. And she’s been a fan of yours for so long that I think that it would be something that was really special to her. And I know that things are complicated because of Historia and that you might have picked a side, but I’m just asking you for this as your friend and –”

“I’m on your side too.” you state.

“Hm?”

“Historia is my friend. But you are too. And I want you and Sofia to be happy, I really like her and I really like you.”

You watch as Ymir deflates.

“Really?”

“You’re meant to be together. I think that she can really love you in the way that you deserve.”

Ymir leans forward, uncharacteristically affectionate, as she wraps her arms around you and squeezes your arms.

“You’re a really good person, Y/N.” Ymir states.

You laugh.

“You must be as drunk as Mikasa.”

“No, no I really mean it. You always have really good intentions at heart. I know that your whole lover girl branding must be…frustrating to look at after everything that happened. But that’s always who you’ve been, with all of us. It’s a really good part of you.” Ymir states.

You smile.

“You’re speaking really highly of me. All I did was say I was going to write a song with you, Ymir.”

“I think you deserve really good things. People have given you way too much hurt than you deserve.”

The following morning, you’re able to snag Armin to help you play Ymir’s song for Sofia. And surely enough, you can feel it radiating as you watch her face light up, the way she nearly beams at the two of you as you sing.

You sit abandoned in the room, hours after Armin, Ymir, and Sofia trickle away.

Only because it’s so overwhelming that it nearly suffocates you. The love in the room.

Ymir and Sofia. Jean and Mikasa and Gabi and Falco. The way Eren and Armin have reconciled and how you always see Levi smiling at you from the back of the room when the group of you are messing around.

You’re so full of it that you can barely breathe, so nervously anxious that it makes your stomach hurt.

“You okay?”

You look up to find Eren looking down at you. At the love in the room, staring at you so intently.

“Yeah.”

“I had a question.”

You tap the open seat on the couch next to you, shuffling to the side, as he joins you.

“Sure. What’s up?”

You watch as Eren leans forward on his knees, eyes trained on the ground as he cracks through each of the knuckles in his fingers.

“You can say no. You don’t have to feel obligated to answer in any way because it was just an idea I had. I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to, or…or had other plans I don’t know about because you’re obviously entitled to that! And you know, it’s a harmless type of thing that I just wanted to –”

“Eren.”

He pauses, looking up at you.

“Just ask.” you finish.

“Will you be my date to the wedding?” Eren asks.

You feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach as you smile at him, squeezing your hands into fists as you hold them close to your chest.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to go with you. We’re doing a song together and…and we’re all good. It would be nice to be together, like we did back when we wrote invisible string. That and I kind of need you to point out all the love in the room for me just so I can remember it all.” Eren responds.

You smile.

“Of course. We’ll take turns. I’ll point one out and then you.”

Eren grins.

“Deal.”

You reach forward, placing your pointer finger against his chest. He looks down before looking back up at you, confused.

“What?” he asks.

“You just asked me to point out the love in the room.”

You watch as Eren leans his head back, unable to contain his smile, as he shoves your hand away and mimics the motion by pointing back.

next chapter linked here

an: anyways ymir requests a song about her relationship with historia later on and they write you're losing me. and yes, you're losing me and champagne problems end up being about the same relationship. also historia being so jo march coded by saying she would accept ymir's proposal now that she's actually with someone else and can't have her....anyways jeankasa wedding oh we cried

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

Yandere Tex x Reader x John Wick WIP Part 5!

Ready evil geniuses? @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake

John lets you rest after wrecking you for the umpteenth time, disappearing off somewhere. You put off leaving the bedroom for as long as you can, but in the end you can't stand it anymore. You rummage in the closet for a new shirt. Your choices are black, black, and you'll never guess... black.

This house must belong to John.

How many safe houses does that man have?

When you walk out of the bedroom in your new getup you find Tex in the living room watching TV. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“We have got to get you some clothes, baby girl.”

You shrug. The boxer t-shirt combo is actually pretty comfy.

You think you might make your way to the kitchen, but Tex snaps his fingers at you as you try to walk past.

You turn to look at him with a raised brow.

“Can I help you?”

That was the wrong thing to say, obviously.

His grin is that of a hungry wolf.

“I bet you can. C'mere, darlin'.”

You sigh, but after your little lesson with John, you're not quite so inclined to defy him.

Yet.

You're going to have to get smarter about how you expend your energy.

Easier said than done.

You pad over next to him. He pats his thigh in invitation, but you opt to sit next to him instead. This lasts for about two seconds, before he hauls you into his lap with his big hands and his strong arms.

Goddammit.

“That's better,” he says with a sly grin, holding you close.

You take a moment to look at him—really look at him, from up close. The sweep of his almond shaped eyes, his high cheek bones and the short scruff of his beard. He stares back at you, unabashedly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, bumping his forehead with yours. You wish it wasn't adorable. Fucking man child, making you feel things.

“Wanna watch tv?”

It beat anything else he could dream up, so you agree. You hadn't forgot that he still owed you for your flipping of the bird earlier. You're sure he hasn't either.

He turns on some stupid gratuitous action flick, and you kind of zone out. Your thoughts drift to John, and the things he told you in-between fucking you silly.

He'd said that he and Tex would not take on the FBI just for a plaything, or a whore. Deep down, you knew what that meant.

It meant, they had no real intention of letting you go. The thought filled you with equal parts dread—and wonder.

Why the fuck would not one, but two fine ass men like this want you, for keeps? It's beyond your comprehension—and if you're honest, kind of flattering. Bat shit fucking crazy, but flattering.

Either that, or it's just...convenient. Your circumstances created a perfect storm from which to snatch you without a trace or a person to care about getting you back.

"Want to see somethin'?" asks Tex, interrupting your reverie.

"Okay?"

He clicks play on the remote once he has your attention. You watch as a 1970s muscle car jumps an impossible ramp, then lands roughly on the other side of a canal. "That was me."

You lift an eyebrow, looking back at him. "In the car?"

"Yeah."

He's grinning like a little kid, clearly proud.

"You were a stunt man?"

"Uh huh."

You tilt your head, trying to put pieces together and failing. The square block is not fitting in the circle hole.

"Then why...?"

"Killin' people pays better, believe me. Less dangerous, too."

A chill runs down your spine.

"Oh."

Your gaze drifts away, but he turns it back to him with a hand on your chin. Those jet black eyes bore into yours, like he can see into your soul. His eyes flick down to your mouth, a moment before he leans in to kiss you. Your first instinct is to offer teeth, before you remember if you have to have sex one more time in the next twenty-four hours, you might literally die. You slip your tongue into the seam of his lips, and feel him smile against your mouth.

"Mmm. A man could get used to this."

He slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips sneaking past the loose hem of your boxer shorts.

You wrap your fingers around his, praying. "Tex, please."

"Like the sound of that," he says between kisses, outmuscling you to move his hand higher.

"I'm so sore."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. John gets you to himself but I don't?"

"It's not my fault you're both hung like horses."

This appeal to his ego makes him grin. "Ain't you a lucky girl?"

"Only if you don't hurt me."

He has the gall to give you a pouty face. Again, it should be fucking ridiculous, but somehow it's cute. He cups the side of your face, pushing his thumb between your lips. "How sore is your mouth?" he asks, eyes glittering.

It's not high on your list of things you want to do, but you're having to weigh your options these days. You suck his thumb, and you swear you watch a fire ignite in his eyes.

"Also sore," you say around his digit, sounding ridiculous as he presses down on your tongue. Your jaws hurt. Even your mouth is bruised from kissing. Jesus. You're not a goddamn python.

You try to retreat, but he forces his thumb deeper.

Absolutely out of instinct to defend yourself, you start to bite him.

Maybe you stop yourself before it can hurt or you break skin, but for the wicked gleam in his eyes you know it doesn’t matter. Suddenly you find yourself flipped on your stomach over his lap, as though you are nothing but a doll.

“You are a nippy little thing, you know that?” When he wrenches down your boxers, propping your ass in the air with his trunk of a thigh beneath you, you’re afraid you know exactly what he has in mind.

“No—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pins you down. “You’re just going to make it worse for yourself,” he says in a sing-song tone, almost as though he hopes you will fight him more. His fingers fanned out over your butt cheek rub lightly, soothing over your copious bruises. It feels so good that the first stinging smack makes you jump sky-high.

“Hey!”

“Hush and take your licks, little girl.”

“I hate you!”

“I was gonna say five, for flippin’ me off, but now it’s six. Comprende?”

You whimper, but for the first time since this whole fiasco started, you do the smart thing and shut your dumb fucking mouth, hanging your head in the pillows with resignation.

He’s just spanking you, you reason. How bad can it be?

He has a hand like a catcher’s mitt and arms corded with muscle.

Bad. The answer, is bad.

Yet he doesn’t lay into you immediately, soothing you with featherlight touches over your buttocks and the backs of your thighs. That part feels good, actually, and fuck you if you don’t start to feel the stirrings of desire between your legs.

What. The ever loving. FUCK. Is wrong with you?

“So pretty,” he says, toying with the bend of your knee. It makes your toes curl, and he offers up a deep chuckle that you almost feel more than hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly, closing your eyes.

“See, I can be sweet, if you’re sweet to me.”

The next smack on the other cheek makes you jump again, but this time you do not protest.

“Ahh. She can be taught.”

You whimper, but keep your expletives to yourself. This is not exactly what you would call sweet…but the contrast of the stinging blows with his featherlight touch afterwards is doing things to you that you do not understand.

“Take this off,” he demands, lifting the hem of your shirt up your back.

For once, you obey him the first time, squirming in your awkward position on your belly and pulling it over your shoulders, leaving you bare and totally exposed upon his lap. He runs his fingers up the curve of your spine, making you shudder upon him. You can’t see his smug grin, but you know, you just fucking know it’s there.

Smack.

You can’t help but cry out, but the pleasure and the pain is strangely starting to meld together. Your treacherous, stupid little cunt has begun to throb, and as his fingers caress dangerously close to your crease you find that you wish he would touch you there.

By the time he’s finished with your licks you are a finely trembling, aching mess on his lap, your fingers like claws in the throw pillow, your ass in the air as though begging for it of its own volition.

Finally he does dip his thick fingers into your weeping slit, groaning to himself for the wetness he finds there. He circles your bud with the thick tip of his finger, making you moan and arch into him like the stupid little hypocrite you are.

“That’s a mighty nice little pussy you’ve got there,” he says, his voice turned pure gravel with desire. “Too bad you’re too sore.”

He withdraws and shoves you off his lap as he stands, leaving you in a heap of pliable naked limbs on the couch. The frustrated sound that escapes your throat is barely human, and the grin he pays you is the baring of teeth from a predator to a rabbit across the wood.

“Now don’t let me catch you touchin’ yourself,” he warns, looming over you. “You won’t like what happens next.”

On that note he struts off, and you watch him go with a glare, unable to stop yourself from thinking he has the nicest, tightest little butt this side of the Mississippi river.

Bastard.

#wicked johnson fic #yandere john wick #yandere tex johnson #john wick #tex johnson #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader

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thatsdemko · 6 months

Text

they want us to be - m.mount

masterlist

pairing: Mason mount x fem!reader

warnings: angst + me having a lack of knowledge of the transportation systems of Europe

a/n: yeah I’m sorry about this one..

the train ride in from London to Manchester was long and brutal. you’d think somewhere along the lines you’d just move half way in between your best friend and your current job, but moving in this economy was proven to be rather difficult. so the train it was.

the cities and empty towns pass by you in a whirl and before you know it you’re the next stop: Manchester. you’d gathered an overnight bag that feels weightless as you pick it up and move out of your seat towards the exit. you thank the man who helps you off and find his car. it doesn’t take long, it’s the most expensive one in the parking lot.

“hey!” his head snaps up from his phone, whatever it was becomes completely irrelevant once you’re in the warm car and tossing your back in front of your feet.

letting out a long sigh you take a look over at him. his hair still has patches of blond showing and the buzz cut is much shorter than you last had seen it. “hey,” you let out finally. leaning over the center counsel you wrap your arms around him, “why’d you cut your hair?” you gently run your finger tips over the rough ends of his hair before he quickly pulls away, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“you don’t like it?”

“I’ve expressed my dislikes for it many times.” you’d recall for him the last time he’d cut it short, you couldn’t look him in the eyes without laughing and you’d think he’d learned his lesson that the look wasn’t meant for him, yet without your supervision Mason still went ahead and did so.

“yeah well you’re not my girlfriend so you don’t make the calls.” his bitter tone shuts you up. you result back into looking out the window much like you did the whole train ride here. was this how it was going to be?

LAST TIME | Manchester

“come on, come on! say it again, please.” you laugh, your body leans forward against the wooden table tops as you wait for masons giggle fit to end before he turns serious and does his best impression of his coach on the sidelines.

“you’re getting really good at it.” you lie, or maybe it was flirting. the alcohol in your system had you looking at Mason differently than normal, and it’s not you to blame when he wears a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants that could have any girl swooning in admiration of his biceps.

“am I? I only learn from the best impersonator myself.” he gestures to you in front of him, “give me your best Ben impression, I forgot what he sounds like.”

“you chatted with him on the phone two hours ago!”

it’s his turn to lean in, his hands pressed against the cool table tops as he watches you take a swig from your pint of beer, “and I’ve seemingly forgotten what he sounds like! come on, do it!”

rolling your eyes you give him what he wants and a roar of laugher escapes from him. the sound fills your heart and makes your chest feel fuzzy and your head starts to spin. was this what it felt like to fall in love? was the feeling of falling supposed to be this intoxicating?

“is it crazy I miss London?” he looks up from the empty pint in front of him, his hands awkwardly cup the glass trying to find anything to occupy the numbness in his chest when he mentions his previous home. while Manchester was beautiful and different, you didn’t live here. you lived a train away and that killed him.

“I don’t think it’s crazy, mase. this was a big change— and may I mention a good change.” you reach across the table, your sweaty palm touches the back of his hand and pulls his attention away from the table.

“I guess I just miss you.”

oh. you feel a tightness in your chest as you pull your hand away and sink against the back of the chair.

“I shouldn’t of said that I’m sorry—“

“no. don’t apologize.” you cut him off, “I miss you too.”

a relief washes over his face to hear the words back. there’d been plenty of new friends and faces for him to kindle a connection with, but no one could hold a candle to what you two had. there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked since your teen years and carried on, it’s what made you two inseparable despite the commute.

“I’m sorry, I’m being like the worst drunk ever.”

you shake your head. reaching your hand across the table again, “don’t say that. come on, let’s just go to bed? maybe we just need sleep.” you suggest and he agrees. he trails behind you into his master bedroom that’s practically untouched. the space is so clean and barely lived in, it’s almost uncomfortable to look at.

“will you sleep with me? I don’t think I can be alone right now.” his finger tips grab a hold of your hand, the warmth sends a shock wave through your body making you turn in his direction. he’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his large body blocks you from seeing the rest of the room as his eyes plea for your attention.

“mase, that’s dangerous.” you warn. the last time you’d slept in the same bed was the same night he’d gracefully taken your virginity and ever since then you could never see him naked without your ovaries having a reaction to him.

he wets the bottom of his lip with his tongue, his beautiful brown eyes are glassy and convincing, you press your lips against his for a brief second, “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“can’t you stay with me forever?” he whispers half jokingly but half serious. you pretend you don’t hear him and just climb into his bed while he undresses himself.

“I mean what I said. I want you with me forever.”

NOW | Manchester

“pint or glass?”

“glass.” you say setting your things down into the living room and waiting for Mason to come back in. you stare out the large floor to ceiling windows out at the city. the grey clouds and dark skies feel different here, in London you felt safer from the storms, but here? there was something chilling about the look.

“how’s Ben? anything new happening with Chelsea?” he moves into the living room and sets your glass down on a coaster. he takes the seat closest to where you’re standing and watches your eyes move from cloud to cloud and person to person.

“joão left.”

“so I’ve been told.” he says making your head turn in his direction and offer him a small smile before taking the seat next to him.

“but Bens good, he just moved into my building.”

a shocked expression lights his face making you snort, “what? you’re surprised we get along now?”

he nods his head enthusiastically, “yes! it took months for you two to get along!”

“months?! I’d say weeks, he always had a problem with me.”

it’s masons turn to snort making you give him a look of surprise, “he just had a thing for you and then he realized you only like me so he gave up.”

you fight the urge to tell him it wasn’t true. you fight the urge to tell him the reason Ben moved in was because he was with you. the reason you couldn’t stay with Mason forever was because Ben chilwell was your idea of forever.

“well I think he still has a thing for me.”

Mason rolls his eyes whipping out his phone from his pocket, “you want me to tell him off? I can tell him you still have feelings for Christian—“

“no! oh my god one time! I said one time I liked Christian for a week!” you launch your body onto his and try to fight him for the phone while he types and clearly whoever it was, it wasn’t Ben. because the person on the other end responded faster than your boyfriend actually would.

“who are you actually texting?” you press, a cheeky grin on your face, “come on, I know it’s a girl none of your mates respond that fast!”

he puts his hands up as a white flag and admits from start to finish about the new girl he was talking to. he’d mentioned how she was awfully similar personality to yours and how he really liked her, but he fails to admit she’s not you. he likes her enough to keep things going, but she lacks the personality you have.

“I’m so happy for you.” you whisper, voice sounding breathless and a mixture of emotions settled into your chest. you’re happy for him, and this is exciting news, but why did it hurt? Ben was your boyfriend who you so dearly loved, but why was Mason moving on the worst thing you could ever hear.

you guess it’s true, maybe you two were meant to be but you’d never know until you stop loving others and love each other.

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katyawriteswhump · 4 months

Text

Freestyle love (Steddie holiday drabble)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22 prompt, Sports AU.

Nobody ever wanted Eddie Munson on their swim squad, and uni competition was no different. Until Steve Harrington decided to play by the rules.

WC: 966. Rating: T.

CW: none really. Tags: Enemies to lovers, whump, university/college AU.

***

"Munson's freestyle times smash half the teams.'" Steve pushed his wet hair from his eyes, double-checked the stopwatch. “He’s in."

"That science geek pond-scum?” asked Steve's swim co-captain, standing with him beside the pool. "No way. You read the numbers backwards again, Harrington?"

"Shut up. I’m calling this one."

When Steve broke the news, Munson pulled off his swim-cap and a mass of dark, damp hair tumbled out. “One of your teammates said my tats automatically disqualify me,” said Munson.

“That’s bullshit.” Steve actually found Munson’s freaky tattoos bizarrely compelling. Oh, and the body beneath—all lean rope-like muscle, not massive shoulders, but a decent swimmer’s physique. “We need you. You beat most of the sports scholarship guys.”

“I know.” Munson shrugged. “And you can take my place on your dumb squad and stuff it up their buttholes.”

“What the heck, man? Why did you trial, if you don’t want in?”

“To show you over-privileged frat-house dicks you ain’t special. I qualify every year—you’re just the first knucklehead to notice. Anyhooo.” He poked his tongue out stupidly. Steve planted his hands on his hips and couldn’t glare harder. “I’m off to Who Soc.”

“What Soc?”

Munson’s shoulder clipped Steve’s as he passed—possibly an accident, but he nearly toppled Steve into the pool.

“Screw you, man! Crawl back to your den of Satanist freaks, like I care.”

“Yeah?” Munson poked out his tongue again, wiggled his fingers. “Hexing you, Harrington. Oooooh, bet you’re pissing yourself.”

***

Eddie had simply been getting one back for the little guys, against all those over-pumped numbskulls.

He still felt bad when he heard what happened at the inter-state semis—some moron dived into the pool on top of Harrington in the shallow end, breaking his leg.

It bugged Eddie. So much he wound up visiting Steve at the hospital.

When Eddie sidled into Steve’s room, Steve’s pale face—peeking from behind his plastered leg in traction—said it all: What the heck?

“Hey,” mumbled Eddie. “Guess I’m the last person you expected.”

“On my list of expected visitors, you were somewhere below Elvis.” Harrington seemed pissed. Also genuinely bewildered.

He was still sexy as hell.

Especially now Eddie couldn’t find it in his cold, metal-loving heart to hate the guy. Mmmm, and was it kinda wrong to wanna lick those well-muscled arms, and picture him shirtless… even when Harrington glowered at him from a hospital bed?

Eddie raised his palms in half-hearted surrender. “I owe you an explanation. I’ve been doing swim trials since Middle School. My time is always good—the place I grew up in was right by a lake—yet nobody ever gave me my place on the squad before. This face never fits.” He gurned a silly grin. “Then you went and flew in the face of all the laws in the universe and offered me ‘in.’ I guess it... blew me away.”

“I was only following the goddamn rules.” Steve grumpily puffed his flatter-than-usual hair from his eyes.

“Yeah, and I was a dick, and the Hex thing was dumb. I didn’t really… you know…”

“I don’t blame you for my stupid accident.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a complete moron. I'm scraping a pass in English Lit, okay?” As the atmosphere softened, Eddie shuffled nearer Steve’s bed. “Good job. Who's gonna keep me here on a sports scholarship now?”

“Sorry, man.”

“Jesus, it’s not your fault!” Up close, Harrington looked exhausted, possibly even in pain, with dark smudgy shadows around his eyes. “You know, you can do something to make this less shit.”

Eddie’s heart squeezed oddly—gratefully? “What?”

“Take my place in the squad.” Steve mumbled toward hands clasped in his lap. “I recorded your times, made it official. The place is yours to claim. I'd tell the team myself… if any of them came to visit.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nobody’s got time for a swim co-captain who’ll never swim competitively again.”

A lump clogged Eddie’s throat. Harrington’s face worked strangely, too… Shit, shit, shit! Eddie reached out, tentatively squeezed Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked up sharply, eyes large and liquid. Damn, the boy was tense.

“That stinks,” said Eddie.

“Yeeeah.” Steve’s laugh was shaky, while Eddie’s mind raced:

“Dude, I’m in a ton of non-sports societies. D & D, model-making, Who Soc… Uh, maybe not that one for you. I can bring a few of the guys and gals here, see if you get into anything.”

“I don’t need YOU to find me friends.” Harrington’s spikiness proved short-lived. He unleashed a resigned sigh: “Look, man, I’m not exactly in the mood for parties, but… If you wanna come back… that would be cool.”

Suddenly, neither of them could look at each other. Eddie’s face was burning. Could he actually be into me?

“Tho’ if you’re not fresh from swim practice when you arrive, I’m not interested, Munson.”

Eddie hooted: “You blackmailing me?”

“I can play dirty, ya know, buck expectations, too.” Steve went in for the kill. He smiled up at Eddie, a proper, hot-as-hell smile, which reached his too-pretty brown eyes.

Is he hitting on me?!? Eddie gawked like a goldfish.

“See you tomorrow?”

***

On the day of the national finals, Steve watched from the stands. When Eddie slammed home for victory on the final leg of the freestyle relay, Steve was on his feet—okay, propped by his crutches—cheering his head off.

As soon as Eddie could get away, he clambered, wet and dripping, through to the rear of the stands and planted an even wetter kiss on Steve's lips. Steve threw his arms around his boyfriend. It was great to finally be with somebody to whom only the real things in life mattered.

"Love you, Champ," he whispered in Eddie’s ear.

"Love you, too." Eddie kissed him again.

Victory had never felt so hot.

***

Thanks for reading :) Also part of my steve whump fic series (mainly steddie) on ao3

#steddieholidaydrabbles #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington whump #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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camaro-and-smokes · 4 months

Text

✨ This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! ✨ @harringrove-relay-race

Screwdriver

S: I'm not looking to fuck right now, but my bathroom sink is currently flooding the bathroom

S: I know it's kind of random, but can I borrow a flathead screwdriver by any chance?

S: I don't really know my neighbours and you're the closest person to me on Grindr

S: 😅

Billy stared at the four messages he'd received, not quite knowing what to think about them. They were from Steve, the guy he'd been messaging on Grindr for a while here and there.

It had been a kind of a mistake for Billy to even see Steve's profile. Steve had said he had been meaning to delete the whole profile since all he'd gotten through it was heartache and pain, but then had decided against it. Billy had the same kind of experience, so he'd suggested that they could just talk. And Steve had agreed.

They really didn’t know that much about each other, they talked about just casual stuff; work, TV shows and such. But Billy didn’t have anything special to do that evening, so why not. Steve seemed like a decent guy and Billy had an extensive selection of tools at home because of the Camaro he’d kept as a second car since it always needed something to be fixed.

B: Yeah why not.

B: Send me your address and I’ll bring it. BTW you should turn off the main water in case you haven’t yet.

Billy put his phone into his back pocket and went to the garage to rummage through his tools. Soon the phone blipped with a message.

S: Thanks, the water’s turned off. I’m panicking, didn’t even think of that. The address is 357 Oak Street, 3rd floor.

Billy snorted.

B: No problem. I'll be there in fifteen.

Steve didn’t actually live that far from Billy, which was surprising. Billy was sure he had never seen Steve around. Brown-haired, doe-eyed and tall men were his kryptonite. He was pretty sure he’d remember a guy looking like Steve.

He parked his truck and Steve buzzed him in.

Billy stepped out of the elevator in Steve’s floor. It wasn’t hard to know which one was Steve’s door: it was the one ajar through which he heard cursing. He walked to the door and knocked on it before opening the door wider.

“Hey, it’s Billy,” he said after he opened the door and couldn't see anyone in the corridor.

“Yeah, come in, I’m a bit busy right now,” came from somewhere behind the open door. “Shut the door.”

Billy closed the door and turned to look at the corridor opening behind the door – and almost inhaled the gum he’d been chewing, followed by a coughing fit.

Steve was on his knees on the bathroom floor, leaning under the sink into the sink cabinet – his ass high up in the air, clad in nothing but wet, green basketball shorts that were glued to his ass and his hairy legs – jesus christ how can someone be that hairy – and not leaving any other assets to imagination either.

He backed out from the cabinet, turned around and sat on the floor. “Oh good, thank fucking lord,” he let out, looking tired but clearly relieved. When he saw Billy all red from coughing, his expression turned worried. “You okay?”

Billy nodded, still trying to catch his breath, and lifted the toolbox in his hand.

Steve got up and walked to the bathroom door, looking flustered and rubbing his hands to his thighs.

For fuck's sake would you stop doing that Harrington.

Billy was half hard already from seeing that wet ass, no further sights needed.

“I wish we could’ve met under other circumstances,” Steve said, smiling awkwardly, not knowing where to place his hands, on his hips, his arms crossed, again finding their place on his hips. He pointed at the toolbox. “Uh… I needed only one...”

Think about the tools. THE TOOLS.

“There are more than one size,” Billy croaked before coughing a few last times to his sleeve. “You didn’t tell me which, so I brought all I have.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Billy asked, his brows raising.

This is turning into a porn film cliché.

Steve turned red and grimaced, trying to turn it into an awkward smile. “Like I said in the message, I panicked.”

If he curls his hair around his finger and bats his eyelashes a few times I swer I won't be able to hold it.

Billy looked Steve in the eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate to all possible horrors of mismanaging a burst water pipe or a broken tap could cause. Then his eyes fell to Steve’s chest and the dark hair, a lot of it, that was clearly visible under the wet white t-shirt and he felt himself blushing.

Act normal, act normal, act normal....

To keep his thoughts on the task, Billy set the toolbox on the floor and took off his jacket and set it on the chair that was in the corridor. “Okay, let me take a look. Is the floor wet?”

Steve shook his head as he stepped aside to let Billy into the bathroom. “Not anymore. I mopped the floor, but I just didn’t see a point in changing clothes. Didn’t want to get the rest of my wardrobe wet.”

The bathroom was small, so they brushed against each other just a little as they passed, enough for Billy to get a whif of Steve's scent. He smelt of cedar wood, hairspray and a little sweat – a winning combo, apparently, since Billy's had to hold back a whimper and lock his eyes to the sink cabinet. “You didn’t think to call a plumber?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, as he squatted in front of the sink and looked into the cabinet to check what kind of screws he had to open.

“I did. The one I reached said that if the drain isn’t clogged and the tap isn't leaking there’s no point in me paying for the nighttime extra and that he comes to fix it first thing in the morning. But he said that I should get rid of anything that’s under the sink so that he can get to work when he arrives. So I was doing that when I realized that I didn’t even have a coin I could try to pry open the screws.”

Billy took a deep breath. “Okay, well, that’s good. Based on your messages I was afraid that you were trying to fix the pipes with the screwdriver.”

Steve snorted, amused. “Well, I might not be a handyman but even I’m not that dumb.”

Billy looked up at Steve with a smirk. “You need to take this cabinet out for the plumber?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, it’s good then that I brought my whole toolbox then because not all of these won’t open with a flathead, they need a Phillips.”

“They need a what now?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

Clueless pretty thing, definitely checks the box.

Billy got up and chuckled. “I’ll take the cabinet apart for you, now that I’m here. But could I get a glass of water first? The coughing…”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Steve said and left the bathroom to fetch it.

Billy was setting up the electric screwdriver when Steve returned with the glass.

Steve was still wearing the same wet clothes, because of course he was.

I want to claw those off and bury my face into that chest hair.

Steve looking down at himself all of a sudden made Billy realize that he had probably stared a bit too intensively and blushing. He downed his water quickly before handing the empty glass back to Steve.

“Uh… I’ll leave you to it,” Steve said, smirking. “I'll go change.”

Yeah, you had to point that out. What, you want me to follow instead of taking this shit apart and fuck your brains off?

Well, okay, maybe Billy wanted to do that, but that was not what they'd agreed upon. Better if he stayed on his lane, for now.

This isn't a porn film, not a porn film...

“Yeah, this shouldn’t take long,” Billy replied, not daring to look back at Steve again, and got to work.

Once he had taken the cabinet apart he put away his tools and looked into the living room where the bathroom opened to. Steve was sitting on the couch, staring intently at his laptop and tapping away. He was wearing eyeglasses, something Billy hadn’t seen in any of the photos Steve had shared online. They fit him, framing his face nicely. Billy's eyes wandered lower and he realized that Steve was wearing only sweatpants, his glorious chest hair all on display. There was a lot of it indeed.

I want to press my nose into that, snuggle into it, run my fingers through it, tug it when I come. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I took the cabinet apart.”

Steve looked up, smiling and put the laptop away. “Hey, that’s awesome. Thanks, man! How can I repay you?” he asked as he walked to Billy.

Do not think about it, do not think about it, DO NOT…

“Uh...” Billy managed to get out, rubbing his neck with his hand. This wasn't a fucking porn film, he reminded himself, even if a handyman came to fix something at the house and oops, only the good looking little missus is at home, wearing skimpy clothes and instead of fixing anything they end up fucking against the kitchen counter like horny bunnies. Okaaayyy, well, Steve had been wearing wet skimpy clothes that left nothing to imagination and now he was wearing even less, he was maybe also a bit clueless and…

Billy tried to keep his head in check and glued his eyes on Steve's face. “Can I take you to dinner?”

Steve raised his eyebrow and measured Billy from head to toes with a lazy gaze.

Billy felt naked.

Steve smiled. “Uh… Should I be the one doing that, though?” He was quiet for a moment and smirked. “What if I'm all out of money and you have to get your pay, are there other ways I could do that?”

Billy swallowed and turned beet red. He let out a laugh and licked his lower lip.

Steve hooked his right thumb on the waistband of his sweats, pulling it down a bit and revealing the beginning of a very hairy happy trail.

The fucker.

Billy started to unbutton his shirt. “Well... Maybe we could come to a mutual agreement about that.”

=====

Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful and amazing work from the next contributor @hg-deranged-edition

=====

The ficlet is based on this meme:

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #harringrove fic #steve x billy #billy x steve #suometar writes #stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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reveluving · 6 months

Text

if the skirt fits ; andy barber x reader

summary: Andy finds a little secret of yours.

warnings: heavily implied s~mut; costume kink (minors DNI!), familial fluff & mild humour!

a/n: you don't know how happy I am for finally sharing this piece with y'all, considering how it has been collecting dust in my drafts since LAST YEAR, but here it is; one of my earliest ideas for the series! don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

“It fits you perfectly,” He purred, almost deep in thought—probably in his own fantasy, “So perfectly.” ;

"You could dress up as Jason?" You suggested what might’ve been the seventh costume idea since the drive home from dinner at the Thai restaurant nearby.

"Done that." Jacob replied as he leaned forward from his seat to talk to you and his father.

"Spiderman?"

"I feel like everyone's dressing up as Spiderman this year."

"But not everyone's going to dress up as the same one." You had a point, considering how you and his dad were the first victims of his Spiderverse fixation since the second movie was released, so you knew what you were talking about.

"I guess,” Jacob thought for a moment before falling back in his seat, taking your idea into consideration, “I guess I just want something… different."

"If you want different, then we could get you one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes on the internet." Andy held a playful look even as his eyes remained on the road.

"Very funny, dad." His son grumbled, despite fighting back his own smile.

"Aw, cheer up, Jake. You've got time." You reassured him.

“Yeah… And I’m not too worried. The store next to Aunt Sarah’s bakery got some cool stuff when I bought last year’s costume,” Jacob mused before asking you, "What about you, mom? Have you thought of a costume yet?"

Ah, mom. Even after all this time, you and Andy will never get tired of him calling you that.

"Mmm, not yet. But when I do, I'll make sure you're the first to know." You and Jacob shared a smile in the rear-view mirror, only to be interrupted by Andy clearing his throat.

"Uh, you're gonna tell him first and not me?" He cocked his head, feigning disbelief.

"Of course. You lost that privilege when you suggested Jake the dinosaur costume." You and Jacob laughed as Andy dramatically groaned, telling you ‘I didn’t mean it’ in an angsty teenager tone.

"I am not dressing up Ken." Andy answered, removing his watch and leaving it on the vanity table.

"Oh, c'mon, Cowboy Barber has a nice ring to it." You said with a lilt.

"And where exactly am I going to find a Western shirt in my size?" He quirked an eyebrow at you.

"We could always ask the Flags. Her husband might have one hidden somewhere."

"Just because we've seen him with a cowboy hat last Halloween?" He remembered seeing him wearing one during the community party at the park.

"You'd never know. Barbie and Ken are safer than your recommendation." You opened the closet without taking your accusatory eyes off him.

"What's wrong with a devil and an angel?"

"Andy." Surely he could tell how ridiculous he sounded.

"It's… easy…? And you'd look really good in it." He tried to persuade you, standing next to you.

"At a party full of kids?" You weren't sure how the parents that were a little more… conservative would feel about their kids' teacher dressing up like that.

"I didn't say it was for Wilson's party. It's for our afterparty," He wiggled his brows, "Just you and me while Jake stays over at the Wilson's."

You snorted. How cheesy of him.

"Wilson's party first, then whatever you want after," You turned back to the hanging clothes, "And besides, you should be the devil, not me."

That wasn't a no.

"You know what," He pursed his lips, already considering your idea—especially with the black suit he knew you'd melt over, plus a red tie before dodging the swat of your hand with a laugh. Just then, he noticed you'd been searching for something for a while, unbuttoning his cuffs and folding his sleeves before asking, “Need some help?”

“I can’t find my panties. The baby blue ones.” You frowned.

“The one with the lace?” He asked, prompting you to nod, “I mean, as much as I love seeing you in those, you know I don’t mind you without any in the first place.”

“Nice try, Barber," You narrowed your eyes at him, gesturing to the drawers in front of him before you rummaged through the pile of folded clothes on the bottom rack, “Help me search the drawers, please.”

He did as he was told, looking through the first stack before moving on to the next.

There was little progress in your searches but your curiosity was only piqued when out of the corner of your eye, Andy was looking closely at something.

“Did you find it?”

He took a quick breath before answering, “No, but I did find something better.”

You furrowed your brows, standing up to ask what he meant by that until you caught sight of the familiar skirt he held.

Plaid, grey and extremely short.

Uh oh.

You clasped your hands together in front of your tummy as you stared at the microskirt with wide eyes. You were even failing to notice him slowly breaking into a smirk. He didn’t stop there, reaching into the drawer he was looking into with his other hand to take out the matching tie. Your lips parted, darting your eyes between the article of clothing and the smug look on his face.

“I can explain,” You finally spoke up, your voice softer than you hoped for.

“Please, do,” He held the ends of the untied tie with both hands, “Because I’m pretty sure these are too small to be mine.”

Oh, he was going to have some fun with this.

“Well, it’s, y’know,” You moved your hands around, only to silently plea for him to understand without having you say it, “Andy, c’mon. You know what it is.”

It wasn’t enough for him, though, raising his brows and encouraging you to continue.

He was clearly enjoying this. A whole lot.

Unbelievable.

“It’s my old costume.”

He hummed, appraising the garment as he immediately imagined what you would look like in it, “So my pretty girl has a dirty secret of her own. Did you break any necks when you pranced around the neighbourhood in this?”

“In my defence, I only wore that once, when I was in college, so,” You corrected him, recalling the party you attended in your final year.

“So, you broke college boys’ necks.”

“I didn’t say that,” You shook your head in amusement, “I just didn’t have the heart to give it away. It was just one of those rare times where I truly enjoyed living in the city.”

Though the city wasn’t far from Reve Road, and hell, you’ve even thought about moving back once or twice in your earlier days, truthfully, you haven’t been there in ages, and thank goodness, too. What would life be like if you hadn’t stayed, made a name in the peaceful neighbourhood and met the Barbers?

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," You mustered a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes, "But I had my fun. Grew up to be a city girl, earned my degree and let out my ‘wilder’ side a couple of times. But I love it here more, and if I want to keep my job, the last thing my students and my son need to see when they go trick-or-treating is their Literature teacher in this."

You shared a hearty laugh. Your wonders about who or what you could’ve been if you stayed in the city were nothing more than a mere curiosity, and even then, it hardly mattered to you now.

“Wouldn’t hurt to relive the old days here in our room.” Oh?

"You can't be serious," You chuckled nervously, "It might not even fit."

You were lying—you barely looked any different from your college years. You just weren’t sure if you were ready to see his reaction over such scandalous attire.

"All the more reason to try it," He replied confidently, closing the gap between the two of you. His voice deepened as he whispered, "C’mon. You can be a good girl for me, can’t you?"

Like the gentleman he was, he used your weakness against you.

You knew you were done for when you gulped under his intense stare, cocking his head in the bathroom’s direction.

You snatched the garments out of his grasp, the ‘deathly’ glare on your face contrasted with his conceited one as you obtained the shirt that came with it out of the same drawer. He continued to hold your gaze even as you closed the door.

Once you were alone, you couldn’t help but let out a silent scream.

You were too embarrassed to even face the mirror as you got dressed, not until you slid on the last piece—the skirt before turning around to look at yourself. You could barely acknowledge the coincidence of covering your face with your hands like a bumbling schoolgirl.

Because that was exactly what you looked like.

You remembered washing the set a couple of times after your first and only wear, and even then, you didn’t think the skirt could shrink that little. Your ass was hanging out of the hem, offering an ample peek at the black bikini brief you had taken with you.

You came out of the bathroom, ignoring the warmth spreading through your body as you were met with Andy sitting at his side of the bed, shamelessly displaying the prominent tent bulging in his pants.

He hummed in approval before beckoning you to his lap, "Come here."

You kept your gaze on the ground as you walked over to him, standing in between his legs.

"Come here." He repeated, this time, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he tapped his knee.

You let out the softest whimper, your arms encircling his neck before straddling one of his thick thighs. He rested his hands on your hips, only to run them up and down your body, watching your face already contorting between bashfulness and desire.

“It fits you perfectly,” He purred, almost deep in thought—probably in his own fantasy, “So perfectly.”

He pulled you closer, bouncing his knee to rub against your clothed sex. Electricity coursed through your body over the not-so-innocent move, your breathing growing heavier by the second as he teased you further.

“But you haven’t answered my question yet. Did they or did they not stare at you when you wore this?”

He rendered you speechless. You were beginning to think your heart might burst out of your chest at any point.

“I’m sure they did,” A part of him wanted to be annoyed but miffed was a better way to put it. Not at you, though, he could never. You were just trying to have fun and make the most out of what life had to offer. But if he was there to see you in this the first time you had it, likely showing your wilder side, oh, he couldn’t lie and say you wouldn’t catch his eye either.

“But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore,” His hands slid past the hem, lifting it for him to drink in the sight of your curves, “It’s just you and me now.”

You dropped your head on his shoulder, hoping to stifle the moan that threatened to slip past your lips.

“Just imagine me bending you over the bed so I can get a peak of what’s mine underneath,” He sighed dreamily, smiling when your ass jiggled as he grabbed at and squeezed them, “Or should I throw you on the bed and have you on your knees?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on the way he groped your body until you jumped at the resounding crack and the sting that came with it on your left cheek.

"Does it come with thigh highs?" He asked ever so casually as if he wasn’t straining to have you just as much as you were him.

"I-It did, but… I kinda lost it."

"That's fine. I can always get you a new one," He nosed your jaw, "In fact, I'll buy you more than just a pair. Maybe match some with your panties."

You mewled, raising your head and granting him access to your neck.

“You'd do everything your favourite professor tells you to do, wouldn’t you?”

Fuck.

“Andy, I–” You nearly called him Professor Barber when the sounds of knocking on your door caused you and your husband to freeze up.

"Mom, dad,” It was Jacob, “I think Beemo's been collecting… socks under the couch?"

Like a fish out of water, your mind was too blank to respond or even acknowledge the question. Thankfully, Andy was able to do it for you, “We’ll be right there!”

The two of you waited until his footsteps receded before you were able to let out a sigh of relief. Andy, on the other hand, had the audacity to chuckle at you. There was no reason for you to worry about scarring Jacob since Andy had already locked the door.

“Very funny.” You murmured sarcastically, moving off him and loosening the tie, hoping to ignore the ache in between your legs for the time being.

“Hilarious,” He cockily added, standing up with an almost pained groan. He stood behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist, “But this isn’t over.”

You stopped.

“I meant what I said about buying you thigh highs with it. Or better yet, some fishnets because my wife’s not so innocent after all.”

Despite getting cockblocked, he was immensely satisfied to see you shiver.

‘Beemo, are you collecting underwear too?’ You heard Jacob ask the cat incredulously, only for a ‘wait!’, followed by his footsteps going down the stairs, probably chasing the feline with whoever’s briefs or undies he had in his mouth. You could only hope it wasn’t yours.

“And, that’s our cue,” His shoulders slumped, only to growl in your ear, “Wear this for me tomorrow after dinner.”

He then released you with a big smooch on your cheek, exiting the room to find his son, but not before winking at you.

Leaving you to wonder on your own if he’d throw you on the bed or have you on his lap tomorrow.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: now is a good time to say; no, I have yet to come back to the series, but I was too stoked about this event and thought 'hey, this should be the best time!'

» consider it as a mini compensation! but I do want to thank you for still sticking around, just know 'future mrs barber' is nowhere near discontinuing! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

#— reve's reverie 🌹#reve's quirky reverie 🕷#future mrs barber series #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x f!reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #chris evans #chris evans reader #chris evans x reader #defending jacob #defending jacob fic #jacob barber

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iheartyouyou · 8 months

Text

SWEETHEART | Jeremiah Fisher

Summary: After your parents file for a divorce, you’re forced to move in with your mom’s friend until the divorce is finalized. You wished you could stay with your dad and your friends, but when you meet Jeremiah Fisher, that changes. And now you’re wanting to stay in the Cousins. Too bad things don’t last forever.

Word Count: 2.0k

Part: 7

previous part series masterlist next part

Authors Note: Fun fact I made this part so long that I had to split it in half. Anyways, no spoilers but the finale of tsitp???? 😍 (Wouldn’t let me tag some people :( )

Why’d you have to be such a complete idiot?

Now everything was going to be awkward. Why didn’t you just kiss him? You barely knew the dude though, and didn’t he have a girlfriend.

You groan as another message from your friends’ group chat comes in, talking about plans for the yearly fair that happened every summer.

How do you tell them to stop talking about plans in the same group chat as you as it’s making you jealous and your life over here is going to shit.

Putting your phone on silent, you shove your phone somewhere underneath your pillows as you exit your room, walking to the bathroom.

“…to the dinner— Y/N!” Belly shouts, stopping you in your tracks as you peeked your head into her room.

She sends you a smile, mascara wand in hand. She motions to her flower crown “Susannah got us these, you don’t have to wear it but yours is on the nightstand.”

You don’t miss the way Taylor rolls her eyes, turning away so she can’t see you.

“Thanks.” You smile, grabbing the crown.

“You should get ready with us for dinner! You know who’s coming? Cam.” Belly says, turning back to the mirror so she can finish her mascara.

“Cam…?”

“Sextus.”

“Oh yeah, that guy. You guys are official?”

Belly shrugs, a blush forming on her cheeks. “We’re also going to a party later, it was Taylor’s idea. Maybe you can borrow some of her clothes so you can hookup with someone there.”

“My clothes probably wouldn’t fit her…” Taylor mumbles, putting on the flower crown as she stares at herself in the mirror.

“I have my own clothes anyway, plus I don’t really want to ‘hookup with someone’.”

Belly turns to face you, one of her eyebrows raising in confusion before it falls back down. “Oh right, you’re hooking up with Jere.”

“What?” You quickly ask, checking behind you to make sure Jeremiah (or anybody for that matter) didn’t hear that.

Belly rolls her eyes, “I totally walked in on some date thing last night.”

“We were watching movies because of a bet—“

“Yeah sure.” Belly sarcastically remarks.

The whole conversation seemed to take Taylor’s interest as she finally turned to face you. “We all know his rep, wouldn’t be surprised.” She said to Belly, even though she was staring at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, “What rep?”

“His “hooking up with everybody” rep. Don’t know a single person here he hasn’t hooked up with.” Belly jokes, finishing her mascara as she shoves it into her makeup bag.

Hooking up with everybody? So, what, you were just another name he was trying to check off the list? Is that why he tried to make a move after barely just knowing you?

“Surprised he hasn’t made a move on me.” Taylor says, putting her hands on her hips.

“Taylor.” Belly warns, rolling her eyes. “Look, Jere Bear hasn’t hooked up with anybody since you’ve got here… well I think, anyway you should be fine.”

“Oh…” You mumble, scratching your arm as your grip on the flower crown tightened.

Taylor whips out her phone, sitting on the edge of Belly’s bed as she scrolled through whatever.

“How do you like… I don’t know, know that he hasn’t hooked up with anyone.. since… y’know.” You find yourself hesitantly asking, shifting your weight onto your left foot.

Belly groans dramatically, “He always comes to me and talks about them, with WAY too many details, it’s so gross but he’s always like “what should I do? should I call them back?” She mimics him in the last part.

Jeremiah Fisher was attractive. Okay, well, he’s probably the hottest guy you’ve ever seen and probably the first and last hottie to ever show you attention. And you hated hearing about this newfound information Belly was giving you, and even if you did let Jeremiah Fisher kiss you in that pool, there will be someone better looking and you’ll just be another name crossed off the list.

Belly basically shrieks when her phone goes off, jumping up and down as she looks in between you and Taylor. “Cam’s here!”

Can someone please bury me six feet underground?

Dinner was so awkward.

Well, maybe just for you.

But you could feel the awkwardness between you and Jeremiah, he avoided looking and talking to you. It was like you weren’t even there.

And you tried to not look at him, but sometimes you kind of just had to. Like, your eyes drifted there and you wouldn’t even realize it until someone would smack the table from a joke or a loud laugh coming from somewhere around the table.

“So why don’t you eat meat, Cam?” Jeremiah asked, stuffing his food into his mouth.

“Uh, the meat industry is like the number one contribution to global warming.“ He shrugs before continuing, “And I just like animals.”

“Just don’t come for my leather jacket.” Taylor quips, a smile on her face.

So what? She was nice to everybody but you? What the hell did you do to her?

“Pretty sure you mean pleather” Steven jokes, acting offended when Taylor flips him off.

Your eyes feel heavy, you just want to eat, clean up, and go to sleep.

“Y’know, uh, Belly eats meat. So, you let her kiss you with those lips?” Jeremiah says, taking a sip of his water.

“Guys.” Belly starts, already annoyed as her face gets hotter and hotter by the second. “Stop”

Cam chuckles, “I don’t judge people for eating meat, it’s just a personal choice, I don’t care”

Jeremiah continued his questions, “So you don’t mind if her lips touch a dead animal and those dead animal lips touch your lips, right?”

Belly sends a hard kick to Jeremiah, earning a small “ow” as Belly looks over to you for help. You shrugged.

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works, Jeremiah.”

For the first time that night Jeremiah looked at you, eyes wide with amusement. “And how would you know? Have you ever kissed someone, Y/N?”

You feel your cheeks getting hot with embarrassment as you shake your head. “I have.”

He mocks a surprised face, “You just kiss certain people or…?”

“I don’t kiss wannabe playboys—“ You start, ready to get up and slap him across the face if you had to before Cam interjected.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind at all—in fact…” Cam turns, pressing his lips to Belly in a quick peck. Enough for you and Jeremiah to stop talking, as well as the rest of the table.

It was quiet for a few moments as you stared at Belly in shock before Jeremiah and Steven started making gagging noises.

“Alright, alright, Belly’s allowed to kiss.” Laurel defends her, before she points at fork at Cam. “But that’s it.” She then bursts out into laughter as if it was the funniest thing ever.

“Mom, please!” Belly groans, “You’re so not funny, no more wine for you okay?”

“I’m sorry but I just don’t understand why anybody would want to kiss somebody who once fully shat in the bathtub.” Steven grimaces, using his hands to emphasis the point.

“I was like two years old!”

“Two? You were like six!” Steven says, both him and Jeremiah laughing their asses off.

“Shut up, Steven!” Belly shouts.

And after a few more quips back and forth, you zoned out as you played with the remainder of your food. You could hear your moms laughter in the background, nice to know she’s all happy.

The last thing said was Belly announcing they were going to Nicoles party before everybody one by one left the table, cleaning up and putting their dishes away.

You were one of the first.

You managed to escape upstairs after you cleaned up, ready to take a hot shower and sleep until 1 pm before Belly the announcer, once again announced that Cam would be giving you guys a ride as Jeremiah already left.

“You mind taking a picture of us?” Taylor asks, already handing you her phone before you could respond. You clench your jaw before nodding, waiting for the two of them to pose before snapping a picture.

Tossing the phone back to Taylor, unbothered to see if she caught it or not your eyes scan the outside of the house. Cup pong was going on near the front door, music blaring from inside of the house and you could see multiple people in there from the windows.

You follow the two girls into the house, Cam following shortly behind you.

As soon as you walked in, someone was sliding down the rail of the stairs. Surprisingly no liquid falling out of the cup they were holding.

“Belly! You came!” You see Nicole come out, her arms held out wide as she engulfs Belly into a hug.

The two shared compliments before Nicole dragged Belly into another room to show everybody else her flower crown.

“I’m gonna go find a drink, what about you Y/N?” Taylor mumbles, already taking off to the living room.

Your eyebrows furrowed, following her nonetheless as a drink did sound good. Taylor was already pouring herself a drink, handing you a empty cup once you were next to her.

She lightly elbows you, motioning you to Jeremiah who was sitting close by. “There’s your boyfriend.”

You look over, seeing how close Jeremiah was to the guy across from him. He was already staring at you, making awkward eye contact before you broke it.

Grabbing the first bottle you saw, you poured it into your cup before taking a large sip of it. And damn was it strong.

By the time you looked back at Jeremiah, he was already making out with the guy.

Taylor scoffs, “Guess Belly was wrong, you could totally find a way hotter guy here. C’mon.” She takes you by the arm, dragging you into another room as she looked for a “hotter guy”

“What about that guy?” She asks, motioning to a guy who was chugging a drink.

“Uh.. no.” You shake your head, confused as to why all of the sudden Taylor was being nice to you. It was if the second Belly ditched her, you were the second best option.

“Yeah, probably not. But I mean any guy here is better than Jeremy—“ She starts, pulling your arm to pull you into another room before you stop her. “Why are you being so nice?”

“What?” She makes a sour face at you, letting you go.

“You were acting like a total bitch earlier and now you’re acting like we’re besties.” You say straight up.

She rolls her eyes, “Are you that sensitive? I’m just trying to help you find someone! Unless you wanna go hookup with Jeremiah over there.”

“Why is it always about Jeremiah?”

“Because he obviously has the hots for you, well had them because now he clearly wants nothing to do with you.” She hissed.

Oh how bad you wanted to smack this bitch so hard right across the face her flower crown would fly off.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because he wouldn’t stop mentioning you earlier, saying he would be the one to give you a ride here yet you third wheeled with me.”

You gritted your teeth, “Why do you even care? Why are you all up in my business? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Because Belly also talks about you ALL the time! Maybe if you didn’t do whatever you did and messed things up, you would be hanging out with Jeremy and leaving me and Belly alone. I’m her best friend, not you. You hardly know her, actually, you hardly know anybody in this goddamn place so why don’t you go back to wherever you came from and make everybody’s lives easier?” She stormed off before you could even answer, stomping upstairs and leaving you with your thoughts.

You looked around, seeing as a few people were staring your way. You moved around bodies as you made your way outside, itting on one of the chairs nearby.

You hate this place. Just a few more days, then you can tell Susannah you want to go home, she’ll fly you home, you can stay with your dad and never see any of these people ever again.

Taylor was just a bitch who was jealous that her friend had other friends who weren’t her.

Fuck your life.

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#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp x you #tsitp x reader #jeremiah fisher fluff #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x you #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher fanfic #tsitp imagine #belly conklin #conrad fisher #jeremiah fisher

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shawnxstyles · 1 year

Text

fireball

DATE: NOVEMBER 24, 2022

summary: the cops get called at a party you didn’t want to go to, but luckily, tom takes you to somewhere safe and sound where no one can hear you.

request: YES!!

warnings: SMUT (m- receiving [oral, deepthroating], f- receiving [hickies, hairpulling, gagging/choking, slight degrading kink], praise kink, bit of dacryphilia, and dirty talking), slight manipulation (of her innocence), alcohol, and soo much dialogue i’m sorry (not)

words: 3.7k

note: OMG YES i love this so much!! i made this into a dark tom fic?? tell me what you guys think! i kind of like dark tom... if this makes you uncomfortable, do not read.

dark/frat!tom x innocent!reader

—

You were not a fan of parties. Cliche, right? You didn’t care.

You loved group hangouts and drinking with people you trust. At parties, you don’t even know most of the people there, let alone trust them with your drunken state. Your friend, Eden, begged you to go, and you couldn’t really say no this time because you said no the last five times.

School has been riding your ass lately with pop quizzes and piles of homework. You wondered why you even decided to go to college sometimes. But a secure, steady job that you like is a decent enough reason to stay.

“I will give you a hundred dollars if you wear this,” Eden delicately takes out a strapless, purple dress that was just above the knees.

“Show me the hundred.”

“Damn it, you know I don’t have it!” She groans and hangs the dress back in the closet with not-so-much delicacy. You would’ve worn it, too, but you also wanted a hundred bucks.

“Here, I’ll wear this,” You pull up an image on your phone of an outfit you already had prepared to wear. You’re almost certain she’ll approve, but you’re going to show her anyway.

“Y/N, that’s hot as fuck! If you already had an outfit, why did you make me search for something?!” She scrunches her face in confusion.

“I thought maybe you’d find something better?”

“Oh, bull!” Eden waves you off as she closes her closet door. “I’m getting some tonight if you know what I mean, so I’m going to get ready. Did you bring your outfit? Oh, of course you did. Go get ready, you bitch.”

You laugh loudly as you walk out her bedroom door. You just love your best friend. Even when she makes you go to stupid frat parties.

—

From the outside, you probably wouldn’t even know it was a party. As long as you were five miles down the street.

The house boomed with techno-like music, and strobe lights shined throughout the large window panes. The second you walk through the door, your face contorts at the rancid mix of alcohol, weed, and sweat. No matter how many parties you’ve gone to (four), you’ll never get used to that mixture. It’s just nasty.

Eden instantly leads you two over to the kitchen where different alcohols are scattered over the counter. You see Fireball and go straight over to the bottle. Not many people like it, but that’s one of the few alcoholic drinks that’s so good, you’ll drink it at a party. You grab the bottle and grab a solo cup. As your hand touches the tower of them, a hand rests above yours. You follow the hand up the stranger’s arm and to their face.

Tom.

Tom is the “leader” of the frat, or whatever it’s called. Captain? You didn’t care for it because people put him on a pedestal for a stupid reason. What was so great about him that people praised so much? Yeah, he was attractive, but he seemed… you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“If it isn't little miss Y/N. I didn’t think you were coming tonight. What made you come?” Tom taunts as he grabs two solo cups. His eyes crinkle with a small smile. A ripped baseball cap fits perfectly backwards on his head, so that his brunette hair pokes out from the sides. “Me?”

“I just felt like going out,” You answer dryly, snatching the cup from his hands and unscrewing the bottle cap. You fight a smile just looking at his smile. It was addictingly gorgeous.

Maybe that’s what he’s so praised for.

“Fireball? You look too good to be drinking Fireball, love,” The small nickname made your heart skip a beat. His words were a bit seductive with a hint of tease. You barely caught his eyes scanning over your body with how quick he did it. You were wearing a silky black v-neck with a black leather skirt. A cheap, gold necklace dangles above your breasts, while some small hoop earrings match. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel good with your appearance, especially because you don’t go out too often anymore.

“But I want it. You worry about what you want and I’ll worry about what I want,” You nodded surely as you began to fill the cup about a fourth of the way. You wanted to drink a bit throughout the night without getting drunk. You take two sips, already feeling warmer.

“And I want you,” He says so low, you almost didn’t hear him. His words shocked you, sending electricity down your whole body. The music was so noisy and the people shouted the lyrics too loud. But he wanted you to hear him. He wanted only you to hear him.

All your movements stop and the hard bass of the speakers becomes your heartbeat. A wave of heat rushes over your skin as the tiny hairs from your body rise.

“You’re just saying that,” You deny, reaching over the liquors to grab a bottle of soda as a chaser.

“I know you want me, too–”

“How?” You question, cutting him off. He takes a step closer to you with a smirk arising on your face. Your innocence was becoming more visible to him, but you didn’t know that.

Can he really tell if you wanted him? Is that possible?

“I can see the gloss over your eyes, and I can feel the heat radiating from you. Your stomach is probably flipping so much you can’t even breathe. You’re trying to resist me, aren’t you, honey?” Tom takes a strand of hair from the front of your face and tucks it seductively behind your ear. Smoothly, his thumb runs along your jawline and gently pulls down your bottom lip. Immediate butterflies explode in your stomach from seduction overload. “Look at me. Am I wrong?”

You lift your head up slowly, eyes wide with curiosity and apparently lust. A fake, innocent expression coats his face as he slightly tilts his head. You shake your head just as slowly as before, knowing he was right. Based on what he said, you did want him. You’ve never really wanted someone the way you want him right now.

Before you could say anything else, three pounding knocks echo throughout the whole house. The music is cut and nearly everyone becomes silent and still.

“Police! Open up!” A muffled yell comes from the other side of the door. Some people scream and others mumble profanities while running all over the place. Your eyes widen in fear because you’ve never been to a party where the cops were called.

“C’mon follow me!” Tom shouts over the screams and running people. His hand laces through your fingers with a tight grip. Even though you’re scared, those butterflies flutter in your stomach again. Your thick heels weren’t very tall, so it was easy enough to move without slipping.

Tom weaves you both through the crowds strategically, going the opposite way of the wave of people. He leads you down a hallway and to a bedroom, which panics you because you don’t want to hide–you want to run away. However, when you get into the bedroom, you’re relieved to see a sliding glass door that leads into the backyard. Tom stops for a moment and snatches something off of the long dresser alongside the wall. Then you both rush through the door quickly, closing it before Tom drags you away again.

He opens the wooden fence door, pulling you through before shutting it and bringing you around the corner. Now, you were technically in the front yard, but the side of the frat house covers you. He holds you steady against the fence, your heart racing with many reasons but anticipation feels the strongest. This close you could smell his cologne and it’s delightful; something woodsy yet sensual. You spot a black car behind his shoulder and pray that’s where he’s taking you.

“Do you see that car? We’re going there. But the front door is right over there. That’s where the cops are. I’ve done this before, but I’m sure you haven’t. Once the cops break down the door and go inside, we’re running to the car. Okay?” Tom tries to explain as slowly and relaxed as possible because he’s scared for you. He doesn’t want you to be afraid and he wants you to trust him. All you do is nod. He grabs your hand again, but with less intensity, and more delicacy. He brings it up to his lips and kisses your knuckles softly. “Still with me?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you fight the urge to a huge smile, but you somehow nod in response. You look away nervously, as your fear begins to die down. He sees this and smirks, glad he is able to distract you from the cops. To Tom, this scene is not that big of a deal because he usually runs away by himself. But you were standing there, so innocent, so susceptible, that he could never leave you alone.

The signal of the door breaking down alerts both of your ears and you look up at Tom again in urgency. He tightly grips your hand again, hopefully not hurting you, and drags you as quickly as possible to the black car across the street. Yanking the keys from his pocket, he clicks the unlock button and swiftly opens the door for you.

“Oh, what a gentleman,” You giggle, but shut the door urgently. He jogs around to the driver’s side and immediately starts the engine.

“Only for you, love,” He winks as he drives away into the night. You don’t even ask where he’s taking you, automatically trusting him.

—

Your mind was racing. You couldn’t stop thinking about Tom and what he told you. You wanted him, and you wanted him bad. You… needed him. But how do you bring it up again? Can you just tell him?

You’ll try that.

“Tom?” Your soft voice fills the no longer silent air. His thumb rubs gentle circles over your thigh, giving you that flipping feeling in your stomach again. You instinctively close your legs, trapping his hand. Your heat pounds with need, but you mistaken it for pain. He opens them again and continues to rub the soft skin of your thigh nonchalantly.

“Yes, doll?” His voice is deep and knowing, but you’re oblivious. A shy smirk peeks on his lips.

“I have that feeling again.”

“What feeling? Describe it to me,” Tom’s fingers inch slowly closer to your privates, making you inhale and slightly hold your breath. You try to remember exactly how he described it, so you could put it into words.

“I have that flipping stomach feeling, and I feel kind of hot. But it’s more intense… and it hurts,” You mumble under your breath out of embarrassment.

God, how are you even talking to him right now?

“What hurts, honey?” Tom questions innocently, keeping his eyes steadily on the road.

“My…privates,” You look down shamefully, while closing your legs again. Tom hums and you can hear his smirk.

“Do you…want me to get rid of that feeling?” He asks as if he’s just as oblivious as you. Your eyes sparkle and turn to look at him hopefully.

“Yes! Please, please, please!” You plead as Tom pulls into a driveway. You don’t even question it, even though you know he lives at the frat house. But you don’t pay any mind to that because the pain between your legs is becoming even stronger now.

“Alright, alright, I got you,” He laughs, turning off the engine. It’s pitch black outside apart from a single streetlight in the distance. The houses beside Tom’s were asleep, you assumed. It was probably pretty late, but you had lost your phone somewhere along the way, most likely when running.

—

Tom leads you through an empty house and into a bedroom. It’s dark throughout the whole place, only spots of moonlight peek through the curtains.

“Is this yours?” You had to ask, hands waving around in the air. You didn’t think Tom would bring you to some random home that wasn’t his. You didn’t want to trespass.

“Technically, yes. It’s mine as well as my parents’ second home,” You purse your lips at the new information. You had always assumed he had come from money.

The bedroom left you entranced in the way it was mysterious. Tom’s dark silhouette caused you to ache more than before. He turned around, staring at your helpless, desperate expression.

“I will help you, but,” Tom starts as you take a seat on the edge of the soft, white bed.

“I’ll do anything, please,” You beg pathetically, crossing your legs to decrease the consistent throbbing.

“Anything? Well, let me finish,” He takes a step toward you, making you look up into his eyes. He towers over you, showing full dominance. Your chest raises up and down with the tension. “You have to be a good girl.”

“I am,” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you peer up at him with a pouty face.

“You will be once you listen to me,” He pets the top of her head while you nod in agreement, still slightly confused. “Now, get on your knees.”

You don’t hesitate to obey Tom because you’re really desperate. The carpet is rough and scratchy, but you don’t say anything. He takes your hands and delicately places them on his belt buckle

“Take my belt off,” You nod again as you slowly begin to do so. “Now, my jeans.”

You want to complain so badly because of how slow this is going. But you want to be a good girl for Tom, so you keep your mouth closed and listen. You’re eye to eye with his boxers and without waiting for him to speak, you lower them down. Tom hums in satisfaction and runs a smooth hand through your hair. You inhale at the small touch, impatient.

“You’re so…big,” You note, eyes doe-y and wide. Tom stiffly laughs once with his mouth closed.

“Is that an issue? I thought you were a good girl?” He asks condescendingly, fingers brushing your jawline. The contrast of his rough fingertips ignite flames along your velvety skin. Your eyebrows pinch together in determination because you will be a good girl. Even if he is scarily big.

“Now what?” You gaze up at Tom through your eyelashes, innocence cascaded across your face along with a sense of challenge.

His cock sits big and stiff right in front of you, pre-cum leaking from the rosy tip. Out of instinct, you take your thumb to wipe it away, but more leaks out. You keep rubbing back and forth, trying to get the liquid to go away. Tom sighs from above you, gripping your hair tightly in a fist to halt you. You gasp and look at him again.

“Put your mouth on me, doll. But no teeth. Do you understand?” His intense hold on your hair lets you know he’s serious, so you nod again. “Words.”

“Yes, I understand,” You speak, before licking your lips and opening your mouth. The bit of liquid coats your tongue as you put his cock inside of your mouth. You get a little more than halfway before it’s touching the back of your throat. You instantly gag, wanting to spit. However, your tongue starts exploring, running along the sides and rubbing under it, which distracts you.

Tom groans, making you proud for some reason. Without a warning, Tom starts moving in and out.

“Breathe through your nose– fuck,” Tom’s voice is gravelly and rough when he moans deeply. His grip on your hair controls your head movements, so you’re forced to have his cock in your mouth the whole time. You grasp his thick thighs for support and dig your nails into his skin aggressively. You can feel his muscles tightening with immense strength. You moan on him, sending a warm feeling throughout Tom’s body.

“You like my muscles, baby? Yeah?” You hum against his cock because yes, you like his muscles. You never really cared for them on anyone else. However, you’ve always thought they were so attractive on him. When you’d see him waltzing around campus with his tight workout shirts, you always took a double-take. “Tell me how much you like them.”

His cock slips out from your mouth, coated in salvia. You gasp large breaths throughout your mouth, so you can answer him.

“I’ve always liked your arms. But I’ve always wanted to touch your stomach…” You shyly admit, looking down breathlessly. You stare back up at him with small courage. “I love when you wear your workout shirts around school because I can see how strong you are.”

Tom’s ego flies through the roof and his heart pounds heavily in his chest. The fact that you’ve noticed him around campus makes his stomach flip. He simply hums as his thumb on your jaw guides toward your bottom lip, pulling it down to open your mouth. You obey, widening as he slowly slots his cock back into your mouth like it was made to be there.

You take a deep breath as he begins moving in and out. His pace speeds up and your face gets all tingly. The carpet burns your knees, eventually numbing them.

Saliva spills on your chin and down to your chest. You can’t help but gag every time his tip tickles the back of your mouth. With every thrust, you swear he gets lower down your throat. Your jaw begins to burn and your throat begins to ache. Tears form at the brim of your eyes before they slowly fall on your cheeks.

“Choke on it, just like that. You like this, don’t you?” Tom asks while more tears stream from your face. Although you’re crying, you love it because it makes you a good girl. Pleasing Tom makes you get butterflies.

The throbbing between your legs gets more intense with every thrust and gag. You helplessly close your legs like you had in the car. Tom notices.

“Of course you do, you’re filthy. Just like me,” Tom degrades, whispering the last past, so you couldn’t hear him. Tom’s cock fits perfectly snug in your mouth; coated by your warmth. The tickles and subtle rubs of your tongue make him throw his head back in awe. Your private throbs again, pleading to be helped.

“Do you like when I talk dirty? Do you?” You muffle a moan on his cock, sending vibrations through him. He groans loudly. Your head feels light and your vision seems fuzzy. You assumed if you did this too long, you would pass out. His chiseled stomach peeks beneath his button up, tense as his orgasm nears.

But of course, you’re oblivious to the fact that he is going to come soon.

“You want to be a good girl, right?” You look at him as best as you can while attempting to nod. You gag again, nearly spitting him out. He continues to ram into your mouth as you drool everywhere. “Then take it.”

More tears spill onto your cheeks. You learn it’s hard to breathe solely out of your nose, and moving your head backwards only slims the opening of your throat.

His pace is rough and quick, making you see stars. His stomach tenses again as he groans a variety of profanities above you.

“Fuck!” Tom yells as he yanks himself out of your mouth. Suddenly, come spurts out from his cock, coating your chin and chest beautifully. Specks of white splattered on your shirt, looking like the stars in the night sky.

Tom strokes himself until he’s breathing steady, mind still blown from you. Somehow, teaching you how to deepthroat rather than you being skilled at it turned him on more than ever. He tugs up his boxers and jeans, not caring about the mess of saliva on him.

“Stay right here, baby.”

You stay kneeled, drenched in his white liquid. Tom exits the room and comes back with a towel and a blanket. He slowly wipes the liquid away with the towel until you’re all clean. A throb still pounds between your legs and you wonder if you’ve been good enough for him to fix it.

“Tom?” Your throat is sore, so your voice comes out squeaky and breaking. Tom’s eyes follow you as you gracefully stand from the kneeling position, knees burning. “Was I a good girl?”

Tom, nearly getting hard again, smiles at your innocence and caresses your cheek lovingly.

“The best,” He says, and your eyes light up in praise. “You’re my good girl.”

A toothy smile widens on your lips before Tom delicately kisses you. The room was so dark and eerie, but the kiss felt like a rainbow and a thousand butterflies. His skillful lips kiss you mesmerizingly, while his fingers brush over your warm cheeks.

The kiss was soft and tender, completely opposite from his previous actions. A heartbeat continued to pulse between your legs the more and more he touched you. With some self-control, you slowly pushed him off of you. You just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Tom,” You whisper groggily. “It still hurts.”

He smiles devilishly, licking his bottom lip.

“Good girls ask nicely,” He raises his eyebrows as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears.

“Please, please help me, Tom. I need you,” You beg breathily, feeling floaty. Tom smirks, satisfied with your plea. He guides your body toward the bed, laying you down delicately. You melt into the mattress’s comforter as Tom crawls over you.

“Anything for my good girl,” Tom hums as he hovers above your relentless body, trembling slightly with anticipation. His hum follows through the trails of kisses and love bites he discards along your neck. You moan out with each touch of his hands and lips.

“Now what,” You whimper out, wondering what he’s going to do next. You mentally pray he’s going to mend the pain.

“Now, baby, it’s all about you.”

—

thank you for the request ;) i hope you liked it!

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #dark!tom holland #tom holland x reader #smut

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nattinatalia · 1 year

Text

Jack Harlow x Reader : LIKE DADDY

“Baby, have you seen my chain?”

You walk into your shared closet and see your husband going through the jewelry cabinet. “Which one?”

“The one you gave me for our anniversary.” He bends down to look at another box. “I’m sure I placed it on the nightstand, but it’s not there and I can’t find it here.”

“Hmm, you probably misplaced it somewhere else. At the studio maybe?”

He groans “No I came home with it last night.”

You shrug, “I’ll help look downstairs, let me just check if the kids need anything.”

You walk out the door and towards the Children's room. You see your daughter Mia playing with her Fujifilm Instax camera her godfather gifted her for Christmas.

“No Ezequiel, you need to pose like daddy so you actually look like twins.” Mia tells him, her voice sounding like she's irritated.

“But mama said that’s not nice.”

“Mama is not here, you baby.”

“Mama is here young lady, what are you making your brother do?” You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows to look at her.

Mia looks like she just got caught doing a crime, but the thing is, she has the same sneaky smirk her father does when he gets caught doing something he’s not supposed to.

“He wanted to look like daddy.”

“Okay, and what was the not nice thing he had to do?”

Mia shakes her head.

You turn to look at your son. “Ezequiel?”

He was about to answer but Mia cut him off. “Fine, fine, I come clean. He was supposed to do the naughty fingers and hold his chain.” She shrugs.

“You know better than that Mia, no naughty fingers- wait, What chain?”

“He has daddy’s chain.”

You stand up straight and head towards your son. “Oh your dad is throwing a fit, he thought he lost it.” You pick up Ezequiel and have him in your arms. “Let’s go show daddy.”

“Can I come?” Mia asks.

You nod, “Of course baby, come on.” You hold out your hand so she can put hers in with you, and you three make it back upstairs.

“Babe.”

You hear noises from the bedroom, things being thrown all around.

“He’s mad mama?” Mia asks.

“No, he just really loves this chain.” You walk into your shared bedroom and see the bed is unmade, the side dressers are wide open.

“Jack.”

“What?” He’s on the floor looking under the bed. “Yeah sorry, what happened?” He says looking up and seeing you and the kids there, so he stands up and smiles.

“Daddy you made a big mess.” Mia says, looking around the room.

“Yeah, I’ll clean it up in a bit.”

“So I found your chain.” You tell him smiling.

“Fu-I mean duck yes, where was it?”

You walk up to him and hand him Ezequiel. “Your little twin.”

Jack looks down at EZ and smiles. “I should’ve asked him first huh?” You just smile.

“Daddy, Mia took pictures of me with your chain, we twins.”

“I bet she did an amazing job, I can’t wait to see them.” He looks at Mia and winks. “And you definitely are my twin little man.”

Ezequiel smiles at that.

“Now why don’t you all go downstairs, get some snacks ready and pick a movie to watch, while I clean up here?”

“Yes movie please.”

“I want Little Rascals.”

“I’ll help you bubs.” You say and start picking up.

“No, it’s okay, I need to make a call real quick anyway. You go downstairs with the kids, I got this.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

Jack nods, so you and the kids make it downstairs and fix up some snacks and look for a new movie to watch.

******

A few hours and some movies later, the doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting anyone?” You ask your husband.

He nods, “Actually, yes. But it’s just a drop off.” He says and gets up from the couch and heads towards the door.

“Who is it momma?” Mia asks.

“I don’t know bug, it's probably daddy’s work.”

Mia groans, “It’s our weekend. No work duties.”

“It’s not work baby, I promise.” Jack says as he comes back into the living room and sits down next to Ezequiel.

You look at the velvet box and raise your eyebrows. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Jack smirks, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jackman, he doesn’t need it.”

He shrugs, “Only when we’re home.”

You’re smiling at that. “Go on then, he’ll love it.”

“Mia, pass this to your mama please.” Jack hands her a box.

“Oh, for me?” You ask him, smiling.

“Mia, this is for you.” He hands her a smaller box. “And this one's for you Ez.” He hands him a box.

The three of you open the box and see there’s a matching chain with the one you had gifted Jack for your anniversary.

“Oh pretty.”

“Daddy we matching now, yay. Thank you.”

“Anything for you little man.” Jack tells him and helps him put it on.

Ezequiel immediately gets up from the couch and heads your way. “Look mama, I’m just like daddy.”

You smile, “Yeah you are buddy, twins for life.”

•••••••••

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#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x yn #jack harlow x y/n #jackman thomas harlow #come home the kids miss you #jack harlow fanfic #baby harlow #alize mia harlow #ez harlow

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batneko · 10 months

Text

Knight and Lord AU

based on my second idea from this post, here is a short fic about what happens after the first time Bowser saves King Luigi’s life.

The gouge on the breastplate was at least two hands wide, cutting across where Bowser’s left pectoral would have sat while he was wearing it. Right now he was unclothed except for the spiked bands around his neck and wrists that he favored, and Luigi couldn't see so much as a scratch on the natural plating that covered his chest.

"You need something?" Bowser said. He'd turned away from the armor stand when Luigi came in, but hadn't moved to greet him. For anyone else this would be almost unfathomably rude, but it was part of the package with Bowser. If he started being formal now it would feel unnatural.

"I just…" His eyes drifted to the armor again. “I wanted to…” The gash was thicker than Bowser's fingers, he'd been sticking a claw through it when Luigi walked in.

"No?" Bowser said. "Hey, how do I get a new one of this?"

"Oh, um, I'll talk to the armorer."

The knight contingent had a supply sergeant who should be in charge of all this, but he hadn't exactly been enthusiastic about fitting Bowser the first time. Luigi had needed to give a direct order to get Bowser's armor ready in time for his knighting - and even then the smith toad had refused to put him ahead of anyone else and worked all night to finish the other repairs instead.

It wasn’t a surprise that the other knights didn’t welcome Bowser immediately, but Luigi knew not being surprised by something didn’t mean you weren’t still disappointed by it.

“Good,” he said. “Now if that’s all, I’m off the clock.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Luigi blurted.

Bowser gave him a side-eye. “You already did. Like, six times.”

“I know, but, I mean it.”

“You didn’t before?”

“That’s not what I…” Luigi took a breath. It was hard to remember his elocution lessons when he was rattled, and today had definitely rattled him. Rattled both of them, probably, though Bowser would never show it. “Thank you, I appreciate what you did. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yeah,” Bowser muttered. He didn’t sound proud of that, for some reason. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming.”

“But,” Luigi said.

“There it is.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Bowser said, almost automatically. Then he frowned, slightly, and his head tilted to look Luigi in the eyes. “You know that, don’t you? You said-”

“I know, I meant it, I won’t hold you to your vows. It’s just that the attack today-”

“I knew I could survive that.”

“I’m the one who begged you to take this job, so if something happened to you-”

“You think I’d take a battleaxe to the chest for you?”

“-it would be my fault and I don’t think I-”

“I have a son!”

They both stopped, staring at each other, and Luigi felt his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t remember how he’d been about to finish that sentence. He couldn’t even remember how he started it.

“I… did not know that,” Luigi said at last.

Bowser folded his arms and turned away, head pointed resolutely at the wall. “Didn’t tell you.”

“What… what’s his name?”

“Bowser Jr.”

“Oh. That’s nice?” It would be easy to remember at least.

“Yeah. It is,” Bowser said firmly.

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be seven in two months,” Bowser said, his mouth softening into a smile. Luigi hadn’t been sure he could smile, unless he was mocking someone, or gloating, or mocking someone while gloating.

Bowser was living here in the knights’ quarters with all the others. If he had such a young son, then…

“Are he and his mother living somewhere else?”

Bowser snorted. “That’s technically true. His mom’s not around, though.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“She’s not dead, she just doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Oh, then I’m really sorry.”

Bowser laughed, mocking again. “More sorry than if she was dead?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

The smile was still mocking, but it was better than the frown, or that thoughtful way he’d been looking at his armor…

“So, yeah,” Bowser said. “Your life is not more important to me than making sure my son still has a father.” He shrugged. “No offense, your majesty.”

He still said it like an insult, when he said it at all. Anything else would feel unnatural.

“Good,” Luigi said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. We’re both in agreement here.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so Luigi shifted his weight back, preparing to make his goodbyes and leave Bowser to get some rest.

“Hey, what you said earlier,” Bowser said. One hand lifted, almost reaching toward Luigi to stop him.

“Which part?”

“About how you apparently think that if I die on the job my blood will be on your hands?”

Luigi hadn’t thought he was listening. “I didn’t say it like that.”

“It’s what you meant, though.”

It was, more or less. “Am I wrong?” Luigi muttered. “You’re only here because of me.”

“I’m here because I chose to be. Every day I choose to stay, and believe me, when I get tired of it you’ll never see me again. So stop beating yourself up.”

Luigi looked up at him. Was Bowser… trying to make him feel better?

“You’re not that important to me,” Bowser added.

Maybe. In his own way.

But it almost didn’t matter, because Luigi hadn’t been honest. Yes, he felt responsible for putting Bowser in danger, but Bowser had been doing a lot more dangerous things before Luigi came along. And yes, he would feel guilty if Bowser got hurt in the line of duty, especially now that he knew about Bowser’s son, but that wasn’t the real reason he was so shaken.

Mario had been missing (Luigi refused to even entertain the thought he might be dead) for months, they lost their mother when they were kids, and their father the king a few years back.

If Luigi lost one more person he cared about he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to snap.

“Thank you, Sir Bowser,” Luigi said. “For… everything.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bowser said. He sounded unconcerned, but Luigi knew he wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t mean it. He could have let Luigi walk away, could have let Luigi’s admission slip by without comment.

“Goodnight, then.”

Bowser grunted in acknowledgement, then said, “You’re gonna talk to the armorer, right?”

“I will,” Luigi said.

That got him eye contact and a nod, so Luigi decided to leave before he said something he shouldn’t. Like how much he enjoyed Bowser’s company, or how valuable his advice was to him, or how when he saw that axe hit Bowser’s chest he was pretty sure his heart stopped…

Luigi almost tripped over a toad right outside the door, the small knight carrying a pile of chainmail that was taller than his head. He didn’t bow since he couldn’t see Luigi, which made a nice change, and Luigi was about to walk away when he heard the knight knock on Bowser’s door.

Didn’t the other knights mostly ignore Bowser? What was he doing? Luigi hung back and listened.

“Did you forget your-” Bowser sounded amused as he opened the door, but stopped once he saw it wasn’t Luigi coming back. “Oh. Uh.”

“Good evening Sir Bowser!” The chainmail jingled as the toad held it up. “The supply sergeant put this together as fast as he could. If you layer it over leather it should still protect you from just about anything.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“Your new breastplate will take a few days, but the smith said to tell you he’ll make sure you have a spare this time.”

“Oh… kay. Great.”

“I heard what you did today was amazing!” the toad said eagerly. “Was it really a battleaxe?”

“Yeah,” Bowser said. Then, “Yeah,” again, some of the braggadocio coming back to his voice. That’s what had been missing earlier. “Wanna see the damage?”

“Can I?” the toad said eagerly, then the hinges creaked and Luigi heard the door shut.

The armorer had gotten to work on Bowser’s replacement without being asked, the supply sergeant had made sure Bowser would be protected in the meantime, and random knights were praising Bowser’s bravery. It sounded like he was finally part of the team.

Whether he liked it or not.

#bowuigi #luigi #bowser #super mario bros #bowser x luigi #bowluigi #bowigi #luwser #green shell #batfics #knight and lord au #sir bowser au

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mattalit · 10 months

Text

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (here!)

It had begun to feel like everyday was the same. Another mission, another sore body, and another dreary day. When does it ever stop repeating? (M/N) thought, throwing his hands up in a painful stretch.

“Sore?” asked a deep voice.

“Always sore,” (M/N) responded, rolling his left shoulder. His left shoulder had always been weaker, and apparently—(M/N) could hardly believe it—slamming it into buildings made it weaker, more painful. “Everyday we wake up, risk our lives, then come back. When was the last time you’ve had a day off? A true day off?” He paused for a moment. “It’s either work or recovery.”

Ghost didn’t respond right away. “It’s part of the job, sergeant.”

“I suppose so.”

“We do it to protect people.”

“I know, it’s just…” (M/N) sighed. “…Sometimes I wonder if that’s completely true.” (M/N) looked over to Simon. He couldn’t read his face (That’s the problem with a mask, isn’t it?). “Not that I’m getting cold feet, Lieutenant. I’m only tired.” When Ghost didn’t respond, he wondered if he had said something wrong, and he began to pace nervously. “Not… not tired of the job, of course, but… tired from the job, and… and tired from myself.”

“From?”

“Yeah.” He stopped walking, and his shoulders (still sore) and head dropped in defeat. “From,” he mumbled to the floor. He hardly noticed when Ghost placed his arm across his shoulder and pulled him into a mock side hug. (M/N) leaned his body into his chest and checked his watch. Oh right, he thought. I never replaced it.

“When will you ever get that old thing fixed?” Ghost asked. “I’ve never seen that piece of shit work.”

(M/N) smiled, but he knew Ghost couldn’t see his face. “The next day I get a break, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” came the response. He could feel the sound reverberate in Ghost’s chest echoing like a gunshot in an empty room. His heart must be in there somewhere, he thought, but he couldn’t hear the beat.

He straightened up immediately when Ghost removed his arm, and he looked up at his masked face. Everyday is Halloween, he thought stepping back.

“I got you something,” Ghost said, reaching into his pocket.

(M/N) tilted his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Ghost didn’t say anything. Instead, he presented the man with a plain box. If that’s a ring, he thought, he better be ready to sign a prenup.

“Open it.”

(M/N) accepted the box. It was larger than a ring (Thank God) and heavier, too. Tentatively, he pulled the box open. Inside sat a glorious piece of carved metal. Two hands, numbers… a working watch. Unlike his rickety old gold watch, this one was shiny and silver. It ticked much the same as the one on his wrist was supposed to. The face was simple: white with black numbers in Roman Numerals. I, II, III, IV… all the way to XII.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking up to Ghost. “Is this really for me?”

He only received a nod in response.

“I love it,” he said. He took off his gold and replaced it with silver. The perfect fit. He admired how it hugged his wrist. And it worked. He could hardly explain why he wore his broken watch for so long. But this… this watch ticked. It was a proper watch—a proper clock, in fact. He paused, then looked up to Ghost and added, “And I love you.”

#simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley x male reader #ghost x male reader #mw2 x male reader #x male reader #modern warfare 2 x male reader

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 11 months

Text

i'm outta my head over you Pt. 7

prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | AO3 | playlist

this is the last chap of my steddie week fic!! i have a little blurb i may do for tomorrow's open ended prompt, but for now, here's the last @steddie-week prompt: misunderstandings

Robin stops him as they’re herding the gremlins into their respective vehicles. You’d think that after nearly five hours of spending the four barely adults’ money would be enough time at the arcade. But no. They’re all fighting them on leaving. As if they all won’t be asleep by the time they get home.

“Once you get it done, you may want to get up early.”

“Uh..what?”

“Steve always goes for a run at like ass o’clock in the morning.” she’s speaking low and fast to try and not draw attention to them, but their normal level of volume with one another is normally 100 times louder than this, so she’s really doing the exact opposite. “If you get up early enough, you can leave it for him while he’s gone.”

“Okayokay, I got it! Now stop making this weird.”

She looks around to find Steve already staring at the two of them questioningly.

“Oh shit… OKAY, YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR DATE EDDIE.” she practically yells.

“What the hell, Robin? I don’t have a date!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’ll be great!” she’s walking away already, shrugging like even she doesn’t know why the fuck she said that. “Call me when you’re home!”

Eddie smacks his palm against his forehead and turns to his van, not even daring to look at Steve again.

He finally does dare once he’s in his van and has started moving, giving Steve a ‘nothing wrong or weird here’ wave as he pulls away.

The expression on Steve’s face is indiscernible. Somewhere stuck between totally blank, and the most devastated look he’s ever seen.

Damnit, Robin.

He only ended up with Max in his van on the way back, so when they get back, he helps her inside, and resigns himself to staying up all night to finish the tape.

He pulls in next to Wayne’s truck at the same time his uncle is coming out the front door, a dufflebag in hand.

“You off to work early old man?” and he asks as he gets out of his van, it’s only about 9 PM now and his uncle doesn’t usually go in until near midnight.

“Yep, gettin’ some dinner with the fellas before we head in. Gotta leave shift early to go visit yer aunt.”

Ah. “That time of year is it?”

“Yep, I’ll see ya tomorrow evenin’, son. Don’t be getting into any trouble, y’hear?”

Eddie just shrugs. “You know me.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Wayne says with a crinkly smirk.

He gives his uncle a short hug, and Wayne kisses the top of his head with another ‘be safe’.

Then, because he’s agonizing about it, Eddie spends the next couple hours cleaning the trailer instead of picking the last two songs that will go on his side (listening to said tape while he does).

He’s still got some ideas from before, but only a couple good ones..and not all of them will fit in the time he’s estimated is left on the B side.

It isn’t until he gets to Be My Baby on his second listen through that he knows which one he’s going to add next.

After he’s got that one figured out and recorded, there definitely isn’t enough room left for the rest of the picks, so he adds the one he thinks says the most about how he feels about Steve, the one that says everything he needs to say.

-----

“Robin did say ‘ass o’clock’,” Eddie says to himself, glancing at the clock in his dashboard.

5:13. Yeah, that sounds right.

Eddie lets out a huge cracking yawn. Okay, he’s definitely gonna crash once he gets back to the trailer. He was so wired after finally finishing the tape, he couldn’t sleep even though he wanted to.

He makes it to Steve's street and parks up the road a bit (not wanting the rattle of his van to alert Steve to his presence if he hadn’t left yet), and walks the last leg. The tape in his pocket feels like it weighs a million pounds.

When he finally rounds the bushes at the front edge of Steve’s yard, Eddie feels every cell in his body seize up at once.

Nancy’s car is in the driveway.

What the–

Suddenly, the front door opens. He dives back behind the bushes, peeking through the leaves. You know, like a sane person?

Why the fuck is Nancy leaving Steve's house so early

Why is Steve only wearing those tiny fuckin’ shorts?

Oh no..

Oh shit.

There’s only one fucking reason

This is all wrong! Nancy knows he has feelings for Steve, was that not what that was at the arcade?

She’s with Robin, she didn’t refute it.

Oh fuck, he’s gonna have to tell Robin.

Eddie debates making himself known, let himself barrel over whatever awkwardness may arise, but he’s still got his heart in his pocket, addressed to Steve.. What’s he supposed to do with that then?

“Oh hey Steve, didn’t see you there! Just came by to drop off your very personal property that your best friend stole for me to defile! Nancy? Oh hey, you’re here! What’s up with tha–”

He’s startled out of his thoughts when the door of Nancy's station wagon shuts, the engine turning over.

She pulls out, thankfully heading away from where he’s hidden.

Eddie watches until she’s out of sight, then jumps again when he hears Steve’s front door close.

Steve does a few hops in place from foot to foot on his front stoop (still shirtless), and starts off on his run the same way Nancy had gone. Had he been able to see shirtless, sweaty Steve whenever he wanted?? He just goes for runs like this every day? Why had no one told him??

‘Oh fuckin’ hell, shut up, shutup!!’ He yells at himself.

Now what?

Eddie sits in the grass in Steve Harrington’s front yard and stares at the back of his mailbox.

Does he still leave the tape? Of course he should, it is Steve’s tape afterall.

But what about the songs? Steve’s not gonna want his bullshit now…

He could go back to his van and re-write the note then come back and leave it. No, he wouldn’t have time now, Steve’s athletic, yeah, but Eddie’s been frozen in his front yard for a while now. He’d be back soon.

Fuck it.

He’ll drop the tape on the front step, go back home and pack up his shit. Yeah. Good a time as any to get the fuck outta here.

Confessing your feelings to one of your closest friends who very obviously just got back together with his ex not even ten hours after you’d seen him and were very obviously flirting with each other?

Yeah. Not ideal.

Does he have the funds to get the fuck outta here? No. But he’s got enough for gas and he’s got a van. He’ll just load his mattress into the back and be gone before the rest of the town fully wakes up.

Good plan, Eddie’s brain. Thank you, rest of Eddie.

-------

Steve slows to a jog once he can see his house, cooling down from his run on the last little bit of his road, and stopping in his driveway to do some stretches back to the door.

He’s sinking down into his last lunge when he sees the little square of…something…sitting on the front step.

“The hell?”

He stoops down and picks it up, turns it over. There’s a piece of lined paper rubber banded around it.

Peeling off the band, Steve steps inside and unfolds the letter, leaning back on the now closed front door to read

“...oh no…” Steve looks down at the case in his hand. Now he sees why the rubberband was necessary, there’s another folded wad of papers shoved into the cassette’s case, now popped open without the band holding it together.

His heart, previously calmed down from his run, now beat wildly in his chest as he unfurls the short stack of paper.

He reads the first line, ‘8. I Was Made For Lovin’ You...’

“Holy shit.”

Steve books it up the stairs, he’s gotta get showered, he’s gotta get changed, he’s got one more song to add to the tape.

-------

Eddie’s just finished packing up his clothes when his alarm clock radio goes off, the 7am alarm still set for when he has to get up for school.

“...still don’t believe it, he was just leaving OH there must be some misunderstanding! There must be some kind of mistake…” blasts through the tinny speakers.

Nopenopenope, not dealing with that right now.

He slaps the clock around until it finally shuts off its maniacal teasing, and goes back to packing (and blinking away some wayward tears).

He’s just dropped the second bag of clothes and his sweetheart in her case by the front door and is contemplating if his mattress would actually fit in the back of his van, when there’s a knock on the door.

Eddie’s gut freezes mid-flip.

Oh no. Please n–

“Eddie, are you there? It’s Steve. Can I come in?”

‘Don’t move. Don’t make a single sound. Maybe he’ll think you’re not home and just leave.’

“C’mon man, I know you’re in there. You’re van’s out here.”

“Shit.”

Eddie trudges his way to the front door and opens it.

Even with floppy, just-washed, hair and an inside-out polo, Steve’s still the most beautiful person in existence.

“What do you want, Steve?” Wow. Even he’s surprised at how morose he sounds.

“I uh, I got your tape..my tape? I got your note. I added one more song and I thought, maybe, I could–” Steve looks down. “Are you..” his voice pitches high so he clears it. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Mhm.” Eddie can’t look him in the eye. He stares at the porch.

“Where are you–”

“Just going, ‘kay Steve? No need to worry about me being around anymore.” Eddie practically spits, still not looking up at his friend.

“Eddie, what are you–” he cuts himself off, his voice going soft. “Did you not mean what you said?”

That makes Eddie look up at him. Steve’s gaze is now cast downwards, staring blankly at Eddie’s packed bags.

“...I meant every word. Every song, Steve. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” he’s truly mad now, who does he think he is, trying to act all glum like he wasn’t the one betraying his best friend.

“B-betraying my best–Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

Damn! He said that out loud.

“Just go away, Steve. I won’t tell Robin, but you definitely should.” Eddie moves to close the front door and turns back towards his room. He doesn’t hear it close, but he hears the creak of the floor when Steve follows him in.

Of. Course.

“Tell Robin what, Eddie? I already told her how I felt about you, that’s why she stole you the tape in the first plac–”

“Not that! You–” Eddie clenches his fists at his sides and spins back to face Steve. “That you hooked up with her girlfriend last night.” Steve’s face pales and Eddie continues on. “Yeah. I came by to drop off your tape; Robin thought I could leave it there when you left for your run. But lo and behold, what do I see when I come by? Nancy Wheeler’s car in your driveway at ass o’clock in the morning.

“Now, I may be a third time senior, but even I know what the fuck that means. Especially when, not long after I’ve gotten there, the Lady Wheeler herself waltzes out the door with Tiny Shorts McGee following her like a lost puppy.” he gestures at Steve, who’s still frozen in place by the door.

“So yeah, you can just burn those notes for all I care, I don’t even know why I still left it. Whatever. I’m leaving today anyway so you don’t need to worry about me pining hopelessly after you, ‘kay?”

Eddie’s chest is heaving, his eyes are burning with unshed tears, and Steve…starts laughing.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” There are tears spilling freely out of his eyes now. “You’re really good y’know, had everyone fooled. Even me! King Steve is alive and well, everyone!” Eddie spreads his hands wide and yells to no one.” I can’t believe you got me to fall for your good guy schtick. Get the fuck outta my house, Harrington.” Eddie points to the door, stalking forward.

“Eddie! Eddie, wait, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.” Steve puts his hands out and Eddie stops, crossing his arms and glaring. “Eddie, please, Nancy was only dropping something off for me.”

“Yeah righ–”

“She was! She came by that early because she’s driving to an interview this morning at a paper in Indy. She knew I’d be up for my run anyway, so she stopped to give me the revisions she made to my–you know what, hold on. I’m calling Robin.”

“Steve, I told you to get the fuck out of my house, not go further into it.”

Steve ignores him and goes to the phone, giving Eddie as wide of a berth as he can while he passes. He picks it up and dials.

“I’m not fucking kidding, Harrington, get the fuck out of here–” Eddie’s anger is multiplied tenfold when Steve holds out a finger to shush him.

“Hi Mr. Buckley, this is Steve. I’m sorry to call so early, but can I please speak to Robin? There was a last minute change to our schedule…thank you.’

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from his customer service expression, to an admittedly frightening pissed off smile when Robin apparently gets on the line.

“Hey Robin! I found my Eddie tape! It’s the funniest thing, I came back from my run and it was sitting on my doorstep.”

Eddie can hear the muffled sound of Robin’s voice coming through the earpiece.

“I know, isn’t that crazy?” Damn, Steve’s passive aggressive voice is…something else. “He must’ve dropped it off while I was gone..why wouldn’t he give it to me in person?”

Steve waves at Eddie to come closer, and when he stubbornly doesn’t, Steve rolls his eyes and comes to him, stretching the cord across the kitchen as he does.

“Hmmm...maybe.. Or maybe something scared him off?” He takes in an over-dramatic sarcastic gasp. “Or maybe, my best friend and soulmate who stole the tape for him, told him to come by at the exact worst time! When she knew a certain ex of mine and current girlfriend of hers was stopping by before leaving to Indy and it scared him off!”

Steve tilts the handset out from his ear so Eddie can hear..there’s complete silence on the other end.

“That would suck, don't you think? Seeing your crush’s ex leaving their house early in the morning when you’re coming over to confess to them?” He continues.

“Oh. My. God. Steve!! I am so so sorry I–”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Eddie.”

Steve grabs up Eddie’s hand and wraps it around the handset, forcing him to take it, then stomps off into the living room.

Eddie puts the phone to his ear and walks back to the receiver, Robin rambling in his ear the whole way.

“--ddie, I’m so so sorry! I totally forgot Nancy was dropping off Steve’s paper this morning before she went to her interview! Please please don’t be mad at me, actually, scratch that. Be super mad at me, but definitely not at Steve, okay? I should have remembered, I should have told you, I should hav–”

It’s effective, he feels the anger draining out of him. “Robin, Robin! It’s okay, you’re okay.” Eddie glances over at Steve, who’s pacing up and down the short length of the trailer’s living room. “But now I have a very pissed off Harrington in my house right now…you got any survival tips for me?” he mumbles lowly.

“...Oh! I know, just go over there and kiss hi–her–stupid!” Eddie snorts through his nose, her parents must still be nearby.

“Got it, I’ll try that. Thanks Birdie…for everything.”

She sighs in relief. “You’re welcome, Doofus.”

Eddie slowly hangs up the phone, and turns to where Steve is. Now stationary, he’s got one hand on his hip, and the other is rifling through his hair nervously.

‘Yep. Buckley’s right.’

Eddie takes a deep breath and crosses to Steve in three short strides, grabs his face in both his hands, and kisses him deeply.

Steve responds immediately; he wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist, his large palm centered squarely on his lower back, and one around his arm, lacing his fingers into Eddie’s curls and cupping the back of his head.

Steve pulls their bodies flush and cants his hips into Eddie’s, tugs a breathy moan from Eddie’s throat when the hand in his curls tightens.

Eddie’s nose is pressed uncomfortably into the space between Steve’s nose and cheekbone with how close they’ve smushed themselves together, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s kissing Steve Harrington.

There’s a strong thigh slotted between his, and Steve Harrington is kissing him back.

Eddie moves one hand down to clutch at Steve’s shirt, and pushes the other back, grabbing onto those short hairs on the back of Steve’s neck.

They finally come up for air after one too many teeth clashes, their foreheads coming together.

“Hi.” they breathe out at the same time, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“We’re kinda idiots, huh?” Steve says, looking cross-eyed between Eddie’s eyes. The hazel of his eyes sparkling with the movement.

Eddie chuckles. “Dingus and Doofus, remember?” he points to each of them in turn, only lifting his pointer finger out of the grip on Steve’s shirt to do so.

“Can I play you the last song now?”

and then they low dance in eddie's living room

Yay!! that's it, thanks for following along with this one!!! here's the last tags :o) @hellomynameismoo, @messrs-weasley, @manda-panda-monium

Here's some notes since it's the last part:

this is the most I’ve ever written in such a short time, I literally wrote each of these chapters the day before their day to be posted….most of it while at work lmao

Steve used a Sony C60 tape. i.e. there’s 60-ish minutes of space on it. before At Last, the songs on the tape totaled 55 min 55 seconds, a perfect amount left for Etta James (ending up at 58 min 54 seconds in total according to my spoofy playlist).

I know that the Eddie half of songs weren’t really…’Eddie music’, but in my head, Eddie likes music for being music. All music is good (like he said to Max in part 5). Plus, he wanted to put songs on the tape that he knew Steve would like/want to listen to.

steve asked nancy to make revisions on his nursing school application essay (he found he quite liked the process of taking care of eddie and wants to go to school for it!)

anyone else just recently realize that Take Me Home Tonight had an allusion to Be My Baby?? anyway, love that, wanted to make that a thing here :o)

and lastly, a couple of little things i LOVED about this fic that i didn’t see anyone else / only a couple people point out:

Steve singing the rubber duckie song to Eddie in part 5

Eddie literally giving Gareth the shirt off his back in part 2 when Tommy threw his pop on him (in my head, this is the same red buffalo check flannel that Gareth ends up cutting the sleeves off of and wears in S4).

that's all!! thanks for reading, friends :o)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #st #st fic #steddie week #steddie week 2023 #steve harrington x eddie munson #mixtape #songfic #(kinda)#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #wayne munson #the party #stranger things #idiots in love #noelle writes

175 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 5 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Original Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

Lovely Readers! You can now follow the tag # Wicked Johnson Fic to follow along more easily! ❤❤❤

Johnwickb1tsch:

This house must belong to John.

How many safe houses does that man have?

When you walk out of the bedroom in your new getup you find Tex in the living room watching TV. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“We have got to get you some clothes, baby girl.”

You shrug. The boxer t-shirt combo is actually pretty comfy.

You think you might make your way to the kitchen, but Tex snaps his fingers at you as you try to walk past.

You turn to look at him with a raised brow.

“Can I help you?”

That was the wrong thing to say, obviously.

His grin is that of a hungry wolf.

“I bet you can. C'mere, darlin'.”

You sigh, but after your little lesson with John, you're not quite so inclined to defy him.

Yet.

You're going to have to get smarter about how you expend your energy.

Easier said than done.

Goddammit.

“That's better,” he says with a sly grin, holding you close.

You take a moment to look at him—really look at him, from up close. The sweep of his almond shaped eyes, his high cheek bones and the short scruff of his beard. He stares back at you, unabashedly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, bumping his forehead with yours. You wish it wasn't adorable. Fucking man child, making you feel things.

“Wanna watch tv?”

It beat anything else he could dream up, so you agree. You hadn't forgot that he still owed you for your flipping of the bird earlier. You're sure he hasn't either.

He turns on some stupid gratuitous action flick, and you kind of zone out. Your thoughts drift to John, and the things he told you in-between fucking you silly.

He'd said that he and Tex would not take on the FBI just for a plaything, or a whore. Deep down, you knew what that meant.

It meant, they had no real intention of letting you go. The thought filled you with equal parts dread—and wonder.

Why the fuck would not one, but two fine ass men like this want you, for keeps? It's beyond your comprehension—and if you're honest, kind of flattering. Bat shit fucking crazy, but flattering.

Either that, or it's just...convenient. Your circumstances created a perfect storm from which to snatch you without a trace or a person to care about getting you back.

"Want to see somethin'?" asks Tex, interrupting your reverie.

"Okay?"

He clicks play on the remote once he has your attention. You watch as a 1970s muscle car jumps an impossible ramp, then lands roughly on the other side of a canal. "That was me."

You lift an eyebrow, looking back at him. "In the car?"

"Yeah."

He's grinning like a little kid, clearly proud.

"You were a stunt man?"

"Uh huh."

You tilt your head, trying to put pieces together and failing. The square block is not fitting in the circle hole.

"Then why...?"

"Killin' people pays better, believe me. Less dangerous, too."

A chill runs down your spine.

"Oh."

"Mmm. A man could get used to this."

He slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips sneaking past the loose hem of your boxer shorts.

You wrap your fingers around his, praying. "Tex, please."

"Like the sound of that," he says between kisses, outmuscling you to move his hand higher.

"I'm so sore."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. John gets you to himself but I don't?"

"It's not my fault you're both hung like horses."

This appeal to his ego makes him grin. "Ain't you a lucky girl?"

"Only if you don't hurt me."

It's not high on your list of things you want to do, but you're having to weigh your options these days. You suck his thumb, and you swear you watch a fire ignite in his eyes.

"Also sore," you say around his digit, sounding ridiculous as he presses down on your tongue. Your jaws hurt. Even your mouth is bruised from kissing. Jesus. You're not a goddamn python.

You try to retreat, but he forces his thumb deeper.

Absolutely out of instinct to defend yourself, you start to bite him.

“No—”

“Hey!”

“Hush and take your licks, little girl.”

“I hate you!”

“I was gonna say five, for flippin’ me off, but now it’s six. Comprende?”

You whimper, but for the first time since this whole fiasco started, you do the smart thing and shut your dumb fucking mouth, hanging your head in the pillows with resignation.

He’s just spanking you, you reason. How bad can it be?

He has a hand like a catcher’s mitt and arms corded with muscle.

Bad. The answer, is bad.

What. The ever loving. FUCK. Is wrong with you?

“So pretty,” he says, toying with the bend of your knee. It makes your toes curl, and he offers up a deep chuckle that you almost feel more than hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly, closing your eyes.

“See, I can be sweet, if you’re sweet to me.”

The next smack on the other cheek makes you jump again, but this time you do not protest.

“Ahh. She can be taught.”

“Take this off,” he demands, lifting the hem of your shirt up your back.

Smack.

“That’s a mighty nice little pussy you’ve got there,” he says, his voice turned pure gravel with desire. “Too bad you’re too sore.”

“Now don’t let me catch you touchin’ yourself,” he warns, looming over you. “You won’t like what happens next.”

On that note he struts off, and you watch him go with a glare, unable to stop yourself from thinking he has the nicest, tightest little butt this side of the Mississippi river.

Bastard.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

You sit there for a good few minutes--- letting yourself just feel and realise what has happened.

No, because you realise it now-- so much has happened, you have sort of developed a temporary immunity to it all. A coping mechanism for your mind.

That is what it does when things go very wrong very quickly-- bolt out of the blue? Worry not, you won't even register it properly.

That is how your works, you realise as you slowly begin to dress yourself again. The slick between your thighs is hard to ignore but the ignited desire begins to subdue as you focus on making yourself aware-- really aware of what has happened.

John's words regarding Bradford felt like a promise and as you realise that he is gone, you fear he has gone after the agent.

You hope and pray that he is not as impulsive as you consider him to be because, with your time spent with Bradford, you have come to know of two things-- one, he is very resourceful, and second, he is no fool. He is an exceptionally intelligent, stubborn man-- whom you considered to be moral, almost idealistic. So, his betrayal has come as a shock to you.

You can't swallow it, somehow-- and his actions are not helping either. If John has bribed him and he accpeted-- why is he still messing with them, then?

What does he really want?

He has a family--

You blink.

Teenagers, he said. He isn't that old. Until...

Until he was a college dad or something. He never even mentioned a wife.

You lick your lips dress yourself as quickly as you can and rush out of the room. Finding Tex in the kitchen, you almost call for him.

Almost because you stop.

Baffled at your own instincts.

What are you doing? Don't you miss your previous life? Don't you want to be free again?

You realise you still do but you can't see them hurt. You don't want them hurt, in any way, under any circumstances.

They make you feel like a battlefield-- a battlefield for your mind, heart and body. You just stare on, lost in thoughts and questions. But Tex senses your presence.

"Sit down, accidentally added an extra egg to my omelette." He says while plating an omelette and bringing it to you-- it does not look like an accidental extra, but you chose not to comment. "Why aren't you sat?" He asks with a tilt of his head, but amusement is dancing in his orbs.

And he's back at his assholery again, just when you begin to think of him as 'not too bad'.

You sigh, too many thoughts running around to even try wiping off that annoying smirk out of his unfairly gorgeous face. You simply steel yourself and sit down-- refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction from you. You grind your teeth in silence, tensing up at the ache when you feel the cushioned surface against your clothed rear-- at least it isn't only wood-- that would have been way more painful. But it still hurts. Yet, you don't show it.

You've had enough of their games. Whatever they are doing, you realise that they are, perhaps winning at it. You were going to warn Tex about Bradford? You don't want John to go after Bradford-- and the first reason you think of is 'What if it's a trap'? And not 'What if Bradford dies?'

This change concerns you. You still haven't decided what you wish to do. Tell them that Bradford's actually too young to have teenagers? Are they foolish enough to not cross-check? You decide on a different approach.

"Where did John go?"

The question comes off in low, uncertain whisper, but Tex is already seated beside you with his own plate.

When did he even do that?

Tex raises an eyebrow and scoffs but holds your gaze for a moment.

"You're not worried about that agent, are ya?"

His ability to guess your thoughts (partially, to your fortune) catches you off guard and of course, it shows on your dumb face as he smirks. This time though, it does not seem as playful as before. This time, it puts you on edge as you let out a measured breath, feeling more alert than you have been in John's silent presence before.

"No--I...." You almost spill out the truth, before breaking the eye-contact and getting some hold on yourself "I was just...wondering."

"Don't worry, he went to get you somethin' to wear, so that you don't keep dirtying ours."

Your hold on the spoon tightens at that jab. It's lighter than most of his earlier ones but it somehow irks you to a certain point of burn.

You assume he is clever enough to not give you a fork because, at the moment, you want to poke him with one.

"I'm done."

You declare curtly before letting your spoon fall on the plate and pushing it away. You need some time away from their overpowering presence, you need your sanity, your rationality intact, after all.

Rising from your seat, you rush towards the bedroom with the hope of some solitude. You need that.

Tammykelly:

You barely get to the bedroom on the second floor, the forever lingering ache between your legs and anger in your heart not letting you think about anything else but a much needed distraction.

This bastard is fucking diabolical, you think to yourself, hoping the negative energy of your denial will give strength to your knees and outweigh how much your body is screaming at you to take care of the little, annoyingly loud problem created by Tex. God, they’ve trained you well.

After you’ve freshened up in the master bathroom, you sit down in a big armchair, next to the bed, still feeling frustrated, though mostly at yourself and the hopelessness of your situation.

You glance around the room once again, remembering where they’ve locked their tools, including knives that you’re pretty sure are sharp enough to cut through anything with ease. You lean back, lost in thoughts, letting your back rest against the soft cushion. You close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing pattern, after a while feeling like your body reflexes have started to calm down and the blood in your veins has acquired breath of its own, as you begin to watch yourself, as if from the third person pov.

The shrunken space of your focus seems to have been expanded, simultaneously, the room seems to have been sealed in a vacuum bubble, it’s just you and the memory of where the knives lay. You get up with determination, feeling confident enough to try anything within the boundaries of what’s allowed but timid enough to be mindful about possible consequences.

You can surely just look at them, they won’t punish you if you don’t use them.

You think about an array of ways how you’d break the lock before opening the cabinet, and run your fingers over the blades that you know could easily cut you in half through the application of force necessary to do so. You take one out, studying it, as if trying it on, wondering how much this razor-sharp knife has seen and will witness. You twirl it around, pondering whether you’d be brave enough to use it if the opportunity arises. You feel almost mesmerised by it, neither hearing anything, apart from the ringing in your ears, nor seeing anything, apart from your reflection on the blade.

“You’re sure you know how to handle it?” - a deep breathy voice comes from behind. You jump, almost dropping the knife, your eyes meet John’s obsidian ones, boring into you, making you feel like you’re being poked by the needles that lay in the cabinet next to the knives.

“Be careful not to cut yourself, rattlesnake”, - an amused voice adds and you watch Tex step into the room, as your cheeks flush red. “We were wondering how come it’s so quiet up here”, - he adds, not breaking the eye contact.

“I was napping” - you blurt out, quickly putting the knife down, nervously watching John walk closer in a lazy, almost calculating manner only a predator uses when the prey has been caught in a trap.

You catch his movements until he’s standing behind you, his chest touching your back, his arms on either side of you, capturing you in a cage that is his strong body against your frozen one. You look over to Tex and notice him leaned against the wall, watching you two with curiosity.

Fuck

John picks up the knife you’ve previously chosen and holds it in front of you, his lips close to your ear, his voice so dangerously low, you swear he sounds like he’s about to devour you in one bite.

“Want me to show you how to use it?” he nonchalantly whispers, sending cold shivers down your spine, his lips inch closer, “since you’re so curious about it”. You pray he doesn’t feel the deafening thumping of your heart.

“I was…just…uh…”, - words barely escape your dry throat. You hear Tex walk over and it makes you feel even more on the razor edge that is a mouse trap of your relationship with these men. You feel Tex’s fingers under your chin, when he pulls your face to look up at him.

“Isn’t it what you wanted?” - he clicks his tongue. His glimmering eyes shine with built-up darkness lay beneath, a hint of disappointment flashes through it when you don’t reply, “all talk, no action?”

Tex is akin to a fiery pit, predictably unpredictable in the sense that you have an idea of what to expect of him - stand too close and you get burned, bite too hard and you get splashed back with fire. But when you watch the flames, especially when he doesn’t notice you studying him or pretends not to, there’s a strangely comforting warmth to him, flickering through the coal cracks of his man-child nature. John, on the other hand, is akin to an abyss, swallowing you whole with his presence. He’s dangerous in a way that a calm untamed tiger is, for even domesticated, it still remains a threat at all times. You don’t see what’s beneath all the layers of what he masterfully conceals and you’re not sure you should want to find out how much of a predator he actually is.

“Make your choice” - you hear John’s raspy voice bring your attention back to him.

“What?” - you blink, your mind going over multitude of possibilities this could play out. Tex takes the knife out of the other man’s hands.

“Who do you prefer show you how to use it?” - he explains, but his expression says anything but teaching you about self-defence. You feel John protectively wrap around you and you don’t need him to say it. If Tex does anything out of line, this playground will become everything a human would fear to step into. You can see that the feeling’s mutual, in the way Tex glares at John.

Maybe this is the code to freedom, let them prey on each other.

Tex’s eyes move to yours, seeing the way you lean into the man behind you.

“Oh, you think Johnny boy will save you?”- he chuckles darkly, “dream on”, he tells you before motioning for John to bring you over to the bed. Your heart drops.

They sit you down on the bed, both of them circling you, akin to eager hawks, ready to rip apart and devour anything in their sight. Suddenly, you feel John’s hands lock yours in a tight grip behind your back, which makes panic arise in your chest.

“The fuck you’re doing?” - you want to sound mad but the voice that comes out of your mouth sounds like it belongs to someone else caught in a web of pretence and lies. Tex waves his hand for you to keep your mouth shut.

“You forget your place, rattlesnake”, - he laughs, though not an ounce of warmth strikes you, just sharp fire burns.

“You’re a fucking asshole”, - you growl lowly, looking him right in the crazed eyes, while John shifts to a more comfortable position to hold you still.

Bastard

“Touché”, - Tex brings his face close to yours, his hot breath on your skin making you flinch, “Biting won’t help, darlin’, you’re forgetting who you’re up against”, he finishes, placing the cold blade on your cheek before you start protesting, and moving it down your jawline, throat, collarbones and stopping at the hem of your shirt, tantalised, watching the way your chest rapidly rises and falls. He’s so gentle with it, though, but his eyes tell you he could switch up in a heartbeat.

“Sorry, John”, - Tex breaths out and doesn’t wait for either of you to reply, grabbing the fabric and making the blade slide through it with lightning speed like butter. Your wide open eyes look at him with shock, only now noticing John pressed up against your back, like an unmoving statue. You lean back, wiggling your body, seeing how hard it is for Tex to resist touching you with his hands. He extends his arm to place the knife onto your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me”, - you glare up at him, which makes a loud bark of a chuckle escape his lips, though he doesn’t stop. You begin to shake your head and move your body, knowing he won’t do anything in this case, as not to hurt a single strand of hair on you, for John might kill him right then and there with that said knife, otherwise. Abruptly, your body freezes when Tex’s calloused hand find its place around your neck, urging you to hold your anger in and to look up at him.

“You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” - he growls, his fingers tight around your throat, “you can’t keep playing the game you can’t win”, he smiles, placing the blade in the centre of your breastbone, the coldness of steel arising goosebumps throughout your body. Your eyes lock on his, studying the way he’s holding back the desires that will leave him hanging onto the thread of life had he acted upon them. You want to believe he’d never hurt you but you never know how far his self control and possible feelings for you can contain the boundaries of his flames.

Is it your or John’s power over him?

Tex’s knee moves in between your legs, inching closer to where you needed him when he bent you over downstairs what feels like an eternity ago. But your body responds in raging flames, lit up by the myriad of matches that are the manifestation of his power over you.

His fingers inch the razor-sharp steel closer to the centre of your neck, so infinitely slow you think you might die just from waiting for what comes next.

And what comes next is John’s lips on your skin, your temple, behind your ear, on your shoulder, his tongue tasting the heat, engulfing your body, the effect of which comes off in a form of a shuddered breath that doesn’t go unnoticed. Tex moves the blade up until it reaches your mouth, keeping it there, until you get the hint. You stare at his darkened, ravenously glowing eyes. You feel one of John’s hands come up gliding over your body up to your neck, tilting your head up, as he’s shifting his weight so you can look up into his eyes. The look you’re met with is not the one you were hoping to see, for instead of a soft and gentle one, your gaze gets sucked in by a black hole that is a pair of nearly jet-black, hungry, unmoving and barely patient eyes.

“Sorry, baby”, - John rasps.

You open your mouth, falling deeper into his void, before closing your eyes.

Your eyelids flutter open, as your breath and racy heartbeat warn you to steady yourself before gradually coming back to a stable pace, as you lay in bed.

You listen in to the sounds of an awfully quiet house, making you wonder whether you’ve been left alone after all. The clock arms ticking rhythmically, blending in with the soft, almost faint whirring of the bedroom mini fridge where the boys keep cooled bottled water for you. The sound of electricity inside the walls and static in your ears suddenly becoming louder once you focus on it instead of the faint noise of the outside world. You look around, chasing the frisky sunset light, playing on the space around you through the cracks between the slightly moving curtains. You glance at expensive looking boutique shop bags standing near the wall. For the first time you pay attention to the way the colour palette of the place is almost seamlessly blended by the dreamy fog, though you’re not sure if it’s the floating in sunlight specks of dust or your own blurry vision, for you’d just woken up from your nap. You raise your hand to cover your eyes when the sunlight makes its way onto your face, then close your eyelids, folding your hands on your lap, letting yourself bask in the vague warmth. You take a deep breath in, your senses catching a very indistinct smell of the fresh evening air, when the wind outside blows through the trees, the rustling of which you can catch a sonic glimpse of, fresh laundry and the scent of your shampoo.

But the smell of two men pervades you the most, you can practically taste the last night with John and today’s morning with Tex on your tongue and skin. You’re sure you smell like them by now, akin to a cat acquiring the smell of its owners over time, becoming one with the small nuclear tribe. It’s shamefully intoxicating how well they’ve imbedded themselves onto your body and into your mind, molding a new, unrecognizable version of you, so perfectly suited for their needs.

And you’re sure they like everything about it, especially the way they can smell themselves off you, like you belong to them, cooped up in this place away from prying eyes, their $5 million secret, just for them to play with and ravish. You can feel it sometimes through the way they touch you when passionate waves are mercifully on hold, replaced by the monumental promise of another outburst. You remember the way their fingers linger on your skin a bit too long, the way they hug you close to their bodies late at night when they think you’re too fucked out to notice - John - in a protective embrace, Tex - more on the possessive side.

The way John gently brushes your hair after blow drying it and resists leaning in to smell your freshly showered self, for every time you can feel the heat of his body getting close to you and, regrettably to your disappointment, pulling away at the last moment. The way Tex traces his own bites and hickeys on your skin when you’re in the bathtub with him or glides his fingertips over them under the covers, thinking your blissfully unaware self doesn’t feel his surprisingly delicate leisure wandering. The way neither of them want to leave the bed in the early hours of the morning, too entranced by your warmth and the feel of your body against theirs. The way one day you made each of them sigh in surprise when you’d pulled them closer, praying they explain it as your sleepy subconscious making the decisions for you, when, in reality, it was you pulling the strings of blurry lines in between sanity and conscience mistake of trying to savour their comfortingly strong bodies. You couldn’t decide which one of the duo was worse. John, who treats you like a gentleman but often fucks you disrespectfully, or Tex, who annoyingly makes every particle of your body and soul boil in every sense possible.

You tip your head back, eyelids closed, taking deep breaths in to calm your heart and mind. You have no idea how long it’ll take for the masks of sanity to slip, revealing the true nature of those men. Whatever sanity means anymore in this situation. You start feeling like their influence on you begins to seep beyond physical form.

Suddenly, you hear John quietly calling out to you: “Y/n. You here?”

Your eyebrows slightly twitch, as your eyes open to the starry sky above the balcony where you and John are standing next to one another.

“It’s like you were just here and then you were gone”, - he chuckles, his voice soft and comfortingly deep.

Fuck, the mask’s slipping.

You take a long look at him before smiling, his eyes so gentle, you almost [want to] believe he’s not faking it for you.

It’s time for a cat to come out and play with fire.

“Hi”, - you tell him, reaching your fingers out to him, finding it so irresistibly hard not to put a loose strand of hair behind his ear when you see him admiring the perfect way the clothes he’d bought hug your body, as if tailored to your exact measurements but you don’t delve into it deeply for the sake of your sanity. “Hey”, - John replies, letting your hand slip back, not showing you how much he wants to catch it and kiss it.

The serenity of the passing intimate lace comes crumbling down when Tex cheerfully comes up from the back and hugs you from behind, loudly leaving a wet trail of kisses from your ear down to your shoulder, so casually mundane, as if he’s been doing this for years.

“What are you two whispering about?” - he inquires, not removing his lips off you. “Certainly not you”, - you tease. “You don’t like me?” - he mumbles back. Now it’s your turn to laugh: “Why should I? This is just a transaction, no?”

Instead of pulling away, Tex grips you harder: “Aw, my rattlesnake, I was about to say how sweet you are when you don’t bite”.

“Thought you liked it?” - you let him feel you lean into him, which he eagerly reciprocates. “Oh, is that why you do it? You do it for me?” - he asks, as you turn around in his arms, tilting your face up, batting your eyelashes. “Dream on”, - you reply before breaking away from his embrace.

You walk over to the balcony sofa, sinking into the big pillows in a relaxed way that exudes you’re not afraid of either of the two. You let yourself be watched by their intense gazes, shamelessly scanning you up and down, as you throw one leg over the other. Moments pass before you speak again.

“I can’t quite crack the code”, - you tell them in the most couldn’t-care-less tone, “what is it that you get out of this? Apart from the obvious”. You trace your body with your fingers, John’s eyes on yours and Tex’s following your silhouette.

Tex is the first to reply: “You said it yourself, this is just a transaction”.

“Is it really?” - you inquire in a way that it sounds more like a statement.

“Why do you wanna know?” - Tex responds, keeping his eyes trailed on you.

You lean further into the cushions, trying to sound as innocuously as possible. “To manipulate you, of course”.

Silence hangs in the air, making your cheeks grow redder, though you hope they can’t tell under the starlight. Tex walks closer to you, saying: “Don’t get ideas into that pretty head of yours”, he grabs your face with one hand, “wouldn’t want you to get burned, mhhmm?”

You swallow. “Wouldn’t even dream of it”, - you tell him, holding the eye contact. Unexpectedly, Tex does nothing but lets you go and walks to the chair, near John. It makes you uncomfortable, their watchful eyes not leaving an ounce of your conscience not feeling exposed.

“What game are you playing at?” - John finally speaks up, his voice so quiet you know he’s not playing games with you anymore.

“Nothing”, - you simply say, your gaze locked on his. Hiding in plane sight, you think. Instead, you continue: “I can’t outplay the player when I got no game, yeah?”

Tex snorts: “Oh, you definitely do have game”, eyeing you. You turn your attention to him, scoffing just like he did: “Clearly, if that’s what you wanna call it”.

“I just want a lock in my room”, you add.

“My, my, Johnny boy, she not only bites but wants to have leverage over us”, - Tex chuckles.

“How’s having a lock mean leverage?” you bat your lashes.

Okay, playing dumb it is.

Tex doesn’t make you wait for his reply: “It’s not about the lock. It’s about access”.

Got you, you say to yourself.

“I’m sure other hunters, like you two, would just love that, access at all times”, - you muse, looking from one man to the other.

“We won’t let that happen”, - John’s stern whisper comes.

“Mhmhm, sure, with $5 million on the line”, - you shrug. You catch Tex’s eyes.

“Dream on, babygirl”, - he muses back.

You sigh, getting up, making your hips sway just a tiny bit more than usual. Your arm gets caught in Tex’s strong grip. “What are you doing?” - he growls, as you turn to look up at him. You look behind him at John, then back at the man in front of you. “Take a wild fucking guess”, - you retort. Tex steps closer, cornering you further to the glass door, leading into the house. “Use your pretty mouth like that, I won’t care if you’re sore or not anymore”, - he smiles sickly sweet, making your stomach turn. You ignore him and connect your eyes with John’s, who holds the same expression, not much different from Tex’s, letting you see in that moment, how titillated he is by you.

You’re fucked and you’ve walked right into it.

“Let me guess, “dream on”?” Tex mocks you, placing a hand on the glass, near your face.

You work up a smile, though you hope they can’t see it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m going to sleep. Aren’t you boys coming?” you purr, before wiggling your way out of Tex’s arms. The men look at each other before following suit, exchanging malevolent glances.

The code is crackable. For it’s not the “how” but the question of who’ll be the first to crack.

Tex. John. Or you.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Goddamnit. Where is the motherfucking pancake batter? Does John not have PANCAKE BATTER in his goddamn house? What are you supposed to do? Make pancakes from scratch? Fuck.

Your internal thoughts are being monologued by a sailor, apparently - and he’s in a shit mood. You woke up lying in vacant sheets, minus either of your human heaters, shivering in the conditioned air.

Your bargain was simple, or at least you thought so - they could keep the temp at 62 degrees in this room (psychos) if they both slept beside you and warmed you cozy. So, when you found out they were gone and didn’t even bother to pull a blanket over your naked body in their haste to leave - okay, maybe it was actually you that kicked the comforter off, but you’re still gonna blame them - you got heated, and not in a good way.

Pretty soon, and far too late, you realized that you felt abandoned without them snuggling you like two big, bed hogging dogs, and that made you much more angry because… Well. If you’re being honest with yourself, you are far too attached to these men. In too deep. “Dug up more snakes than you can kill,” as Tex would say. You can barely function when they’re not around. So much for strong, independent woman. You’re a whitehead on the face of feminism.

And now you can’t even make pancakes. Out of frustration, you slam a cupboard shut and bustle a carton of eggs off the counter. And, of course, they land face down with the top open wide. “Fuck. Me.”

“Bad day?”

You spin on your heel, hip catching the counter painfully, although you barely register the sting, too busy clenching fists at your sides from the immediate recognition of that voice. You glare at Bradford, lip curling into a little snarl, the rattlesnake in you coming to bat. “It is now,” you snap.

Bradford sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, don’t be like that. I told you I’d protect you, y/n, and that’s what I’m here to do.”

You burst into a crazed giggle fit, fists clutching at the sundress fabric over your belly, eyes watering from the sheer audacity of fucking men. It takes you a minute to collect yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you pompous asshole.” You’re still smiling at him, that little leftover sanity and hope slipping right through your fingers and landing in a sticky puddle with the smashed eggs.

He frowns, hands jammed into his pockets, this stupid look of concern coming over his face that makes you want to choke it right off. “Listen, y/n, whatever they did to you - however they hurt you - it’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here to take you away and undo all this shit they’ve put in your head.”

“You think that’s going to work on me after what you did?!” You hardly recognize your own shrill screech, don’t realize you’re jamming a finger into his chest until your toe to toe with him. “They might be assholes and manipulators, sure, Bradford, but you-“ You poke his sternum hard, make him wince and love that pained look on his face more than you should - “you’re much fucking worse. Because at least they care about something other than themselves.”

His expression is one of pity, like he’s looking at an abused, bite happy dog about to be put down. “You think they care about you?” His voice is quiet, sympathetic, overly kind, it makes your stomach turn. “Oh, sweetheart-“

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mock, the acid in your body leaking and bubbling from your throat. “Do me a favor and get out. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

He seems entirely unaffected by you. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

You feel a tiny sting in your shoulder, look down to see a needled splinter sticking out, reach to pull it free, but it’s far too late, because your hand doesn’t work. And neither do your legs. You black out before landing face first into the eggs.

They’ve got you trussed up again. Pretty silk ropes dimple your skin. John finishes the knots on your thighs, fingers tickling lazily over the fabric and making you squirm and whine. “Comfy?” He asks, kissing your cheekbone and smiling at you.

You nod, pull at your bonds, become thrilled when you realize you’re not going anywhere. You wiggle your toes, testing circulation by gauging feeling to your digits. Perfect, as always. John’s handiwork is unmatched. And you are absolutely drenched and throbbing by the time he gets done tightening his last little tie.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose into your hairline. You shudder and giggle, melting under that praise he has grown fond of giving. His balmy voice gets your toes curling instead of flexing.

Tex comes back into the room with the bottle of sandalwood and vanilla oils. It smells heavenly and makes you clench hellishly as he works it into his bulky palms and grins at his favorite girl. “You ready for that massage, pumpkin?”

Something slams violently close to your ear, startling you out of the dreaming memory, making you gasp and flinch. You can’t go far, because you’re handcuffed to a metal chair. Hands and feet. Too tight. Fingers and toes already numb and cold. Your face feels sticky and itchy. Metal scrapes metal in a terrible symphony that jabs behind your eyes and gets them open.

You’re in a white, windowless room, far from John and Tex, but close to agent Bradford. He’s smiling now, pleased about something, leaning over the silver table to examine your face. “That’s a nasty bruise, kid,” he says, pointing to his own forehead. “Sorry I couldn’t catch you.”

You scowl at him. “Yeah, whatever.” Your head does hurt, though, and you feel like you’ve been run over by a monster truck again. Still, that fire in you doesn’t seem to want to die, and you’re incredibly grateful for whatever miracle furnace is fueling it. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m here? Or just stare at me like a fucking creep?”

He chuckles. “Do you know where you are?”

“Oh yeah,” you spit, “I definitely remember this windowless white fucking room from good times growing up.” Rolling your eyes hurts more than you think it will.

“You’re under possession of the FBI, y/n, and if I were you, I’d be grateful we didn’t just hand you over to the Bratva ourselves. Because they would have done much worse to you than we’re about to do.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

As your mind clears from the drugs Bradford gave you, you start to think a bit more critically about your situation. The fact that he has taken you hostage without the fanfare of an official FBI raid suggests he's still working under the radar. He must have baited your boys with some convincing ruse to make them both leave the house.

"You should really do yourself a favor, and return me to them," you advise. You flex against the cuffs, trying to get circulation. They really are too tight, and you can't help but compare it to the careful way John always bound you. Who is the bad guy here? All the lines have blurred.

"I can't help but notice you're not asking to just be let go."

It's a development that surprises you too, but you don't feel like analyzing it right now. All you know is that you miss them, like a crucial piece of your heart has been plucked from you. And maybe it's fucked up, but you want the man responsible to pay.

"I'm not as stupid as you are, apparently. Don't you understand who you're dealing with?"

"Tex Johnson, former Marine, dishonorable discharge in his first tour of Iraq, turned Hollywood stunt man and mafia hitman. John Wick is harder to put a thumb down on. Bogus birth certificate, it's doubtful it's his real name. He was probably trafficked into the country as a child from the Soviet Union by one of the syndicates. He's been associated with various underworld groups since he was a teen."

This was, in fact, way more than you knew about your boys, but you were loathe to admit it.

"What I mean, is if you keep this up you're a dead man walking. They'll do anything to get me back."

"It sounds like you want them to get you back."

"At this point? I like them a lot better than you."

"Yeah, you seemed pretty cozy there. I think you have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome."

The thought of this man, of all people, moralizing at you and basically calling you mentally ill, pisses you off even more.

"Did you know Stockholm Syndrome is a bullshit diagnosis favored by law enforcement, invented by two male psychologists to describe a woman who had been in a hostage situation, who they had never even met? She was held hostage by a bank robber in Sweden, and as she watched the police completely bungle the situation she was afraid they would come charging in and kill everyone in a hail of bullets. She advocated for a more peaceful solution that didn't involve her getting shot, and was branded as neurotically sympathetic to her captor for it. But you've been through Quantico. You should already know this."

Bradford frowns down at you, and your inconvenient penchant for facts.

"Alright, smarty pants, be that way. But when the media gets a hold of you after this, you're going to want something to blame, believe me."

"How about you, you crooked son of a bitch?"

"Me? I'm going to be the agent who single handedly brought down the Nobokov Bratva, two wanted contract killers, and saved their hostage. I'll be a hero."

"What about the money you took?"

"Playing a role, all part of my master plan."

He smirks at you, letting you know that at least some of that money is not going to make it into evidence.

"Wait...isn't Dmitri Nobokov dead?"

"As a doornail. But his son is still around, and he wants blood."

You think about this a moment.

"And you're using me as bait?"

"Now you're catching on. You've got a date with Igor Nobokov tonight."

"And you're counting on...them all killing each other?"

"Something like that."

You just laugh.

"Right? I think it's funny too."

"I'm not laughing at that."

"No?"

"No. I'm laughing because my boys are going to fucking kill you all."

You find that you truly believe it, to the marrow of your bones.

Bradford just smirks. "We'll see."

You certainly would.

His phone starts ringing, and he reaches into his pocket for it. "Bradford."

"Well hello, Agent Dipshit."

"Tex. Thought you'd never call."

gif by johnswick

Just hearing his ridiculous, stupid, wonderful voice, even tinny through the phone, sends a wave of relief through you.

"Gotta say, I took you for smarter than this."

"How you figure?"

"You're an FBI hotshot with a fancy degree. I'm sure you've got a profile on me. Narcissistic psychopath, is what Uncle Sam told me. That means there aren't many things in this world I care about outside of yours truly, but you've managed to take one of 'em from me. Can't say that bodes well for you."

"I guess that's a matter of perspective, Mr. Johnson."

"Proof of life?"

"She's right here. Say hello, y/n."

Glaring at Bradford, you speak into his outstretched phone. "Tex, it's a trap!"

Bradford reaches out to smack you in the mouth, staring you down.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

For a moment there is a deadly silence on the other end of the line.

"My turn. Say hello, Mrs. Bradford."

Bradford's face goes white as a sheet. "Anthony? I'm scared. Please, just do whatever they say."

"Veronica? It's going to be ok, honey, just stay calm. If you fuckers hurt her so help me God--"

"Maybe we will, maybe we won't. All depends on you, son. So listen close."

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

"Who knew this AI shit could be so handy?"

John just nods, utterly stoic, closing the laptop. After feeding multiple insufferable Facebook videos about cooking and keeping house by the lovely Mrs. Bradford through a program, they were able to create a perfect facsimile of her voice, good enough to fool her husband over the phone.

Now Bradford would meet them in a location of their choosing. The advantage was theirs.

Or so they hoped.

Either way, Bradford was dead meat.

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